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raplinesmoon · 2 years

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Doom Boy (KNJ x F!Reader)

pairing: Namjoon x reader (also featuring hyung line) genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, mafia au, 18+ summary: Namjoon was a doom boy - he’d spent his entire life running from the ghosts of his past, keeping you and your son safe from the monsters that lurked on the city streets. He should have known that one day they’d catch up to him.

warnings: the mafia, attempted attack, drinking, mentions injury, mentions of past ab*se, brief mention of illicit subtances and money laundering, minor character deaths, choking, a great escape, Namjoon being an art hoe, smut warnings: sexting, dirty talk, brief daddy kink moment, explicit sexual content, soft dom!Namjoon, oral (f receiving), riding (it’s Namjoon duh), wrap it before you tap it pls

word count: 14.2k

a/n: happy Joon day (i hope i make the deadline) oh gosh, I don’t even know what this is like this was just supposed be some angsty yearning but it turned into this whole story bc Namjoon is the loml. i highkey think this is a huge mess and like cried outlining it bc i was feeling so many emotions, but it’s the first piece of writing in a month that i haven’t trashed completely (rip Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook fics that shall never see the light of day). i really, really hope you like it! pls also excuse any grammar errors, i’ll go back and fix them soon!

Thank you to Ryen @kithtaehyung for the gorgeous banner!!

listen to the playlist!

By all accounts, it was a typical Friday. The sun blazed down on the pavement, rivulets of sweat making their way down Namjoon’s back on his commute home from the office. Shuddering, he loosens his tie, eager to let the shackles of his mundane office job fall away from his being. Combing a hand through the strands of his hair, he thinks that maybe he should get a haircut next week, but ultimately decides against it when he imagines your face in his mind, lips pursed in a pout and eyes shimmering with the glimmer of unshed tears.

I love your hair like this, he can hear you whisper breathlessly, his mind flitting back to the memory of your fingers tugging at the strands nearly a month ago, daring him to pull you into another kiss after what had already been an endless night tangled up in the sheets, making the most of the precious time Hyun had at his jobumo’s house. He’d never been able to deny you a single thing, not since the moment your hand had shyly slipped into his on the walk back from your college library, the comfortable silence between you two soon blossoming into a life he’d never dared to dream of for himself.

His steps become quicker as he grows more restless, pushing through the endless hordes of city-goers around him, the tall skyscrapers casting a grim shadow above the streets below. He’s suffocated by the heat as soon as he makes his way into the subway, descending multiple flights of stairs until he sees freedom within his reach, signified by the screeching of wheels against the railway track.

Stepping into the air-conditioned compartment, Namjoon lets himself breathe, shrugging the strap of his satchel back against his shoulders, his eyes surveying the crowded train compartment. The train comes to a halt at the next station, the doors hissing to let the next group of commuters in, and he pales when he sees the ghost of a reflection in the glass — someone he hadn’t seen for years.

For a moment, he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him, the tall broad, shoulders and dark ebony hair of a man his height disappearing as soon as the train starts again, but Namjoon remains deeply unsettled, the acrid memories of his past coming back to haunt him the most in moments like this. Moments where he didn’t have you, or Hyun, to remind him that with everything he’d left behind, he’d gained something exponentially more wonderful and precious.

His phone pings, snapping him out of his daze, and he looks down at it, a notification from you lighting up his screen. A smile makes its way onto his face, the tension seeping from his veins when he swipes on it.

Only to go slack-jawed a moment later. Namjoon looks around, making sure no one can see the bright light of his screen, before bringing the phone up closer, his mouth gaping at the picture you’d chosen to send him.

You hadn’t changed yet, the silky dress you’d picked out and shown him last night lying in a heap next to you on the bed, your body clad in the most provocative mix of lace and cut-outs, beyond anything his wicked mind could have conjured up.

Come home, you said. I can’t wait much longer.

Namjoon looks up as the train comes to another pause, a faint smirk making its way onto his face when he notes that it’s now time for him to get off.

Date night could finally begin.

Under the dim lights of L’Etalage, you babble on excitedly about the latest gossip from the work week - two of your coworkers were potentially flirting with one another; another one would finally take their sour attitude with them and quit, your supervisor just learned he was having a baby. Your heart grows ten sizes when you think about how you’d gone through those same life changing moments years ago, falling in love with Namjoon, the intelligent, outgoing man who’d sat behind you in one of your science classes, and how now, you were happier than you’d ever been. Life was perfect with him by your side.

You talk, and Namjoon just listens, enraptured by the sound of your voice, his lips twitching into a small smile when he sees your eyes twinkle like stars under the candleglow.

“Namjoon?” You interrupt his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, baby?” He smirks back, and you falter, flushing when you remember the text you’d sent him earlier.

There hadn’t been enough time to do anything about it, of course. Namjoon had barely pinned you to the wall, his hot breath fanning over your neck, before the phone rang, an excited Hyun up from his nap, babbling on FaceTime to his appa about all the fun toys his halmeoni had given him. You’d sheepishly excused yourself to go change into your outfit, leaving a frustrated Namjoon behind.

“This meal cost $200, Namjoon,” you raise an eyebrow. “We’re not about to leave right before I get my matchamisu.”

You jut out your bottom lip in a pout, and Namjoon laughs. The only thing you liked more than sex was sugar, and he couldn’t blame you. The matchamisu was delicious. Still, he couldn’t resist toying with you after the tease you’d given him earlier.

“Who says we have to leave?” He folds his arms, watching you bite your lip at the way his muscles strain against his dress shirt. “The bathrooms here are pretty nice from what I remember.”

Your lips part in an “O”, eyes dilating to pools of black, only for the waitress to choose that exact opportune moment to swing by, placing the matchamisu and two spoons on the table in front of you.

“Please enjoy,” she flutters her eyelashes, speaking only to Namjoon, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Your husband was an attractive man, but he was also oblivious to the way other women flirted with him. He acknowledges her presence for a split second to give a polite nod, before his hand is reaching for yours across the table. His fingers fit perfectly into yours, the twin bands adorning your hands glinting brightly enough to send a message.

You shouldn’t feel smug when she walks away with a scowl, but part of you feels giddy.

Namjoon presses his lips to your knuckles, his dimples making an appearance as he grins while watching you dig in, moaning in delight when the sweet, creamy dessert hits your tongue.

“I thought you were only supposed to make those sounds for me,” he quips, yelping when you smack lightly him on the arm, lifting his hands up in surrender.

You return your attention to the plate in front of you, but Namjoon’s sharp, intent gaze has already done its damage, surveying you hungrily, a pool forming between your thighs. Watching as he excuses himself to the bathroom, you realize you both needed to get out of here.

And fast.

Washing his hands in the sink, Namjoon feels sparks erupt across his skin, anxious to get you home and have his way with you while the night was still young. You played off his salacious flirting, but he could see the way it affected you, your breath coming out in heavy pants, skin glistening with sweat.

He makes his way to open the door, only for it to swing open right before he can reach for the handle, his shoulder bumping into another one. Namjoon reaches for the shorter man before he can topple over, but freezes when he sees the face looking up at him, the blood in his veins turning to ice.

“Yoongi-hyung,” he manages to rasp after many moments of silence, unable to fathom the sight in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

Namjoon’s head begins to spin, and he feels like he’s floating, suspended in the air and watching the scene unfold before him, face-to-face with a man he thought he’d never see again, a man he chose to never see again, when he’d left the life he’d had before you behind.

“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi’s arms reach out in an embrace, and Namjoon dodges it coldly, watching his hyung’s smile falter, cat-like eyes surveying his tense figure. “It’s been a long time.”

“I’m going to ask you this again,” Namjoon spits through clenched teeth. “Why are you here?”

His thoughts immediately flit to you, sitting out there alone, and he realizes you both need to leave now. Namjoon had been running from the ghosts of his past for as long as he’d known you, swearing to himself to protect you from the danger that lurked underneath the paved city streets. And now it had found him again.

“She’s waiting for you out there?” Yoongi asks, and Namjoon resists the urge to say something he knows he’ll regret later. So he knew who you were. He shouldn’t have expected any different, and he silently prays that Hyun’s been left out of their reconnaissance.

“Seokjin-hyung saw you today,” Yoongi continues, and Namjoon freezes again. So his mind hadn’t been playing tricks on him. He’d recognize Kim Seokjin’s broad shoulders and lithe body frame anywhere, remembering how it’d felt when they used to train together, tackling each other into hard concrete until one of them admitted defeat.

“Yoongi,” Namjoon abandons the honorific, and watches Yoongi’s face flicker in disappointment, before settling back into the stern, unfeeling mask he always seemed to have on. “You have to go.”

The older man opens his mouth to protest, but Namjoon pushes him aside, barely making it a few steps before he hears Yoongi call out to him.

“You can’t hide from who you are forever, Namjoon-ah,” he warns. “You and I both know that sooner or later, everything goes to shit.”

Resting your head on Namjoon’s shoulder, the two of you forgo a taxi home, walking hand in hand on the road, the pale moonlight casting everything in a soft glow. You lift your head gently to gaze at Namjoon, frowning at the way his nostrils flare and his brows seem etched in a permanent furrow. He’d been tense ever since he’d returned from the bathroom, and you wondered if he was upset with you for rebuffing him earlier.

“Joonie,” you whisper, turning his face to yours. The two of you come to a stop on a secluded street, and Namjoon’s face softens at the use of your favorite nickname for him. To everyone else, he was always Kim Namjoon, the prodigy from the south side of town, always crushed under the weight of expectations that weren’t his own. He’d hated the way his name sounded growing up, hollow and business-like to his ears, devoid of any affection or tenderness.

But to you, he was Joonie, the name you’d randomly come up with one late night studying, the two of you drunk on a caffeine high and laughing deliriously about anything and everything but the exam you had tomorrow. He’d fallen just a little bit in love with you that night, the way your smile shone brighter than the incandescent, artificial lighting of the library. It’d stripped him bare, piercing through the walls he’d built for decades, and Namjoon felt something with you he’d never felt before. He felt human.

“Talk to me please, what’s wrong?” Your eyes bore into his, searching for answers.

Answers that Namjoon could never give you if he wanted to keep his family safe. The lies felt like a stab to the heart every time he let one escape, but overtime, the wounds had begun to scar, leaving ugly marks in their wake. And it hurt a little less to keep the truth from you every time.

“We need a bigger house,” he says, stroking your temple with his thumb. It wasn’t wrong. “It’s about time we gave Hyun another sibling, don’t you think?”

The tension melts from your shoulders, and you flick him in the forehead.

“You idiot! I thought something was bothering you, like a life-and-death situation, and you’re just horny!”

“You caught me,” he wraps his arms around you, leaning to whisper in your ear. “Are you still wearing that little number you sent me earlier?”

“Who said I’m wearing anything underneath?” It comes out in a breathy moan, and you feel Namjoon go stiff beside you. “Now take me home.”

Namjoon doesn’t move, frozen in place, looking beyond you to a cluster of trees, his eyes becoming dark.

“___, hold onto me,” he chokes, his voice breaking, and you feel a chill run down your spine. “And whatever you do, don’t look anywhere but straight ahead.”

Namjoon’s hand comes to grab your wrist in a death grip, and you feel your hand go limp from the circulation being cut off. Your heartbeat speeds up instantly, blood pounding in your ears.

“Joonie? What’s going on?” A single tear escapes, running down your face, and Namjoon’s heart shatters down the middle. The fear in your eyes was something he’d told himself he never wanted to see, and he darkly wonders if running into Yoongi earlier had been an omen of what was to come.

You can’t see it, your eyes untrained, but Namjoon knows that the two of you are being watched. He can make out the faint figure of a human silhouette through the trees, and the gleam of something silver. And probably sharp.

He had to get you out of here.

“Listen to me, when I count to three, you have to run. Run as fast as you can, and don’t look back. Go to your parents’ house and find Hyun. You all need to leave the city now.”

“Namjoon, please,” you sob, and your wail echoes into the empty street. “What is happening?”

“____, that’s an order,” he says sternly, his face grim, and you cower in his presence. He’s shifted from your soft, loving husband into something far more menacing, his eyes narrowing in thinly veiled fury. “NOW GO!”

His voice snaps at you, and you break, turning from him and running as fast as your legs can go. Rounding the corner, you pause, peeking around just in time to see an unknown man in blank lunge at your husband, a silent scream lodged in your throat when you see the gleam of a knife in his hand.

You don’t stay long enough to see what unfolds, terror striking your heart and goosebumps erupting across your skin as the wind howls, the quiet streets eventually giving way to busy intersections, until you’re at a bus stop.

Heaving, you crumple over, sobs wracking your entire body as you wait for the bus to come, to take you away from the horrors of what had started out as the most normal night.

When it does come, you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights flicker outside, and a painful realization sets in one that leaves you completely numb.

Namjoon had never told you that he’d find you later, that everything would be okay. You should have stayed with him, should have protected him like he protected you and Hyun. But you’d let fear win, and now you’d lost him.

Namjoon shoves the man off of him, blood pouring from the stab wound he’d inflicted on his thigh. He wouldn’t be out for long. He’d been quick, but Namjoon was quicker. He’d been waiting for this moment for years, his instincts still as sharp as ever, honed from years of looking in the shadows, wondering if his demons would ever catch up to him.

But now you’d been caught in the crossfire - the way the blood escaped your face when he’d told you to run burned in the back of his brain. You were scared, and he knows for a fact it wasn’t just because of the unknown assailant. You were scared of him, finally witnessing the monster that Namjoon harbored deep inside.

Chest heaving, he catches his breath, tasting the bitter tang of salt before he even knows he’s crying, curses flying from his lips. He doesn’t know how long he sits there and sobs, shivering in the cold, but he hopes you’d listened to him, and that you and Hyun were far, far away from this hellhole. Neither of you deserved to rot with him.

He doesn’t hear the footsteps approach until someone is directly in front of him, their eyes taking in the sight of the unconscious man and the bloodstains all over Namjoon’s white shirt.

“Namjoon-ah? Shit, what happened? Where’s ___?”

Hoseok. The universe hated him, he was sure of it. Namjoon looks up, Hoseok’s worried face staring down at him, and relaxes when he doesn’t see a hint of anger. He wasn’t sure what to expect when they ran into each other again. Hoseok had been the one who took his leaving the worst; the loss of the only friend he’d had his age cutting deeply into him.

I fucking hate you, the last text had said.

“I was running patrol on the area when I heard one of Ahn’s men had been spotted in our neighbourhood. I came as fast as I could.”

“Is he dead?” Hoseok’s boot prods at the man, who looks barely conscious. Namjoon musters enough strength to shake his head, still unable to say anything, when he sees Hoseok’s gaze shift to the knife beside him.

“Let’s go,” he offers Namjoon a hand. “Whoever they were, they knew you’d be here tonight. It’s not safe.”

Namjoon falters for a moment, unable to accept Hoseok’s offer of help. If he did this, he knew Hoseok would take him back to the compound, back to everything he tried so hard to leave behind. And away from you. He feels like he’s in limbo, watching the road ahead split into two paths.

Hoseok says nothing when Namjoon rises and accepts his hand, giving a silent nod of acknowledgement before the two of them head off into the night.

“Mama,” Hyun sobs into your shoulder. “Where Appa go?”

His tiny fists ball into your shirt, and you do your best to bounce him up and down, keeping your own tears at bay. It’d been three days since you lost track of Namjoon, and in those three days, there hadn’t been a single text, call, or sign that he was okay. That he was still alive.

After picking up Hyun from your parents’ house, tearfully telling them the whole story, the two of you had returned home last night. In the back of your mind, you knew you were going against the last thing Namjoon had told you when he ordered you to leave the city, but you had to be here. He’d find his way back to you. He had to.

Every few hours were like this - Hyun would suddenly remember Namjoon and his tiny whimpers and sobs made you consider if it was finally time to stop waiting and call the police. Yet every time you dialed the number, something made you reconsider. The last look on Namjoon’s face remained burned into your memory, the shadows casting half his face in darkness when he asked you to run.

Your husband was a simple man. He left for work at 7:05am every day, and came back around 5:43pm. You knew he had excess money to spare, but you never asked him where it went, his only splurge being on an expensive bike he liked to ride on weekends. Date nights were mostly full of ramyeon and sushi on the couch at home, the fancy dinner a couple of nights ago a rare occurrence for you both. Which is why you were deeply unsettled by what had happened.

It was almost as though Namjoon knew trouble was waiting for you that night, as if he’d been anticipating things to blow up in his face, The way he’d been so prepared — his calm, collected demeanor through it all made you shudder. Like he’d had experience dealing with it before. And that was what gave you pause.

Namjoon never really spoke about his life growing up – he was an only child, and while he was sociable in college, he mostly kept to himself. That didn’t stop you from wanting to get to know more about him, his brown eyes glimmering with the depth of the man he hid from everyone else. Everything had been a whirlwind after, falling into bed just as easily as you’d fallen for him, eloping right after you’d both graduated, with Hyun coming soon after.

He’d never gone into detail about his family to you — only that his parents weren’t around, and you could see the pain in his eyes when he went slack-jawed and silent, eyes misty with unshed tears. That was when you’d decided that Namjoon didn’t need his family - he had the two of you right there, and that was enough.

But whatever happened that night changed everything. You shivered thinking about how you ran so easily when he told you to, how you didn’t want to stay to see who came out on top - Namjoon or the other man. You had a feeling the answer would twist your stomach into more knots than it already had.

Putting Hyun to nap on the couch, you decide to make a cup of tea to clear your head. And that’s when the doorbell rings.

Namjoon stares up at the ugly brown ceiling of his childhood bedroom. He’d begged his father to paint it to complement the green walls, yearning for a taste of the outdoors that he never got to see living in the compound, with its cold concrete floors and stark white walls. In retaliation, Namjoon’s father had smashed one of his plant pots, screaming about how Namjoon needed to get his head out of the ground and finally start taking responsibility of his duties as the leader’s son.

So Namjoon had done what any 16 year would do. He’d corralled a snickering Seokjin, a skeptical Yoongi, and a spirited Hoseok and taken his father’s car for a joyride to snag a few cans of spray paint.

The uneven paint job stares back at him, and he smiles at the memory of the four of them running out of the hardware store, whooping in delight. Not a hair looked out of place, the room the exact same way Namjoon had left it seven years ago. And yet everything was different.

Stretching, he looks at the pots on the windowsill, each plant a former paragon of pride for him. Evidence that he, Kim Namjoon, was nothing like the slimy crooks he’d grown up around. He respected life enough not to turn it into a living hell for others. Fingering the withered leaves now, he remarks at how big a fool he’d been to think so.

“I tried my best to water them,” Hoseok appears behind him, setting down a glass of water. “But you were always better at the outdoor shit than I was.”

He feels the bed creak next to him, and it’s silent between them for a few moments.

“Hobi,” Namjoon croaks, and he feels Hoseok stiffen at the use of his nickname. “I’m sorry.”

Hoseok’s lips purse into a straight line, giving no indication that he accepts Namjoon’s apology. But he had to say it anyway.

“I sent Yoongi-hyung and Seokjin-hyung to check on her,” he says softly, and Namjoon’s heart sinks with guilt because he hadn’t been thinking about you, or where you were right now. All he hoped was that you were safe.

“You fucking bastard,” Hoseok chuckles, a tear slipping out. “You got married and you didn’t even tell us. I was supposed to be your best man.”

He’s unsure how much Hoseok knows about you, or even Hyun, but the bitter regret in the other man’s voice tells him that he wasn’t the only one with wounds who’d been festering for longer than they should’ve.

Namjoon knows he owes an explanation to him, to all of them, but tonight, he’s tired. The moonlight filters in through the windows, casting an eerie glow over the room, and he can’t help but feel that everything’s about to change.

“____?” The man outside the door has eyes that gleam like a cat’s, piercing through the darkness as he surveys the home you share with Namjoon. Behind him, a taller man, his face covered by the shadows, looms, and a chill runs down your spine. Hyun was still sleeping peacefully on the couch.

“It’s about Namjoon.” The other man’s voice is gruff, his impatient sigh echoing into the night, and you watch his eyes widen as the door swings open.

“Who are you?” you ask through gritted teeth. “How do you know my husband?”

They step inside, their dark suits casting a shadowy gloom over what was once your bright and cheery home. Hyun naps away, and you become ever more aware of every tiny breath he takes when you see their eyes flicker to him, a surprised look on both of their faces.

“He’s yours?” The taller man asks, and you hate the way he looks at your son, a stone mask over his perfect features.

“Let’s talk in the kitchen, please,” you beckon them over, not liking the way they continue to study him.

Stepping into the space, it feels more cramped than you’re used to, Namjoon usually preferring to keep out of it lest he set the house on fire with his lack of cooking prowess. Thinking about him had you experiencing a pang of guilt.

“My name is Yoongi,” the cat-eyed man mumbles, and then gestures to his partner. “This is Seokjin.”

The other man, Seokjin, looks at you curiously, and you don’t like the way his eyes bore into you, as if he’s trying to convince you to unveil your darkest secrets with one glance.

“We were Namjoon’s friends,” Yoongi says calmly, which seems to set Seokjin off.

“We’re his fucking family, Yoongs,” he spits out.

You feel dizzy – Namjoon had never mentioned these strange men to you. As far as you knew, he didn’t have any siblings or cousins he was close to. Who were they, and what did they want with him?

“Is he safe?” You have a million other questions, but this feels like the most important one.

Yoongi gives you a nod, and you feel the tension seep from your body, only for your heart to stop at his next words.

“But he’s not coming back. Look, it’s not our place to tell you about Namjoon, and it pains me because you deserve answers that you’ll never get. But you have to listen to him and leave. It’s not safe for you or your family here anymore.”

Head spinning, you resist the urge to crash into the side of the dining table as you stumble, catching yourself quickly enough to take a seat.

“What do you mean? Where’s Namjoon? Why can’t I talk to him?”

“Listen,” Seokjin hisses, cornering you. “If you know what’s good for you and the kid, you’ll listen to us. We may fuck with a lot of nasty things, things that would make your toes curl, but there’s enough psychos out there on the streets who won’t hesitate to fuck over a woman and her child. We’re trying to give you an out.”

Yoongi looks you over, and you see his eyes flash with sadness at the tears that fill your own.

“Namjoon isn’t who you thought he was. I know it’s hard, but you need to listen to us. You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. You can still have a happy life, meet someone new, fall in love again.”

You feel delirious.

“You’re lying. Namjoon is my husband. No one knows him better than I do. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He literally rides bikes with Hyun and they pick flowers together, for god’s sake!”

You don’t know why you feel the need to defend the accusations against him. The fact that they were telling you this at all meant that your husband had caught you in his web of lies, that all the years you’d spent by each other’s side were a farce.

“Yoongi, let’s go,” Seokjin says darkly. “We’ve done what we needed to do.”

Turning to you, he spares Hyun one last glance before crossing the threshold.

“I hope we never have to see each other again ___. For your sake.”

“You have a son,” Seokjin says monotonously as Namjoon pads sleepily to the breakfast table, freezing in his tracks when he hears him mention Hyun.

He’d been too tired to think about anything last night, knocking out as soon as he hit the pillow, seeking reprieve from the mess of thoughts in his mind that wondered how he was going to get out of this. And back to you.

Sipping his coffee, Seokjin starts at him sharply, Yoongi looking past him at the paint chipping on the wall, and Hoseok’s mouth parted in surprise.

“For fuck’s sake, Namjoon, what else are you hiding from us? I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Hoseok’s voice rises, ignoring Yoongi’s warning to keep it down.

“Kim doesn’t know he’s here,” Yoongi seethes, and Namjoon pauses. They hadn’t told his father?

Looking at Yoongi, he knows he can always count on him to be the voice of reason, to work through the hundreds of questions Namjoon has.

“Are they safe?” The most important thing.

Yoongi nods his affirmation. “For now.”

Looking at the three men, men who he’s known for most of his life, Namjoon finally lets himself feel the anger that’s been building inside of him. Everything had been fine, he’d been happy. Why’d they have to fuck it all up?

“Then do you mind telling me what the fuck I’m doing here?”

“Should’ve left his ungrateful ass on the streets, Hobi,” Seokjin quips. “Ahn’s man would’ve taken care of him when he came to.”

At the mention of Ahn again, Namjoon looks at Yoongi curiously. “I thought we had a deal with the Ahns. Why were they roaming around our territory, looking for trouble?”

Yoongi pushes the chair towards him, beckoning him to join them at the table. Namjoon takes the seat uncertainly, pleading with them to finally answer his queries.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

. . .

Your father is dying. Seokjin’s words have been echoing ceaslessly in the back of Namjoon’s mind, ever since he uttered them an hour ago. We need you.

The news brings Namjoon more relief than he’d cared to admit. Kim Yonghyun had never been much of a father to him anyway. His own mother had known better than he did, vanishing when Namjoon was twelve, never to be heard from again. She was still out there somewhere, hopefully where Yonghyun couldn’t find her.

Looking out the window, he looks out onto the courtyard of the compound, the bars on his window reminding him that this was the same prison he’d run away from years ago. Even if his room was still pristine and untouched, like it was waiting for him to come back. Even if Hoseok had still brewed him a cup of his favorite espresso after Namjoon had coldly refused to talk further about Hyun.

His own son was named after the monster who created him, and Namjoon wonders if he’d ever truly been able to let his past go. Or if it’d always remained, a black stain hiding under the disguise he’d created for himself, the false life he’d built. The one that was now about to come crumbling down.

He’s driven our organization to shit, Hoseok had said. Starting careless disputes with the other families, engaging in pointless violence. We need a better leader, a stronger one.

They needed him to finally step up to onto the pedestal they’d created for him, to accept his legacy with open arms. If you’d asked him seven years ago, Namjoon would have vehemently refused, convinced that there was a better life for him out there, one where he could live freely and be a normal kid who went to college, who fell in love, who got married and bought a house. Now, he wasn’t sure if those had been dreams or delusions.

He needed to talk to you.

It’s not even a day later when you hear the distinctive clink of Namjoon’s keys at the door, Hyun babbling at the table.

The soft thud of his shoes at the entryway feels like the loudest sound you’ve ever heard, heavier than the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

“APPA!” Hyun screeches with joy, his chubby arms reaching out for Namjoon’s longer ones.

“Hyunnie,” Namjoon’s eyes crinkle in adoration, lifting him up out of the high chair swinging him around. Hyun’s delighted giggles echo, Namjoon’s soft chuckles accompanying them, and for a moment, it feels like everything is back to normal. But it isn’t.

You don’t lift your eyes to look up at Namjoon, and he notices. Pressing a kiss to Hyun’s hair, he sets him down.

“Hyunnie, go play with your toys. Appa needs to talk to Mama for a few minutes.”

“Hyunnie miss you Appa. Pleez don’t leave again.” And with that he waddles off, leaving the air heavy in between you both.

Namjoon takes a seat next to you at the table, watching the way your throat bobs like you’re trying not to cry, and he feels tears of his own spring forth.

“___,” he reaches for your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, and that’s when you explode into quiet sobs, praying that Hyun can’t hear you from the other room.

Namjoon’s arms wrap around you in an instant, stroking your back until the sobs subside, urging you to take deep breaths, and finally you’re ready.

You reach behind you to grab for something, and Namjoon pales when you push a folder with a stack of papers his way, his worst nightmare coming true.

“No,” Namjoon protests, refusing to open the folder. “Absolutely not. Why are you doing this?”

“You lied to me Namjoon,” you declare firmly, doing your best to overcome the wobble in your voice. “Or is that even your real name?”

All the blood rushes out from Namjoon’s face at your accusation, wondering what you found out, what you knew now, and he aches with the regret that he never got to tell you himself.

He’d been thinking about this moment for years, about what he’d do if this ever happened, and despite the thousands of theorized and calculated ways he’d settled on going about his explanation, he chokes back a sob. A needy, desperate feeling overcomes him, one that tells him that this isn’t it, that this can’t be the end.

“What are you saying ___? Are you calling me a liar? Look at me.”

He lifts your face up to his, searching your eyes for a spark of emotion, anything that would convince him you didn’t mean what you said, but all he finds are hollow pools of emptiness.

“I’m still Namjoon. I’m your husband, I’m Hyun’s father. This, this is all real. What we have is real. I’m begging you, please, please don’t throw it away like this.”

You take a moment to respond, knowing that what you have to say will be the end of this, will probably drive a stake through the spectacle that had been your marriage, and you feel less guilty when you remember that he did this first. That while all you’d ever been was honest, loving him with everything you had, he’d kept secrets from you. He’d put you and Hyun in danger.

“Is it drugs, then?” Namjoon recoils, feeling his stomach drop. “Or do you fuck with people’s money instead, putting them in helpless situations just for a couple hundred dollars you need to survive? I always used to wonder, why it felt like even though I was your wife, I never knew you properly. Never knew anything about your past. I thought it was because you had some kind of unresolved trauma. But that’s bullshit. You’ve been the one traumatizing people for years. You and the rest of your friends.”

You knew who he was, the legacy he came from. He doesn’t even need to ask how you found out. You’d always been the smartest woman he’d every known, putting together the most complex mathematical formulas. All you needed was a hint. Yoongi and Seokjin had fed it right to you.

“This isn’t fair,” he chokes out. “You don’t know anything about the other side of things, ___. You can’t even imagine what I’ve had to go through, why I’ve had to do what I do. I did it for you!”

“Stop saying that!” you cry out. “Stop it, please. If you really wanted to protect me, if you really wanted to protect Hyun, you would have left. You wouldn’t have brought this darkness into our home. Do you know what could happen to him, Namjoon? He’s only three years old!”

At your outburst, Hyun comes running into the kitchen, his face falling when he sees his Mama’s eyes red with tears.

“Mama,” he reaches out for you, and you pull him onto your lap, holding him in a death grip, because you’re afraid of what will happen to him if you let go.

“Mama, no crying peez, Appa came back,” he wipes a tear from your face, and Namjoon’s heart breaks into two. Hyun didn’t know that it was his fault. You gently stroke his dark hair, whispering in his ear to go up to his room and change, and that you’ll come by for a bedtime story soon. You say nothing when Hyun asks for Namjoon to come up too, and Namjoon knows tonight will be his last night ever spent in his home.

When Hyun leaves, he reaches back out for you, but you slap his arm away.

“___, please, there’s no need to overreact. I can explain everything, just please, please don’t push me away. I need you.”

The last sentence comes out in the form of a sob, and Namjoon wishes more than anything that you’d hold him right now, that you’d stay by his side while things fell apart around him.

“Do you know what the worst part of this is, Namjoon? I’ve been staring at my phone for days, trying to summon up the courage to say something, to call the police, to ruin you. But I can’t. Because there’ll always be some sick, twisted part of me that loves you. But I don’t want you to lie anymore. I want you to leave.”

Namjoon’s shoulders slump in defeat, and his voice shakes.

“Is there nothing I can say to convince you to fix this?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Namjoon accepts. “I’ll go.”

You don’t say a word to him as he pads out of the kitchen, slipping his coat over his shoulders and tying his shoes. He wonders if he should stop in and say goodbye to Hyun, but decides against him. His son would hate him eventually for what he did, and if Namjoon had learned anything from running away from home, a clean break was best. He hopes that the two of you can live peacefully now, no longer burdened by the demons he’s had to shoulder.

As he slips out the door, he hears your voice, so quiet that he’s almost not convinced it’s real.

“Thank you.”

Hoseok is awake when Namjoon returns, red-eyed and aching, drunk off one too many glasses of whiskey. He says nothing at first when Namjoon collapses onto the seat across of him, but eventually he can’t hold back.

“The old man wants to talk to you in the morning.”

It feels like another punch to Namjoon’s gut, having to face his father after losing you. He feels like a laughingstock, hearing his father’s mocking words in the back of his mind, calling him weak, sentimental, a fool.

For the first time in his life, Namjoon agrees with him. When he was a boy, he’d dreamt of a life away from the city’s underbelly, one that wasn’t governed by the shackles of duty and tradition. His mother leaving had only fueled his desire to seek an out. Because Namjoon didn’t want to commit himself to a life of lies, violence, and deceit.

He knew that Yoongi, Hoseok, and Seokjin operated outside of the frame and that the work they did was illegal. To them, the Kims had always been about being the shining paragon of the city’s scum. Their deals with the cops to keep trouble off the streets had worked for decades, but now it seemed like just like Namjoon’s own life, his father’s empire was collapsing. He knew Yonghyun was growing senile with his old age, and Namjoon shivers when he thinks of how bad things had gotten for them to come looking for him again.

As he ponders, Hoseok studies him curiously, remarking that the Namjoon that sat before him now looked nothing like his clumsy childhood friend who’d always raved about poetry and or school. Namjoon had always been the best of them, a bright star amongst a sea of dark mercenaries. But now, he looked completely worn, ready to submit to a fate he’d never wanted.

“Do you really hate us that much, Namjoon-ah?” Hoseok asks quietly, and Namjoon gulps, unable to answer him. His head was pounding.

Hoseok knew Namjoon had snuck out to see you, and for the first time, he realizes how little he actually knows the man who he used to call his best friend. He assumed at first that is was some kind of magic pussy that kept Namjoon in a chokehold for so long, but seeing him now, he can’t help but think it’s something deeper.

Hoseok had never really known love growing up. He couldn’t even say he loved the fiancée his parents had chosen for him. But he had an inkling that love was what destroyed Namjoon’s life, what turned him into the shell of a man sitting before him.

He’d do anything to get his old friend back.

“Hyunnie, please let go of Mama, please,” you beg your screaming son, snot and spit soaking the side of your blazer as he balls his tiny fists into the fabric, refusing to go with the daycare teacher.

He hadn’t understood Namjoon’s departure at first, asking you every day if he was coming home, if he’d been working too much. You didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, so you lied, saying Namjoon was away on a trip. He’d believed you for a while, but Hyun was as smart as Namjoon.

Now, he realized his father wasn’t coming back, and it only meant he clung on tighter to you. It broke your heart that Hyun thought you’d ever leave him. You wondered if he’d hate you should he ever find out you sent Namjoon away.

Summoning up the urge to peel Hyun off of you, you press a dozen kisses to his tear-stained cheeks, his tiny sniffles sending pangs of guilt through you. The daycare teacher smiles sympathetically at you, before luring Hyun away with a book, and you muster a tiny grin at his somewhat excited face. He was Namjoon’s son, through and through.

The thought of Namjoon sends a jolt of pain across your temples, and you resist the urge to cry in public, knowing you had a sea of tears stored. You thought you knew what you were doing, ending things between you two, but you’d never imagined how impossibly hard it would be doing everything alone.

Namjoon had been your partner in every way. He’d shouldered every burden with you equally, and celebrated every happiness. To have it all stop so suddenly felt more overwhelming than you could put into words.

