Our Hearts Stopped From The Sound, We Were Terrified, We Felt Our Souls Leaving Us, O Lord, Your Mercy,

ran haitani x f!reader

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chapter 8 - ran gets to be the good guy, what could go wrong, really?

a/n - violence, kidnapping, reader is tied up in a not sexy way, some villain reveals and twists, swearing, guns, murder(?), intrugue, corruption. same tone as the show. reader is cis female, dom ran, sub reader.

You wake up with a bad taste in your mouth. Feeling slowly comes back to your limbs, you flex your fingers, your forearms, your feet, your thighs, and realize that you are tied quite securely to a chair. There’s a slight chill, and your coat’s been removed. There’s a dull throbbing at the back of your head. You wait to open your eyes until you’ve been listening for a few minutes, you can hear the hum of a television in the corner, the sound of someone breathing. The kind of fear that’s quiet and cold, that makes it hard to speak, hard to breathe, settles in your chest. You open your eyes.

“You up?” A deep voice, one they don’t recognize. “Yukihira’s a fuckin’ amateur,” You blink in the darkness of the room, you’re in a basement, cinderblock walls painted green, one window duct taped shut, with a tarp swaying gently against the wall. “He overdid it.” You turn your head towards the voice and the largest man you’ve ever seen moves towards you. You let out a little frightened squeak. “That’s fuckin’ precious.” He says in a low growl, his blond hair tied away from his face in a messy bun.

“Can’t believe Yukihira and Haitani hit that,” you feel his eyes rake over your body, “You’ve got shitty taste in men.” He pulls a box of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one up. He’s wearing a dirty white tank top that clings to his muscled abdomen, you can see his tattoos through the shirt. You swallow a couple times, bringing moisture for your mouth.

“W-where am I?” You can’t help the stutter that slips into your voice, your hands are shaking even as they’re tied to the chair.

“My place.” The man says, his eyes not leaving your chest when he speaks to you.

“I don’t have any money.” You say quietly, terror rippling through your body, and he nods.

“Don’t I know it.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Gonna ask who I am?” Ice creeps into your veins as you realize, no, you don’t have to.

“You’re Terano South.” He smirks. “You uh, I’ve seen your picture in Tooru’s files,” a thought hits you, “Wait, where the fuck is Tooru?” South takes the cig out of his mouth and blows smoke.

“He wants to see ya but I told him to fuck off,” South crouches in front of you, “I wanted to meet the only girl Haitani Ran ever loved first. Alone.” You shake your head.

“He didn’t love me, really.” The words are heavy on your tongue, something you’ve thought often, an idea you’d cling to like a life raft, when you would lay next to some boy who wasn’t Ran, who might have been alright in bed, serviceable even, but who wasn’t Ran Haitani, wasn’t a slow smirk and firm hand, wasn’t yours. Those words had carried you for years, that if he loved you he’d have followed you, he’d have left Roppongi, he’d have come for you. Even after all this time, it had been you, not him, who had sought him out.

“It’s not any of my business.” South says, bringing you back to the present. “But I wanted to meet you.” He offers you the half smoked cigarette.

“I’m alright.” You say quietly, stretching a little, testing the rope. He shrugs, popping it back in his mouth, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Do I get to know why I’m here?”

“Ah,” South shrugs, “You were giving so much to Bonten, I just thought I’d have you spread the wealth.” Something about this rings oddly false to you. “Yukihira’s been mine for about a year, and when he let me know that Haitani was,” he thinks about the right word for it, “Hanging around, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to get back at Mikey.” You blink a couple times. If you try hard, you can remember Mikey, remember the void darkness of his eyes, his blonde hair, his slight silhouette. “Of course, fucking with Haitani is just a bonus, but you,” he reaches out and cups your face with a gigantic hand, “You’re going to give me everything I want.” You swallow nervously.

“A-and what is it you want?” You ask, a pit forming in your stomach, but he waves your words away.

“A great number of things.” He rumbles, eyes flicking down to your breasts and then back to your face, “But I’ll start with the code to get into the evidence locker at city hall. I know they have a specific one that they use before trial, and I know that you know what the code is.”

“And if I refuse?” You ask, and he cocks his head at you.

“Interesting.” He considers, as if he’d never considered that you wouldn’t cooperate. “Interesting. Then I’ll hurt you.” Your jaw sets.

“Hurt me how?” You curse yourself for the pathetic tremble in your voice.

“Well, now,” he says, a smile plays on his lips, “That’s up to me isn’t it?” You shiver. “I can think of a lot of fun ways to make you see sense. Wonder if Haitani would still want you, after I made you mine?” He snarls the last word and you spit in his face, on instinct. “Stupid cunt,” South snaps, wiping his face on his already dirty tank top, and slapping you, his palm connecting with your face with a sound like thunder.

You’d take the hits back on the playground for your brother a thousand times, a hundred times, before this, it hurts, badly, but the sheer impact of it knocks the chair you're tied to onto its side, your wrist cracking against the concrete floor of whatever basement you’re in. “Yukihira,” South yells, “Come talk some sense into your fucking bitch.” There’s a pause, one you vaguely register as your brain floats back to your body and a tear leaks unbidden from your eye.

You blink a couple times, and South comes back into focus, oddly, he looks nervous, and jumpy rather than angry. You hear a loud crash and South takes off, bringing a walkie talkie to his lips. Your head spins on the ground, the pain in your wrist and face is intense, distractingly so, but it also grounds you, keeps you conscious. You rest your head on the cool ground, and listen to the growing shouts that clearly indicate a fight.

You start to wiggle your wrist out of the rope on your good arm, and it takes a few minutes, you can hear the kerfuffle escalating but as soon as you yank your hand free you get to work on your other hand, which is starting to swell. It works, but you’re slow, and clumsy. You bend forward to work at your ankles and the door to the room opens again. Your ex boyfriend steps into the room, knuckles bloody, hair askew.

“Fuck off,” You snap but he just looks concerned, as if your vitriol didn’t register. He notices several things very quickly, your already bruising cheek, your spot on the floor, your half untied form.

“Ah, ah,” He tuts, pulling your chair into an upright position. “Put those back,” he gestures to your wrists. “It’s nothing, right now. Just a little security breach.”

“If you actually cared about me,” You say, venom dripping from your voice, drawing your free hands into your chest so that he has to pry them away from you to attach them again. “You’d let me go.” He shrugs.

“I don’t like that he hurt you.” He says quietly. “But you knew what you were getting into when you re-entered this life, when you invited Haitani back in.”

“This is not about him,” You say angrily, “And Ran would never hit me. Not ever.”

“Is that so?” Tooru says, as if he’s barely paying attention to you. He opens his mouth to continue but his eyes roll in his head and he falls forward, blood at the base of his skull, stumbling and catching himself on the ground as Ran steps around the corner, tucking the slightly bloodied silver pistol into his shoulder holster.

“Of fucking course it is.” He rolls his eyes, and darts to you. “Bastard.” He whips out a knife from his belt. “If you’re injured, I’ll take it out on his fucking corpse. After I kill him.”

“Ran,” you’re in shock, numb, things are changing so quickly, “Ran I think my wrist is broken.” He presses a kiss to the side of your face and slices through the ropes on your waist and bends down to your ankles to free them.

Over his shoulder, you catch the familiarly monstrous silhouette darkening the hallway. Later, you would protest that your first thought was actually just to warn Ran, that it didn’t have anything to do with your faith in him, that it was complete instinct that had you rip the pistol from Ran’s upper back holster and point it at the blonde. You’d say you didn’t mean to pull the trigger, that you didn’t realize how sensitive the mechanism would be as you picked it up with your good hand and point it at South. There’s an ear splitting explosion as the bullet leaves the gun, hitting Terano South square in the chest.

“F-fuck,” the huge blonde falls to the ground, his breathing shallow. “Stupid, fucking bitch.” He spits blood on the floor, his eyes losing focus. Your ears are ringing in the silence, mind absolutely leaving your body as you stare at the body on the ground in the hallway. Ran lifts his head and takes exactly one beat to take stock of the situation, easing the gun from your shaking hands, holstering it, and lifting you in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “It’s okay, baby, don’t think for me, just hold onto my neck, can you do that?”

“R-ran,” you get out, your teeth are chattering, your temperature is dropping, Ran doesn’t have to be a doctor to recognize the onset of medical shock.

“I need you to breathe.” Ran says sharply. “Can you do that for me?” You nod, trying to focus only on taking short measured breaths. “That’s my girl.” He steps over South’s body, turning your face into his shoulder.

“Did I kill him?” You twist in Ran’s arms, and start to tremble, “Ran, did I just, did I just kill someone?”

“Shhhh,” he breathes, “Don’t think about that right now.”

“Ran,” you raise your voice as he runs out of the back of what you now realize is a huge warehouse and gets into a car that’s got the engine running, “Ran I can’t just-”

“Shut up for me.” He says, more sharply than he means. You feel him rub your forearms as you take a shaky breath. “Just don’t try to think about it right now for me, alright, we’re gonna go back to my apartment and-” He’s cut off by your dry aching sob.

“Ran,” you choke out, “Can you make it go away,” you wipe your face on your hands, and he tucks your head under his chin.

“Yes, baby,” he coos, “Daddy can make it all go away.” You start to cry then in earnest. “Give me your wrist.” He orders softly and you hand it to him. He takes the swollen joint and raps on the partition between him and his driver. “We’ll need a doctor to the office’s after you drop us off.” He presses a kiss to the side of your face, feeling you gasp and shake as you cry, hard. “Did they touch you, baby?” He asks, and you hear the threat, the undertone in his voice centers you a little as you shake your head and bury your face in his chest.

“R-ran,” you choke out, “I shot s-someone.”

“Let’s stop saying that out loud, darling,” he coos, “Can you do that for me?” You nod, sniffing loudly. “Gonna let me take care of things?” You nod again, the only warmth in your eyes is his own reflection. “That’s my girl.” You relax against him, he smells like pine and musk and right now, you cling to him, locking your arms around his neck as the car speeds off.

Ran rubs circles in your back as you start to sob violently, the kind of aching, headache causing angry tears he’s seen from you only once before.

“You know,” You’d said, leaning against the doorway to his room. “I’m leaving in a week.” He looks up at you, confused. It’s late summer, the golden days of August tinged with rot. “For college, Ran, I’m going to Tokyo.”

“You were serious about that?” He says, rolling his neck, listening to the joints pop. “Leaving me, for college?”

“It doesn’t have to be leaving you,” you protest gently. “I um,” he watches that shy smile that he loves so much creep across your face. “I know you have stuff here, with Rin, and Hanma, and whatever it is you all get up to.” He raises an eyebrow. “I know I know I’m choosing ignorance here.” He gestures for you to sit, but you don’t take him up on the offer.

“I mean, you’re not going.” He says, mouth pressing into a hard line. “No, I want you here, and you’re going to stay here, Lamb, you don’t want to go to school-”

“Yes I do.” You cut him off. “I do and I’m going and, and you’re not going to be able to scare me into staying Ran.” His eyes darken, wanna fucking bet, his mind races, imaginging what he could do to- “I have an offer for you.” You say, circumventing his planning quickly.

“Shoot.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest, walls up.

“Come with me.” You say, and there’s this quiet delicate urgency to your voice. “Get a normal job in Tokyo, Ran, fuck this shit, you’re smart, you could do it. There has to be something you want to do more than selling drugs, and all this violence I mean-”

“You think I can just roll up to an office,” Ran says, almost amused at the absurdity of the thought, “And get a job?”

“You could work at a bakery or something,” you say quickly, “Or in a kitchen, you could do data entry, maybe get your GED, finish high school-”

“Babe,” Ran laughs, “I don’t wanna do any of that shit.” He watches you deflate. “But don’t worry, you’re gonna stay here and move in with us. We need someone to clean, anyway.”

“I’m not,” you stop yourself, and take a deep breath, shoving down your anger at his immediate assumption that you’d be his live-in maid. “Ran. I’m going, I’m going to college. The question is if you’re coming with me or if you’re going to stay here and let your life continue to deteriorate.”

“Deteriorate?” Ran’s eyes narrow sharply, “Didn’t I save your fucking ass, on more than one occassion, and you wanna come in here and-”

“I want better for you,” your voice finally rises in pitch, “I want more, don’t you want more, than like, fucking around, never learning, never getting better?”

“I like my life.” Ran says, defensively, “I like my life a lot, and I’m not about to leave Rindou here and abandon all the shit we’ve built,” he leans forward, “We rule this fucking city, baby, and I wanna do it with you at my side I-”

“Except I wouldn’t be at your side.” You snap. “Because I don’t approve of violence, and I’d apparently be at home making you dinner.” He smirks.

“And you’d look sexy doing it.” He jerks his head towards the other seat at the table, but you stay at the doorway.

“I am leaving.” He hears it now, the desperation in your voice, “And I love you, Ran Haitani.” He doesn’t say anything. “I love you, so much.” You say again. “I think about you, when you’re out with your friends, I get so worried that my stomach hurts, when I know you’re doing dangerous shit, I, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, and I can’t fucking live like this all the time knowing that you’re willingly putting yourself at risk, I-”

“I can take care of myself.” He says sharply, “I don’t need-”

“I know you don’t need me worrying,” Your hands shake harder, “I just, I think you’d be safer doing something else, anything–”

“You know I’ve killed people.” He says coldly, and watches you flinch like he’d swung at you. “I’m nineteen and I’ve seen the inside of a prison cell more than I’ve seen my own fucking mother..I am not the kind of person who can,” he laughs again but it’s joyless, “Go get a job at a bakery. And,” He stands, taking a step forward, towering over you, “I’m not the kind of person who you can just leave.”

“I,” your voice trembles, “I just wanted, I want,”

“To change me,” Ran says, eyes flashing dangerously, “To make me a completely different person, so that I’d fit in with your bullshit intellectualist friends? You think you’d want me if I was the kind of man your mother would approve of? You think you’d still want me without all this?” That makes your eyes shoot open and you lean towards him even as your lower lip quivers.

“I would want you. Period. End of sentence. That’s what love means. It means I want you.” You take a deep breath, and steady yourself, his expression is still completely unreadable. “I mean I,” you reach for him and he doesn’t reach back, but lets you take his dead fish hand, lets you lace your fingers with his. “Come with me.” You whisper. “I think you’re worth it,” you rock onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. He remains impassive. “I think you’re worth saving, I wanna save you like you saved me, that’s all.” He nods slowly, and pushes you away from him. You feel your heart break in your chest. You’d never realized an organ could be so brittle. “Don’t you,” you warble, “Don’t you love me,” your voice is tiny, “Ran, please, say it back.”

“Get out.” He says, looking at the door. “Get going before I lock that fucking door.”

“Ran.” You beg, hating the sound of your own voice as you start to cry, hard. “Ran please,”

“I said fuck off,” He snaps, “I said fuck straight off with that shit, you wanna fucking save me, it’s too goddamn late, do you know how that fucking sounds?”

“I’ll, I’ll text you, tomorrow, I have a week we can-” “Don’t fucking bother.” He fumbles in his pocket for a cigarette. “Get out.” You don’t however, leave, you stand there, for some reason, tears pouring from your eyes, crying hard. “Are you waiting for me to comfort you?” He snarls, his voice taking on a mocking tone. “I can get any bitch I goddamn want I can-”

“Fuck you,” you choke out, wiping your face on your sleeve. “I’m going.” Please don’t. Ran thinks.

“Good.” He says. Please don’t leave, please don’t, please don’t, please, I’m begging I’ll beg. “Hope you find some other bastard to annoy.” You cry harder, but turn your back on him and head towards the door. It opens a second before you get there, and you go to push past Rindou, who sees you crying and grabs you by the upper arm roughly, stopping your escape.

“The hell is going on?” He asks. Ran lights up his cigarette.

“Let her go.” Ran says, shrugging. “Bitch wants to leave, let her go.” Rindou’s brow furrows, but makes a quick calculation, and drags you outside, slamming the door.

“You think I’m gonna let you near him ever again?” Rindou snarls, as if you’re not crying so hard you can barely see, as if your face isn’t puffy and swollen. The grey skies give way to a gentle rain as you stand outside the apartment. “If you leave, if you hurt him, I will never fucking forgive you.”

“I g-gave him a choice,” you choke out. “He told me to leave.” Rindou lets go of your arm, surprised. “He d-doesn’t love me.” You watch Rindou consider, consider the entire summer, how you’d been the first girl Ran hadn’t gotten bored of, the first girl he’d ever touched softly, the first girl who stayed over without being tossed to Hanma or Rindou in the morning. He remembers how you’d balked at the idea of being shared, even when Ran had ordered you to do it, how you’d refused, genuinely confused by the request.

“But I love you, Ran.” You’d said.

“Go, then.” Rindou takes a step back from you. “Just go. I’ll uh, I’ll talk to him.” You keep crying and walk down the empty stairwell alone, taking the long way home so that you’re cried out by the time you get to your kitchen. No one waits up for you any more. You collapse on your bed, and catch something dark draped over the chair of your vanity, and take out your phone.

You: I still have your jacket.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispers, hating those words, they taste so off on his tongue that he nearly recoils. “For being an asshole.” You look up, and he registers your bruising face, your likely concussion. “When you left, I should have held your hand, I should have begged, I wanted to, I wanted to tell you to stay. I was,” he pauses, “I was young.”

“It’s okay.” You croak.

“I’m gonna make it up to you,” He promises, “Gonna make everything up to you baby, I love you, love you so much, alright?”

“Never stopped,” you wipe your face on his shirt and he chuckles. “Embarrassing but I still have your jacket, if you want it.” That hits him harder than he expects, the idea that you held onto that cheap black jacket, that someone had embroidered for him when he was a teenager, for all these years.

“Later.” He says softly. You feel him caressing your silhouette, his lips on the top of your cheeks, his hand on your waist. “We’re gonna go to my office,” he says softly, “I’m gonna give you some pills they’ll help you chill out.” You nod, burying your face in his neck. “Wish I’d killed Yukihira.” He mumbles, trying to make a joke but you shudder.

“D-do you think I k-killed that guy?” You hiccup, and he pretends to think about it.

“Probably.” He says honestly. “Not many people get shot like that and live.” You lock your arms around his neck, fresh tears in your eyes. “You won’t go down for it,” he massages your scalp, “Promise I’ll take care of it.” He pauses. “You trust me?” You blink up at him, catching your breath long enough to say,

“With my life.”

Ran tucks a blanket around your body as the xanax helps your mind drift off to sleep before joining the rest of Bonten in the private dining room they did business in. Rindou glances in his direction, a bruise forming under his left cheek.

“Who gotcha?” Ran asks casually and Rindou rolls his eyes.

“Who the fuck do you think? Terano on his way out of there to get to you.” He says and Sanzu lets out a manic cackle.

“Heard your bitch took care of business for you.” Ran’s eyes narrow and he whirls on the hitman, but Kakucho clears his throat.

“We need to strategize. The two of you can whip your dicks out later.” Ran mutters something under his breath, sitting down next to Rindou. Mikey stands.

“Four warehouses, and three of our apartments were raided by federal officers who were apparently tipped off by someone who works for our organization. Terano acted on that information by way of his inside spy in city hall, Yukihira Tooru. The feds didn’t find shit,” Mikey’s eyes are dark and cold, “But we won’t be able to use those warehouses again for months.” Kokonoi massages his temples.

“I’ll figure something out, but it’ll be expensive. We got lucky.” He stands, sweeping the cards and empty drinks that cover the table they’re sitting at. “The way I see it, here are our players. We got City Hall, the feds.” He takes Ran’s empty Manhattan, the orange peel curled and fragrant. “We got Terano, and other gangs, and the link, is Yukihira and Ran’s girl.” Ran cocks his head a little.

“I didn’t think Terano had a crew,” Ran mutters, thinking.

“He doesn’t,” Rindou confirms, “I keep tabs on him.”

“So where did he get all those guys, and also,” Kachucho says, “Yukihira doesn’t have the kinda clout at city hall that can move a whole ass SWAT team.” Ran nods.

“His dad does.” You say, standing at the doorway, eyelids heavy as every mobster in the room turns to look at you. “His father,” you rub your eyes with your good hand, your other wrist heavily bandaged. “His father is the police commissioner. And this,” You pad over to the table and frown. “It would make sense if he gave some of his dirty cops to Terano to use to take you down, which would serve several of his needs, one,” you stop and yawn, “Sorry, one, to get rid of me, because I keep throwing his men in jail when they pull shit. Two, if he’s crooked in favor of Terano then he’d benefit from any power diminishing he could accomplish of um,” you think about it, “You call yourselves bonten, right?” There’s a silence. “My head hurts.” You mumble.

“So this is where Ran’s braincell has been.” Rindou says eventually. “You took it with you when you left.” You laugh halfheartedly, and Ran scowls, yanking you into his lap.

“C’mere.” He says, nestling you against his chest.

“I actually came in for more drugs,” you say, twisting to look up at Ran. Mikey’s eyes fall on you, his gaze is dark and cold.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks, and you swallow, trying to ignore the throbbing of your wrist and head.

“I’d bet my life on it.” You shrug. “I kinda am, already, aren’t I?” Mikey nods slowly. “For the record,” you return his joyless stare. “I think you should go to prison, and if I could, I’d put you there.” There’s a cold silence, even Ran doesn’t move. “But I want the commissioner gone more.” Ran’s grip on you tightens, a warning, but Mikey doesn’t seem baited.

“You wanna make a deal.” Mikey says, leaning forward, placing his palms flat on the table. “Do you think you’re in any position to negotiate?” Ran’s grip on your waist tightens, but you respond anyway.

“I,” and for the first time the vulnerability surfaces under the pseudo calm of the drugs. “I shot a man, a few hours ago.” Your lips twitch downward. “My grip on reality is um, tenuous at best. But I’m willing to give you, to give you what you want, if it means you’ll take the commissioner down. I don’t know if that counts as negotiation.” Ran opens his mouth to speak but Mikey puts a hand up.

“And what,” He says, “Is it that you think I want?”

“I can testify that Yukihira is dirty.” You lift your head. “He’s the D.A. in charge of organized crime, which would mean every clue he touched, every case he’s built against every man in this room would get thrown out because it’s,” you put up air quotes, “Fruit of the poison tree, aka inadmissible in a court of law in this country.” You shrug. “I can’t stop them from investigating you, but I can make them start from scratch.”

“Holy shit.” Kokonoi breathes. You rub your eyes.

“How do we take down the commissioner,” Mikey demands. You sniff, tears welling in your eyes as your broken wrist throbs. You wipe your eyes as every man in the room holds his breath.

“You have to um, you have to trick Tooru into outing his own father.” You swallow. “Or um, I have to. But I think I can do it. You’d have to trust me.” You turn in Ran’s lap. “This would mean letting me um,” you grit your teeth for a second and let out a long breath, controlling the pain in your head and arm, shoving it down, “Letting me out of your sight for a few minutes.”

` “Then no.” Ran says. “Then we do something else.”

“Haitani,” Mikey cautions.

“No fucking way,” Ran stands up, depositing you in the chair, “I just got her back, I get that none of you,” his voice cuts through the room like a blade, “None of you have shit like this, attachments, but I, I’m not gonna live without her because you wanna avoid getting your ass dragged into court.”

“Ran-”

“Shut up,” He snaps at you, “You’re the last person I want to-”

“Haitani,” Mikey glowers up at him, and Ran closes his mouth, but puts his hand up.

“I’m gonna talk to my bitch outside.” He pulls you into a standing position. “Anyone have an issue with that?” No one speaks. “Great.” Ran drags you into the hallway, ignoring your protests. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He says, voice low and dangerous. “You’re just gonna walk into a room of fucking criminals and open that mouth of yours? Mikey could have shot you, fuck Sanzu absolutely would have shot you-”

“Ran I know what I’m doing-”

“You do not.” He hisses.

“Ran,” you look up at him, eyes wide, pleading. “Ran I have to do this because after this is over I’m resigning.” He blinks down at you, shocked. Yes, you quitting your job was part of the plan, but he thought he’d have to knock you up first, that it would take years. “I have to do one last good thing but I,” you chew on your lower lip. “My faith is shaken. In,” you gesture broadly, “In the goodness of people. And of institutions, I,” you sigh. “I’ve known Tooru a long time, and he just,” you shake your head, “Handed me over to them like it was nothing, I mean, I slept with him, he stayed over, he told me he loved me, and then, for what, he betrayed me for power, for money? For revenge?” You shiver, and Ran softens, realizing what a blow this is for you.

