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wienerbarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Italian Heart

Pairing: Bucky x Italian!MobBoss!Reader

Word Count: 4,867

Warnings: canon level violence, possible inaccurate italian slang lol

A/N: ive been watching a lot of the sopranos lately and i feel like ive never seen a bucky x mob boss reader au (ive only rlly seen em where buckys the mob boss. if there are ones where reader is the mob boss PLS SEND EM TO ME I BEG) a lot of the slang and mob stuff here is from sopranos bc... im not in the fucking mafia so forgive me anyway enjoy :)<3

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky’s never seen a woman quite like yourself.

Dressed in expensive satin and jewelry that hangs between your breasts, an angry look on your face at the fact you’re sitting before him and Sam in an interrogation room in the tower. Freshly done nails, clean and crisp lipstick, spicy perfume, and an expression of annoyance.

As put together as you look, you don’t look like someone to be fucked with. Which, he supposes is good for a mobster; the Boss of Newark.

Looking at you, though, he’d never thought you to be such a figure of intimidation. While the mafia is still alive, despite how the media tries to deny this, he always pictured an old Italian man that chain smokes cigars. He doesn’t think he’s too far off, to his credit; he can smell the remnants of smoke on you.

“Mind if we make this fast? My cousin’s comin’ for dinner and I was gonna make ziti.” You huff, crossing your legs under the table.

“Sounds delicious. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.” Sam says, a calm look on his face even though he’s well aware of what you’re capable of.

When hunting down the last traces of the super soldier serum, he never thought Nick Fury himself would suggest getting in touch with you. He didn’t think it was worth the time to question how the two of you knew each other.

Theft. Drugs. Murder. Bribery. The list goes on, and there’s not a single thing that ties you to any of it.

A shrug of your shoulders, “So, what exactly is this about?” You ask.

“What is it that you do for a living?” Sam asks.

“I work in waste management.” You respond, a rehearsed answer.

Not exactly a lie, the environmental facility you manage is one of hundreds of covers used by your crew for your crimes. Environmental facilities, deli shops, strip clubs, auto shops. There isn’t a business in Jersey you aren’t tied to.

“Waste management? Like, garbage disposal?” Bucky asks, knowing exactly what it is you do for work.

You smirk, “Yeah, we dispose of garbage sometimes. What’s that got to do with me being here?”

“It’s to my understanding that you’re in the business of… buying and selling things. You and… the people you hang around got a real knack for it.” Sam tells you.

Bucky holds back a roll of his eyes. More like stealing and selling. Expensive Italian suits, antique watches, cars, electronics, illegal cigars. Who knows what else.

“I don’t know where you heard that… but I’m a popular gal, maybe I know a guy who might know a guy. What are you lookin’ for?” You ask.

You know this game, after being in the mob for so long. After being a part of your own crew for years, your patience and hard work paid off, working your way up to a captain and finally a boss. It didn’t take you long to learn in this business that government officials are jokes. Always wanting to bust my balls and then come crying to my corner for help, it’s a bunch of ugatz.

“Serums.” Bucky finally speaks.

A laugh escapes you, “What, like vitamin C?” You teasingly smirk at him.

His chair makes a loud sound in the small room as he pushes it back harshly and stands, resting his hands on the table in between the two of you. You don’t flinch.

“Enough with the bullshit. Super serums. To create super soldiers. We need to get them before they end up in the wrong hands and make a big ass mess.” He snaps at you, but you don’t seem phased in the slightest. In fact, you seem rather amused.

“You must have a lot of agita with all that anger, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t hold back this time and rolls his eyes before you speak up again, “Your first name is James, isn’t it? Ain’t that Italian?”

“No, it’s English. Or Scottish. Or Jewish - I don’t know, who cares? Are you gonna help us or not?” Bucky takes his seat again, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest.

“What’s in it for me?” You ask, leaning back in your chair.

“Not being arrested for all the shit we know you’re caught up in.” Sam offers.

You roll your own eyes this time, “I’ll take my chances. Thanks for wasting my time, boys, don’t let it happen again.” You stand, prepared to make your way back to the train station to go back to Jersey.

“Wait,” Sam stops you, “What is it that you want?”

You smile innocently and take your seat again, taking a minute to think before answering, “My little sister’s a big fan of yours. I’m sure she and all her friends would think it’s cool if you showed up to her prom as her date.” You wink at Sam.

Silence fills the room as the men think about your request.

“You’re gonna do it, right?” Bucky looks over at him and sees Sam rubbing the crease in between his eyes. He was expecting you to ask for immunity, protection, money, guns. But after hearing your request, he supposes you have enough of all that stuff anyway.

“Man -” Sam begins to refuse.

“Sam, it’s a fucking school dance in exchange for some of the most powerful and sought after serums on the planet - go to the fucking prom.” He tells him, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as to how he would hesitate on something so simple.

“She’s eighteen, so you won’t have any problems with the media or none of that.” You add, the information not really making Sam feel any better.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll go to the dance with your sister if you help us get these serums.”

You smile, happy to have done business with the two men, “What information do ya got for me?”

…

Bucky and Sam wait outside a back room in the facility you own. They passed the garbage trucks parked neatly outside, but could hear your screaming and the smell of Cuban cigars as soon as they entered the building.

She’s with a customer, they were told, by someone in your crew, them meeting Bucky’s expectations for mobsters more than you did. None of them ask any questions, but Bucky and Sam aren’t stupid, they’re sure your crew is aware of what’s going on and know the exact reason they’re there.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? The Bible says, Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit -”

“You listen to me, you take your Bible and your quotations book and shove it up your fat fucking ass! Now get the fuck out of my face!”

Bucky can’t help but scoff listening to you scream at whoever’s inside. Sam elbows him, silently telling him that now isn’t the time to find your work funny, especially not in front of the rest of your crew.

Bucky knows he’s old-fashioned, and while things that were taboo such as body modifications or certain fashion styles don’t phase him anymore, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing a woman talk like that. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard anybody talk like you do.

Suddenly a man bursts out of the room, huffing and puffing, and you walk slowly behind him, as if to make sure he makes it outside okay.

“Grab his plate for me, will you?” You say not to anyone in particular, voice smooth and calm as if you hadn’t been yelling and threatening that man’s life for the past twenty minutes.

One of the men from your crew follows outside, seemingly to collect the license plate of the man who just left.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to that guy, right?” Sam asks as he and Bucky enter the room, taking a seat in front of the desk you have in there. He knows there’s no point in asking, that you’ll do whatever you want regardless because it’s obvious you’re passionate about receiving respect, but it was worth a shot.

“Is that what you came all the way to Jersey to ask me? Christ, I’m fuckin’ starving, you boys want anything to eat?” You ask, accent heavy as you reach into the side drawer of your desk and pull out what seems to be some kind of meat wrapped in paper.

“Gabagool?” You offer to them, picking out a slice for yourself and placing it in your mouth.

“Gesundheit.” Sam responds.

“It’s pork, you asshole.”

Bucky silently reaches over and picks off a slice of the cured cold cut, putting the meat in his mouth and savoring the flavor. While he can’t stand the way you make a living or the sailor’s mouth you have, he loves Italian food, and actually chose a neighborhood in New York that has plenty of traditional cold cut markets and restaurants to live in in order to fulfill his cravings.

“There’s a big party staged downtown this weekend, we think that’s when the drop is going to happen.” Sam tells you, bringing the focus to their reason for coming here in the first place.

“I’ll send one of my boys.” You reply in between your chews.

“That wasn’t the deal. The deal was you get the serums.” Bucky speaks up.

“Buck, you know how many people want her dead?” Sam tries to reason.

“What the fuck do I have a crew for then? - No, if pretty boy wants me to do it myself, then I will. The same people that want my head are the same fucks who are terrified to be within twenty feet of me in fear they’ll make eye contact. I’m not scared of nothin’.” You say, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.

“What did you guys come here to talk about?” You ask.

Sam looks confused at your expression, “...To go over the plan? Hash out details? So you know how everything’s gonna go?”

“I’ll be fine; I’ve seen The Godfather once or twice,” You tell him, wrapping up the cappo, after Bucky picks off one last slice, and replacing it in the drawer, “Don’t worry Captain, this ain’t my first rodeo. I’ll get the serums for you.” You open a different drawer and pull out a cigar and a lighter.

Bucky watches as you place the large cigar in between your red-painted lips, bringing the flame of your lighter to the end and hollowing your cheeks until smoke exits from the corner of your mouth. Bucky feels blood travel south as his eyes glaze over your hand grab the cigar out of your mouth and blow out a long string of smoke.

“I guess we’ll be in touch then,” Sam stands and Bucky follows after.

“My sister’s wearing blue, so find yourself a nice tie.” You call out, lifting your feet up to cross them on the desk, dress rising and showing your legs.

Bucky blushes, and then laughs as he exits when he hears you, in a deep and more exaggerated accent than your own, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in!”

…

The morning of the party, Sam and Bucky pick you up from your house, planning to take you into New York to discuss final details before tonight.

You get in the passenger seat, Sam offering it to you and climbing in the backseat. As Bucky begins to drive off, your phone rings.

“I told you to leave that.” Bucky says, telling you explicitly to leave electronics here to prevent anyone finding out where you are, and also to avoid any distractions.

“Wanted to see what you’d about it, Sarge,” You wink at him, pulling out a flip phone and answering the call.

“Yeah… Uh huh… He what? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright… Tell him not to move a fucking muscle.” You hang up, slamming the phone closed.

“Stop at the facility for a sec, I gotta take care of something.” Bucky sighs and turns away from the route to head to your facility.

“Bucky’s going to be going with you tonight, by the way, he’ll be in disguise. Just in case anything goes wrong.” Sam tells you, not really caring anymore about having to make a stop for you to take care of whatever business you need to take care of.

Your only response is a hum as Bucky can feel the anger radiating off your now tense body.

You slam the car door shut as Bucky parks behind a garbage truck outside, not even waiting for him to fully put the car in park before you exit.

Him and Sam follow quickly behind you to see what’s going on. You enter through a side door that leads to a large room, a garage for the trucks, Bucky assumes.

There’s a large truck inside, and racks of suits wrapped in plastic scattered around. A younger man stands near the truck as your crew peruses around the racks, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five years old. Your heels click on the ground as you approach, slowing down as you glance between the suits and the young man. Bucky and Sam hang around a few feet behind your trail.

You stop, fuming, staring at the man before you speak, “You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

“I -” He begins, but you cut him off, raising an open hand at him.

“Actually, I don’t even want to hear your fucking voice right now. Because if what I heard you did is true; if what you did to Vinny’s guy is true, you’re gonna be a fuck load of trouble.”

“Can I -”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“But -”

“I said shut the fuck up, Christopher! What part of that don’t you understand?” You yell, and even Bucky feels intimidated.

You turn to your crew, “What the fuck happened.” You demand, more than ask.

“Kid says he tried to take the truck, Vinny’s guy had a gun that fell outta the seat, went off, shot him.” One of the men summarizes, not looking up from the rack of suits.

You raise a manicured hand to pinch between your eyes, “You keep me skinny, Christopher, with all the fucking stress you cause me.”

“Would you let me explain?” He tries.

“If you don’t do as I told you and shut your fucking mouth, you’re gonna be buried with two assholes,” You threaten before continuing.

“They were fuckin’ suits! All you had to do was take the truck! How did you fuck that up -” You stop yourself and sigh, attempting to calm yourself down.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take all this shit, you’re gonna take it back to Vinny, and you’re gonna tell him what happened yourself.” You finish.

“Marone!” He exclaims, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Enough with the theatrics! You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your ass! Now, I don’t see you grabbing that rack and that rack and that rack and putting it back in the truck!” You wave your arms around the room.

The kid sighs and begins grabbing the racks one by one and rolling them back in the truck.

“Would it be such a shame if they all went back?” An older man from your crew asks, already wearing one of the expensive suits. You scoff and laugh.

“Bucky, pick yourself somethin’ nice for tonight,'' You turn to face him, and he jumps at the sound of your now calmer voice being directed at him, as opposed to the harsh one used on Christopher, “On me.” You wink.

...

Sam and Bucky sit on the bed and watch as you get ready. A small apartment near the party that’s already been swept for bugs. A favor, you called it, from someone you know.

They don’t question it.

“You and Bucky will go in together and I��ll be waiting at a secondary location watching and listening to everything.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from your dress. A mermaid dress, he thinks it is, black and tight and hugging you in all the right places, curving around your ass and sleeveless at the top, allowing you to show off a nice necklace and your cleavage. It’s an understatement to say that he’ll enjoy accompanying you tonight, even if it’s in a costume.

His mother probably would’ve loved it if he would’ve gotten with someone like you. Someone who loves their family, a spitfire that wouldn’t take any of his shit, and whose god damn gorgeous. She might’ve had to wash your mouth out with soap, though.

“So, why is Bucky goin’ again?”

“Safety.” Bucky answers.

“Is he going for my safety or am I going for his?” You tease, finishing the last few curls of your hair, smoke coming from the iron after each time you pull your hair away from it.

“Once you find our guy, get talking with him and see if you can get him to make you an offer,” He begins.

“One I can’t refuse?”

“Then, you’ll try and get him alone, see if he’ll show you the serums, and once you do, we’ll be taking care of the rest.” Sam finishes explaining.

Bucky plucks a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. One, a camera, and the other, a microphone. You’re also given a comm to hide in your ear so both him and Sam can hear everything and you can hear them.

“Easy - peasy.” You respond.

The ballroom is lively, loud music and people everywhere, and Bucky attunes all the action overwhelming him to a sweat and not that fact that you’re pressed up against him, his arm wrapped around your waist.

About a hundred different people come up to greet you, asking about your family, offering you drinks and food. Bucky can see right through all of them though; they’re all putting on the act out of fear. Everyone’s attention is on you, and Bucky’s sure if he wasn’t in disguise right now, no one would even notice.

You bring him to the middle of the crowd and he can’t be surprised when you start to dance with him, pulling at his arms to get him to loosen up. He complies, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as the two of you move together.

“I’ll let you know when I spot him.” He tells you, voice causing goosebumps to rise on your neck; goosebumps that he notices but doesn’t point out.

It only takes a song or two before he spots who he’s looking for and sends you over, making sure your com is on, and choosing to stick by the bar, giving him a good view of you and allowing himself a break of having your body pressed against his.

He’s impressed listening to you talk to this guy, voice smooth and sultry, yet still commanding.