It felt like your life had come to standstill, the man you’d left behind taunting you, while the future remained dark and murky. You’d do your best for Hyun, of course, but you didn’t know if you’d every truly be able to recover.

You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. You can still have a happy life, meet someone new, fall in love again.

Yoongi’s words echo in the back of your mind, and you want to tell him just how wrong he was, but the sight of someone leaning against your car stops you.

Your shocked face stares into Namjoon’s dark eyes, and you feel the ground slip out from underneath you. Namjoon’s arms are out before you can even topple over, catching you. He looks taller, his hair longer, wearing what looks like an expensive designer suit, the fabric more fine than anything you’ve seen before.

He looks at you with concern, studying for any signs that you’re sick, or hurt. When he’s satisfied with your overall condition, he finally speaks.

“I’m not going to take up too much of your time, I swear. I have some things to do after this.”

You wonder what things he’s referring to, and decide you don’t want to know.

“I just,” he starts, but pauses mid-way, shoulders slumping. “I just wanted to see you again. And Hyun. I’m sorry ___.”

You give a subtle nod, but no indication that you have any sympathy for him, and turn to leave. Before you can get into the car, he spins you towards him again.

“My real name is Kim Namjoon. Not Kang. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but my father’s name is Kim Yonghyun. You don’t have to say anything, or respond, but you deserve to know.”

And then he lets you go.

Tucking a sleeping Hyun into bed, you sit down on the couch, the bright glare of your laptop hurting your eyes. Opening Google, you type in Kim Yonghyun, and your mouth gapes in shock.

The articles about the Kim family go back for decades. They’re not just a lowlife gang, they’re an entire organization. Yonghyun was their current leader, and Namjoon was his son. Heir to a criminal legacy. Your gut twists as you click more articles, names popping up that were familiar to you - Lee, Ahn, Song. These people owned over half the city. They were everywhere, infiltrating your daily life. And you’d fallen in love with one of them. Suddenly, parts of Namjoon’s past begin to click for you. The way he’d been so desparate to have a normal college experience, dragging you out to a bar with him. The way he’d put his entire soul into doing well at his classes, interviewing for jobs. You’d always told him to slow down, that the two of you had many years to figure it out, but for Namjoon, figuring it out was difference between life and death.

You wonder if your kind, gentle husband who loved books and stopped for tiny animals on the side of the road had ever killed a man.

Slamming your laptop shut, you curl up in the blankets of the couch, hoping that tonight Namjoon wouldn’t chose to visit you in your dreams again.

Namjoon frowns, looking over the stack of files that Seokjin had unceremoniously dumped on his desk. Unbelievable. His father had him reading through twenty years’ worth of documents on the organization, everything from the code of honour to the accounts. The old man didn’t trust him.

His glasses slide down his nose, and he rubs at his temples. Disappearing without a trace hadn’t been his finest move.

“This look suits you,” Seokjin snickers from across the table, and Namjoon scowls. “You look like a proper godfather.”

“Shut it,” Namjoon grumbles, and Seokjin’s smile only grows wider.

“Only like being called daddy, huh?” he quips, and Namjoon’s ears go red. Fuck Seokjin and his merciless teasing.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me—” Seokjin looks at him with wide eyes, and Namjoon holds up a hand to cut him off.

“One more word, hyung, and you’ll wish you kept your stupidly perfect mouth shut.”

“So,” Seokjin ignores him completely, spinning around in his office chair. “What’s the grand plan, Godfather Kim? You gonna take over for Yonghyun or what?”

Namjoon doesn’t respond, and Seokjin leans over the table.

“Is it really that bad, Namjoon? Our org is more well-run than most of the other lowlifes on the streets. You have everything here - unlimited respect, unlimited bitches, unlimited money.”

“There’s more to life than bitches and money, hyung.” And Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“God, you and Yoongi are the exact same. You get married and turn into huge simps. So, tell me about her.”

Namjoon looks up, prepared to tell Seokjin that he’s not in the mood for his jokes, but the look in the older man’s eyes is sincere, like he genuinely wants to know.

“___ is,” Namjoon begins. “She’s everything to me. Before I met her, I didn’t know one person could change your entire life. After I ran away, I wondered if I made the right decision, about whether leaving this all behind was worth it. But she, she made it worth it. She and Hyun are the best things that have ever happened to me.”

Namjoon closes the file, rising abruptly. Running into you had been an impulsive decision, and he hadn’t fully prepared himself for the rush of emotions he felt seeing you again. Your hair still smelt like the jasmine shampoo you used, the bags under your eyes darker and your clothes a little rumpled, but his body still responded in the same way it had when you’d shyly kissed him when he dropped you off after a study date so many years ago. And he felt guilty.

“Namjoon-ah, I’m sorry.” Seokjin’s words make him turn sharply. “We didn’t want to drag them into this, I swear.”

“What do I do hyung?” Namjoon holds back a sob. “I lost her.”

“You’re a smart guy, Namjoon-ah. You’ll figure things out. You always have.”

The knock on the door startles you awake, and you nearly fall out of bed looking at the time on the alarm clock. 12:03am. Quietly slipping into your house shoes, you check on Hyun, afraid something had happened to your baby. A deep sigh of relief escapes when you see him nestled in his crib, sleeping peacefully with one fist curled up into a tiny ball.

Padding down the stairs, you look at the various pictures on the wall - photos of you and Namjoon and Hyun throughout the years. Your graduation photos, your engagement photos, your wedding, Hyun’s first birthday. Memories that had been destroyed in the blink of an eye. The crushing realization hits you that you aren’t sure if you’ll be able to keep this house anymore. What’s worse is that you realize you may not want to either.

You peek through the doorhole, paling when you see Namjoon on the other end, and you’re sure he knows you’re currently behind the door. Throwing the door open, you take in his disheveled appearance, suit rumpled and hair sticking up in every direction, Yoongi right behind him.

“I–, I’m sorry,” he stutters. “I just wanted to see Hyun. Five minutes, that’s all.”

“He’s asleep,” you clarify, wanting him to leave as quickly as possible. “Now is not a good time.”

“Please,” he begs, his eyes misting, and you move without thinking, stepping aside to let him in.

Behind him, Yoongi follows, back in your home for the second time in as many months, and you watch his eyes flicker to the various portraits that line the walls and sit on top of the tables.

Namjoon climbs up the stairs, and you don’t know why you decide to follow along, intruding on the private moment as he disappears into Hyun’s nursery.

“Hyunnie,” his low voice echoes into the emptiness of the room. “How are you buddy? You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you.”

The heaviness in Namjoon’s voice makes it clear to you that he’s crying, and your arms itch to wrap around him, to comfort him. He wasn’t a terrible father.

Namjoon stares at the cot for a few moments longer, never making a move to reach for Hyun, and then he turns and makes his way out, stopping in the hallway.

“Thank you—”

“Do you want a cup of tea?” you blurt out.

Nodding silently, Namjoon follows you down to the kitchen, Yoongi appearing shocked that he doesn’t seem to be heading straight for the door.

“Both of you sit, please. I’ll make some tea.”

You get to work, pots and pans clattering as you swear under your breath, trying to keep the volume down so you don’t disturb Hyun.

Yoongi’s sharp eyes peer across the table at Namjoon, and he nods, subtly willing Namjoon to break the not so awkward silence.

“My father, I mean, I, uh-, I have some money set aside for Hyun’s college fund.”

Yoongi’s neutral stare turns into daggers, and Namjoon grows even more flustered.

“I don’t want to take your money.” You set the tea mugs on the table, pulling up a chair, the only sound the be heard the occasional slurp of the hot beverage.

“___, is there nothing I can do to make this work? I want to fix this.”

His plea surprises even Yoongi, who turns to look at your reaction. You remain frozen, mouth agape, before firmly nodding your head.

“I can’t trust you Namjoon. You lied to them, you lied to me for so many years. That doesn’t just go away.”

“I know. It won’t go away, but it doesn’t have to. But maybe we can put these pieces back together, use them to build a stronger foundation. Like kintsugi.”

The mention of the golden seams fills you with a warmth you didn’t think was possible to feel again. You look down at the mug you’d picked out, and a small smile graces your face when you see that it’s the one he repaired for you in the same way right after you’d dropped it during your first week in the house.

The conversation suddenly feels too suffocating, to intimate for your weary-eyed self in the dead of the night. There was a lot the two of you had to work through, things that could take years to properly unpack. Could you condemn yourself to that nightmare? Could you subject Hyun to the pain of two parents who had a hard time being in the same room? You weren’t sure it was worth it. But you also knew that Namjoon would keep turning up, using Hyun as an excuse or blaming a coincidence, just so he could convince you again.

“We should get some sleep,” you put the mug down, your soft steps echoing as you walk out, leaving the two men alone, but not before you hear Yoongi’s hushed voice.

“College fund? Really?”

The recoil of the shot rings in Namjoon’s ears as he watches the bullet whiz through the air, missing the target completely and lodging itself into the wall. He lets out a heavy sigh, the empty weapon falling from his hands.

“Great job, Namjoon-hyung. You were so close! You’ll definitely make it next time.” The doe-eyed boy next to him bounces with pent-up energy, patting him on the back. Jeon Jungkook was every bit the son that Yonghyun deserved. He, along with new recruits to the Kim clan, his cousin Taehyung and Park Jimin, were the sons that Yonghyun always deserved. Never missing a mark. Never fucking up a mission. Never running away from anything. Namjoon doesn’t have the heart to tell Jungkook he missed on purpose. Not because he sucked, but because he was a coward. The pressure from his father had been mounting for him to finally prove himself worthy of the Kim lineage, and to send him out on a mission. Namjoon had accepted with reservations in his heart - no longer sure where his life was taking him.

The good news was you started to let him visit Hyun, Namjoon slipping through the door at the middle of the night to stroke his son’s hair. He could feel your eyes watching him from the nursery door, but you never came inside.

He thinks back to his last visit a few days ago.

He’d been brave enough to press a kiss to Hyun’s chubby face, his cheeks puffing out as he stirred slightly, which was Namjoon’s cue to back away. Until he heard it.

Come back Appa, the tiny voice whimpered, and Namjoon had never walked faster out of Hyun’s room, tears clinging to his lashes until he bumped into your frozen figure outside. Your cheeks were wet with tears too, and Namjoon didn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around you, sobbing into your shoulder, the two of you staying like that longer than he could count.

When you finally separated, a choked whimper escaped you, like you wanted to say something, but instead, you turned on your heel, sprinting towards what was once your shared bedroom. The soft thud of the door slamming shut had been the end of that.

“Jeon, can I steal him for a second?” Yoongi comes up behind him, clapping Namjoon on the back. He’s not alone. His wife, who Namjoon had known well throughout their childhood, is behind him, the two of them looking at him with a mischevious glint in their eyes.

“You’ll never believe who we ran into just now,” Yoongi’s wife laughs, and Namjoon tilts his head in confusion.

She launches into an animated discussion about how she’d seen ___ and Hyun while touring a a daycare for Hana, Yoongi’s daughter.

“She’s wonderful Namjoon, why haven’t you ever introduced us?” Namjoon looks to Yoongi for support, but the other man just smirks, placing a reassuring hand on his wife’s back.

“Don’t worry dear, I have a feeling we’ll see Namjoon and ____ together sooner than we’ll think,” reaching for his phone.

Namjoon’s own phone pings with the notification of a text, and he looks down to see that Yoongi has sent him a discreet picture of ____ and Hyun, smiling happily as they talked to his wife, and he breathes a sigh of relief. The way you talked to them with ease puts a small glimmer of hope in his chest, that maybe with time, with convincing, you could be okay with this. Okay with him. And that the three of you could be happy again.

He’d keep fighting for you both. He had to.

Shivering, you shake tiny droplets from your hair as you step inside, the stark, white walls of the gallery as uninviting as the outside climate. You chatter your teeth and rub your arms in an attempt to warm up. Hyun was at daycare, and part of you felt guilty for leaving him there when you knew you didn’t have any work meetings today, but you needed time alone. To think.

The receptionist greets you with a warm smile, excitedly telling you all about their latest exhibit, and you smile and nod politely, eager to get away from her chipper presence, and to bask in your own gloom. You could have done anything else today - caught up on paperwork, tackled the massive pile of laundry that sat in your room, had a treat-yourself session at the mall, but something compelled you to come and see the new gallery that had opened in the city. Sighing, you realize it’s probably because Namjoon would have loved it, and you missed seeing the way his eyes twinkled when he saw a piece he liked, standing behind you and sending goosebumps all along your arm when he whispered the meaning into your ear.

Half the time, the comments would quickly stray away from the art, and turn to the way he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you at home, to tear your clothes off, to have you screaming under him while he made you forget your own name. Another shiver hits you, but this time, it’s not from the cold.

Shoes clacking, you step into the open space, the paintings arranged neatly along the wall, and you pick one to study.

The interlocking lines and the bold geometric patterns kept you busy, your eyes flitting from corner to corner, head swimming with thoughts about the tricks the painting seemed to be playing. They looked like they went on forever, creating a grid, or a map, that careened off the canvas, trailing off into infinity. It made you feel even more lonely, a mere speck in this huge world, full of so many things you were unaware of.

“It’s called Nucleus,” a voice calls out from behind you. One that you knew all too well. You turn to see Namjoon, his hair equally soaked and heavy coat dripping onto the floor. You should have known he’d be interested in the exhibit. It wasn’t like mafia bosses existed outside the realm of humanity.

You want to back away as he comes closer, but remain frozen in place.

“The lines and patterns are supposed to draw your eyes to every corner, make you study the entire painting, but it’s a trick of course. All that really matters is how they come together in the center, creating a focal point of attention. A nucleus. An omphalos. A heart.”

You look up at him, sucking in a sharp breath, and you want to be alone, somewhere private, somewhere he couldn’t see you break down from all the pain, all the hurt that you’d put the two of yourselves through.

Namjoon senses you’re about to leave before you do, and he already slips an arm around your waist, stopping you in your tracks.

“It’s raining. Let me drop you home.”

Gulping, you nod your agreement, his hand never leaving it’s place on your waist as the two of you step out into the deluge.

. . .

Rain always scared you. You hated how dark it made everything seem, the eerie shadows it would cast through the blinds of your home, the loud crackle of thunder that would wake Hyun up with a sob.

Namjoon, on the other hand, loved the rain. It reminded him that the world wasn’t monolithic, that it was ever-changing. It helped him realize that he didn’t have to be forced into a role he didn’t want to play, that while it poured outside, new life could be born and could blossom.

The two of you come to a pause outside the doorstep, Namjoon’s eyes mirroring the storm outside, full of uncertainty. You were sure you were the same, the two of you mirroring each other, but no longer having the same nucleus to pivot around.

Namjoon holds his breath, wanting a few more moments with you to remember, before fate would inevitably set you on your separate ways again. He can smell the dew collecting on the grass, but there’s also the fragrance of your shampoo, and he observes the way the droplets collect on the tip of your nose, before dropping down to wet your lips.

You surge forward, seeking his lips, and Namjoon stumbles for a brief second, before his arm comes up to wrap around you, meeting you halfway. You feel dizzy, clinging onto his warmth like it’s an anchor, keeping you from floating away from this moment.

The solid wood behind you falls away when Namjoon wrestles with the doorknob, the two of you slipping and sliding into the entryway, Namjoon’s tongue becoming more insistent, and a low whine escapes from the back of your throat.

The two of you part, soaked and trembling, and Namjoon rests his forehead to yours. You can feel his hot breath fan against your cheeks, now flushed from the cold, and you realize your fists are still balled into the heavy material of his jacket.

Heat rises in your chest, and you feel like a livewire, tingling at the mere thought of having Namjoon so close to you again. You knew this was a bad idea, that it would complicate everything, but you didn’t have it in you to care, heart skipping a beat when Namjoon pulls you back in, seeking your lips once more.

The coat falls to the floor in no time at all, and you can’t stop your hands from roaming everywhere, Namjoon’s damp shirt doing nothing to hide the body you knew so well, the one you’d probably never forget.

His thumbs slip underneath the hem of your shirt, tracing circles into the top of your hips, you whine even louder.

Moments later, the scratchy sheets of the bed meet your back, Namjoon setting you down softly, reaching over his head to take off his soaked clothes. Sighing, you reach for his hands, the warm fingertips slipping through your cold ones easily, and pull him towards you, limbs tangling together in desperation. Your skirt slips up to your waist, exposing your soaked panties, and Namjoon’s hands settle on your thighs, gripping them hard enough to leave marks, and dips his head down to leave soft kisses on your core.

“Say it,” he begs. “Say you want me.”

“I n-need you, Joon, need to feel you, fuck–”

You moan when he pushes the fabric to the side, flicking his tongue against your folds, and your hands reach for his hair, tugging at the strands while he groans underneath.

“Fuck, I missed the way you taste, always so good for me,” he groans, slipping a finger in to circle around your clit, and you writhe against him, unable to take the teasing.

“Does my pretty girl want me to fuck her?” He groans into your pussy, arms flexing to keep you spread out underneath him, and you babble incoherently, unable to put your desire into words. All you knew was that you never wanted this moment to end.

When you feel yourself teetering on the brink, body flushing with anticipation, it all stops. Panting, you look at Namjoon, his dark eyes surveying you hungrily, and a shiver makes its way down your spine.

“Ride me, baby,” he orders.

Peeling the rest of your wet clothes off, you watch Namjoon settle into the pillows, like he never left at all, and it makes your heart lurch. His hand reaches for yours when you climb back over him, hips straddling his thighs, and he presses it to his chest, right above where his heart beats, hissing when he slips into you.

You rock against him slowly, gently, your heavy breathing the only sound amidst the backdrop of rain, and his hands reach for you, roaming over every bit of your body, light touches that drive you wild. Leaning back, you anchor yourself on the sheets, allowing him to roll his hips upward, the two of you moving in tandem.

“Mine,” he sighs, cupping your ass. “All mine.”

“Yours,” you echo, walls clenching around him when he began to slowly rub circles on your clit, tears stinging your eyes.

His other hand reaches for your neck, pulling you in to wipe the tears away with the pad of his thumb, his eyes never leaving yours as you fall apart around him, Namjoon’s thrusts speeding up as he groans into your shoulder, your arms drawing circles into his back as he spills inside of you.

Lifting you off of him, his arms reach around your body to press you against him, his lips ghosting your forehead, and you feel a wet trail of tears on his cheeks as the words spill out, and he tells you everything.

Tells you about growing up with a father who belittled and abused him for being weak, about his mother who left when he was a teen, about Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hoseok, his friends who he feels like he’d abandoned. He tells you that he’s not sure what the right thing is anymore, not sure who needs him more – the city or his family, and how he feels so fucking lost all the time. He rambles until his voice becomes thick with fatigue, slowly eventually to the deep breaths you’d come to know beside you for yours, and you wrap his arms tighter around you.

When you wake up in the morning, he’s gone.

Namjoon’s head pounds with guilt as he follows his father into the car, the tinted windows obscuring his plight from the world around him. Behind him, Yoongi and Hoseok look on with sharp eyes, guns belted into their holsters, preparing themselves for the imminent shitshow that was about to arise.

The problem was, it had already begun the moment Namjoon kissed you last night. His mind runs through the countless memories he’d stored from that night, from your soft lips to the sharp cries of pleasure that he’d wrought from you, and decides that he’s even more fucked now.

Looking at his phone, his thumb hovers over the text you’d sent him, one that was definitely borne from anger at seeing an empty bed when you woke up.

I’m leaving with Hyun in a week. Please don’t come and see us again.

Sighing, he decides to focus on the car moving to quell his nausea, to keep back the bile that rises in his throat. He had to hold it together in front of Yonghyun. If he messed this up now, he’d have nothing left.

. . .

Taking the receipt from the bank teller, you survey the amount of money withdrawn, praying it’s enough for you to start somewhere new with Hyun, your heart breaking at the thought of finally leaving Namjoon for good. You’re one foot out the door when you hear a voice behind you.

“___? Is that you?” Turning, you’re met with the handsome face of Kim Seokjin, looking grim-faced in a black suit.

Ignoring him, you keep walking. You wanted nothing to do with him, nothing to do with Namjoon anymore.

“___, please, please wait,” he stops you with a hand on your arm, beckoning you to sit with him. The two of you make your way to a secluded bench in a park, and Seokjin stares at you, before sighing in defeat, realizing you weren’t going to talk.

“Yonghyun is taking Namjoon to make a deal with the Lees today,” he looks out at the people strolling by. “It’s a test for him – if Namjoon does well, he’ll become the leader. These types of things usually go one of two ways - either we handle it, or becomes a bloodbath.”

“Good for him,” you grit through your teeth, ignoring the way your heart does a flip. “It seems like that’s what he wanted all along.”

“I’m not here to talk to you about Namjoon,” he says somberly. “Whatever happened is between him and you, it’s not my place to interfere.”

“Look,” you say with a clipped voice, “Can we cut this bullshit? What do you want Seokjin? You can’t convince me to go back to him.”

“I’m here to tell you about me,” he says, his eyes trained to the ground. “About my story.”

“What makes you think I want to hear anything about you?” you say, instantly regretting how rude it sounded.

“You probably don’t, but I always do this. Whenever I have this random feeling like everything might go to shit, I find the most random person I can think of, and tell them about Kim Seokjin. It makes me feel like less of a petty criminal, and more of a human, like someone people would want to remember. Sometimes it’s the ahjumma who runs a fruit stand, or the ahjusshi on his way to work. Sometimes it’s a bored kid. Today, I just happened to find you.”

He offers you a sip of his coffee, and you politely decline.

“I guess I should start at the beginning,” he chuckles. “I’ve known Namjoon since before he could walk. My father was his right hand man, but my parents were killed when I was young. Namjoon’s family took me in, and soon enough Yoongi and Hoseok joined our little circle. We were the best of friends’ thick as thieves, and for a while we were happy, but then Namjoon’s mother left.”

Your mind flits back to Namjoon’s hurried conversation in bed, babbling about how his mother had enough, about how she had to go.

“Namjoon was nothing like his father. He was everything like her, and the moment he saw that Yonghyun had pushed her away, had turned her into an unhappy shell, he grew restless. I always knew he’d leave us one day, that he’d try to carve out his own path.”

“Yoongi and Hoseok were bitterly upset, they couldn’t believe him. I couldn’t either. I mean, what kind of dork runs away from a multi-million dollar empire for a college education?”

You laugh hollowly at his joke, and he musters a small smile.

“It must have been about two weeks after he left. Or maybe it was a month. I’m not sure anymore. When you’re as old as I am, the days all start to blend together.”

“You don’t look a day past thirty,” you quip, and he snickers.

“It started with a girl,” he sighs. “Most things do. Contrary to what you think, even members of the mafia need our old wake me up call, and I stepped into a random coffee shop, and there she was. I flirted with her like an idiot, cracked my silly jokes, and it felt different from all the pointless hook-ups I had, from all the missions I’d spent with a gun strapped to my back chasing money. We started seeing each other.”

You look past him out onto the park, guilt permeating your body at his words. Was this how Namjoon had felt when he met you? Were you really worth leaving behind everything to him.

“A month later, she was dead. Shot outside the coffee shop after locking up one night. All because they knew she was associated with me. All because I was selfish, and only thought of myself. That’s when I realized there was no way out for any of us, except Namjoon.”

Shuddering, you think back to the years Namjoon spent shrouding the dark side of himself from the world outside, how difficult it must have been to carry this black mark on his back for so long.

“I fucking hated everything in that moment. I hated my family, I hated my friends, I hated this life, I hated her. But most of all, I hated myself for being a walking target on the backs of those I cared about the most. I couldn’t console her family, her co-workers, I couldn’t do anything. They all would have seen me as the monster who caused her death. All I could fucking do was go back to doing what I had always done.”

He rises suddenly, telling you that he has to go soon, but that he needs to finish, that there’s something you need to hear.

“There was one night, where I was wandering around, recklessly drunk, probably in a park like this. I felt like doing something stupid – maybe killing someone, maybe shouting into the void. And I saw him. Namjoon. With you.”

You freeze. You and Namjoon had gone to the park hundreds of times, sometimes walking through it at night, other times riding your bike through the day. A chill runs down your spine when it hits you how close the two of you had come to meeting, Namjoon’s two worlds colliding.

“I wasn’t spying on you, I’m not an asshole. But you guys were being all cutesy and shit, and it finally struck me that he was in love. He hadn’t run away out of some misguided sense of fear, or superiority. He just wanted to live a normal life, one that was full of happiness. I never told anyone I saw you two because I knew it’d blow up in his face. And mine too. But I guess it did anyway, huh?”

Tapping his foot anxiously, his hands begin to shake as he grows restless.

“I gotta go. But even if you don’t take Namjoon back, and I’m not telling you that you have to, I’m telling you there was something there worth fighting for. Namjoon’s not a stupid man, he knows how to set priorities, and he chose you. And Hyun. That has to mean something.”

He turns on his heels, and you feel your head throb, eyes misting with tears.

“Seokjin!” you call out to him, and he turns, looking at you curiously. Smiling at him, you let a tear trickle down your face. “In another world, do you think we could’ve been friends? All of us?”

He smirks, crossing his arms.

“Maybe. But we’ll never know, will we?”

And with that he walks away.

Sweat trickles down Namjoon’s back as Yonghyun’s face grows redder, his screams becoming shriller. He can tell the Lees aren’t amused with his proposition to buy up more of their territory. His heart thuds in his ears, and he looks down the line to Yoongi, Hoseok, and Seokjin, who’d joined them recently. They all remain stone-faced, like they’d been through this before.

“Kim Yonghyun, you bought from us years ago and promised you’d double our investments,” Mr. Lee says calmly, and Namjoon fears him. “Instead, you’ve driven our businesses into the ground. Our partnership isn’t working anymore, we see no reason not to forfeit it.”

Every one of the Kims tenses around him, their shoulders slumping in defeat, mournful at the ruination of their empire. Namjoon, on the other hand, sighs in relief. This was it, he could finally be free from everything tying him down, he could make it right with you.

“You can take the boy,” Yonghyun says, nodding towards his son, and Namjoon’s blood runs cold. “Marry him off to one of your daughters. He’s of no use to us anyway.”

“NO!” Namjoon interrupts him, and Yonghyun cackles at his panicked face, his withered arm reaching for Namjoon, offering him up to the Lees.

Namjoon squirms in his father’s tight grip, the Lees looking on in horror, and Yonghyun groans.

“God, shut up, you stupid boy!” he howls. “I’m sick of you.”

And his arms close around Namjoon’s neck.

Namjoon’s lungs burn as he squeezes, the blood rushing out of his head, and the sounds around him become muffled, his father’s screams of delight the only thing he can hear as his vision becomes spotty.

Until a shot rings out,, followed by another and Namjoon feels his father slump forward, choking on blood as the two of them thud to the ground.

“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok screams. “Are you with us, shit, shit, shit! Yoongi, help me, goddamnit.”

Together, the two of them pry Yonghyun off of him, and Namjoon regains enough clarity to see Kim Seokjin in front of him, smoke coming from the end of his pistol while he clutches his chest, the white of his shirt seeped in blood. Seokjin gives him a nod, and turns to leave, his footsteps echoing on the concrete stairs.

“We need to get you to a hospital, fuck,” Hoseok sobs, clutching Namjoon for dear life, and they carry him out.

Stirring, Namjoon rubs his eyes sleepily, the beep of a heart monitor and the IV attached to his arm telling him he’s in the hospital. Blinking, he focuses enough to figure out he’s alone, the only other person in the room the nurse who charts down his vitals.

“Are you feeling better, dear?” the kind voice asks, and Namjoon’s heart drops to his stomach. He’d know that voice anywhere.

“Eomma?” he croaks, turning to look at a face he hasn’t seen in years. She looks the exact same as the day she left.

“Namjoon-ah?” she whispers, her eyes looking him up and down like she can’t believe it. “Is it really you?”

She lets out a sob, coming to hug him, and he winces when she presses into his body.

“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot your arm was sprained,” she blubbers, and he doesn’t say anything, surveying her.

“You were here this whole time?” he says, voice breaking. “Why didn’t you come back to us? Why didn’t you find me?”

“Because I never wanted to see you like this, Namjoon-ah. I was afraid, and I was scared. I left because I knew what your father was capable of. He made it his personal mission to turn the lives around him into a living hell, to the point where people didn’t even want to live anymore. I didn’t want to one day cradle your lifeless body in my hands, either because he’d had enough or because you’d had enough.”

Namjoons eyes fill with tears at seeing his mother, the only other woman in his life who��d shown him what it was like to chose himself, to chose happiness. Everything that he’d been through, everything he’d had with you, had been by her example.

“I kept tabs on you, though, I’d always look in the charts of nearby hospitals, looking for your name. It was a sign of relief every time I didn’t see it.”

“Will you stay with me, Eomma?” Namjoon asks, and she smiles sadly.

“Namjoon, I can’t—, if your father ever got word of me, he’d—”

“He’s dead,” Namjoon declares. “Seokjin killed him.”

His mother’s eyes widen in surprise, a tear leaking from them, and she collapses into sobs, shaking at his bedside. Her body is so withered, frail from so many years of abuse, and Namjoon holds her in his arms, whispering reassurances into her ear.

“You’re safe, Eomma. We both are.”

Namjoon looks nervously at Yoongi and Hoseok, their nods encouraging him to go on, and he straightens the tie his mother had picked out. Making his way up the path to your door again, he prays that you and Hyun haven’t left yet.

The door opens before he can even knock, Hyun’s tiny figure looking up at him with wide eyes, and Namjoon resists the urge to sob at how much he’d grown up in the past couple of months.

“Hyunnie?” you call out to him, sounding exhausted. “Who’s at the door?”

When Hyun doesn’t answer, you decide to come check, only to find him wrapped in Namjoon’s arms, your son sobbing into his father’s shoulder. You freeze when you see his arm in a sling.

“Never gonna leave you again, bud,” he says, muffled into Hyun’s tiny shoulder.

“Namjoon? Why are you here? What’s going on? The Kims—”

“There are no Kims, ___. Not anymore. It’s over.”

You throw yourself against him, sobs wracking your body.

“I missed you, god I missed you so much, I was gonna go insane.”

Taking your hand in his, you look up at him, lifting them to press a kiss to his knuckles, and he smiles at you.

“Don’t leave me again, okay? Whatever you need to say you can it. I promise I’ll listen, and we can work through it.”

Gesturing for Hyun to come join you, he wraps you both in a tight hug, savoring it, until you lean close and whisper in his ears.

“You’re our nucleus, Namjoon.”

Namjoon realizes he’d never really been weak at all. Not like Yonghyun had seen him. And now, as the autumn leaves crackled on the lawn, and Hyun ran excitedly outside, jumping through them with Yoongi and Hoseok, he realized that there may come a time in his life where he’d have to choose again. And for all the times he could have committed himself to a life of doom, times that sought to tempt him with his worst nightmares, he’d come out of it choosing you every time.

Epilogue - 3 months later

“What do you mean he’s gone?” you look at Namjoon brows, furrowed in worry. Across the kitchen, Namjoon paces back and forth, feet clacking against the tile, as he resists the urge to rip his hair out.

In the distance, you can hear Hyun giggle, his halmeoni chasing him around the living room, and your eyes crinkle in a smile.

“Jungkook told me they haven’t been able to get a hold of him. Yoongi and Hoseok are up the wall.”

Rising from your seat, you try to calm your fretting husband, pressing a peck to his lips. You pout, and he sighs in resignation, knowing that it isn’t his problem to worry about. His hands come up to rest on your stomach, running over the tiny, firm bump that had brought forth new change into his life just two weeks ago.

“He’ll be fine, Namjoon,” you reassure him. “I know he will.”

“How?” Namjoon croaks out with worry, and you can’t blame him for his freakout.

“He’s Kim Seokjin, duh,” you deadpan, and Namjoon chuckles at your expression. “Now, stop this worrying, okay? I was promised matchamisu tonight, and I’m holding you to that.”

Accepting your hand, he lets you lead the way. Time for another date night.

a/n pt. 2: thank you for joining me on this crazy ride! for reference, the artist Namjoon and OC are talking about is Lee Seung Jio, and his series called Nucleus. As always, any comments or feedback are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi <3

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crysta1ized · 2 months

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a theory on ep11’s preview

firstly, if you’ve guessed/ theorized that non was still alive, you get 10 points!

if you also guessed that perth would help him (in that case, thanks to tee) you also get 10 points!

knowing that tee helped non escape, was definitely a plot twist. he basically lives at his uncle’s mercy, is forced to work for him and has to follow every single one of his orders so his father doesn’t die. which is a pretty shitty situation!

we saw previously that he showed guilt after non got busted for the fake accounts instead of him, but to help him escape from that very uncle? you’ll never fail to surprise me, tee!

after that, tee gives an envelope to non and tells him he’ll get him out of there.

now, what is in this envelope? my first thought was obviously money. but i also thought, what if it was a plane ticket? it’d be safer for non to get the hell out of bangkok (or even thailand) to be sure the uncle and his men could never get him. a one way flight, non leaving without looking back.

i think that with the help of perth, tee could’ve gathered enough money to pay a ticket. i mean, that would’ve benefited tee a whole lot too. non forever out of his hair, not causing any more problems. disappearing without a trace. his uncle thinking he got rid of the troublemaker.

but what happened to mr keng then?

firstly we have no idea of the extent of his injuries. we guessed that non’s were only bad enough to knock him out on the roof, but the uncle might as well have killed keng for good.

i mean, he was hit with a car, which is way worse than a few punches. in the best case scenario (for him, cause i want that bastard dead), he only got a few bruises, but the most logical one would be that his legs are broken, as well as a few ribs maybe (depending on how hard the car hit him).

if we assume he’s alive, like non (which i seriously doubt), i don’t think tee would’ve helped him at all. he’s already risking everything to save non, he wouldn’t try saving both, especially because keng doesn’t mean anything to him. he probably never even had a conversation with him.

so in my opinion, we won’t see the teacher ever again, unless he found another way to escape, such as being rescued by the police as his disappearance could’ve been noticed after some time.

now onto the fun part!

white is seen entering the arcade place, where we’ve already seen non & phee meeting up and making out at.

which means we’ll finally get teewhite whole’s backstory!

my depressing theory is that we’ll get a cute little montage of their love story, and they’ll show us how cute they are, with their little puppy love, opposites attract shit just to snatch it from us right after.

mark my words, they’ll make us love teewhite and after those little flashbacks with bright colors that distracted us for a moment, we’ll get back to our depressing and dark present.