“After this, you’ll resign?”

“Yeah,” You say, your voice tiny and small. “I’ll get some corporate counsel job, where um, where I can’t end up tied to a chair in someone's basement.” He pulls you into his chest. No, no you’re not, he thinks, it’ll be a miracle if I ever let you out of my sight again. Bbut he doesn’t say it.

“I’m gonna take care of things, alright, you’re gonna be safe from here on out because anyone coming near you,” you catch the steely glint in his eyes, “Has to get through me.” You take a fistful of his shirt.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble. “I feel like if I hadn’t reached out to you-”

“You calling me was the best thing that possibly could have happened to me.” He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Let’s go back in there, you just stay in my lap this time like a good little lamb.” You laugh lightly.

“Painkillers first?”

“How about booze now,” He offers, “Painkillers tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” You agree and he cups your face and you nuzzle his hand affectionately before leading you back into the room.

“Baby is going to behave.” He announces. “She does this for us, and none of you get near her again.” Mikey nods, and gestures to the table.

“So what,” you feel his dark eyes boring into yours, “Is your plan?”

straw into gold - moodboard

"you're holding onto me awfully tight, darling."

Teaser coming - 4th August

Fic coming - 18th August

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HEY LAIDEASE <3 this is just for the future, but i'm gonna release a more recent girly from the drafts dungeon after needy2 and the 2k special to show y'all that i've still gottttt it i swearrr... 😭😭 i've been crying so bad over my latest works being in my old writing style and like... literally whoo askedddd 😭 😭 SO, i need ur help deciding on which chains to break free and these are the three most complete girls of the lot <3 which trope tickles ur pickle?! ⬇️

OPTION ONE strawberries & cream grumpy x sunshine; jk is a rich law student, yn is a struggling waitress at a shitty lil diner and an aspiring actress (okayy penny from big bang theory!!) her fave customer, his fave human teaser

OPTION TWO split high school sweethearts to exes; young parents (20y | 21y at the time) with shared custody, they're still very close, yn called the split and jk is still down seaux bad, their baby is growing up… but are they… 😦 teaser

OPTION THREE behind the scenes bts idol jk x famous twitch streamer reader; she’s a gamer girl, but like professionally frrrr, lowkey my simpiest jk to date (yeeepp... literally imagine), strangers to bffs to luvers, jeongguk fell faster than you can say nae pi ttam nunmul nae majimak chumeul teaser

one week poll baby 😌 mull it over, i believe in u

sure thing – part two.

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon

part two word count: 10.8k

warnings: swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I'M SORRY, a kiss or five

note: aaaand here's part two! thank you to everyone that left a comment/reblog on part one. this is the conclusion to the story. suffer with me while we daydream about blonde boxer jungwon and enjoyyyyy ♡

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An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.

But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really don’t know him at all.

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PART TWO

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It’s been a while since you felt anything but dread opening your work inbox. 

Monday morning, however, the first message that greets you is a reminder of a time when you did. When you used to keep your email tab open just in the hopes that a certain programmer would send you messages about a jammed printer for you to reread a dozen times. 

This time, though, excitement is the last thing you feel. It’s curiosity, more than anything, combined with an urgent need to know what the hell happened between your date and your coworker, that has you clicking on the message. 

From: yangj@vesselsoft.co 

Subject: Printer Issue

Good morning, ___. 

I hope this message finds you well. I am currently trying to resolve an ongoing issue with the workroom printer and was hoping you would be able to provide some input at your earliest convenience. 

Thank you in advance, 

Jungwon

Part of you wants to archive the message without responding and let him simmer in your rejection. 

But spite has never held much weight against curiosity, and despite your better judgment, you soon find yourself walking towards the shared workroom. 

As expected, it’s already occupied. This time, however, Jungwon is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. 

There’s a fresh bruise on his forehead, and this time, you don’t wonder where it’s from. It makes sense now. The bruises on his knuckles. The cut on his cheekbone. His seemingly intimate knowledge of head injuries that one fateful Monday afternoon he found you in this very room. 

They’re all the result of his hidden hobby, you suppose. 

As soon as you enter, some of the rigidity seeps out of his stance. Immediately, his arms fall to his sides, expression softening. “___,” he whispers, like he can’t quite believe you actually came. 

Where he softens, however, you cage up. 

“You have one minute,” you tell him. 

“One minute?” He echoes, brow creasing in confusion. 

“One minute to explain what happened Saturday night.”

Jungwon sighs. “I’m sorry. Really, I… I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

You don’t say anything. An apology is appreciated, yes, but it’s not an explanation. 

With your silence, Jungwon continues, “I was just… caught off guard. I didn’t expect to see you there, and especially not with him.”

He pauses for a moment, biting at his lower lip. “Look, ___. I know it probably isn’t my place, but I don’t think he’s being honest with you. Jay isn’t the person that you think he is, and–”

Your scoff cuts through his words, stopping him in his tracks. “That’s funny,” you interrupt. But humor is the last thing on your mind. “He said the exact same thing about you, you know. But it has to be bullshit. I mean, what could have possibly happened in middle school that two adults with jobs are still hung up on a decade later?”

Jungwon’s lips part in surprise. “He told you about middle school?”

“Why?” you prod. “Is there something to know?”

But now you’re at a stalemate, neither of you willing to disclose what exactly you know. 

After another beat, Jungwon sighs. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do–”

“Could have fooled me.”

“But I just want you to be careful, okay? It’s… it’s important to me that you’re safe.”

“Safe?” You scoff. “It was a boxing gym. I don’t know why you’re acting like I was trying to push my way into the ring with you.”

“You don’t get it–”

“No.” You throw your hands in exasperation. “I don’t get it. But you’re not explaining it to me. You’re just being evasive and acting like I’m the one in the wrong. So unless you actually have something of substance to say, I’m done having this conversation.”

“____…” 

Already halfway to the exit, the sound of your name is lost on you. It’s bad enough that Jay has yet to reach out to you since last night. You absolutely do not need Jungwon bringing this issue into the office as well. 

As if on cue, your phone dings with an incoming message. 

Half expecting to see a virtual string of apologies from your coworker, you’re mildly surprised to see a different name instead. 

You were right about the apologies, though. 

Jay: I’m sorry about last night. You were right about deserving an explanation and I want to give you one. I think this is a conversation we should have in person. Are you free Friday night for dinner?

Friday night. Two nights from now. It’s soon enough that you won’t have to stew in resentment, but will give you both the time and space you need to think. 

It doesn’t take you long to consider, but you do wait another long minute before giving him the satisfaction of responding. 

You: I’ll plan on Friday.

…..

Friday morning comes with a vengeance. 

Already teeming with nervous energy at the prospect of your upcoming date with Jay and the conversation that is sure to ensue, you’re a bit of a mess by the time you arrive at work. 

Hair windswept, outfit mismatched, lipstick slightly smudged, you already know you’re in for a long day at the office. 

But when you arrive at your desk, you find something that softens the blow, just a bit. 

Grace, ever the instigator, is already learning over your cubicle by the time you notice it. 

“Whew,” she whistles appreciatively. “Someone’s pulling out all the stops.”

And she’s kind of right. The bouquet sitting front and center on your desk is massive. Overflowing with seasonal flowers that already emit a pleasant fragrance even from where you stand. The vase itself it’s gorgeous, too. 

Imbued with a myriad of colors, it reminds you a bit of a stained glass window on a sunny afternoon. 

Reaching for the small note tucked at the top, you open the envelope with slightly shaky fingers. 

 ___, it reads. 

I wish I had more to give you than an apology, but I’ve been told that flowers are a sure thing when it comes to brightening someone’s day. I hope these are able to do that for you. 

– J

Frowning, you read it once. Twice. 

Jay has already apologized for the incident from a couple of nights ago, and the timing of this second apology seems odd, given your plans for tonight. 

You’re left to stand in your own confusion for a moment longer before a text message vibrates your phone in your pocket. 

Reaching for it, the flowers suddenly start to make a lot more sense. 

Jay: I am so sorry, but I have to reschedule our plans for tonight. It completely slipped my mind, but my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up. I promise to let you know as soon as I can when I’ll be available

Jay: And again, I am so, so sorry

Sighing, you put your phone back in your bag. You can’t blame him. Not really. His sister’s baby shower is undoubtedly an important event, even if the timing is rather unfortunate for you. 

Grace, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, is still gushing about your flowers. Turning to you, she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “So, what are those for? Got a hot date this weekend?”

You sigh, recently canceled plans still dampening your mood. Deciding there’s no harm in telling Grace your woes, you say, “I wish. Jay just had to cancel on me for tonight.”

“No.” Grace gasps. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was personally affronted. “He better have had a good excuse.”

“He did,” you admit. Unlike someone you know. “Family stuff.”

“Ah,” Grace nods. “I suppose that’s acceptable. Have you rescheduled?”

Frowning at the message you have yet to answer, you shake your head. “Not yet.”

“Mm,” she hums, sensing your disappointment. “I’m sure something just came up at work, and he’ll get back to you soon.” 

“Yeah,” you nod hollowly. “I’m sure he will.”

You: I understand. Is there any chance we could meet Saturday evening or afternoon? It’s important to me that we talk about it soon.

It’s not as if you expect an immediate response. Like you, Jay is probably at work for the day. Busy and drowning in deadlines and assignments. Maybe even stuck in a meeting. 

But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. Two. 

And your message is still completely unanswered. 

The more time that passes, the harder it becomes to shake the funny feeling that starts to build in your gut. It builds and builds and builds, all the way until closing time. 

And Jay still hasn’t texted you back. 

That’s annoying enough all on its own, but there’s something else that just isn’t adding up. 

You can’t quite put your finger on it, the thing that’s bothering you so much. But even as you make your way towards after clocking out for the day, something still doesn’t sit right with you. Opening your message thread again, you reread Jay’s last text. 

Jay: … my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up. 

Sister’s baby shower. 

That’s what’s been bothering you. Because unless Jay’s sister is just finishing the shortest known pregnancy in human history, he’s lying to you. 

You remember it now. The first time Grace mentioned Jay to you. She had just seen him for the first time since he moved back home. 

At his older sister’s baby shower. 

Sitting in your car, you scoff out loud in disbelief. The ice he treads on has been dangerously thin since your run in with Jungwon at the boxing gym, and he had the audacity to lie? 

Part of you wants to catch him in it. For your own confirmation and for the satisfaction of not letting him get away with trying to pull a fast one on you. But you need an excuse. Some reason to seek him out and find him where he isn’t supposed to be. 

Racking your brain, you try to think of a plausible explanation for turning up at his house tonight. 

Still sitting in the parking lot, a car turns past you, headlights shining in through your windshield in a way that makes you squint. 

In a way that reflects off of the tiny piece of metal jammed in the crevice next to your cupholder. Frowning, you reach down, tugging at it until it’s freed from its confines. 

You’re not sure what divine forces are working in your favor, but you make a mental note to properly thank them later. Because clutched between your fingers is Jay’s missing ring. The one that he’s been looking for since he messaged you about it last week. 

It’s perfect, you think. An absolutely perfect excuse to drop by his house, even if you should be under the impression that he’s not there at the moment. 

Turning the piece of jewelry between your fingers, your eyes catch on an inscription on the inner band. Squinting, you can just make it out. 

2013.11.13 King Pen

You’re pretty sure the numbers are a date. November 13, 2013, to be exact. But King Pen. You have no idea what that is. 

It sounds like it could be related to boxing, maybe. Pulling out your phone, you do a quick online search. 

The results that flood your screen are mostly generic, nothing that gives you any real leads. You try a few different search combinations, including the date and finally, the name of your city. 

That does send an old article to the top of your search results. Something published in a local newspaper in 2007. 

Clicking on the link, you scan the article for anything relevant. 

Samuel Kang, one line towards the beginning reads, shared his plans to open a boxing gym right here in the city. Although there are other similar gyms in nearby towns, this would be the first gymnasium dedicated solely to boxing in the area. 

You skip down a few more lines. 

When asked if he knows what he’d like to call his project, Kang just smiles and nods his head. “King Pen,” he tells us. “I plan to call it King Pen.”

You frown. Your earlier search is proof enough that King Pen never came to fruition. As a final attempt at getting some answers, you type Samuel Kang into the search bar instead. 

This time, the first article that pops up does carry an air of familiarity. Clicking on it, you confirm your suspicion. 

Samuel Kang, as it turns out, never opened a boxing gym called King Pen. But he did open one called Kang’s Gym. 

Looking through the photo gallery, the weightlifting equipment appears to have been in much better shape in 2008 than it was a couple of weeks ago. But even though the paint was still bright and the training pads were fully intact, it is undoubtedly the same exact gym. 

There’s no reason for you to go there now. If anything, you should just drive straight to Jay’s house. But something still doesn't sit right with you. 

Why does Jay’s ring say King Pen instead of Kang’s Gym? Especially since it’s dated five whole years after the gym opened under its actual name. 

Besides, the gym is on your way to Jay’s apartment. If anything, it’s just a quick pit stop. A confirmation that you’re not going crazy. 

Putting your car in drive, you set the ring on your passenger seat and drive out of the parking lot. 

It’s already dark by the time you’re pulling into Kang’s Gym. Switching your car off, you remove your key from the ignition. 

Your automatic headlights still illuminate the strangely full parking lot in front of you. Frowning, you wonder why so many people are here. Even the night that you came with Jay, the parking lot wasn’t nearly this full, and yet, most of the boxing rings inside were occupied. 

Stepping out of your car, you close the door behind you softly. You’re not sure why you’re overcome with the urge to tiptoe. It’s not like you need to sneak around. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all. 

But the whole thing feels strange, has you on edge. You make it only a few steps before your eyes land on a familiar car. 

“Sister’s baby shower, my ass,” you whisper out loud to no one. Unless she decided to celebrate her new child at a run down boxing gym, Jay is absolutely lying to you. Because that’s his sleek black car, right in front of you. You’d recognize it anywhere. 

And a few rows down, you confirm your other suspicion. You’ve never seen him drive it, but you have seen that particular navy blue SUV in the office parking garage before. Jungwon. You’re sure it’s him. 

For a moment, you hesitate. It might be easier, cleaner, to just take a picture of Jay’s car and send it to him. After all, that would get your point across clearly enough. Especially if you block him afterwards. 

But he’s been evasive about everything related to this place since he first brought you here. And he’s not the only one. 

Eyes falling to Jungwon’s car, you decide that catching Jay in a lie isn’t the only thing you want to do tonight. 

You want answers. 

So the picture you take of Jay’s car remains unsent for now. Instead, you hike your bag a little further up your shoulder and continue walking in the direction of the gym. 

Nearing the door, you brace yourself to be met with the large crowd that surely waits inside. Judging from the parking lot, this place must be near full capacity. But as you push through the unlocked door, the gym is completely and entirely empty. 

Eerily so. 

All around you, workout equipment and boxing rings sit untouched, devoid of life. There isn’t so much as a sound to disturb the uncanny silence. 

Frowning, your brow creases in deep confusion. Nothing about this makes any sense. 

But you didn’t come all the way here to add to your pile of questions. Instead, you push forward, past the rows of boxing rings towards the locker room where Jay left his bag a handful of nights ago. 

It feels wrong to open the men’s locker room. But if no one is here, then surely it couldn’t hurt. Warily, you start to crack open the door, inch by inch. 

The locker room, to your unending puzzlement, is just as empty as the rest of the gym. 

You’re about to turn back to search the rest of the gym when you notice it. Just across from you, behind the first set of empty lockers. There’s another door. 

It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself, even as your feet carry you closer and closer. It probably just leads to a storage closet or a boiler room or–

Pushing the door open, the first thing you’re met with is sound. 

Voices. Loud voices. Lots and lots of them. In your surprise, you drop the door, and it clicks shut again. 

Immediately, the sound stops. Plunged in silence again, it’s all you can do to not gasp. 

Soundproof, you realize. It’s soundproof. And not just the locker room. The entire gym was dead silent until you opened this door.

This time, when you push it open, you expect the cacophonous cheers that greet you. You’re still too far away to make out what anyone is saying. Right now, it all blends into a wall of sound. 

Vision is of little help, too. The only thing you see when you open the door is a staircase. In the low light, all you can tell is that it leads down. 

Hoping that you’re not currently making the stupidest decision of your life, you place one tentative foot on the first step. Follow it with your other foot. And then you let the door close behind you, plunging you into complete darkness. 

Immediately, a surge of panic claws at your throat. The lack of light, combined with the sheer volume of cheers and shouts, is enough to have you crawling in your skin. 

Reaching blindly for the door handle behind you, you decide that sending Jay a picture of his car will have to be satisfying enough. But no matter how hard you try to twist the doorknob, it won’t budge. 

No. No. 

You’re trapped. Effectively locked in. 

As the reality of the situation sinks in, you feel the pit of your stomach begin to drop. 

Part of you wants to just stay in place, wait for whatever’s going on to end and hope that a stroke of luck will set you free. But then another thought occurs to you. 

What if this is the only entrance?

You don’t know how many people are down there, but if the sound and parking lot are anything to go by, it’s a lot. 

You’re sure that Jay and Jungwon are among them, but still…

Both of their warnings start to come back to you.

“He’s not who you think he is…”

“I just want you to be careful…”

“It’s important to me that you’re safe…”

Is this what they were talking about? Is this why Jungwon was so angry with Jay for bringing you here? Not because he didn’t want you to see a boxing gym, but because that’s not what this place is at all?

The more you mull it over, the more it starts to make sense. 

Still submerged in darkness, you decide that the only way you’ll confirm anything is by moving forward. Slowly, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on its lowest setting. 

Keeping it clutched in your hands in case you need to shut it off at a moment’s notice, you begin to walk, descending down the staircase. 

After two flights on uneven steps, you start to see a light in the distance, a clue that you’re getting closer. And with every step you take, the voices only get louder and louder. 

On the third landing, you’re given two choices: continue down the stairs or move into a hallway that stretches to your left. Deciding that staying as far away from the crowd as you can is likely your best option, you opt for the hallway. 

You’ve barely walked a few feet when you nearly stumble into a wall. It’s not the end though – just a corner. The light from your phone confirms that the hallway takes a sharp turn. 

Following it, you come to another door. This time, you’re even more hesitant. There could be people on the other side. 

Pressing your ear against it, the only thing you hear is the same scrambled shouting, the same boisterous crowd. It’s hard to tell for certain, but you don’t hear anything that makes you think there’s someone waiting on the other side. 

Slowly, carefully, you begin to open the door. 

The sudden light is nearly blinding. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but once they do, your mouth drops open. 

You were right, thankfully. The small room you enter is mercifully empty. 

But it’s also lined with windows that give you a direct view into the room one level beneath you. Jaw dropping, you take in the scene below. 

There must be at least five hundred people crammed into the stands that encircle the room. All of them are on their feet, shouting jeers and cheering with equal fervor. 

And in the center of it all is a boxing ring. On the side that faces you, bold letters give it a name:

King Pen.

It’s empty for now, but you’re only left wondering for another handful of seconds before a middle aged man steps into the center, microphone in hand. With an open palm, he gestures towards the crowd, commanding them to listen. 

Whoever he is, he holds weight here. With the flick of his hand, literally, the room all but falls silent. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says into the microphone. “Next up is the fight we’ve all been waiting for.”

He pauses for a moment as more cheers and shouts fill the room. 

“I hope your bets are placed, because these two always manage to surprise us. Please welcome our first challenger to the ring. Back to the city for the first time in years, it’s Jaan!”

But it’s not Jaan. Or at least, it’s not someone you know as Jaan. 

No, it’s Jay. The same Jay that took you to an art exhibition and convinced you to try sweet coffee instead of your usual bitter black. The same Jay that flirts with you over text and whispers sweet nothings in your ear after a long day of work. 

The same Jay that lied to you about why he had to cancel your date tonight. 

The crowd has barely died down when the man presses on, “And your second challenger, the reigning champion… Please give your warmest welcome for Jakah!” 

The alias booms around you, echoing through the room. And of course it’s him. Of course Jakah, the reigning champion, is someone you used to think would have trouble hurting a fly. 

Someone you thought embodied gentleness, patience, with every ounce of his being. 

But no matter how badly you want to deny it, no matter how much the cognitive dissonance wars inside your brain, it’s him. 

It’s Jungwon who enters from the other side of the ring. 

“Now, remember,” the man addresses the audience again. “Cheer for your favorite. Scream at his opponent. And don’t forget our golden rule: in the King’s Pen,” he begins. 

“Anything goes,” the audience shouts back in unison. 

Anything? Your heart falls from your throat to the pit of your stomach. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jay is here, that he lied to you, that he’s fighting Jungwon. 

Taking a closer look at the ring beneath you, you notice the odd, rust colored stains that nearly cover it. 

Blood, you realize after a sickening moment. The ring is covered in blood stains. 

It makes sense, suddenly, why King Pen didn’t appear in any search results. Why this entire place is completely soundproofed. Why Jungwon wanted you to stay far, far away. 

This isn’t a sparring match. It’s a duel. 

One where, like the audience just affirmed, anything goes. 

As the man steps out from the center of the ring, Jay and Jungwon start to circle each other, fists raised in anticipation. 

Even from a distance, you can see the tight coil of muscle in their shoulders, the way their bodies prepare for the inevitable fight. 

“Say it with me now, folks,” the man booms, now standing on the side of the ring. 

“Three.” Jay’s eyes narrow, fists rising an inch higher.

“Two.” Jungwon flicks a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. 

“One.” You feel your last bit of breath whoosh out from your lungs. 

“Fight.”

It’s like a dance, you think. A sickening, deadly dance that you can’t look away from no matter how much you want to. 

Despite your lack of knowledge, it quickly becomes apparent to you why this is the main event of the evening. 

Where Jay is sheer, brutal strength, Jungwon is all evasion. He moves with the agility of an athlete, the lightness of a dancer. 

He makes it look easy, the way he ducks beneath carefully timed swings and always seems to predict what Jay will do next. 

But even dancers stumble sometimes. 

You can’t help it, the gasp that slips out when one of Jay’s punches lands true. You watch, horrified, as Jungwon staggers backwards, adding to the crimson stains on the floor of the ring. 

Slightly dazed, he brings the back of his palm to the broken skin along his cheekbone, assessing the damage. When he brings it in front of his face, it comes back red. 

Jay takes no pity on his opponent. Following his retreat, he aims for another bruising blow. This one hits Jungwon just beneath the ribs. Echoes around the makeshift stadium with a dull thud you hear even from your hiding place. 

Again, Jungwon’s sure steps falter. 

The rise and fall of his chest is rapid as he struggles to catch his breath. But when he looks up again, there’s a fire in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated hatred that permeates the scant distance between him and his rival and sends a shiver down the length of your spine. 

Not one to take things lying down, Jungwon takes advantage of Jay’s momentary lapse in focus. 

His fist connects with the bridge of Jay’s nose with a sickening crunch. Head falling backward, the immediate flow of blood is gruesome. It drip down his chin, landing on the floor beneath him in an arrhythmic pattern. 

There’s little grace to it now. Gone are the remaining fragments of inhibition as both boys put away their judgment and leave the rest to instinct. 

It’s messy, sloppy, angry. 

They’re so close; it’s hard to tell which blows come from who. Hard to tell whose wounds are multiplying faster, whose blood is falling more freely. 

And then, just when you think you can’t stomach watching any longer, it’s done. 

It’s so fast. You can’t quite be sure how it happens. But one second, both boys are standing, and the next, Jay is flat on his back, Jungwon hovering above him. 

Still, the crowd is silent. Everyone’s eyes are on the ring. 

Jay is down. Trapped beneath his opponent, it’s clear to you who the victory is. But then you remember the words the crowd chanted at the beginning of the fight. 

Anything goes. 

Your stomach twists with nausea. 

Even from here, you can see the tension that still strains the muscles along Jungwon’s back. The rigidity of his shoulders. 

For a moment, you think he’s going to do it. To strike again, even though victory is already in his hands. 

You see his lips move with words you can’t hear. Beneath him, Jay remains stoic. There’s still fight in his eyes, even if it’s been drained from his body. 