He knows there was a lot of talk when you took position as boss; not a lot of people in the mob took you seriously and didn’t think you or a woman in general would be good in that kind of position in power. So, you use that to your advantage to get shit done, and Bucky applauds you for that.

It’s not long before the guy offers to go somewhere more private to discuss business and Bucky follows far behind, Sam praising you through the coms from where he waits in the car outside, watching through the camera in your earring.

Bucky waits outside of a closed office door upstairs, listening to the conversation through the coms but hearing your exclamation through the door when the guys give you his asking price.

“5 mil each?! What do you take me for, some kinda stunad?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Take it or leave it, yeah, I can put a bullet between your eyes and take it, alright.”

“Stop messing around and take the offer, it’s not real anyway!” Sam tells you, not wanting to lose their chance on the serums.

You ignore him prioritizing your need for respect over the stupid mission, “How do I know these aren’t Kool-Aid pouches poured in glass bottles?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to test ‘em out for you.” The guy scoffs.

“Stronzo. You’re outta your fucking mind offering me that.”

“I’ll lower the price for you if you give me a little dance, how ‘bout that?”

“Vaffanculo.” You curse at him.

“Up yours, lady!” He yells back, and Sam sees through the camera, he grabs at you.

“Buck, get in there.” Sam tells him, and it only takes Bucky a second to kick open the door.

He’s a bit taken aback when he not only sees the case of serums out on the table, but you holding the man bent over the small table in the middle of the room next to the serums, gun held to the back of his head.

He very quickly decides that you’re fine and moves to grab the serums, closing the case and holding it securely in his left hand.

“Don’t kill the guy.”

You stay silent and Bucky looks at you again. He can almost see the steam coming out of your ears and he notices a small cut on your cheek bone. He looks down to the man’s cowering figure and notices a large ring on his hand.

You mumble something in Italian to the man, a threat of some kind that Bucky can guess given how the man shuts his eyes and shakes a bit under your hold. Sam finally enters the room, military grade handcuffs in hand.

“Feds are on their way, get her out of here.” He tells Bucky.

You slowly lift the gun off the man’s head and stand up straighter, walking over to brush past Bucky in the direction of the back door.

He makes eye contact with Sam and gives him a nod before following after you, watching as you scrunch up the bottom of your dress to replace the gun in an ankle holster. Once outside, he stops you under a street light near the car and raises his hand to look at your cheek.

“We gotta get going,” You swat at his hand.

“You’re still bleeding.” He says, using his thumb to brush away the line of blood, smearing a red tinge on your skin.

He looks into your eyes and for a second he sees the tough exterior drop. The face of someone who got smacked across the cheek all for mouthing off at some asshole.

Your vulnerability doesn’t last long, though, as you sniff and walk towards the car, opening the passenger door and sitting inside before Bucky can make it over there to open the door for you.

The drive back to the apartment is silent, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say to fill the silence. Stepping into the apartment, you immediately go to change and collect your things. Bucky moves to the bathroom to look for a first aid kit of some kind.

He meets you in the room and you’re now in cotton pants and a large t-shirt, sandals on your feet showing the bright red color of your toenails and the lines indented in your skin from how tight your heels were. You’re hanging up the dress and zipping it back in the cover when Bucky drops the first aid kit on the bed.

“Christ, it’s only a small cut.” You mumble.

“Just - Let me, would you?”

He takes out the liquid of disinfectant and soaks a cotton pad, cleaning off your cheek bone with it before covering it with healing ointment and a bandaid.

You don’t thank him when he finishes and he huffs as he closes the kit, “When do you drop the act, huh?”

“I don’t.”

“Really?” Bucky asks in annoyed disbelief.

“No. People tend to try and have me whacked when I drop the act.”

He sighs, “So, what, nobody ever takes care of you? Treats you? You don’t have any days off? Time to be yourself?”

“This lifestyle doesn’t really allow me to have days off, Sergeant Barnes.” You snap, gathering the dress in your hands and turning to face him completely.

“Take me home, I’m tired and my feet hurt.”

You leave him in the room and he waits an extra few seconds before dropping the conversation and following you out.

...

Bucky opens the back door to the environmental facility with his right hand and sees the door to your office open, you and your crew sitting together surrounded by cigar smoke and he can hear a TV on.

“Sir, please step into the vehicle.”

“Like the cop would be callin’ this asshole Sir if the fuckin’ cameras weren’t around!” You wave a hand at the TV, not yet seeing Bucky standing there.

He finds it funny that the gnarliest criminals - the literal Mafia - spend their time watching shitty, scripted cop shows.

It’s been about two weeks since the mission with you where you retrieved the serums. Sam went to prom with your sister five days ago, which was hilarious for him, especially when he got photo prints of different sizes in the mail at his apartment. He didn’t bother thinking about how you found his address.

One of the men sitting next to you glances his way and sees him standing there, smirking at the vision of him; hair combed slightly back and to the side, and a large bouquet of flowers in his right hand and a small paper box in his left.

“You got company, Boss.” He says.

You look over to the doorway and your jaw drops in an open-mouthed smile.

“Look at googootz! Now this is a man that knows how to treat a lady, are you boys paying attention?” You tease, scurrying over to him and pinching one of his cheeks, resting your free hand on his large bicep to guide him into the room, the rest of your crew ushering out to give the two of you privacy.

“What’s in the box?”

“Cannoli.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated moan, “You know the way to an Italian woman’s heart, Sergeant Barnes. What’s with all the gifts?”

“Thought I’d treat you.” Is all his response is.

You narrow your eyes at him and stand up a little straighter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The last conversation before he dropped you off that night hasn’t escaped his mind. He understands the difficulties of life - how it’s hard to find time for yourself among the busy schedule that is existing. He catches himself sometimes, too, forcing his body to run with no sleep, burning through all of his energy until he’s completely drained and blaming it on life.

But life’s not always like that. Life allows for days off. For treats. For a bit of kindness. And Bucky’s come to show you just that.

“What, a beautiful woman like you never received flowers and pastries before?” He says, taking a half-step forward to be close enough to look you closer in the eyes.

“Are you flirting with me?” You whisper in amusement.

His eyes glance away from yours to look down at your red-painted lips. He gives you a shy smirk, really turning up the charm. For a big, bad, boss, you’re pretty easy to break down.

“Let me take you out tonight.”

“Maybe I’ve got plans.”

“Cancel ‘em.”

“What makes you think you’re worth canceling plans for?”

“Why don’t you trust me and find out?”

“You should know by now, Sergeant Barnes, that I don’t trust.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, setting the box of cannoli on your desk before reaching his now free hand up to your face, using his finger to brush away a stray hair and push it behind your ear.

He then takes a hold of one of your hands, turning it over to place a kiss on the top of it, before wrapping your fingers around the flowers in his other hand, forcing you to take them.

“No restaurant you’ve been to a hundred times over, no drama, no business. Just a man trying to treat a lady.” You look down at the flowers before meeting his eyes again.

“I get to pick the place.”

“No.”

“The kind of food.”

“No.”

“The -”

“No. Let me take care of everything.” Bucky insists, determined to get you to give up control for the first time in what he can only imagine has been a very long time.

Bucky knows better than anyone how terrifying it is to give up control. It was terrifying when he was forced to give up control, his free will taken away from him in the war for decades upon decades, but it’s terrifying even now when he has to do it as a free man. It makes a person vulnerable. When was the last time you were allowed to be vulnerable for somebody?

“I’m gonna pick you up here at six. Wear something nice and leave the executive attitude at home.” He finishes, leaving you with the flowers and cannoli before returning back outside, ignoring the stares he receives from you crew who wait patiently outside your office.

He feels your eyes follow him at the door, and he can’t wait to sweep you off your feet tonight.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes mob au #bucky barnes x mobboss!reader #mob au #marvel #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes oneshot #even tho bucky wants her to give up control we all know he prob likes being yelled atin italian #and that the real reason he wants to take you out

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allegra-writes · 4 years ago

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“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity.

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…"

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did.

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit"

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition.

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly.

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness.

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath.

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?"

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation"

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?"

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal"

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought.

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned.

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did.

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order"

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell.

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list"

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes,

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point.

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever.

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart.

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have?

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't.

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated?

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me."

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped.

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you.

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips.

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim.

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night.

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made.

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers.

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury.

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal"

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense.

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall.

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him.

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying.

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move.

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it.

"Shut up" He growled.

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven"

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long.

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips.

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides.

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me."

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end.

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you.

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?"

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined.

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides.

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream:

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #the devil all the time #supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural smut #demons #angels #demon!reader #hunter!tom holland

1K notes · View notes

bopbopstyles · 4 years ago

Photo

ELEVATED SURFACES

RATING: R/smut (sex, heavy alcohol use, smoking, lots of cursing)

WORD COUNT: 11.6k

CATEGORIES: fratboy!harry

MASTERLIST (check it out for extras) | INSPO TAG | PLAYLIST

a/n: as a recently graduated srat girl and lover of a good frat party, this one shot was intended to fill the whole in my heart which is LEGIT frat Harry. he is fratty and hot and long haired and a mess. if u like this try out TEMPTATION which is my other frat!h series and the first thing i ever wrote on this gd website (he’s not as fratty but we love him a LOT)

a/n pt.2: as a note, i want to make very clear that frats and greek organizations frequently harbor predators and abusers. i do not in any way condone that behavior or that reality, and i would like to bring attention to a petition to remove a fraterity that had done truly many horrible things--your signature would be a huge help. for survivors of assault, you are not alone, and it is not your fault.

As you rose up, your eyes locked on a figure in the doorway of the basement. His long hair was loose, curls that had been pulled out from the hair tie he always had on his wrist, a tight white shirt that you knew meant all of his tattoos were on display. Harry was watching you, you realized as you twisted your hips and bounced your arms up and down with the beat, singing the words. So you kept his gaze, and just to taunt him, when the chorus hit again, you dropped down, ass hitting your heels, eyes on his the whole time.

Harry is a very fratty frat boy and Y/N is a really good dancer

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

“We really should not be still going to our own mixers,” Emily said to you, fluffing her hair and rotating to check her ass in her jeans. You looked up from where you were sitting on your bed, a gin and tonic in one hand to get your blood flowing before the party started. Emily sighed, and then turned from the mirror to you, grabbing the coffee cup that had never seen coffee, just alcohol. “Are people even going?”

You nodded, tossing your phone next to you and leaning against the bed frame. “Alexis is on her way over—she got held up finishing an essay. Maya said she might come, I tried to convince her by promising I’d bring my flask and you’d have your Juul.”

“I swear, she has to just give in and get one of her own.” Emily took a long sip and crossed her arms.

“She claims that will make her addicted.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “She’s already addicted—she uses half my pods and ends up hanging out with whatever guy will let her take a hit. Is it just going to be us and all the new members?”

“No, I think some juniors are going. And definitely the sophomores—they’re all on the little hunt.” You got up, going to your computer to change the song, scrolling through your comprehensive and well-curated pregame playlist. “Plus, who gives a fuck, we’ll only be there for an hour or two for the free alcohol and then we’re hitting the bars.”

“True.” A knock came from the door, and Emily hollered to come in, and Alexis appeared in the doorway, her makeup looking utterly flawless as always. You had always wanted Alexis’s wardrobe and told her constantly, to which Alexis always replied that she wished you were the same size. Unfortunately, Alexis was a solid five inches shorter than you and had a completely different bra size, making sharing quite difficult.

“Bitches, I brought tequila!” Alexis swung into the room in a cloud of perfume, and threw her arms around you and Emily’s shoulders. “Come on, we need to get tipsy before we get to this mixer. Nick already texted me making sure I was coming.”

“Grab the shot glasses,” You replied, nodding to the makeshift bar cart in the corner, which as laden with glasses of all kinds and all your alcohol. “Are you hooking up with him tonight?”

Alexis shrugged, pulling her tequila from her bag and setting it on your desk before turning and going for the shot glasses. “Probably. I don’t know, he’s been weird lately—we hooked up on Monday night, but then he got all weird and left like immediately after and hasn’t texted me since. Barely acknowledged me when we saw each other in the library.”

“Was the sex weird?” Emily asked, unscrewing the top on the tequila so she could pour.

“Yeah,” Alexis replied, holding the glasses steady while Emily poured. “Like weirdly…intense? I let him come inside me which was probably a stupid idea, but I’m on the IUD so we should be all good. And then I offered to let him stay and he just got all flustered and said he had to go.”

You took your full shot glass, and you all clinked before tossing them back, the alcohol burning on your throat. You hated tequila shots but Alexis loved them, and you did admit they did their job. “Do you think he’s caught feelings?”

Alexis’s eyes widened. She had been pining after Nick for ages, his tall basketball stature and surprisingly good fashion sense a dime a dozen. Much less, apparently the sex was insane, so what wasn’t to like? “You think? I thought it might’ve not been his vibe.”

Emily grabbed the bottle. “Another?” You all nodded, and she poured again, The Weeknd crooning in the background. “Just see what happens tonight, feel out what his vibe his.”

“Good idea.” You slammed back another shot, hissing before setting down the glass. “Okay, that’s enough tequila or you two are going to be carrying me home tonight.”

Emily and Alexis laughed, before taking seats on your bed, continuing to chatter about the night ahead. It was a Friday, your favorite night because it was usually just mixers, no general parties, which as a senior you had grown to despise. The fighting for watered down alcohol, packed bodies and horrific gender ratio was simply no longer something you had the energy to deal with. Mixers were your preferred zone, filled with your sorority sisters who you adored, the opportunity to actually hang out with the frat brothers whose presence you enjoyed, and usually pong. Sometimes they even let you DJ because you had the best party playlists. The president of Sig Ep had actually asked for the link one time and you’d heard they used it sometimes when the brothers didn’t want to man the computer anymore.

You surveyed your outfit in your narrow mirror, the black denim jeans and simple white tank that showed a bit of stomach and your tan you’d worked hard on during your winter escape to the Caribbean with your lineage. It was simple, yet it suited your needs—after three and a half years of college parties, you had discovered getting dressed up for frat parties was a useless activity, since your clothes would get drenched in jungle juice and sweat anyways. You left your best outfits for Saturday nights spent clubbing downtown.

If you were being honest, the whole reason you were going tonight was because at the last mixer you’d had with Beta, you’d turned around on the dance floor to find Harry’s eyes on you. You were already dancing with another one of the brothers and ended up making out with him in a corner until you got bored, but you hadn’t been able to get the sight of his eyes on you out of your head.