4 possibilities after that:

best case scenario: while we get a contrast between the past and how in love they were and acted, nothing terrible happens. tee explains to the group what was revealed to the viewer in the flashbacks, that he ended up helping non and that he’s still alive. he righted his wrongs and while white is shaken up, he’s glad tee isn’t just a bully who guilt tripped a kid into money laundering, he did feel guilt and saved him from his uncle.

same as above, tee reveals everything to the group but white doesn’t forgive him. he feels betrayed and mad that tee hid that from him for so long. in white’s eyes, tee is no longer someone he can trust, or hide behind.

tee dies

white dies

while i believe those 2 last options can happen, i don’t think they’d happen at that moment. tee’s reveal scene will probably be at the beginning of the episode while the following one with phee & new may happen soon after, which is why those 2 options seem less likely to happen then.

new is clearly urging phee on to shoot.

but how? in the last scene of ep10, fluke is the one who has it and he clearly doesn’t want to let it go. he let white out of his grasp and is now pointing it at tee.

but fluke is clearly out of it, and is the one suffering the most from hallucinations, which made him shoot top even though his only principle was clearly to never act, to keep his hands clean of anything that could prevent him of becoming a doctor. too late now!

someone could take advantage of his delirious state and while he’s distracted, take the gun from him, like white, who’s on the ground, kinda behind fluke and now out of his sight. which is when phee could take the gun, as he’s the unofficial new leader and appears trustworthy as he just exposed new.

but who is phee pointing the gun at?

i think it’s most likely fluke. he’s clearly losing his mind and the hallucinations are making him aggressive, like top. which is why they may have to kill him before he kills someone else.

phee clearly wants to make the right decision, surely wants to kill him or just hurt him because fluke is an active threat. but tan just wants to see them all gone! he clearly has nothing to lose left, now that phee exposed him, this is his last chance to avenge his brother.

alternative theory:

phee might be pointing the gun at someone else.

according to how tee’s revelation ends, especially how non’s story ends, something might happen after that.

phee wouldn’t be pointing the gun at someone who didn’t deserve it, who wasn’t a threat to the group.

so why would it be tee? in my opinion, non escaped the country, end of story. but maybe something happened to him just before he could get out. then new would get mad at tee, blaming him. tee fights him. then he would represent a threat. or maybe the hallucinations come back and he gets violent.

then of course new would be happy to see phee shoot tee, who was the whole reason non even got involved with dangerous mafia shit in the first place.

the last scene is new, lighting a cigarette.

why would he be smoking in the middle of all this? like he has time to do that?

maybe it’s just a meaningless scene they’re throwing in the preview so they don’t have to spoil too much stuff.

but, still, new is the only one who's going through with his plan, and he wouldn’t waste time on lighting a cigarette! unless it’s truly chaos, and like we know, he smokes to de-stress.

creepily, when i saw the scene the first time, i thought ‘this is his last cigarette. they’re holding him at gunpoint and they allow him to smoke one last time before they pull the trigger’ because he’s clearly shivering. but that may be way too far as i don’t think any of them would shoot anyone in cold blood if they weren’t actively threatened.

but a more plausible theory would be that they’re forcing him to smoke. in the scene where new is urging phee on to shoot, phee looks at him ‘like, what the fuck?’ like he’s not liking new telling him what to do at all.

maybe then, phee doesn’t shoot anyone, not fluke, not tee, but instead turns on new and points the gun at him. maybe phee really doesn’t want any kind of revenge for non anymore as his brother became too violent for his liking. but phee wouldn’t shoot new.

he could however hold him at gunpoint, and force him to smoke one of the drugged cigarettes, one with an X. maybe so he isn’t an active threat to them anymore, urging them to kill each other and to cause more chaos. they’d be on equal ground as he’d start hallucinating too.

what do you think?

#dead friend forever #dff #dff theory #dff the series #thai bl #dff ep 10 #dff white #dff new #dff tan #dff phee #dff jin #dff fluke #dff top #dff por #dff tee #dff teewhite #dff pheejin #asian lgbtq dramas #lgbtqia

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blorbocedes · 10 months

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this is just curiosity, not hate or anything like that. pls feel free to ignore if not comfortable answering. i understand you’re a max fan. however max is very controversial and has done some very controversial things e.g defending nelson piquet using a racial slur against lewis and even yesterday he declined to do interviews due to boo’s etc but said it was a normal thing in sport when it happened to lewis. i know max & lewis’ relationship is basically non existent & a hard one lmao, and this is maybe just tit for tat, so perhaps these are bad examples to use but does stuff like that make it hard to like max or it’s easy to excuse his behaviour? again not hate just max fans make me curious lol

every driver has done controversial things...... I do not care if max gets booed or if he skips an interview. every driver gets booed, esp if you're the winner, it is a part of the sport. seb got booed, michael, lewis, nico, max

I mean, assuming you are a lewis fan so does lewis hanging out and vacationing with known sexual abusers (jared leto, shaun white, ansel elgort, to name a few, leto and white who he spent new years' in Antarctica with) make it hard to like lewis or excuse his behavior?

there is no perfect Angel in the oil guzzling money laundering sport. 🤷

I think it's fine if you hate max or have different boundaries/standards/moral objections or just don't like him.

but the moral purity of the way some people behave that if you like max = you condone racism is a reach, cause people don't think you like seb = you believe in sexually objectifying female reporters in a male dominated sport without public apology as long as you later rebrand into a feminist girldad.

you don't need to agree with everything a driver you're a fan of does, this is accepted by most fans except when it comes to macks.

#answering in good faith #mv1 #blorbocedes ask #f1 discourse

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amberlynnmurdock · 10 months

Text

Blind Faith

Chapter 5: Assumption of Risk

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Chapter Summary: There are no terms and conditions when it comes to a secret affair; you only know the risks.

Warnings: 18+ content in this chapter, smut

A/N: I hope you like this chapter! I can't believe I just wrote it this afternoon, lol. I haven't written anything smutty in FOREVER so I hope this passes. Thank you all for reading this story :D

Chapter 4 here

Credit to the gif owner!

Office of Nelson & Murdock

Hell’s Kitchen

4 PM

Assumption of risk: a plaintiff's inability to recover for the tortious actions of a negligent party in scenarios where the plaintiff voluntarily accepted the risk of those actions.

Matt Murdock was normally a very focused person, despite his ability to listen, feel, and sense things that could be distractions. It was easy to tune things out and focus on one thing at hand. Today, he used his Orbit reader to study case law regarding illegal money laundering. His fingers grazed over the braille before him, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. Ever since things with Fisk ended, Nelson & Murdock was able to take on more low-key clients and squash not-so-life-threatening issues. It was nice, to have a break from all of that. It truly felt like they were doing what they were always meant to do: help people using the law.

Of course, old habits never die. Daredevil was a part of who Matt was, whether he wanted it to be or not. He didn’t want to stop his nighttime activities anyway. Despite the city’s biggest threat being behind bars, there were still people who haunted it in his shadow; who wanted to continue to infect the city with their evil actions. Drug cartels, gangs, white-collar crimes—crime didn’t stop at Wilson Fisk.

And yet, after everything he’s endured, Matt thought something like this couldn’t hurt: being with you. Taking all of you in, in his senses. Showing up on your roof like clockwork. Stealing kisses and quiet conversations together, behind the mask. Except, Matt didn’t think he’d grow so attached in such a short amount of time. He had a hand in this fight now. You struck a match and it relit the fire in his heart.

Maybe, he would reveal himself to you. He’s done it before: Claire, Karen,… Elektra. Maybe finally you wouldn’t be the one who got away.

Even studying case law, you still occupied his mind so much. He could hear the way you gasped before he kissed you in his ears. The subtle hint of marshmallows in your fragrance was intoxicating to his senses. The way he had smelt another man on you…he clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. Don’t think of that now. Your steady heartbeat he was beginning to memorize; how it sped up whenever you saw him and how it slowed down when he held you in his arms… he knew it so well, he could almost hear it now.

Wait. Literally.

And he could smell your fragrance growing stronger: that warm smell of marshmallows accompanied by your natural scent, getting closer.

And suddenly, you walked through the door of Nelson & Murdock.

Matt nearly lost his balance in his seat. His own heartbeat pounded in his ears as he gripped his desk in his office. He kept a cool exterior but listened intently to the main room. Did you know who he was? Did you figure it out somehow? Matt began rummaging for every explanation in his head, as lawyers do, and couldn’t come up with a memory of him accidentally revealing himself and what he does in the day to you.

He listened.

“Hi, how can I help you?” Karen spoke lightly as she stood from her desk, greeting you. Matt breathed slowly as he continued to listen.

“Hi, are you Ms. Page? My name is __. I’m here for my interview for the legal assistant position,” your voice, God, it was definitely you, spoke politely—a tone Matt wasn’t used to and for a moment was shocked to hear such a different side of you. If not for the circumstances, he might’ve smiled.

“Oh, yes!” Karen exclaimed in realization, “Yes, you can call me Karen. How are you? It’s so nice to meet you. Why don’t you find a seat in the conference room and I’ll see if Nelson or Murdock can join us,” Karen said. You thanked her and walked to the conference room, taking a seat in the middle of the table. Matt heard you rummage through your bag and pulled out a folder.

“Hey, Foggy? The applicant’s here. You wanna do this interview with me?” Karen asked Foggy who was furiously typing away a summation.

“Ah, can’t. I’m on a roll to pin this fraudulent employer and if I stop now, we might lose,” Foggy said. “Ask Matt. I think his task list is light today.”

No, it’s fucking not, Matt thought to himself. Matt wanted to punch himself. Of course, the applicant had to be you. He knew you were a pre-law student, but there are tons of those in the city—you just happened to be the one who applied to his firm. Matt laughed in spite of himself—fate struck once again, between you two. Why?

“Matt,” Karen peeked her head into his office sounding hurried, “you have to do this interview with me.”

“Oh, no,” Matt argued nervously, “I—you can do it yourself. I have to read up on this case law and—-“

“Case law can wait. Potential employees and the future of this firm, cannot. Please join me, I think she’ll be a good one,” Karen pleaded. Matt sighed, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe what he was getting himself into.

“Okay,” Matt replied, defeated. “But you’re leading the conversation.”

Karen scrunched her brows at him, wondering why he was acting the way he was. She shrugged it off and joined you in the conference room.

Matt prepared himself as he grabbed his cane from his desk, slowly undoing it. He cracked his neck and took a deep breath. He tapped his way to the conference room and slowly opened the door.

He was immediately hit with your qualities again, and if he hadn’t been dressed as Matt Murdock, the lawyer, he would’ve melted right there. Your marshmallow scent warmed his nose. You were in a button-down shirt and black pants. He could tell by the minor sweat that stuck to your skin—it was out hot today. He heard you tense when he walked in. Your heartbeat grew fast—interview nerves, he confirmed. He gave a small smile and sat down next to Karen uncomfortably.

Matt couldn’t blow his cover. He had to act as if he’d never met you in his life before.

Karen cleared her throat, urging Matt to speak. She held papers in her hands—probably from the folder you pulled out.

“Sorry—I’m Matthew Murdock, one of the lawyers here,” Matt held out his hand awkwardly for you to shake. When you took it, it took all his strength to not shiver at your touch. Your hands… the same ones he held at midnight, the same ones he’s felt touch his cheek, the same ones he’s pinned above your head before…

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Murdock,” you answered politely, giving his hand a good shake. Your voice… the same voice he’s heard in whispers. Your mouth, speaking… the same ones he’s kissed, just last night. Focus, Murdock. “I—I didn’t know you were blind. I would have tried to get my resume and transcript translated to braille.”

Matt raised his eyebrows—not many people were forward about his disability. He appreciated your forwardness, and he was surprised at how professional you were. Not that he didn’t think you could be, but it was strange to see a different version of you. It was like meeting you all over again in an alternate universe. He supposed you’re technically seeing a different version of him, but you don't know it.

“That’s all right,” Matt replied after a moment, “that’s why I have Karen. Among other things—she’s more than an office manager, and you’ll learn that soon.”

He didn’t have to see Karen to know she was smiling.

“So, even just glancing at your transcript, it’s very impressive,” Karen stated, flipping through pages. “3.9 GPA, Honor Society—you just graduated? Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” you answered. “Yeah, you know, fresh out the cap and gown.”

“And I see you took some journalism classes, too? Did you want to do that before studying law?”

“I did. I loved journalism and I’m actually familiar with your work at the Bulletin. Your stories on Fisk and pretty much everything you’ve done,” you explained. Matt listened carefully to see if you were lying in this interview—you weren’t.

“Wow,” Karen blushed, “thank you, I appreciate that. So why did you switch to law?”

“I think journalists and lawyers can do a lot of good for people. I also think they can do a lot of damage to people. I know journalism pretty well, but I want to do extra steps and know the law and how to use that to people’s advantage,” you explained. Your heartbeat was still beating fast, but you managed to keep your voice steady.

“You’re studying for the LSAT now?” Karen asked.

“Yes,” you said, “I just began this summer.”

“What do you do in your free time?”

Matt knew you were thinking of an answer.

“I mostly spend my weekends at home,” you lied, Matt knew. He suppressed his smile. “I’m not one for going out, so if you ever need me on a weekend, I’m there.” That was half a lie and half-truth.

“We try not to, but lately we’ve been getting so many cases, we've had to come in on a Saturday. It’s not often,” Karen explained. “What was your favorite pre-law class?”

“Legal research and writing,” you answered, truthfully. “I love writing and creating arguments.” That I know, Matt thought.

“That could definitely be useful around here. Matt and Foggy are always drafting summations,” Karen said. “I don't think I have any questions. Matt, do you?”

Matt cleared his throat. He supposed he should ask one question.

“What do you value in a place of work?” He asked.

After a moment of pondering, you spoke again.

“The truth, I think,” you answered, “if an employer isn’t transparent on one thing, how can you believe anything else? I think it’s important to remember everyone’s on the same side. You’ve got to trust each other.”

Matt nodded in response. He didn’t know what to say.

“Alrighty,” Karen wrapped it up, “thank you so much for coming in. It was a pleasure to speak with you. You’ll be hearing from us very soon.”

The three of you stood up and you shook Karen’s hand, thanking her. Matt uncomfortably took a deep breath and held out his hand for your handshake. It was hard for him to not let his touch linger like he always did with you.

“Thank you again,” You said rather softly. Karen walked you out as Matt stood in the conference room alone, hands on his waist. He sighed and shook his head.

“We are definitely hiring her,” Karen came back in the room. “I think she’ll be really great here.”

“Don’t we have other applicants? We should interview them first,” Matt argued.

“Matt, that posting has been up for weeks now. She was the only one. We are going with her. Were you not impressed with her answers?”

“She lied about something,” he said, grasping at straws. He didn’t worry you’d find another law firm to work out.

Karen crossed her arms, looking at him annoyed. “What did she lie about?”

“That she doesn’t party. I heard her heartbeat,” Matt answered, knowing it was a weak argument. Karen laughed.

“What, and you didn’t party in college? C’mon Matt,” Karen punched his shoulder lightly. “Why are you so against it?”

“I’m not,” Matt chuckled nervously, “I—“

“We’re hiring her. Overruled, whatever it was you were about to say. I’ll let Foggy know and draft her offer letter.”

Before he could answer her, Karen already left him standing there.

Fate wasn’t clever, Matt thought. It was cruel.

Hell’s Kitchen

11 PM

Matt sat at the top of his roof in his black outfit, waiting for someone to scream for help. He waited for any sign of a crime taking place, any cop cars going off, anything. And all that he was met with was silence and his thoughts of you.

He could’ve argued more to not let Karen hire you. He didn’t. He could’ve said you lied about everything. He didn’t.

Just when he was about to reveal himself to you, the interview today ruined it. How could he now, after that? Hey, it’s nice to see you again. By the way, I’m your new boss. He ran every possible scenario in his head and none of them made sense to him. Would you be mad, if you found out it was him? Creeped out? He didn’t want this to affect your career goals. He heard you call your friend, Emily, immediately after the interview. You were so excited. You knew you nailed the interview, and truthfully, you did.

Would it be better to keep this a secret? He was already living a double life—now he had to live it twice as hard with you.

Nothing was going on tonight.

He ripped off his mask and began to walk back to his rooftop access when you crossed his mind. Hell, you didn’t even cross it anymore. The thought of you was always there, Matt thought.

He knew what he was getting himself into, by being two different people with you. Nothing, not even himself, could’ve stopped him from putting his mask back on and finding his way to your rooftop.

He made his decision.

Hell’s Kitchen

11:30 PM

You didn’t know if he’d come, but you always waited at your rooftop in case he did. There wasn’t a set schedule for when you and Mike would see each other, you just did. You snuck out a short while ago when you knew everyone was asleep. You shivered as you waited patiently. You were in your nightdress and an oversized cardigan. You pulled out your phone and re-read the offer of employment letter Karen had sent you hours ago. You often did this when something excited you. You couldn’t wait to start working at Nelson & Murdock.

Maybe Mike was busy tonight. Just as you were about to call it, you heard a familiar thud on your roof. You walked over and there he was, all in black, face covered, as usual. You smiled and locked your phone as you made your way to him.

You were about to greet him, but he pulled you in immediately for an embrace. He buried his head in the crook of your neck and took a deep breath.

“It’s nice to see you too,” You laughed softly, pulling back. He rested his hands at the small of your back. “Rough night?” You asked in concern. Despite all your meetings with him so far, you never really realized the fact he put his life in danger every night, and it wasn't a guarantee he’d make it to your rooftop.

“No,” he answered. “Just wanted to see you.”

Your heart melted when he said. Maybe there was hope after all, for the two of you. Maybe you were more than just his secret.

“You seem off,” you urged politely, “are you okay?”

He was silent. You furrowed your brows.

“Is it the Catholic guilt?” You smirked, which at the very least, made him laugh a little.

“You could say that,” he said.

“I’m no priest, but if you haven’t done anything wrong, then you shouldn’t feel guilty,” you whispered. Mike tilted his head slightly as you spoke. He smiled a little.

“You make it sound easier than any priest I’ve ever heard speak on guilt,” he said.

“This isn’t confession,” you began, “but you know you can tell me anything, right? And I won’t tell.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“I mean, I haven’t told anyone about us.”

“I know.”

“And you probably haven’t either.”

“I haven’t.”

“So what’s wrong?” You urged.

Mike seemed to ignore the question.

“Tell me about your day, instead.”

“Well, I got a job today. At a law firm. I’m really excited.”

“That's good,” he whispered. “What else?”

“I had a low-key day otherwise,” you said, “just waited for tonight. For you.”

“Hmm,” he kissed you. He placed his hand on the back of your neck.