Jungwon’s mouth moves again. 

This time, Jay nods. It’s a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But it’s enough. 

With an agitated flair, Jungwon stands again. 

Blood is still dripping from his face, his knuckles. Sweat covers his body, drenches his hair. 

He’s won, yes, but the expression on his features is not one of satisfaction. 

ARound him, the audience begins to boo, throwing jeers and insults like extra change. They were hoping for more than a fight. They were hoping for cruelty Jungwon isn’t willing to give. 

Without a second glance back, he turns and leaves the ring. 

Still reeling, you nearly jump out of your skin when the handle on the door to your room begins to turn. 

If you had a stronger grip on your sense of logic, you would do something. Try to hide. Scramble to think of an excuse for your presence. 

The door opens before you do any of it. 

“Oh,” Heeseung says, eyes widening as he finds the room already occupied. And then it registers with him who exactly is already occupying said room. “Oh,” he repeats. “He is not going to be happy about this.”

…..

Heeseung’s fist rings out against the door in three sharp raps. For a moment, silence is the only response. And then–

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Uh,” Heeseung glances at you sideways. “I think you should open the door anyway.” 

“I’m serious.” Jungwon’s voice is pure ire. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Heeseung.”

“Okay,” Heeseung concedes. “But I really still think you should open the–”

“What?”

Jungwon’s glare lands on his friend before his gaze slides to you. Immediately, his features slacken in surprise. “Oh.”

And it’s stupid, foolish, naive. But the first thing you feel when you see him standing on his own two feet is pure, unadulterated relief. 

He’s injured. It’s obvious from the wounds that line his face and the way his breath is still shallow in his chest. But he’s okay. 

He’s here and he’s in front of you and he’s okay. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung repeats. “Like I said, I think you should–”

“Go away.”

“What?” Heeseung balks. “Where am I supposed to–”

“Away,” Jungwon reiterates, eyes still locked on you. 

Heeseung is sulking, but he follows Jungwon’s command regardless. And then it’s just the two of you. 

You both speak at the same time, near identical questions overlapping with one another. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Why are you here?”

A beat of silence passes. Another. 

As if he is suddenly remembering your surroundings, Jungwon looks around you, a new urgency in his gaze. You don’t know what kind of consequences places like this carry, but common sense tells you it’s best that you’re not seen. “Come in,” he opens the door a bit wider, giving you space to enter. 

You shouldn’t. He hasn’t lied to you, not exactly, but it’s not like he’s been particularly honest either. 

And coworkers don’t owe you the truth or the nitty gritty details of their lives, but it’s been a long time since Jungwon and you treated one another like coworkers. No matter what you want to call it, the relationship that you’ve built between conversations in the workroom and email threads and kind gestures in the office feels a lot more like friendship. Or at the very least some iteration of it. 

So you’re not mad at him for keeping this from you, not really. 

But other emotions are swirling in your gut, and you don’t know what to do with them. Most of all, you’re worried. For his safety. For his wellbeing. For him. 

Obeying his command, you step inside the small room. You hear the door click shut behind you. 

Looking around, there isn’t much to see. It’s a locker room, essentially, designed for one person. There’s a counter to your left with a small first aid kit and a chair in the far corner of the room. 

A gym bag, Jungwon’s you assume, rests next to it. 

And, of course, there’s the two of you. 

Glancing up, you take a look at him. A long, real look. 

He’s wearing the same clothes he entered the ring with. A white athletic shirt that moves with him, gives his long, lean muscles space to move. To flex and contract with every shallow breath. 

He’s still just as gorgeous as always, even with a split lip and a nasty cut that spans the length of his temple. Even with the bruising that’s already begun to discolor his near flawless skin. 

Sighing, you nod towards the chair behind him. “Sit down.”

“What?” Confusion draws his brow downward, and he hisses in pain at the movement. 

“Don’t tell me your illegal fights have ruined your hearing too.”

“What? No.” Jungwon shakes his head. “My hearing is perfectly fine, I mean.”

“Then sit.” You glance pointedly at the chair again. “Down.”

This time, he doesn’t try to argue. You watch from your periphery, frowning at the slight limp in his left leg as he walks toward the chair, easing himself down. 

Reaching for the first aid kit on the counter, you bring it with you as you move across the room. 

Your steps are slow and even. They carry you all the way to the far corner, until you’re forced to stop. 

Standing above Jungwon, your lips pull into a tight line as you begin to assess his injuries. Hesitation might be wise, but you can’t find any of it left in you. 

Your movements are sure, gentle but firm. Hands sliding to his jaw, you adjust his face slightly, turning the gash on his temple towards the light. It’s an echo of the way he examined you in the workroom, long weeks ago. 

This time, it’s him that’s easily manipulable underneath your touch. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. 

Your hesitation is gone, but so is your patience. “Don’t talk.” Jungwon’s lips fall shut. He’s pliant in your hands as you adjust him. 

Reaching for the kit, the first thing you pull out is antiseptic cream. 

“This might sting,” you whisper. 

“It’s okay,” he assures you. But he hisses at the contact all the same. “Doesn’t even hurt,” he lies through gritted teeth, forcing a smile. 

If he’s trying to be funny, his attempt at humor is lost on you. 

Gaze still narrowed in concentration, you busy yourself by cleaning the worst of his wounds first. 

As you move from his forehead to his lip, you don’t think you imagine the sharp inhale he draws between parted lips. 

“It stings?” You ask him. 

“Just a bit.” You feel the ghost of his whisper against your fingertips. 

You look up for a moment, and you find his gaze already locked on yours. It takes a significant portion of your willpower to stop yourself from reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes. 

It feels wrong, even if you call it friendship. Even if you and Jay never discussed exclusivity. 

Your heart is fluttering, and that’s what makes it all seem so illicit. 

With no small amount of effort, you force your eyes down again. Standing above him, your fingers move from his face to his hands. His wrist clasped in your fingers, you sink to your knees in front of him. 

Jungwon swallows audibly. 

Pulling his hand closer, you examine the series of shallow cuts, of angry, violet bruises that line his knuckles. With another long sigh, you reach for the cream again, applying it generously before carefully wrapping it in a bandage. 

After giving the same attention to the other hand, you lean back, assessing your handiwork.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re still kneeling in front of him. He still sits above you. 

And then, after a breath of hesitation, one carefully wrapped hand finds its way to your face. 

Gently, with a touch so light you hardly feel it, he lays his open palm against the expanse of your cheek. Cradles it.  

He whispers your name, and you can’t find it in you to look up. 

“I don’t…” you trail off, not sure how to communicate the swirling mix of emotions simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”

“But you are,” Jungwon assumes. He accepts it, and he doesn’t let it change anything. His hand is steady against your cheek. His thumb starts to draw small circles, just under your earlobe. 

“I’m not,” you correct. “But this isn’t…” again your words die. It’s frustrating, the way you feel like you can never be straightforward with him. The way you always feel like you have to navigate through subtext and half truths and partial reveals just to get a point across. 

“But you don’t owe me anything right now.”

His thumb stills against your skin. 

“We’re coworkers,” you continue. “We’re just coworkers, so it doesn’t matter if you fight in illegal boxing matches. You don’t have to worry about what I think of it, and I don’t have to be mad at you for it.”

You do look up at him, begging for a bit of his understanding. “You can be evasive with your excuses and reject all of my invitations. We can meet by chance in the workroom on Monday afternoons, and none of it ever has to mean anything. Neither of us ever has to feel anything about it.”

“But,” Jungwon whispers. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Your cheek slides easily against the soft skin of his bruised hand. “But.”

Jungwon is silent for a moment, eyes darting between both of yours. Then, tentatively, he asks, “Are you mad at him?”

He doesn’t say Jay’s name, but the venom he wraps around the word is all you need to know who he’s talking about.

You shake your head, eyelids fluttering. “We’re coworkers.” You reiterate the boundaries he’s always maintained with you. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

Jungwon’s hand slides to your neck, thumb tracing the length of your jaw now. “And if I want to?”

You shake your head again. You can only give him so much on a silver platter. If he wants anything to change, he’ll have to find a bit of his own bravery. “That’s not the question you need to ask me.” Looking up at him, you draw another line. “And not tonight.”

You’ve both been through enough. Heightened emotions rarely lead to good decisions, and the last thing you want is his indecisiveness. His impulsivity.

Quietly, you stand, his hand falling from your face as you rise to full height in front of him. 

His eyes look wider from this angle, from above. Even shinier than usual. No matter how many boundaries you draw or how many ways you deny him, he’s someone that’s hard to say no to. Hard to walk away from. 

Steeling the last remnants of your resolve, you manage to look him in those dark, sparkling eyes when you tell him, “Good night, Jungwon.”

“Good night, ___,” he whispers to your retreating silhouette. 

Closing the door behind you, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before a voice interrupts your wandering thoughts. 

“You like him, don’t you?”

The gasp you give is out of shock more than anything. And the “What?” you ask is a knee jerk reaction.

 “Yang.” Jay materializes from his position in the darkness, jerking his chin towards the door behind you. “You like him.”

Immediately, you find yourself on the defense. Even if you’re just delaying the inevitable, it’s cagey when you tell him. “We work together.”

Jay just looks at you. “My favorite color is green.”

“What?”

“Sorry,” Jay’s tone is flat. He’s not annoyed, but he’s coming close to it. “I thought we were stating irrelevant facts.” 

With a sigh, he drags an open palm down his face. “I know you work together. But you like him, too," he sighs again, reading the horror in your expression. Mostly due to the fact that he read you like an open book when you thought you were keeping your feelings close to the chest. “I’m not… mad. It sucks, but it’s not like I was honest with you either. I’m sorry, by the way, for lying about tonight.”

It’s too much to process, all at once. Your head is swimming and your heart is pounding. 

It was a shitty thing to do, yes, but– 

“You don’t have to say sorry–”

Again, Jay doesn’t let you finish. “I’m not saying sorry because I have to. I’m saying it because I am. I like you.” He’s so honest. So blunt with his feelings. He makes things so easy. “I like spending time with you. I think we both know that’s not enough anymore,” he casts another meaningful glance at the door behind him. The one that leads to Jungwon’s locker room, “but it’s still true.”

“I…” you trail off, unsure what to say. He’s not wrong. In fact, he’s all but hit the nail right on the head. With deadly accuracy. 

Heeseung was the one that found you, that brought you to Jungwon, but still. 

It’s not Jay that you checked in on fist. It’s not Jay whose wounds you just cleaned. It’s not Jay who you’re thinking about now. 

Like he said, it sucks, but it’s still true. 

Jay has bruises, too. Has cuts that line his knuckles and his jaw. He’s here because he’s part of an illegal underground boxing ring. He lied to you about it. 

But you just… you’re not mad at him about it. And that’s the final nail in the coffin. 

Jay just looks at you for a moment longer. For the third time, he sighs. “You’re really gonna make me do this part too?” He inhales, steeling his resolve. “Okay, then. ___, I think we should–”

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” you finish for him. You can give him at least that much. “I had a great time getting to know you, but I think we want different things right now. I wish you all the best. Really, you’re a great guy, Jay.”

He is. 

“I mean it.”

You do. 

“Thank you, ___.”

He means it too. 

When Jay walks away from you, his shoulders are straight and his head is high. 

You feel a lot of things, as you watch his retreating figure. 

But no matter how deep you search, regret isn’t one of them. 

…..

Monday morning brings with it a distinct sort of dread. 

Partly because it marks the beginning of another long week. Mostly because going back to the office means potentially seeing him. 

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. If you’re ready to face the feelings you’ve been forcing down for months and the potential fallout they may bring with them. 

So, when you open your inbox first thing in the morning, an unreasonable request from your supervisor isn’t the thing you’re most afraid of finding. 

Jungwon, however, isn’t planning to stick to old routines. When he seeks you out, he does it in person. 

Grace’s eyes are anywhere but on her own work when he walks through the door of the marketing department half past ten. 

“___,” he breathes. 

The wounds on his face are already fading, hardly even noticeable. You wish you could say the same for the turmoil raging inside of you. You can’t decide if you want to throw your arms around his neck or tell him to fuck off. 

In the end, you just look at him blankly. 

“Can we…” he trails off, visibly frustrated. He isn’t sure how to do this either. “Can you help me with something? In the workroom. I think the printer is acting up again.”

The printer is fine. You used it five minutes ago. 

But he’s not asking you to help him with work or the printer or anything else. He’s asking for a bit of your time, a fraction of your understanding. 

It’s messy. It has so much potential for heartbreak, for complication. 

But he’s here and he’s looking at you like your answer means the world to him. Like he might forget how to breathe if you don’t say yes. 

So, with a rising bout of uncertainty, you tell him, “Let’s go take a look at it.”

The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. Jungwon doesn’t even spare it a second look. 

Instead, he closes the door to the workroom behind you. And then he says, “I started boxing when I was a kid. I think I was eight, nine maybe.”

“What are you–”

“Just listen,” Jungwon begs. “Please.”

You want to protest. You’re not sure why, but the urge is strong. But after a moment of warring with yourself, you finally nod, giving him permission to continue. 

“It was just a hobby. Something to keep me busy on long afternoons when both of my parents were working in the restaurant my family owned. But I kept at it, and they could see how much I enjoyed it. By the time I was ten, my mom enrolled me in actual classes.”

Jungwon smiles, reminiscing on the tidbits of a happy childhood. But then his smile starts to falter. “A few months later, my grandpa died. It wasn’t a surprise exactly, but it did have some unexpected consequences on the business. My family started to struggle. With money, more than anything.”

He sighs, and your heart hurts for a past version of him, too young to make sense of all of the sudden changes in his life. “I had to quit taking lessons. I kept practicing on my own, though. And when I started middle school, there was a free boxing club I joined. I met a lot of my friends there. Heeseung, who you met the other night, along with a few others. I also met Jay.”

Jungwon’s lips pull into a line. “I didn’t hate him. Not exactly. He was nice enough, and we had a lot in common. But he had everything that I wanted. Money, mostly. His family never had to worry about it. He could take private lessons and always had all the nicest gear. He didn’t flaunt it, but I noticed. And I envied him for it.”

Looking back at you, he continues, “Heeseung was the one that found the King Pen. He was like me, in a way. His family didn’t come from money. We were young, too young, but we were good. We made them money, so they let us fight. Jay found out and wanted in too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t need the prize money. He just wanted to prove that he was better than us. That he was the best. It was me and him in my very first championship fight. He won, and I hated him for it.”

The ring, you realize. Jay’s ring that he dropped in your car. It was a championship ring. 

Jungwon looks down at his hands. The bandages that you put there. “He moved away once high school started. We didn’t keep in direct contact or anything, but I always heard about him. Jay and his international boxing titles. Jay and his new sponsorship deal with a major boxing gym. It just added fuel to the fire that was already there. Made me resent him more, even if it wasn’t his fault.”

No matter how you spin it, you can’t imagine any of that was easy to deal with. Especially as a teenager. 

“With him gone, though, I started to make real money fighting. Good money. I lied to my parents and told them I got a part time job. Moving cargo so that they wouldn’t be too suspicious when I came home with bruises.”

Jungwon flexes his fingers. “Boxing became my saving grace. I could give a good chunk of my earnings to my family, and the rest of it, I saved. It put me through university. Let me earn my programming degree.”

You understand him a bit more, then. Why he never seemed annoyed by his job. Why even things like jammed printers never seemed to get to him. He’s thankful for where he is. Has nothing but gratitude for his job when he earned it with years of his own blood, sweat, and tears. 

“I have a steady income now, but it’s just… hard, I guess. To let that part of me go. And if I’m honest, part of me has always been afraid too. I mean, my parents had a steady income until they didn’t, you know? I like knowing that even if something happens here, I’ll still be able to support myself. And them.”

It makes sense. It does. 

“And then Jay came back.” Jungwon scoffs. “He’d barely been in town for a full twenty-four hours when he showed up at Kang’s with all of his fancy gear and asked to be added to the roster for the next round of fights. And then he showed up there with you and I… I thought I was actually going to lose it.”

Even now, Jungwon’s shoulders are visibly tense. “The actual gym is usually fine, safe for outsiders, but still. He shouldn’t have risked your safety like that. He should have known better. And I…” Jungwon trails off again. 

You don’t think you’re imagining the slight tinge of pink that starts to color his cheekbones.

“I was already having a bad enough time with the fact that you were seeing someone. When it turned out to be him, I just… Well, you know.”

Jungwon takes a deep breath in, releases a long exhale. 

“I don’t like making bets, and I don’t like situations I can’t predict. Things I don’t have control over. I guess that’s part of the reason why I always liked boxing so much. In the ring, I feel like I have a say in what happens. That even if I lose, it’s because I didn’t move fast enough. I didn’t think quick enough. Things I have control over. Things I can get better at.”

Jungwon looks at you. “I hate guessing. I hate having to wonder. I like sure things.” 

His chest is rising and falling a little faster now. Your breath is just as shallow. 

“What are you saying?” you ask him. 

“I’m saying that I don’t just want to be coworkers with you. I want you to be mad at me for fighting in illegal underground boxing matches.” Jungwon’s gaze is imploring, pleading for your understanding as his eyes search yours. “I want you to call me when the printer jams and when you have a hard day and when you want someone to go to a stupid work event with you on a Friday night.” 

He takes a step closer to you, and you feel your spine press against the door of the workroom. 

“I want you to be a sure thing,” he breathes, “even if everything about you – the way I feel about you, the thoughts I have about you, the things I want to do to you – have always felt out of my control.”

“Oh.” Your voice is small. Your mouth is dry. Caged in against the door, words are suddenly a hard thing to come by. 

“Oh,” Jungwon echoes. “Is that a yes?”

He’s even closer now. Nose brushing against yours, he interlaces the fingers of his less injured hand with yours, reaching up until your hands are intertwined above your head. 

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Mm,” Jungwon hums, and you feel the vibration travel the length of your spine, settling somewhere deep, just beneath your navel. His lips brush against the corner of your mouth when he asks, “It’s a no, then?”

Again, you shake your head. Trapped in his embrace, the movement is tiny, restricted. Sends goosebumps scattering across your skin everywhere the two of you are touching. 

“An oh is just an oh,” you tell him. “This is a yes.” 

There isn’t any distance to close. Just pressure to add. He accepts it willingly, even if the sudden contact against the still broken skin of his bottom lip has him releasing a hiss through his teeth. 

It’s a discomfort he gets over quickly. His other hand, the one not currently tangled with yours, relocates to the curve of your jaw before he’s doubling down, pain all but forgotten as his lips part against yours. 

A repeated motion. A rhythm that’s stilted at first but starts to feel natural the longer you continue. 

Over and over. Again and again until the action starts to feel useless. Until you’re not quite sure where his breath ends and yours begin. 

You’re in the office workroom, pressed against the door, and the printer is starting to beep in protest. 

You’re sure you’ll be thoroughly embarrassed when you inevitably leave long minutes later with mussed hair and swollen lips and a certain programmer trailing behind you that can’t contain his self-satisfied smile. 

But for now, you get what he means. It feels good. It feels like relief, to finally know where you stand with him. 

So instead of worrying about what your supervisor will think of your mussed collar and smudged lipstick, you pull him down a little firmer by the back of the neck, fingers tangling in the hair along his nape. 

You sigh into his mouth, and the fervor he returns with leaves you well and truly breathless. 

And for once, it feels like a sure thing. 

…..

epilogue 

Jungwon: SOS

Jungwon: Babyyyyyyyy

Jungwon: I know you’re reading my messages 

Jungwon: PLEASE ___ I really need your help

You: I’m BUSY what do you need

Jungwon: The printer is jammed again

You: And what do you want me to do about that? Call maintenance

Jungwon: Oh please 

Jungwon: Last time I called maintenance they sent a guy that couldn’t tell A4 from A3 this is not the job for them

Jungwon: Plus they don’t have the magic touch like you

You: Literally what are you talking about

You: The last time I tried to fix the printer, I broke it so bad it was out of commission for two whole weeks

You: The entire floor was mad at me

You: I had to buy Grace coffee every day for TWO WEEKS

Jungwon: PLEASEEEEEE

Jungwon: Just try once and if it doesn’t work I’ll call maintenance

Jungwon: I promise

You: …

You: FINE

You: On my way

Tucking your phone back into your pocket, you sigh. The workroom door opens with little resistance, but as soon as you step inside, you frown. 

Jungwon, for starters, is nowhere to be seen. 

And the printer, at least from first impressions, appears to be working just fine. Completely jam-free.

You’re not left in the dark for long. A moment later, the door opens behind you. 

Tumbling in like an overexcited kitten, your boyfriend looks all too enthused to be dealing with a supposed jammed printer. 

Gesturing towards the machine in question, you frown at him. “What were you talking about? The printer is perfectly f–”

He cuts you off with the press of his lips against your own, pushing you backwards until you run into the printer, spine arching against the copier tray. 

“Jungwon,” you protest once he finally lets you up for air. “It’s like you want HR to start a case against us. You have got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He feigns innocence, even as he leans in again for another long kiss. 

“Mm,” you mumble, breaking free again. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Faking printer emergencies as an excuse to make out. We’re at work.”

Jungwon leans back, but the only thing he uses the space for is to let himself scan you from head to toe. Biting his bottom lip, he runs a set of fingers through the hair that falls across his forehead. “You know, you’re a really terrible liar.”

“I’m not ly–”

“If you actually wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t fall for it every.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Single.” The top of your cheekbone. “Time.” The corner of your mouth.  

And you hate to admit it, but he kind of has you there. 

“Whatever.” You pout, but he just uses it as an excuse to plant another long kiss on your pursed lips. “I’m serious, Jungwon,” you tell him, even if you’re just as breathless as he is, despite the fact that you’re actively pulling him in by the back of his neck. “This has to be the last time.”

“Mm,” he smiles against your lips. “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

outtake — seven months ago.

The tinted window of Jungwon’s secondhand car is hardly an ideal mirror, but he’ll have to make it work. 

Giving himself a final once over, he straightens his already immaculate tie. Tugs at the collar of his button down shirt so that it lays just a little bit nicer, the edges of the folds just a fraction of a millimeter sharper. 

Bending slightly, he smooths down his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. Catching his reflection again, he suddenly has second thoughts about the version of himself that he sees. 

Bleaching his hair had seemed like a good – no, great – idea a few weeks ago. But now, dressed in business casual and about to begin his first day at a new job, doubts start to swirl through Jungwon’s mind. 

What if they don’t think the blonde is professional enough? What if it breaks some kind of unspoken dress code?

He knows it doesn’t break the actual, company mandated dress code. Mostly because he’s already read through the handbook. 

Twice. 

With annotations. 

Frowning slightly, Jungwon tilts his head to the side. He’s gotten pretty good with concealer, but there’s still a faint purplish tint that sits just along the edge of his jaw. 

It takes a decent amount of effort not to wince at the memory. Sunghoon had gotten him good that day. 

Jungwon forces his shoulders to relax. Forces himself to take one big breath in. Release it out slowly. 

He has no reason to panic. He went through the same, brutal rounds of interviews as everyone else and was deemed to be the most qualified candidate. He graduated summa cum laude in the same field he’ll be employed in now. 

And it’s not like anyone’s going to be looking at his face close enough to notice any slight discoloration. Or, at least, he doesn’t think they will. 

To be honest, he’s not really sure how this whole thing works. Office jobs, no matter how many online forums he’s scoured and articles he’s read, are still a bit of a mystery to him. 

He hates it. Hates feeling out of his depth and ill prepared. Hates knowing that he’ll have to ask too many questions and stumble through tasks until he gets the basics down. 

But part of him is excited too. 

He did it. Standing in the parking lot of an otherwise rather unremarkable company, it hits him all at once. 

He actually fucking did it. 

All those nights in the ring. Every bruise, every scar, every drop of blood. Every saved penny, every skipped opportunity. 

They landed him here. An 8 to 5 office job that isn’t flashy or anything special from the outside, but to him, means the world. 

He’ll have it all: a steady salary, a place to be in the mornings, coworkers to notice when he’s not around. It’s not much, but it’s his. 

So, with one last deep inhale, Jungwon turns away from his car window and tracks a steady path on even footsteps towards the front door. 

And a handful of hours later, when Terry from accounting is still talking his ear off about his son’s latest hockey match in the doorway of the staff kitchen, Jungwon’s heart gives an unsteady lurch. 