You’d known Harry since freshman year, your interactions limited mostly to mixers and the occasional run-in in the dining halls when you exchanged pleasantries, or the one time he’d volunteered for a karaoke team for your sorority philanthropy event and you’d been in charge of his team. But the two of you had rarely ever spent time together. That didn’t mean you hadn’t had a lingering crush on him since you’d first laid eyes on him, though, and over the years he’d only gotten more attracted. A body that filled out his white t-shirts and black jeans, hair long and sweeping his shoulders to where he wore it in a bun most times, a jaw that could cut glass. He was hot and he knew it, as did everyone else on campus.

As juniors you had both been on the executive boards of your respective Greek organizations and had ended up in meetings together about housing violations and social calendars, but it hadn’t ever led to much more than you both complaining about how fucking annoying FIJI and their insistent requests for a house was, considering they’d trashed their last one. But this year, you’d found his eyes on you multiple times, and you wondered if perhaps your time had arrived. You’d both always danced around each other and you were curious after all these years if he was finally interested in hooking up. Not that you really expected much more, or were looking for much else—you were a senior, after all, and you were enjoying it.

“Y/N.” Alexis’s voice ripped you from your musings over Harry, her fingers snapping from her spot on your bed. “What’s got you thinking hard over there?”

“Harry?” Emily guessed, one eyebrow raising. “Emmett said he’ll be there tonight.”

“He’s always there,” you replied, because he was. Like you, he seemed to enjoy the mixers, but usually avoided the open parties unless he was on door duty.

“You’d hook up with him, right?”

You looked at Alexis. “Obviously. He’s so fucking hot.”

She laughed, as did Emily. “Then go for it, girl. It’s not like he’ll say no.”

You shrugged. “He might. Never know.”

“I seriously doubt that. You look hot as fuck, as usual, and are the life of the party. Beta adores you. They literally asked you to move in this year when they had an open spot.”

“It was a joke,” you reminded them, because it was—you wouldn’t ever be allowed to live in the house and they knew that. It was true though, you had become a bit of a groupie over the past few years, preferring the more laid back vibe in their house. You’d become friends with all the senior guys, except the weird or obnoxious ones, and had become a regular invite to Bachelor Monday watch parties in their second floor living room. You brought snacks and your friends, they provided the booze and the cable.

“Still,” Emily said, nudging you the toe of her black booties. “Don’t sell yourself short, babes. He is missing a brain if he’s not interested in you.”

“And seriously missing out,” Alexis added. You shot her a look, but she just chuckled. “Bitch, I lived next door to you last year. You are loud.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, laughing, but she was right. You were. Guys had told you on countless occasions, but you really couldn’t find it in yourself to care all that much. “Come on, we should go. Maya is texting me asking when we’re leaving.”

“Do you have your cigs?” Alexis asks you, downing the rest of the drink she’d made while you had been staring into space.

It was your vice, one you had picked up during a semester abroad and only did when you were drunk. You knew you should stop, but something about it made you feel powerful, a bit badass, so you kept doing it. “Obviously. Emmett will have a fit if I don’t.” You swiped your pack from your desk drawer and your trusty pale blue lighter, and shoved them into the pocket of your jacket. With one last swig of your drink, your veins buzzing with alcohol just the right amount, the three of you were off, singing an old Hannah Montana song in the elevator down to the lobby of your dorm.

One of the pledges was working the door, but happily let you three into the frat house. The lights on the main floor were off, except for the ones in the front study that doubled as a coat room, where you tied the arms of your jackets together and set them in the corner so you didn’t lose them. Your cigs were transferred to your back pocket, and you just prayed you didn’t forget they were there and crush them again.

Josephine and another junior were the sober sisters, and offered you three hugs before checking your names off the list. You got positive points for being there, as if that was the main reason you had shown up.

“Emmett!” Emily called, and the blond-headed boy’s head flipped up from where he was standing behind the bar. A Gatorade water cooler was sitting on the high bar, stacks of red solo cups and boxes of white claws and beers sitting on top of one another.

Aka, your happy place. “He’s bartending, thank god,” you said, and grabbed Emily and Alexis, weaving through the crowd. Girls stopped you all as you moved, hugs and squeals at your appearance. You had to admit, you were popular in your sorority, but mainly because you had made it your mission to get your money worth. As a result of your exec position, you’d gotten to know the sophomore member class and you adored them all, chaotic messes who always turned up with you and made you laugh hysterically. Honestly, you were sad to graduate because it meant leaving behind so many fun friends and memories.

“We’ve been waiting for you three,” Emmett said when you arrived in front of him. He was wearing the frat’s homecoming shirt from the previous year and his eyes were dilated, obvious that he had smoked before. “What are we drinking?”

“What’s the mix?” You asked, pointing to the cooler.

He grabbed three cups, knowing you would be taking it. “Shit ton of vodka, Kool Aid, water, the usual.”

“My favorite,” you replied, blowing him a kiss. “How is it downstairs?”

He filled the cups and handed them to you all. “They just wrapped up pong so it’s still getting moving.”

Alexis took a long sip before grabbing your hand. “Sounds like we need to get people dancing.” With that she turned around, her long slick black hair moving in a circle. “Let’s dance!” She called, and the girls around you cheered, following the three of you down the slippery steps to the basement.

Downstairs, The Motto was playing and you bobbed your head along with the beat, moving your hips as you entered the large basement space. It was dark except for a glowing sign with the Beta letters in narrow neon lights, casting the room with a tint of green. Your battered frat shoes, an old pair of white Vans, stuck against the beer and jungle juice-covered floor as you made your way to the middle. A couple of other girls and brothers were scattered around the floor, and you broke from Emily and Alexis’s hands as you twirled on the floor.

You raised your cup above your head and started dancing, rapping the lyrics by heart, moving your hands and hips along with the song. Emily and Alexis sang along with you and some of the younger girls showed up, then some other seniors who shared your love for frat parties. All of a sudden your little was screaming and running towards you, Mallory’s arms wrapping around your waist.

“Oh my fuck god, MOM,” she screamed, using the nickname she’d had for you since you’d taken her as your little two years ago. You laughed and threw your arm around her shoulders, screaming the lyrics. There was a specific reason you had taken Mallory as your little, and it was because she lost her shit at parties just as much as you did. You two were a dynamic duo like no other, and if your grand little didn’t have a huge exam on Monday, she’d be here too and you would all be dancing together as usual.

You downed your jungle juice, the sugary drink combined with the loud music blasting and your friends making your adrenaline kick into high gear. And then Maya appeared, arms waving like crazy, and then she dropped it low and you remembered why you adored her, even if she always stole Emily’s Juul. She had a beer in one hand and a white claw in the other, ready for the night ahead.

Then Emmett appeared, trailed by some of the other brothers in tank tops and t-shirts, one carrying a six pack on his shoulder and handing out warm beers to the brothers he passed. Emmett beelined for Emily, his arm thrown around her shoulder, their completely platonic friendship on show for everyone. The song ended and you took a breath, crushing your cup and tossing it into the corner so you could have your hands free. Emily pulled her Juul free and took a hit, passing it to Maya next without a question between them.

The opening notes of Come Get Her started and you immediately grabbed Alexis and Emily, beelining for the bar that the speakers rested on, something you weren’t even sure how it got there, but it was your favorite elevated surface of all time. Wide enough to dance, tall enough to be high but not too high where you couldn’t mostly stand. You clamored up, coming to nearly full height and turning to your friends.

“Somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper!” You screamed, your friends coming in a circle in front of the three of you, some other girls getting up on the bar. When the line came through again, you decided fuck it, and you dropped your ass low, bending your knees and tipping your head back.

When you danced, you didn’t give a single fuck about impressing guys or any of that. You just simply loved to dance with your friends, move your hips, and didn’t care what you looked like. Mallory screamed when you got low, your name falling from her lips in a squeal of joy.

That had him moving. He joined a circle where Emmett and some other senior guys were dancing with some other girls, beers in hand as they shifted back and forth. But you knew what would have them all actually dancing and screaming and jumping along with you. You needed to see Harry like that—loose and free. So you turned around and grabbed the attention of the sophomore on aux, his name something along the lines of Justin, and screamed your song choice to him. He gave you a thumbs up, and then you turned back around. Your hair was sticking to the back of your neck, and you rolled it into a loose, high bun, pulling the elastic on your wrist around it as you swayed to the song.

You could hear the song ending, and with your eyes on Harry, you decided you would get down. He was next to a pledge with a six pack, and you wanted a beer. You were mixing alcohols like nobody’s business tonight, but you’d done worse. You squatted down and kicked your feet out, Mallory’s hand coming out to help you down. “You good?” She asked, leaning in to you.

“Yeah, just hot,” you replied. “Going to get a beer.” She nodded and let you go. There wasn’t a need to watch your friends as much in a normal party, since you knew all the girls here. Maya pulled you in for a hug as you moved, and then the current president called out your name from where she stood with her boyfriend, a white claw in her hand.

Squeezing next to Emmett, you nudged the waist of the pledge next to you. “Can I get one?” You asked, pointing to the beers.

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling one from the case and handing it to you. It was a Natty Light, but you really could’ve given fewer fucks—they were a frat after all, they didn’t buy the good stuff.

You popped the tab and took a long swig, the liquid quelling your rough throat from singing. And then, the song changed, and you smiled, eyes meeting Harry’s. You decided you were going to draw him out. “I got hoes, callin’!” You screamed, the song starting the speakers, and the boys all joined in. Fuck it, you thought, and chugged the rest of your beer so that you could jump, your arms outstretched and pumping up and down. Your bun was bouncing on your head and you were grinning, the music flowing through you.

Harry was watching you, his head tapping, hair swishing back and forth. You needed more. So you moved into the center of the circle, knowing the guys would hype you up, and reached for him. “Why aren’t you dancing?” You asked him playfully, and his eyebrow shot up.

“Fuck! Shit! Bitch!” The best lines of the song ran through the speaker and you just grabbed his hand, which was warm, and pulled on him. Suddenly his body was in front of you, close, and you tried to process what your original plan was. But then, Harry started moving, back and forth, head bopping, rapping the lyrics in time, and you knew you had gotten him. “I be ballin’, like a motherfuckin’ pro,” you sang, starting up to jump, and to your surprise, Harry joined you, a carefree expression finally crossing his face. He was screaming the lyrics then, hair bouncing as he moved. He rotated, grabbing the shoulders of another one of the boys, who joined in with him, them screaming the lyrics at each other.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the change in his demeanor so sudden. When the song changed, T-Shirt by Migos coming on, he turned back to you. All of a sudden, his lips were next to your ear and you choked on air. “Fuckin’ love that song,” he said, accent smooth in your ear.

“You and every other frat boy,” you replied, stepping backwards. You had ended up at the side of the circle closer to the wall, and so you moved towards it, freeing yourself from the heavy circle of boys.

The song was slower, not a jumping and dancing song, but one that suggested the slow grinding of hips and closeness of bodies. Which fuck it, you wanted. Desperately. He was looking at you with an intense stare, smile sloppy from alcohol, Harry sweaty on his forehead, arms straining under the fabric of his shirt. He was following you, taking a step away from his friends and following your body as if magnetic. So you just went for it, putting your weight lower, and rolled your hips back and forth to the music.

Mama told me/not to sell work/Seventeen five/same color T-shirt

Your eyes met his, and the shared intensity of his gaze stirred something inside of you. Desire. A need to know what his skin felt like, a desire that had been lingering since you first saw him. Your hands moved on their own, draping over his shoulders, and his hands found the curve of your waist, and suddenly you knew what his skin felt like on yours. They found the bare skin between the hem of your shirt and the top of your jeans, burning your already warm skin.

Justin-something on aux changed the song, deciding that was enough, and then No Role Modelz was on, and you moved, swaying back and forth, your chests coming closer and closer. His face was inches from yours and you wondered what his lips would taste like. The slow rap and smooth feel of the beat had your eyes fluttering shut, mind twirling from the alcohol and the lowlights, the heat of the packed basement. If you didn’t have Harry under your hands, you might have left for a smoke break, an excuse for air. But you weren’t letting go of him anytime soon. So you turned around and when your ass touched his dick you couldn’t help but smile—he was already hard. You felt his arm move and watched him sip his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. You rolled your hips against him and then reached up, grabbing the can and bringing it to your own lips, taking a sip and watching him watch you. The two of you were taunting each other, acting on a feeling that had always been an undercurrent in every one of your interactions, a slight sexual tension that if you pulled on would become taught.

Which as you pressed against him, you fucking yanked on. His free hand clasped around your hip, holding you close and swaying in time with you. You could feel the sweat that had soaked through his t-shirt a bit, but you didn’t care—you were sweaty yourself, so was everyone in the room. It was part of the appeal, the fact that everyone was a mess and no one cared. He was rock hard between the denim of both of your jeans, and you could feel the power racing through you, the fact that you had him like this going straight to your head.

When Mr. Brightside came on, you decided that was your smoke break time. You couldn’t stand the song after so many years, and the feeling of bodies pressing together as they jumped was too much for you. “I’m going to get some air,” you said, turning around so you could face Harry.

He was so close to you, just inches away, when his tongue licked over his lip. “Can I come with?”

“Sure.” You grabbed his hand as you moved through the crowd, pushing between frat brothers and your sorority sisters who were all dancing together to the song. When you made it through the exit you sighed, the stale air of the stairwell even feeling better than that room.

“Fuck it was hot in there,” Harry said, your hand dropping from his. He followed you up the stairs and you nodded. You pushed open the door and a Doja Cat song was playing, some people upstairs scattered around, drinking and talking, some sitting on couches together. You waved to Maya, who seemed to have also needed a break, and nodded to the door as if to tell her you were getting some air.

“I’m going to smoke if that’s okay,” you told him as you made your way to the door, pulling your cigs and lighter from your back pocket.

He nodded. “Can I bum one?”

You opened the heavy oak door and said hello to the handful of guys sitting on the steps, who were manning the door and making sure no one random got in. “Sure,” you responded to Harry finally, sitting down on the concrete half wall that lined the landing. You could hear the slight thump of the music, but for the most part it was quiet, the the frat house a couple yards away not throwing anything tonight.

Harry leaned against the wall close to you, taking your offered cigarette. You flicked the lighter and raised it to your cigarette, taking a drag when it lit. Then you handed it to Harry, who accepted it gladly, doing the same. The smoke filled your lungs and your drunken mind considered that you should quit, but at the same time, you liked having something to do when you got air, an excuse to be on the steps. One of the other guys asked for one, and you handed one over, making a new friend.