He didn’t stop kissing you.

~~~

Matt threw his thoughts of doubt away. With you in front of him, the anxieties about you disappeared. It was funny, how it worked like that. The thing that brought him the most anxiety is the thing that could calm him down. Being in your presence. It’s like, he’s more himself when he’s behind the mask, with you.

Matt continued kissing you, his kisses turning more urgent, desperate. Now that he wasn’t Matt Murdock, the lawyer… A.K.A., your new boss, could let his thoughts about you run free in his mind. It took everything in him today, at the conference table, to not melt at your touch. To not let his sinful thoughts cloud his mind. To not think of all the nights he’s been with you, kissing you in a dark alley.

Now, he could. It was just the two of you. That’s how he liked it.

You placed your hands on his chest and gripped her shirt, pulling him closer. He walked you to the side of the door of the rooftop access, pushing you against the wall. His tongue teased your bottom lip as if asking permission to enter. You obliged. Your tongues met desperately, and he kissed you harder. So hard, it was as if you’d disappear if he stopped.

You pulled back, breathlessly.

“I’m not drunk,” you told him. He kissed your jaw.

“I know,” he said.

“Last time you said you wouldn’t touch me because I was drunk,” you explained, “I’m not drunk right now.”

Matt smirked. Using his own words against him. He wasn’t going to argue.

“Silk,” he simply stated as he gripped your waist. He felt your silk nightdress under your cardigan. "I love silk.”

“I didn’t wear it for you but I guess that works in my favor,” you smiled.

“It’s soft,” he whispered, his nose grazing your cheek. “But not as soft as you.” Matt swung your left leg around him, so you stood on your right. He held you in place against the wall as you firmly wrapped your leg around his waist. He made a low sound in your ear. He could feel your heart rapidly beat in your chest. You weren’t nervous. You were aroused. And your sex, between your legs, he knew was throbbing, and wet. He could sense it in the air. He took a deep breath as he reached his fingers underneath your silk dress and ran them along your stomach.

You shuddered at his touch, as you felt his hands trace you. He teasingly grabbed the lace of your thong and pulled it so it lightly smacked you. Matt slowly worked his way up to your breasts and felt the soft curves of them. He took one of them in his hand completely as he continued to hold your leg around him.

“So soft,�� he whispered, “and mine.”

“All yours,” you said with a shaky breath.

He moved his hand to squeeze the other one in a kneading motion.

“Tell me to stop,” Matt hushed.

“You won’t hear that from me,” you said.

Slowly, he reached his hand down to your wetness. He had to take a deep breath himself as he felt your wetness twitch at his touch. He felt how soft you were and fully put his palm over your sex. He took his pointer finger it moved it up your slit, onto your clit.

“Oh,” you let slip out. You rubbed yourself urgently on him. Matt held you still.

“You like that, don’t you?” He asked. He knew the answer by your soft moan in response. He pushed one finger into your tightness and listened carefully to how you reacted. Breath hitched. Her heart skipped a beat. You spread your legs even more as he kept going in an in-and-out motion, getting faster and curving with each move. He slid a second finger in you and began to rapidly thrust inside your wetness. You held your breath.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Matt whispered.

Listening to his command, you let out a loud, salacious breath as you held onto his shoulder. Matt kissed your neck as his fingers continued to work on your wetness. He was pounding his fingers inside you, hitting your sweet spot each time. And each time he felt him hit your sweet spot, you moaned, like a chant.

“Oh, God,” you said in a weak voice. “Oh my, God. Oh, oh, oh.”

He felt your sex tighten around his fingers.

“Keep making sounds in my ear,” Matt ordered. Your moans sounded like a prayer in his ears. He closed his eyes, as his fingers swam in your wetness. He wanted you to be louder.

His thumb found your clit, and you shivered against him with a moan.

“Oh, God,” you pleaded, “Yes. Keep going, Mike—oh, my—“

“I want you to come for me, sweetheart. Let me hear you,” Matt urged you as he swiped his thumb gently over your sensitive clit.

At the final swipe, you completely shivered against his body and held onto him so tightly, Matt knew you left scratches on his back. He knew you were riding the waves of pleasure he sent you in as you kept grinding against him, even after your climax. He felt your heart beating against his chest as you collapsed into him, letting your leg fall. Matt immediately held you against him, burying his face in your neck. You finally caught your breath.

“Well,” you began, “let me return the—“

“No,” Matt contended. “Just you.”

“What?”

“That was for me, as much as it was for you,” He whispered. He caught your lips in a kiss. You melted into his touch and shook your head.

"This is bad now,” you said. Matt furrowed his brows.

“What is?”

You laughed ironically and shook your head.

“Not only are you trusting and you make me feel safe, and you’re hot,” you began, “but you’re a total fucking sweetheart.”

Matt laughed.

“No, that’s what I call you.” He kissed you and held you tighter.

“Mike?” You asked him. Matt paused. “I like this. What we have,” you said.

“I know. I do, too,” Matt answered. He tilted his head, wondering your meaning.

“And that’s still not enough for you, to take off your mask?”

He was quiet. He shook his head.

“I will. When it’s safer, and I know my enemies,” Matt explained, which wasn’t an entire lie. When Foggy and Karen found out about his secret, their lives were in danger for a few years. Evil was still out there, and he couldn’t risk you falling victim to what they went through. That part was true.

He knew you didn’t like his answer by the soft breath you huffed.

“Listen,” he spoke softly, “there are people who know who I am, and they almost got killed for it. I—I can’t let that happen to you. Please understand that,” Matt begged, placing his fingers on your jaw.

“I will,” you said, “for now. But you should know that if I know the risks, that’s on me,” you stated. “Not on you.”

“No,” Matt argued, “it is on me. That’s my weight to carry. I’m not arguing this further.”

“Okay,” you digressed.

“I have something for you,” Matt said. He reached into his pocket and found the burner phone he once gave to Claire. He placed it in your hands and wrapped your fingers around it.

“What is this, for booty calls?” You laughed.

“For when you need me,” Matt said.

“What if I always need you?” You purred as you kissed his jaw. Matt smiled.

“For when you need me when you’re in danger,” he corrected, “God forbid.”

“I’ll keep it with me all the time,” you told him. “Thank you.”

He could hear how tired you were, and if he remembered correctly, tomorrow was your first day at Nelson & Murdock.

“Go to sleep,” Matt whispered. “I’ll see you… tomorrow night.”

“Goodnight, my guardian angel,” you whispered.

“I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever called me an angel,” Matt said.

“It’s more fitting, in my opinion.”

When you went down to your room, Matt crunched at the corner of the rooftop and waited for you to crawl into bed. You put the burner phone in the drawer of your nightside table. He heard you scroll through your regular phone for a few minutes until you eventually fell asleep.

Perhaps, the risks of all this would be worth the outcome, whatever that may be.

187 notes · View notes

wambsgansshoelaces · 5 months

Text

Turmoil; Chapter 2

Roman Roy x Reader

slowburn romantic drama

a/n: I’m so glad you guys love this as much as I do!! kisses, enjoy x

Word Count: 2.313k

The Waystar building is daunting. It makes you queasy- not because of the architecture, but because of the people in it. You’re in Kendall’s office, his blinds drawn shut. You’ve been pacing for so long you think you’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Roman lounges on an armchair, his legs hanging over one of the armrests.

“You need to tell me everything you know about your father’s criminal history. It’s the only way out. Throw him in jail before he can do it to me. And then he’s rendered unfit to run Waystar and it goes to Kendall.”

Roman is playing with a tennis ball, tossing and catching it methodically. “He took Kendall out the will and replaced him with Marcia.”

Kendall sinks in his chair. “You could’ve told me that earlier.”

“Anyway, we all know my dad’s 100% a criminal. He just has so much money there’s practically no witnesses nor any evidence,” Roman continues. “We have to catch him with his pants down.”

“But in the act of what? We can’t just watch him 24/7/365. It’s not feasible,” you reply.

“Okay, do you have any better ideas?”

“We bait him. Is it unethical? Probably. But I think we’re all past that.”

Kendall gets up and goes to stare out the window overlooking the city. “You think maybe he’s laundered money?”

“What do you think he had to clean the money from?”

“Prostitutes,” Roman says confidently.

“That’s not illegal, genius.”

“Where’s your imagination, Y/N?”

You continue your pacing. “Let’s go down the list. Tax evasion? He wouldn’t go to jail for that.”

“Even if he did, he’d be evading an entire $2 in taxes. The bracket distribution is fucked,” Roman points out. “He covered up Connor’s property fraud. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“It would be if we had concrete proof. Connor’s never going to testify and tell the truth, and I doubt we can find whoever he paid to forge the deed.”

Kendall shrugs. “I’ll try anyway.”

“We could try to get a confession,” you say. “But if he had a crazy enough attorney, it might not hold up in court.”

Roman rolls onto his side, staring at you. There’s no way that can be comfortable. “Why not?”

“It’s the twenty first century, Roman. He can claim that it was AI generated using his voice from speeches posted online. The only way it’d work is if he confessed on the stand.”

He throws you a dirty look. “Quit shitting on my ideas.”

“It wasn’t your idea. Plus, I’m just doing what any attorney with a brain would do,” you retort. “Your dad clearly has the money. He’ll probably find someone who’s thirty times the lawyer I am.”

“You’ll be fine,” Kendall assures you.

A knock on the office door interrupts your erratic pacing. Kendall opens it, allowing Siobhan to storm in. “He knows,” is all she says.

“Good afternoon,” Roman drawls in response.

“Congrats on your engagement party,” she snaps back.

“Party?” you ask.

“Your father in law is throwing you an engagement party in Norway.” She gives your arm a squeeze. “And I have to go.”

“Aww, I love you too, Siobhan,” you say sarcastically.

“It’s nothing against you. And call me Shiv. We’re friends.” She throws herself onto the couch. “I’m supposed to meet with a bunch of people here so that they can start digging. But not if I’m in Norway.”

“I can-”

“Your attendance is required as well, Kendall.”

“…Is Greg’s?” he asks. Shiv’s face splits into a small smile.

“I think he’ll forget about Greg. But none of us can ask him.” She turns to you. “Y/N?”

“I don’t even know who Greg is.”

“He works here. You can’t miss him, he looks like an egg,” Roman supplies.

Shiv nods. “He’ll have people start digging while we’re abroad, we get a head start without him being able to cover anything up.”

“We still haven’t figured out what to do about Marcia’s being the heir,” Roman says, going back to sitting lopsidedly on the chair and tossing his tennis ball.

“Vote of no confidence, I guess. Who’re the board members?” you ask.

“Me, Roman, Gerri, Frank, Karl, my dad, and five other partners. And you, now, I think.” Kendall sits back down, then gets back up, only to sit back down again.

“Do you think we can swing the votes our way?”

“How?” Kendall drops his face into his hands.

“He needs to do something dumb in public,” Roman says. “I dunno, like be racist.”

“Is he…?” You look incredulously at Roman.

“Probably.”

”We can’t bank on him probably being racist. Members of the board, vote him out, he maybe hates foreigners.” You sigh. “I need a break. I’m going to go get sweets or something.”

“Bring me back a cheesecake and I’ll kiss you,” Shiv replies.

“Back off, Shiv. That’s my fiancé,” Roman says sarcastically.

“Kendall?” You ignore Roman, still lounging on the armchair.

“Um, a cupcake? Chocolate?”

“I’ll be quick.” You make your way through the office bullpen before Roman catches up to you.

“Hey, wait. You didn’t ask what I wanted,” he says, walking backwards in front of you.

“Good job, you noticed!” you say bitterly. He rolls his eyes.

“Let me come with you?”

“Will you be quiet?”

“No.”

“Then also no.”

You wait for an elevator with Roman right at your side. “You’re a jerk. We’re supposed to be a team.”

“You’re the one who’s made it clear that there’s no ‘we’ in any situation.”

“What, you want us to be exclusive? Can’t get any more exclusive than engaged, and you that’s what we are, baby.”

☾𖤓

Later that day, you’re in your office at your firm. After you and Roman had gone back to Waystar, you’d gotten a call from your assistant saying that someone was at her desk demanding to see you. You’d weaseled your way to your office and asked her to send whoever it is in.

Connor comes storming in, the girl he was with at the party awkwardly in tow. “We want a lawsuit.”

“Hello, Connor, I’m doing fine, thanks for asking!”

“My girlfriend, Willa, and I are staying at a hotel while our house in the country gets renovated.” Without asking, he sits in one of the chairs in front of your desk. Willa stands silently behind him. “I took took our valuables from home and gave them to the staff, who said they’d hold them in the hotel vault and keep them safe. We went back last night and, lo and behold, everything’s been stolen.”

You stare at him blankly. “You’re wasting my time, Connor.”

“I’m being serious,” he exclaims dramatically. “Her diamonds and gold were taken, along with my best watches.”

You sigh. “I’ll have one of my associates take this. This is an easy suit, Connor.”

“You’re going to do it.”

You get up from your desk. “Why, pray tell, would I do that?”

“Because I have leverage. And I need the best on the case. This has to go through.”

“Excuse my language, but a fucking toddler could win this. It’s negligence- innkeeper’s law. They put your stuff in their vault, it got stolen, they’re liable. Case closed.”

You try leaving, but Connor’s immediately up and blocking your way. “No. You’re doing it, or I tell the papers.”

You scoff. “Fucking fine. Do you have pictures of everything that was stolen?” Connor smiles, satisfied with himself. “Images from the companies you bought the junk from is fine. Have it on my desk with your hotel reservations by tomorrow. I’m not going to spend too much time on this.”

He blocks your way again. “Thank you.”

“Bye,” you say, gesturing your office door. After Connor leaves, Willa shuffling behind him, Roman takes his place, collapsing into a chair. “When’d you get here?”

“Like ten minutes ago. Connor was stomping around like a toddler. What’d he want?”

“A bunch of stuff got stolen while he’s staying at the hotel. He wants to file a lawsuit through me.”

“He’s trying to waste your time,” Roman says matter-of-factly. “He knows the four of us are gunning for Dad, and by proxy, him, because Dad is the one protecting his ass.”

“What does Connor own that would be damaged by Logan leaving?”

“He’s a shareholder. If you oust Dad, he probably goes too, just to save face.” He kicks his feet up onto your desk. “And he’s just annoying like that. You know he pays that girl to be with him?”

You wince. You don’t want to think about that. “Why are you here?”

“I can’t come visit my fiancé?”

“No.”

“Too bad. Waystar’s hosting a charity dinner tonight. Or, technically, we are.”

“We?”

“Our first public apparence together. Isn’t it romantic?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You don’t have the mental capacity for this. “Okay. Do you know what you’re wearing?”

“Same thing I always wear. Dress pants and slacks.” He gets to his feet. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, anyway. It’s just a bunch of corporate wannabes kissing my ass so that they can move up in the company.”

“Because your ego needs it.”

You manage to go home and change before Roman picks you up. Rather, the driver does. Both of you sit wordlessly in the back, until he tells you, “You look nice all dolled up.”

“I don’t look nice usually?”

“That’s not what I- never mind.”

Feeling bad, you glance at him. “You look nice, too.”

When you pull up at the venue, Roman scoots until he’s pressed up against the door and takes your hand, pulling you against him before opening the door and stepping out with you behind him.

The paparazzi is as aggressive as always, and you know you’re getting sick of it. When you’re both safely inside, he lets go of your hand. “I’m gonna go drink an excessive amount and pass out behind a curtain.”

You watch him wind into the crowd. You hope he’s joking.

Roman was right, earlier. This wasn’t the sort of charity dinner where people actually donate to charity- this was purely social.

You find Shiv by herself in a corner and join her. “I fucking hate these,” she tells you. “They could at least pretend to be here for a noble cause.”

You two spend the half hour before dinner chatting among yourselves in the corner. You thankfully veer away from talking about work and the clusterfuck that you’ve gotten yourselves into and instead idly discuss anyone and everyone you both see.

When you’re called to be seated for dinner, you peer at the the seating chart indicating that Shiv’s on your left with Roman on your right. You and Shiv take your seats, Roman nowhere to be seen. 10, 20 minutes pass.

“This is normal for him,” she tells you, in between bites. “He’s probably blackout drunk somewhere.”

“In public?”

She nods.

Once dinner is over, the crowd goes back to mingling. Shiv has to step away to talk to some client of hers, and while she’s gone, someone taps on your shoulder.

“You’re a pretty face I haven’t seen before.” It’s an old man. A very old man.

You try to just ignore him, making your way to the refreshment table and plucking a chocolate from a tray. He follows you anyway.

“What’s your name? What do you do at Waystar?”

You give him a dirty look and continue your inspection of the refreshments.

“You’re a feisty one, then?” He laughs, and it makes your skin crawl. “I like a challenge.”

You give him another look and round the table. “I have much better wine at my place. Much better than the garbage they serve here. Much.”

He follows you despite your pretending like he doesn’t exist. “I can tell you’d be a good time.”

Before you can do something rash, a warm hand goes to sit on your hip, grounding you. You smell his cologne before you realize it’s him.

“Figures you don’t know how to take no for an answer with all the whining you do to me for a promotion.” Roman pulls you flush against him. “Are you trying to fuck my girl?” Before the man can say anything, Roman interrupts. “The answer is no. And there’s also no showing your face here, or at Waystar, ever again. I’ve been looking for a reason to fire you. You were never an asset.”

He scuttles off, and Roman slumps against you, arm still hooked around your waist. “Are you drunk?” you ask him.

“Very,” he responds.

“I think it’s past your bedtime,” you tell him. “Can we go home?”

Arrangements had been made for you and Roman to start living together in a cozy apartment secluded from the rest of the city. You weren’t mad about it, really. You just hope Roman isn’t a slob.

“Tell what’s-his-face to pull the car up. I’m going to puke in my shoes.”

When you’ve sat down, Roman sets his head in your lap and stretches out along the back seat.

“How much did you have to drink?” you ask stiffly.

“Lots and lots.” He presses his face into your stomach. “Before we left, I had a lovely conversation with my dad. Told me how much of a fuck up I was, how you’re the only right decision I’ve ever made. And it’s not even true. I didn’t want this.”

You give his shoulder an awkward rub. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re involved in this. I should’ve known, way back then.”

“The worst part is, Y/N, as much as I try to hate you and blame you for this shit show, I can’t. You’re innocent. You’re a damn good lawyer that was just doing her job. And it pisses me off that you’re so fucking pretty, because I can’t have you, but I want you so bad.”

#roman roy x reader #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #succession x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy slowburn #romantic drama #slowburn x reader #wambsgansshoelaces #turmoil

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aaaaafro · 1 year

Text

Girl In The Rain 2 - TWICE - Sana x M! Reader (+18)

Tw: face-sitting, facial, not proofread, other sexual stuff lol...

Deafening. As the downpour didn't show any sign of stopping soon, you should've bought an umbrella, but that'll be stupid.

You stood there drenched like a stray dog in the sidewalk of a busy street. You recognize the gradient in her hair. You'd bet your life that she's the one sitting in the corner of the only dry spot in the area.

It's been half a year since you two met. You could say it's magical and a once in a lifetime opportunity. After all finding out that Sana is actually an up and coming artist. You two stayed friends but that was all.

She's been busy ever since, while you've landed yourself a job but the two of you still find time to hang out every now and then.

Do you wish to maybe have your advances? Of course, it's Sana after all. It was affection at first sight and she totally gets to you, despite your previous heartbreak. If you're being honest with yourself you wouldn't mind if she breaks your heart.

In simple words you've fallen for her, hard! Maybe as hard as these raindrops.

But Sana made it clear that under her current contract that she's not allowed to have relationships, which didn't make sense back when you first met but she's still giving you some hints that this friendship of you two are going somewhere.

"What are you doing here?" You asked her.

"Could say the same to you." Her smug reply always gets you.

"Now isn't this familiar?" You hummed before sitting down right beside her.

She didn't react causing you to think there's something wrong. After all she's back to a spot you saw her in before the two of you met.

"Did another asshole break your heart?" You asked, expecting a scoff, or even a playful slap was all wrong when she instead laid her head on your shoulder.

Now you're not a big fan of PDA's and if you'd ever have a relationship again, you want it to be as lowkey as you can but this is different, shyness isn't even a factor as passers-by gives the two of you looks.

"You know if a fansite is nearby this can cost you your career." You joked and that just earned you a sigh from Sana.

"It's already ruined anyways." Hear her shaky voice.

"My handler got caught up in a money laundering scandal, he took most of my earnings and I'm currently a free agent with no money." She explained as tears started falling from her eyes.

"That's messed up." Was all you could ever say.

"I know right, back to square one I guess." She weakly replied.

"How about I be your handler then?" A gutsy proposal from a guy that knows nothing about being a handler, that caused Sana to rose up from your shoulder.

"Shut the front door! Don't joke like that!" She was surprised to say the least.

"Do you even know what to do? Plus you just landed yourself a better job." That was a genuine question but it did hurt hearing it from her.

"I have some connections, you know. I can easily quit..." You replied with a semi convincing voice.

"...And also I saved enough money from my previous job."

Sana sat there with a straight face but you can clearly see in her eyes as she tries to process everything you've said.

"It's fine if you don't want to but I'd like to help you with your current situation as much as I can." You added and that helped Sana to wake up from her daze state.

A soft smile forms across her face before she engulfs you in a hug, quickly removing any trace of the coldness from your drenched jacket.

"Thank you so much." She whispered.

"So, that's a ye-." You're about to confirm it but you got stopped by Sana's finger.

"You'll make it sound like a proposal."

"What if I want it to sound like that?" The two of you laughed at each other.

"What did I do to deserve you?" A pout from Sana melts your heart like butter in a scorching hot pan.

"You just existed." You replied before pinching her cheeks.

"We should get going before you catch a cold." You extend your hand to her as she just looked at it confused.

"What?" You asked.

"C-carry me."

"Sana, I ride a motorcycle. I can't baby you all the way." Her pout just deepens then and there you realized that you can't win.

"Ugh!” A sound of frustration just came out of you and Sana just giggles in her victory.

You brace yourself to carry her to your back but Sana sat there motionless with a disappointed face.

"What?!" You questioned.

"That's not how you carry a princess." Said Sana who's still motionless from her seat.

With no hesitation you swept her up from her position carrying her like a princess the way she wanted it. Again, no trace of shyness as you try your best not to blush. Meanwhile, Sana's biting her finger avoiding any eye contact with you.

"Uh... S-sana." She was jumpy all of a sudden, perhaps lost in her thoughts.

"H-hai?" It took you a couple of seconds to remember that she's actually Japanese.

"W-we're at my motorcycle and I can't drive with you like this." You waited a couple of seconds for her response.

"Hmmm." A whine... A freaking whine.

"Sana." She finally gets off of you and immediately took the extra helmet.

The two of you got on the motorcycle as she wrapped her arms around you, you couldn't help but smile under the helmet as she tightens it surprisingly good.

"You better be a good handler or else my career will be ruined." She said with a mocking tone.

"Didn't you told me earlier it already is?" You jokingly replied.

"Pft!"

Once comfortable you drive away trying to think about what to do with Sana's career. All the while she's just right behind you clinging of as if her life depended on it though you're not going that fast.

"You good?" You asked.

"Mhmm!" Her voice was muffled by the air but you can still hear her.

You've finally reached your house, the two of you went inside to take cover from the rain.

"I think we should go through the..." You're about to discuss the details about your new partnership when you realize that Sana isn't with you anymore.

Seeing how the door is left open you immediately made your way out to see Sana in the middle of your front lawn.

"What are you doing?" Your curiosity hits as you just observe Sana who's just standing in the rain.

"Sana..." Approaching her slowly, you saw her glow under the night light.

With her eyes closed and her head up as if she's feeling every drop of rain that hits her. You've finally reached her, and god she's more gorgeous up close.

"You must've love the rain so much." You commented as as a smile reflects on her face.

"Why would I not? I've met my favourite person in the rain." She replied.

You hate how assuming you are, that the person she's talking about is the same person you're thinking of right now. You just act all natural.

"And who'll that be?" You asked with all the hope that Sana will give you the answer you want.

"Dummy." She smiled before turning to you with her smile not fading.

In a fraction, suddenly you're in her arms. You have no idea how it happened but there you are so, why not enjoy it?

You captured her waist with your arms as you pulled her in close.

"Oh, is this how you'll handle me?" Sana's tone was far from normal, it was... Teasing.

"Uh... S-sana?" Your nerves are getting into you. This isn't a side of Sana you're familiar with.

"I-it's... Raining, y-you m-might get sick."

"Wouldn't you like that?" Again that fear of the unknown renders you immovable.

"Didn't I told you already, that I love rain." A smirk from Sana might as well be a signal to run but it's too late.

She's already got you, in every sense of it. By her arms and by her lips... Her lips. It took you a second to realized that you're kissing Sana.

"Hmm." A moan, you couldn't help it.

"Hehe... I guess the cat's out of the bag." Said Sana who's seems happy of what she's done.

"I've always like you... No... That didn't sit right... I've always love you. Yup, that's it." Again Sana captured your lips with hers and what else can you even do at this point.

You two enjoyed the moment completely losing yourselves at the feel of each others lips. Exhilarating. It maybe the rain that's adding this another layer of feel but there is something.

Tongue? Before you can even comprehend it, you found yourself addicted to its feel. Throwing all of your reasoning behind, you tried to retaliate by giving her the taste of her own medicine.

That was a valiant effort but ultimately brushed off as Sana stepped it up a notch by pushing you towards your house.

With a kick you two are shut in, shielding yourselves from the heavy rain outside. Your lips hasn't left each other however your top clothings are little by little being torn off.

"I thought you love the rain." You finally spoke after the need to detach yourself from her to make way for your shirts.

"It will rain, don't worry." A mischievous smile from Sana's face alerts your senses but she wasn't about to give you any breather as she quickly took the liberty and guide you to your bedroom.

"It's kinda hot in here." Laughable statement from the girl who's wearing only her underwear and drenched from the rain outside.

Sana straddled you, then reached to her back perhaps to release the clip of her bra but "Sana..." You regretfully interrupted her.

"Ssshhh." A finger on your lips was enough to silence everything that you were about to say.

You heard a click that took you by surprise, when your eyes panned down from Sana's face you are greeted by her beautiful perfectly sized mounds.

With seemingly minds of their own your hands cupped both mounds, taking a handful of her supple orbs, massaging them like a baker would to its dough.

Minutes into it, Sana's lower body starts gyrating, creating friction between your cores. If it wasn't for your remaining clothes this would've felt heavenly, as if it wasn't already.

You're still busy with Sana's breast as you suddenly felt her hands went up to help yours.

"Taste 'em." It was a command that you're more than happy to follow.

You took her hardened bud in your mouth, circling your tongue as if you're drawing something abstract. Sana was your canvas. She pushes your head in even more thinking that it'll elevate the pleasure but that would still be insufficient.

It felt like hours switching between two magnificent orbs as you finally called it quits and took your time to catch your breath.

"Ha~! They're so delicious!" That compliment earns you a smile as Sana rose up from your lap, turning around before giving you a suggestive look with a matching lip bite before bending over.

Accentuating her damped behind, she reached for the straps of her almost see through underwear before slowly wiggling her way out of the clothing.

There it is, right in front of you. Glueing your eyes, scared that if you took a second to look away it will be gone.

You've finally woken up from your trance realizing that this is really happening, what you didn't realize is that Sana's core was inching closer and closer to your face.

Before you could say anything her soft behind is already pressed to your face pushing you down to your bed. You can't imagine that even in your wildest dreams you're gonna have Sana sit on your face stark naked to say the least but here you are.

You dart your tongue out and a moan reaches your ear causing you to keep doing wonders with your tongue. Your hands gripped Sana's thighs not wanting her to get away as if she would do something that stupid but she won't, evidently from her endless strings of moans and her hips dancing along with your tongue.

"Oh my! You're so good with that." Sana hummed as she continued riding your face.

It's suicide, it's suffocating but to hell with dying if it means that it'll be the last taste to linger in your taste buds.

Perhaps you were too busy with your tongue that your other senses weren't functioning but it's too late. You're currently drowning, Sana regretfully detached herself from you lifting her lower half away from your face.

She was right it still rained even when you're under a roof. Huffs and pants echoes in your room as Sana rides her orgasms while you try and catch your breath after trying to drink her juice up.

"Told you." Sana said with a hint of pride in her tone.

"Yeah right. I almost died you know." You replied as she approached you laying down on your chest.

"But you love it." She's drawing circles on your chest using her finger.

"I guess, I love rain as well." A smile from the two of you sealed it and silence follows.

"I love you." You thought it was the perfect time, as Sana suddenly stood up.

It scared you. The fact that you can't see her eyes as the darkness hides it perfectly, the fact that you cant hear anything from her due to the fact that its still pouring outside and the sound of the rain floods your ears or the fact you may just have screwed your whole friendship up.

Until, the light from the moon, sparkles from a drop of tear coming from Sana's eyes.

"I thought you'd never say it." You can hear the shakiness from her voice.

"It's because of your contract. I thought you're not allowed to date which didn't make sense back when we first met." You reasoned

"Dummy. I was being reserved since we both just got our hearts broken, that's why I wasn't being forward with you but after today... I can finally... We can finally-... I'm sorry. " She says before breaking down.

"It's okay, I'm sorry as well. Now we can finally be together."

You quickly came to your senses capturing Sana in your arms. A warm embrace in contrast to the freezing breeze of the rain outside. The two of you melt in each other's warmth.

"I'm your handler now, so nobody will suspect a thing." You joked earning a slap from Sana.

"We should shower before we get sick." You suggested.

"This won't do." You heard Sana whisper.

"Why?"

"I want to return the favor." Sana in a swift motion re-straddle you.

"Sana." You called

"I love you." She replied before capturing your lips for the nth time of the night.

Seconds passed before you realize that your boxers are gone. Your mind isn't prepared for this yet your mind is more than welcome to the situation.

"Looks like you're ready." Sana smirks taking your hardened member in her hand.

"I a-aaahhh!" You're about to reply but Sana took the initiative and slowly lowers herself on you.

"You're so hugeeee~!" Her moans never fail to tickle your ears.

"T-tight." You're not struggling but in a state of overwhelming pleasure as you completely penetrated Sana.

"G-give me a minute." She pleaded.

You let her get adjusted even though it was you who needed a minute because it felt like you're about to burst out if she started moving due to how tight she is.

"Uuuggghh~!" A shaky moan fills your room as Sana slowly lifts her hips up.

Erotic, cute all the while she's beautiful paired with the feel of her walls as she just dance to her own beat penetrating her with your hard member.

You sat there admiring all of it. It's still pouring outside, yet the sound of the rain never felt so muted. With only her moans entering your sense of hearing.

Confident that you wont last that long you want to make it worthwhile for Sana. You switched your positions without breaking your connection, she was no less than shocked.

"Rain it on me." It's a dare and you're not about to leave her disappointed.

No more words left to say, you start pounding in her, moist slaps from your skins floods the room as Sana takes a hold of your sheet and bite it.

Written in her face are waves of pleasure rendering her incapable of thinking straight, though you're not gonna blame her because you, yourself is overwhelmed by the sensation.

Your mind is focused on one goal and that is hopefully to last as long as Sana does. Luck you that's sooner than you think as Sana's grip left your sheets and lands on your cheeks.

"You're so fucking~ good! I'm so close! Nngghhh~!' Her back arched.

"Fuuuucckk!" Her long moan was more of a warning bell as you feel yourself clenched.

"Face. Rain it on me." Said Sana who seemed to have regained herself for a second as she's consumed by her orgasms.

You pulled out and stood up as Sana kneels before you with her mouth open and god was it a sight to see.

Couldn't hold it in anymore you sprayed her with your seed as she skilfully catches it with her face, some landed on her forehead and some in her mouth.

"Aaahhh! You're so hot." You said.

Sana smiled before taking your rod in her mouth cleaning it up.

"Let's shower?" Said Sana after the two of you regained your stamina.

Weak huffs woke you up. A familiar gradient greets your eyes. Taking a good look at the outside. It's still raining but you didn't mind. You once more wrapped your arms around Sana's frame.

#twice #twice smut #twice sana #twice x reader #male reader

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krasytoonz · 10 months

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Welcome Home Gangster AU Fun Facts!

Joke AU pls don’t take it seriously

Wally D

Can bleed blood out of His Eyes whenever he Witnesses Public display of Affection

Doesn’t need to Eat or Sleep (or Shit)

Fragile masculinity

Guilty Pleasure/Special Interest is Bluey (Australian Family Cartoon)

Lil Dawg

Will pay BUCKS for hotdogs ($40 for one? No problem)

Beatboxes 🎶🔥

Apparently despite of his Height and Size no one is really scared of him (maybe because of his Resting Smile Face)

Big Edd

Listens to Kpop girl bands and watches magical girl Animes

He’s everything that Wally’s fragile masculinity FEARS

Shit at makeup but still love doing it on people’s Faces

Fr4nk

Every Voting Season he hacks into the American Government and fucks their Voting System up for no reasonable explanation at all

Trolls on Reddit and 4Chan (probably has Access to the Dark Web too who knows)

Overexplains everything just to piss Wally off

Pøppy

Can unleash her inner Roadman Voice when she’s angry

Once caught Lil Dawg eating KFC and never trusts Anyone ever again even if she’s cool with them

Watches Thai Girl’s Love Series

Howdy Pi££ar

Money is Love, Money is Life

Will do anything for money (50/50 might probably Fight a Grandma for money too, it’s unpredictable)

Tried to flush Wally down a toilet but he came back out (Don’t Ask about it)

The only gang member alongside Silly Sal that can drive a motorcycle

Horrible at rap battles and Coming up with Lyrics

Deep ass voice

Silly Sal

The only gang member alongside JJ that can drive a motorcycle

Cannot keep her hands to herself (literally POKES everything she Did Not have to poke)

Sunny

Fr4nk’s Ex.. Best friend (BAHAHA)

The Butt of the Joke of everything practically

The Joyful Siblings

Bikers! 🏍️🏍️🏍️💨

Knows sign language (including JJ)

Owns Joyful Burger (that same one you see in TAWOG) but it’s for money laundering purposes

Homie

Best van ever (Automatically Drives! Self Aware!)

Speaks in Onomatopoeia (Vrooommm!)

In General

There is No Blood in this AU, and everyone is stuffed with Cottons

There is no actual ‘serious’ Weapons in this AU, and the gang use Waterguns and slingshots to do Steal from Banks lmao

The Jail Bar’s Gap is so big the shorter gang members (Wally, JJ, Sally) can practically escape through the gap.. But they just don’t for some Reason

All the Tattoos on the Gangsters are Drawn with Markers 🖊️

Y/N

Y/N can be a Citizen, part of the Gang or a Cop, or whatever Y/N wants to Be!

There is no specific ‘look’ for Y/N, so Y/N can look like whatever Y/N wants to look like.

*Will be updated Accordingly!

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blindbatalex · 1 month

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@buck-stars thank you for enabling me. re that mob au -- i was playing with @specificallybruins's marchy as the mob lawyer idea while I swam today and:

Maybe Brad gets out of law school wanting to have a normal career for himself, but then Zee saves his life in a brawl or something, and a couple of years later, lo and behold he is THE lawyer for the bruins mob, handling everything from tax implications for their money laundering business ventures to finding loopholes to avoid criminal charges to figuring out which cops to bribe to turn them a blind eye.

Bergy, meanwhile, is Zee's second in command, and as such is probably too senior to do something as boring as pore over tax law with Brad for hours, but that's exactly what he does time and again.

And it's not like Brad is complaining because Bergy is great company AND he is fit. Brad kinda wants to keep some separation from the mob though (as a lawyer, he works with them, but technically not for them, and fraternising w/ their 2nd in command would put a stop to that) and besides, the fun they have while they work together aside, would someone as gorgeous as bergy really look brad's way? highly doubtful.

and still there is this exhilirating connection between them, they get into and out of scraps and when they work on something meaningful together (so not tax law) they make each other better. and they have fun doing it.

And things you can write within that base set up are so delicious. like I want to write about bergy showing up at brad's house covered up in blood and giving brad a heart attack, but it's not his blood and there is a terrible, vacant look in his eyes and he doesn't explain but he does let brad clean it off and wrap him in a blanket.

or brad gets roughed up -- maybe by an ex bf? -- bergy finds out and he goes berserk, when brad never asked or expected it.

or bergy calls brad bc he is out of bullets and bleeding and any moment now they will find him and kill him but the moment brad realises he is calling to say goodbye and that he is not that far from where brad is driving thru, he, who has never killed anyone before, goes on a one man john wick style mission to rescue him, maybe getting shot himself in the process. there is just so much you can do 👀

#marcheron #fic ideas #mob au v. 2 #i rly like this idea of brad being juuust to the left of the mob #like is he deluding himself when he says ah i am not a real part of this? probably #but still it keeps that little separation

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sallage · 2 months

Text

The Milkman - NSFW

The Wheel AU

Part 1

Warning: This is an intense tickle fic!

Summary: It had been years since Bakugo had last stepped foot outside of the city. Graduating U.A. at the top of his class, interning and working for The Genious Office, and making a name for himself had been cake once Deku was suspended. The first few months, he'd hardly thought about the nerd. After that, not at all. What he didn't know, was that the life he'd grown acustomed to was about to derail in one of the most sadistic and twisted ways he'd never thought possible.

Pairing: Lee Pro Hero Bakugo, Ler Villain Deku

Words: 10,466

Reading Time: 41 Minutes

A/N: Holyyyyyyyyyy shit. This is the longest fic I have ever written. I had sooooooo much fun writing this and I'm actually kind of proud of it.... just a little(: Please let me know what you think! Enjoy!!

Read more ∘₊✧ Here ✧₊∘

The room was mostly empty.

Bakugo was blindfolded, but he could sense it. He could tell by the way the metallic clang of the chains clamoring around his neck reverberated off of the walls. The bastard had fucked with Bakugo enough for him to learn how sound worked in a small room, which is why his heart was already in his throat when he felt a tug against the icy narrow band, which he’d learned the hard way, meant stop.

So he did.

“Good boy.”

Bakugo growled, a low animalistic noise from deep within his throat. If someone gave him one million attempts to predict his future, he never would have guessed this.

That he would end up a piece of meat for the nerd to fuck with for his own sick, demented pleasure.