“Hey, Terry,” you nod in acknowledgement, entering the kitchen in search of an early afternoon refill for your empty coffee mug. “Hey, oh.” Your eyes meet his, lips parting. Your words die when you realize you don’t know what to call him. When you realize you’ve never actually seen him before. 

And it’s not like Jungwon has never seen a pretty girl before, but – oh. 

Oh. 

Dressed in a rather simple, work approved ensemble, hair loose around your face, there’s nothing specific that he can pinpoint. All Jungwon knows is that there’s something about you that makes him want to keep looking. 

“Jungwon,” he supplies, a bit breathlessly. 

Behind him, Terry is still regaling the details of his kid’s game-winning goal. 

Eyes locked on him, a beat of heavy silence passes. And then –

“Hi, Jungwon.” 

Your eyes. He thinks it must be your eyes. Or maybe your lips. The delicate curve of your cheekbone. His gaze can’t decide where to land. 

“Hi,” he manages. 

Eyes sliding over his shoulder to Terry, you release a small, amused breath. “Hey, Terry?”

Stopping mid sentence, the middle aged man turns to you. “Oh, hi, ____. How are you?”

___. Jungwon thinks it suits you. A pretty name for a pretty girl. 

“Just fine, thanks.” You flash him a quick smile. Just a bare hint, and Jungwon feels his knees getting a little wobbly beneath him. “But I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Of course,” Terry nods a little too enthusiastically. Fifteen years at the same company, and he’s the kind of person that still jumps at the opportunity to be needed. Helpful. Jungwon thinks it’s kind of sweet, even if he wishes the man’s gift for brevity in storytelling could be a bit more apparent. 

“You know the printer in the workroom?”

Terry nods. 

“It’s jammed again,” you frown, the slightest hint of a pout pulling at your lips. Jungwon can’t quite find it in himself to look away from the movement. “Do you think you could take a look at it for me?”

Terry beams. “Of course! I’d be happy to.” 

And then it’s just the two of you. 

“He means well.” You smile again, softer this time. Like you’re discussing an inside joke only the two of you know about. 

Jungwon is suddenly finding his breath a difficult thing to maintain. 

“Does the printer do that a lot?” He finally manages to ask. “Jam, I mean.”

“All the time.” You roll your eyes. “You’d think a company raking in this much profit would have the cash to spare on a new machine, but no. This entire floor is just ill fated to suffer” There’s an air of humor to your words, a slight hint of teasing, even if Jungwon thinks there’s an undercurrent of truth to your words. 

You smile again. Teeth tugging at your bottom lip, Jungwon can only describe your expression as slightly devious. “It’s not jammed now, though.”

His brow furrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head. “I was given the gory details of Terry’s son’s soccer game yesterday. Trust me, I saved you a headache and an extra thirty minutes.” You wink at him, and Jungwon really, really hopes the sudden heat in his cheeks doesn’t look as obvious as it feels. 

“I think it was a hockey match, actually.”

“Oh.” You pause for a moment, considering. “Right.”

A moment of silence passes. Another. Jungwon has never minded the quiet, but he’s not quite ready for this interaction to end. Suddenly, he feels like he’s scrambling for something to prolong it. 

“Thank you.”

Your brow furrows. “For what.”

“The extra thirty minutes and the absence of a headache.” Jungwon taps two fingers against his temple. “I appreciate it.”

“Ah,” you smile, and this time it’s a bit brighter, wider. Jungwon, not for the first time today, thanks his lucky stars that he was accepted for this position. That it landed him here, sharing a staff kitchen with someone like you. “Anytime.”

He hopes you mean it. 

And when you turn away from him a few moments later, original mission to refill your coffee remembered, Jungwon looks up at the ceiling with his eyes screwed shut and takes a long, much needed breath. 

“Jungwon,” you turn back. Luckily, he’s just returned to a more natural standing position. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s nice to meet you. Don’t let this place get you down too quickly.” You wink again. Jungwon does his best to keep his features neutral. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, even though you’ve already turned back to the coffee machine. “Sure thing, ___.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: and we're done! thank you for reading! and thank you for bearing with me and the fact that this unfortunately had to be split into two parts. I hope you enjoyed this story, and as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have. all the best ♡

Day 26 Bonus: Stuckage

pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x f!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: stuckage kink, reader gets stuck in a window & it has nothing to do with weight or size or whatever and everything to do with Kats being unable to help himself when you find yourself trapped, praise kink, mild degradation, light teasing, unprotected sex, creampie, exhibitionism sorta, daddy kink, nicknames used: princess, baby, & sweetheart, uhh if I missed any lemme know politely pls <3

notes: so..yeah. here’s another Kinktober post. even though it’s August lmao. maybe I’ll finish these by November ajdhdhs I’m sorry. these are all literally sitting in my drafts fully formatted, so I'm not changing them 😂

“Hey, babe?” You call in your sweetest voice to Katsuki, who is not-so-patiently waiting for you to retrieve the set of keys that you were so sure were right here in your bag.

“Yes, baby?” His tone borders on mocking as he stands there with his arms crossed, leaning against the car that he was hoping would’ve been open by now.

“What would you say if—hypothetically—the keys weren’t in my bag aaand I already locked the door on the way outta the house?”

“I would say that’d probably make you look like a pretty big asshole, considering that you swore they were in your bag. Hypothetically,” he adds with a shrug. 

“Yeah..s’pose it would, huh?” You frown and stick your bottom lip out in a pout to answer the heavy sigh that falls from your lover’s lips. 

“You’re not allowed to be in charge of the keys anymore,” he grumbles while strolling back over towards the door to lift up the plant where your spare key should be, but it isn’t there. 

“We, uh..took that in to make an extra copy to give to your parents,” you gently remind him, physically feeling the frustration radiating off of Katsuki. 

He closes his eyes and splays his hand over his face to pinch his temples, dragging his digits together as he rubs them over his eyes. 

“And both of those keys are still sitting on my fuckin’ desk where I left ‘em.” He heaves a sigh and looks at you, shrugging against as his hands settle on his hips. “Whaddya wanna do? Should we call a locksmith?”

“Is this all it takes to put you in full blown dad mode?” You giggle, unable to help yourself as you take in his stance and all too serious demeanor, not that your boyfriend was much of the carefree type anyway. He narrows his eyes, rolling them while his mouth moves in a mocking gesture. 

“It’s daddy to you, princess,” he teases, not-so-lightly swatting your behind and making you yelp as he strolls past you and starts walking around to the side of the house. 

“Hey, wait! Where ya goin’?” You call after him as you scurry along. 

“M’gonna check the back door. Maybe we left it open,” he explains with a shrug. It was doubtful, but worth a shot. 

“Fuck,” he curses, trying the obviously locked back door one more time like it might make a difference. It doesn’t. He tousles his hair and goes to head back to the front of the house. “Locksmith it is, I guess.”

“Wait!” You bounce a little on your feet and he turns around to hear your bright idea. “What about a window? I bet the one in the kitchen is still unlocked. I can climb through it.”

“That could work.” He nods and pivots to head further into the backyard, making his way over to the aforementioned window with you on his heels. 

He grabs the bottom and lifts up and, much to his relief, you were right about it being unlocked. He pushes the window up plenty high enough for you to crawl through and onto the counter that sits below it inside. 

“Alright, c’mere, baby.” He curls his fingers, gesturing for you to come closer before he bends his knee and taps the outside of his thigh. “Grab the sill and step on my leg. I’ll help boost you up.”

You nod and step in front of the window, placing both hands on the windowsill and putting your foot up on his knee to help propel yourself up and through the window. Everything’s going according to plan. Until you lose your footing on his leg trying to give yourself enough of a push to crawl through. That awful feeling of falling washes over you for half a second before his strong hands find your hips, keeping you from falling backwards onto your ass when your feet touch the ground again. 

“Motherfucker,” you sigh, closing your eyes as you take a moment and a breath to collect yourself. “Okay, let—ahh!” 

You’re cut off by the sound of the window closing. Again, thanks to his heroic reflexes and reaction time, you’re spared from injury as he catches the window before it hits you. You breathe a massive sigh of relief, practically wilting in the window, which now you can no longer simply slip back out of. 

“Babe, can you lift it back up, please?” 

“I’m trying,” he mutters. 

“What?”

“I said I’m trying,” he repeats, sounding frustrated, though you know it isn’t aimed at you. It’s aimed at the window that suddenly won’t budge an inch. “Damn thing’s fuckin’ jammed,” he gripes, heaving a sigh before his hands are on you, soothingly rubbing your back. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reassure him. “I’m fine I just,” you sigh. “Don’t know what to do now. Who the hell do we call for this? I’m not letting the fire department find me this way,” you state as you shake your head and briefly imagine what an interesting interaction that might make for. 

“I’m not either,” he scoffs, his eyes being drawn to your backside, which he had to admit looked especially great with you in this position. 

“Try opening it again. Maybe you loosened it,” you suggest, turning your head to try and look over your shoulder at him, but the angle is rather awkward with how you’re trapped. 

He tilts his head thoughtfully. It couldn’t hurt to try, but it certainly felt pretty well stuck. He leans over you and places his hands beneath the window again, trying in vain to lift it while his crotch presses right up against your backside.

“Are you really getting hard right now?” You can’t help but giggle, wiggling your ass against the bulge that you can feel growing in his pants. 

“You’re bent over in front of me,” he mutters, grunting as he attempts again to shove the window upwards. “And looking pretty vulnerable, I might point out,” he adds with a smirk as he relents his attempts and instead runs his hands along your sides. “How the fuck am I not s’posed to be hard right now?”

His hands seize your hips, bringing you flush against him while he grinds his hips forward, You close your eyes and let out a quiet groan, feeling a pulse between your thighs.

“You wouldn’t take advantage of me in a position like this, would you?” You ask in a sultry tone, no doubt implying that you sincerely hoped that he just might. 

“I wouldn’t say that, princess. You know how much I like seizing opportunities and this one seems too good to pass up.”

“Katsuki,” you whine his name, knowing full well that it makes all the blood in his body redirect to his dick. 

“Fuck, baby,” he gruffs, already feeling his breathing shallow from the pure sense of need that you can still feel pressing into your backside. “You want it that bad, huh? Want me to take you just like this, where any of our nosy fuckin’ neighbors could peek over and see me drillin’ ya?”

“Yes, baby. Don’t just want it. I need it, daddy. Please,” you insist, writhing as much as you can in your compromised position. 

“Shit,” he huffs the curse as he bunches your dress up over your hips, only pulling his hips away from your to appreciate the view. 

He hooks a finger underneath the waistband of your panties and tugs, letting it snap back against your skin while his other palm takes a greedy handful of your ass. 

“Still can’t fuckin’ believe someone as hot as you puts up with me,” he snorts, delivering a swift smack to your cheek before he soothes the ache with his palm. 

“I could say the same,” you reply, shaking your ass and grinning when you hear him groan at the sight, but you’re growing impatient, so you poke at him a little. “Have you even got your dick out yet? I want you so bad, baby..”

“Patience, princess. M’gonna take care of ya. Lemme just look at’cha for a second, yeah?” Both of his hands grope your behind before he hooks his fingers into the crotch of your panties and pulls them aside. “Wanna appreciate all this before I ruin ya.”

His thumb parts your folds and you shiver, juices gushing onto his digit as he snickers. 

“That worked up already, huh? Guess ya really do need me.”

You don’t need to see him to know he’s wearing his signature smug grin. His thumb finds your clit and he begins drawing it in slow circles, making you clutch to the wall inside the house. 

“I do, I do. Please, daddy,” you whine, rocking your hips to chase the friction he offers you. 

It’s gone a second later, but you hear the jingle of his belt coming undone and clench in anticipation while he frees his leaking cock. 

“All this beggin’ sounds real good, baby. Gimme a little more and then you can have this,” he promises, letting you feel his rock hard erection as the head teases through your lips. 

“Please,” you blurt the plea out, instantly complying in order to get what you need. What you crave. “I’ll do anything, baby. Want you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Want you to ruin me, daddy. Take this pussy. S’all yours. Always all yours.”

“Such an overachiever. S’what I love about you, princess,” he chuckles, giving you no notice before he lines up and bottoms out in a single thrust, stuffing you full with his impressive length. 

“Fuck!” 

You claw at the drywall beneath your fingers, pressing your hands to the surface to hang on as he begins to thrust, showing little mercy to your drooling cunt. 

“Goddamn you feel good. You’re really into this, aren’tcha? Like being stuck and lettin’ me use your pussy like I wanna?”

“Y-yeah. Oh fuck, yeah, daddy. U-use me. Oh my God, don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

You’re babbling now, too far gone already with the way his cock moves inside you, deliciously dragging along your walls as the tip finds that special, velvety spot inside you and starts knocking into it over and over and over again. 

“M’not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not ‘til you’re creamin’ on my cock. You ain’t gonna last long, are ya? Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight already. Shit.”

“Mm-mm. N-no. Feels too—haa—s’too good, baby.”

And he’s right, of course. That white hot heat burns in your belly, searing you from the inside out as it builds and spreads, spiraling out of control as he continues to snap his hips, offering you no mercy now as you rocket towards your orgasm. 

It hits you like a freight train, making you scream as you slump over the sill of the window, simply trying to hang onto the structure as your cries echo around the empty kitchen. You don’t even notice the way that the window seems heavier on your spine now. 

“Good girl,” he grunts, breathing labored from his efforts as he keeps it up, sprinting towards his own undoing. “So fuckin’ good. Pussy’s too fuckin’ good, baby.”

He doesn’t even falter when he finds his release. If anything, he moves faster, willfully pummeling your poor, abused cunt as he fills you to the brim until the mixture of your essences begin to seep out as your own name falls from his lips, ringing in your ears through the haze you find yourself floating through. He looks down, entranced by the vision of his cum being pulled from and pushed inside of your again and again.

“Fuck,” he pants, sweat dripping from his brow and landing on your exposed lower back. He watches the bead trail along your heated skin to mingle with the rest of the fluids joined between your bodies. 

A whimper is all that you can manage as he withdraws himself and leans over you, a decisively more gentle touch skimming along your sides before he begins rubbing your back and feathering kisses along your spine. 

“You okay, baby?” His tone is as soft as his touch as he restores your modesty, dipping down to return your panties to their rightful place before he reaches for the hem your dress and pulls it back down. 

“Mhm,’ you hum, blissfully content as you continue coming down from your soaring high. 

“Good.” He continues rubbing your back, working up to your shoulders when his hand nudges the window and he realizes that it’s finally budged. “Well, shit,” he chuckles, reaching over you to lift the window up, freeing you from your entrapment. 

“Hmm?” You feel the pressure lift off of your back and step back from the window, shaking your head as a smile graces your features. “Well, I guess that works out.”

“Think you still have the strength to crawl through?” He grins, a little smug and a lot handsome as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he rubs your arm. 

“Gimme a minute.” You laugh quietly, closing your eyes as you wind your arms around his and rest your head upon his broad chest, nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt to inhale his cologne. 

“Take all the time you need, princess. I’m good right here,” he murmurs into your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

likes, comments, & reblogs especially are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

Hi everyone....

To make a long story short, people are awful and I was robbed of $1,100. I'm not totally broke but I'm definitely seen better days.

And I am wondering, to help with this loss, if people would be interested if I did some commissions?

Like drabbles (900 words) for like $3. Longer ones (like 1k - 2k) for $6 and anything that's higher than 2k would be like $10.

If anyone is interested let me know so I can set something up. And even if all you can do is reblog this to let others know, that would be very much appreciated too.

Love you all 💛💛

not your baby

warnings/tags: minors DNI, f. reader, DUB-CON/NON-CON, abo verse, yandere!Oliver (more like he's unsettling but yk), omega!Oliver, omega!reader, obsessive behavior, forced intimacy, manipulation, drugging, heat manipulation, set in the EPL, mentions of hair being run through (brief), appearances from other bllk boys, implied previous isagi x reader but they're platonic at the time of the fic, I'm still finding my footing on Oliver's characterization sorry about him LMFAO, these tags are not exhaustive word count: 13.4k summary: We are assigned roles but those are not without caveats. As predators cannot exist without prey, Oliver is learning he cannot exist without you.

Yoichi calls you in the middle of the day. 

You’ve been staring at your code for the past two hours trying to figure out where it all went wrong so at first, his call is a welcome reprieve. Then he starts talking. 

“Rin broke my nose.” 

“On or off the field?”

“Off,” comes his disgruntled response. There’s a cacophony of noise in the background and you hear Yoichi hiss as someone presumably touches his nose. “Can you bring me one of my scent blockers?” 

You quickly glance at your code and decide to cut your losses and shut down your computer. If it hasn’t been figured out by now, it won’t be figured out for a while. “Yeah. I’ll be there in twenty.” 

You head over to his room and make a beeline for his bathroom. You rifle through his drawers until you find his scent blockers. He asked for one but you pocket the whole box. 

It takes you longer than twenty minutes to get to the stadium due to traffic but you don’t rush as you walk in through the back. He won’t be able to play regardless.

A staff member leads you to the locker room and after a quick discussion with the assistant coach, she waves you in. 

You make eye contact with Yoichi immediately, wincing at the dried blood on his lips and chin. You hold the box up wordlessly as you go to him, already pulling your sleeves over your hand to wipe at his face. 

“They didn’t want to clean you up?” you ask, scrunching your nose as your sleeve drags across his skin.

“Wouldn’t let them,” he says moodily. He’s trying not to glower at Rin who is making a halfhearted attempt at remorse by standing in the vicinity of Yoichi. Rin shuffles to the side awkwardly when you give him your full attention. His pupils are blown out and his fingers tremble with his annoyance. He’s clearly still pissed at Yoichi but your arrival has forced him to act like a respectable alpha. And with the way he’s cautiously eyeing you, he probably fears triggering an early heat with how intense his pre-rut is. 

The smell of it makes your stomach curdle. 

You keep yourself from rolling your eyes in front of him. The education in every country is so bad it would be laughable if it didn’t cause such disturbances in general society.

“You okay?” 

Rin’s surprised your question is aimed at him. “Yeah.”

“Rin’s love language is violence,” a deep voice teases, looping an arm around Rin’s shoulders. He tries to shake it off but the guy adds some weight to his hold and forces Rin to take it. His two toned eyes flick over to you, heavily-lidded with interest. It takes you a moment to connect the dots. 

Oliver Aiku. Arsenal’s captain along with the national team of Japan. He’s an enigma to you out of all of Yoichi’s teammates. 

Stupidly, all that crosses your mind upon seeing him is that he’s tall. 

You have known this. Centre-backs are known for their height and strength. And yet, you are still caught off guard. 

His smell is distinctly omega but his stature implies an alpha nature. He’s large and imposing, taking up more room than any omega you have ever met. He notices the tilt of your head. Tension briefly lines his shoulders but he forces a nonchalance to his stance. He brings his nose upwards and smells you. Even from this distance, you can see how his focus sharpens and his posture becomes more welcoming, a camaraderie solidifying between the two of you amongst all these alphas and betas.

If possible, his smile widens when he notices what you’ve given Yoichi. 

You grimace at the dried blood now speckling your shirt. “You must love Yoichi a lot then.” 

“Too much one could say,” Oliver says, earning an attempt at an elbow from Rin. 

“Did they fit or is your nose too swollen?” you ask, bending down to look at Yoichi’s nose. They set the break though it still trickles with some blood.

He shakes his head. “It’s too swollen,” he says, wincing as he hands you the bloodied scent blocker. 

Oliver intercepts you, tossing the half-used scent blocker to an open locker. It takes more of your focus than you will ever admit to not shy away from him. You know he’s an omega but you can’t shake off how his alpha-like appearance unnerves you. Surreptitiously, he wipes his fingers on Rin. “You came quick,” he says, looking down at you. Somehow, you get the impression you’ve let him down.

“I live to serve him,” you say seriously, pointing at Yoichi.

Yoichi stutters for a second and then groans. “Shut up,” he whines, rubbing his temples. “Did you drive here?” 

You twirl your keys around your finger. “Unfortunately.” 

“I’ll go with you. My head’s killing me.” He shoots a glare at Rin who raises his eyebrows at him.

“Did they check if you have a concussion already?” 

“Yoichi’s too hard-headed for a concussion,” Oliver says. But Yoichi will do a lot for game time and you don’t know if he let them check him probably so you can’t trust his words if Oliver didn’t oversee the checkup. You nudge Yoichi insistently. 

“They looked over him. He’s good to go. Except for the, you know, broken nose,” Oliver reassures you. You give him a brief dip of your chin before focusing back on Yoichi.  

“Are they going to give you the black mask?” 

An excited light enters Yoichi’s eyes. “I hope so. That’d be sick.” 

“Maybe you’ll play better and have the fans wish you always had a broken nose,” you muse, grabbing his jaw and moving his head side to side. It’s going to be a shame when he covers his face. 

“Think they’ll give me a nickname?” 

“Egoist ain’t enough for you?” Oliver says, hands on his hips. Flutters erupt in your stomach. He’s uncomfortably good looking, you realize. The sort where self-consciousness begins to take shape. You leave it be. After all, you’ll either see Oliver enough to get used of his face or you’ll see him so infrequently, the twinge in your gut will be far and between. 

-

It takes a few weeks for you to come to the conclusion that Oliver is kind of an asshole. 

He’s friendly enough, more so than most people if you look at him objectively. But still, he’s an asshole nonetheless. 

You think you’d like him more if he didn’t make your skin crawl. 

Oliver introduces you to the rest of the team and their friends as Yoichi is making his way towards you from the entrance of the coach’s house. Oliver recites your name with a lazy grin and warns them to treat you nicely. You wave shyly at the amount of eyes trained on you, ready to sit down when Oliver continues. 

“Though, imagine our surprise when Yo-chan,” you mouth the nickname, endeared, “Said he was moving in with a friend.” 

The almost explicit implication doesn’t match the lack of curiosity in Oliver’s expression. But you can feel how the rest of Yoichi’s teammates wait with a baited breath for the confirmation of what they suspected. 

You don’t bother to defend you or Yoichi. Their opinions are already set. 

“It’s always good to have a familiar face whenever you’re far from home.” Your smile is strained. 

“That is true,” he agrees. He elongates the last word as if he’ll keep going and your stomach sinks at the thought. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for why an alpha and omega live together without being a bonded pair. 

Yet, Oliver backs off immediately. (His interest only ran as far as he deemed necessary for his team to have.) He seems to have only asked for the sake of the rest of the team and their loved ones. You marvel at how easily he can control the atmosphere and settle any doubts they may have had towards Yoichi. It isn’t common to see an unpaired alpha and omega in such close quarters after all. 

“He’s nice, right?” Yoichi mutters in your ear, having finally made it to you. He’s too quiet for anyone other than you but Oliver shifts as if he can sense the compliment. His scent is affable and he sends a quick wink aimed in your direction. He’s got the type of charisma that has people drifting towards him without thought but a firmness that keeps others from coming too close. 

And yet, something in your gut itches. 

“I guess,” you say eventually. You look at Yoichi’s blue eyes and see the blind trust he holds towards his captain and you amend your statement. “He’s good for the team. A proper captain.”  

“Our final wall,” Yoichi says proudly. 

You don’t frown necessarily but it’s something close. “Is that his nickname?” 

“Yeah. I mean unofficially. The god snake is his other one.” 

Creativity is left to the midfielders it seems. “Start with that one. The final wall sounds stupid,” you advise. 

“You don’t think it sounds sick?” 

“He’s a defender so it’s kind of a given, no?” 

He considers this. “I guess. It’s still cool though. Especially considering he’s an—” Yoichi’s mouth shuts. 

You brush off the aborted comment immediately. “They usually play midfield,” you hum, regarding the nickname in a different light at the reminder. It’s hard to reconcile he isn’t an alpha given how imposing he is. You sound like a broken record in your own mind for having to be reminded of his secondary gender. That nickname has probably bolstered his image more than any other nickname could have in his position. “Fine. It is a cool nickname then.” Begrudgingly so. 

“See? Oliver is cool. He was so intense during that U-20 game.” 

“He played?” Yoichi’s made you watch the game a couple of times but most of the guys are a blur in your mind. “Did Sae involve him in any plays?” 