And then you looked back to Harry. “So,” you said, tapping the ash on your cig. “How have you been?”

You hadn’t seen him since your last mixer with Beta, but you two hadn’t talked in ages. “Good,” he replied. “Busy with classes and stuff.”

“What are you studying again?”

“Political science,” he answered, and your eyebrows shot up. You had expected business or economics, like most of the Beta brothers.

“Why poli sci?”

He shrugged, tapping the ash before taking another drag. “Dunno, really. Took a class freshman year and liked it enough.”

“You don’t want to work in politics or something?”

“I don’t really know what I want to do, honestly.”

“You make it sound like that’s unusual,” you tell him. “Most people don’t.”

He chuckles, a low sound from the back of his throat, and you like the sound of it. “I’ll tell my dad that next time we talk.” You could tell there was a story there, but didn’t push. It wasn’t that kind of moment. “What about you?”

“Psych and pre-law,” you reply, the answer rolling off your tongue with ease.

“Oh? What kind of law?”

You took another drag before answering. “Criminal defense, but I want to work with people on death row.”

His eyes widen, just as you expected. It’s the usual response from people. “Fuck, that’s awesome. What made you interested in it?”

“I just got really into true crime when I was in middle school and ended up doing research on the criminal justice system and what a fucking disaster it is. Death sentences and death row especially. So I want to overturn false convictions.”

He puffed a cloud of smoke, and you watched his lips form a circle, a dark pink color that drew you in. “And you said most people don’t know what they want to do.”

A breeze made the hair on your arm hair stand up, and you rubbed the skin to warm up. It was cold tonight. “I’m unusual,” you told him. “Most of my friends have no idea what they’re doing after graduation.”

You had reached the end of your cigarette, so you dropped it to the ground and stamped it out, the combination of the nicotine and alcohol making your head deliciously hazy. “I’m going back in.”

Harry dropped his cigarette too, putting out the bud. “Lead the way.” He swiped his ID card on the door to let you both in, and you held the door for him, the sound of Post Malone sweeping through the house. “Want another drink?”

You mentally considered how drunk you were, came to the conclusion that you could take some more, and nodded. “White claw, please.” If you laid off the jungle juice you would last a bit longer, and you weren’t particularly wanting to get wasted tonight—you wanted to see where this went.

Harry nodded and walked towards the bar, while you turned to the group of girls closest to you, who were drinking juice and chattering amongst themselves. They immediately started asking you about Harry, about what was happening, and you shrugged because you truly didn’t know. “He’s hot,” one of them, a sophomore named Cat said. “You going to go for it?”

“If the opportunity presents itself,” you replied. You weren’t going to push with Harry, the last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in front of him. You’d follow his lead, see what he was interested in, matching his flirting and see where it went. Not to say you weren’t forward, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable either. “What about you guys?”

Cat launched into an in-depth analysis of the weird flirtation she’d been having with a junior guy in Beta, how they’d hooked up once but not again, but he kept looking at her. You encouraged her to go for it if she wanted, and she grinned, perhaps just needing an extra push. All of a sudden, you felt a hand on your back, and Harry was next to you, a Black Cherry white claw in one hand, a Heineken in the other.

“If I’d know there were Heinekens I would’ve had that,” you told him, accepting your white claw.

His hair fell behind his shoulders when he tipped the beer back. “Most girls don’t like beer.”

“Well you’ve met one now.” You liked messing with him, dropping flirtations into the conversation and pushing buttons. It made him smirk at you and you loved it, the twinkle in his eyes and the pinkness of his lips.

“H.” A guy appeared behind Harry. “We’re out of vodka.”

“How are we out?” He asked, taking another sip of his beer.

The guy, a pledge from the looks of him, grimaced. “Someone took one of the bottles.”

“Fuck,” Harry said with a sigh. “Have one of the other pledges go get more and keep the receipt. Get more claws while you’re out, we’re running low.” With that, he turned back to you, exhaling sharply. The boy disappeared, sensing that was his cue.

Right as you were about to speak, you heard the opening notes of I Love It from downstairs, and you turned to the girls around you. “Downstairs,” you told them, and they all tossed back the rest of their drinks before tossing them into the trash can a few paces away. You opened the door to the basement and then looked back to Harry. “Coming?”

That made him move, following you down into the dark stairwell that smelled of stale beer and sweat. He stayed close to you, and when your foot slipped on a stair he reached out to steady you, a hand to your side that made your body warm with more than just the temperature of the room. The girls in front of you streamed into the room, screaming the lyrics to the song.

“You’re such a fucking hoe/I love it!” You joined in, laughing at the lyrics in spite of yourself, but the truth is you fucking loved the song. It was absurd and was filthy, but you liked screaming the lyrics in a room with a bunch of your friends.

You twirled around and walked into the room backward, moving your body with the beat, taunting Harry to follow you. Which he did, as if connected to you by a magnet. You could see his lips moving, the lyrics falling from his lips to match you. You stopped moving in the middle of the room and Harry’s hands found your hips. Turning in his hands, a coy smile on your face, you knew what this song was going to involve. Hips moved on their own accord, grinding hard against him. You could feel his breath on your neck, the lyrics I’m a sick fuck/I like a quick fuck/I like my dick sucked/I’ll buy you a sick truck in your ear. Hearing the words on his lips for some reason had your blood pumping, and you wanted to hear them again on a loop.

His dick was hard against your ass and your hands stretched behind you, finding his hips to hold him close. His head fell to your neck, nosing at your skin, his fingers on the bare skin at your waist clenching. Your hips moved in time with each other, his body dropping to be at the height as yours, chasing the desire that was running between you. Your head tipped back against his chest and eyes fluttered shut, letting the alcohol in your veins and the music pounding in your ears take over. All you could feel was him, the cut of his body and the strength of his arms next to you, his hips insistently rubbing against yours and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually grind on him.

The song changed, Work Out by J. Cole sounding through the speakers and you pulled away from him and turned to face him. You were going to put on a bit of a show, you decided, because why the fuck not. It was clear at this point that he wanted you as much as you wanted him, so why pretend like anything else was happening?

So when the lyrics Let me see you get/High then go low/Now, girl won't you drop that thing down to the floor? fell through the speakers you dropped to the ground, Harry’s eyes following you came back up slowly, your body just inches from his. His hands fell on your body, grabbing at your waist to keep you close, pressing his hips forward to grind right over the front of your jeans and you panted from both the heat in the room and the pleasure ripping through your body. When the chorus came again, you dropped down, and this time you ran your hands down his legs lightly as you moved, fingers dancing down and then back up the seams of his jeans.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said and you could barely hear him over the music.

His eyes met yours, searing into yours, a question passing between you. And then you were moving towards each other, an answer to the question in the way your lips met, slotted together and pulled at one another. Your hands were pulling at his shirt, grabbing at the material and the skin underneath, one of his hand holding your head close to his, the other at your waist. It was fast and messy, your lip pulling on his bottom one, before chasing him, his tongue brushing at the seam of your lips before dipping inside.

Kissing Harry was hot. It was like setting your whole body on fire with desire and you just wanted to know what the rest of him felt like because his lips were sending you to another planet. He tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth and a moan escaped you, desperation clear in your throat. You could feel bodies press around you, the notes of Fire by Louis the Child ringing through the room. When the beat dropped, you knew people were jumping, the guys doing that thing where they slammed into each other like some kind of mosh. But Harry just stayed there, pulling his lips into yours, drawing wet pants from your body. He was holding tight to you as if you were going to slip away, even though that was the last place you wanted to go.

But you decided you wanted to tease him a bit more. Not let him get away, but just…push him a bit. So you drew away, enough to where you could dance, your sorority sisters at your back—you had seen Alexis move behind you. You grinding on her, your asses touching, and you could hear her laughter, before moving against you. It was something you two always did, dancing partners since the moment you met.

“If I go down in flames/The smoke going to spell my name,” you sang.

Harry watched you, his eyes burning a line down your body, the ministrations of your hips against Alexis’s. And then he was moving towards you, his front pressed yours and his lips were at your ear. “Drink?”

You nodded, and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. People were moving down them and you pressed yourself to the wall to let them pass, before following Harry up the stairs to the main floor. “Is there anything better than that shit?” You asked him when you stood next to him, his arm loosely around your waist, holding you to him.

His gaze drifted to the bar and then back to you. “I’ve got some stuff in my room.”

You knew he lived in the house, the result of being on exec last year and having first dibs after the current exec board was placed, the hierarchy the same as in your own sorority house. “Do you have mixers?” As much as you drank, you still hated drinking most straight alcohol, especially if you were going to be sipping on it. When he nodded, you replied, “Let’s go.”

You caught the eye of Emily who was standing on the other side of the room, watching you, and you pointed upstairs to tell her where you were going. After she gave you a thumbs up, letting you know she’d check in before leaving, a silent conversation well rehearsed over the years, you followed Harry up the stairs. Other guys and girls streamed down them, coming from rooms where they were smoking or using the bathroom or drinking just like you.

“What floor are you on?” You asked when you passed the first floor, twisting to go up the second flight.

“Third,” he replied, not pausing no the stairs. “It’s quieter.”

That made sense, as you could imagine if he didn’t feel like partying one night it would be kind of hard to avoid. You followed him up, the sound of the music fading as you made your way higher into the frat house. You passed other girls on the way you exchanged hugs and promises to catch up after chapter on Monday night. Finally, you made it to the third floor, and Harry pushed open the door to a room with his name on it.

You followed him in and the first thing you noticed was how much of a boy’s room it was. Messy comforter, clothes on the floor, alcohol bottles lining the window sill, the frat’s flag above his bed. Some posters and photos littered the opposite wall, a single framed photo of what looked like his family on his dresser, along with some random items like cologne and a brush and hair ties. A pair of athletic shoes and boots were shoved into one corner, and a tub of protein powder sat on top of his mini-fridge, along with a stack of solo cups. On his desk was a bong and a couple of lighters, his computer sitting next to it on a charger. The dorm room was narrow, most of it taken up with a double bed that you were a bit confused by, since most rooms just had a single.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” he said, shutting the door behind you. If you focused on it, you could hear nerves in his voice, a low laugh in the back of his throat as he surveyed his room. “Didn’t expect to have people up here.”

“It’s fine,” you told him, moving into the middle of the room to get out of the doorway, taking in the space.

“Uh, I’ve got Tito’s, Jack, some gin one of the guys got me.”

It drew you back to the whole reason you were in his room. He was standing next to his mini-fridge, a solo cup in his hand as he looked at you. “What mixers do you have?”

“Coke, juice, and tonic,” he replied. “Sorry, it’s not much.”

You shook your head. “Tito’s and tonic,” you told him. Usually you would’ve been all over the Jack and coke option, but considering how much you’d already drank the last thing you needed was to mix clear and dark liquors.

You watched him pour, leaning against his desk as you waited. He handed you the cup, asking you to try it and tell him if it was too strong. You took a sip and it was strong, but not too much. Then, he made a whiskey and coke you were jealous of, and the two of you stood in his room, not quite sure what to do. You didn’t want to go back down the party, the feeling of fresh air—even though it smelled vaguely like college boy, a mixture of sweat and cologne that you keenly recognized—feeling good on your skin.

“Want to listen to some music?” He asked, moving towards you. There was a bluetooth speaker on his desk, you realized, and shifted away so he could get at his computer.

You decided to sit on the bed, thighs resting on the soft comforter. “Sure.” You pulled your cigarettes and lighter from your back pocket, before looking back at him.

He fiddled with the speaker, the sound of it connecting ricocheting in the small room, before clicking keys to wake up his computer. “Any preferences?”

“I’m good with whatever,” you replied. “I like pretty much everything.” It was true, you had everything from country to Top 40s and rap on your Spotify, a variety of playlists to fit the mood.

He pulled on his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger as he perused his Spotify and you tried not to focus on the sight. Low music began to sound in the room and you immediately recognized the beginning notes of Let Her Go by 6LACK, a smile drifting onto your face. He must have noticed, because he turned around, his cup in his hand. “You like 6LACK?”

“More like obsessed,” you replied and he chuckled.

He sat on the edge of the desk, his knees falling open, his back slumped a bit. “I don’t know a single girl who even knows who he is.”

You took a sip of your drink before replying, resting your body back on one hand. “They must not have good music taste, then.”

Harry gave you a small smile, an edge of playfulness to it. “Where’s home for you?”

“Denver,” you responded. “You?”

“Holmes Chapel.”

“Where’s that?”

He brushed a hand through his hair, the long locks slipping between his fingers and you couldn’t help but wish you were the one doing it. “South of Manchester. It’s a small town, lots of fields and shit like that.”

You’d never been to England so you had no idea of where Manchester was, but you didn’t ask. “Do you like it?”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t want to like, move back or anything. But it’s a good place to go home to.”

Denver felt the same way to you—it was home, but it wasn’t a place you saw a future in. You’d go where law school took you, and then the work, wherever you could make the biggest impact. “Where do you want to go?”

The solo cup hung in his hands, and he twirled it a bit, the rim of the cup pressed between his fingers. “LA, maybe. New York. Not sure, really. London, most likely, unless I can get a job and someone to sponsor my Visa so I can stay.”

“Do you like the states?” You knew you were asking a lot of questions, but you’d never had a conversation like this with him and you were curious. Curious about him, about who he was, underneath all the frat shit that he loved so much.

“It’s different than home,” he replied, and you understood what he meant. “I don’t think I’ll want to be here forever, but it’s good for right now. Got friends here now.”

You took another sip of your drink, and then pushed yourself up, the need to pee suddenly overtaking your body. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall. Make sure you slam on the door before locking it—it got fucked up during homecoming and hasn’t been the same ever since.”

You nodded and took your cup with you, four years of college ingraining some lessons into your bones. Down the hall, you found a blond wood door and a doorknob that was barely attached to the door. You pushed it open and shut it quickly, shoving against it with your shoulder so that you could flip the lock. Inside, you wondered for the millionth time why boys were in capable from having a properly stocked bathroom. Head & Shoulders shampoo littered the floor of the shower, a flimsy shower curtain that had come free from a couple of the rings. You squatted to pee, grabbing the toilet paper roll that sat on top of the toilet, no one even bothering to properly put it away.