When Deku was suspended from U.A., Bakugo's graduation at the top of his class became effortless, with the internship and job at The Genius Office falling into place just as smoothly.

Once Bakugo had turned twenty-five years old, he had developed a high level of renown and respect as a hero. The final arc of his success was right there, literally in the palm of his hands.

Then everything went to shit.

It was supposed to be a simple mission.

Reports of a faceless crime lord monetizing black market drugs and illegal erasure darts on the dark web were far from unknown. However, an anonymous tip had led them to discover a money laundering outpost posing as a trading card store. After years of coming up empty, Bakugo was itching to discover something, anything useful.

All they had to do was monitor the establishment.

Bakugo couldn't see the use of the three men sent to scout with him, especially after the store had closed, so he’d sent them home with a note reviewing the new tracker that had been implanted in their gums. The technology was new and not widely tested yet, plagiarizing elements of skin and bone, so Bakugo was confident that the chip would be missed if he were somehow captured and searched.

He’d spend the next several hours watching.

Maybe he should have gone home after the fifth hour of quiet.

It wasn’t until four in the morning, when a small sliver of activity caught his eye.

A lone person in a black hood quietly exited the dark store.

Bakugo recognized the possibility of a diversion, that the person in the hood was simply meant to draw prying eyes away from the store while other things went on behind the scenes. Bakugo had seen the trick used before.

But he couldn't help but feel… drawn.

So he followed them.

The thought to report an update was fleeting.

The hooded figure remained silent and unperturbed. Bakugo kept a safe distance in the shadows, his soft footfalls masked by the rising pitch of the winding river and bridge ahead. The figure's movements remained consistent and steady as they both crossed, the city now but a shimmering dot in the darkened distance.

They crossed into ghostly, suburban territory.

After around ten minutes, a graffitied public school park looming under a broken flickering street light caught his attention.

A twinge of familiarity ran down his spine.

Distracted, Bakugo didn’t see the hooded figure round the sidewalk. Cursing, he rushed to catch up.

When he’d rounded the corner, they were standing in the center of the street, staring at some old, tragedy stricken apartments with their hands casually slung into their pockets.

Bakugo considered the situation, and his eyes narrowed as he contemplated initiating a confrontation. The very small and mature voice he’d annoyingly developed in his mind told him to think about his endgame. If he rushed the shady bastard now, he would tip off the villain operation and everything they’d learned up to that point would be as useful as dirt. He’d need to have reasonable proof and all he’d had was a stupid feeling.

Bakugo gritted his teeth and growled under his breath. He’d wanted to confront the fucker and kick his ass, but it was too early to have a full picture of what was really going on. The store could simply be that, a store, with nothing more to it.

He rolled his eyes and before he could talk himself out of it, took careful steps away in an attempt to slip back out, then paused. Maybe if he could catch a glimpse of their face…

“My mother still lives here.”

Bakugo's body went completely still. His breath stopped in his throat, and his heartbeat pounded in his chest like a hammer against steel.

The figure lowered their hood, glowing green eyes trained on the apartments.

Bakugo blinked. Everything else fell away from him.

“Everyday I think she’d leave, especially after I destroyed the neighborhood. Do you think she’s still waiting for me?”

He should have left right then and there.

Instead, Bakugo rose from his crouch and slowly walked out onto the street. Each step he’d taken had an undeniable ferocity to it, his eyes like two burning embers that could turn into an inferno at a moment's notice.

It was the fucking high school drop out. And he knew Bakugo was following him. He’d probably known it the second he’d left the store, maybe even before.

“Izuku.”

“Kacchan.”

The familiar nickname wasn't spoken with the same fondness that it had once been uttered with, instead carrying a tone that made it sound more like an insult.

Gone was the silly, quirky, and fun-loving person that was filled with goodness and joy. In his place stood a dangerous, predatory, and threatening presence. In his eyes no longer shined the bright light of his once golden heart, but instead the glimmering of a cold and dangerous predator.

“Don’t do this! Please don’t let them take it, Kacchan!”

Bakugo scowled at him, his palms grew hot.

“Why the hell are you here?”

He should’ve reported the update. Hell, he should’ve called in the entire damn agency.

Deku’s voice was steady, eyes trained on the apartments. “You didn’t like our walk down memory lane?”

Bakugo’s eyes sparked.

The playground, the river, the fucking card store.

Bakugo bristled. He should have known. It was obvious. “Answer the fucking question.”

Black tendrils slowly slithered out of Deku’s back. Bakugo’s palms sizzled.

“No one’s talked to me like that in a long time.”

Without so much as a twitch as a warning, one of the tendrils struck. Bakugo quickly shifted and dodged, failing to realize that Deku had simply struck the ground just next to where the blonde once stood, intentionally pushing him right into a hulking frame standing silently off to the side, who wrapped massive arms around Bakugo’s chest from behind.

His palms crackled and sparked with the orange and red of his quirk, building up and igniting in a devastating explosion that engulfed them both in a calamitous blaze of volatile force.

Somehow, deep in the heat, he felt a sudden and painful sting on the side of his neck.

In an instant, the heat and power from his attack subsided, dissolved by the abrupt numbing sensation that spread through his body and left his hands smoking and twitching. His body tingled, all of his senses numbed and weakened.

“Motherfffuuhh-”

Another sting, and his vision wavered and blurred. He shook his head, fighting against it.

It was a fucking trap. Set For him.

He’d known he was going to pass out and these fuckers were going to take him. He’d wanted to fight it with as much defiance and disrespect as he could. Profanities spewed from his lips accompanied by worthless sparks that popped from his numb, useless hands. His eyes seared into Deku, but the villain’s eyes remained locked on the apartments, not even sparing him a sideways glance before whatever drug they injected him with finally overwhelmed his senses.

He’d woken up in the same damn room he’d been staying in for the past week.

Over the course of that week, Bakugo had fought harder than he ever had in his entire life. He’d bitten fingers, head butted anyone within range, and spat. His mouth proved to be as dangerous as his quirk, but three days in the muzzle and firmer restraints taught him to use his talents sparingly.

As expected, they’d missed the tracker during the strip search. He’d woken up with it warm against his tooth, confirmation that someone was indeed looking for him.

So he’d reserved his energy, save for every few minutes or so when he would religiously check if the quirk erasure dart was still active, hoping to catch it before they’d eventually inject him again.

On his first night, blindfolded, cursing and thrashing, they’d shoved him into a chair and bound his legs to it along with his arms to a hanging contraption above his head. It took seven of them to eventually subdue the aggressive pro hero, all of them walking away with some kind of injury.

Deku didn't make an appearance that night, but the orders to his grunts were clear.

Extract any information Bakugo had uncovered about their operations.

Bakugo was expecting to be tortured. He’d mentally prepared himself for it the moment he’d woken up in this shit hole. And he was, just not in the way he was expecting.

Deku didn't want to dignify Bakugo with a formidable excuse for when he eventually gave up. He wanted to humiliate him.

For the first three days, he was brutally and sadistically tickle tortured.

When the method of torture was revealed, to say that Bakugo was flabbergasted would be an understatement. He’d imagined needles under the nails or flaying. Hell, he was even expecting something ironic like being branded or burned alive. So when he was finally forced into the chair, the last of his flailing limbs secured, he braced himself for the kind of pain that would match the reputation Izuku created for himself, only to be startled by harmless and rough fingers and hands, ticklishly squeezing sensitive spots on his body.

The pro hero sneered and taunted the goons, under the impression he was safe for the time being.

But of course, he would be proven wrong.

The grunts took their time and expertly learned his body. They triggered reactions and sounds Bakugo didn't know he could make and tormented spots he didn't even know were ticklish. After hours of meticulous work and charting, they’d put the information they gathered to blindingly effective use. Bakugo learned a few things about himself that night, things he would pay top dollar to forget.

And he’d weathered the torture by the skin of his teeth.

The second day, Deku made a personal appearance, and cracked him in less than an hour. Bakugo answered every single question asked of him, relevant or not.

Still, it wasn't enough for the damn masochist.

Deku didn't just want answers from Bakugo, he wanted him to pay.

So now, in the fourth day of hell, Bakugo has nothing to say or give that would spare him from whatever Deku planned.

Today was purely about revenge.

A hard hand clamped on his shoulder and the blonde blindly stepped forward, letting the hand guide him.

He swallowed his resistance and it slid down his throat like sand.

The hand lifted. He paused.

Then there was light.

Bakugo blinked several times after the blindfold was lifted. The intensity of the dazzling lights in the room made his eyes squint and nose itch. His eyes landed on a tall, colorful object planted in the center of the room.

The Wheel.

Deku had seen fit to inject whimsy into his revenge plot with The Wheel: a colorful 20-slice abomination that would randomly determine how Bakugo would be tickled that day.

A fucking Wheel.

Bakugo sizzled in place. He wanted to rip the bastard’s guts out and make him eat it. He wanted to kill him.

Deku blew Bakugo a kiss and strode towards it.

"Let's see what The Wheel wants us to do today." Deku winked and gave it a spin.

Bakugo's sense of how much time had passed was determined by how many times the wheel had been spun: 5, and this one made 6.

The Kennel

The Carwash

The Gang

The Hog

The Milkman

The wheel began to slow, its revolution enrapturing both Bakugo and Deku...

The dial stopped on The Milkman.

The door suddenly busted open and two grunts walked inside, carrying something that reminded Bakugo of a weird combination of a padded sawhorse and a spanking bench. There were cuffs towards the front where his arms would rest and vise versa where his calves would be placed. Towards the back of the middle cushion that would support his waist and hips, was a custom cut hole that looks like it could fit…

Bakugo’s eyes widened.

The smile that slithered onto Deku’s face was maniacal.

Bakugo clenched his jaw, continuing to stare at the contraption even after Deku smugly faced him and tugged at the leash.

“No.”

Tug

“Fuck. off.”

Deku cocked his head to the side, an amused expression squaring his face, as if Bakugo was a stubborn kid not wanting to get into the bath.

Tug tug tug tug-

“You mother fucking piece of stupid shit. I said no.”

“I don’t care.” Deku slurred, playing with the leash. “You don’t have a choice.”

Bakugo remained still. He wanted to fight. He wanted to scream. But if the past few days had taught him anything, it was that without his quirk, resistance only lead to extreme suffering. The bitter pill? Deku knew his body better than he did. The largest explosion in the world wouldn’t be enough to tamper how he felt about that.

“I could force you,” Deku shrugged, reaching over to open the collar. “That would be easy. But I think it would be more entertaining for me to watch my men do it. And if they have to come in here again, they’re staying.” Deku smiled, encouraged by Bakugo’s visible frustration. “And participating.”

Bakugo’s eye twitched. He knew that no matter what he did, he would end up on that fucking bench. His violent objections in the past had made quick work of him. Just thinking back to that damned tree…

When Deku gestured to the bench, Bakugo reluctantly obeyed.

“Take everything off and get on.”

This was supposed to humiliate him. To make him compliant to his own torture. A sick kick back to those days in high school when he’d scream at anyone who dared to give him orders.

Cursing obscenities the entire time, he stripped off his clothes and laid face down onto the bench, carefully fitting his groin into the cushioned hole.

Deku restrained him accordingly.

Thick, fur lined straps secured his wrists and ankles tightly. Another strap looped around his waist, and an added infinity loop tightly secured his lower thighs right above the bend of his knees, forcing his legs slightly apart and flush against the legs of the modded bench.

Bakugo clenched his jaw and rested his forehead on the cool leather as Deku circled, lingering far too long right behind him.

“You really kept in shape.” Deku whistled.

“Fuck off and get this shit over with.”

“Excited to start?”

Bakugo jerked when he felt something ghosting lightly along both of his flanks, and he instantly knew it was Blackwhip. The touch felt feathery and ethereal, like cool fingers made of harmless, tickly sparklers. He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek, grateful Deku couldn't see his face from this position.

“We have so much to catch up on.”

The ghosting along his sides curved inward, tracing and slithering over his stomach and hips. It slowly dragged back and forth, up and down over the smooth skin, making Bakugo want to claw it off.

The way he was positioned arched his back slightly, so he couldn't close that small gap that gave Deku easy access to those spots. The fucking bastard.

“We don’t have shit to do with nothin’.” Bakugo spat through his teeth, uselessly forcing himself to stay as still as possible. His stomach muscles twitched of their own accord though, instantly snitching on his stoic facade.

“I think we do. I plan to make up for lots of lost time, Kacchan.” He goosed his ribs.

Bakugo flinched and clenched his jaw so tight, he felt the hurt in his neck. “Stop fucking calling me that.”

“Mmm. It never bothered you before. What’s different now?”

Bakugo ground his teeth together. He jumped when he felt more tendrils start teasing the muscles on his back, tracing agonizing patterns and small circles right underneath his shoulder blades. A lone tendril slithered up his spine, slowing down just enough to trigger an involuntary lurching reaction Bakugo did every time he was touched right below the back of his neck.

“You ffffucking-”

“Whats different now?” Deku repeated, sliding two tendrils up his spine this time.

Bakugo tensed his entire body and cringed, waiting for the tendrils to touch down on that stupid spot. Instead, he jumped when he felt them split up and caress over the top of his shoulders, tracing down to the little dip that made up the corners of his armpits. Bakugo’s arms strained, trying to push them back into himself and close the gap.

“I called you Kacchan our entire lives.” More tendrils pushed out from his back, wrapping around each of his ribs, softly vibrating in place, still tracing. Randomly, one would squeeze.

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me to stop.”

Bakugo inhaled sharply when he felt the tendrils at his shoulder blades slither down his back, the slow trek brought a curse to his lips.

Deku didn't speak again until it teased around his lower back and touched down on his ass.

Deku drew long and sensual circles along the soft, toned skin, causing Bakugo to twitch and huff puffs of air through his nose. Discovering his ass was ticklish was one of the things he would die to forget.

Deku’s voice was low. “The question wasn't rhetorical.” A firm squeeze to his ass made him him jump. “Or optional.”

Bakugo snarled. “Fuck off, you piece of shit.”

Deku chuckled and Bakugo seized when all of the tendrils started moving in different directions at once, all of them teasing the fuck out of him. Circles were drawn on either sides of his back, tendrils pressed inward towards his shoulder blades, along his spine, and behind his flanks. Two wafted up and down his stomach in different patterns with two more teasing the edges of his stomach. Two ghosted the rim of his armpits, occasionally dipping in smoothly, making him jump. Two teased his hipbones, occasionally dipping inward towards the inner thighs, tracing the crease right before his thighs became his crotch. The two on his ass stroked abstractly, making him twitch with each pass. He felt two additional tendrils ghost the back of his thighs and the hollows behind his knees.

He was moving around a lot now. Frustrated noises and loud puffs of air through his nose were quiet in comparison to how loud he made the bench squeak with his erratic movements. The occasional gasp left him when the tendrils tracing his ribs moved inward, playing with the sensitive spot right underneath his pecs, or that delicious spot right underneath his underarms. The occasional squeeze anywhere on his body forced him to jump. Regardless of sensitivity, all of his nerves were absolutely on fire.

He bit the inside of his cheek when he felt two new tendrils slowly ghosting down his calves, stopping just over the heels of his feet. The only ones on his body not moving, and he was hyper aware of it.

Deku let Bakugo stew, watching the blonde lose more of his composure with every passing second. Bakugo pushed his head against the cool leather and balled his hands into shaking fists, his body starting to work up a sweat.

This was the kind of tickling he hadn’t experienced yet. It didn't make him hysterical, didn't make him scream until his throat hurt, and didn't make him thrash like his life depended on it, but it made him want to claw his fucking skin off. It tickled so fucking much, but it wasn't nearly intense enough for him to justify letting out any of the building tension through laughter. He couldn't fucking stand it.

For a hot five seconds, he went berserk on the bench. He yanked hard and bucked attempting to kick and thrash. Spittle flew from his clenched teeth and he growled when Deku watched him with a smirk, using the tendrils on the sides of his stomach to dip into a pocket of sensitive nerves right by his flanks.

Bakugo dipped his shoulder inward and to the left, as if he could close off the gap that allowed Deku entrance. He groaned out loud and used his arms to buck once, twice, before being so fed up he couldn't handle it anymore.

“Fucking stop already!” He boomed. “If you’re gonna do it, then fucking get it over with, you pathetic coward!” The slow and methodical sensations were making him so fucking frustrated. He couldn't help the way his back arched, the way his head snapped back when the tendrils behind it slithered too close to his neck, the way his shoulders and arms jerked violently in an attempt shake off the tendrils, or the way his toes flexed and splayed regardless of the threat that ominously loomed inches away.

Deku chuckled again. “You’re so ticklish.”

Bakugo cursed when he felt two tendrils slowly gliding up the insides of his thighs. They traced the sensitive skin right next to his balls, curving up and down, spreading out and caressing the skin under his ass and back again. Bakugo spluttered and yanked hard at the restraints, the ticklish muscles in his arms flexing under the mischievous and ethereal touch of Blackwhip.

“You fucking loser ass villain bah-” The tendrils on his feet twitched. Bakugo’s mouth clamped shut.

“Hm?” Deku hummed, leaning his ear toward the heaving blonde.

“Fucker.” Bakugo cursed. “What the hell is it you want from me?”

“I’ll give you three guesses.” Deku gleefully mocked.

“You’re a goddamn fucking moh-morohon!” Bakugo cursed, busying himself with another bout of frustrated thrashing when more tendrils swirled under his arms. “I’m not playing your backward ass games!”

Deku smirked. Without letting up on Bakugo’s treatment, he grabbed a chair and sat right next to the blonde, who had to tilt and rest his head on his left cheek to look Deku in the eyes.

“You’ll do whatever I want you to do.” He slurred, kicking his foot up on the edge of the bench where Bakugo’s shaking arm rested.

The tendrils around his ribs prodded firmly. Bakugo flinched hard, unable to hold back the gasp that choked him.

“The day I got suspended from U.A.,” Deku’s eyes roamed shamelessly over Bakugo’s trembling body. The blonde straightened his head and closed his eyes, still painfully aware the tendrils on his feet were still as stone. Anxiety bubbled up in his throat. He knew Deku did it just to fuck with him. He fucking knew it.

“I begged you to help me.”

“K-Kacchan? Wait, Kacchan! No! STOP! PLEASE!”

“Grrh! The school hahas rules, dumbass! Not my ff-fuckin’ fault you weh-went and broke ‘em!” Bakugo snapped. The damn tendrils never stopped moving, always switching places and finding new spots on his infinitely ticklish body. He was going to throw an aneurysm if it didn't stop.

Deku’s eyes darkened. “Not your fault, huh?”

Bakugo sneered. He couldn’t focus! “Damn it! If you got somethin’ to say, just fuckin- GAH!”

The tendrils on his heels traced slowly down his foot, spilling down his arch and wiggling slowly like a snake, tracing over his incepts, the sides of his feet, wrapping around to the tops and circling their tips around the balls.

Bakugo released a large puff of air and slammed his forehead against the leather, breathing harshly through his teeth. He yanked hard on his arms, face turning red with titanium effort. He jolted and grimaced when two tendrils slithered under his toes, the others still circling along and around the balls of his feet. Just a ghost of a sensation, but it psyched the fuck out of him.

Two more tendrils, parallel of each other, traced down the sides of his feet, looped around down to the heal, then zipped up to the toes, following the outline of the undersides and back again to repeat. Two other tendrils appeared and started tracing the ticklish spot along where the arch melts into the heal and then two other tendrils outlined his calves and ankles.

Bakugo lifted his forehead just to slammed it again against the leather rest, frustrated agony sizzling at the corners of his mouth.

Deku smirked, reveling in Bakugo’s priceless reactions. “You’re acting like I’m shoving a burning knife through your gut. I bet you would prefer that.”

Bakugo huffed and growled, sweat dripping off his heated skin. “What… do you gohddamn… aaghh- want?!”

“Let’s play a game!” Deku quickly stood, knocking over the chair. All of the tendrils finally, finally stopped and Bakugo shamelessly let his entire body flop onto the bench. He barely took two much needed breaths before Deku whistled. Bakugo heard the door open behind him, but he was too exhausted to attempt to look. That was, until he felt someone crouch underneath the bench. His head jolted up and he was about to speak when he felt something wet squishy and warm envelop his entire manhood. Bakugo jerked up so hard he actually moved the bench slightly.

“What the fuck! What the fuck?!” Bakugo screeched, thrashing heavily again as the person underneath the bench fitted the squishy thing over Bakugo’s penis and balls. The person then stood and pulled two straps around Bakugo’s waist, tying them in a neat little bow above his ass. Bakugo saw a tan hand pass Deku a controller and without a word, whoever it was, left and closed the door behind them.

Deku palmed the controller, observing it as if he were a critic admiring a strokeless painting. Bakugo’s face turned red with anger, embarrassment, and everything in-between.

“What the fuck is that? What did your perverted ass minion put on me?! Answer me, damn it!”

“These are the rules of the game,” Deku started, ignoring Bakugo’s whining. “First, if it’s not obvious, I’ll be tickling any spot of my choosing.”

Bakugo glared at him. “What the fuck is on my dick?!”

Deku smiled. He turned the controller and Bakugo strained to see it. It looked like a TV remote but it only had eight buttons on it. One circle button in the middle with four arrows around it. There were two buttons parallel to each other below it and one button at the top.

Deku rose his pointer finger, and made a show of pressing the top button.

The on button.

Bakugo flinched with a disgusted yelp when the thing around his cock and balls started vibrating. He anchored his back and tried to pull his penis out of the hole but he couldn't lift himself high enough.

“You’re fucking kidding me!” He screamed, a whole new wave of frustration coursing through him. “You have to be fucking kidding me!” Another bout of useless thrashing. He whipped his head towards Deku, sneering at him with all the hate he could muster. “You’re fucking dead! Do you hear me? When I get the fuck out of here, you’re- AHHH!”

Deku yawned and pressed the middle button. The squishy material Bakugo was encased in started moving. It squeezed and pressed and massaged in a sloping downward fashion, simulating a blowjob with winnowing pressure that caressed his entire length. The space that enveloped his balls started gently squeezing them, massaging them softly. Then, around his scrotum, he felt a circular object like thing close tightly, acting like some sort of cock ring.

It felt… amazing.

After almost an entire week of torture, Bakugo almost succumbed to the sensations right there, despite the makeshift ring.

Instead, he bit back his carnal reactions and pressed his forehead onto the head rest. “N- St-stop… Fffuckin’-” He groaned and bit his tongue.

“Enduring the tickling will be something you’ll have to do. What you’ll not have to do will be so much harder. Get it?”

Bakugo growled, trying to think about anything other than what his body wanted to do right now. He felt his manhood instantly get harder, more susceptible and sensitive.

“Why… why the damn-”

“I’m glad you asked.” Deku’s green eyes sparkled. “If you cum while I’m tickling you, you cant cum again on that spot for the rest of the game. If you cum twice on the same spot, you lose. If you win,” Deku shrugged again. “I’ll let you go.”

Bakugo hardly heard anything until those last four words. “What?”

“If you win,” Deku enunciated, punctuating the sentence with a careless gesture. “I’ll let you go.”

A chance. A fucking chance. He knew he couldn't rely on Deku’s word, but it was the only opportunity to present itself in this goddamn nightmare.

“Not like I… have a fuckin’ choice.” Bakugo groaned, using every ounce of energy he had not to lose the game before it could even start.

Deku grinned. “We’ll do two rounds.”

Bakugo assumed once the tickling started, it would be easy not to focus on the thing doubling his vision. It was the only silver lining he could think of, the only hope that he could cling on to.

Funny how he suddenly needed the tickling to overwhelm his pleasure.

“Alright!” Deku clapped his hands together. “Let’s start.”

“Set a.. Grrhh- S-set a fuckin’ timer.”

Deku tapped his temple. “It’s up here.”

Bakugo was about to protest, but closed his mouth when Deku, with a diabolical grin, slowly unsheathed Blackwhip. The blonde watched with disgust as inky tendrils slinked toward him with twitching excitement and intent.

They touched down on his left side first, caressing his flanks and ribs and slipping softly under his arms. He cringed, the pumping sensation on his dick still prevalent. He flinched when a tendril squeezed his hips and ribs at the same time.

“You… fuck… you said ohone damn s-spohot!”

Deku chuckled. “I’m just trying to decide.”

More poking and prodding, more flinching and cursing, then all of the tendrils traveled up and started tracing his shoulders, inner biceps, the lower outline and rim of his armpits.

“Here.” Deku said, joyfully. “Ten minutes starts now.”

Bakugo clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, expecting a burst of insufferable tickles, but the light tracing continued. The makeshift cock ring in the pump gradually released and he felt a rush of dangerous pleasure. With a long groan, the teasing and the tickles were completely obliterated from his mind, hardly able to feel them anymore as the pump expanded and closed in, the massage of his balls deepened causing him to shift around in his restraints, unconsciously grinding his hips to further the sensation.

He was close and was hardly resisting anymore. He teetered on the brink of ecstasy, a welcomed feeling afloat in a sea of agony and shit else. He felt something inside him swell, could have sworn the toy around his shaft pumped faster with excitement. Maybe just one time, just in this spot, wouldn’t be so bad. He could avoid it in the next round.

Yes, he’d decided. Who fucking cares if Deku watched. The sick fuck probably got off on it. Bakugo shoved his previous reservations aside and allowed the bliss to fully envelope him. Fuck everything and everyone else, with one final groan he-

“AHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHA! WHAHAAAA! DEHEHA- AAHHHHAHAHAHA! FUHUHUHK! DAHAHAMN IT!! YOHOU FUHKING- DAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Bakugo exploded into a generous mix of curses and laughter, brought on by the four tendrils circling the rims on either sides of his armpits to suddenly close in and undulate into the sensitive flesh. One was squeezing and floating around the ticklish muscle right where the armpit and chest connect. Another was pushing and rotating just above but not quite on that delectably torturous spot above his ribs, and the last two were shamelessly digging right into the center, One stationary, the other circling largely and being sure to not to leave any spot untouched.

Bakugo thrashed. He pressed his chest into the bench and slammed his forehead onto the headrest. His hands clenched and unclenched from their trembling fists and his shoulders bounced up and down from pure mirth. The surprise caught him off guard, although he would kick himself for not expecting it if he had the ability to think at all.

Being denied a peaceful release at the absolute last second made his body tingle with newfound sensitivity. His stomach filled with frustration and his throbbing cock twitched as it was continuously and mercilessly pumped.

Quickly tumbling down from his euphoric high, he cursed and fought. One of the tendrils found a delectable spot at the top left inner muscle, where the edge of his shoulder creased into his armpit. Being caught so grossly off guard by the spike in sensitivity, it easily knocked and bursted through to the most secluded corners of his mind.

“GAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA! AHAH AAAHHHAH! AAHAHAHA! FFFAAAHAHAHAHA- GGRRRAAAAH! GAHAHAD DAHAHMN IT STAHAHAHAP!”

Deku wore a toothy grin and just hummed to himself.

Bakugo tried to use his momentum to rock himself on the bench, hoping to tip the whole damn thing over but it held steady. Unable to manage anything more then a few stress creaks, Bakugo pushed each of his shoulders in and squished them against the bench, but the tickling never relented. He jolted violently when two random tendrils goosed his ribs.

“ARRRGGHH! GAHAAD DAHAMN YOU DEHEKHU! STAHPFUC- AAHAHAHA! STOP FUCKINGARAHAHOUND!”

Deku chuckled and raised his hands. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn't resist.”

“BAHAHSTAHAHARD! SHIHIHIHT! GAH! NO! NOO!! STAHAHAP!”

Deku feigned innocence as one of his lower tendrils slowly slinked more so towards the bottom of his armpits, causing Bakugo to thrash harder, doing a piss poor job of covering up his panic.

Suddenly, he yelled out when he felt the toy around his manhood start to squeeze. The tendrils under his arms gradually slowed their manic torment, leaving Bakugo huffing and puffing with each sensitive pass. Bakugo rested his sweat riddled forehead against the leather, squeezing his eyes shut in aggravation. The transition from obnoxious tickling pleasure was rough and Bakugo felt his arms shake.

The smile in Deku’s voice was infuriating. “How are we doing?”

He didn't realize it until a surge of pleasure slapped him in the face but Blackwhip was no longer pinching and prodding. Instead, swirling and ghosting. The toy around Bakugo’s length suddenly started pumping, undulating up and down in an unpredictable pattern. Strokes, like a tongue, traveled up his length, the winnowing pressure taking him in deep while it massaged his balls. Although still there, the tickling quickly became secondary.

Bakugo couldn't help the carnal groan that left his tight lips. Everything fell away from him as he openly welcomed the only good sensation he’s felt since being in this shit hole. He wanted this and he didn't care if Deku saw and mocked him. This was only the first round, He’d be able to avoid-

Bakugo yelled out as he released the first drops of ecstasy. The slicked out muscles on his back rippled as he arched into it, riding the whole thing out. The tendrils never stopped teasing his armpits, and he didn't give a shit. He couldn't feel it anymore. Sparks ignited and bloomed across his vision. After a moment of shameful, shattering pleasure, he slumped. Spent and breathless.

Deku whistled.

The toy didn’t slow. He felt something brush across his reddened tip. Bakugo twitched and gasped, pushing his hips back as far as he could.

”Fff-Fuck!”

”That’s one for the armpits.” Deku commented, casually. “If it’s going to be this easy then I think you might be screwed.”

“S-sta- Sh- I’m- I’m gonna-“

“What?” Deku’s eyebrows rose, amused.

”I’m gonna fffuckin’ k-kill you.” Bakugo panted, his pitch rising and falling in rhythm with the thing around his cock overstaying its welcome.

Deku’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “There’s the Kacchan I knew.”

Bakugo opened his mouth but slammed it shut when Blackwhip started moving.

”After All Might gave me One For All,” Deku started, moving Blackwhip slowly, ever so slowly downward. “He told me to keep it a secret.”

“I’m sorry, young Midoriya. Please hold still.”

Bakugo cringed as he felt the tendrils slowly swoop over his ribs. He felt them expand so they caressed right underneath his chest. Two tendrils on each side teased the ribs that wrapped around his back, while two other sneaky ones still swirled in his armpits. He hissed through his teeth as chills iced down his spine and goosebumps appeared all over his body. He shook his head, as if he could will it all away. To his dismay, the teasing is so much more frustratingly ticklish than before.

He grunted when two guileful tendrils flicked and circled his nipples on either side.

“But I told you about it anyway, and I did it out of respect. Respect you didn’t deserve or appreciate.” Deku continued. “Even after All Might, The hero we both grew up admiring, saw it fit to pass his quirk onto me, you still told me I was worthless. Unworthy of U.A. A psychopathic freak.”

A tendril goosed his upper ribs, another slithered down his stomach, drawing wide circles around his belly button. Two closed in on his hips, pressing into the bone with light pressure. Two teased the skin underneath his ass, two played with the tendons next to his groin, right along the edge of the toy. Another two slinked down his legs and teased his ankles while circling around the heels of his feet. He jumped when an additional pair circled around the balls, occasionally dipping in and tracing the skin right underneath his toes, massaging the stems and teasing the bases.

His heart rate picked up and his breath came fast. His skin tingled as his nerves fired at him with obnoxious sensitivity. He could feel every delicate stroke, every harsh poke, every sensual touch and squeeze, and couldn't help the giggles when they spilled out of his snarling mouth.

The fucking orgasm. It made him even more sensitive.

He was so fucking screwed.

Deku paused, letting the epiphany the other was clearly having, sink in. “I started to believe you.”

All of the tendrils poked their respective spots at once, causing Bakugo to let out an undignified yelp and jolt. Every little movement now started him to the core.

“Funny how a worthless, psychopathic freak now holds the leash to your collar.”

“Is that what this bullshit is about?” Bakugo’s voice boomed with irritation, edgy nervousness punctuating the end of his accusation. “What the hell do you want, damn Deku? A fuckin’ apology or somethin’?”

Deku shook his head. All the humor was void from his face, his voice dark and emotionless. “I’ve never wanted anything from you.”

Bakugo blinked when Deku raised his hand with the remote and pointed it at him. He couldn't see what button he pressed, but he gasped when suddenly the toy started vibrating. Teasing strokes evolved into sensuous pumping. He was hard again in seconds.

The tendrils eased off. All except the ones stationed at his ribs. Three teased the bottom, two on his left, one on his right. Two on each side teased the middle of his ribs, swirling and poking, following the curve of his back, and another two danced across his upper ribs, rubbing back and forth, up and down, ghosting underneath and the sides of his chest.

“I’m sure you can guess which spot is next.” Deku clicked his tongue. “Looks like you might lose before I even start.”

Bakugo’s head snapped up from where it was resting. “Fuck you!” His biceps strained with the titanic effort of trying to lower his arms. He arched his back, pushed himself forward, tried to dip his shoulders and chest hard against the leather, but nothing phased the tendrils determined to take me straight to hell. They encouraged the sort of panic that he felt like he could taste. The toy’s vibrations increased, the flesh of the toy slowly starting to suck, doubling his vision with pleasure.

“There was a spot around here… where was it again?” Blackwhip poked and nudged at his entire rib cage. Bakugo spluttered and hissed through his teeth, body jolting and flinching with every jab.

“Fucker! You, mother fuc-!!” Bakugo spat. “Stop this- Mmgghhm- bulh-bullshit! III’ve fuckin’ had it with y-AH!”

“Mmmm.” Deku mused. Blackwhip paused, pinpointed tendrils vibrating softly right on that dreaded spot. Bakugo froze as well, looking at Deku with the most hateful glare he’d ever given anyone.

“I wonder if-”

Squeeze

Bakugo inhaled so sharply, he choked. “AUGH! Damn it, stop!” He tried to haft and throw himself around on the bench. Deku only smiled, a sadistic glint in his eyes.

Blackwhip softly, softly undulated once more and Bakugo would have hit the ceiling if he wasn't so tightly restrained. “MMGGHH! STOP! Don’t you fucking do it, you fuck!”

The toy around his needy length pumped faster and his attention was quickly averted to the sudden burst of pleasure that wracked through his body and made him shutter. His mouth opened in a silent groan, which transformed into an unrestrained yell as Blackwhip again, teased one of his death spots.

He hafted himself up hard, creaking the bench. “NO!” He cursed, shoving all of the authority in his voice that he could muster. “Just fucking stop this! I swear to FuhuahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAK! SHIHIT!”

The three tendrils teasing the bottom of his ribs dove in, rubbing fast and harshly between and around the bone, the third tendril went rogue and snuck over his quivering stomach and down to his thighs. Bakugo shook his head in delirium and fruitlessly bucked his hips up and down. Even with the torturous tickling rerouting his mind, the pleasure he was feeling from the toy was still very much present. Slowly, he felt himself twitch and glisten with pressing need.

Deku hummed. “Oh, does that tickle?”

“FAHAHAK YOU! GAAGHH! NAAAAHAHAHAHA STAHAHAHAP!”

The tendrils stationed at the middle of his ribs came alive, mimicking the same unpredictable technique as the ones on his lower ribs. Bakugo fought hard, knowing what was next, knowing he couldn't stop it. Two tendrils slowly wrapped around his thighs, goosing and tickling the whole way. Bakugo expected them to attack his thighs again, but unexpectedly, they slipped their teasing tips underneath the sleeve of the toy, now slowly stroking and wrapping around the bare skin of his penis. Aside from dissolving into harsh thrashing and seizing like he touched an exposed cable, something else instantly came over him. In a moment of panicked weakness he opened his mouth.

“AAHHH! GAHH! WAIT! FUKIN’ WAHAITWAIT! WAHT DOYOUWAHAHAHNT?!”

Deku answered simply. “This.”

Two things happened at the same time.

The tendrils resting and teasing his death spot pulled back and dove right in. Viciously rubbing into that incomprehensibly ticklish spot without a shred of mercy. Four more vibrating tendrils latched on, squeezing, rubbing and scratching torturously.

The tendrils that snuck into the toy, wrapped around the entirety of Bakugo’s heat and lightly squeezed, following the rhythm of the toy. It pumped Bakugo excitedly, the two tips reaching his pre-cum soaked tip to swirl and rub, lick and tease. One of the tips pressed underneath the head, flicking under it like like an experienced tongue, while the other teased and stroked the slit.

Torn between two incredibly overwhelming sensations, Bakugo’s voice instantly gave out. For a moment, there was silence. Bakugo’s mouth was open in a silent, lustful, tortured scream, his sweat glistened muscles rippled with the intense single pull he was imposing onto all of his limbs. His toes clenched and his nails bit into his fists. After one sharp intake of breath,

Bakugo fittingly exploded.

“AHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FAHAHHA! NONONOHOHOHONOOOOO! GAHHH! NAHA- I CAHHAHA- ST- GAHAHAHAHAD OHHOHOH FUCK! OHFUUUUUCK!! DEHEHE- PFFTAHAHAAHAHA!! AHAHAAAASHIHIT! SHITSHITSAHIT!! AHAHAAAAAAAAHAHAH! GGRRAAAAAHHH!!! -AHAHHAHAHAAA————OOOOOPP! STAHAHAHAP STOPSTOPSTOPFUCKINGHELLSTOHOHOHOHP!! AHAHAHA————”

Deku watched Bakugo fall apart, a maniacal, sadistic smile creasing his face. “Found it.”

“AAAAHH! FUCKDEKUSTOOOOOOOOOOOP! FAHAHAK! I CAHAHA- GAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I CAAAAHAHAHAH-”

“What was that?” Deku stuck his tongue into his cheek. “You can’t what?”

Bakugo’s mind was blank. His entire world was encompassed by all of the sensations saturating every recess of his brain. He whipped his head around, slamming it repeatedly against the headrest, the cushioning not even allowing him the relief of pain. He quickly approached the lower level of laughter, where it became mostly screams.

“ICANTTAKEIT! OHFUCKINGSHIT I FUKIN CAHAHAHAHA! AHAHA AHA AHA AHAHAH! ICAHAHAHANT! STOOOOOOOOHOHAAAAAAAAP!”

The toy picked up its pace, encouraging the tendrils wrapped around his dick to follow along. A few new tendrils squeezed his balls, Two flicked and rubbed his nipples, one even licked up the side of his neck, right underneath his jaw. His eyes flew to the back of his head.

“Want me to stop tickling or stop pumping?”

Bakugo’s face was alight with fire, he wasted no time. “TICKLING! STAHAH THE TIHIHIH-TIHIH- FAHAHAHAK! STAHAHAHAP TIHIHAHAHA-!”

“If I stop the tickling, you’ll lose the round. Are you sure you-”

“YES! YEHEHEHS! YESYESYESJUST- SHIHIHIHT!! STAHAHAHAP! FUCKINGHEHEHELL!”

Deku instantly stopped and focused his energy into on the blonde’s dick.

“MMMMPHHHHH FFFFFUUCK!” Bakugo moaned, arching his back and shaking his head, grinding his hips along the bench. “FFFFFFFFUHHHHHK!” Bakugo groaned, lost in a new kind of torment.

He closed his eyes, everything instantly fell away from him when he felt a tendril slip over his tip again. He felt the build up burn in his stomach, felt his penis throbbing, his tip glistening, ready for release. He felt the most powerful orgasm he’d ever had gather, aching in his swollen balls. Despite the need for air, he held his breath as the first drops of-

“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!”

Bakugo’s voice cracked when everything simply stopped.