Yoichi cuts you an unimpressed look. “Sae wasn’t the only player there.” 

Sae was certainly the prettiest, however. 

“He was the only omega,” you point out and then correct yourself, “Or so I thought.” 

“I told you about Oliver!”

“Yeah but I didn’t know you meant him.” You jerk your thumb in Oliver’s general direction. “My bad.”

Yoichi stares at you and then laughs, shaking his head. “I think your nickname would’ve been ego breaker.” 

“That’s so lame.” 

He chuckles, steering you towards the snack table. “Sorry, I was late. Traffic got my ass.” 

“What did coach have to say about that?”

Yoichi winces. “I have to run twenty extra laps next practice.”

“He’s intense.”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” 

The party goes on and Yoichi leads you around. It’s clear to see he’s found a place in this team already. Joy radiates off of him as he introduces you to more of his teammates and coaching staff. You’re met with warm welcomes despite the somewhat frosty beginning. It takes a few teammates for you to find your footing and be able to joke around with Yoichi properly. After some time, he’s whisked away. There’s an apologetic pat on your back before you’re left to your own devices. With your skin prickling with self-consciousness, you sit on the couch and try not to look as out of place as you are. You’re replying to a text when you feel the couch dip beside you. A familiar scent tickles your nose. 

“Yoichi abandoned you?” Oliver doesn’t give you a chance to respond before saying, “First, he’s late. And now he’s leaving you to the wolves.”  He whistles. “That’s two strikes.” 

Your tongue presses against the back of your teeth. Your irritation sparks but you douse it. He’s only making conversation, that’s all. “Three.” You hold up said amount of fingers. “He forgot to bring the wine.” 

“Coach isn’t impressed by stuff like that,” he says and then grimaces. “Believe me. Some of the kids have tried.” 

He’s not that much older than the rest of the squad but you bite back your smile. You incline your head in agreement. “But his wife would appreciate it.”

“Schmoozer, eh?” 

“What can I say? I love to see beautiful women smile.” 

That gets a proper laugh out of him. “Yeah, alright.” 

Silence lapses between you two yet you don’t try to break it. You’d rather Oliver find someone else to talk to especially if this is for pity.

“You enjoying the party?” He shifts so the top half of his body is facing you. Something gleams in his eyes. “Did Yoichi send you that video? The one of him with the bicycle kick?” 

“Oh yeah! He did. Did he show you it yet?” 

Oliver shakes his head, earnestly looking at you. Immediately you start scrolling through your messages with Yoichi. He’s sent you countless soccer videos alongside mini vlogs of his training so it takes you longer to search for the particular one Oliver is asking about. He sits closer to you, thighs spread enough to encroach onto your space. His shoulder leans into you as he angles his head to look at your phone.

“Hm? Is that it?” he asks, pointing at the video on screen. A video that is clearly not the one of Yoichi he was asking about. 

You’re overly conscious of the body heat that is radiating off of him. He’s so close you don’t want to move a muscle in fear of touching him more. 

“Give me a second,” you say, trying to lean away in a way that doesn’t look obvious. But he follows you further into your space, going as far as to lean his head down close enough to almost rest his chin on your shoulder. 

“Hi. Sorry to interrupt.” You look up to see a woman shifting on her feet. She sniffs the air delicately, a pleased little smile dimpling her cheek. You go a little slack jawed at her beauty. But your interest doesn’t matter as her eyes are not on you. 

You inhale softly. Beta. 

Risking a peek at Oliver, you see him smile an easy smile at her. There’s a certain amount of unspoken charm to him now, exceeding his normal amount. His posture shifts and you realize this is what Oliver looks like when he knows someone’s interested in him. His vested interest hasn’t been triggered yet but he knows how to play the game. And you suppose from your limited knowledge of him, this is the part he enjoys the most.

You don’t want to stick around for it. You don’t bother with a proper goodbye, not with the way she hesitates to continue talking to Oliver with you still there. 

Yoichi is still with Hiori so you make an escape to the very nice patio you could never afford in this lifetime. Surprisingly, there is no one else out here. 

Relief sags your shoulders. The air is balmy and weighted as if to remind you of how hard this all really is. Everything about London is so different you feel like a fish out of water. It’s been a few weeks but you are no closer to adapting to this environment than you were when you first step foot in this city. Yoichi has more friends than you realized within the English league. What are you even doing here? 

“Fuck,” you mutter. You should’ve told Yoichi you’d come until he adjusted to London rather than move in with him. 

You turn to see if Oliver’s made any progress with that beta. He’s smiling at her indulgently, head tilted as if he’s listening intently. But his eyes keep sliding towards your direction and his placid smile twitches each time he does so.

You bite on your cheek. He’s such a strange man. It’s a wonder Yoichi has him so figured out because you cannot get a grasp on him. And you keep failing whatever tests he’s concocted in his mind and it’s driving you up a wall calculating your words the way you are.

You scroll through your phone for a lack of something better to do, praying Yoichi puts you out of your misery and tells you he’s ready to go home. 

“Oh.”

Flinching so hard you nearly toss your phone onto the ground, you whip around at the voice. It’s Rin. 

He’s schooled his face into something neutral. He shuffles backwards and then decides you don’t own the patio and comes closer. Rin doesn’t stand by you but he lingers around you politely. It’s so reminiscent to how he acted when he broke Yoichi’s all those weeks ago you have to laugh. 

Your throaty laugh startles him enough to narrow his eyes suspiciously at you. “I don’t bite,” you say. 

He weighs the choices you’ve put into his hands and then faces you. “I know.” 

“Hi Rin,” you say, enunciating the two syllables expectantly. 

He repeats after you. “How are you?” His arms are crossed over his chest. The corner of your mouth twitches. Oh, it’s such a burden for him to make small talk. 

“I’m a little stressed out but you know.” By the blank look that enters his eyes, he doesn’t. Though, while it may be mean to think, Rin tends to have an empty look on his face whenever soccer isn’t involved. “How are you?”

“Fine.” 

Silence fills the space between you two and after a while, Rin begins to face forward but you won’t let him off that easy. 

“So you’re on loan?” you prompt, earning back Rin’s attention. 

He nods. His lips thin as if he’s pouting but trying to hide it. “Sae figured I’d have an easier time grasping this system first and then playing for Real Madrid and coach agreed.” He tips his head upwards so he’s looking at the dark night sky. “And here I am.” 

“Has it been good so far?” 

The loan system is unfamiliar despite Yoichi explaining it to you every time you ask. You can’t wrap your head around playing somewhere for a season and then coming back to your original team. Is there no fear of swapping hidden tactics? Or leaking locker room exclusive secrets? Or worse yet, falling in love with a team you know you are destined to be at for only a short amount of time? 

“I like here. Not more than I like it at Real Madrid but it’s fine,” he says.

“Is it for the full season or…?”

He drops his arms from their crossed state. A brief stint of regret makes his lips purse as he says, “Full season. Seemed stupid to go for only a couple months.” 

If Rin hates it here, these next seven months will be hell. But if he falls in love with Arsenal, the end of the season will be brutal. You don’t think you could handle the uncertainty. 

“That’s tough.” 

“If it’s what it’ll take to be the best, I don’t care.” 

You don’t know how Yoichi made it out of Blue Lock with enough of his sanity intact to masquerade as a functioning human being if this type of person is who he was surrounded with for months on end. You don’t doubt Ron’s love for soccer but Yoichi’s particular brand of intensity has you wondering if Rin will be devoured in a different way this time around. 

So you pivot. “Your rut go okay?”

From Yoichi you know Rin had to go on a stronger suppressant. The stresses of moving teams and subsequently countries shifted his hormones enough to make him more susceptible to his pre-rut. Yoichi immediately started taking a higher dosage to mitigate a similar reaction and he’s been grumpy as a side effect. Rin is grumpy as his default so you can’t tell if anything has changed for him. 

Rin is quiet for long enough you begin to wonder if you overstepped. Then he says, “It was fine. Standard.” 

“I hope Yoichi’s is standard,” you mutter under your breath. You’re forcing him to do his own laundry otherwise. 

“You take care of Yoichi during his?” Rin’s curiosity is mild but you’ve captured his full attention. 

This must be payback for your earlier question. “Not anymore. It’s easier if we don’t blur those lines.” You leave it at that. 

But it piques Rin’s interest further. Unconsciously, he leans towards you. “So you go to another alpha during your heat then?” 

That makes your eyebrows raise. There’s nothing suggestive other than his wording but you take advantage nonetheless. 

“Why? You offering?” you tease, laughing when Rin tenses up. 

“I wouldn’t—shut up,” he snaps, turning away from you. But you don’t miss the way his ears redden with his newly cut hair giving way to the sight. You laugh harder. He set himself up.

“Relax, you baby. I don’t even like alphas,” you say. 

“You don’t?” He doesn’t mean to sound like he’s accusing you of lying but distrust lies heavily between those two words. 

It curbs your good mood. “Would you?” 

“But biologically—” 

“Technology’s advanced these days,” you cut in sharply. He’s young but not so young to be this ignorant. “Just because something is idealized doesn’t mean it’s the only correct way to deal with a heat.” 

A charged quiet lies between you two. And then, “You’re right. I didn’t mean it that way but I guess there’s no other way it could be meant if I say it like that.” 

You loose a breath. “It’s fine.” And then you peek at him. An admonished Rin is a little too irresistible even for you. “But if you are offering…”

He turns back around with a glare. “Don’t.” 

You hold your hands up, a grin tugging at your mouth. “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind,” you sing, faking a step back when Rin’s glare intensifies. 

“Wouldn’t mind what?” 

You both twist at the familiar voice. Oliver ducks his head underneath the door frame as he steps onto the patio. He’s got an impersonal smile you don’t think he realizes you can pick up on spread across his mouth. 

“Rin as my heat partner.” “Nothing.” 

If looks could kill, Rin would have set you on fire right about now. 

“Okay, I’ll stop.” You yield. No wonder Sae can’t stop pushing Rin’s buttons. If he looks this cute with just a little poking, you think you’d do the same. 

You go to share a teasing look with Oliver but to your surprise, he looks thrown off. He recovers quickly, that same impersonal smile pulling at the corners of his lips again, and he says, “Yo-chan’s looking for you, Rin.” 

Oliver notices your slight pout and smirks a bit. “Guess you’re stuck here then.” 

After a moment of staring, Rin nods at you guys before heading back into the house. He looks back, a small wrinkles between his brows before he shakes it off and disappears into the living room. You’ll give Yoichi some more time before you head out. You don’t think you can last much longer trying to scramble for conversation topics.

“Rin would be an awful heat partner,” Oliver says suddenly. “Selfish.” 

The sudden comment forces you to let out a flabbergasted laugh. “And you aren’t?” Your eyes widen at the slip of tongue. That is not at all what you would have said if you actually too more than a second to think. “Sor-”

“I’m not,” he says after a moment. He’s not offended so his tone is very matter-of-fact. “I could show you if you want.” 

His voice is lined with just the right amount of flirtatious to not make you feel stupid if you do say yes. But you can’t take a guy like Oliver seriously. His reputation precedes him and you’d rather go with what you’ve heard around than what you’ve heard from his friends when it comes to this aspect of his life. Not that Yoichi spends an incredible amount of time explaining those specific details but Yoichi is privy to an Oliver most do not get to know, you included thus far. 

“Pass.”

“Oh come on, baby. I could show you a good time,” he says almost reflexively. The flirtatious note in his voice gives way to joking which you appreciate much more. 

Though, the endearment tickles the wrong part of your brain. And your mistake is you don’t nip it in the bud immediately. He notices the way your shoulders raise up to your ears a bit at the pet name. And his smile broadens. 

“Not your baby,” you reprimand. “What did Yoichi need Rin for anyway?” 

Oliver blinks and then grins conspiratorially. “He didn’t. You just looked like you were giving Rin a hard time.” At your disbelieving raised eyebrows, he pats his chest. “I have a bleeding heart.” 

He makes you giggle. It’s awful. And what he said is not even particularly funny. You just like the idea of Oliver coming to save Rin because you know Rin would rather eat his own foot than have someone swoop in to help him out. 

“Captain my captain,” you recite mockingly, saluting him with two fingers. “It’s cute they all call you that.” 

Oliver sucks in his cheek. “You think so?” 

The respect Oliver has earned from his team is admirable considering how young he and the squad are. The older members defer to him as well without resentment, content to shuffle the responsibility over to him. “Yeah.” 

He brings his hands up to rest on the back of his head. He’s so large his elbows dip into your space but only slightly so you don’t back away. The sleeve of his shirt tightens underneath the swell of muscle, seams straining. You quickly divert your attention to his face. Luckily, he’s focused on the sky, lip tucked underneath his teeth. He makes a sound of agreement but it lacks any substance. 

“You don’t think so?” You can’t help to ask. 

“No, it is nice,” he agrees, though he opts to not address the choice of word you used to describe it. His voices deepens into something wistful. “You just reminded me of something.” 

You don’t ask for clarification and he doesn’t offer it. You don’t like him anymore than you did at the beginning of the night but you think you are seeing what it is Yoichi is talking about when it comes to Oliver.  

-

Weeks pass and you see Oliver more often than you think you should. 

You slip out of your shoes, nose wrinkling at the vaguely familiar scent floating from the living room. Peeking your head around the corner, you see a mop of dark hair and then you see the body it’s connected to. 

Oliver sits languidly on your couch with his shirt half up his body. You eye the curves of his stomach and waist getting a grip on yourself and put your shoes in their proper place. 

“Hey Oliver,” you say once you step into the living room. 

He doesn’t startle, clearly having smelled you as soon as you walked in, and gives you an indulgent smile. His clean scent wraps around you in some semblance of comfort but it only serves to make your skin crawl at the casual intimacy he’s thrust upon you. But you work to control your own reaction, careful to keep your own scent from becoming bitter through sheer will alone. “Hope it’s cool Yoichi let me have the code,” he says.

Your eye just about twitches. Omegas are not plentiful so it makes sense why Yoichi assumes you would be okay with a fellow one flitting in and out of your home if he feels comfortable enough with Oliver. But the lack of heads up irks you. You also understand he feels a sort of kinship to Oliver, born from his Blue Lock game against him all those years ago, and assumes you won’t make a fuss as you aren’t ought to do. 

Your tuck your bottom lip under your teeth, worrying the skin. Yoichi would be right to think that. You trust his instincts, but you trust your gut as well. And you don’t trust Oliver for some inexplicable reason. 

“I mean, you have it now, so,” you shrug, neither an agreement or accusation. 

He watches you and then he nods good-naturedly. “He said he’s gonna be late for dinner. Should we order something?” 

Your teeth bite down harder on your skin. So he won’t be leaving any time soon. Fantastic. 

“There’s a pho place down the road if you’re fine with that?” you offer hesitantly, hoping it’s a food he hates. 

His smile widens enough to show his top row of teeth. “Sounds good. Let me know the name and I’ll order. My treat,” he adds unnecessarily.

It takes half an hour for the order to come. Oliver spends it trying to sneakily get you to join him on the couch to watch some reality show he’s been into lately. He’s frustrated with your denials by the time you have the bag in your hand. You cut him some slack and bring the food to the living room. Only then do you take a seat on the couch at a casual distance from him, curling up your legs and setting your pho on your lap. 

“You find a heat center yet?” Oliver asks, sucking up some noodles. 

You tap the container with your nails and then shake your head. Heat centers aren’t your preference and you say as such. Unlike Rin, he’s a fellow omega so you feel less guarded telling him this not-quite taboo. 

He looks a little surprised. “You handle them yourself?” 

Shrugging, you say, “Mine are pretty mild so there’s no need. If it gets really bad, Yoichi helps out but,” and you trail off, embarrassed you shared so much so without thinking. Aiming to shift the topic, you ask, “Do you usually use heat center?” 

He chuckles and steals a piece of beef out of your bowl. Through a swallow, he says, “Nah, not really. We have mandated heats during the season so there’s no need. Yoichi said yours were pretty irregular so I was just wondering.” 

You hide your grimace behind a spoonful of broth. Leave it to Yoichi to leave your personal business on the table. “Is it tough having your heats regulated like that?” 

Oliver chews thoughtfully. From Yoichi you know that alphas can keep playing well into pre-rut. The idea is that the quickness to aggression stemming from the hormonal imbalance will aid in their game. The safety concerns do not matter as long as the league gets an explosive game out of the thinning patience of their alpha players and so certain precautions have to be exerted by the players rather than be regulated by the league. Yoichi tends to play with a mild scent blocker even at the cost of it affecting some of his playing style. One three-match ban was enough to keep him corralled. 

There are so few known omegas in all of soccer, and especially in the English league, that you don’t think there are any leniencies when it comes to heats. A low grade preheat forced your old company to send you home in fear of inciting the alphas so you can’t imagine the league handles heats any better. 

“It’s necessary,” he says finally, shrugging. “I guess I’ll find out if it was a bad call in a couple years.” 

In professions like his, mandatory heats are a necessity though there isn’t much research to support they aren’t harmful. Summer break is when they’re allowed off whatever medications their medical team has deemed needed but those pitiful thirteen weeks aren’t enough to regulate their hormones. 

You’d feel worse for him if he wasn’t getting paid millions to kick a ball around a field. 

“That sucks,” you say but not without empathy.

“Could be worse. They could’ve banned us outright.”

It was only in the last twenty years omegas were publicized in the athletic world. Oliver is one of few who hasn’t hidden their secondary gender behind one more favorable. 

“Could be better,” you sigh, pushing your bowl towards Oliver. You hate that he has to take his wins where he can scavenge them. “I guess having a schedule for them can be kinda nice,” you admit begrudgingly. Only in recent years have your heats stabilized enough to be expected at a similar time every two months. 

“It makes life easier,” he agrees. Oliver abandons his empty bowl for yours. You will never have to worry about leftovers so long as you remain surrounded by professional soccer players. 

“Mine used to be so irregular and so intense. It’s insane they let alphas play almost to their rut if those ruts are anything like what my heats used to be,” you say, leaning back on the couch. The league would rather be demolished than lose money in the name of player safety. You mentally shake your head. Those sick bastards. 

Oliver chews on his food. He swallows and then says casually, “If you ever need a partner, just let me know.” 

You’re so stunned you can’t speak. There’s a dry patch where your voice should be. He goes on, shifting his position to face you. “Doesn’t matter when. Promise.” 

When he moves closer, the room feels terribly small as if dwarfed by this abrupt unsettling intimacy. He only needs to put his hand on the other side of your waist to trap you and it twitches as if predicting your train of thought. You wish he wouldn’t reach out his hand like that.

The front door bangs against the wall. You immediately jump off of the couch, uncaring of the bean sprouts you spill. Oliver’s hand drops atop of the blanket. 

“You won’t believe what coach had me doing,” Yoichi whines, hand braced on the wall as he unties his shoes. 

“What did he do?”

Yoichi launches into his story, scarfing down the pho in between complaints while you listen intently. His eyes bore into the side of your head when Yoichi’s attention drifts to the TV as he talks. 

You don’t speak to Oliver for the rest of the night.

-

“Oliver comes over a lot,” you say unprompted. 

Yoichi’s deciding between shin guards so it takes him a second to process what you said. He continues weighing each shin guard in his hand but glances at you, mouth turning up at the corner sheepishly. “Yeah.”

“You know, just because we’re omegas, doesn’t mean we’re gonna get along,” you say to Yoichi with a little more sharpness than is warranted. You close your eyes, wishing you could better keep yourself from taking your frayed nerves out on him.   

His gaze drops to the ground and he nods. “I know,” he says, stamping down on his defensiveness. “I just thought it’d be nice if you had another omega around. There’s not many in the league and you don’t know anyone here.” He scuffs at the ground with his cleats. “I don’t want you to be lonely.” 

Sticky affection clogs your throat for a moment. “I’m not lonely,” you grumble. But Yoichi sees right through you and reaches out to squeeze your hand. “I have you,” you insist. 

“You do. But you should also have someone you can rely on that understands what I don’t.” He ducks his head sheepishly. “Oliver’s the one who told me to put that essential oil in your bath to help with your,” he motions towards your lower belly, “You know.” Yoichi’s been around the block enough to not be embarrassed but the reminder of how he ended up helping you out makes the both of you look to the side. 

Whatever it was Oliver told Yoichi to mix into your bath did help tremendously even if it made you lightheaded with desire. You should thank him next time. “You’re right, I’m just being annoying.” Then you point at him. “He should start paying rent since he’s here all the time.” 

“You don’t pay rent.”

“Do I make millions for playing with balls?” you point out, sticking out your tongue. 

“You know I’m too dumb to do anything but kick a ball around,” he says, tucking his shinguard into his socks. 

You mutter, “I’ve met some of your teammates. You are the last one I’d be worried about if you had a different career, believe me.” 

He grins at you. “Good thing they’re pretty too, huh?” 

“Beauty, brains, and brawn cannot all exist at once. You gotta pick two.” 

“And your diagnosis for Rin?” 

Your answer is instant. “Beauty.”

“Hiori?” 

“Beauty and brains.” 

“Oliver?” he teases. 

“I plead the fifth.” 

“That’s such a cop out.” 

-

It’s the third time Yoichi’s late from work. 

Your nose stings from the cold air. Last time, Hiori kept you company while you waited. Out of Yoichi’s teammates so far, Hiori has been the one you’ve taken an instant liking to. You’re hoping he’s stayed after again but with your luck, you should expect the worse of two evils. 

Oliver tucks his phone into his pocket once he makes eye contact and begins to jog over to you. You quicken your pace to meet him in the middle, a question on the tip of your tongue he answers within the second you’re in earshot. 

“Coach is talking to Yo-chan.” 

“Ah,” you say, slowing to a stop in front of him. “I’ll wait for him then.” 

“I’ll take you home. We can get dinner while we’re at it,” Oliver says easily. 

You look towards the stadium doors, a refusal on your lips when Oliver gets one hand on your shoulder and one on the small of your back and spins you around. “It’s going to take a while and he said to tell you to not wait up.” 

The obscenely casual touch sends goosebumps down your arms. The sleeves of your shirt scratch against the sensitized skin and you shy away from Oliver. He pauses when he notices you curl into yourself but he doesn’t take his hands off of you right away. His palm slides off of you slowly and then he brings his gloves to his teeth, pulling them off by the finger. He bends down until he’s eye level with you. He peers at your face with a strange look. “Your eyes are red.” He points at them and then lays his hand flat against your forehead. “And you’re warm,” he says to himself. 

“Am I?” you ask, bewildered. Your cheeks felt a little flushed earlier but you figured it was because you put too many layers on. You haven’t quite figured out how to manage the London weather yet. 

Then he leans towards your neck, sniffing so close to you the tip of his nose caresses your pulse. Your heart jumps at the barely there contact but Oliver is already straightening up before you can scold him. 

“I thought your heat wasn’t till the end of the month?” 

“Huh?”

He sniffs the air again, face scrunching up. “You smell like preheat. It’s really faint but,” he says, confused, “Isn’t it too early?” 

“Why do you know when my heat is supposed to be?” you ask suspiciously. You make yourself scarce whenever your heat approaches seeing as it can vary on the exact day. Some months, you even miss your supposed scheduled time by a week or two. Yoichi is one of a handful of people you allow around you when you’re more than suspecting of it coming up. A misplaced alpha can send you from a manageable state to something unbearable in a split second. 

“Yoichi,” he says obviously. “He told me to keep an eye on you at the end of every month just in case.” 

Your puckered mouth softens. While invasive and inconsiderate of your comfort, Yoichi is well-intentioned. 

“I don’t feel anything,” you say, puzzled. Usually, there would be some discomfort between your legs and a noticeable ache in your lower back. But you feel remarkably fine if only a bit warmer than normal now that he’s mentioned it. “It’s probably something else.”

“No, it’s not,” Oliver says assuredly. His tone is final. “I can smell it.”

“Yeah, but you could also be smelling one that’s a week or two away.” You’re almost certain you are the only other omega Oliver interacts with on a regular basis so it’s not surprise he’s especially attuned to you. Though, you should give Oliver more credit for picking up on the slight shift of your scent given omegas are sensitive towards any minute changes in another omega. The confirmation of it is alarming however. Perhaps Oliver staying over so often and surrounding himself with your scent has signaled something to him. 