As you peed, you scrolled through your phone. Mallory had texted saying she was going bar hopping with some of her friends and you told her to text you if she needed anything and a heart, before checking her on Find My Friends to see she was, in fact at a bar. Then you texted your group chat with Emily and Alexis and Maya, who had asked how you were doing. You told them you were with Harry and most likely going to be here for a while, which got excited responses and Alexis sent the eggplant emoji, which made you snort. They told you to text you if you ended up staying the night so they could keep track of where you were, which you agree to do.

When you went to wash your hands, you rolled your eyes because of course they couldn’t even buy hand soap. You went to the shower and found a bottle of body wash, and squirted some into your hands before going back to the sink, rinsing them off. Then you looked at your face in the mirror, eyeliner and mascara still in tact, but your hair was a disaster. You pulled the bun free and let your hair tumble down your back, running through it with your fingers to calm the strands that were askew.

Standing the mirror, you had the opportunity to consider your choices. Did you want to hook up with Harry? Yes. That was a clear answer, despite your alcohol-hazed mind. Did he want to? Most likely—every indication had pointed towards yes. So your mind was made up as you pulled the door open and made your way back to his room, your phone tucked into your jeans and solo cup in your hand.

“You guys really need soap.”

He was still sitting on the edge of his desk, scrolling through his phone and sipping on his drink when you came into the room. At the sight of you, he put his phone down. “I know—it’s fucking disgusting. I have my own, though. Sorry for not sharing.”

You set your cup on his dresser, deciding you were done, and moved towards him. “It’s fine. I made do.” His eyes trailed down your front, the sexual tension thick in the room. When he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and chewed on it, you decided fuck it you were done waiting.

You crossed the space between the two of you in second, slotting yourself between his knees. His hands found your waist immediately, his solo cup moving to rest on the table once your body was pressed to his. Without pausing, you pressed your lips to his, reconnecting them in a fire—you needed him, you wanted him, you craved his hands on your skin. Now that you were alone, it was like you couldn’t hold yourself together and neither could he. His hands moved up and down your back, tugging you into his chest as your hands curled in his long hair. Lips fought for dominance, teeth tugging and tongues pressing for more. When he licked into your mouth a wet moan left your lips and you pressed into the crotch of his pants without even meaning to.

6LACK was still flowing through the speaker, and the smooth RnB just adding to the desire rolling through your body. When his lips dropped to your neck, sucking and biting on your skin, a desperate, filthy noise fell from your mouth and you couldn’t help but smile when Harry grunted into you. “I—fuck,” he mumbled, squeezing at your hips.

Suddenly your clothes were too warm, burning against your skin. You leaned back and pulled at the hem of your tank top, pulling it up over your head and letting it fall to the floor. Harry’s eyes went wide, blown out irises from alcohol and desire criss-crossing over your body. “You can touch me,” you said, confidence coursing through your veins and just desperate for him to do something.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling you back into him and attaching his mouth to the swell of your breast, right above the lace of your bra. Hot breath on your skin had you keening into him, back arching up into his mouth, your fingers tugging into his hair. You loved his hair, having something to hold onto and anchor yourself, and from the pleased hums he liked it too. His hands fumbled with your bra clasp, and when he got it free and pulled the material away, he pulled your nipple into his mouth and you audibly sighed. When he sucked on it, then laved over it with his tongue you couldn’t help but buck into him. You were putty in his arms and he had barely done anything.

Your hands pulled at his shirt, the desire to see his skin overwhelming you. He didn’t make you wait, helping you tug it over his head, and let it drop to the floor. Black ink scattered across his skin, words and images that made a million questions swirl in your mind. The G on his shoulder, the ship on his bicep, the name Jackson scrawled above a rose, the swallows across his collarbones and a butterfly on his stomach. He sat there, chest heaving as he caught his breath and your fingers brushed his skin, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Y/N,” he rasped, “bed?”

“Yes.” The word fell from your lips with ease, and he was backing you into it immediately, hands in your hair and lips on yours. Your bare chests touching sent you into overdrive, the brush of your nipples on his warm skin, a sheen of sweat covering both of you from dancing all night.

The comforter was plush underneath your back as you scrambled up the length of his bed, his body following yours immediately. Your legs fell apart so he could fit between you, and when he did, his dick rested right against your clothed clit and it made you gasp. “Feel good?” He mumbled, the words a haze in your ears as he plucked your lips between his.

All you could do was buck up, your knees finding either side of him. You wanted to be on top, to be in control. You wanted to grind on him properly, after waiting for so long. With a hand at his chest, you pushed slightly, enough for him to move back. He must have understood what you wanted because he flopped onto the bed next to you, one hand on either of your thighs and you mounted him, your ass sitting on the top of his thighs.

When you moved your center over his dick, both of you groaned, deep and drawn out, your head thrown back in pleasure. It was bliss, after so much waiting, to finally be able to do this, his hands crawling from your thighs to your hips to hold you in place, exactly where he wanted you. You put your hands on his chest to hold yourself up, and let your hips find a sinful rhythm, one that was making pleasure curl in your stomach. Pants left your mouth, matched by Harry, who was watching you as if you were a fucking art exhibit, eyes trying to take in every inch of you. Fingernails curled into his skin, red marks that you expected to be there tomorrow, when he nudged at your clit, and you rubbed that spot a few more times, his name falling from your lips in a beg. “Harry.”

That had him moving, pulling your lips down to his so he could kiss you again, his fingers cradling the back of your head. It was just rough enough where you were scrambling to catch up and it felt good, that this was consuming every part of your brain. You rolled your hips again, your hands pressing into the pillow under his head. Then, you felt his thighs agains your ass, and he was pushing up into you, making him snugly flush against you, the only thing between you two being your clothes.

Which you wanted off, and wanted off now. You moved back, crawling between his legs, and his eyes followed you, panting as he watched you pop the button on his pants. He lifted his hips to help you and you tugged the tight skinny jeans that showed every inch of his thickness underneath them down his legs. Then, you pulled on his briefs, and he was bare in front of you, exactly as you wanted him. Your jeans were constricting your movement so you turned tot he side, pulling the denim off of your body so you were left in your underwear.

Then you were on him again, but this time, it was your hand on his dick, fingers running up the length of him.

“Fuck,” he said, voice husky in your ears. He was gorgeous underneath you, desperation making his eyebrows crease, his long hair a mess on the pillow. Why had you waited so long to act on this desire? You suddenly couldn’t remember.

He watched you spit onto his most sensitive part, and then slide your hand over him, spreading the moisture. He hissed at the feeling and you knew you wouldn’t be able to last long here—he was already hard, his tip red and throbbing. The fact that you had him this turned on and you’d barely done anything made your ego soar, to be honest. You pumped him three times before licking up the underside of him, his hands curling in the comforter, a stream of curses falling from his lips.

When you took him into your mouth, a low, rough grunt filled the room and you smiled. You hollowed your cheeks and immediately took him all the way into your mouth, resisting the urge to gag when he hit the back of your throat. “Shit,” he rasped. “You—shit.”

You’d done what you were about to give him just a handful of times before, only with people who you knew you would feel pleasure from too when they did it, and trusted. And Harry fit both of those categories, because he could fucking smile and you’d want to fuck him. So you grabbed his hand and placed it on the back of your head, before taking him all the way to the back of your throat. Your mouth was full of him and it felt so good.

“Want me to fuck your mouth?” His eyes were glimmering in the light, completely focused on you. You were happy you had left the lights on, because it meant you could every inch of him, every reaction you drew from him.

In response, you licked at his tip, hoping he knew that meant yes.

He seemed to, because he curled his fingers into your hair and pushed his hips up, his tip hitting your throat immediately. You groaned around his dick and he cursed at the vibrations. Then, he kept his hips on the bed and instead pulled you up and down him, fucking your mouth just as you had wanted. You couldn’t do much from this position, so you focused on inhaling through your nose and running your hands over his skin, scratching at the butterfly on his torso. Leaving reminders of this night, of you, on his body.

“Shit,” he mumbled, pulling you off. “I—I have to stop. But, shit, you feel so good, babe.”

The pet name made you smile, sitting back on your heels to wipe at your mouth, the taste of his salty precum still on your tongue. “Do you have a condom?” You asked, because all that you had done had left you more than ready—you needed him inside of you.

Harry’s eyes went wide and he scrambled up. “Fuck,” he exhaled, grabbing at his desk drawer and pulling it open. Watching him look through his drawers completely naked was, you had to admit, a bit amusing, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. He wrenched another drawer open, tossing the contents about as he looked. Then he sighed, and looked back at you. “I’m out.”

“Go find one,” you told him, leaning back against the wall, letting your knees drop open to show your underwear. You could feel the wet spot on them and you knew he saw it too. “I’ll wait here.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll—yeah I’ll find one.” He pulled on his jeans, not even bothering with his briefs, eyes flickering to you every once and a while. “Shit, I’ll—I’ll be back.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at how flustered he was, pushing open his door and letting it slam shut behind him. Through the door you could hear him knocking on the door next to his, some muffled words, and then him knocking again. He was going fucking door to door looking for a condom, you realized with amusement. Then, the patter of feet on the stairs, and you knew he was going downstairs, that no one else was in their rooms.

While you waited, you grabbed your phone and scrolled through it. Caught up on texts, liked shit on Instagram, checked Snapchat even though you barely used the app. Most people were at bars, as far as you could tell, but it looked like they’d set back up pong downstairs according to Emily’s story.

All of a sudden, feet pounded on the stairs and you knew it was Harry. You pushed your phone back onto the desk, and when the door opened, he was standing there holding probably ten condoms. “How many did you get?”

He looked down at the wad in his hand and visibly blushed. “I—I thought I’d re-stock.”

You let it slide, even though you knew exactly why he got so many. He was hoping you’d have a couple rounds, and you were not opposed to the idea. “Come here,” you said, and let your legs fall back open.

He was on you in second, his pants kicked down his legs as he moved and you were surprised he didn’t trip. Hands found your skin and he pushed you up the bed, this time he was the one hovering over you, lips drawing eager mewls from you. You pressed your hips into his unclothed erection and he cursed, a grimace crossing his face that you knew was from him restraining himself. “Can I take these off?” He asked, fingers pulling at your underwear.

“Please,” you replied and that made him smile at you. He peeled them down your legs, tossing them to the ground, a forgotten memory. Then he brushed a finger over your slit and you gasped, cool touch sending waves of pleasure through you. “Need you.” The two words made his head snap up from where he was looking at your pussy, eyes connecting with yours.

“I was going to go down on you,” he said, and although the thought was tantalizing, you needed him inside of you.

You shook your head. “Later.”

Harry wasn’t complaining. He grabbed one of the condoms from his desk and ripped it open, rolling it down his dick with a concentrated gaze. Then, he crawled up your body, reconnecting your lips, and you both sighed at the feeling of his dick rolling against your center. “Okay?” He asked, pulling away just a hair to check in.

“Please,” you begged, and that had him moving immediately.

He tugged one of your legs around his waist, and then he gripped his dick, brushing his tip to your slit once, twice, three times. On the third time, though, he pressed in, and your wetness accepted him immediately, allowing him to push in about halfway before he stopped.

It burned a bit—mainly just from his size, which was bigger than most other guys you’d been with. You hands scrambled across his chest, grabbing at his skin, struggling to get your breathing under control. “You’re big,” you said, unable to stop the words that fell from your lips.

A cocky smile drifted over his face and you mentally kicked yourself for adding to his ego. “Can I move?” He asked though and you nodded. His head bobbed down, and you realized he was watching where you two were connected as he pulled back and then pushed in all the way. A choked moan left your mouth and a similar one sounded from Harry’s, although his had a string of curses attached. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he rasped, hands adjusting so they were next to your head, his face above yours. “Fuck.”

You were about to tell him to move when he did it on his own accord, pulling out and back into you, the impact making your body shift on the comforter. There was a very real possibility of you having sore legs tomorrow, but you really didn’t give a fuck because he felt so good. “Holy shit,” you babbled, those words the only ones you could find as he thrusted in and out of you, finding a rhythm that made you both pant with pleasure.

Sounds drifted out of you without you even realizing, something that always happened when you had drunk sex. You couldn’t control yourself as much, unable to process how loud you were being, what you were saying. Looking back you couldn’t even remember exactly what you had said, but you knew it was a mess of curses and his name and God and just pants and mewls that were feeding Harry like a fucking three course meal.

He loved your sounds, used them to figure out what you liked, where to move and shift. You could tell because when you’d let out a sharp gasp he’d say, “Yeah, there? That’s the spot?” and drive in and out of you, hitting your g-spot perfectly with every move of his hips. Your hands were clutching at his hair as he thrusted into you, your ankles hooked around his lower back, and your body was desperate for release.

But you could also tell he was not going to last. His eyes were heavy, eyelids drawing shut with pleasure, fingers curling in the pillow next to you. Shoulders tensing and abdomen tight as he swiveled his hips, a broken moan falling between you. “Close,” he finally said, and dropped down to his elbows, so his face hovered above yours, only a hair away. “You feel so good, shit, oh my god—how do you feel so good?” His words were broken and that made them even better, that he had no control over what he was saying.

“Want you to come,” you babbled, “want to feel it, come on Harry, come for me, please, I need it.”

“Holy fuck—“ that had him snapping into you, hips slapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin overpowering the music that still played in the background. You gripped his shoulders when his head hung in the crook of your shoulder, and you knew he was about to come.

So you said one more thing. “I need you to come, Harry, please.” The words came out as a beg, exactly as you intended. His hips were stuttering immediately, curses falling between you like a broken record, repeating over and over again as he shot into the condom. He smattered kisses on your shoulder as he collapsed into you, sweat sticking to your skin.

He laid there for a second, panting, and you didn’t mind, even though you desperately needed to come. Perhaps it was how you clamped down on him, or you shifted your hips to feel slightly more of him, but Harry seemed to figure out what you needed. He lifted his head, took one look at you, and then pulled out, ripping off the condom and tossing it into his trash before crawling down your legs.

When his tongue licked your slit, you mewled his name, your hands moving into his hair immediately. You tugged and pulled on it as he licked over you, drawing circles that pulled desire from your flesh. And then he went inside, darting his deftly skilled tongue into you and practically thrusting it into you. His thumb brushed across your nub and you let our a shuddering moan, bucking up into his face. You were close—insanely close—the combination of his tongue inside of you and the thumb on your nub drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Harry,” you rasped, voice broken from panting. “I’m close.”