The tendrils and the toy fell limp. His body tingled as if all of his limbs fell asleep. Sweat dripped off his chin as he gasped. Opening his mouth to curse, a strangled sound came out instead when everything resumed. He flinched and jolted in his restraints, but the pumping and “licking” resumed, throwing him right back into that agonizing build up. Right when he could see stars, it stopped again.

He jerked his head up and seared his eyes into amused green ones with a guttural growl, only to force his head back down and clench his fists when it all started again.

“You…. You ffffuh- ffucking b-”

“I’m just helping you out.” Deku cocked his head to the side, chuckling. “Trust me, you don’t want to cum again.”

Bakugo closed his eyes, but he couldn't have a moment of rest before the pumping started again. He filled his cheeks with curses and air, releasing them in a flurry when rogue tendrils buried themselves into his ribs, his worst spot spared for now, as he was thrown head first into more ticklish chaos. He couldn't handle this much longer. He couldn't handle this now. He felt his sanity slipping through the cracks, but it didn't matter.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Deku trilled after a few more minutes. “If you beg me to cum, I’ll let you. Then we can move on.”

Beg him to lose the game. Beg him to take away the small change at freedom and hope that he had. Beg him to keep him here and torture him until help eventually came or he went batshit.

No, no he couldn't.

Bakugo snapped out of it. He returned Deku’s wicked glare and sneered. “Fuck. You.”

Deku narrowed his eyes and smirked, as if he was hoping for that exact answer. “Tickling it is then.”

First, there was a moment of silence.

Then pure, unadulterated madness.

Blackwhip attacked every inch of Bakugo’s ribcage. Bakugo screamed, a high pitched uncharacteristic shriek that shocked both of them. Then, he fell into manic, hysterical unrestrained laughter. Laughter that only maddened when his worst spot was finally targeted. Bakugo couldn't feel when the toy started again, couldn't feel the bubbling build up, or the burn of release that taunted him from mere inches away. He couldn't feel any of it, not until the tickling abruptly stopped and he stole greedy breath before countless tendrils converged on the entirety of his tip, sliding and slinking over the crimson peak it while the tendrils wrapped around his dick pumped up and down his length with mouth watering speed. His eyes stung with mirthful tears before he was thrown right back into ticklish oblivion.

Once his death spot was awarded another short break, Bakugo used that opportunity to quickly give up.

“OKAYOKAYOKAHAHAHAHAYE! OKAHAHAHAHAY JUHUSTFUKINGDOHOHOHIT! I GIHIHIVE! IGIVE! JAHAHAAST MAAKEMECUM! DHAHAMNIT!”

“Mmmm,” Deku considered for a moment. “Say please.”

“AAGHHAHAHA!! GAHAHAHDDAHAHMN YOU!” Bakugo was slapping the edge of the leather wrist rest with his hand, trying to physically tap out. “PLEHEHESE! FUCKINPLEHEHESE! JUHUST STOP TIHIHIHCKLING!”

The tickling didn't stop completely, but it was enough. Bakugo was hardly afforded the gift of relief as tendrils immediately pumped and licked, massaged and caressed his entire length. The toy suddenly closed up around the tip and so similar to a warm mouth, he felt licking, swirling and even sucking. The rest of his twitching member was caressed and abused with soft and fast lustful strokes. Spit dribbled out of his mouth and beads of sweat glided down his sides and back as he arched.

He had no idea how many tendrils were pleasuring him now, but every damn spot was zapped with unbelievable, world shattering, sinful pleasure. Tendrils slinked through his toes and circled around the balls of his feet. Others lightly ghosted up his long arches and more teased his heals. New, lustful feelings seared from his feet straight to his dick, which pulsed in tandem with the activity. He didn’t dare start to unpack that.

The tendrils reappeared at his nipples and neck, his eyes once again dug into the back of his head.

He lasted an impressive 50 seconds.

He groaned out loud with his long release, his damp rob and body twitching through each pump of glorious rapture. His orgasm, almost matching the duration of his endurance, forced his twitching toes to curl, the squirming tendrils undeterred by even that. His abs and back muscles flexed, the light reflecting off of each sweaty twitch and convulsion.

He slumped heavily after it was through. He bucked and hissed when the tendrils around his ribs hardly gave him a second before teasingly slinking down, tracing over his twitching sides and pressing into his hips and thighs.

“Two for two.” Deku counted, unapologetically. “I’m not sure I like your odds.”

Bakugo couldn't muster a response. The tendrils around his hips and thighs forced a few half assed curses and poorly held back giggles from him. He arched his back, huffing when they pressed into the soft spaces inward next to his hips, ticklishly stroking down between his thighs. Oh shit.

“Agghh staha- Mmmhh. No mohore.” He murmured. His once silky ash blonde hair was now dark and matted, sticking to his eyes and head. “I-I— God, I fffucking can’t- I can’t d-do this shit anymore.” His body sizzled with heightened sensitivity. Even the breeze across his fucking feet tickled.

Deku looked at him for a moment before shaking his head slowly. “The game isn’t over yet.”

The tendrils found a ticklish tendon underneath and inward along his ass and inner thigh, and pressed into it. Bakugo barked out a surprised laugh and squirmed weakly.

Deku was silent as he teased that spot, longer than the pro hero thought he could tolerate.

“One more spot,” Deku announced, pushing his tendrils down over his thighs, creeping over the back of his ticklish knees, lingering there for a moment before tickling toward his calves. “Then round two starts.”

The tendrils slowly slithered down this calves, forcing him to half groan, half whine and bite his cheek. When they grazed over his Achilles heal and brushed down around the sides of his feet, Bakugo felt a surge of adrenaline course through him, energy he pointlessly wasted by yelling a stream of obscenities and fighting hard as he could. He’d never felt more helpless, he’d never been so tortured, he’d never felt as if he could be reduced to begging, but here he was, those sinful words dancing at the tip of his tongue, tempting him like food tempts a starved man.

All from tickling.

Blackwhip paused and Bakugo knew it was over. His fatigue caught up moments before and he stared at Deku with wide pleading eyes. Deku drank that up like a craved cigarette. He’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

Well, almost.

“Wait! Deku, wai-”

The rest of his plea fizzled and died on his lips.

He felt it everywhere and nowhere. Tendrils raced over and under his flailing toes, some scratched right underneath and along the stems and pads, more circled and scratched the balls of his feet, playing with the plump, overly sensitive pads. Additional ones scratched just at the creases underneath the balls, which at this point hadn’t been touched and absolutely drove him up the metaphorical wall of madness and hysteria. Others stroked up and down and side to side, playing along his creamy arches, paying special attention to the spot where the heel melts into the arch, while more circled and teased his heels. Two tickled and scratched along the sides of each foot, a few, Bakugo couldn't count, even tickled the tops of his feet along with some slowly stroked up and down this claves and two stragglers unfairly burrowing into the back of his knees.

Bakugo couldn't comprehend anything except how much it fucking tickled.

His mouth was wide open in a silent scream, his eyes squeezed shut, saturated with mirthful tears. When additional tendrils started stroking and alternating between the arches and balls of his feet, a switch flipped in him. He started bouncing up and down, moving the bench slightly as he tried to lift and drop his weight, trying to use pure strength to break it or at least flip it over. Aside from a few cracks and creaks, it was silent as he wasted precious, limited energy.

More at the top and sides. Extra in between the toes. Something evil goosed his ribs.

That was all he couldn't handle.

“NOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHO! NONONONAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUUUUUCK! AHA AHAHA! AHAHHAHAH! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOOOOOOOOOOOP!YOU STUPID FUCKING PIECE OF MOTHERFUCKINGSHIT ILL FUCKING KIHIHIHIHLL YOUDEAAAAD! MMMGGHGHHMHMHMHMMMAAAAAH!! GOD! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!!!”

Pure, tortured belly laughter bellowed out of him like a fog horn. His laughter only evolved, turning pained and high pitched when the thing on his cock started vibrating.

“NOOO!”

The tendrils along his feet started slowing, sensually rubbing and tickling his toes. Electricity flitted through his dick, standing to attention within seconds.

Curses temporarily overwhelmed his laughter when Blackwhip wrapped around and pulled his toes back. The sweat coating Bakugo’s body created enough slip for the tendrils to wreak absolute havoc just along the undersides and stems of his toes, where the sensitive skin had been pulled and crueley exposed. Bakugo thrashed and screamed and spat and heaved, but nothing stopped it. Nothing topped it.

This time, Deku didn't edge, didn't relent, and didn't change the pace. Either Bakugo was going to cum like this, or he wasn't.

“PLEHEHEHEHEHESE! AHAHAHA! OOHGADDAMNITPLEEHEHESE!!”

“What are you begging for?” Deku inquired. Bakugo couldn't care that he was being mocked, couldn’t even take the few seconds of brain power to register or understand it.

“AAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH ST- AHAHAHA! MA-AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUCKFUCKFUCK I CAAAAA————”

Silence. Deku furrowed his brows and leaned forward, cupping a hand to his ear. “Hmm?”

“——————PAHA- PH- PLEHE- PLEHEHEHESE! WAHAHAH- WAIHIHIHT! NAHAHA I- I GOHOHAHAH! MMMMMMHHHHHFFFFFAAAGGHHHHH!!!”

The tickling hardly slowed as stars blurred his vision. A loud, animalistic moan burned his raw throat. He came hard, the tendrils slipping and sliding gleefully inside the wet toy.

Even after he was done, it continued for a few more seconds, prompting a loud continuous scream from him that only relented a few moments after everything truly stopped.

He collapsed, breathing so hard and deep that his chest ached.

He only knew one thing; He couldn't fucking handle this anymore.

Deku slow clapped and whistled. “Bet you never thought you could be tickled into an orgasm.”

Bakugo didn't respond, he hardly heard him. He flinched hard when the tendrils teasingly retracted from his reddened and raw feet, traveling up his trembling body once again.

Bakugo moaned. “N-no… Please…Just … please just stop.”

Deku shook his head and beamed. “The game isn’t over yet.”

Bakugo shook his head, entirely defeated. “No more.”

Deku eyes glittered, the emerald hue glowing as though the devil himself had possessed the soul behind them. “Remember,” Tendrils slithered up to his aching ribs. Bakugo gritted his teeth and pulled his arms. Deku’s eyes crinkled. “You cant cum in the same spot twice.”

Tendrils slipped under his arms, waving and stroking like wheat in the wind.

A noise, almost like a disgruntled whine slipped out of Bakugo. “Please. Deku, please just fucking stop this.”

More tendrils. Bakugo inhaled sharply. “I-I know what I di-did wahas fucked a-”

“Is that all it took?” Deku murmured, voice low. “Hours of tickle torture for you to realize that?”

“No!” Bakugo winced as tendrils spilled down his ribs. “Damn it! I’ve known, you fucktard! I- Fuck! I just- SHIHIT! Just- FUCK! Let me goddam taHAHAlk!”

“No.” Deku put a hand up, silencing the quivering blonde. “It might come as a shock to you, but I haven’t thought about what happened in a long time.”

Tracing along the heels of his feet. Bakugo cringed.

“I’ve wanted this for a while. To torture you, and make you beg.” Tendrils slipped into the hollows behind his knees. “To make you answer for each and every horrible thing you did to me, down to every dirty look.” Tendrils teased up his spine again, causing him to lurch forward as much as he could. “I wanted to break you and make you pay. I still do.” Tendrils ghosted down his arms, teasing the skin under his biceps. “Maybe one day, I’ll let you explain it to me. But right now,” Deku stood, straightening his back. All the tendrils lifted themselves from his body, pointing their tips over their respective spots.

“It turns out, I don’t give a shit.”

Tendrils burrowed into his underarms. As if he were being repeatedly tased with a stun gun, he convulsed and seized, immediately dissolving into loud, unrestrained guffaws. His entire being was now just a big ball of overly sensitized, ticklish nerves to which Blackwhip took full advantage of. It dug, scratched, wiggled, pinched and squeezed all over his body, the main event taking place in his armpits. He fell into silent laughter once, twice, three times within the span of a few minutes.

He couldn't fight when the toy started vibrating, when he felt more of Blackwhip dip into the sleeve of the toy, when the tendrils ghosting and tickling his thighs pinched and traced along his ass, and when tendrils teased the newfound egregious zones on his feet. He gave in to the torture, unable to protest when the freedom he had no chance of earning burned out of him for the fourth time.

Everything stopped. His head fell in misery.

Then snapped back up.

He felt it in his armpits, ribs, thighs, groin, feet, knees, calves, arms- everywhere.

Every spot Deku had learned was put to merciless use.

Bakugo’s screams echoed throughout the room, down the hall, and drifted outside, haunting the grounds like loitering ghosts.

He didn't know how long it took for him to finally pass out.

—

His eyes groggily flitted open.

It took a few minutes for his vision to fully come back to him. It took even longer for him to remember where he was. Eyes locked on the water damaged ceiling, his head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. When his brain started to catch up with his body, he felt it.

Holy shit, he ached.

His throat felt chipped and raw, his head pounded hard at the side of his temples, his fucking ribs and stomach…

He groaned and pushed himself up, stomach muscles screaming as he held his head in his hand. One glance around the room and one more zap from his aching body confirmed that what happened to him wasn’t just a fucked up nightmare.

Catching a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye, he turned his attention to the flimsy nightstand next to his bed. Three bottles of water were placed onto it, along with some dark steaming, floral smelling liquid inside of a beige mug with a spoon sticking out of it. In front of that was a bottle of Advil, a sandwich on a small, circular paper plate, and an envelope. All neatly placed together.

Any reservations he’d possessed about eating and drinking had been thwarted long ago, so he downed the first bottle in seconds as well as half of the second before deciding to swallow three Advils along with the rest. He placed the third bottle underneath the mattress and observed the contents of the mug, deciding it was tea. He took a tentative sip, sighing when the hot liquid velveted down his sore throat, soothing it and warming his stomach. A hint of ginger left a subtle, spicy tang and he could have sworn he tasted a bit of honey. He ate his sandwich as he sipped.

He didn't want to think about who left all of this stuff here for him, much less why. As far as he knew, everyone in this fucking place had access to his room and everyone was a damn scumbag for it.

His gaze turned to the envelope. He finished the tea, pulled the lip open, and pulled out something small and rectangular, wrapped in white tissue paper.

He tore the paper off and his stomach dropped.

“K-Kacchan? Wait, Kacchan! No! STOP! PLEASE!”

It was old and worn. It looked exactly like his.

“PLEASE!”

It was Deku’s All Might trading card.

#bnha tickle #tickle fic #t word community #tickle community #tickle blog #lee!bakugou #sallage-mha #ticklish!bakugou #mha tickle #lee!bakugo #Ler!Midoriya #Ler!Deku #ticklish!bakugo

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chaoticloving · 2 years

Text

Born to Die

koh!harry styles x mob!reader

summery: after being double crossed, y/n is forced into making a deal with the devil.

warnings: death, murder, mentions of kidnapping and guns also anything related to hell and the mafia (surprise ik), angst and lil smut if you squint

w/c: 5.2k

a/n: HALLOWEEN FIC!!! also want to say that murder is not cool, and running a mafia is not cool. please like a reblog this since its something i normally don't do and i want to know all of your thoughts!!! also because i might've failed a test because i was writing this instead of studying!!! enjoy!

Y/n by no means was a good person. Morally, sure, she did everything that allied with her beliefs, but ethically, she was a nightmare. From being known as a heartless woman to being one of the most feared people in history–maybe, other than Satan–she knew the power she possessed, her effect on people.

She got her start in the casino world. She opened her first casino by age nineteen, using her charm and wit to impress men with big pockets to take her casino off the ground and launch it to success. Success, of course, leads to money, which leads to power and power leads to anything. Specifically for Y/n, that anything was weapons trading, money laundering, extortion, and the bright idea to dabble into politics.

As time went on, so did the list of enemies. So, it was about time for them to band together to take down the empire that Y/n built.

The day started out normal. Y/n woke up in her private mansion, one in the rich and private suburbs of New York. No one knew where she lived, except her “friend”, Angelo. Although she would never call him when she was in trouble–which is never–he was competent enough to do her “dirty” work. Angelo came from a wealthy background, a rich school boy who had no idea how destroyed the world was. He was just desperate to be seen as “edgy”. He was a good boy who knew how to follow orders, that's all she needed.

It was nearly two in the afternoon, Y/n’s sleep cycle was all out of whack. She tries her best to stay awake as much as she can. It’s hard when there's no one to lean on but would she even trust someone? Could she?

Y/n does her ‘morning’ routine: shower, teeth, cleanser, makeup, and then hair. She sighs as she admires herself in the mirror. She had a scar on her cheek bone. It was faint, yet noticeable if you looked hard enough. She remembers getting it too; the day when she walked away with a bleeding cheek and then the man who did that to her laid there a bullet hole in the head. It was probably the day her crime boss title was given, a well deserved name for the most feared person in the world.

Her face, though, was perfect. She knows what her grunts say about her–mainly tame things, as the last time she heard something inappropriate got to see the barrel of her gun–but what truly fills her ego is the face of some man, begging for mercy, begging her to tell her boss that they’ll do anything, then revealing herself as the boss.

In her morning, she felt peaceful. She changed into some athletic clothes, heading to her gym to do some boxing, but her phone rang out. She sighed as she said Angelo’s name–this couldn’t be good.

“Boss.” His voice cracked, and it just pissed Y/n off more.

“Spit it out.”

“My house was ransacked.” She sighed as she heard this, running her fingers through her hair. “Including the safe that kept your location.”

She hung up the phone and raced back to her room. She grabbed her go bag in the back of her closet when she heard her front doors being knocked down. Y/n swore as she loaded her gun, knowing she would have to fight her way out of this, and she knew exactly who she would have to fight.

A man with a fake deep voice, Alister, was telling the men to travel in a group. Zeke, another casino owner with a terrible cough from smoking, agrees saying to go down the hall to her bedroom.

That caught Y/n’s attention, they seemed to know where her room was despite that information not being in Angelo’s safe; she knew what that meant, and groaned when she knew she’d have to do more work after this.

Y/n took a deep breath when her bedroom door whipped open, a series of footsteps following along. “You go first.” “No you go!” “I went first in through the front door. Gerry go.” “Hell fuckin no.”

Bag over her shoulder, gun locked and ready, Y/n opened the closet door gun drawn in front. She fired a few bullets, knowing she landed from the grunts let out by a couple on the men, then lunged for the bedroom door. She sprinted out, hearing bullets fired at her and turned the corner, heading for the exit. As she ran down the stairs though, a bullet went through her ankle, tripping and falling right on her head.

…

Harry was tired.

He always seemed to be these days, or nights really. He was always in a sour mood, but what could you expect from the king of hell? It was his whole thing, being angry and mad all the time, but he was getting tired of it. The limited emotions would soon turn to nothingness, and he wasn’t sure what he preferred.

The anger reminded him of his early king days. When he was first given the position, he gave into the anger and madness that came with Hell and turned it into energy.

It was important to note that just because someone was sent to hell didn’t mean Harry liked them, in fact, he hated all of them.

Hell was ruled in weird ways. You had anyone who did anything majorly wrong, but you also had those who were truly evil, the ones that fueled Harry’s hatred for human kind and got the worst tourter out of anyone.

Harry groaned as he sat on his desk. He knew this was truly Hell because he had a stack of paperwork to go over. Niall had dropped off a couple of stacks of people who would most likely be sent down today. They used statistical probability to see who on the “bound to hell list” would most likely get themselves killed that day and what to expect.

Harry sipped his drink, a special Hell coffee brew that the devils made to perfection, as looked at the list. The normal people everyday, a couple people he knew, some workers downstairs had a bet on to see when they’d go, a rich guy, a gang leader, a politician, etc.

Harry’s eyes wandered back to the gang leader, recognizing the name from multiple people's cause of death section.

Y/n Y/l/n was a human he recognized, she was one of the few he could recognize and empathize with from his time as a human. He appreciated how she didn’t do anything rash. She had a plan for everything and knew what to expect, which caused his eyebrows to raise when he saw her name. According to his stats, she wasn’t due until old age, her COD being simply old age.

It didn’t make sense.

“Niall get in ‘ere.” He spoke into his phone, knowing a couple seconds later he would be knocking on the door. “Comin.”

“What’cha want boss?” Niall walked in with his hands in his pockets.

“Why is Y/l/n in this list?” He threw her file to Niall, who skimmed it. “She isn’t due for a few more decades.”

“Huh.”

“What does that mean?” Harry was getting impatient, not understanding why the man was taking his sweet time.

“You remember that angel that kept fucking with the people we like?”

Harry gave him a blank look.

“Louis punched him and got in trouble with the people upstairs.”

“The guy with the fucked up jaw?” Harry remembered. “What about ‘em?”

“Angelo, yeah.” Niall clarified. “That’s her COD. He causes her death.”

He tosses the file back to Harry and he quickly rereads the file. “Leave me.”

“Alright.” Naill heads to the exit, but hesitates at the door. “I know she's one of the better worse ones, but don’t do anything that’ll get you in trouble with upstairs.”

Harry just glares at him in return.

…

Y/n woke up in a haze.

At first, she didn’t want to wake up. The couch she was laying on was too comfy, and warmth radiating from a fire relaxed her deeply–but soon remembered the events that just transpired.

She quickly gets on her feet, and is surprised when she doesn’t wince on her foot. She takes in her surroundings. She was in a room that seemed weirdly intimate; soft walls painted red illuminated with fire on candles and torches that emitted a soft smell of fresh rain. The noise though copied the smell. It sounded as though there was a thunderstorm outside, but it was off, it sounded artificial.

She didn’t think about it too much though. Her main priority was leaving this hell hole.

There was a single door and Y/n tried to unlock it but it wouldn’t budge.

She had to calm herself down from what was going on. She tried to think of how long she had passed out and who kidnapped her.

She tried to find a secret compartment, something to get her out of here, but when she heard the door handle jiggle, she grabbed a candle.

She was met with a man, hair set back with a strand in front. “Woah there lady.” He held his hands up in defense. “I’m not gonna hurt you, just coming to get you out of this stuffy room.

She didn’t say anything or lower the candle.

The man sighed. “Fine. Look, I'm Zayn and my boss wants to meet you. I don’t even know if what he did was allowed but I don’t really want to get yelled at right now do can you please just follow me.”

“Who is your boss?” She questioned. “What did you do to me while I was out?”

“Oh, for god's sake nothing! No one did. Man, just because I’m a devil doesn’t mean I act as disgustingly as some of those humans.” The man, Zayn, seemed deeply offended by her question, and her implying he was a “human”.

“Who is your boss?” She started again.

“Not one of your enemies, in fact, I’d say he's a huge fan. He is really impressed with your work.” Zayn revealed. “So if you would follow me.”

She didn’t have much of a choice and followed Zayn. “Leave the candle please.”

She sighed but complied, she hated being put into a corner like this.

Y/n followed behind him, keeping her wits about her and watching the man’s hands very carefully. They walked down the hall but stopped at the room with grand doors. “Alright so you go in there. “ He knocked on the door and they swung open quickly. Y/n felt a powerful presence from the desk and could barely make out a figure.

“In ya go.” Zayn pushed her in and closed the door. The room was illuminated, just like in the other room, with a series of candles, but there was a chandelier with candles above the desk, revealing the figure.

“Hello darling.” The man smiled, standing up and walking to the other side of his desk, sticking out his hand. “I’m Harry.”

Y/n shaked his hand, a firm yet not overpowering grip on both ends. “I don’t know you, why am I here?”

Harry smiled, she was just like in her file. “I’m here to make a deal.”

“A deal?” She questioned. “You kidnapped me, forced me here, and now want a deal.”

“Yup.” He smiled.

“What do I have that you need?” As much as Y/n hated to admit it, this Harry had the upper hand, so why did he need a deal?

“You make my work here much better, and you need revenge.” He said simply, like she knew what here was.

“You talk like I know you. Like I know this place.”

“Oh my bad darling, I’m sure you have some questions.” He smiled, walking over to the windows, covered by draps. “You’re in Hell.” He dramatically revealed the outside, showing what looked like a red storm with red lightning and rain.

“Are you one of the LSD dealers?” She laughed. It made Harry’s dead heart pound and stomach drop. He looked back to her with a disappointed yet angry look. “I’m not buyin’ anything, alright?”

“I’m Harry, King of Hell. And I just saved your life from a bunch of shitty men who would like nothing more than killing you.” He seethed, not used to people not taking him seriously. “You send the most deserving people here, you’re my top supplier, and I saved your life so you could get revenge on the reason you would be dead.”

“Sure, you saved my life by taking me to Hell.”

“Do you want me to send you back?” Harry asked, walking over to the fireplace and flicking his wrist. “This is what you have waiting for you when you go back.

Y/n’s curiosity of the better of her and walked forward to the fire. She peered into it and saw herself laying on the ground of her home. The scene moved to her angry enemies close to her body, guns ready.

Y/n didn’t feel right. She knew she was here, but by looking at the image of herself she could feel her process being elsewhere, presumably with guns aimed at her head.

This man couldn’t be telling the truth, could he? Is he even a man?

“Why aren’t I dead?” Is all she asked, not looking at Harry, eyes staying on herself.

“Time works differently down here.” He shrugged, partly glad she was coming around. “I was able to pull you down here when you hit your head. But because coming to Hell takes up lots of energy, and you were already injured, you were out for what would’ve been the equivalent for a day.”

“A day?”

“25 hours if you want to be precise, but yeah.”

Y/n couldn’t help but believe him. And looking at herself, helpless, and closer to death than what she is now, she didn’t have any other move then to agree to his deal. She’d come up with some other plan to cross him.

How hard could it be to double cross the devil?

“What are the terms of your deal?”

A sly smile swept across Harry’s face. “I’ll save your life if you help me kill an angel.”

“That’s all?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Harry chided, walking over to his desk and taking the file he needed. “Angels are hard to kill. And this one is someone close to you.”

He flung the file over and Y/n caught it, not interested in thinking about the physics or “magic” that made the manilla folder guilde over to her simply.

“Angelo?” She asked in a monotone voice. “Not that good of a cover name, huh?” She smiled as she read the information of the Angel. The pieces fit together with all of his little mannerisms, the sacredness with anything murdery and lying. Harry noted the sly smiled that mimicked his earlier. She knew this girl was insane, but was it bad that he liked it? Why does he care though, he’s the King of Hell, he’s supposed to do bad things.

“How do I kill it?” She asked, now meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Oh, “I” now? You gonna kill him yourself?”

“I’m guessing so if that’s the reason you saved me.” She remarked. “How do we kill it then?”

“I know a place in the upper world that we can travel to that has information on all this stuff.” Harry huffs, slowly approaching Y/n. “Do we have a deal?”

Harry held out his hand, ready to shake. Y/n glance down to the hand then to his eyes; they were a red-yellow with a pupil like a cat but didn’t quite go with his face. His face had no marks though, his skin was a little rough but clear–maybe that's what being the King of Hell does to you.

She shook his hand. Firm hands met each other, hers was deathly cold while his were burning.

“I will need to send you up there and to be honest, I’ve never done this before so bear with me here, love.” Harry smiled as he leaned in and kissed the back of her hand, causing her to feel faint again.

…

She felt herself laying on the ground, tired beyond belief. She heards guns loading and thought for a second she imagined everything, the fire room, the red lightning, the devil, the king. She breathed in and couldn’t believe this would be her final seconds, Y/n couldn’t let herself go out like this.

…

Harry has never brought someone down to Hell before. He was glad it took too long for Y/n to awaken because he was in no shape to have a conversation while he was passed out too–coincidentally, for the same time Y/n was. But bringing someone back to the human world and himself was such a heavy task. He looked around and was outside, “breathing” in the fresh air. It was lightly raining, nothing like the fire rain back in Hell, but it had a calming presence like never before.

It took him a second to realize what was going to happen inside of the home. He barraged in though the grand doors–mad at himself he couldn’t appear inside–and was met with quite the scene.

Y/n is barely holding herself up, men were crowding around her and tasting victory. Her eyes were dropping, her skin tone cooled dramatically then even what it was before. Harry felt guilt creeping in, he needed to do something, but luckily, all eyes were on him when the door slammed shut behind him.

“Who’s this fucker, huh?” The tall and lanky pointed his gun to Harry. “This the real Boss? Knew a weak fucker like you couldn’t be this big bad mob boss.”

Laughter rang out, the men now aiming their guns towards Harry. Before Harry could retaliate, Y/n landed a punch on the man who spoke who fell to the ground. Harry knew this was his chance to ask on his side of the deal, he practically teleported to the other men and all he had to do was press on their head, knocking them out, giving Niall some more paper down below.

Y/n had collapsed and Harry was just able to save her from hitting her head again.

Harry knew what he needed to do and didn't hesitate.

He picked her up and ran outside until he found a car. It was presumably hers and he was lucky enough that he was able to start it. He has never driven a car before but it was pretty intuitive, she slammed on the gas pedal and headed to the city.

Harry soon found out he hated cars. If he wasn't so tired he probably would have been able to teleport Y/n and himself directly to wherever they needed to go, but of course, he is stuck with this god forsaken mode of transportation. He got lost a couple times too, but eventually he made it into the city, all while Y/n was passed out in the passenger seat.

A couple minutes after getting off of some exit, he heard Y/n groan and shuffle around.

Harry had to admit, it was impressive how quickly she came to her senses after being knocked out. He looked at her and was surprised to see a knife at his throat. “Where are you taking me?”

He scoffed. “Trust me now, will ya?” She had an unimpressed look on her face. “We are going to the New York Public Library, or “possessor secretorum celi et inferni” as we call it.”

“Why would we go to the fucking library?”

“Because there's a section that's only accessible to demons and angels walking the earth. That way we can figure out how you’re going to kill that bitch of an angel.” Harry clairfied, gently guiding her hand down and out of view from onlookers while driving. He pulled around and eventually found a parking spot.

“Why do I have to kill Angelo?” She asked, placing her knife back into its secret spot–Harry could imagine what other weapons, and maybe not weapons, were under her clothes too–then getting out of the car. “You’re the king of death, why don’t you just kill him?”

Harry sighed, brushing his long hair out of his face while grabbing a pair of sunglasses from the car, putting them over his devil eyes. “The only thing both devils and angels know is that they can’t ‘kill’ one another, a human has to do that.”

They walked into the library, Harry leading the way up the stairs and down a long and abandoned hallway. It was a clique. A complete and utter clique. Going down a dark hallway to find a secret room with the devil himself.

Harry did some hand motion to the wall, a pentagram appeared and then Harry grabbed Y/n’s hand. “Walk with me.”

Y/n was about to ask “walk where?” but Harry had practically pulled her through the wall. She stumbled a bit, but regained herself when she let go of Harry’s hand. She looked around and was met with a small dusty room. Harry flicked his wrist and the littering of candles around the room lit up. Harry sighed and began taking books off of a bookshelf.

“Start looking for anything about Angels.” Harry asked. “This could take awhile.”

“This place doesn’t seem to get used too often.” Y/n remarked, starting at the opposite book shelf. “It’s very Narnia-like.”

“Narnia?”

“It’s this children's book where there's another world.” She summarized. “This place, and Hell I guess, are very other-wordly. Just not what one would normally imagine.”

“What? Don’t like the idea of there being Hell?” Harry chuckled, putting book after book back on the shelf.

“I never really thought much about it. I knew if there was Hell, I’d go there, but that didn’t really stop me from everything.” She replied. “What about you? How does one become the King of Hell?”

“I was a human, before. I didn’t have the best life, I was crossed, lied to, and used.” Y/n noticed a bit of a horse sound coming from him, but it was quickly gone after he cleared his throat. “All that creates pain, then anger, and I guess it was enough anger to get Lucifer’s attention. He made me be the perfect devil to take over as King when I died so he could deal with some other plans.”

Y/n nodded and kept checking books. She soon realized that all the books in her row were about devils and demons. There was an interesting page though that she read, titled “The Devil's Tourture”. She kept reading, then she found the most interesting paragraph.

Any type of dark entity is subject to toutrue from this one thing. They are groomed to bring the most perfect pain, the best way to get humans to live their worst life, so the solution on how to kill a Devil? Make him repent. Make him sorry for his past actions, make him change his whole ideology, make him regret his dead life and wish to be better. It doesn’t matter the motivation, whether it be love, greed, lust; the important part is making sure to feel remorse.

“Y/n?” Speak of the Devil, literally. Harry’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts while she closed the book shut. “I got something.”

Y/n placed the book back onto the shelf and walked over to Harry. “Seems like you just gotta make him sin.” Harry laughed. “Shouldn’t be too hard, fucker set up your death.”

Y/n scoffed at the irony, all she has to do tonight is make an Angel sin and a Devil repent, what could be hard about that?

“Do you know where Angelo could be?” Harry asked, heading out of the claustrophobic room, Y/n next to him.

“I tagged him when I first met him. He normally hangs out in his home on the upper east side.” Harry nodded, taking off the sunglasses and making a quick haste to the exit. She took the keys out of Harry's hand and reached for the driver's seat. “No offense but you can’t drive.”

Harry’s eyes got darker when he started at Y/n, but she didn’t move. He gave way and walked shamly over to the passenger’s side. He could not imagine that happening down in Hell, but up here, it’s Y/n’s territory.

The drive would be short, that’s what Y/n assured Harry as he looked a little pale, his warm undertones turning cold. She decided to be nice to get him off the drive. “Why do you want to kill Angelo so bad?”

Harry smiled. “He is famous for going after Hell’s favorite people. You for example.” Harry looked over to Y/n. She notices his look on his face and swears that his red eyes go sea-green for a second. This could be easier than I thought. “Like I said, you’re my top supplier. You send the ones who really need to be punished. You’re already better than some of the Devils I sent up here to do that.”

“Oh stop, or I’ll think you’re flirting with me.” She laughed. She hated herself in the moment, it made her feel young when she was first starting out in the mob world and no one took her seriously. She hated flirting; the plan was to go the rest of her life without anyone else, they would just slow her down and deep down she knew nobody would understand her. But flirting with the devil was so much easier then she thought it would be. At least he sort of understood some of her mind.

Harry laughed. A sweetly weird sound coming from him. She never thought a devil could make that noise.

“So what if I am? Don’t get to see a lot of pretty girls down in Hell.” He replied. Harry didn’t like the feeling in his chest, it reminded him of when he was about to die. So he decided to change the subject. “How’d you get that scar?”

Y/n shrugged her shoulders. “I killed someone.”

She pulled up to a luxurious house, soon exiting the car with Harry on her heels. “So what do I do? Have sex with him?

“No, don’t be so vulgar.” Don’t be so jealous. “You can do what you want but it should just be easy to make him lust for you, or to get him greedy.”

She nodded, then unlocked the door with a copy she had made when she first met Angelo. She turned back around to look at Harry but he was gone yet his presence was felt. She went inside.

“Angelo?” She screamed into the house. A lanky man came running though, shock written all over his face as he came face to face with his boss.

“Boss? I-” His voice was scared until Y/n crashed into his arms, fake tears running down her cheeks.

“Angelo, th-these men came into my house and they almost killed me. I-I was cornered I could barely get out. I know they’re following me and I have no one who I trust more than you.” She looked up at Angelo, he had a terrible poker face and she could seem the gleam in his eye. “Please, I need your help. I need you Angleo.”

“It’s okay, darling. I got you.” He got her into a hug lucky because Y/n couldn’t hold back on the disgust written on her face. When Angleo said the name, it was terrible, it just didn’t sound right.

“You’ve always been there for me. Please, let me make it up to you.” She broke away from his hug but placed her hands on his cheek, leaning in slowly.

“Oh, you, you don’t have to…do that.” His breathing was more irregular. She paused less than an inch away from his lips.

“I want to.” She said, “Do you?”

“Yes.” He admitted but before their lips could touch he howled in great pain, falling to the floor.

Harry appeared behind Y/n, a sly smile on his face. His eyes were extra red, almost as if his iris was made of blood. “Finally.”

“Harry?” Angelo weezed.

Harry stepped forward from behind her shadow and knelt down to Angelo. “That’s right. Oh don’t get like that. You just lost that’s it.”

“How?”

“Because you made someone very important up here mad, and I took notice.” Harry shrugged. “Now go cry to god or whatever emptiness you’re going to face.”

Harry stood up and kicked him. He turned back to Y/n who also had a smile on his face. Harry felt that weird pang in his chest again. He locked eyes with her, both taking a step forward, embracing each other.

They kissed, hard. Harry never understood what it meant to kiss someone passionately like it was described in the books he read long ago, but now he did. His hand wandered, so did hers. She walked him backwards until he fell onto the couch, causing Y/n to straddle his lap.

“Fuck, Harry.” She tasted sweet oddly enough, and as Harry found himself getting more addicted the more the pain in his chest arrived. “Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to live without you.”

Harry broke from the kiss, looking her in the eye and nodded, kissing her deeply again. He needed to find a way to get Lucifer back, a way for him to not be King of Hell anymore, a way to stay with Y/n. He prayed for some way to make him alive, to make him be able to be with her.

“I’ll stay. I’ll stay forever–”

His voice stopped working. His throat got immensely dry. He could feel the way that Y/n smiled against his mouth, breaking away to look at Harry. He looked up to her, confused and partly terrified.

“That sounds like repenting to me.” She tsked. “That’s a big no no, Harry.”

Harry’s hands clawed at her for some comfort, he didn’t know what was happening to him. He felt scared for the first time after his death.

“Turns out killing Angels and Devils is easy.” She smiled. “Angels you have to make sin, and Devils you have to make repent. Who knew?”

Harry never felt betrayed like this before. He always knew in his living life he was a hopeless romantic, he just couldn’t believe the Devil version of him is one too. He should’ve known Y/n would do this to him, she's just as cruel as he is, or was.

“I’m sorry. You probably are my soulmate.” Her words did sound sorrowful, more than her acting with Angelo. “But this is about survival, Harry. And I owed a great debt to you that couldn’t have been paid off with one Angel’s death.”

Harry’s vision started to close, he knew the last thing he would ever see would be the devil, shining up above him with a face he so badly wanted to kiss. His last thoughts were that he didn’t regret this, saving her. He would gladly die a thousand deaths if it meant she would live, if he could kiss her just once.