He gives you a disbelieving frown. “If you say so. I think I have some stuff that helps keep it at bay.” He adjusts his duffel bag to pick through the pockets. Within moments, he produces a small pill bottle. He shakes it at you. “This will lessen the symptoms.” Digging through another pocket, he sucks at his teeth when he finds it empty. “I have one that delays it but I forgot it at home.” 

Having taken the orange pill bottle from him, you roll it around in your hand. The pills are small, white, and harmless looking. Curiously, the label is blacked out. The cap is marked off with a green stripe but there is nothing to indicate what he’s given you is what he says it is. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” 

Oliver freezes at the accusation. Genuine insult creases his mouth into a line. “What?”

You shove the bottle back into his duffel bag. A laugh catches in the back of your throat at his bafflement. You’re the one who’s baffled. “I’m not gonna take some random pills. You don’t even have these labeled.” 

“Why the fuck would I lie to you?” He’s at a loss, glancing from you to the pocket you slipped the bottle back into. “What the fuck? These are my travel pills. We have to have them unlabeled in case I lose them.” Your suspicion doesn’t lessen so he relents. “Fine. Come over and I’ll show you what they are so you can look them up.” 

“‘Preciate it but I’ll pass.” 

You think he would be less shocked if you outright slapped him than he is at your adamant refusal. His jaw is ajar. “Dude, I wouldn’t—we’re both omegas. Why would I—” Oliver stalls, unable to finish a thought.

“I’m not saying you are trying to do anything. Besides, those probably won’t work on me like they’re supposed to.” 

“But you’re not not saying that. You’re implying it.”

Anything that will come out of your mouth will make the situation worse so you stay silent. And it’s silence that follows you home as you drive back alone. 

-

You’re sidelined for six days by an unexpected heat. It’s one that knocks you on your ass. Yoichi is concerned enough to actually offer taking off from training for a day or two to help you out. You shoot him down instantly. His position in the starting eleven is still up in the air and like hell you’ll let your heat keep him from securing his spot.

But then it happens again. Instead of your usual two month break between heats, you find yourself in the same position a mere four weeks later. Rather than you’re normal four days, your heat has now lengthened to last the full week. The effect on your body is immediate. It takes you a while to recover from the unforeseen shift in your heat cycle. 

Yoichi puts a hand on your forehead worriedly. You sigh as coolness emanates from his palm. “You’ve been getting sick more often since we moved here,” he says, frowning. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you press your forehead a little more insistently to his hand. He lets out an amused puff of air and starts running his hand through your hair, scratching at your scalp. “My hormones have been so sensitive lately,” you say sleepily. “They’re like a live wire.”

His hand pauses. “Do you think it’s because,” and he swallows thickly, “There are not a lot of omegas here?” 

You open your eyes to level him with a scathing look. “I have friends outside of you, you know.” You wrangled your anxiety into something manageable and found some omega friends to commiserate with when life in London got too much. They were soothing company but did nothing to worsen nor alleviate your fluctuating hormones so you suspect the fault must lie with you. “It’s gotta be something else. Stress probably.” You heave out a weighted breath. 

Yoichi clicks his tongue. “I don’t know,” he trails off, “You weren’t like this when we were in Germany.” You hear his unspoken worry. You had even less of a support system there.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say dismissively. “I’ll probably be back to normal in a couple months. Remember how long it took me to be normal after I got off of birth control?” 

Yoichi makes a face at the reminder. “Shit, yeah, that was awful.” 

“I’ll be fineeee. No need to worry your pretty little head.” 

He goes back to scratching your scalp. “Look, I don’t want to leave you alone, especially since I’ll be having to fly back and forth for a while. Oliver’s injured so he’s out for a couple weeks. I can ask him to check up on you.” 

Your answer is a resounding, “No.”

He frowns. “I thought you guys got along.”

You have skirted around telling him how pissed off Oliver has been since you last saw him.You aren’t quite ready to admit you did more than wound his pride, especially to Yoichi. He won’t approve of your scathing distrust for his captain given how unwarranted it seems to an outsider. “Doesn’t mean I want him taking care of me.” 

He kisses his teeth. “Seriously? He’s probably better company than I am for this sort of thing.” 

As much as his insistence that somehow your cure would be another omega irks you, you don’t want to fight. “Whatever. He’s injured anyway, you should let him rest. I’ll be okay.” 

Yoichi eventually leaves to catch a flight after almost calling in to take a day off despite it being impossible for him to do so with his schedule. He nearly misses it with how long he lingers. He tucks you into his bed and makes you promise to at least text him every hour with an update. At your bleary stare, he sighs and mutters, “Forget it. I’m calling someone.” But you’re asleep before his words enter your ears. 

Hours later, or so you assume, you wake up. It’s warmer now but the heat is external rather than internal. It’s a comfortable warmth that makes you want to sink into it further and so you do with a happy little sigh. 

“Comfortable?” 

Your eyes pop open. Yoichi’s blanket is up to your nose so it is his scent that filters through but you know that voice. Peeking over your shoulder, Oliver lays beside you. His head is held up by his hand with an amused smile. The sight of him muddles your already lagging brain so you ask, “Where’s Yoichi?” 

Oliver’s smile dims. But he recovers before you can ask him what’s wrong. “He had to go to Spain. So you’ll have to make do with me,” he cajoles. 

“Oh.” Right. He almost missed his flight before you fell asleep. “Did he make it already?”

His voice is flat as he answers, “Yeah. A couple hours ago.” 

“Ugh, and he called you right after?” you whine with a scratchy throat. Yoichi didn’t even give you a chance to prove yourself. 

Oliver continues to run his fingers up and down your back. You enjoy the soothing feel of his skin against yours before reality sinks in. “Why are you in bed with me?” you ask, scooting away from him. This is the type of strange behavior you can’t explain away with any rational though nor use his personality as an excuse for. Who the fuck did Yoichi entrust you to? 

“You’ve been getting a lot of preheat symptoms lately,” Oliver says, ignoring you. He wipes away the sweat on your hairline. You tug your blanket closer to your chin, flipping over so you’re facing the wall instead. He laughs at your attempt to ignore him and instead, wraps himself around you. His legs are longer than yours and he throws one of them over you, pulling you to his chest and tightening said leg over your hip. 

You want to blame him for why your heats have suddenly become irregular but you know you will sound ridiculous. This stuff didn’t happen before Oliver started haunting your home. 

The caramel notes to his scent deepens as he buries his nose behind your ear. The comfort of another person is too strong for you to yell at him or bite at the hand that’s slowly inching to your waist. The latent buzz in your head slows to something manageable.

“All bite and no bark,” he murmurs affectionately. 

“Shut up. Get out of my bed.” 

“Isn’t this Yoichi’s bed?”

“Su cama es mi cama.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it goes,” he says, chuckling. 

“What’s his is mine.” 

“Mm, still not right.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping?” You turn around abruptly to face him. Shooing at him, you gesture towards the door. “Go be helpful and clean the living room.” 

He doesn’t move to get off the bed. Instead, he pulls you closer with his leg. “Want me to wear a maid costume while I do it, baby?” 

“‘M not your baby,” you snap. 

“You’re mine to take care of so,” he shrugs. 

You squint at him. “You’re supposed to be injured. You need to take care of yourself first.” 

He holds his hands up. “Doctor’s orders were to rest. So we should both go back to sleep.” 

“You can sleep. I need to eat something.” Untangling yourself from the blanket and from Oliver’s hold, you get up. The world tilts and the edges of your vision blacken but you quickly steady yourself before Oliver can try and do something uncouth like carry you out of the room. He groans but gets out of bed as well. 

“Yoichi ordered soup. It’s still in the kitchen.” He swings his head to look out your door and then waves his hand at you. “Get back into bed. I’ll bring it.”

You don’t need much convincing to crawl under the blanket. He laughs at your quick acquiescence, scratching at his stomach as he walks over to the kitchen. It doesn’t take long for him to come back. Multiple bowls are balanced on his arms along with a towel. He places the soup containers on your desk and sets one of your mixing bowls on top of your nightstand. Water sloshes dangerously close to the edge but he manages not to spill any. At your confusion, he explains, “A cold towel usually helps me out.” 

It’s surprisingly thoughtful. “Thanks.” You dip the cloth into the icy water. A shiver runs through you as you place the wet cloth over the back of your neck. 

He nods and then picks up one of the books cast aside on your table. It’s a fantasy novel you haven’t gotten around. He taps its spine to the edge of your dresser, kissing his teeth. “You hide your raunchier books or something?” He surveys your bookshelf, analyzing each of the titles with a quick eye. 

You lean back on your hands. “No. They’re on my phone.”

“Don’t want anyone knowing what you’re reading?” 

You shake your head. “More that it’s easier to read with one hand if it’s on your phone.”

It doesn’t compute until it does. Before he can respond, you make grabby hands at him. “Can you pass me the soup?” 

You take the container from him. You wait for him to settle on the bed before balancing the bowl on his thigh. The warmth of the soup on your skin along with the slowly warming towel on your neck is bordering on overstimulation so you make it Oliver’s burden to bear. 

“Want me to feed you or something?”

The way you consider it makes Oliver laugh. “You’re spoiled, huh?” 

You scratch at your cheek, feeling a little sheepish. “A little bit. I’m used to being babied rather than doing the babying.”

“You baby Yoichi.” His voice pitches strangely.  

You take off the wet cloth. He doesn’t have enough time to smooth out his frown. “You jealous?” you joke. 

He takes the cloth from you and soaks it once more. With a hum, he wrings it out and places it back over your neck. The chilled water is less intense against your cooled skin but you flinch nevertheless. Flipping his hand over, he rests it on your skin. “If you took those pills I gave you, you wouldn’t be dealing with this. You keep getting sick because your heat’s unregulated,” he says pointedly. 

“Aren’t those tailor made with you in mind?” you grumble. You weren’t expecting him to bring it up until after your heat passed. 

“Not really. I have to be able to give them to another omega player in case something happens. So it’s specific but not that specific.” 

The guilt that washes over you scalds you. “I didn’t handle that night well.” 

“Yeah, no shit.”

It takes you a second to string together your words but Oliver waits patiently for you to find them. He’s unreadable but not unreachable. You swirl your spoon in the broth, watching as a whirlpool forms. “The first thing my mom taught me was to never trust anything anyone gives me concerning my heat unless it was from her or a doctor I knew. So I’m extremely distrustful to a fault. Like…it’s to my detriment.” Not that anything excuses you ripping Oliver’s head off for trying to help another omega. “Doesn’t mean how I chose to react is okay. I shouldn’t have ripped into you like that. I’m sorry.” 

He lets you sweat for a full minute before nodding. “Okay.”

“We’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” The words are soft, at odds with the almost violent intensity of his lidded eyes. Then he smiles, erasing what you think you saw so quickly you reassure yourself your heat addled brain is filling in spaces that do not exist. “Omegas gotta stick together, right?” 

-

This is the first time you’ve visited Oliver’s apartment. 

With the unusual resurgence of your heat cycle, you broke down and asked Oliver for some medical intervention. Yoichi tore into you when you finally admitted what you said to Oliver, appalled you could even think he would try to pull one over on you. His disappointment didn’t last long but remembering the sheer disbelief on his face sends shame sluicing through your veins. Which is why you are in front of Oliver’s door as if by taking the medication you so vehemently refused will absolve you of all sin. 

It’s bad timing on your part seeing as Oliver is on the cusp of his preheat but he insisted on you getting some of his extra strength medications to tide you over until you can get an appointment with a heat doctor. 

He opens the door. His face is flushed and there’s a pretty sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s without a shirt, a considerable amount of bare skin on display. You can’t help how your eyes immediately zero in on the outline of his half hard cock confined within his sweatpants but somehow you manage to flick your eyes back to his face in record time. His scent isn’t potent yet but it’s stronger than you’re used to. Saliva pools in your mouth as his scent works its way through your system. Something fierce begins to ache in your gums. 

He ushers you inside and you slip off your shoes. You don’t have any time to look around before Oliver is crowding into your space. 

“Can I borrow something of yours?” he asks quietly. 

That question alone is enough to lift you out of whatever haze Oliver’s preheat has put you under. A refusal is on the tip of your tongue until you give his question some more thought. There aren’t many omegas in the league and you’re sure Oliver isn’t close to any of them given how he spends the majority of his time with his omega-less team. It’s natural he’d want something of yours. The relief his presence brought you still lingers so you concede. 

Peeking over his shoulder, you see his laundry strewn on the couch. Assuming they’re clean, you nod your head towards them. “Swap with me.”  

His eyes brighten and he nods. He goes to grab one of the shirts, allowing you to properly step into his home. With a cursory glance, you note that he’s organized and clean. His taste runs more on the neutral side which surprises you for some reason. He hands you a jersey, some worn out one from a training camp, and waits earnestly. You motion with your finger for him to turn around. 

“Aw, no show, baby?” 

You give him a withering glare. “Not your baby. Turn around.” 

He obliges with minimal pouting. It takes him longer to drag his eyes away from you than it does for him to turn his body around but eventually he’s facing the wall. You quickly strip off your shirt and yank his spare jersey on. Predictably, it’s huge. It’s less comfy than you expected which is unfortunate. 

“Here.” You hold out your shirt. He turns back around, grin nearly splitting his face in half. He doesn’t bother to hide the deep sniff he takes of your shirt. 

You don’t think you need to warn him considering your scent is more of a comfort thing than something that will stoke his desire but you still sternly say, “Don’t jerk off on it.” At one point, you had to buy some cheap shirts and a value pack of underwear for Yoichi’s ruts so he’d stop using the actual clothes you wear as a cumrag. 

Oliver’s eyes crinkle. “No promises.” 

“Hilarious. Where’s the medicine?” 

“All work and no play makes for a very sad omega.”

You push past him and say over your shoulder, “I don’t think that’s how it goes.” 

He’s quick to follow after you. Yet his pace is casual, relying on the long length of his legs to keep you within reach. While you are planning to snoop around your immediate vicinity once he disappears to wherever to grab the medication, you want a glass of water first. 

“Where do you keep the cups?” 

“There’s a clean one in the sink.” 

You find said glass and fill it up with the tap, wetting your dry throat. Sweeping the kitchen with your eyes, you scrutinize how bare it is. He has the bare essentials to make a functional kitchen but there is no personality to glean off of. The only intriguing thing is the line of pill bottles laid out on the counter. You don’t mean to read the labels but they catch your eye anyway. Oliver notices how you stall, transfixed by the medicine bottles lined up on his counter. 

“They’re suppressors and inducers,” he says, coming up behind you. His hand brushes against your waist as he goes to pick up one of the glass containers. You flinch at the touch but he doesn’t move. He leans his free hand on the edge, bare chest grazing you and holds the medicine to his eye level. “It’s usually a shot I take but I opted for pills this time around.” 

You take the container from him and twist it around. There’s an innocuous sound of pills knocking against one another. It’s hard to imagine these pills are either strong enough to stop a heat cold or strong enough to induce a heat that will keep a player hormonally balanced for three months. They’re more normal than you expected them to look nor do they look like they will be lodged in your throat if you try to take them. 

The miracles of modern medicine. 

“Why pills this time?” you ask. You try to move away from him secretly but Oliver uses his other hand to pluck the bottle from you, placing it gently back on the counter. Then he steers you towards the living room, cutting an imposing figure behind you as he doesn’t let you try and weasel your way closer to the front door. 

He hums. “Just felt like something different.” He’s close enough to you that you can feel the ripple of muscle as he shrugs. He’s huge and he never lets you forget it. 

“Isn’t a shot easier?” 

“Depends. I don’t really like needles.”

“Wow, Arsenal’s final wall can be defeated by needles.” 

And then Oliver’s scent becomes intense, cloyingly so. You can’t resist the urge to bring your hand to your nose to block the smell but you try to play it off as rubbing your nose. He falters, resting his hands on your hips to center himself. Your gums ache once more. It borders on painful so you dig your teeth into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep you from doing something ridiculous like sink your canines into Oliver’s scent glands for a taste. 

The taste of blood blooms on your tongue. The salt cuts Oliver’s sweetness. Shit, he’s supposed to be another day or two from a full fledged heat but that isn’t how he currently smells. 

“Do you have everything you need for your heat?” you ask worriedly. You spin around, apologetic at how your shift in position makes him whine. 

“Why? You offering to take care of me, baby?”

Your worries dissipate marginally at the pet name. “Not your baby,” you remind him. “I thought your heats were planned to the minute.” 

“Forgot a dose last week,” he admits. You wince. That was when he was taking care of you. 

“Sorry,” you say weakly.

“I’ll be fine. ’S not my first heat alone,” he says casually. “Unless…” And his fingers make indentations into your side. His pupils are blown out with predatory intent. You try to edge away from him to no avail. A drop of sweat slides from his jaw, splattering onto his collarbones and the thread snaps. Your resolve cleaves into two and both sides fall into the abyss. 

He’s too close and you’ve let him get too close. 

You are not overly sensitive to omegas but Oliver in heat makes you hungry. Swiping your tongue over the remnants of blood coating your teeth, you rip yourself from his tightening grip. You cling to the metallic taste as a lifeline. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Have lots of fun. Bye!” 

You forget your shoes as you escape. But you manage to keep your, and Oliver’s as a byproduct, dignity intact and that will have to be a worthy trade. 

Slamming the apartment building’s door behind you, a cold shiver wracks your body that has nothing to do with the chilled London air. 

-

Turns out, the medicine doesn’t help. In fact, you’re starting to suspect it makes you worse. 

After Oliver’s heat finished, you went back to his apartment and took enough meds to last you at least two weeks if you spaced them out. You could only manage to take it for a week before the symptoms became too much for you. There is no one to blame but yourself relying on a quick fix rather than find a medication adjusted to your specifications. 

“Captain!” 

Oliver’s head swivels to the call, hand already going up in a half-wave at the white haired man heading over to him. He’s of equal height to Oliver with an astonishing amount of muscle. You don’t need to rely on your smell to know he is an alpha. 

“He’s an ex-teammate,” Yoichi whispers in your ear as he nods at the guy. 

“Ah. Small world.” 

You were supposed to be going to watch a movie on one of Yoichi’s rare free days and somehow, Rin and Oliver were roped into it as well. Rin is the last one to arrive so you are all hanging out by the entrance. 

The guy trails after Oliver, speaking quickly in a different language as Oliver rejoins the two of you. He’s easy on the eyes. Then his scent drifts to you and a near instantaneous nausea erupts in your gut. 

His clunky scent stings your nose. He’s definitely an alpha. You migrate to Yoichi and Oliver, leaning a cheek against Yoichi’s arm to clear your head. His fruity scent is peppered with Oliver’s muted sweetness but you much prefer this to whatever it is the other guy has going on. 

Oliver notices how still you have gotten and adjusts himself so he’s closer to you. With a few words, he’s able to dismiss the man and your head begins to feel clearer. But a wrongness continues to cling to you. Yoichi’s scent, while soothing, does not manage to ward away your discomfort. 

Rin frowns when he sees how the three of you are huddled and heads over. “What’s wrong with you?” 

Oliver waves him off. “Probably preheat symptoms,” he explains away lazily. Rin’s concern quickly morphs into discomfort and he tries to slink out of reach. His hands hover near you but his fingers close in slightly as if he doesn’t know if his touch will be welcomed. With a swiftness that stuns even you, you wrap your hand around Rin’s wrist and bring his pulse to your nose. His icy scent breaks through your cloudiness and the queasiness rolling in your gut begins to recede. “Not preheat,” you mumble. “That guy’s scent just makes me sick.” 

“It did?” Oliver asks. A barely detectable hint of glee pulses in his scent. 

You drop Rin’s wrist, disregarding his lightly scandalized expression. “That’s never happened before,” you say, more to yourself than as an answer. “I think I’m dying.” 

“Shut up.” Yoichi flicks the back of your head. “Didn’t you start some new medication?”

You duck away from him which sends you directly into Oliver seeing as he is determined to be an immovable object in your path. “Nah, not yet. The doctor said I still need to wean off the meds I took from Oliver.” 

“But you went cold turkey.” 

“…yeah.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Rin chimes in helpfully. 

“I took them for like a week. It can’t be that bad.” 

“You should listen to the doctor instead of doing your own thing,” he scolds. He even wags his finger in your face and you threaten to bite it. 

“Come on dude, it was just a week,” Yoichi protests, smacking his finger away. 

“You a doctor now?” Rin snaps. 

“You don’t need to be a doctor to know it’s probably okay to can go cold turkey on a medicine you only took for a week.” 

“Is your head just for show or is there actually a brain in there?” 

Rin and Yoichi devolve into their usual arguing. Naturally, Yoichi gets in Rin’s face which leaves you and Oliver to the side like some discarded toys. 

“Is it like this in the locker room?” you muse. Rin is one second away from shoving Yoichi’s face from his. 

Oliver sighs but amusement twinkles in his eyes. “It used to be worse but now coach said they’re banned from talking to each other before games.” 

“Not after?”

He slides out his phone and pulls up a video. Oliver rests his chin on your head, wrapping an arm over your shoulder to hold the screen in front of you two. After your mistake in visiting Oliver during his heat, he’s become much more blatant with his friendliness towards you. You don’t know how to put a stop to it and you fear it is too late for you to make a fuss, having let it become a norm. You try not to stiffen against his touch too noticeably. He scrolls through his camera roll before finding a video of Rin and Yoichi discussing the match, the streaks of sweat and dirt indicating this is after a game. 

“Wow, they’re like puppies you have to run ragged to get some peace,” you laugh, zooming in on the disgruntled look on Rin’s face as Yoichi writes something in the air. 

Oliver lets out of an amused puff of air and moves his head from atop yours.  Instead, he tucks his nose into your neck, skimming the tip against your scent gland. The gesture toes the line of disrespectful and yet no one milling about bats an eye at Oliver. He takes a subtle whiff, tongue darting to lick the salt off your skin before he straightens up. The light warmth from the tip of his tongue renders you speechless. Your hand goes to your neck and you can’t even muster a glare as you try to reconcile that he just licked you in broad daylight. 

“Did you jus—” 

But Oliver cuts you off by drawing Rin and Yoichi’s full attention to himself, joining in on their now civil conversation. You’re left feeling like the odd one out as you try to make sense of what just happened. He licked you. He fucking licked you. 

And when it’s your turn to contribute to the conversation you have heard none of, Oliver simply winks at you over Yoichi’s head. 

-

You start to smell Oliver on yourself.

It’s noticeable enough you’ve begun to receive teasing remarks about it. Yoichi can’t stop laughing at how aggressively you deny the accusations, placating you with ‘mm hmms’ and ‘of course I believe you’. 

The teasing is exacerbated by Oliver’s continued presence at your house. Without realizing it, you have started setting out a third plate whenever you make dinner. It’s gotten to the point where some of his training jerseys have made their way into your laundry. You’ve taken to throwing them in Yoichi’s basket to keep yourself from tossing them into the garbage.

It’s infuriating.

“Wanna watch a scary movie?” he asks, watching as you flick through the movies available. Somehow, despite you seating yourself on the very edge of the couch, Oliver has managed to corral himself into being right next to you. His arm is slung around your shoulder having dropped from resting on the back of the couch. He points at some slasher film in the guise of choosing something but it’s only to draw himself closer to you. He’s only just managed to get his thigh pressed to yours when you decide to move to the loveseat instead. He can cuddle Yoichi if he wants to be necking someone so badly. 

It’s unfortunate you have to use his thigh as to prop yourself up and the second you push off of him, Oliver curls under your chest and drags you to him. His teeth scrape against your gland and you jump out of your skin. Your elbow ricochets off of his sternum sending an aching pain radiating up your arm and Oliver to the side. He clutches at his chest, more shocked than hurt by your reaction. 

“Sorry,” you say automatically and then want to hit yourself. 

“What happened?” Yoichi calls out, poking his head out from the kitchen. He’s toweling off his hands with another slung over his shoulder. 

Oliver doesn’t acknowledge him. “Do omegas not do that here?” he asks. His eyes are wide with polite curiosity but he isn’t apologetic. 

“Omegas don’t do that anywhere!” you say incredulously, bringing your hand to your neck. The skin is sensitized whether it be from your imagination or something Oliver has done.

Yoichi makes a dissatisfied noise. “Oh.” And then he ambles back into the kitchen, uninterested in what he’s deemed omega affairs. 