He seemed double his effort, tongue moving in and out of you at double time, his thumb brushing a brutal pace over you. You were twisting in his arms, hips bucking, curses leaving your lips. And when he pulled his thumb away and sucked on your clit, that’s when you came, in a mess of his name and broken gasps, choking on air. Your fingers curled tightly in his hair, anchoring his face to your center as you came, bucking up into him. He didn’t mind though, he just held your hips and took it, licking at you to draw out all of your aftershocks. Your eyes squeezed shut and your mind was a mess, swirling without the ability to grasp onto a single thread of thought, just a mess under his lips.

When you finally regained the ability to breathe, you pulled your hands from his hair and he sat up. You watched in awe as he licked his lips, gathering your juice, and swallowed them, a smile on his face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really good at that?”

He gave you a cocky expression and then flopped down next to you. “They have, in fact.”

“Good. I’d be concerned about the other girls if they hadn’t.”

He laughed, and then pulled you into his body. You were surprised at his desire to cuddle, but you weren’t mad. “You can stay if you want. There’s people downstairs still and it’s cold out.”

You propped your head up on his shoulder. “There’s also all those condoms.”

“That’s true. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.”

You trailed your fingers up his torso. “Might have to just stay the whole weekend if we’re trying to use them all.”

His eyebrows quirked, but he wasn’t mad at the prospect. “Wanna be my study break for the weekend?”

You smirked, leaning up to quickly peck his lips. “As long as you’re mine.”

He hauled your body on top of his and curled his fingers into your hair. “We’ll get your shit in the morning, then.”

“It’s a deal.” You kissed him, lips slotting against one another, slower and less hurried than before, but that same undercurrent of desire stringing between you two. You were already grinding into him, hips brushing over his as you moved.

Suddenly, a pounding sound came from the door, and you froze. “Fuck off!” Harry called, pulling the comforter that had ended up at the bottom of the bed over the two of you.

“Fuck—sorry—I need a condom, man.” The words were muffled, but you heard them all the same.

Harry snorted, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ask Nick,” he replied, “and leave me the fuck alone.” His hands grabbed at you, kneading into your ass, and you licked at his nipple.

It was going to be a long weekend.

SEND ME CONCEPTS ABOUT Y/N AND HARRY!

#frat boy harry #frat boy au #frat boy fan fiction #Harry Styles #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing

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manikas-whims · 4 years ago

Text

Troublesome New Girl

Sequel to A Place Good Enough

[Read on AO3]

Characters: Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Kaz Brekker

Summary: Inej has newly joined the Dregs. She goes to return Kaz's coat in the presence of many members. *cue the teasing & jokes*

Jesper meets Inej & evidences of Jesper's crush on Kaz (tiny bit of angst).

Kaz is his usual self & sets an example. A violent one :)

Note:

I just noticed this complete written fic has been sitting in my drafts for a month now. I'm so dumb 〒_〒

PLEASE DO READ THE PREVIOUS PART IN THIS SERIES TO UNDERTAND THIS SEQUEL.

Hope you guys enjoy!

Inej

The constant noise of banging against wood rouses Inej from her sleep. She looks around haphazardly only to find herself lying on a cot in an unknown room, her torso covered by a grey coat. Sun's rays blind her eyes momentarily as she turns her face, an open window staring back at her, not the daunting walls of the Menagerie. Memories of the previous night flood back and her shoulders deflate in relief. She takes a long breath to calm her rapidly beating heart. She doesn't need to endure Heleen's beatings or sell her body anymore. She is free of that life. Free.

“Oi new girl!” a voice calls, followed by more knocking at the wooden door to her small room. “Brekker told me to bring you some clothes. I’m leaving a pair out here.”

Right! Kaz Brekker had promised her better clothes. She leaves the comfort of the cot but by the time she unlocks the door to thank whoever was on the other end, the person is gone. She catches a short glimpse of a feminine figure with blond hair at the stairs and vows to thank her later. Picking up the clothes, she closes the door.

Jesper

When Jesper had heard his fellow Dregs gossiping about Dirtyhands bringing back a girl with him late at night, he hadn’t given it much thought. He had ignored Anika when she had said that she was literally asked by Kaz himself to provide the said girl with some clothes. In fact, he had completely shooed away anyone who came up to fill his ears with rumors about this unknown Suli girl and the bastard of the barrel. So when a small, bronze-skinned girl bumps into him on the third floor of the Slat, he's stunned.

"Ohhh—", The girl waves her hands frantically, her pupils dilating in concern, "I'm sorry."

But Jesper doesn't bother with apologies for he's too busy appraising her. Now she does match the rumored descriptions and is even donning Anika's lame clothes. But what actually piques his interest is a neatly-folded coat in the deepest shade of grey held between her dainty hands. He doesn’t need to think long to guess who it belongs to. There’s only one person who doesn’t indulge in the colorful fashion sense of the barrel— Kaz “Dirtyhands” Brekker.

He feels his insides fuming. But no way is he going to act like an idiot and jump to conclusions. Just because here's a girl he’s never seen before and she happens to have a coat, doesn’t mean that every single narrative he's heard about this whole situation is true.

He narrows his eyes in what he assumes is his best look of suspicion as he towers over the girl. “Where did you get that?”

"Um", she looks down at the piece of clothing and mumbles in the most innocent tone, "Mr. Brekker lent it to me."

Mr. Brekker!? The hell kinda way is this to address a man you slept with? Or whatever the heck it is that Dirtyhands prefers to do with girls..

"Why?" he asks. From Jesper's experiences, the young lieutenant of the Dregs isn't big on kindness. "Why did he lend it you?"

The girl's brows narrow in thought. It seems she herself is unsure of the reason. Her left palm clutches her right forearm in apprehension. "I guess..because I wasn't in a very decent attire."

Alarms go off in Jesper's head again. What exactly happened between her and Kaz? His heart needs answers yet he knows that its none of his business so he suppresses the unease welling in his belly.

"Well Kaz is up there." He gestures in the direction of the attic. "I'm headed there right now so I can give it to him."

The girl frowns. "I can't let a stranger do that for me. Besides," she twirls a strand of her hair, her eyes alight with some indescribable emotion, "I must properly thank him myself."

Jesper is familiar with this look. It mirrors his own when he was still a newbie at the Dregs and wanted to prove himself, wanted to repay Kaz for saving his ass. And not just by helping him pluck stupid pigeons but also by adding extra sums of profits to his ledger. Jesper can empathize with her on this.

"He saved you too," The Zemeni asks carefully, "didn't he?"

She stares at him, gauging the understanding in his expression and simply nods.

He rubs the side of his neck awkwardly. "Well, wanna go up together?"

Her eyes widen and she involuntarily takes a few steps back. Distrust. Fear. He can empathize with this action as well. In the barrel, it'd be foolish to believe a complete stranger within few moments of the first encounter.

"Then," he smiles the smile that many have called charming and starts his ascend upstairs. He only looks back once to wink at her, hoping it'll quell her anxious mind a bit, "follow my lead?"

"I can do that." she mumbles, more to assure herself and takes the first step of many that will become the foundation to their sibling-like friendship.

Kaz

When it comes to change, development and fresh ideas, Per Haskell always cowers and dismisses the topic. People like that will never achieve anything if they aren't willing to take risks. The restoration of that abandoned fifth harbour would already be in motion if Kaz hadn't chosen to waste another of his precious mornings trying to convince his boss that investing in it may prove fruitful to the Dregs. And so, after a pointless argument he had had earlier with the old man, he's decided to take matters into his own hands.

Huffing audibly, he continues explaining every member present in his room their respective job for the day. The boisterous throng huddled around him, begins dispersing all of a sudden. Curiously, Kaz looks up to find his faitful right-hand man Jesper Fahey walking in, a mischievous glint in his silver irises.

"We bumped into each other on our way up here." Jesper gestures behind him.

And it is then that Kaz notices her presence— Inej Ghafa, the strange Suli girl he had brought back from the West Stave. Oddly, he had felt her presence moments ago but had brushed it off as a mere byproduct of his rest-deprived mind playing tricks on him. Turns out his intuition hadn’t been wrong at all.

"Its that Suli girl."

"The one that Brekker took up to his bed?"

"Who would've thought Haskell's rabid dog had such exquisite tastes."

The one that Brekker took where? Haskell's rabid what? Kaz isn't sure which remark he finds more insulting towards his reputation. Although he does realise he has no one except himself to blame. He should'nt have let the girl follow him up to the attic last night. As usual, he'll have to cover this small err with fresh tales about himself that are even more gruesome than the previous ones. But for now he must find out why the new girl is here.

Anika’s clothes are baggy on her small frame— a deep green shirt so loosely-fitted that she has tied its ends into a double knot just above her belly-button whilst the fawn-colored trousers hang tastefully around her hips. He watches her long, silky hair sway behind her as she walks gracefully in his direction, determination glimmering in her dark brown irises. Shock briefly flits across his gaze but before he can even think of stopping her, she shoots out her hands in which he (dreadfully) recognizes, she’s holding his coat. He can feel all eyes in the room already settling on him. They collectively stare in a mix of shock, curiosity and..is this jealousy he's witnessing on a few faces?

"What do you think you're doing?" He grits out. He hears a muffled snickering which he's sure is Jesper's and wonders if the two somehow managed to become friends in the short span of their climb up the stairs. And that they both planned this prank together on their way.

However, Inej only furrows her brows, debunking his ridiculous theory. She seems to be wondering what she's done wrong as she answers confidently, "I forgot to return it last night."

More interested staring ensues. The new pen in his palm snaps.

Is this girl serious right now? It took him long, unrelenting years to rise to the position he's at. He's spilled his blood, sweat and tears to scatter the seeds of terror about him throughout the expanse of Ketterdam. Even people who come across him for the first time, visibly shiver and turn pale. So what part of their last conversation has given her this courage to approach him so casually? She seems to have forgotten the fact that he’s an infamous barrel thug, feared by merchers, stadwatch and gangsters alike. She isn’t supposed to saunter up to him and return his coat, making this whole exchange appear to be a scandalous affair to the curious bystanders. She isn't supposed to crumble Dirtyhands' hard-built reputation with just a few words!

"Stand aside, I'm busy." He mutters, because he truly has no idea how to get out of this predicament and hopes that his caustic tone will get the message across just like it does with everyone else.

To his utter dismay, Inej seems to be far more tactless than Jesper, who still hasn't stopped snickering. She tucks the coat back in her arms and bites her lip as if suppressing herself from saying something mean. Her eyes quietly regard his own, an unspoken understanding settling between them. She is aware that if she doesn't wish to be thrown back into the Menagerie, she must behave properly with him. And yet, her nostrils flare as she responds, "I just wanted to pay my gratitude-"

"You can pay your gratitude," Kaz hisses back, glaring up at her from his perched position, "with your services." And its only after uttering those words does he realise the ambiguous implications hinted in them. Jesper's shoulders are shaking uncontrollably now, his palms tightly clamped around his mouth to muffle his laugh.

"Slow down, Dirtyhands." comments someone from the back and the whole room bursts into a howl of laughter. Inej brings a palm to her lips, gasping in mortification.

Kaz massages his eyes. Dealing with these ruffians has already been a headache. Now this new girl just walks in and takes the cake. She's proving to be far more dangerous– scratch that– far more more troublesome than he had expected.

He lets them have their fun as he pulls out a knife from his coatsleeve and gets up. He ambles towards Dirix, his steps slow and deliberate. He's sure it was Rotty who'd made the joke but Dirix is standing closer and it doesn't really matter who said what. Dirtyhands just needs to set an example.

The young boy is suddenly looking very pale. Kaz grabs his right hand, the dominant one and digs the blade along the joints of his fingers. The knife easily tears through his skin and goes deeper into the muscle beneath. Dirix is now screaming whilst everyone else hold their breath. From his peripheral vision, he catches the horror on Inej's face and rolls his eyes. Surely she must've heard of his violent endeavors at the menagerie. She shouldn't have approached him in the first place if she's going to be so shocked everytime he spills someone's blood.

He roots out the knife before it can completely sever Dirix's limbs. "Get 'em patched up." The boy is already running out.

He walks back and tosses the knife to the desk, its loud clang making everyone flinch in fright. "Pipe down before I actually start chopping tongues."

The threat silences everyone.

"This is Inej Ghafa." He points at her and the girl cowers slightly. Not at all the abrupt attention on her, he notices, but from him. "She's to be a new spider."

This one simple statement seems to piece together everything for them. Though he has an inkling that his previous act of brutality also plays a major part. They nod and whisper amongst themselves. He almost scoffs. Of course its easier for them to believe that Kaz Brekker took up a girl to his room for information. Not some spicy dalliance.

"Now get to work." He orders and one by one they shuffle out of the room, Rotty nodding respectfully. He knows he was spared merely by luck.

Jesper is the last one. He winks at Inej before taking his leave. "See you around, new girl!"

And with all of them gone, Kaz turns to Inej. She inhales a breath in anticipation.

"Let's start your training."

So hopefully that was as fun reading as it was for me writing :3

Coming parts will have Inej's training and ofc her picking her canon outfit.

SoC Masterlist

( divider by @firefly-graphics )

#six of crows #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #kanej #kaz x jesper #inej x jesper #kanej fanfic #pre soc #grishaverse #kanej fanfiction

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cauliflowercounty · 4 years ago

Text

Return to Me (Fred Weasley x fem!Reader)

House: You Choose

Blood Status: You Choose

Word Count: 2k

Warning: Mentions of serious injury/death-ish/distress/war

A/N: Happy Ending

Not proofread yet. I’ll do that later :)

----

Coughing from the smoke and ash, Harry presses himself up against the walls of the castle as Ravenclaw’s diadem shatters in his hands, scorched in the fire Crabbe had set in the Room of Requirement. Malfoy and Goyle disappear down the hallway without a word or thank you.

“Crabbe must have been casting feindfyre. That’s the only explanation for the diadem being broken,” Hermione says once the air’s cleared. “It’s cursed fire so it can kill Horcruxes.”

“What?” you grumble, standing up and catching your breath. “How’d he learn that?”

“Probably the Carrows,” Ron remarks. “He probably had a field day with them. They were teaching the cruciatus curse in their classes. I wouldn’t be shocked if they taught him how to cast feindfyre, too.”

“This means we only need to kill the snake, Harry,” you say, realizing Voldemort’s defeat is closer by the moment.

“Yeah, but how are we going to get it alone?” Harry inquires. “It’s practically a part of him.”

“We’ll figure out when we get there,” Hermione says.

As everyone gets to their feet, the crack of spells can be heard echoing down the corridor, coming closer and closer by the moment. Harry, Hermione, and Ron draw their wands, in preparation. You clench your hand around yours, preparing for whatever might come.