“I’ll see you down there, Harry.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff #harry edward styles #koh!harry styles x reader #koh!harry styles #koh!harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles x fem!reader #harryween

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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Saw the casino owner yan post and... Priest reader and them. Just think about it, a priest becoming ‘buddies’ with a casino owner? Absolutely funny yet also cool to think about; maybe a bit more mysterious if priest reader's still in contact with the casino owner because they need something... Just a little thought though.

"Hello again... old friend."

There you are. Like an apparition of times long past, you stand basked in the tender glow of the dawn; collecting dust on your gloved fingers as you sweep them across the casino owner's desk. Unfitting of the boss of such a fine establishment, but the image matches the person. The owner of the space thumbs the key held between their knuckles, unsure as to how you managed to weasel your way in - or if you were even there at all. The certainty in your voice proves that of all the times you've shown yourself to their unworthy vessel..

This one is real.

"Been a while, hasn't it?"

The question comes in the same tone as asking about the weather. A mercy in light of how your ties legitimately met their end, but one seen as just given your forgiving nature. A priest and a casino owner. A handyman of the lord, and the mortal ally of their greatest enemy. How ever did your relationship have a leg to stand on. Their tongue runs over the back of their teeth; the floodgates for all they wanted to say. Enervated, they allow themself to slip.

"What are you doing here?"

It was at this moment that the pleasantries end. How you wished they could've lasted longer. You raise the cross kept in frame, stroking its glass fondly. "Let me preface this by saying that I do miss you. I prayed that our reunion could have been founded by better means, but it seems God's throne was unreachable that day."

Their lips drawn in a thin line as you set the frame back down.

"I.. am being followed. And authorities will do nothing to help me despite the evidence I've given them." You hug your arms to your chest. "I'm afraid... and I know you're the only one who can help me."

They want to ask why you've come to that conclusion, but both of you knew the answer. Kidnappings, money laundering, murder. All things they've gone to you for forgiveness for, and the catalyst for your eventual separation. They had a chance for everything, and they blew it all. Too afraid of heaven and the angel that guided them to its gates for all the things that they've done and would do- and feeling they felt."

They slide their hands out of their pockets. "Sure, but don't come back here once everything's cleared up."

I'll devour every part of you if you don't.

Your half smile resurfaces. "Thank you, dear friend. May I?"

You lift your arms. They meet you halfway, descending upon you as if you were the only agent keeping them from an icy end. They eyes the cross on the table - seeking pardon from the lies they told and the paranoia they brought you.

#Priest reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #Casino owner yan

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staytheword · 2 years

Text

snakeskin

snakeskin — part one of the smell of roses [ ← prologue → part two (tba) ] [ series masterlist ] [ playlist ] [ general masterlist ]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors do NOT interact!! no real people are represented.

• lee know x female reader / changbin x female reader / lee know x female reader x changbin (NOT a love triangle), all other stray kids members are featured but not main characters. this specific chapter is lee know x reader focused.

• non idol au, bikers au, rivals to lovers au, small town au. inspired by sons of anarchy. (not beta-read so I apologize)

• word count: 15.1k (15,118) (sorry)

• warnings: mentions of all sorts of illegality; money laundering, drugs and weapons dealing. corruption and blackmail. a lot of drinking (often excessive). a lot of swearing and insulting. drug consumption (weed only). anger management problems. mental health issues (people are not quite sane). mentions of scars. mention of violence (stabbing). mention of pyromania. threatening with a weapon (knife). blood, wounds, stitching. mention of murder.

smut. dom minho. unprotected sex (stay safe people), semi-public groping, dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (f and m both receive and give), deepthroating, choking, hair pulling, use of the words “good girl”, creampie, a little bit of a degradation kink.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he whispers. You find yourself nodding.

• taglist: @upallnight-s ; @ughbehavior ; @changbinluvr ; @valreadsfics ; @ppiri-bahng ; @mchslut ; you? (let me know if I forgot you)

“I get what you’re saying, Y/N, but there’s just nothing I can do.”

You groan at Jeongin and he smiles apologetically. You’re sitting on a bench near the police station, where you’ve asked him to meet you. You brought coffee. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst – caffeine is definitely not a good idea, but you’ve been so on edge for the past twenty-four hours you can’t sleep. You figure at some point your body is just going to crash, so you keep pushing it.

You needed to find some reassurance, to explore your options, so you asked Jeongin if there was anything he, or the police, could do about the Vices. You didn’t want him to chase them out of the town, just to find a loophole so you, your father and the shop could be left alone.

Jeongin shrugs. “Don’t worry too much about it. It won’t change anything for you, I’m even sure you’ll end up forgetting about it.”

“That’s cute. As if I could,” you sigh. “It changes everything for me, Jeongin. Everything.”

He pats your shoulder gently. “Just keep your head down, it’ll be fine. You’ve made it this far without pissing them off, which knowing you is a gooddamn miracle.”

You sigh. “But what if I want to choke him with my two hands?” you cry out. “Will you cover for me?”

“You know I would, Trouble,” Jeongin answers with a chuckle. “But I don’t think you’d last long after that. Changbin would be out for your blood.”

You stare blankly at your friend. “Who the hell is Changbin?”

“His Vice.”

“You – what – how did – hold up. Are you on a first name basis with them?”

Jeongin shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. “Some of them. Changbin is helping me fix my Chevy. He’s good with cars and they have really good contacts to get rare parts.”

“Jeongin…” you sigh. “You’re supposed to be a police officer.”

“I am,” he retorts. “I gave a parking ticket the other day.”

You shake your head in exasperation, but there is a slight smile on your lips. You talk for a while – he’s recently adopted a puppy – but you let him go back to work, or to whatever the police do in Temperance.

You stop for groceries on the way home. Maybe cooking will help you calm down. It’s not that you’re scared of retribution, but it feels like you’re being watched. Like something – or someone – could jump at your throat at any second to teach you a lesson. Like you’ve just tempted the devil a little too much and he’s waiting for the right moment to get back at you and drag you to hell.

As you’re contemplating either staying locked up at home or making sure you’re in a public place all night, waiting to cross a street, a motorcycle stops in front of you. He lifts up the visor of his helmet – Lee Minho.

“Ah. Wondered where you were.”

You stare at him, both fed up and defensive. “What?”

“The flower shop was awfully quiet without you to throw insults at my face,” he chuckles. He’s balancing on both legs, seemingly as much at ease on his bike as he is breathing. He’s wearing short sleeves today, and you spy a few small tattoos.

“Someone’s got to do it,” you spit back. “I’ll gladly volunteer.”

“Should we make it a daily appointment, then? Just to keep me on my toes.”

“You really are –” You stop because you suddenly realize what he has said. “Wait, you’ve been to the shop?”

“Your father was ready to conclude our conversation. Went smoothly without you screaming bloody murder.”

You don’t know if you should feel angry or betrayed – both emotions come so strongly at once you’re left in shock. Your father went behind your back.

The arrangement is made.

It’s over.

You feel strangely empty.

“Don’t look so defeated,” Minho tells you. “I’m not going to be in your hair.”

“You’re just going to take my money every month, huh?” You squint your eyes at him. “What are you going to do with it? Buy yourself a new shotgun? Burn it for fun?”

“Hm. I never thought of that,” he answers, leaning against his bike. “Thanks for the idea. Keep it coming.”

“I swear, you fucking dick, I’m this fucking close to getting myself a baseball bat and trashing your bike when you’re sleeping,” you hiss without thinking.

To your surprise – well, maybe you shouldn’t be surprised, the guy is clearly unstable – Minho bursts out laughing. “Just my bike, really? Why not bash my brains in?”

“Don’t fucking tempt me.”

“Such a foul mouth.”

He says it almost tenderly, and you frown at him. What the hell is his problem? Is he getting turned on by your threats? You wouldn’t put it past him.

You don’t know how that makes you feel.

You suddenly become aware of his thighs, pressed against the motorcycle seat. Of his hands, safely tucked in leather gloves. Of the curve of his lips as he traces them with his tongue.

“Since you didn’t want to give me your name, I asked around,” he tells you in a lower voice. “Ji had quite a few stories to tell.”

You clench your fists.

“He did tell me your name, but I think I prefer what they called you in high school. Trouble, right?”

He takes the time to articulate the world, his tongue lingering against the back of his teeth, his face showing absolute content. You try really hard not to spit in his face or slap him – you’re only able to restrain yourself because a part of you is worried he would like it.

“Love the nickname. You’d fit right in with us.”

“I’d rather choke on razor blades,” you laugh bitterly.

“Mmm,” he says. “Remove the razor blades and it can be done.”

You stare at him, absolutely dumbfounded. The guts on this guy. You guess he is not the president of a motorcycle club for nothing, but still. This is a lot.

“See you soon, Trouble.”

He puts his visor down and drives away, and you realize you’ve been holding onto your grocery bags so tight your hands are white and painful. You put them on the ground for a few seconds, sighing deeply, wondering if maybe you should’ve listened to your friends and be a little less stupid.

Only when you find yourself engulfed in the darkness of your room do you realize that you did it. You did it. You ruined someone’s night – and not just anybody’s. Minho’s. An ecstatic laugh escapes your lips and echoes in your cold bedroom.

You’re in the middle of doing paperwork for the shop when your phone rings. It’s Hyunjin, so you answer quickly. You’re alone in the Rose Garden today because your father had a medical appointment, and maybe it’s better this way. You’re having a little trouble forgiving him for going behind your back – luckily, he’s your father and he knows you better than anyone. He knows the best thing to do, if he wants to avoid another fight, is to give you space and time.

You’d rather have a fight, but that’s just you.

“Hey Hyun,” you smile, putting the call on speaker.

There’s no one in the shop, and since it’s still early in the morning, the chances of a client walking in are slim. People usually come around during their lunch, or after work to grab their orders or to buy a spontaneous bouquet for their loved ones. You’ve heard it all, you’ve seen it all. Please forgive me. I don’t want to break up. I’m sorry. Get some rest. Heal soon. Congratulations. I love you.

“Y/N,” Hyunjin says, his velvet voice tingling your ears even through the phone. “Are you coming to the pub tonight?”

You frown. “I don’t know. Probably. It’s Tuesday.”

You always go to Rossi’s on Tuesdays because the shop is closed on Wednesdays. It’s a ritual that you break only for emergencies or special occasions.

“Hm. That’s what I thought. Well, maybe don’t come tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Believe me, you don’t want to be there.”

“Why not?” you repeat, sincerely intrigued.

“They’re all going to be there,” Hyunjin mutters. He explains that his boss suddenly called earlier, asking all available employees to come into work that night. The Vices had decided to host a party at Rossi’s and there would be a lot of people there. “So yeah, maybe stay away?”

You roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Who the hell do they think they care? If you’re gonna host a goddamn party at least call in advance. Pretentious pricks.”

Hyunjin ignores you. “So you’re not coming, right? Please tell me you’re staying home.”

“Fuck no, Hyun,” you spit, and you hear him sigh deeply. “You bet your cute ass I’m going to be there.”

“Y/N,” he warns you, but it’s your time to ignore him.

“Thanks for letting me know,” you smile maniacally.

“That’s not why I called you –”

“I’ll see you tonight!”

You hang up after he tells you goodbye in a wary voice and your mind immediately enters brainstorming mode. How could you entirely ruin their little party? You’re just one person, and according to Hyunjin, there’s going to be a lot of them – but that does not scare you. They do not scare you.

Not even that fucker Lee Minho.

Maybe you should actually bring a bat and swing it in front of his face to see if he’d still be laughing.

You usually go to Rossi’s dressed in your casual clothes, whether it be overalls or a sundress. You have absolutely no consistency in your personal style but you don’t care. It allows you to have a variety of outfits in your closet – and one of them is perfect for tonight.

Leather skirt. Black top. Combat boots.

You’re going to make them think you’re one of them. You’re going to be a fucking tease and mess with their heads. You want to make them angry. You want to push their buttons. You want to see how far they’ll go. You don’t care anymore.

They’ve already taken what was most precious to you.

In comparison, giving them blue balls is really not that bad of a punishment. But it’s a start.

You get to Rossi’s around ten, wearing your smokey eyes and perfume as weapons. The pub is already packed, the music louder than usual. There are a scandalous number of bikes parked in front of it, and you clench your teeth. A few people are hanging outside, smoking, chatting. Two are already making out like their life depends on it.

You step inside – it’s about ten degrees hotter than outside and you take a deep breath. There are a lot of people there. You spot Hyunjin behind the bar, working as fast as he can, not looking like he’s having much fun. Claire, another barmaid, has a nervous smile on her lips. You don’t want to give them more work, but you need at least one drink if you’re going to make it through the night.

It's a miracle you find an empty seat at the bar, but you do. You hate your skirt, it’s way too short and tight, but you have to endure it. If you just manage to ruin the night of one of them, you’ll be happy.

“Can I just get a pint?” you ask Claire, who gives you a more genuine smile and pours you a pale ale, your usual.

You take a few big gulps, spinning on the stool to take a look around. There are so many of those leather cuts it’s ridiculous. Most people are from around town – you even see Jeongin and a few other cops playing pool with Vices – and a lot of girls wearing revealing outfits like you, although they’re not doing it with the same purpose as you. From their giggling and wiggling, they just want to fuck a biker – and the latter are ready to indulge. Jisung already has his nose against a blonde girl’s neck.

You get lost in your thoughts and get startled when Hyunjin leans towards you across the counter, his eyes dark.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

You giggle innocently. “What do you mean? I’m not wearing anything special.”

“Fuck’s sake, Y/N, I’ve never seen anyone that likes to stir shit as much as you.”

You wink at him, and he walks away – it’s not like he has time to give you a lecture, anyway. He just makes sure to glare at you once more, mouthing a go home although you’re sure he knows you’re going to ignore him.

You take your time deciding on a target – you had planned on starting with Jisung since you know him, but he’s already busy. Maybe Chris? He has a girlfriend, but won’t that make it even better for your objective? He’s over there, with his bright orange hair, and looks bored out of his mind. You’ll entertain him, you chuckle. You decide to at least finish your first pint before you go on the offense, but before you can, you feel someone slide in the space between your stool and the next.

“Interesting. I would’ve bet you were a red ale girl,” he smirks.

It's Lee Minho, of course.

“What makes you think that?” you ask, giving him your best smug smile.

“Red’s my color,” he states, arching an eyebrow.

You do the same. “Says the guy always wearing black.”

He doesn’t answer, just looks at you, eyeing you up and down. You don’t mind – you even return the favor. Tonight, he’s wearing a simple t-shirt under his cut, and his jeans are torn at the knees. There’s a chain around his wrist, another around his neck. His silver hair falls on his forehead, hiding his scar a little.

“Did you dress up for me, doll?”

You shrug. “For anyone who bothers to look.”

“Hm,” he shakes his head. “Looking for a fuck?”

“Why, are you interested?”

He barks out a laugh, his eyes shining. “And I thought you didn’t want to play.”

Raising his arm, he snaps his fingers and Claire immediately rushes to him. You wonder if they were given directions to give him priority. The president.

“Get us a few shots of whiskey, will you?” he asks, not looking away from you. You hold up his stare, making sure to stay entirely unfazed. Which you definitely are.

“So, what is this party for, exactly?”

“Just us celebrating the fact that we now own every square feet of this town,” he replies in a low voice. “Thanks to your father. I should’ve invited him as guest of honor. How rude of me.”

Your façade breaks and you clench your fists. “You fucking dick,” you hiss. “I swear, I…”

He shakes his head, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Now, now, doll. Not that I don’t like hearing filthy words coming out of your cute mouth, but how about we hold off the insults tonight? I’m trying to unwind.”

You want to slap him so bad your hand twitches – but Claire chooses this moment to come back with a small tray filled with six shots of whiskey.

You stare at it. “Is this just for the two of us?”

“It’s a party, remember, Trouble?”

His use of your old nickname irritates you – and yet it doesn’t. You decide not to pick up on it and you grab the first shot. What the hell. It might make your night’s mission easier if you think about it. You take the first and the second shot in a row. Minho does the same, leaning closer to you when he’s done.

He hands you the last shot, clinking it against his. “To my new favorite girl.”

You down the shot and stand up. The space between you was already small, and your body slides against his as you stretch your legs. He lets you do it, not moving an inch. You let a smile linger on your lips and stare at his. You drag your finger against his mouth, where a drop of whiskey lingers. Then, you pop your finger in your mouth to lick it clean.

“Thanks for the shots,” you tell him in a whisper before you walk away. You head for your intended target. A part of you expects Minho to grab your arm or your wrist to get the last word, but he doesn’t. He just lets you go.

The music is loud, electric guitars and heavy drums dulling your senses alongside the whiskey. A few people playing darts suddenly erupt in loud laughter. It’s easy to spot the orange hair, so you follow it through the crowd, stumbling a little – all that booze is hitting you pretty hard. A few seconds later, you’ve lost orange boy.

“Where the fuck is –” You’re not watching where you’re going. Your foot butts against something and you lose your balance, the rest of your beer dangerously tilting in your glass. You expect to hit the ground any second, but something holds you up. Someone.

You look up to see Vice staring at you. He pulls on your arm, putting you back straight on both your feet.

“Thanks,” you say in a small voice.

He’s staring at you, looking slightly pissed off, as he usually does. You remember what you’ve heard – anger management issues. A good mechanic. Very protective of his president. Hm. Maybe he could be your next target. Although you’re not sure if it’s a good idea to push the buttons off a guy who once almost beat someone to death.

“Don’t drink if you can’t handle it,” he tells you, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him speak. He has a grainy voice, full of spite, but it’s also strangely endearing. His lips are a soft pink, plump and cute. You’re a little drunk so you openly stare at them. Maybe you have a problem, too.

“What if I was just trying to get your attention?” you answer with a smile.

His eyes squint slightly. “That’d be stupid,” he replies. “You could’ve just fallen on your face.”

“But I didn’t,” you say. “Your big strong arms caught me.”

To emphasize your point, you slide your hand on his bicep. There’s a tattoo there – the club’s logo. You feel its edges under your fingertips. He tenses, taking a step back.

“Go away,” he sighs.

You pout. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to dance. Or teach me how to play pool, maybe? I can pretend I don’t know how to hold the cue.”

He shakes his head. “Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s not going to work. You’re not one of those biker chicks,” he says with disdain, nodding his head towards a bunch of giggling girls.

“You know nothing about me, Changbin.”

He blinks at you in surprise, and his face immediately darkens.

“If you keep messing with me, you’re not gonna like what you find,” he threatens, his voice nearly reduced to a growl.

“Oh, but I do.” You put a finger against his chest. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you and I want to find out which ones are true.”

He sighs. “Why don’t go and find someone who’s in the mood to flirt with you? You’re really wasting your time with me.”

You’re seconds away from screaming in frustration. The guy is a brick wall. Nothing is getting through. You give up – you let down your arms and give him an annoyed look.

“Fuck you,” you snarl – and that’s when he almost breaks into a smile.

“That’s more like it. Now, go away.”

You oblige him once more, heading through the crowd to find someone else to annoy. You look back after a couple of steps, strangely hoping to find him looking at you, but his back is to you. A very nice-looking back, at that. What a shame it’s ruined by that stupid angelic devil stitched on the leather.

You end up standing rather pathetically in some corner, having no fun at all. You were so sure your plan was perfect, but clearly you were wrong. You feel bitter and annoyed – and you feel desperately lonely. It’s the feeling you hate the most in the entire world, and when it creeps up on you, you usually chase it down with any kind of rush or stupid decision. It does not help when you’ve been drinking, which you have.

Fuck the Vices.

You have half a mind to start grabbing bottles and glasses and smash them on the floor. What if you grabbed someone’s hair and punched them on the nose? What if you screamed at the top of your lungs? But you care about Rossi’s too much to really make a scene, so you just storm out. Once you’re outside, you take out a joint with shaking heads, trying to light it as you walk, but it’s too windy and your lighter just doesn’t want to work. You groan in frustration, clutching the joint in your fist, officially ruining it.

Great.

Your life is in ruins.

You don’t have anyone.

And all you see are those fucking bikes.

What if you just gave them a kick? You could watch them fall like dominos and laugh your ass off.

“Here.”

You jump at the sudden sound of Jisung’s voice next to you. He’s so silent. So creepy. But he’s handing you a lit joint.

“Just giving back what I owe,” he says.

You don’t even care. You take the hit, but it doesn’t calm you down. It only seems to make your rage rise in your throat, and you’re on the verge of tears. You’re so angry. So disappointed. Your father had promised.

It’ll never be theirs, he had said. I promised your mother and I promise you now. The Rose Garden will never belong to them.

“Y/N.” Jisung’s hand is on your shoulder. You’re not sure what he wants to tell you, but you don’t really care. You just need to exorcise the loneliness out of your chest – so you grab his collar and pull him into a desperate kiss. His lips are soft and taste like cherries, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, his tongue seeking yours. Your hand slides in his soft hair, and you just want to forget everything.

Jisung bites your lip a little too hard and you moan in his mouth. He pushes you against the brick wall of the pub, his fingers sliding down your body to squeeze your skin. His hand is lifting your skirt and he kisses you hard.

You wanted Hyunjin to be your first everything – but it ended up being Jisung. He’s a heavenly good kisser and your first time wasn’t even that bad, considering you were both inexperienced and high on weed. It’s been a long time since then, but his taste is still familiar. You wonder if he still has a soft spot for putting his fingers so deep in your mouth you gagged.

You’re too drunk to care that you’re making out with a Vice, and as you want to ask Jisung to go somewhere more private, he suddenly disappears from around you.

You blink, your eyes adjusting back to your environment.

“Get back inside, Ji,” Minho growls, holding his friend by the collar. He throws him in the direction of the pub entrance, visibly annoyed.

Jisung gives you an apologetic smile. Your mind is completely blank.

“For someone who hates the Vices so much, you sure didn’t seem to mind tongue fucking one.”

You stare at Lee Minho, pissed at having been interrupted, at not having achieved what you wanted from tonight, at everything.

“What’s wrong with you?” you groan.

“I don’t like it when people touch what’s mine. And I specifically told Jisung to keep his hands from you.”

It takes you a second too long to register what Minho has just said.

“Excuse me?” you yell at him. “What the fuck did you just say?”

Minho lifts his chin, arrogance seeping off of him.

“What is yours?” You repeat, laughing hysterically. “This is not a movie, you’re not the master of the fucking universe. Jesus Christ, dude, you need a reality check.”

“No, Trouble. You do.”

His voice suddenly hits differently. It stops you from spitting venom at his face, because he actually looks mad. A strange light has sparked in his eyes, and you step back against the brick wall, your hands holding your body up.

“I do own this town, and you owe some fucking respect,” he tells you, pinning you there without even touching you. “I only let you run your mouth because there’s nothing you can actually do against me, and it’s amusing to see you think you can.” He smirks at you, but there is no amusement there – just malice. “However, I have my fucking limits and you’re very nearly hitting that nail on the head.”

It’s out of your control – you open your mouth to retaliate. Minho’s eyes spark like lightning and his hand slaps against your mouth. His fingers are sprawled over your face, pushing just enough to hold it there without hurting you.

“You’re really asking for it, huh?” he mutters. In the darkness, with his eyes lighted up, he looks insane. You’re scared but you also don’t care about what happens to you. It’s making you reckless. It’s making him reckless, too.

Except he has a knife and you don’t.

Except he pulls said knife and rests it against your neck.

It feels cold against your skin.

“What if I just opened your throat, doll? What would happen?” He laughs. “No one could do a damn thing to stop me. And I could just carry on living as I already do. And you’d just be dead.”

He’s not just bringing you down – he’s shoving you six feet under with a fucking shovel, savagely hitting you on the head with it. Your eyes are filled with tears, and you’re pretty sure that the second he removes his hand, you’ll fall on the ground with a whimper.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he whispers.

You find yourself nodding.

“Good girl.”

He puts his knife back in his pocket and then removes his hand. Your legs wobble but he holds you up, helping you back on your feet.

“Now, let’s get you home,” he says more softly, petting your hair like a child. “Call her a taxi, will you, Vice?”

You just notice that Changbin is standing a few feet away, watching the scene. You expect him to look as he usually does – both disinterested and irritated. However, there is something different in his eyes this time. It might be because you’re drunk and scared, but you could swear he seems worried. If it’s for you or Minho, you have no idea.

He nods at the words and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Meanwhile, Minho turns to you.

“Get some rest, Trouble. You’ll need it.”

You have no idea what that means but you can’t find the strength to ask. You watch him walk away, and you can’t stand still anymore so you sit on the sidewalk to wait for the taxi. Changbin stays with you, standing in silence behind you.

When the taxi gets there, he helps you up and gives your address to the driver – how and why he is in possession of that information is beyond what you can comprehend. You decide to just close your eyes and sleep until you get home.

That day, you and your father are working in silence. You’re cleaning and he’s preparing an order in the back. You wouldn’t say you’re back on good terms, but time has passed, and you’ve managed, not to forgive him, but to understand. He had no choice. You’d been the childish one, thinking the Rose Garden could be safe, that you could hold it back from Vices’ hands. It would’ve happened eventually. At least, now, you have time to get used to it before you take over the shop. Not that you’ll make their lives easier – you have already planned on handing them their precious bribes in very small bills.

Not that it didn’t make you angry – but you figure your anger was better directed at the bikers than at your father, who just tried to make ends meet, who just tried to keep you safe. He’d made his promise to you – but you couldn’t imagine how it felt for him to break it in spite of himself.

You place fresh hyacinths in the display, twirling them so they look their best, inhaling their scent. It’s one of your favorite things about the Rose Garden – how heavenly everything smells. You just have to close your eyes, let the scents fill your lungs, and you feel more at peace.

The bell at the door rings and you turn to smile at the client. “Good morning, how–” You stop, because it’s Lee Minho standing there. Your smile fades, but his doesn’t.

“How pleasant. Good morning.”

What is it about him that precipitates such a strong urge for cold blooded violence?

Tsk.

Everything.

Your father appears from the workshop. “What can I do for you today, sir?” He politely asks. “Let me help you.”

“No, Dad,” you protest. “I’ll take care of him.” You turn to Minho with your utmost polite smile, and he smirks in amusement.

“Delightful,” he simply says.

“Y/N…” Your father mutters.

“It’s fine, Dad. Really,” you make sure to give him a sincere smile, and he sighs, going back to the workshop.

You turn to Minho. “What do you want?”

“Flowers,” he says simply. “Why else would I be here?”

You scoff. “I can think of a few reasons.”

“It’s true,” he says, taking a few steps inside the store to look around. He glances at the orchids, the jasmines. The magnolias grab his attention. “It’s my grandmother’s birthday tomorrow. I’d like to get her a bouquet.”

You can’t hold back the look of surprise on your face. One second, he’s putting a knife to your throat, the next he wants to buy flowers. Minho chuckles softly.

“What, did you think I don’t have a grandmother?”

“No, I just – Nevermind.”

You shake your hair out of your face and take a deep breath.

“You have any idea what kind of flowers you want?”

He shrugs. “I’m open to suggestions.”

For a second, you decide to forget who he is – this is business, and you’re a professional. Besides, he hasn’t been awful just yet, and if you can make some money off of him for once, you’ll take the opportunity.

“Alright. Let me see.” You look around the shop, biting your lip, before you gesture towards a display. “I love those. They’re call snapdragons, so you might think they’d look rough, but they’re very delicate. Beautiful to start a bouquet. However, if you want to go towards a cold palette, the Lackspur is…”

“My grandmother loves red,” Minho clarifies. “As I do.”

You ignore his last comment and continue with your recommendations. You read his face, his nods and his frowns, and start to build the bouquet in your head. Finally, you show him the shop’s specialty, your wall of roses.

You keep roses of all colors and sizes. Pink and magenta and cream and dark red. They cover an entire wall of the shop, bright and blooming.

It was your mother’s idea. She dreamed of having an entire rose garden, but since she couldn’t, she made herself a wall instead.

“Hm,” Minho ponders. It almost seems like his eyes pass over each and every flower in front of him. After a few seconds, he turns to you. “Make something. I trust you.”

“You sure?” you ask.

“Always,” he nods. “Deliver it to the clubhouse tomorrow, I’ll pay then.”

You hesitate. “The clubhouse?”

“You know where it is, right?”

“Yes, but –”

He claps his hands. “Then it’s done.”

Before you can protest any further, he’s gone, and the shop is silent again. You stare at the door, hesitating between panic and anger.

Your father comes back to check on you. “Everything all right? What did he want?”

“He… ordered something.”

Your dad raises his eyebrows. “He did?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

He gives you a long look, but you just smile. You’re definitely not going to let your father take care of this – especially since you’ll have to deliver it. Well. You could call the teenager that usually takes care of that, but a part of you is really curious to go to that clubhouse and see what it looks like from the inside. Besides, you have a feeling Minho wouldn’t like it if you sent someone else to deliver his precious bouquet.

You sigh. What a pretentious prick.

You could make sure to make the ugliest flower bouquet anyone’s ever seen, but you really don’t see the point of hurting his grandmother’s feelings. For all you know she’s a sweet lady, and you’re not a monster.

The next day, you carefully put together the bouquet with the flowers you selected. It has a soft pink palette, sprinkled with white and lavender. You add delicate leaves and lacy white ribbon to hold it together.

The easy part is over.

It’s a warm and sunny day. You walk towards the Vices’ clubhouse, your chest tight and your cheeks red. You’re wearing a simple t-shirt and a long skirt. The hand that is carefully holding the bouquet is sweating so you change it regularly – maybe you should’ve taken a taxi and added it to the price. Too late now.

The Vices’ clubhouse looks like an ordinary building from the outside – you’d even dare to say it’s ugly. It adjoins a garage where you can see a few people working. Someone is washing their bike outside; another is sipping on a beer. You approach cautiously, feeling entirely and completely out of place.

“Excuse me?” you ask the first you reach.

It’s Chris, his scar bright white under the sun. He gives you a confused look, holding a sponge dripping with water and soap. He’s wearing a sleeveless top under his leather vest, sweat covering his skin, and you tell yourself he’d probably be less hot if he took off his cut, but apparently that’s not a thing the Vices do. You’ve never seen one of them without it.

“I’m supposed to deliver this,” you tell him, pointing to the bouquet.

He stands up, throwing his sponge in the bucket next to him. You slightly step back so you’re not splashed with water. Rude.

“Follow me,” he says, visibly annoyed to be interrupted.

You don’t care – in fact, it pleases you. You haven’t had the chance to bother him the other night. You openly stare as you follow him, because he might be a Vice, he’s far from being bad-looking and his arms are the stuff of dreams. In fact, most Vices are attractive – you wonder if it’s a part of their selection criteria. Not just bikers – sexy ones. You smirk to yourself.

He guides you inside the garage. A car is jacked high up, and you spy Changbin working from under it. He’s wearing one of those jumpsuits for mechanics, but he’s removed the top and tied at the hips, probably because his goddamn leather vest did not fit above it. He’s sweating too – and you notice he has a bruise around his neck and a bandage on his left cheek. He glares at you as you pass by him, and you can only look away.

Chris opens the door for you, and you step inside the main building. It’s spacious and comfortable – there’s a few tables, a foosball table, plenty of couches. The walls are dark wood, covered in signs and posters. Music plays at a reasonable volume. There’s a bar, and many doors which seemingly lead to other rooms. You look around you. You’re not sure what you expected. Neon lights, half-naked girls, people snorting coke?

This is… nice.

You shake away the thought.

“Where’s he?” Chris asks the guy behind the bar. The latter is cleaning glasses – and points to one of the doors, which reads Infirmary.

Chris does not waste any time and knocks on the door. A beautiful young woman you don’t know, with long red hair, opens the door. Behind her, you see a figure sitting on a hospital bed.

“Your flowers are here, boss,” Chris says. You hear the mocking tone in his voice, and you give him a glare. He ignores you, of course, and then leaves you standing there.

“Come in, Trouble,” Minho says. “I’m just wrapping up here.”

You exchange a look with the young woman, but she doesn’t say anything – she only closes the door behind you when you come in.

“Don’t just stand there, let me see.”

You circle the bed, almost feeling shy, until you’re almost facing Minho. He’s healthy enough to smile at you, but he’s definitely banged up. One of his lips is split, he has the hint of a black eye, and his sleeve is rolled up, letting you see a very big and very deep cut on his arm, which the woman is in the middle of stitching.

“Aw,” he says. “Is that worry I see in your eyes?”

You look back at him. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Just business.”

A part of you wants to insist, but it’s just curiosity, so you let it go. Minho has moved on anyway, eyeing the bouquet in your hands.

“Looks perfect,” he says. “You put a lot of care into it,” he adds with a smile.

You pinch your lips and you simply tell him the price.

“Of course, doll,” he tells you. “Once Cherry is done, I’m all yours.”

You roll your eyes but don’t answer anything. You wish you could just shove the bouquet in his hands and run away, but you’re definitely not leaving without his money.

Instead you stay there, letting out a long sigh.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how my day is going?” Minho tells you, his face not showing in the slightest that he’s being stitched up. The young woman, Cherry, is focused on the wound, her fingers stained with dark blood.

“No,” you retort simply.

“I’ll tell you anyway,” he sighs. “It’s been absolute shit, to tell you the truth. Don’t you just hate it when people don’t listen?”

“Depends who’s talking.”

A smile forms on his face, and he’s about to answer when his body suddenly jolts. He winces in his pain, closing his eyes. Cherry has stopped moving.

“Almost done,” she says softly. Almost tenderly, it seems. You stare at her. Her doe eyes, her shining hair. She looks like a princess.

Minho keeps his eyes closed for another few seconds, and then slowly opens them. You wish you could smile at his pain. But you can’t.

It hasn’t even crossed your mind to do so.

Oddly, you feel something else entirely.

“Could please wait for me outside, doll?” he says in a calm voice, and you find yourself both nodding and obeying.

You lean against the wall although the couches look insanely comfortable, ignoring the curious looks from the guy at the bar. Why couldn’t you be happy about Minho’s pain? You hate the guy and everything he represents. But then again, you have a heart. Him? Still up for debate.

You think about getting out your phone to scroll to keep your mind occupied, but a minute later Minho is leaving the infirmary, a bandage around his arm. He smirks at you.

“Follow me.”

You hate how arrogant he is about it, but you stick close to him as he walks. You reach a door at the end of a small corridor – he opens it, and you realize it’s his office. Once again, it surprises you how modest it looks. No fancy decoration or even a sexy calendar. There are a few pictures lined up on the right wall, and the logo of the Vices is spray painted on the left. Minho circles the wide wooden desk and lets himself down on the rolling chair.

“Sit down, doll,” he tells you.

He takes out his keys and proceeds to unlock something under his desk – a safe, probably. It’s silent in the room, almost too much, and you realize you’re holding your breath. It feels strange to be here, like you’re somewhere you shouldn’t, like going backstage after you’ve only been watching from afar. You sit down silently, carefully setting the bouquet on the desk.

“Is she your girlfriend?” you ask.

“Who?” he asks.

“The nurse. Cherry.”

Minho snickers. “Oh, no. She’s my step sister.”

You nod. You don’t know anything about Minho’s family history. You assume he must be the previous President’s son to have inherited the position, but you don’t even know about that. Asking would make him think you’re interested, and you don’t want that, so you keep your mouth shut.

“Here,” he slams the safe door closed and hands you a pile of cash.

You raise an eyebrow. “I said it was fifty-six, not five hundred.”

“It’s not five hundred,” he retorts. “It’s fifty-six and a bonus. You walked all the way here, no? I’m a generous tipper.”

You squint your eyes at him, suspicious, but he just waits for you to take the money. After a few seconds you do, and you count the bills. As you do, your jaw unclenches, and you stare at him with wide eyes.

“That’s way too much.”

“Think of it as a gift.”

“Are you trying to bribe me or something? Isn’t it supposed to be other way around?”

He shrugs. “Fine. Don’t think of it as a gift. See it as an investment. Renovate the shop a little. Get more flowers. I don’t care.”

You sigh deeply – but you don’t want to argue. If he wants to give you his money, fine. You’ll take it. You gladly will.

“Fine,” you say, putting away the money in your bag.

There is nothing else to say, nothing else to do. Still, you do not move and neither does he. After a few seconds, he chuckles. “Is there something you want to say?”

You debate whether to say what’s on your mind, sliding your tongue across your teeth. He watches you in the meanwhile, looking both amused and profoundly tired.

“Do you like what you do?” you finally ask.

“Excuse me?”

“Blackmail people. Getting in fights. Selling drugs and guns.”

Minho pouts. “If I say yes, will you say I’m an asshole?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

He’s messing with you – you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. You really should just leave, or you’ll end up doing something you’ll regret. Seungmin’s voice is in your head, telling you to tread carefully. To keep them away from you. To protect yourself. But you’re here. Literally, in the belly of the beast.

Might as well try to do some damage.

“What you have to understand, Trouble, is that most of it is business. We don’t use the drugs and the guns, we sell them.”

“That’s still enabling.”

“Someone has to do it. At least the club does it properly and safely.”