But this isn’t an omega affair. This is something much more bizarre. 

“It’s common in Sweden,” is what he offers at your accusing glare. 

You don’t know anything about Swedish customs to disprove him so you must remain stewing in your irritation like some chastised child. “Don’t do it to me,” you order. You’re torn as to whether you should be pissed off or frightened by his nonchalance. 

“Did it scare you?” he mocks meanly. His tone ices your core. 

“Just…don’t do that again,” you mutter. Your stomach knots in on itself and you can’t stand to be here with this sick bastard a second longer.

Oliver seems to realize he’s overstepped into oblivion this time for he immediately drops the teasing cruelty for some derivative of repentance.  “I’m sorry. I thought it’d be funny—”

“No, you’re completely right. It’s real fucking funny.” You don’t care if you draw Yoichi out by your raised voice. 

Tears well up in your eyes. The frustration spilling out of you is overwhelming, corroding your rationality into hysteria. The sharp edges of the discomfort Oliver has forced upon you skins you layer after layer until all that’s left is a pile of shredded sanity. 

You want to go home but this is your home. So you have to leave and force yourself to act as if it is your independence fueling the choice and not cowardice. 

“Fuck, I’m leaving,” you say, grabbing your keys. Yoichi’s head is wildly swinging between you and Oliver. Their words are incomprehensible in the face of the blood pounding in your head. You’ve interrupted him but you don’t care to repeat yourself, shaking off Oliver’s hand as you head to the door. 

You don’t remember getting in your car nor the drive to the hotel but you do remember looking in the rearview mirror and seeing a nick on your scent gland. 

By the next morning, your skin is rubbed raw from how furiously you tried to wash away any traces of Oliver. 

-

You no longer eat dinner at home. In fact, the only times you find yourself home are during Arsenal’s training or right before bed. No matter Yoichi’s pleas, you do not budge. And miraculously, your heats begin to stabilize again.

You link it to the stress you always brushed aside when it came to Oliver. You hardly see him anymore and that alone has done wonders in settling whatever discrepancies he caused in you. 

A flicker of heat begins to warm your lower belly. Yoichi is visiting some old teammates in Germany for the weekend so you have a couple of your sex toys laid out on your bed charging. You never thought there would be a day you’d be so relieved feel your regular heat symptoms again. The insatiable horniness that has afflicted you these past few cycles had you worrying for your clit’s safety. 

A knock on the door has you flinging your blanket over your toys before you realize how ridiculous you are being. You ordered groceries for the weekend and they must have already arrived. The delivery guy probably already left as soon as he knocked. 

You open the door. You are only able to open it enough to know it is not your groceries outside.

“Wait.” And then there is a foot jammed between the door and the frame. You have half a mind to pull the door back and slam with your notably reduced strength just to hear him squeal. Preferably, you would also injure him enough to cause him to be benched for the next four games. But you are a nice person with a gentle heart and a fear of being sued so you keep the door where it is. 

“We need to talk. I know you’re mad but it’s been weeks,” he pleads, “Please.”

“Okay.”

He waits. When you don’t move to open the door wider, he says, “Can I at least do this inside?”

“No. Say what you want to say and go away.” 

He’s kept a polite distance, despite his foot blocking the door, but now he peeks into the opening. He’s about to speak when his nostrils flare. 

Oliver doesn’t bother to keep up his polite facade and practically rips the door off of its hinges.

You stumble backwards, alarmed at his sudden flurry of movement. 

“You’re in heat.” He says it as if it’s a shock, as if it’s something you should have informed him about. 

“Oliver, you have to go,” you say, rubbing your temple. An ache is festering in you and you can tell it will tip into lust soon. And you do not want Oliver to have the privilege of hearing how you fuck yourself through your heats. 

However, he doesn’t leave as you ask. Rather, he shuts the door behind him softly. 

“Oliver,” you warn, taking a step back. Fatigue has begun to weigh down on you as your heat begins to spread. The simmering embers start to flame out and you can feel yourself become damp.

In a horrifyingly short amount of time, he’s cleared the distance between you two. He’s got your chin tipped upwards before you can make an attempt for your room. 

Oliver’s kiss is both invasive and possessive as if he owns every inch of you. It’s a graceless one, born of need for substance than anything else. But he catches you with your mouth open, the beginnings of an argument on your tongue, and he must taste it for he swallows you whole. He kisses you deeper, practically fucking your mouth with his tongue. 

The drag of his tongue is potent in the same way alcohol poisoning can be considered intoxicating. 

He backs you into the couch, knees braced on either side of you. Oliver pulls back just enough to let you breathe but it’s a useless effort for he slips you out of your shorts in the next moment. The brush of his fingertips against your wet cunt steals all air from your lungs. 

Your fight-or-flight instincts have abandoned you. The fear that should be jellying your knees has become conspirators with your increasing lust. The low heat simmering in your stomach is stoked into a roaring fire as Oliver’s weight pins you down. 

His fingers slide in slowly underneath your underwear, testing how far you’ll let him in. You take him to the last knuckle, breath punching out of you when he crooks them. He pumps his fingers in and out of you leisurely and it feels like agony. Pleasure begins to spark at the base of your spine but only the sort that brings forth nothing satisfactory. The ache in you grows worse as Oliver’s fingers fuck you with brutal precision. His rhythm is steady and slow and aggravating. Your push your hips down but all Oliver does is laugh. 

“Oliver,” you whine, raising your hips now to see if that’ll spur him into action instead. 

His fingers still. You keen at the loss. “Mm?” He’s looking down at you through his lashes, mouth slightly open in awe at how easily you part for him. 

You don’t want to ask so you settle with a quiet, “Please.”

“Use your words, baby,” he chides playfully. 

Fury roils in your gut at his sadism but it soon dissipates into your overwhelming lust. A searing heat burns within you and you press a pitiful kiss against the corner of his mouth. Everything feels so unbearably hot you can’t stand it. “Please fuck me.” Your shame is hollow when you realize the plea doesn’t taste of betrayal. 

His face blanks out before a delirious grin splits his face. 

“You don’t know what you need, baby,” he shushes, slipping off his pants. “That’s why you need me.” 

Even in your heat-addled brain, you defy him. “I don’t.” 

And for an ungodly moment, nothing exists save for the feel of Oliver’s cock against your clothed entrance. “Not before,” he concedes, catching your underwear at the sides and pulling down, “But you will.” 

┌─ “ ! „ FLUIDITY

tw. dubcon, monsterfucking, explicit size kink, interspecies sex, reader has sex pollen like effects, communication barrier, manipulation, yandere (other parts will contain a lot more explicit dark kinks so please read every individual part's warnings!) wordcount. 8.7k

part 1 of —

a/n. ♡♡ thank you so much rhi for keeping me going through this, idk if i would have pushed through if not for you so ily ily ily and this fic is just indulgence as a period piece and a monsterfucking fic but i hope you give it a chance and like it bc there's moresomes a-coming and this is just the beginning so! yeA i hope you guys enjoy mwuah mwuah mwuah ♡♡

tachibana makoto x fem!reader ( x other characters coming)

Dragonflies glint the prettiest, richest silver you’ve ever seen under the right light. The rosy evening sun casts the entire river into a blooming glow— complete with a soft blanket of fog that rolls along the base of the trees. “Your maiden servants worry about you, you know,” a voice softly calls, and the rustle of shrubbery makes you turn.

You don’t really want to know how long the man’s been guarding you without a word. If it were anyone but one of your father’s most trusted men, you’d probably have some distrust. Instead you only pull your knees to your chest, and continue tossing rocks into the babbling brook.

“Lady, it’ll get dark soon. Your parents don’t want you playing out here so late.”

The small area isn’t open enough to lure any visitors. You’d be fine. Still, you slowly bob your head, waiting for him to step away from the tree edge into the river bank with you. “I had a weird dream, only it didn’t feel like a dream.” The reeds sway in the wind, and you almost let the perfect surrounding whisk away the thought. But the man’s hand drops from his sword, and he gives the faintest of nods. “There was a monster here when I fell asleep— one with a huge mouth packed full of teeth. I saw eyes in the water, and hair so long it covered its whole body.” The tart remnants of your delicately applied makeup wash away as you swallow. “I think- it was a yokai.”

“There’s no yokai here, lady,” he patiently responds, and you turn to him better. This time taking a proper look. If the damp hair tied in a bun is anything to go off of, he was most likely called out of his bath to come out looking for you. You bite your lip, apology lingering on your tongue. But that’s where it stays, as the man continues. “There’s monsters only where people don’t go. You needn’t worry.”

“Are you comforting me?” A slight giggle passes your lips before you can help it. “I know you think I’m lying. You don’t believe anything you don’t see with your own eyes.”

“... It’s not for a lack of trying.” He smooths a hand over his hakama, before resting it back on the pristine handle of his sword. The dragonflies buzz over the low edge of the water, and your feet ache a little from the cold. You’d love to ask to be carried right about now, but spare the poor man the effort. It’s the least you can do. After another few minutes of silence and watching the sun disappear entirely below the tree line, he finally clears his voice. “Come on, lady. We should really get back. You’re precious to your parents. You’re precious to us all. I can’t leave you here.”

This river runs from the high mountains all the way through the small lake that borders the gates of your home; and all the way down the lowlands— and it’s said that on the day of your birth the river flooded, and provided the most bountiful harvest of the last few decades. Even as a child, there was no ignoring the gleeful whispering of the ladies, nor the calculated introductions of sons of poorer lords at every birthday or feast. Some day not too long from now you will get married and spread providence over the land… and there won’t be time for napping by rivers or running off half-dressed into the forest.

Somehow, despite the honor, a small part of you goes cold at that. The water glistens under the last of the light— and you take a long look into the deep of it. The eyes the color of hot coals flash through your mind once more, and you start pulling the fabrics of your dresses aside to put your zori back on. “I know it was a monster- but-” The wind picks up when you turn over your shoulder and smile your most genuine smile. “I wasn’t scared, I think. Perhaps it was friendly.”

The guard is quiet as he watches you get up from the riverbank, and sticks a comfortable distance after helping you gently up onto your feet. You suppose he doesn’t really have the heart, or perhaps confidence, to tell you what he really thinks of your childish talk. The barely-there path back to your home has you growing much more tired— as if weights are tied to your legs. You wish you could stay. The moss crunches softly under your feet, and the dewy air starts to feel a bit cold to the touch. Despite everything, it’s always peaceful here. You cast a brief glance up to the man as he pushes the shrubbery aside. His face has a vacant sort of look, until he catches you looking, and his mouth curls up. “I’ll tell your maiden servants to prepare a purifying ritual for you.”

“Ugh, no, please. Anything but that.”

+

“The koi fish aren’t around anymore, are they, lady?” There’s a slight hesitation in her voice as your maid walks up.

You nod, lift your sleeves to brush your fingers through the water and wait. You got them as a present for your coming of age festivities— the most beautiful blue grey with red fins— much too expensive for your liking but a courting gift nonetheless. You’d been quite fond of the walks out of your houses’ walls because of them. The feed floats sadly on the surface of the inlet, where the clear river water shows no sign at all of the normally curious animals. “It seems like they’ve gone.” What a shame.

Your other maiden scans the area, before rushing to help you up onto your feet as she lowers her head. “Should we ask the master to procure some more? We know feeding the fish brings you much joy.”

The girl helps to fix your sleeves again, before awaiting your call. “No, that’s quite alright. There’s no use replacing a gift.” You cast a wary glance at the bay once more, not quite sure what you’re looking for; but fail to find anything out of the ordinary. A sight furrow comes to your brow, before you hike up your layers of skirts- much to the shock of your two servants- and turn to them with a softer smile. “I would like to be alone for a bit—”

“Lady!” one of them squeaks, but you only laugh.

“I am certain, Hitsu. Tell my father I will be home before tea and dinner, and if you could prepare my bath…” The dark brunette has a question on her tongue, but does nod with the same trained properness that you’ve come to know. “I simply wish to walk along the river, I won’t swim. It’ll be quick, I promise.” It’s not a lie. You have no intention of ruining your beautiful, expensive clothing by going any further than a shallow few steps. But there’s a nagging memory somewhere in the back of your mind— 

You used to have so many dreams, all of them now too faint to recall. Both young ladies give each other a look, before eventually bowing deeply and heading back towards the palace gates.

See, that nagging sense that you’re forgetting something important, something crucial, overcomes you. It’s almost impossible to ignore, and you kick off your shoes to tread carefully along the edge of the deep pool of fresh spring water. The moss is soft under your feet, keeping a tight grip on your embroidered silks.

When you were only a few years old, you used to have these dreams. Dreams of drowning, of ghouls and demons. They grew scarcer the older you got, and eventually even the weekly purification spells and chants became declared unnecessary. But where the memories once sat, now only a blank hole remains in your mind. And however hard you try to remember, you can never quite get there. You make it to the sloped edge of the river not much later, stepping up the small sputtering waterfall and a few round stones between stray bamboo— nearly still water pooling at your feet.

It’s chilly, but not freezing. Something scratches in the back of your skull, deep down. It trickles down your neck, and with a steady heartbeat, it breathes.

But you can’t catch the thought, and the harder you try, the cloudier it becomes— eventually you click your tongue and start walking along the water edge up stream. You should look for your fish. If they swam out of the inlet somehow, maybe they’d be around. They are, much like you are, bred for captivity and wouldn’t survive too long on their own. The sun casts warm spring rays onto your skin, walking in much needed solitude. When you barely realize you’ve spaced out, you’ve already made it to a bend in the river where peach blossoms float on the otherwise pristine surface of the water— and despite your previous care, you drop your dress.

The blossoms swirl in slow circles. And a raindrop lands on your nose. 

Arms, wrapped tight around your chest. Claws. Wide lashless eyes.

Something floods your brain so suddenly that you stumble back a few steps and gasp, sucking in a breath.

It was here. You can’t exactly make out what, but your gut recognizes the trees, the scraggly stones sticking out of the water. Your lungs full of water, and hands all over.

Bumps rise all over your back as you look around, and water seeps up along your tarikubi robe. It’s so quiet, and the stillness starts to trouble with each droplet that comes down. But you breathe. You’ve been here, perhaps more than once, and the aching, pressing itch deep in your head grows more unbearable. When a metallic flicker catches your eyes, you glance down. The rain now starts up more properly, and though the trees provide some shelter, there’s no hiding away from the cold as you walk in just deep enough to bend and pick up a dainty golden chain from between the smooth rocks.

It’s fine like thread, and cold to the touch, and though you can’t quite explain it; something about this finely crafted piece is familiar too. Even through the rain and the chills crawling all the way up your spine, you study the necklace closer. The intricate detail is almost too pristine.

A soft splash on the other side of the river startles you— The sudden scare makes you lose your balance and fall back onto your lower end. Hard. The ache immediately has you whimpering, but instead of worrying about the pain, you slowly try to catch yourself on the rocks; pained enough in the motion that you swear — you see a person diving underneath the water edge. Something pale and fast. You scream, and whatever you saw dashes away before you can think about doing different. The blossoms drift off as you scramble back up; your bruised palms sting, and your heartbeat still hammers hard in your throat when the silence returns.

But the blurry flash of maroon hair and fiery red eyes you caught is long gone.

And much too soon, the clouds that had seemed so fluffy and beautiful earlier turn a dreary grey. You turn on your heel and book it back down the river side on bare feet— still clamping the chain between your fingers.

+

The wick of your lantern splutters with thick oil as you fail to catch sleep. Even with the spring weather it’s chilly, with you remaining wrapped under a thick blanket. You breathe a long sigh, and listen to the crackling of the candle beside your bed in the absence of any other sound. The earlier lecture of your father, your mother, and even the normally quiet and collected matron of the house still lingers on your mind— it’s not like you can blame anyone. You wouldn’t be the first stupid, brazen young girl who happened to drown, and despite the quiet lives most girls like you live, you most likely won’t be the last.

You shouldn’t have been out there. Your servants had been ghastly pale from fright upon seeing the state in which you returned, and even the thorough scrubbing and hours-long bath didn’t do much to alleviate the ache in your lower back.

Despite all that, you’re stuck. Eyes -monstrous, unnatural eyes- appear in the crevices of your mind each time you close your own. No amount of prayer makes the longing fade, and the longer you lay here, the deeper they seem to dig into your flesh. Goosebumps crawl all over your skin once more. When you throw your blankets off you, you go digging in one of the woven baskets for the thickest bland garments you’ve got— tying them around your hips until you’re dressed enough to peer out into the hall. The frigid air current howls through the house when you gather your lantern, some woven socks, and after a brief bit of deliberation; snatch the golden chain from beside your pillow.

The palace is quiet at night, an almost eerie sort of calm that is broken only by the soft ‘pats’ of your feet on the hardwood— with the lanterns barely providing enough light to see a good arms length at a time. The wind pushes you forward, nuzzling deeper into the collar of your clothing until you make it outside. Even under the starry sky, there’s no doubt that this is a stupid idea. No good can come from nightly outings — though you’ve seen girls come and go in similar ways under the cover of night, you’re quite sure their purpose was less out-for-trouble than you are now. But what else can you do?

How could you ever sleep soundly not knowing what’s out there.

With only the flickering reflection on the water, you bow before your home— you’d be back soon enough. You love your clan— and you have no intention of getting caught in long lectures twice in a night. The guards at the gates have no way of noticing you as you slip into the brush and cover the lamp from sight, as cold breaths form clouds before your eyes.

Your legs move almost instinctively until you come upon the peach tree, and the pretty white flowers rain down with the breeze. You place the candle by your feet; and hesitate before taking your own seat on a round rock right by the water edge. You’ve never seen a yokai. Not that you can remember at the very least, but if you would have-you didn’t expect to here. Not the river that blessed your birth, or the one who gives everyone life by way of harvest. Maybe what you saw was a farmer bathing, or a particularly pale, large cod— wouldn’t that make more sense. Isn’t that exactly why you didn’t tell your father?

Because naïvity and silly wonder seems better than monsters lurking among the shrub.

Sadly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, a soft splashing in the water sets every hair on your body upright— and your mouth goes dry. It’s so dark. So awfully dark that it’s hard to see even past your own feet, if not for the broken reflection of your candle in the water. You know it's there. You feel it, by the rancid sort of churning in your stomach, the rapid beating of your heart. You swallow the tightness in your throat as best you can. “I’ve come to return your necklace. I didn’t mean to steal it, so I’ve come to give it back.” You wish you could let your eyes grow used to the dark, but without candle light, it’d be so much harder to get back home in one piece.

After just the sounds of the river drag on, you slowly take another breath, and try to bite back the wetness that rises every time you try and fail to find the eyes you know are looking at you. “I don’t wish to harm anyone.” The wind seems to howl harder across the river, and you can’t fight the horrible visions of monsters all around you, just there in the darkness; tightening your hands into fists. “So I wish you would not harm me either. You can have it back.” Your hand shakes when you hold out the chain above the water— not nearly far enough for anything to reach it without coming into your sight. But you’re too frightened to go any deeper, and your lungs tighten.

“Please, I-”

The peaceful spluttering of the water is suddenly disrupted by a much louder splashing, and you freeze up with a sharp gasp, shoulders trembling despite yourself. You don’t dare move any more than that— only after a minute or so of silence, you continue. “Hello? Don’t you want your necklace back?”

The reeds shake in the wind, and one of the blossoms brushes along your cheek as it falls into your crouched lap. Your breathing is tense enough to almost hide the little mumble that reaches back. It’s soft, sweet like dripping honey, and makes your whole spine tingle. “We want.”

If you had any less sense, you’d probably run right back home. But the idea of moving is too terrifying, so you’re stuck rooted in place as you take a breath. The voice sounds young enough, but the Japanese is distinctly older than your own dialect, rolling off the tongue with a vague foreign lilt— and it takes your frightened brain a little longer than you want to process that the voice isn’t simply human. When another little splash sounds a bit closer, you pull your outstretched hand back to your chest. “Can you see me?” Your own voice wavers when trying to make out any shape in the river. Alas, it’s just so dark that any further effort hurts your eyes.

“Yes.”

“I’ve come to give back your necklace. I got scared and took it, I’m sorry. I mean no harm-”

“He told.” The voice is unbearably clear. Almost like it’s being spoken directly into your head, even though it’s just a mere whisper among the rippling water. It’s distracting, and feels ice cold between your ears.

“Who’s he?” you try, biting your lip. The river seems to stare back at you, and you can’t do anything but hope you aren’t making some horrible mistake. Are you supposed to talk to the monsters that go bump in the night? “I- I don’t know where you are, I can’t see you.” Despite the soft, gentle nature of the voice, your heart patters wildly, unable to let go of your fear when there’s another closer splash. You must only be a dozen feet away from each other now, and still you can’t even see past the water at your toes. The voice stays quiet for a while.

“You don’t see is … better.”

You don’t respond for even longer. But for whatever reason, you almost want to agree. Not seeing, he almost sounds like a childhood friend of yours. The soft, honeyed words aren’t so frightening when you can’t see what they’re being spoken by; and you gather your last bit of courage to softly open your palm out again towards the night. “I’ll throw it over to you. Can you catch it?”

“No ‘throw’.” The -whatever- struggles with the word as he says it, before going quiet. You’re not sure if he doesn’t want you to throw it, or he simply doesn’t understand— so you just bite your lip and wait for any further comments that eventually do follow. “You put paw- h-hand.” Then, after another breath, “Come.” With a slight tremble in your voice, you breathe out a little laugh. You are really being asked to be braver than any girl with sense would— dragging your lantern closer over the pebbles until it’s right by your feet. Cursing yourself, you blink back nervous tears, trembling as you hike up the edge of your skirts, just the tiniest bit, and place only one foot into the shallowest part of the river for stability.

Your hand drops halfway outstretched, and you watch the flame where she glints back on the chain.

More splashing makes way for a more disturbing sound once it surfaces, of a body dragging over the shallow of the river towards you, scraping along the blunt stones— and you almost dart away when the sound comes close enough to reach. But your fingertips are almost frozen solid when another hand comes ever faintly into view, and wetness drops into your palm. To call it a hand is gracious, you decide. There’s longer digits, clawed, and webbed between each bony finger, and the wet glossy skin is more curved spike than thumb. The paw slides carefully along your hand, swiping up the chain as it goes— and leaves a cold coating all over your palm that you snatch back too quickly.

It’s unbearable to stay so close to something and not see it now, and you quickly hurry back to the safety of your rock as the same shuffling goes back to the water. Your heartbeat’s in your throat, and you can’t find any polite words to offer it until the yokai speaks again.

“Rin present, with- no, f-for you. You give present back, make happy. I am thank you.” You’re welcome, you think, but you barely manage to paint on a little smile before wringing your hands together and picking your lantern back up for safekeeping.

“I’m heading home now. If I’m not back soon my guards will find out.” It doesn’t feel entirely appropriate to thank it for not killing you when it had ample chance to, so you stay quiet. But there’s also a sense of gratitude that washes over you. Soon you’ll be back in bed like all of this was a dream. That seems right. That seems good. Your tongue lingers on your words. “You … What's your name?” The river bank feels much safer now you’re back on solid ground, and you can see the peach blossoms you almost slipped on.

There’s another long pause, where you almost make a run for it back all the way home, before the voice sounds out again from the dark— sugary sweet in its tone.

“Makoto.”

+

You’re pretty sure you should be questioning your own sanity. Everyone else wouldn’t hesitate to, and after the few restless nights you’ve had, you should be staying as far away as you can. But curiosity, mixed with a slight sense of obligation, has you walking the river bank like a little droplet flowing back to the sea. The quiet, scruffy man following behind doesn’t say much… never does, and you can’t say you dislike it. But you feel the glances your way, distracting you. Soon you find yourself clearing your voice. “You’re wondering why I’m walking this same path again?”

The older man only hesitates for a moment. “No, lady.”

“Sure you are. I would wonder if I were you.” There’s a faint smile that makes its way up, glancing out over the babbling brook to your left as grass tickles your ankles. “Not too long now and I’ll be engaged…” The peach blossoms above are almost done blooming— and you’ve never known your father to be an indecisive man. “Walking gives me a little break from all the fussing attendants, and father's advisors. Which is why it’d be even better if I were alone-”

It doesn’t take much pushback at all for the man to stop in place and give you a little look, resting his hand on the handle of his sword. “Lady.”