Percy and Fred come into view, dueling two hooded figures in long black cloaks. You sigh in relief. Fred is still alive and fighting with all his might. You watch as the death eaters’ silvery masks reflect the light of the spells as the opponents exchange blows. Percy flicks his wand and hits Pius Thicknesse squarely in the chest, sending him tumbling backward. Fred skillfully blocks a curse headed his direction, countering with a jinx, causing the other death eater to trip.

“Stupefy!” Fred shouts, hitting the death eater as he falls, sending him flying back towards the other end of the hall and knocking him out cold.

“Hello, Minister!” Percy exclaims beside his brother with a smirk. “Seems as though you could brush up on your dueling. And did I mention I’m resigning?”

You jump forward and join Percy, wrapping up the Minister in binds made of his own robes. Percy swirls his wand and the Thicknesse quickly starts to transfigure into a sea urchin. Percy smiles, satisfied with both of your work. Next to you and Percy, Fred lets out a hearty chuckle, the vibrant smile you’ve grown to know to spread over his face. He starts to say something about how long it’s been since Percy’s made a joke since he’s so consumed with his work and shrouded in seriousness. Just as the moment of satisfaction comes that there are no longer any threats in the seventh-floor corridor, everything slows.

The shockwave rips through the air. The explosion is unexpected and devastating as it sends everyone flying and to the ground. White noise rings in your ear. As you feel the rubble tumble past your head and dust fill the air, you don’t have a sense of anything around you or where anyone else is. After a second, you move your fingers and legs, trying to determine your injuries. Other than a few bruises and some residual shock, you seem fine as you get up shakily.

“Hermione? Y/n? Harry?” Ron calls out. “Percy are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” Percy says. “Fortunately, my glasses are the only thing that’s broken.”

“Ron! Thank goodness!” Hermione calls from somewhere around the rubble.

“Where’s Fred?” Harry asks as you gasp in horror. Looking down a few feet away from you, you can see a light-skinned frecked arm sticking out of the rubble.

“Fred!” you shriek, rushing to him. “Fred! Help me! Percy!”

You scramble to move the rocks from on top of Fred in desperation, praying and pleading to anyone or anything that would listen that Fred is okay. The others join you, clearing the rocks with magic and their bare hands. As soon as you’ve uncovered him enough, you scoop him up and hold him against your chest, tugging on his torso and lifting him all the way out of the rubble. His eyes are closed and his body is limp. Resting his head in your lap, you begin to cry.

“Freddie?” you whimper, running your hands through his hair just as he’s always loved. “Are you there? Come on, wake up?”

Percy takes two fingers and presses them to Fred’s neck. Percy’s eyes widen.

“I feel a pulse,” Percy sniffs quietly, a tear rolling down his cheek. “But it’s faint. I don’t know if he’ll between now and when we can get him to Madame Pomfrey…”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron’s faces all drop. Fred’s always been there. Making jokes, teasing Ron, selling his products. Most of all, he’s been with you. They stare at Fred’s face in shock, not even beginning to fathom a world in which Fred Weasley isn’t around.

“I-I have something to ask all of you and I need you to do it fast,” you say quickly. “You have to trust me. It’s for Freddie.”

The four of your friends look at you intently.

“I need you all to cast the Patronus charm,” you explain. “Now.”

“Y/n…” Hermione says. “This isn’t’ the time. There aren’t even any dem-”

“I know, Hermione!” you snap, shooting her a look. “Stop asking questions trust me! I need you to cast it or Fred might not make it! I can’t cast it now. Corporal patronuses are best but shields are just fine! Hurry!”

Everyone nods, grabbing their wands, and soon enough, Harry’s stag, Ron’s jack russell terrier, and Hermione’s otter form in the air. Percy closes his eyes and casts his own charm, forming a small shield in front of him. You nod to all of them and mouth your gratitude.

Closing your eyes, you extend your arm out in front of you above Fred’s chest. You focus and reach further, your fingers feeling as if they’re pushing through layers and layers of magical barriers and shields. As soon as you feel it, you grasp a small vial in your hand and it materializes as you pull it back towards you. The others watch in confusion and awe as you uncork the tiny vial. You murmur a few small words, hoping this will work as you tip the vial.

Out of the vial comes a shimmering liquid that glows as it descends through the air and onto Fred’s chest. It shines as if it’s made from the sun itself and swirls with a pearlescent sheen. As soon as it touches Fred, it glows warm, comforting, filling the entire vicinity in its brilliance. The lights dance with the silvery blue whisps of the patronuses. Within a second, it all fades.

You duck your head down to Fred’s chest and sigh a shaky breath as you listen to Fred’s steady heartbeat.

“You’re okay…,” you smile to Fred, who’s just beginning to stir. His brown eyes flutter open and lock with yours.

“Y/n?” he whispers almost inaudibly, reaching up to touch your cheek with care. He coughs a bit, clearing the dust from his throat.

“It thought I lost you,” you cry as he brings you into a tight hug, your tears staining his jacket. The others gasp and smile. Fred’s still here. He’s not dead. Fred reaches up to Percy, who helps bring Fred to his feet and the three brothers quickly embrace Ron on the verge of tears. As soon as they release, Fred turns to you, scooping you up in his arms and kissing you on the lips, giving it all he can. As you break apart, he rests his forehead on yours.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Fred whispers, noticing your tears dribbling down your cheek.

“It’s okay…,” you reply softly. “It’s not your fault… I’m glad it wasn’t too late. I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

“I’m not going anywhere now, y/n,” Fred assures you. “There’s no way.”

Hermione clears her throat and you and Fred jump away from each other, surprised at the disturbance. “Y/n, what was that?” she questions

“Yeah,” Ron nods. “Explain.”

“It’s….,” you trail off. “It happened a while ago. I was going through some very old books and I found a long lost magical technique. I had to translate it. What it said was that people can store concentrated healing magic. Once a day, someone can cast a healing spell and concentrate it in liquid form and keep adding to it as long as they want. If it’s kept going long enough, it can perform miracles. It’s inefficient, though. One person can only make one at a time and you can only add to it once a day. It must have fallen out of use for inefficiency… but I’ve made my own. That’s what I used to heal Fred.”

“That’s bloody brilliant,” Ron exclaims in astonishment. “Why would a technique like that go out of fashion? Even if it’s rare, it still had value.”

You shrug in agreement.

“What about the patronuses?” Harry adds.

“Patronuses are more than they seem to be. Expecto Patronum means ‘I await a guardian.’ They repel more than just dementors. They can slow down death in his footsteps. They don’t stop him. Only slow him. Guardians are protectors, after all,” you clarify with a smile.

“So you asked us all to cast one because it would give Fred the best chance?” Ron asks and you smile back to confirm. “Wicked.”

“This bit of explanation and monologuing has been great, but the battle isn’t over yet,” you say. “We still have to kill that snake.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione agree, beginning to head off toward the courtyard, deciding to seek out Voldemort and his snake directly, leaving you behind to stay with Fred. Just as they get out of sight, Fred tugs at your arm and kisses you lightly.

“Thank you y/n, I-”

“Shhh. Don’t mention it, Fred. I would have saved you any day,” you cut him off. “We can talk about this after the battle when we have a moment to ourselves.”

“I love you,” he adds with a hopeful look. You grin, not being able to resist him and kiss his cheek.

Fred nods and takes your hand. He looks at you in the eyes as if to say, “Ready?” You take a deep breath in, the feel of Fred’s hand in yours reassuring you that he’s still there and this isn’t a dream. With that, you, Percy, and Fred head into battle. This time, you don’t let go of Fred’s hand during the battle for even a moment.

Years later, you’re living in a London flat that you and Fred share. Wealsey’s Wizard Wheezes is a booming business. Everyday, you wake up to Fred, giving him his good morning kiss before he gets ready to work at the shop. You smile as you fix his crooked ties and kiss his nose. As you part your ways as he goes into the shop for his work and you head down the alley for yours, you smile to see all the excited children already gathered outside. You’re happy knowing that the shop is a success because it’s where he comes alive, talking about the products with customers. As you drop him off, George every once in a while flashes you a meaningful smile as if to say “this is all thanks to you.”

You travel with Fred to the United States when the international branches of the shop open, which was a much anticipated expansion. You’re right there in the picture with him and George on opening day as they cut the ribbon, clapping and cheering the loudest out of anyone.

At night, you both return to bed you share, and you snuggle into his chest tightly, taking in the smell of Fred that you’ve come to know and love: cinnamon with a hint of firework smoke. Each time, you tuck your head onto the crook of his neck, smiling, knowing you don’t know what exciting occurrences will come tomorrow, but Fred’s most definitely going to be there right beside you and you couldn’t be more in love.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #Harry Potter #weasley twins

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iwrestlenow · 4 years ago

Text

Many More To Die, Chapter 5

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 5)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY:

Lord Janus is a man with a past--and a drake with a treasure to protect.

Meanwhile, Logan fades in and out of consciousness while the king and his compatriots sort some things out--including the mysterious cadet's true identity.

Something is happening in Logan's mind, magic that he can't understand at his fingertips...and the palace dungeon master is hell bent on stopping it at all costs.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: more blatant violence against children, but nothing graphic. Also, I rewrote this bastard SIX TIMES and I’m still not happy with it, but it’s a long, meaty chapter.

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1025, A.A.

“...are you an angel?”

Janus turned sharply at the sound of the tiny, awestruck little voice. He finally pinned it to a dungeon cell across from the shadowy corner where he'd just sold his father's favorite pocket watch in exchange for information on Corporal Mori—a guard that had a nasty habit of roughing up some of the younger prisoners of the palace dungeons.

Janus was a liar, a cheat, and a thief—but he had no stomach for bastards like that. And anyway, he was well aware the corporal was responsible for wrenching Logan Berry's shoulder out of the socket. Janus liked Logan—he was far too straight laced to be anything but forthright and fair in his dealings.

It was the main reason Janus let him get away with the lies he did tell. If Logan believed you were dealing with him in the same fashion, he'd sell out his own mother. Janus respected that, and he looked after the few people he respected.

Hence digging up blackmail on the corporal—until the boy in the cell piped up with something so ridiculous it actually made Janus laugh.

“Angels don't have scales, kid.” he sneered, pocketing the letters he'd been given before he ambled closer to the cell. The kid couldn't have been more than twelve, with a mop of dark curls and lapis blue eyes that were currently so wide with fascination they looked fit to pop out of his head.

“Have you ever seen one?” the boy asked.

Janus hesitated, then found himself laughing again. “You got me there.”

The boy beamed—absolutely beamed, smile full of all kinds of sickening things like sunshine and rainbows. Ridiculous...yet it tugged at something in Janus's chest.

“Then you don't know.” the boy continued. “You've gotta have the prettiest face I've ever seen.”

Stepping right up to the door of his cell, Janus bared his teeth, his too sharp top and bottom canines on full display.

“There's nothing pretty about me. You'd do well to remember that.” he warned, all cold venom and as much menace as he could muster to shake the weird, squirmy feeling behind his breastbone that was only growing stronger the longer this kid looked at him like...like that.

“Is that why you're tryin' to prove Corproral Mori is havin' an affair with the captain of the guard's wife?”

Janus froze, suddenly vaguely uncomfortable with the fact that he might have to kill a child.

“You heard that?” he asked as lightly as he could manage.

The boy lowered his gaze, finally showing signs of fear—shoulders hunching, breath quickening. Good.

Then he wrapped one hand around his opposite wrist, wringing lightly at it and retreating a little further into himself.

“Yeah.” he admitted softly. “I...I hate it, I hate that I'm like this, but...I hope you do prove it.”

Janus didn't need much more to connect the dots, knowing what he did about the corporal.

“Did he hurt you?”

The boy looked up sharply, eyes too wide—only this time, not with awe. He remained silent, but Janus didn't need more than that look to know, or to see red with a swell of rage that took him by surprise.

“What's your name, kid?” he asked quietly.

“Patton.” the boy replied, looking even more scared as he lowered his head again. “I...don't have a Name.”

Another child necromancer. Of course he was afraid of admitting that—Janus knew what he was expecting. Fear, hatred, revulsion.

The fact that this kid didn't get that Janus understood that...

“Show me your wrist.” he instructed. “The one he broke.”

Patton looked up again, eyes still wide—this time with confusion, did this kid have any other setting besides doe-eyed cherub?--but did as he was told.

Making a fist, Janus took a breath and called on what little magic he had. When he felt the heat bleeding into his fingers, saw the ripple of heat in the air and the coal red shimmer of energy, he extended his fist and opened his fingers. The energy fled his grip and laid over Patton's arm, glowing bright before going swiftly dark again.

“It shouldn't bother you again.” he explained when Patton withdrew his arm back into his cell and ran his fingers over it in fascination.

Looking back up at Janus, his smile was softer this time, his expression so intense and...adoring that he couldn't breathe under the weight of it.

“I'm Janus.” he said, by way of responding to that...expression before he turned around and fled the scene like a coward.

********

Two Weeks Later

“...Hart.”

“That...works surprisingly well. You'll get your books. I always pay my debts.”

“Past performance indicates this is an accurate assessment. Hence my request.”

“Oh...go back to bed.”

“Gladly.”

Janus stepped back into the shadows as Logan turned and promptly settled back down on his pallet to sleep. Much as he respected him, sometimes he simply could not stand the elitist little shit. He was still waiting for some parting jab over his shoulder for Janus's obvious display of weakness...but the longer he waited, the less he worried.

He stayed long enough to watch Logan drift off again, remaining in the shadows beyond his line of sight. He stayed, forced himself to stay, so that he didn't make an ass of himself or tip his hand to anyone that might be watching—if living in the palace had taught him nothing else, it had taught him to assume that he was never alone.

Once Logan started to snore, Janus finally let himself take off, flying through the dungeon halls that were his home—literally, as he hit the home stretch, taking advantage of his dragon heritage to propel himself forward with just a little more force and speed, letting him eat up stretches of corridor in half the time of a full blooded human.

He stopped just short of the cell he was looking for—the same one he'd visited nearly every single day since he'd met the angelic little necromancer that had managed to ignite every single protective instinct Janus had ever denied having. He hated it, hated to admit that he identified with any part of his dragon heritage, but Patton was, without question, a bright and golden thing amidst all the darkness that lived below the royal palace.

Janus had found him. Now, he belonged to Janus—and no dragon worth their weight could resist the overwhelming primal urge to jealously protect and hoard their treasure.