You scoff, pointing at his bandaged arm. “You call that safely?”

“That was a little misunderstanding. It happens in any business.”

“I have a business too and when I mess up an order, people don’t carve my skin with a knife.”

“Who said I messed up?” He smiles. “Because I don’t.”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

Minho blinks – for once, you feel like you’ve truly taken him by surprise. His eyes go wide, curved like a wave. You notice, just now, how beautiful they are.

“People keep saying I should be careful around you,” you explain. “That I could end up getting hurt.”

“Do you think I would?” Minho asks, his voice a little deeper.

You shrug. “You pulled a knife on me, the other night.”

“That was play,” he says with a smile – but it’s joyless. “I wouldn’t really hurt you.”

“What about those who did this to you?” you ask. “To your Vice? I saw him, he’s banged up too.”

“Oh, those fuckers are six feet under.”

Something tightens in your stomach. You feel cold. Minho smiles maniacally.

“But they asked for it. You don’t mess with the club without paying for it.”

It is true, then. The Vices are killers. And if you push them enough, you could contribute to their body count. The thought sends a shudder down your spine, even in spite of what Minho said. He wouldn’t hurt you. You want to believe him.

You don’t.

But you do.

“Are you scared?” he asks you. He places his elbows on the desk, his fingers holding his face. “I like it better when you’re angry. But I can work with scared.”

You stand up suddenly, turning to leave, muttering that you need to go – but Minho is fast. He’s on his feet in a second, grabbing your wrist roughly, pulling you to him. Your body hits his, and you can smell him. Cologne. Gasoline. Blood.

“They were right, you know,” Minho whispers. He details your face, holding you so tight it almost hurts. You want to look away, but you can’t – his stare nails you in his eyes. “You should’ve been careful.”

“I have to…”

He ignores you, and instead leans down. His lips brush against your cheek. “It’s too late now. You’ve awoken the wolf. And now he’s going to eat you whole.”

Your lips are trembling. “If you don’t let me go, I –”

“What, doll? You’re going to scream? Call the police? No one is coming to help you. You’ve dug your own grave.”

“Minho, please –”

Something cold passes in the room.

His grip tightens and he draws back to drill his eyes into yours. They are dark, his jaw clenched. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

You’re speechless. Minho laughs in disbelief.

“You think we’re first names basis, doll? Tsk. No, no, no. It’s President or Sir to you. Show some fucking respect.”

You’ll let him bleed you out before you call him either of those things, but you feel like you’re stepping on very thin ice and you’re panicking. Because he is right – no one will help you. No one can.

You take a breath. “Sir,” you say, the world cutting your lips like a razor blade. “Can I please leave?”

To your despair, Minho chuckles in delight. He slides his nose against your neck, near your ear, and inhales slowly. “That fucking smell of yours,” he whispers. “Roses. Sweet, sweet roses.”

His body is so close to yours. How he can be so cold and so warm at the same time, you have no idea. When he speaks, his breath makes your skin tingle. His mouth traces your jawline, and his teeth pick at your skin. “You know,” he breathes. “All of this would just be much easier if you let me fuck you senseless right here, right now.”

You can’t move.

You can’t speak.

“But what fun would that be, right, Trouble?” he withdraws to look at you. His other hand comes to trace the outline of your lips. “Let’s play a little more. I’ll keep imagining those sweet lips around my dick and you can think about it filling you up like I know you want to.”

He guides your hand towards his crotch, placing your fingers around his arousal. He’s only semi-hard, but you feel it. Your throat is dry, and you can barely find it in yourself to breathe.

“Let me hear a yes, sir, doll.”

You’re so dizzy you feel like you’re going to be sick. You unclench your painful jaw to let out a pathetic whimper. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He moves your hand, pats your hair, and places a kiss on your head. His grip relaxes slowly, and eventually, he lets you go.

You don’t move a single inch. You would be lying if you said that his little game is doing nothing to you – but you’d also never admit it. You can’t show any unnecessary weakness to him. You just need to get out of his grip, walk away, and then stay the fuck out of his way for the rest of your life. You don’t care anymore, you’ll bend your head, you’ll be polite.

You just don’t want to die.

“Since I know how much it cost you to call me that, I’ll let you go for today.” His eyes are black like a demon’s. “Listen to your friends, Trouble, and tread carefully. I like to play, but I also like to break the rules.”

You get home shortly after, and you violently take off all your clothes – they smell like the clubhouse, like him. You slip into bed naked, your body throbbing, your head about to burst. You grit your teeth, but all you can do is slip a few fingers in between your legs and think about Lee Minho.

“He said what?!”

It’s an extremely bad idea to tell anyone about your last conversation with Minho, but you had to get it out of your system. It’s haunting your every thought, your every step. You have no idea what to make of it.

So you told Seo-ah, Hyunjin’s girlfriend.

You don’t know each other that well, but you’ve had long conversation about sex before – in extremely intimate details – so you feel safe to talk about that with her. You invited her to your place for a few drinks before she gets Hyunjin from Rossi’s – you didn’t really want anyone to overhear your conversation. When you’re done retelling your exchange with the president of the Vices, Seo-ah stares at you, eyes wide.

“That’s… that’s…”

“Fucked up?”

“Hot.”

You shake your head. “Excuse me, what?”

She giggles nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean, yeah, it’s fucked up. But it’s kind of hot, right? It’s like roleplay.”

“Except it’s not,” you retort. “He’s the actual leader of an actual biker club and could actually slit my throat open without an ounce of hesitation.”

“Doesn’t that make it more exciting?” she argues. “I mean, didn’t you tell me you like dirty talk?”

You hesitate. “I mean, yeah, but… Like, when it’s not real. That was something else entirely.”

“Okay. Here’s a question. Did it turn you on?”

You look at her, debating what to say. You could lie – but you don’t particularly want to. It’s not like the exchange got you excited to the point where you would’ve fucked him on the spot, but your legs were very wobbly all the way home. And it does occupy your thoughts. A lot.

“Think of it as an experience,” she says. “Don’t overthink it. The guy’s horny for you and he’s like, insanely hot. You’re going to have dirty, nasty, hot sex and you’re both gonna move on.”

You sigh.

“It’s just sex, Y/N. It doesn’t have to be anything else. You’re not agreeing to marry him.”

Your conversation stays on your mind. Could you actually have sex with Minho? Maybe you could. But could you get the fact that he’s the head of the Vices out of your mind? Would you respect yourself afterwards, after spending so much time hating them? Having sex with the club’s president doesn’t exactly rhyme with denunciation. You’d be a hypocrite to say a word against them afterwards.

No, you tell yourself. You’ll stick to your principles. Even if it means he’ll make your life hell for a while. You’re pretty sure he’s the type to lose interest after a while – you just have to make it there.

It feels like a very long way.

Your coffee tastes terrible, but you don’t care – you desperately need it. You suggested to Seungmin you get a cup before heading to work, and as you sit down in the coffee shop, he gives you a sad smile.

“I’m sorry about the shop, Y/N.”

“It’s fine, Min.”

“But it’s not, is it?”

His voice is so soft and yet so full of rage, the contrast is striking. You glance at him, feeling your own heart tighten in your chest. Could you tell your friend about what you’ve been doing? How you’ve been taunting them? How you’ve been playing like you have an inexistent upper hand?

It hit you this morning when you opened your eyes.

You are nothing.

And you’ve been so invested, recently, in trying to go after the Vices, you haven’t realized it’s been taking pieces of you.

And those you don’t have that many left.

“No,” you whisper. “But there’s nothing we can do.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

He has a smile tugging the corners of his lips, and you nudge him affectionately.

“Maybe I’m losing my fighting spirit,” you sigh, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Will it be a blue moon tonight?” he retorts. “But stranger things have happened.”

You chuckle softly. Seungmin always had this calm presence that allowed you to heal – you still remember those days after your mother passed. He hadn’t done or said anything special, but he had been there. Silent, familiar, reassuring you that not everything had fallen apart. It was a strange relationship between you two – never particularly close, and yet closer than most.

“They’re not what I thought,” you quietly admit to him.

“Hm?”

“The Vices. They’re… different.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to join them,” Seungmin jokes.

You roll your eyes. “I just mean they’re not as, like, mean as I imagined them to be. Not that they’re nice, but…”

You sigh.

Clearly, you have no idea what to think of them anymore, and it’s useless to try and articulate it to Seungmin. He gives you a curious look but doesn’t insist.

“You’ve been around them too much,” he finally states.

“You’re probably right. But isn’t it weird, though? Like, take Jisung. We’ve known him as long as we’ve known each other, and he’s one of them, right? I thought it was because he went insane or something –”

“Hasn’t he?”

“Well, maybe a little. But I mean, like, he’s still the same. Really, he still is.”

Seungmin takes the time to think about what you’ve said, twirling his cup of coffee in between his fingers.

“Maybe. But they’re still criminals, Y/N. They like to scare people and take advantage of them. That’s something I can look away from.”

You sigh again, sliding a hand through your hair. “You’re right. I’m just confused, I guess.”

You take a long sip of coffee before you smile at Seungmin. “You want to watch a movie tonight? It’s been a while since we did that.”

He agrees, and you make quick plans before you start heading to work.

You’re not going to let the Vices play with your head.

You’re not.

The next morning, you’re brushing your teeth when your phone pings.

Unknown Number Tonight 10 Clubhouse

Four words. They send a chill down your spine.

You Who is this??

Unknown Number Don’t play dumb, Trouble.

You How did you get this number??????

Unknown Number Be ready at 10 I have a surprise for you I’ll send someone to drive you.

You groan in frustration, slamming your phone on your bathroom counter. Who the hell does he think he is? Maybe you have plans. Maybe you don’t want to see his face. The clubhouse. What makes him think you’d want to go back there?

You grab your phone again and start sending an avalanche of texts. I’m busy. Leave me alone. Delete my number. What do you mean a surprise??? What are you planning?? Why would I come? HEY! Answer me. Hey assface. EXPLAIN. I HATE YOU.

Of course, he no longer answers. Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head and your stomach curls into a tight knot. What are you supposed to do? Actually go? A part of you is definitely curious, and unfortunately, your curiosity often borderlines on the morbid and is thus extremely dangerous. But you could also make sure you’re not anywhere near home at ten and ghost him. I’ll send someone, he said. Pretentious fucker.

The day passes excruciatingly slowly, and you cannot make up your mind about what to do. Minho’s words haunt you at every step, and at times, it’s like you can still feel his breath against your skin. You get home around seven, eat a little bit, and then open your closet. Not going would be too easy, right? Fine. You’ll go.

You won’t dress up for him, though, so you grab oversized ripped jeans and an old sweater. You leave your hair down and don’t touch your makeup. You definitely do not put any effort in your underwear. Despite your conversation with Seo-ah, you’re set on not giving Minho what he wants.

If he was anyone else, you would definitely fuck him. You’d let him manhandle you a little, whisper the nastiest things in your ear, and relieve all the pressure that has been building inside of you the past few weeks. But Minho is a Vice. Worse – he’s their president. He’s made of cruelty and arrogance, a jerk with a superiority complex, and if you let him fuck you, you’d just be proving him right. You wouldn’t have any self-respect for yourself.

You repeat the words like a mantra. Maybe you’ll end up believing them.

The anticipation is making you anxious, so you allow yourself a couple of hits. You don’t smoke a lot, but just enough for your muscles to relax and for your mind to be ready for battle.

You step outside a little bit before ten, looking around you shamefully, as if to make sure nobody sees you. You almost pull your hoodie above your head to hide your face, but when you start seriously considering it, you hear a dreadful noise that sends a shiver down your spine.

The engine of a bike.

Of course. How dumb are you? How stupid were you to think Lee Minho, president of the Vices Motorcycle Club, would actually send a car to drive you to his clubhouse?

As the light of the bike approaches you, you turn on your heels. You still have time to run inside and pretend you’re not there – but the bike approaches too quickly and breaks in front of you.

The person sitting on it reaches behind him and hands you a helmet without a word. It’s dark, so he’s not wearing his visor, and he’s staring at you with his usual slightly angry face.

“Sit,” Changbin says when you don’t move.

“No,” you manage to utter, shaking your head.

He closes his eyes and takes a sharp inhale. “Don’t test my patience. Sit down.”

You glare at him, fuming, but you know he’s right. You really shouldn’t test his patience, so you take the helmet and place it on your head. As you pass your leg around the bike, you feel your body shaking.

“Get a hold of something,” he says as he makes the engine roar.

You don’t have time to decide what because he accelerates and you feel your body sway – so you grab the first thing you can, which is him. He doesn’t protest or even tense, so you hold on tighter as his bike gains speed. His leather vest is cold against you, but he’s wearing a hoodie underneath and his body emanates warmth. You try not to lean against him too much, but the movements of the bike stop you from keeping your distance. Soon you are clenching his clothes and regretting all your life decisions.

He drives both carefully and extremely fast. Your heart is pounding inside your chest and when he stops at a red light, you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You sigh, and you feel his head lean towards you.

“Are you alright?”

You can only nod.

“Hold tight.”

The engine is loud and hot under your bodies. The sound vibrates inside you, but you don’t hate the way the wind slides on your face. The lights blind you, and Changbin is a welcome stability in front of you. Your blood is boiling but you can’t bring yourself to be angry – the mix of adrenaline and weed makes you dizzy.

Damn you and everything you are, Lee Minho.

You get to the clubhouse a couple of minutes later. It looks nothing like the other day. Fairy lights illuminate the parking lot, and there’s a lot of people there. Some stand, others are settled in fold-out chairs, and a huge white background has been put up in front of the garage doors. People are drinking, eating, and laughing. The atmosphere is calm and light.

You disembark from the bike, leaning against Changbin’s shoulders for support, and stare with wide eyes at the set-up.

“What’s going on?” you ask, both to yourself and him.

He removes his helmet and ruffles his hair. “It’s movie night. Didn’t he tell you?”

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t answer, and instead keep looking around. Someone is cooking barbecue, and the smell makes your stomach rumble. You can’t believe what you’re seeing – and you’re so fascinated you don’t even pick up on Changbin staring at you with a smirk on his face.

This is nothing like you expected a Vices party to be like. There are even children around, chasing each other and eating candy. You stand there, a little confused, when someone puts an arm around your shoulders. You recognize the smell instantly.

“Good of you to show up, Trouble,” Minho sneers in your ear. “I was wondering if you would.”

You can’t even find an insult to spit at him.

He smirks. “Thanks for getting her here, Vice.”

Changbin only shrugs and walks away.

“You want a drink, Trouble? Movie’s about to start.”

He guides you towards a spot near the screen – someone’s put mattresses on the ground, so you sit there. Minho hands you a beer and popcorn and settles a blanket on your knees. He sits down next to you, putting his arm back around your shoulders.

“What is it, hm? Nothing to say?” he eventually mutters in your ear. “Were you expecting something else?”

You glance at him. “Well. Yeah. You’re a biker gang, I didn’t expect popcorn and blankets. Do you also host birthday parties for kids?”

He laughs. “Sometimes. We have a few sides to ourselves, Trouble. People have families. If you want to see a real party, I’ll invite you to one. But I can’t promise you’ll walk from it with your sanity intact.”

“It’s never been intact, Minho.”

The words escape your mouth before you can hold them back, and you’re scared, for a second, he’ll snap like last time. But he just chuckles and brings you closer to him. The breeze is cold, and he’s warm, so you let him.

“I hope you like horror movies,” he whispers, and his voice sends shivers down your body.

It’s an old horror movie, a cult classic that isn’t at all scary but always fun to watch. You find yourself forgetting where you are, who you are with – you drink your beer and eat the snacks, and you lean against Minho at times. He just watches with you, laughs with you, and his fingers, sometimes, stroke your arm.

You forget the cuts, the bikes, everything. You’re just having a good time.

Once the movie is over, you step inside to go to the bathroom – on your way out, you open the wrong door and end up inside the garage. It smells like gasoline and leather, as one would expect. It’s clean and tidy. There’s a motorcycle, seemingly in repair, next to you. You look at it, intrigued. You’d never seen the appeal of bikes and having ridden one has not particularly changed your mind – but even you, who has no knowledge of mechanics or even an appreciation of vehicles of any kind, have to admit this particular one looks good.

It looks vintage, although it might not be, and you walk around it with curiosity. Although it’s clearly missing a few parts, you can see it’s well taken care of.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

You jump, turning to see Changbin behind you. He’s just stepped inside the garage – either he followed you or just found you there.

“Sorry,” you say. “I opened the wrong door.”

“You should go back outside.”

“Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the bike. Your instinct is telling you it is, perhaps because of the frequent glances he gives it.

Changbin does not answer – he just squints his eyes at you suspiciously. You roll your eyes.

“I’m just curious. I’m not going to steal it.”

It takes a few more seconds before he answers. “It was my dad’s. He was driving it when he died.”

You look back at the bike with a shiver. “And you’re repairing it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Well… it’s the bike that killed your dad.”

Changbin scoffs in derision. “The bike didn’t kill him. It’s the asshole with the pick-up truck who thought it’d be funny to see what would happen if he drove it off the road.”

You stare at Changbin, heart sinking. He said it so directly, his voice stable, that he almost seems heartless. But it also clearly isn’t.

“Oh,” is all you manage to say.

Changbin takes a step towards you, inspecting you. You recall the feel of him against you, earlier. It didn’t feel bad. It really didn’t.

“If you’re going to say you’re sorry, don’t,” he tells you, his voice low and measured. “I already put the motherfucker in a hospital bed. He’s never going to drive again. Actually, he’s not going to do much with the rest of his life.”

His words send shivers down your spine, and you can’t look away. Changbin is close to you. You want to take a step back, but the bike is right there, and you’re pretty sure he would mind if you touched it.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” he suddenly asks. “From what I gathered before, you hate us.”

“I… I just…”

“Minho’s president, so he does what he wants,” Changbin states. “But I’m Vice, so it’s my job to look out for the club. And if you’re going to be a problem, I need to do something about it.”

You try to gulp, but your throat is dry. “I don’t –”

“Am I going to have to deal with you?” Changbin asks, leaning towards you. His dark eyes drill into yours. His face gives nothing, and your heart is beating hard in your chest. You have no idea if you are terrified or aroused.

“I –”

“There you are.”

The new voice startles you, and you turn your head to see Minho standing next to the door. If he has just come in or if he’s been standing there for a few minutes, you have no idea. You blink, your breath hitching in your throat. You half expect Minho to get angry at Changbin like he has with Jisung the other night, but he just smirks at you.

“Your surprise is ready.”

You glance at Changbin again, who has only slightly stepped back. He’s still staring at you, eyebrow arched. There’s a tattoo on his hand, tracing the curve of skin between his index and his thumb. It reads I See You.

You wish you could just disappear into the floor, but instead you follow Minho back outside. He seems completely unbothered at the position in which he found you and Changbin, taking your hand and leading you towards the back of the clubhouse, where there’s only a wide, empty field. For a second, you are scared he’s taking you there to murder you, but you see a few silhouettes further away.

You hear a laugh pierce the quiet night – Felix’s.

“Kid’s always way too excited for this kind of shit,” Minho laughs. “I swear he’s not right in the head.”

He gives you a glance.

“But then again, none of us are, right?”

You shake your head. “What’s going on?”

Minho stops, his hand leaving yours – but he just throws his arm around your waist to hold you close. You’re still high, definitely a little drunk, and you’ve strangely gotten used to his touch and proximity.

“We normally keep this for special occasions. But since it’s a beautiful night and you’re here, I thought, why not indulge the Prospect a little?”

“What do you…”

You stop when you hear a loud popping noise, and your mind goes blank when you see an actual firework blow up in the night sky.

A few follow and they’re neither big nor beautiful, but it’s still something. You stare in wide eyes, your smile inevitable and instant. You love fireworks. And those are just for you.

Felix’s laugh is almost louder than the sound of the fireworks going off, and you can smell the burn, and you laugh against Minho, your head falling against his shoulder. Felix and a few others – you’re pretty sure Jisung is over there, too, and you could swear you hear Jeongin’s voice – play for a while before the sky goes back to black again.

“Did you like your surprise?” Minho asks after a while.

You part your lips to answer, but then you stop. You have a more urgent question to ask. You step aside and turn to look at him. His silver hair is ruffled, his eyes deep and direct. You let out a sigh.

“What are you trying to do, exactly?”

“Make you smile,” he answers frankly without a hint of hesitation.

“Why?” you ask, frowning. “I’m nobody.”

He lets out a short sigh. “It’s not that deep, Trouble. Maybe I’m just trying to get in your pants.”

“If it was that, you wouldn’t have said ‘maybe’.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and you know you have a point. Despite yourself, your lips curve in a smile.

“Seriously, Minho, though, why are you doing this? It’s not that I have anything you want. I don’t have money, or any sort of power over anything, I just… I just sell flowers.”

“You don’t have something I want,” he agrees. “You are what I want.”

You gape at him, unsure of what to say. All you want is to ask why. The question is on the edge of your lips, but it would feel like revealing a part of yourself to him you’re not sure you want to share. You’re pretty sure he’s aware of it, anyway. The guy knows everything. You just prefer to show another side of you. The one that talks back, that is spiteful, that is full of anger, of fire to burn. A side people have only dismissed or tried to diminish.

But Minho, he likes it.

“What makes you think a movie and a few lights in the sky are going to seduce me?” you tell him, reaching for all the smugness you have.

“Hm,” he pouts. “Fair point. I thought the manhandling and dirty talk would do the trick the other day, but turns out you’re not as easy as you seem.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, biting down a curse. “So you said to yourself, hm, I’m going to try and be a nice guy, see what she thinks?”

“Did it work?”

“You’re such a fucking dick.”

“Oh. I see we’re back to the insults,” he chuckles. “I gotta say I like that better.”

“Of course you do.”

He takes a step towards you. Even in the darkness, you can see how eyes shine. He’s like a predator, lurking in the woods, ready to jump at your throat. Except you’re not going to be a defenseless prey – you’ll play with him too.

“I dare you to say you weren’t soaking wet leaving my office the other day.”

You do not waver. “Says the guy who was rock hard at the single thought of me.”

It’s your turn to take a step towards him. You lift your chin, your eyes wandering around his face. The air smells like popcorn and ashes.

“Did you jerk yourself off afterwards?” you tell him in a whisper. “Did you think about bending me over your desk and fucking me?”

He closes his eyes like he’s concentrating hard on something. It makes you chuckle.

“What did you want me to call you, again? Sir?”

He’s so quick you don’t have time to move – he roughly grabs your chin between his fingers, immobilizing you. His eyes have gotten darker. “Don’t think for one second I’m not enjoying this,” he says in a low voice. “You can pretend all you want, Trouble, but I know that pussy is going to be mine to ravage soon.”

You feel something tangle inside of you – and you smile. “Are you going to keep talking or are you going to do something about it? This is getting old.”

He brings your face closer to his, so close your lips are brushing. His breath mingles with yours and it makes you feel dizzy. “Sorry, doll. I fucking love foreplay.”

You wriggle a little to get out of his grip, but he holds on tight.

“You talk a lot of smack but I know what will make you shut up,” he breathes in your mouth. “How about I fuck you senseless right here, in the middle of this field, where everyone can hear you scream my name? Or, let’s see… Since you mentioned the desk, I’m going to consider it. I should also mention I’ve thought about eating you out in the middle of your shop.” He tilts your head to the side, letting his breath tickle the thin skin of your neck. “I know exactly what I’m going to do to you,” he whispers, his tongue tracing a line alongside your neck, stopping at your earlobe. “And I’m going to take my sweet time doing it.”

You feel your legs wobble, and suddenly you realize what is happening and you give him a hard shove. He stumbles backwards, a proud smile on his lips.

You take a second to breathe out, but your mind has gone completely blank. You’re angry and you’re horny – which is not a good combination.

“Take me home,” you manage to articulate.

“Are you –”

“Take me home,” you hiss.

He looks at you for a second, and then two. Your face is flushed and you’re panting, but you don’t care. You’re not letting this happen. You’re not letting him win. You’re not betraying your principles, you’re not betraying Seugnmin, you’re not betraying yourself.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

You can sense he’s annoyed, but you don’t blame him. You’re pissed and frustrated too. You don’t let him touch you again and he doesn’t try – instead, he yells Felix’s name. The latter, who had still been playing with the fireworks across the field, arrives running. His long hair is tied behind his head today.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Will you please call a taxi for the lady and pay it in advance? Make sure she gets home.” Minho says in his best neutral voice, although you feel the annoyed undertone.

Felix seems to sense it too because he nods fervently. “Right away,” he adds, but Minho has walked away before he could hear the end.

Felix gives you a smile, leading you to the front of the clubhouse. There’s almost nobody there anymore, just a few people. As you wait for the taxi with Felix, he plays with his lighter, trying to make conversation, but you’re just not in the mood. It’s not his fault, you know that, but at this instant you can’t stand the sight of leather.

Minho’s words haunt you. His breath against yours.

His skin.

His eyes.

Something clicks inside of you.

Or rather, something breaks.

Fuck it, you think.

Fuck your principles.

There is clearly chemistry between you.

Seo-ah’s voice echoes in your head.

It’s just sex.

“Cancel the taxi,” you tell Felix, turning on your heels.

He just looks at you go, and you stroll through the parking lot, and then the clubhouse, and although you hear someone trying to stop you, you don’t. You walk straight to Minho’s office, open the door and step inside.

He’s sitting at his desk, eyes closed, and sighs when he sees you. “What?”

He’s pissed at you, and it’s the last straw.

You close the door behind you, and then go around his desk. Something flashes in his eyes, but he lets you come. You clash against him, straddling his body, your lips collapsing on his. The contact steals your breath, because his lips are soft, and you decide to let yourself unravel.

He immediately responds, hungrily kissing you back, like it’s something he’s missed for too long. He stands up, carrying your body with his, and sits you down on his desk. His hands are everywhere, his arms holding you up, and you kiss him back feverishly, feeling as though you are entirely made of fire.

He has a hand sprawled behind your head, and suddenly his fingers get a grip around your hair, and he pulls your head backwards. You hiss at the faint pain and the sudden absence of his lips on yours. You grab the edges of the desk to balance yourself.

He is smiling like a madman.

“Couldn’t resist it, huh, doll?”

“Shut up,” you snarl.

“I don’t think so,” he slurs. “Not my style.”

You reach for his lips, but he pulls on your hair again, and you moan.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes lingering on you. “And all mine.”

“Minho…”

He breathes in sharply, pulling on your hair. You hiss.

“What did I say about calling me that?”

You squint your eyes. “I don’t fucking care what you said.”

He chuckles, leaning to kiss your neck. It sends shivers throughout your whole body, and your hands reach for him, to touch him, to touch him anywhere. His teeth scratch your skin, his tongue drawing masterpieces. When he comes back to your lips, he just grazes them with his teeth.

“Such a foul mouth on such a gorgeous face,” he sighs. “You smell heavenly, doll, have I ever told you that? I can’t wait to get a taste of you…”

You want to answer, but his teeth sink into your lips, drawing a moan from you. You shudder, your fingers sinking into his back, your nails scratching the fabric of his leather cut.

“Careful with that,” he says, as he moves to your ear, his breath warm against it.

You chuckle. “I would have imagined you wouldn’t mind a scratch or two.”

He sucks in your earlobe, and you let out another moan, rubbing your hips against his. You can feel his arousal against you, your own making you go crazy, and the fact that you are both so horny just makes it worse.

He leans back to look at you. “It’s a precious possession. Every self respecting Vice takes care of his cut. Are you going to make trouble even now?”

You smirk, your nails digging deeper into the leather - now you are sure to leave a mark, and the thought delights you. “Fuck yes.”

You take advantage of the fact that he’s distracted to grab his neck and pull him towards you, devouring his lips. You’re hungry for them, your teeth biting into them, and Minho grunts, his hands going down your body, feeling its every curve. He removes your sweater and your t-shirt, tracing the outline of your bra. Your hands keep reaching for him, because you want to remove his clothes too, but he grows annoyed. He roughly guides your arms behind your back, pinning them there.

“Don’t make me tie you up,” he growls.

You breathe heavily as he unclasps your bra, then throws it somewhere in the room, his fingers immediately going back to your breasts, feeling them in his hand.

“Hmm,” he whispers. “Pretty.”

He lowers his head, his tongue circling your nipples, teasing them. It’s your turn to grab his silver hair between your fingers, closing your eyes to briefly enjoy the sensation.

With his hand sprawled on your chest, he lays you down on the desk. His fingers expertly undo the button of your jeans and soon you’re naked in front of him. He slides a hand over you, from your neck down to between your legs. You keep looking at him as he discovers your body.

That’s when he sees the tattoo. It’s not very big, but it’s there, just below your hips, on the right side. The simplest rose, with sharp thorns. He briefly grazes the ink with his fingertips, his mouth open, his tongue resting against his bottom lip. You take in the sight, and you try to be patient although you are aching for his touch.

“We’re going to talk about this later,” he says.

Finally he lets out a deep breath, and you let out a whimper as he comes into contact with your wetness.

“I knew it,” he says. “Fucking soaked for me.”

You want to say something but his hand cups you and you inhale sharply. “Fuck.”

“All swollen and waiting,” he says, slapping it gently.

Your body trembles.

“Let’s see how ready you are.”

He inserts two fingers inside of you and groans. You are slowly but surely losing your mind.

“A little tight. But don’t worry, doll,” he breathes as he adds another finger. “I’m going to stretch you good.”

You don’t care what he says – you rise from your position and kiss him. Your whisper is hoarse. “I hope you fucking ruin me.”

You know he’d keep fingering you, but you’re impatient you push him off of you, shoving him against the wall behind his desk. Your hands grip his leather cut to remove it and you have to let out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, eyebrow raised. He looks delightful with his hair all messed up and his lips already red and raw from your kisses.

“You always have this fucking thing on,” you say mischievously. “So much I wondered if you kept it during sex.”

His smile is one the biggest you’ve ever seen. “I can leave it on if you want.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

You claim his lips again, removing his clothing in a hurry to reveal his chest. You let your hands travel over it, your mouth curved in a smile against his kisses. “Pretty,” you tell him with a hint of arrogance, referring to his earlier comment.

“Fucking brat,” he laughs.

His jeans and boxers are next, and he’s sincerely beautiful. You look at him, cheeks red, your body flaming with desire, and you slowly wrap your hand around his length. He pants, twitching against your touch. He’s hard and ready, but you go slow.

“Remind me again of what you said the other day,” you tell him softly.

“Hm? I say a lot of things.”

“Something about my lips… and about your dick…”

He smirks. You love the way his scar moves when he does. “Seems like you remember it well enough.”

“Tell me anyway,” you whisper in his ear.

His whole body tenses. “Put those pretty lips around my dick, doll.”

You smile and you go on your knees before you look back up at him.

He strokes your hair tenderly. “Now that’s quite a sight. Take it, doll. Show me what else that mouth of yours can do.”

You do. Your tongue circles him before you bring him into the warmth of your mouth. He breathes deeply as you bob your head in slow motions, taking him deeper each time until you gag. His grip on your hair tightens, but you step back. You take him in your hand, slapping him against your tongue.

“How am I doing, then?” you ask him mischievously.

“Not too bad, doll,” he smirks. “But I know you can do better.”

You chuckle despite yourself and take him again. As you accelerate your movement, his hips start to buckle, and soon he is fucking your mouth. He goes deep and fast, and you have to gasp for air – but he slaps himself against your cheek and goes back in the second you catch your breath.

You close your eyes to focus on your breathing, but his other hand grabs your chin.

“You open your eyes and you look at me,” he growls, and you obey. He towers above you, his face twisted in pleasure, his eyes dark and wild. You can’t help it – he looks so sexy, your fingers slip between your legs and you release a little pressure there.

Minho laughs maniacally. “So fucking horny for me. Is your little pussy in need of attention, doll?”

You nod, so he removes himself from your mouth and pulls you to your feet. He wraps his hand around your throat and spins you around so you’re pinned against the wall, facing him.

“I’m surprised. You’re being such a good girl for me.”

You glare at him. “I have no interest in being good.”

“Then should I treat you like a bad one?”

“Sounds better to me.”

He gives a slap between your legs, and you jolt.

“I don’t care what you want,” Minho sneers, circling his fingers on a particularly sensitive spot. His hand squeezes your throat a little. “I’m going to treat you like a fucking queen.”

It’s his turn to go on his knees, and you bask in the sight as he buries his face between your legs. At first, he just breathes against you, kissing the inside of your thighs. He takes the time to lick your tattoo, kissing it softly, and then his mouth comes into contact with you. You let out a loud gasp.

“Fuck, yes, just like that.”

He plays with you, putting pressure just to let it go as you tense, moving his tongue in all the right ways – and then in all the wrong ways. You writhe against him, pulling his hair, cursing him, but it just makes him laugh. His tongue is heavy and controlled, and soon you can’t take it anymore. You’re sensitive and on edge, so you pull on his hair so hard he hisses.

“Stop doing that,” he sneers.

You glare at him. “Make me.”

He’s back on his feet in an instant, kissing you hard, and you taste yourself on his lips. He grabs both of your arms and pins them behind your back like before, spinning you and trapping you. Your cheek is against the wall, his body against yours. He smells so good it’s intoxicating.

“So impatient,” he says. “I told you I liked foreplay.” He delicately takes a strand of your hair and pushes it out of your face. “But since you’re so desperate to have my dick inside you, I’ll oblige.”

You moan as he enters you – slowly at first, and then all at once. He still holds you by the arms, so you can’t really move. You can only breathe out as he settles inside you.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you laugh. “

“Fucking divine,” he snarls. “Let me hear you, Trouble.”

He starts to fuck you feverishly, pushing his hips against your ass. He’s relentless, not giving you a second to breathe. You moan, your eyes shut tight, and an orgasm catches you off guard. He lets go of your arms as your legs shake, gripping your hips so hard you’re sure it’ll leave a mark – but you’re too much on adrenaline to care.

“You’re making such a mess over my dick, doll,” he groans, slowing down his thrusts as you recuperate from your orgasm.

Your legs are barely holding you up, and your focus is blurry, but you smile at him.

“Why are you moving so slow?” you tease him. “Afraid you’ll blow too early?”

He grips you tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, and you hiss in pain. “Cute,” he says. “But I’m not nearly done with you.”

He starts moving faster, but he’s still taking his time, making sure he goes all the way inside of you before he leans back. You close your eyes, hazy on the feeling. His fingers caress you, and you let out a rasp curse – so he shoves them in your mouth, holding your mouth open as he fucks you.

As he accelerates, you moan, your tongue slipping out of your mouth to lick his fingers. He groans, shaking his head, and then puts his hand back around your throat. You nod, as if to tell him he can squeeze tighter - and he does. The lack of air makes your head spin, but it’s a heavenly feeling.

When he releases you, you gasp. “Fuck,” you mutter. “Fuck.”

“Tell me about it, doll. Let me hear that sweet voice.”

“You’re fucking me so good. I love the feeling of you deep inside me.”

He grabs the back of your neck and moves you around, shoving you against the desk. You’re still bent over, and he’s still inside you, but the new angle allows him to go deeper, and you gasp at the feeling of it.

“Holy fuck, don’t stop.”

“Clench for me, doll. Come again. I know you will. Make me feel it.”

You can’t even hold it - you come again, your body on fire, and Minho quickly follows. He shoves deeper and empties himself inside of you. His grunts are music to your ears, and you revel in the sound. Once he stops moving, you are both panting, sweaty and sensitive, but relaxed.

Thoroughly and efficiently fucked out.

He pulls out a few seconds later, dripping down your legs, and you slowly unfold your body. It’s already aching, and you know it’ll be sore tomorrow, but you don’t care. This is out of your system, and you’ll be able to move on with your life.

Minho will forget about you, and you’ll barely think about him.

As it should be.

He smirks at you, pulling you in for a last kiss. The room smells of sweat and sex and Minho tastes like you.

“See, Trouble? Wasn’t so bad, fucking me.”

“That’s not how I would describe it,” you tell him, grabbing your t-shirt and hoodie to put them back on. He starts to dress, too.

“How, then?”

“Fucking divine.”

Minho barks out a laugh, staring at you as you slip on your jeans and shove your bra in your bag. You’re about to do the same with your underwear, but he grabs your wrist.

“Oh, no, doll. I’m keeping that.”

You don’t really care, so you simply shrug. He delicately folds the panties and puts them in his desk drawer.

“How sweet,” you taunt him. “How many of those do you have in there?”

“With yours, one.”

You pout at his sudden honesty and lack of arrogance, and he chuckles. “Don’t read too much into it. I’m not an old lady kind of guy.”

You sneer. “I wasn’t going to.”

Once you’re both dressed, he nods at the door. “Shall I drive you home, then?”

“If his majesty isn’t too busy.”

“I need to get home anyway.”

You give him a glance as you start walking to the parking lot – the clubhouse is empty.

“You don’t… live here?”

He shakes his head. “I have a room here, but I prefer to sleep at home if I can. Cozier.”

“So you have a house or something?”

“With a few of the guys, yeah.”

There it is again – your fucking curiosity. You try hard to swallow it, but it’s out of your control tonight, and clearly it shows on your face, because Minho chuckles.

“I’ll show it to you if you want, doll. My bed is very squeaky, but the sound is endearing. I’d love for you to hear it from up close.”

You let out a long sigh, but there’s a smile on your face.

Why the fuck not.

There it is. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first part of this story. Please let me know if you did through a comment or a reblog, it would mean a lot! Take care and see you soon for part two. ♡

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