“Oh, please Azuma-san, we’ve had this same conversation for years.”

“I am not to leave you unprotected-”

You turn on your heel to face him. “I want to swim.” The stubborn frown on his face doesn’t move an inch, as your eyes go a little more puppy-esque. You have to know, so you have to lie. It doesn’t bring you joy either, but you might go insane if you have to live with questions for the next twenty years barred in some fancy prison of your future husband’s making. “-Swim right here. Without my very expensive clothing getting ruined.” Still that stone wall refuses to budge, and you throw your last bit of dignity into the ring. If this was anyone else you’d never hear the end of your unrefined words. “So I am going to get undressed.”

“—Ag-lright, just quiet. Your servants hear you and I’ll be lynched in the square.” He sighs deeply, rubbing his hand over his scruff, then gives a little bow. He wants nothing more than to roll his eyes when you offer back a self-satisfied grin, but instead takes a few steps the way you came with a stern look. “I’ll ask one of your maiden servants to make her way over here.”

“Don’t tell her to hurry!” you chant back, only taking off the heaviest layer of clothing once he’s out of sight. You lay it safe out of reach, before kicking off your shoes and socks and waddling towards the big stones again. Sure enough, the river here is a lot deeper than it looks. There’s a ledge in the pool that’s dark enough for almost any kind of monster to hide. This at least means your midnight escape wasn’t a total delusion. The peaceful sway of water grass settles when you dip your toes in the water, and wonder. There’s only a brief few minutes where you sit to think, before a slight thrashing once again captures your attention.

Only when you look up, the river is still, safe for a few tiny fish jumping out of the water. You get up, and tie your skirts up higher to inspect. A large maroon shape darts away into the darkness before you can take a good look, splashing droplets all over the river bank— and you hold your breath. You aren’t crazy. That definitely was much larger than any fish you’ve ever seen, and such a brilliant color that nothing but yokai could possess it. Brighter than all the finest silks, shimmering like a mirror. You wait for what could be a few seconds or an hour, before… someone- something else starts coming up from the darkness.

The olive-golden glitter rises so slow you have no choice but to take in another breath, but luckily don’t scare it away. His light chestnut hair is chopped short-ish, and a strangely human face— with cloudy black eyes, and green gashes either side of his neck— where he hovers below the water surface. It’s not human though. The eyes are big, round and deer-like, nose flatter, and his skin seems almost pearlescent. You don’t have the ability to think if you’re brave or just frozen solid. But whatever the case, the humanesque monster seems to stare for quite a while before judging it safe enough to approach.

It’s only then that you get to see the full extent of his body, scaled from ribs down, with a snake-like bottom half that’s at least longer than your entire body, and ending in a beautiful fish-like tail that feathers out in glittering threads. “Oh…” you breathe, and your arms wrap around yourself for protection, but you still don’t move further. Can’t, more like.

The half-man is close enough -and real enough- to feel a bit nauseating. Close enough to set every hair on your body on end and have your heartbeat a wild patter. But it’s the voice that really makes you feel frigid, gulping for air when that soothing tone comes out of a monstrous mouth. Whatever you had expected to see… wasn’t this. You can’t make out if the near-resemblance is comforting, or more frightening. You shiver at the black tongue, against porcelain white teeth.

“You come back.”

Your nod is hesitant, and you fidget with your jewelry in an attempt to calm your nerves. “I- wanted to see who I’d been talking to, that night. I haven’t slept well since then.”

He hoists himself a little further out of the water onto both hands, clawed and boney. “That was you, right? Makoto?” The brunet only gives a single nod of response, and doesn’t take his dark eyes off you for a second. And you want to laugh, though it isn’t too funny. The scene is just so absurd that you have nothing else to do, but laugh. “Isn’t this weird, talking to each other? How come yokai speak Japanese?” your voice comes, and you only hear how childish you sound when it seems to hang over the river without answer.

Out of all the questions you can ask, that’s what is most important to you? Makoto is gracious as he scoots a little closer once again, scraping his long, heavily muscled tail up over the pebbles and stones. “I listen very many year. Always listen, listen woman, listen warrior, listen you.” He blinks, and blondish lashes are the only normality you have staring back at him. “All can’t speak like me. I -hmm, pras-”

“Practice?” you try, and he clearly agrees when his tail pats happily on the ground. When you smile, he grins back wide and kind, his teeth are much sharper than yours. There’s something so human about the look, that you feel your muscles unwind a little further. You suppose, if he wasn’t so strange looking, with the wrong shades and fins here and there; he’d be quite handsome. He’d go over well with the maiden servants in the clan, too. “Many years, huh? Then- How old are you?”

“Hmmm- old. Very…” He doesn’t seem it, though. You avert your eyes when the water flicks over your feet, slowly dropping your shoes to the side. When you look back, he’s gotten closer yet, and is reaching out his hand towards the edge of the water, towards you. Despite your hesitation, and slight disgust— scaly and seemingly frost bitten pale lips, and unnatural greenish marks along his neck that flare out and in— there’s something that makes you want to follow.

A call, or instinct, to glide into the water and feel it embrace you. “You want come in?” he prompts, softly, and you do. You aren’t much of a swimmer even in high summer, and yet. You find yourself closing the distance and reaching out for his hand, letting your fingertips glide along as you get up to your knees into the water, and then get pulled along further step by unsure step. “Good, come.”

“Ah- it’s cold!” you squeak, but Makoto’s fingers wrap around your hand to support you even when you get almost up to your chest into the river, water crawling up your clothing and making your chest feel tight. “Sh- it's so cold.”

“Water not cold. You warm.” Only when he comes up in front of you do you truly notice how much bigger he is. His hands dwarf yours, and even though you’re higher up, his tail is curved aside to fit on the ground so he stares down at you— covering the sun from your view. He towers over any man you’ve ever seen, and his human-esque top half is still much broader than most. Like a hard plane of muscle, marked with thousands of golden freckles that shift in color the longer you look.

Shivers climb up your legs, and the water seeps your energy out of you. Wrapping your free arm around yourself, you rub some heat into your skin. Those pale lashes flutter as he gives you a half lidded glance, and the freckles that also go across his cheeks color a little more amber. “Lady is … cute.” Large hands suddenly slide along your sides up, before dragging over your shoulders and slowly taking your clothing with it, removing one of a few layers as he leans in. “Here, better without.”

“Oh. No- I don’t- think-”

“Shhh. Better, I know,” he seems to get closer, even though you are too busy staring back into the darkness of his eyes to really notice; and let him untie the robes enough to toss it towards the water edge. Then he pauses, and gets up higher onto his coiled tail to pull another layer off and throw it. Until you’re left standing in only your flimsier linen undergarb, and you’re suddenly much too aware of how peaked your nipples are against the scratchy fabric. But his hands slide up along your thighs to start peeling that off too, when you grab for him and shake your head.

Makoto insists. “No cold when not -this.” His hands keep going up even with your pressure on them.

Having a night encounter with a man is one thing, but you don’t know how you’d ever explain this if someone saw. You can’t dart away in a flash and escape the consequences. You have to go home after this. “I need my clothes to go back—” you quickly beg, ignoring the soft pads of his fingers along your upper thighs, “and if people see- Makoto, please.” Your whole body aches with the cold, and though the touch feels nice, it doesn’t seem right. Your nakedness isn’t a simple thing, even if his is.

“Clothes heavy. Water don’t like clothes.” He turns you around and you lose your footing on the stable flooring, arms quickly clinging onto his wide shoulders for support— it does make his point. Your clothes are incredibly heavy soaked, and pull down on you as strong arms ever so slowly wrap around your waist; nose only a few inches from yours. You can’t help it, your face gets hot. Cheeks, ears, nose- everything starts getting a distracting warm glow that you do your best to ignore, pulling your lip between your teeth. Even so, he seems to look down at you with intrigue, water reflecting in the black of his eyes. “What?”

“You’re very close…” you confess, and also try to release some of the tightness of your embrace— but amusement only brings him closer. He tilts his head, before leaning in until your foreheads meet, and the cooler skin consumes you. “Makoto-sama-”

“Human kiss, hm?” He’s so close, and his mouth is right there -and though you have no clue why, you really want to. The thought is almost as real as the air you breathe, feeling his hands roam all over your body through the soaked linen. Your voice doesn’t make it out when you nod, but he still lifts you into his chest, and your fingertips dig into his shoulders instinctively. “Show me how to kiss? You little one -hmm- good- fit.” You can’t help it, in place of physical heat there’s a sort of aching fire that spreads through your limbs the longer you stay close— and once you start you can’t stop.

Your mouth meets his first, lips moving with yours as his arms squeeze tighter; but when your tongue brushes his lips and meets his, he makes a noise. A low sort of purring that rattles his chest, and has him leaning in harder, trying to bury you into his body as your tongues brush and you suck and moan. His taste is mild but his tongue is heavy, and much longer than yours when it slips further into your mouth. Much longer, bigger, and the wetness soon has you feeling like you can’t breathe.

You pull back with a gasp, staring at the way his long tongue brushes along those sharp teeth before he leans in more. “Again.” You try to make some separation between your two bodies, but clearly Makoto doesn’t care for it when he clamps his hand down around your hip and kisses you more, melting to you as his tongue brushes against yours. He kisses like you’re the first and last thing he’s tasted, even when you moan a little whimper at the lack of air. His cold skin prickles against yours, grinding his waist against you slowly as your head pounds. Still, it feels good.

You don’t ever want to leave— and it’s this exact feeling that has you pulling back for air. You must be out of your mind. He stares with a blown out sort of hunger when you say his name again, and run your fingers along his shoulders up a little. “I’m going to get in trouble if someone finds me here- and- it’s not like we can—” Your cheeks get even hotter when you try to say the words, not even sure if he’d understand. Does a yokai’s understanding include human nighttimes? When he shows no intention of putting you down, you bury your face into his chest, feeling even smaller than before.

Though his skin is cold to the touch, there’s an intense amount of heat surging between you two, almost impossible to ignore— and the way you’re positioned against him, large arms caging you against his waist that pushes into you— doesn’t help anything. You can feel yourself get more slick each time you move your legs. He seems to chuckle when you groan- and as if sensing your train of thought, he rubs his nose along your ear and down the sensitive of your neck with a lower voice. “I want see. Human body so little. Want see it.”

That’s the tipping point. Every fiber in your being aches to obey, to let yourself get touched, seen, taken by him— and your mouth drops open a sliver as you struggle to find words. Your feet can’t reach the bottom here, and Makoto seems content to keep rubbing against you in a slow sea-saw motion that makes your center feel entirely hot. And eventually you crack. Blinking up at him, you breathe a faint “okay”, and let him turn you around. His hands are quick in their exploration, sliding under the last layer up your thighs, squeezing every few inches as he goes up. When he gets to your center, there’s a little flutter of his eyes, before those digits slide in and brush over your pussy, rubbing just soft enough to leave you wanting. “Warm,” he breathes, and then pulls you a little closer. “You do me too.”

As he pushes your last layer of clothing open fully and starts sliding it off your shoulders, you allow yourself just a little curiosity. He’s handsome, and he’s close, and you just feel so needy. Your breathing is still short against his chest, but your numb fingers glide down his sides with purpose as the muscles flex under your touch. His chest rumbles when you whine at the prodding and circling of his fingers around your dripping pussy, and you glide your hands down to his tail. The touch feels a little coarse, but he’s warmer there, and when you rub your palm over the area he’d been grinding into your waist, your fingers feel a softer, spongey slit. Makoto hisses when you rub a finger up and down, and you feel more heat burn onto your face. “Here?”

The question is answered when your finger slips in and is all hot, and something bumps you. But he picks you up and with one swift dash, lays you down on the river bank to get up between your legs. You need to open wide to allow him to fit, and can only whine out his name when the weight of his body over yours pushes you into the cold stones. He licks the air a few times, before grunting. You wish you could do anything other than just flush and look away when his hands descend onto your tits and start touching and rubbing, and the pressure leaves you all exposed. But it doesn’t take long for his attention to shift back to between your legs, and now with a better angle, he sinks down to nose below your navel. “Hmn-”

The purring is paired with a flaring of the gashes on his neck, and his eyes roll back. When his hands spread your legs up as wide as you can go, he nuzzles into you, and that long black tongue peeks out to lick slowly. You can’t help it, you moan. Loudly. It feels like a million pinpricks are traveling your body, as the very long, heavy tongue drags a long strip up your center, and then the tip of it laps at the wetness coating your hole— that quickly gets pushed open further with each sloppy lick. His tongue pushes inside you as he sucks and the feeling of something so hot and so- squirmy makes you squeeze your eyes closed. It’s too strange, but you can’t pull back.

Your hands even reach for his head to tangle your fingers in his hair and whine, your back curling from the floor. You’re drenched- no longer just water as your pussy clenches around his tongue that he forces in to lick places you’ve never been licked. Makoto wraps an arm around your thigh to pull it over his shoulder when you curl and wiggle against him- you can’t help it, it feels so good. Everything’s so sensitive, like your entire body’s been doused into hot water and you’re drowning— only difference is, you’re actively longing for more.

It’s better than any drink-induced daze, late night tussle with a stable boy. It’s even better than your own touch and mind, because he’s just so big and you’re so full, so hot. Your hips grind against his face when he sucks again, and his nose brushes your most sensitive area— and try not to let the water into your mouth when you yerk again. “Ah, ahg, Makoto-sama. I can’t- I can’t handle this much, please. Oh dear gods, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Ah-ughhh, f- ah, please -keep going.”

Your lower belly is wound so tight, and even the sound of his breathing against you feels good. You could melt into the floor with how much slick is coating your insides, dripping out of you around the suction on your cunt. And Makoto doesn’t have any intention of moving. Your mind aches— you want more. You want to wrap your entire body around him and come apart— as his large hands squeeze your thighs tight and wrap them around his head like he can’t get deep enough.

The sloppy, wet sounds of his face burying between your legs to stuff you full of tongue, licking and sucking at your sensitive pussy. It has your muscles so tight as you roll your hips against him, and you can’t stop shaking. “Oh, I’m g-gonna cum— I can’t! I can’t. It feels so- gud. Ah, ahh. What is happening?” When your fingers clench in his hair, he lets out a long, animalistic groan as he glances back up. Still his tongue isn’t fully inside you. “I can’t- Makoto, I can’t!” Even though he’s reaching further than fingers can, he’s still able to fold the deft black muscle over your clit and slot his lips around it to suck. Hard.

And your body can’t handle any more. While his heartbeat pulses through his tongue against your clit, everything goes white, your muscles clenching so hard it hurts. And your heart beats so hard it feels like it stops altogether. If you make any noise at all, you can’t hear yourself over the pounding in your head, rattling your body so hard that nothing except you and him exist. Your eyes are shut until you’re aware of how he grunts against you and pinpricks get too unbearable. But he doesn’t stop, lifting your body to his face and allowing you to ride out your orgasm against him for what feels like forever.

When you feel like you can hear yourself breathe again, you unwrap your legs from around his head. “I thought my heart was going to explode. If Hitsu knew…”

Your eyes are teary when they flutter open against the light, and the black abysses that stare back are barely narrowed slits. Dipping his gills into water briefly before getting up above you again, Makoto seems different. There’s something predatory that wasn’t there before. You can’t help but go quiet. As his hands drag your body down a few inches, you swallow. “Are you okay? Sorry. I feel like I should thank you— I haven’t come that hard, ever. I don’t know about yokai but I don’t think I could feel that good.” His muscular body covers most of the river from your view, but you find it almost too hard to look at him. You’re still hot; but your skin feels cold.

His fingers slide down along your side when he lets out a little groan. “Yokai don’t do this.” Then he goes to brush his face and mouth along your throat, and you shiver a little at the feeling. “So pretty. Warm. I like warm. Stay with me?” You let him grind himself on top of you and embrace him the best you can, only fitting around the narrow of his waist, but after just a second you yerk up. Makoto pulls his head back when he notices, and you get another brush against your slit that makes a cold shiver run up your spine. Where the slit sat before, a dick has emerged- and your mouth drops open a little. The thing is vaguely dick shaped, but has spurs at the base like an anchor, is more pointed at the tip; and it also pulses with each breath.

“Pretty warm body, good. Smell good too.”

You can’t help but swear when you avert your eyes, and instead wrap your arms back around his neck. “Oh, fuck.” Surely, this is where you’d draw the line. Right? But the touching of that against you doesn’t make your body react the way you think it should. The prodding along your inner thighs just leaves you feeling empty, like you’d like to start all over again. Makoto grunts out a little breath when your tits brush his chest, before staring down at you.

After a few seconds of studying your face, and probably the heat that’s flooding your features, he licks his lips. “Human men have… hm-”

“Yes,” you quickly say. He smacks his lips and grinds against you again. “They uhm- put it inside.” If the answer shocks him, he certainly doesn’t show it— looking like he’s barely holding back from crashing his face back to yours and turning you over to fuck you like the begging whore you feel like. The longer he just keeps his solid body against yours, the harder it is to ignore yourself getting wet again against the pulsing of his cock. The purring, clicking noise coming from him feels nice, and you pull at him. “You’re not done yet, right? I can do more.”

You angle your hips a little, and try not to sound so desperate when looking up at him for a kiss. “Please- put it inside me. I- I want to feel you.” Your hands slide over the rougher scales down between you two to reach for him, and hesitate a little when his cock is heavy and covered in some sort of slime; and it seems to follow your touch. But you’re too far past embarrassment to truly care, and Makoto groans when you wrap your fingers around him to squeeze softly. “I need you.” You really don’t know what’s wrong with you. You feel like your body’s being torn apart. You want to be filled, fucked full of him, and get pumped round of his kids— all things that you shouldn’t be thinking about. You didn’t with any men you’ve been with. You can’t.

Even though you know you’re being ludicrous, when he goes in for a kiss, you cling onto him hard; digging your nails into his back. You don’t even know if he could fit. His cock is proportionate to him- but it’s big and long and girthy enough to put any man to shame. You should care. You should care that you could regret being filled up to your breaking point, but you’re just so, so desperate. You might die if he doesn’t fuck you. You can feel it. “Please, please, please—”

—You slide a few feet across the floor, angry thrashing scaring you up into a flounder as you breathe in deeply. Makoto’s dragged off of you and down before you can even blink, water splashing everywhere; and you struggle back to the riverbank with wide eyes. Now you’re no longer side by side with another person- no, creature- you suddenly feel the entire ache of the cold water. The shortness of breath, the numbness of your lips and hands and feet. You feel the painful sting of your back where you’ve been sliced by a dozen sharp rocks, struggling to keep your head above water. And you feel the soreness between your legs of having been filled by something too big.

When you get over the pure shock, you notice the struggling has stopped, and you notice your creature’s golden shape next to someone else. They glitter and glint even in the low light of the afternoon, and you furrow your brows. The second shape only gets clearer when the light shines through the water and colors the flickers a blinding maroon. Your tongue feels cold.

Your arms wrap over your chest and cover up the best you can when Makoto surfaces again and gives you a kind smile, but you take a slight step back. His long, pale lashes flutter when he reaches out a hand. “Sorry. Rin don’t want to bleed you.” Your back and your painful scrapes are the lesser of your worries though. Whatever spell you were under, you’ve been snapped out of. You feel entirely strange- enough to have hot tears welling up along your waterline. What the hell have you been dragged into? You were going to… do things with some monster you didn’t know existed until today. Your brain screams and pounds, and your stomach is entirely flipped. But the brunet softly continues. “He don’t like I take you. Can you come here?”

“No.” Your hair now sticks to your neck and chest, and every second you’re out of the water, is one where the feeling comes back to your limbs. Your arms are so heavy as you keep them up. “There’s more of you?” You don’t know what you expected, really. Maybe you should have known. Maybe you should have questioned. But how could you have truly known?

“Yes.” he answers after a beat, and swims up a little closer with a frightening ease. “Shhh, okay. He will come. You stay.” You try to tell him not to, but he dips below the water surface before you get the chance to ask him not to, splashing water all over as he does— and you don’t know what else to do but to stare at the small bubbles that pop as peach blossoms wash over your feet. Before too long, the reddish shape surfaces alongside Makoto. He lingers in the deep of the river however; fiery eyes zeroing in on you without blinking at all. He stays submerged from the nose down, and you can’t help but feel too watched. 

Your heartbeat doesn’t calm when the brunet swims up closer, and you take a little breath. “Who’s that?”

“Rin,” Makoto softly, sweetly answers, as if he was expecting the question all along. He smiles wide like a saint, and you have to ignore the voice in the back of your head that tells you to get back in the water. His hand reaches out though, and you almost want to. Almost. Your arms and back break out in goosebumps. Then Makoto looks back at the other yokai, and gives you a smiley once-over. It takes you a little too long to recognize something else that plays over his features though. A strange sort of knowing, like he’s seeing right through you. “You Rin’s mate.”

You don’t know why you don’t get up and run.

“Come back in?”

Only that the voice in the back of your head gets more unbearable. You wrap your hands over your ears, and try to hang on.

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Loved it so much 🥺 👑

Lineage (M)

Pairing: Duke Yoongi x Princess Reader

Word Count: 6.7K

Summary: When an engagement locks you, the 8th and forgotten princess, to the duke infamous for his cruelty, you find yourself counting the days until your inevitable death. It’s terrifying to think of your end, but when you arrive at his territory, you realize there’s a more morbid reason behind your marriage, and that the duke is much worse than the rumors have painted him out to be.

Warnings:  HEAVY yandere themes, mentions of gore and death, near-death experiences, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, dubcon smut (reader is a virgin, fingering, unprotected sex), 18+, explicit language

A/N: Part 1 of Lineage! Took 3 months, a messy outline, and 2 drafts that I decided I hated halfway through writing and deleted before starting over to finish one part. Tags of people who replied to the preview will be added in a reblog. Thank you for everyone who has been waiting and has shown support for the preview of Lineage and my writing account overall! This is inspired by the multitude of Korean webnovels I’ve been reading during quarantine. If you like it, please leave a comment because I will cry out of joy and this took me a WHILE to get out of the drafts. Enjoy!

‘‘Duke,’’ the king’s teeth chattered in terror as he spoke, his voice low. “What have you come to visit me for?”

Yoongi closed his eyes briefly as if he was in thought. Normally, he’d be furious at the lack of efficiency, but something stopped him from simply slicing the fool’s head off with his sword. After all, there was a much more important matter at hand that he needed to deal with.

‘‘My king, you do,’’ Yoongi spoke slowly,’’ remember our deal, don’t you? I win the war against the bordering kingdom and give you a considerable sum, and you…’’

Yoongi directed a pointed look at the king, and the king flinched before hurrying over to his desk. He fumbled around with the papers on it, even knocking down a stack of sealed and stamped documents with his shaking elbows, before extracting a small silver-framed portrait.

Yoongi could see the tremor in the man’s hands as he handed him the portrait, but Yoongi only exhaled softly, almost as if he was relieved, as he took hold of the small painted picture.

Pretty long-lashed eyes that warmly sparkled despite paint being the only medium used, curved lips like budding flowers, and silky tresses that swooped past her delicate shoulders. The maiden etched into the canvas was not known as a beauty compared to her extravagantly dressed older sisters, but to Yoongi, she was worth much more than the other princesses combined. Yoongi gripped the portrait a little tighter, his hands slightly clammy.

‘‘You wanted the 8th princess, Princess [Y/N], as your bride,’’ the ruler before him sputtered. “As soon as you’re ready, I will have the engagement officially announced.”

Yoongi broke out of his reverie and tucked the portrait into the pocket of his coat before getting up from his seat. ‘’Thank you, my King. I will never forget the kindness you have bestowed upon the House of Min.’’

As Yoongi was about to open the door, the king called out once again.

‘‘Duke Min, if I may ask, why do you have so much interest in the 8th princess? I would have never thought she would suit your preferences. If you wanted, you could have the crown princess. Her beauty is known even in distant lands, and she is skilled—”

Yoongi coldly smiled at the pathetically shivering man, interrupting him sharply,’’ Do not interfere in personal matters, my King. Long live the Sun of the Kingdom.’’

The door clicked shut behind him, and the king sagged further into his extravagantly plush ruby couch. For the first time in his greedy life, the king truly felt sympathy for the young princess he had just sold to the notoriously named Duke of Hell.

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