“Patton!”

The cot, a recent addition Janus had seen to obtaining for him, jolted with the force of a lump bolting upright, revealing a sleepy, tousled Patton blinking into the dim light of the hall.

“Janny? That you?” He hissed into the dark.

Rolling his eyes, Janus finally revealed himself, stepping right up to the cell bars. “No, it's the Animator.”

“I told you not to joke about that!” Patton admonished, flinging himself out of bed and stomping up to the bars with a scowl. “I'm twelve, I can't hear that stuff!”

“You've never quite explained that.”

Patton blinked, then scrubbed his hands over his face to banish the sleep before raking them back through his curls.

“'Cause...I can't.” he admitted. “It's...it's hard to explain? The Cleansing took my Name, but there's all kinds of little crumbs that sometimes roll through my head.”

Janus made a face at the mention of the Cleansing—the ritual used to strip a necromancer of their Name. It was horrific, painful, and it always made Janus a little bit sick.

He'd seen one take place in his life. It was one time too many.

“And that's one of those...what you said?” Janus asked.

Patton nodded so enthusiastically his curls bounced, tousling and forcing him to run his fingers through them again to sweep them from his eyes. “It's...there's something important about being twelve among the Necromata—and something bad about bad-talking the Animator. I think they might be connected, but I could be wrong.”

Janus felt his chest squeeze painfully as Patton spoke, free as a bird—like this information couldn't be used against him, like he had no idea.

“You shouldn't talk to me about that stuff.” he reminded him. “My father's the captain of the guard.”

Patton just rolled his eyes with a grin. “You won't tell him, I know that—that's why I tell you stuff! It helps you, and I know you won't use it to hurt me.”

“No, you don't.”

“Uh huh! You're way nicer than you think you are, Mister Dragon.”

“I'm a drake.”

“You're pretty.”

Patton did this every time. Every single time, and Janus...he was not capable of blushing. He did not blush, he would not blush.

“I know it's late, but I have something for you.” he blurted instead of responding, or blushing, watching as Patton's eyes widened, his smile growing impossibly brighter.

“No foolin'? What is it?”

Janus took a deep breath, warring with himself. He'd believed the stories for a long time—the evil of necromancers, that they had no souls, no morals, power hungry and constantly thirsting for fresh blood...

Then he met one. Then he was disfigured...then he met Logan, and now he had this fucking urchin that had latched onto him with perfect faith and trust, and he was so fucked up over it that he was willing to empower him. At least, if he was right and this worked.

Patton just waited. Janus lost his hesitation.

“Heart.”

The boy blinked, brow furrowing curiously.

“Heart?”

Janus nodded. “Patton Heart. They took your Name...I thought you might feel better with a new one. Something to be called, at least.”

The little pout his mouth formed had Janus's heart sinking. It was a stupid idea, he didn't like it, and it damn sure wouldn't work--

Patton's breath hitched, and Janus's attention narrowed to the boy.

His dark blue eyes were shiny with unshed tears...but he was grinning. So bright, so painfully bright that Janus had to bite the inside of his cheek to resist the urge to rip the cell door off its hinges, grab the little bastard, and hide him somewhere deeper and darker where no one else could touch him or even look at him. His treasure, his gold...

Suddenly, Patton stuck his hand out through the bars.

“Pleased to meetcha, Mister Dragon...I'm Patton Heart.”

Cursing under his breath in annoyance—not with a smile, he was not smiling—Janus reached out to shake his hand.

“Likewise—Patton?”

Patton was staring at their hands, features ashen. He was clutching Janus's hand hard enough to bruise—and he was absolutely trembling.

“Patton?...Patton, what happened? What's the matter?”

Was it his wrist? It should have been fine—if Mori came after him again...

“Janus, I...I can feel your hand.”

******** 1033, A.A.

Janus was not okay—and for the first time in his life, it was a good thing.

The north wing of the palace was reserved for ambassadors and other dignitaries—a good choice to keep prisoners, as it was well guarded and the guest suites arranged with a lack of accessible windows or too many entrances to reduce the access for assassins and spies. It was also lavish, with a spacious garden area that had high walls and sprawling lawns.

Watching Patton as Janus led him into the suite he'd selected among those available for the two prisoners to share, something restless and angry that had lingered in his gut for the last eight years finally began to relax, at least a little. Here, in the north wing, cut off from other prisoners, from cruel guards and the dungeon master, now Colonel Mori...

His treasure was finally shuttered away, locked up and safe. The dragon that took up entirely too much space in his skin was settling, knowing that his hoard was safe.

Leaning against the doorway, Janus glanced over his shoulder and dismissed the guard that had been dispatched there, content to watch over Patton himself for a short while before he would have to return to the king's side.

Patton shuffled deeper and deeper into the suite's main living area, as if frightened his steps would be too loud or possibly shatter something. His eyes were wide as ever, taking everything in—occasionally blinking hard and fast when the bright light he was no longer used to made them sting or water.

The part of Janus that had secretly grown to look at Patton like the little brother he never had was very satisfied...but the part of him that had been growing stronger over the last couple of years, the one that was haunted by those deep blue eyes and the greedy way he stole the tiniest touches from Janus through the bars of his cell...

The one that had woken up the first time he allowed Patton to touch his face, his scales...that part of him was keenly aware of the fact that they were alone, and that Patton had no fucking clue that Janus had been all but crippled by his pure heart and beautiful eyes.

“Janny?”

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Janus regarded Patton coolly. “What?”

Patton was in the middle of the room, facing him with a strange look that Janus couldn't parse. He was either distraught or...not...distraught. Whatever it was, the emotion was intense, making his eyes water and his lips quiver, and Janus was caught between bloodlust and the tender, aching thing that tortured him these days with every single second he spent in Patton's presence.

“You remember your promise?”

Janus had to think for a second, but he finally remembered the one promise he'd made to Patton that could apply to this situation.

“...one thing, Janny. Anything in the world you could have, what would it be?”

“Swear to me you won't tell a soul.”

“Pinky promise!”

“...pure blood. Dragon, not human. For the wings.”

“Oooooh, that's a good one!”

“What...nevermind.”

“What about me? That what you were gonna ask?”

“Fine, yes! Happy?”

“Yes—'cause I'd want to get out of this cell so I could give you a big ol' hug.”

“...Seven Hells, Pat...”

“Would you give it to me?”

“No.”

“Second chance?”

“...yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I remember, Pat.”

Patton just stared at him, wrapping his arms around himself—tight enough that he was shaking.

With a sigh, Janus crossed over to him and, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, opened his arms.

Patton all but flew into them, pressing his face against the scales running down Janus's throat. Janus held him lightly, carefully—they'd never been able to do much through the bars of Patton's cell, but Patton had an easier time of acclimating to touch with Janus thanks to the fact that he ran cooler than a human or a dragon. Drakes tended to run cold, courtesy of their magic.

“Thanks, Janny.” Patton sighed after a few minutes, relaxing in small measures the longer Janus held him.

Janus made a noncommittal sound, even if he was rubbing Patton's back gently, feeling like he was stealing something by holding him like this. It was perfectly innocent...but it was Patton. Pure, good, secretly conniving Patton, and he was letting Janus hold him like he was something equally good and pure and safe.

It was just more proof that Janus was a terrible person, because he didn't give a shit.

“Happy?” he asked after a moment.

Patton smiled, and Janus had to supress the urge to shiver when he felt Patton's lips curling up against his neck.

“Yes.” he whispered, just before he burst into quiet tears, falling apart for the first time in eight years while he let Janus hold his broken pieces together in comfortable silence.

********

“...sten here, you little brat, you may be waiting for the crown, but I've known you since—”

“I repeat: I know where the guillotine is. We can even slap him after! He won't feel it, but he'll flinch!”

“Remus, please!”

“What? He's basically calling the king a snot nosed child! Am I wrong?”

...voices. Voices, buzzing at the edges of Logan's self awareness, but only just...

“He is a snot-nosed child, and a conduit to boot! You can't trust the gifted—not the useless conduits, not the lying mages or the spineless Sensitives—and you damn sure can't trust a godsdamned necromancer! Now, can we please stop talking about this thing like he's remotely human, finish the damn Cleansing properly this time, and get my prisoner back into his cell?”

“Or, here's an idea—you could...say...shut the fuck up and listen to the king?”

Itchy. Everything itched. Why was he so godsdamned itchy?...

...threads. Everywhere, all over, there were dangling threads. The colors were innumerable, all glowing with varying levels of light. It was a mess...it was a massacre.

Something had been torn away, and all that was left were these threads, some long and frayed, others short and thick. All of them were brushing every part of him—soft, barely there, and absolutely maddening.

“...compulsion to simply stop living. Imagine—imagine the way you feel as you breathe. You don't think about it, it just happens. Now reverse that. To stop, to let go, to fall...that became the natural instinct. My father succumbed to the same insidious magic, I know it.”

“With all due respect, Majesty, it was clearly the necromancer. He's got power he's been hiding, and at the end of the day? That's what they do, they kill.”

“Eh, sounds like bullshit. No necromancer's ever killed anyone before.”

“You're lying. There's thousands of cases, tens of thousands over a thousand years—I've studied it! Graduated the Academy top of my class.”

“So did I—first in my class, actually, and Prince Remus is right.”

“Shut your mouth, Cadet.”

“When the Seven Hells freeze over. Read the military's historical records: they show every combat death, but none of them involved magic. Want proof? It's in the the Tomes, you'll see. Any sorcerer can show you.”

“No offense, toy soldier—I mean, you're cute as the Seven Hells, but you don't strike me as the kind of guy who can speak any of the Ethereal tongues needed to read the magicians' histories.”

“I can't speak them, not really—but I can read them.”

“How?”

“...I'm a Sensitive.”

“Well, Colonel Mori—I guess you just made yourself a new best friend. Besides me, of course...”

“...Remus, get your spitty finger out of the colonel's ear!”

“Eat my thick and juicy co...”

Warm. Logan was warm, a warmth he knew and understood—and being weighed down by something, a steady and evenly distributed weight that was foreign, but not so alien he wasn't familiar with the feel of pressure, from neck to foot.

...threads, more threads, reaching out from the source of heat and heft, tickling at the surface of his consciousness—all so itchy. He had to scratch, couldn't scratch...couldn't escape, couldn't...

Wait. The colors...that one thread, rippling with gray and white, silver and lightning...there was a matching one inside his head...

“...the plan, then?”

“The plan is, we get the necromancer healthy, and have him recall the king to life...Master Picani?”

“Emile, please.”

“--Emile, then—you were in the crowd today, with the rest of the palace mages—what do the people know?”

“The king was seen collapsing. I can tell you that I haven't heard any announcements being made...but the chit chat I picked up on as I was on my way here? Well, word has likely already been leaked from somewhere.”

“Damn it! Then the coronation will have to be arranged...and then voided once my father has been resurrected.”

“You know there is no guarantee it can be done, Majesty.”

“I do...but I have faith...”

...these threads weren't long enough. He knew where they connected to, but there just wasn't enough slack to reach the tattered edges inside his head.

He reached out, leaned out, tried to follow them back to the source—something inside, tucked neatly into the warmth and the weight pressing, cradling, pulling him back into his prison of broken threads and torn scraps...

These threads were attached to something—something whole, not the entire tapestry but a piece of the picture.

“This man is a murderer! He's a demon, a killer--”

“...King Roman? A word?...”

“Of course, Mast—er, Emile. Master Somnum?”

“It's Remy, gurl.”

“Remy—keep an eye on Colonel Mori. Help the cadet subdue him if he does anything stupid.”

“Only if I can get out of prison mage detail. Being the boss is cool? But I hate this asshole.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“On it, Boss.”

...it was him. There was no question: it was him.

He reached into the source of heat and pulled the fragment out.

“--spineless, useless Sensitives!”

“You wanna see how spineless I am? Take another step, Colonel. I fucking dare you.”

“Oooh, catfight!”

“More like a two hit fight: I'll hit him, he hits the floor.”

“Disrespecting a superior officer? I'll have you court-martialed! Or put into the dungeons...you're too damn close to the Necromata, anyway.”

“We can't use magic, idiot stick, we can only sense or enhance it.”

“So maybe you helped the necromancer kill the king, eh?”

“Oh-kay, Colonel Morose. Back off.”

...this was going to be incredibly difficult. Reconnecting these shorter threads, weaving the ones together in a way that made sense...it was next to impossible....

“...your name, Cadet?”

“Virgil Storm, Majesty.”

“Master Somnum?”

“...he's lying.”

Just a few quick knots on this edge to hold it in place—but it wouldn't stick without...

...there. A shuttle, knotted to the corner of the scrap, carrying a heavy length of glimmering silk.

“...Seven Hells is happening?”

“Oh, well—hello there.”

“Emile? What's happening?”

“It appears that the prisoner is...chanelling.”

“I thought channeling was used to heal?”

“It is—among other things, so don't fucking touch him.”

“Cadet, shut the--”

“Colonel Mori, quiet. Virgil—what's going on? Why can't I touch him?”

“...'cause you're a conduit. You have a ton of magic and no ability to use it, so it's all pent up and shit. Touch him, and you could interfere with what's happening. Your magic, I mean...it can leak out and wreck everything.”

“Is there a spell on this blanket you brought for him?”

“Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing I'm willing to share with an outsider. It's sacred knowledge.”

“Oh, for the love of...”

...the work was fast, he could finish this edge swiftly—the shuttle was liquid lightning, his fingers moving of their own accord...

“..for not even an hour, and there's a jailbreak in progress?!?...”

“I...Lord Janus...how did you even--”

“I joined the assassin's corps when I was eighteen, and I killed the captain when I was nineteen to take his place. I make it a point to know everythng that happens in this castle.”

“Relax, Lord Janus—I have this in hand. Virgil.”

“What?”

“I swear, on the Spider's Thread, that you can trust me.”

“...Majesty?...”

“...Janus, Remy, get Colonel Mori out of the room.”

...it was done. It was...perfect.

It was...

“--get that thing away from him if I--”

“Colonel, stop!”

...oh, shit...

Sudden lightness. Cold, cold, cold.

The shuttle slipped through his fingers.

Pain, searing pain from head to toe.

If he lost it, he couldn't finish, he had to finish or it would slip away.

Sound, fury, crushing weight--

Fingers in his hair. Gentle pressure on his scalp.

A hand in his.

Hold on. Do not let go.

I never have. I never will.

“Loganberry?...”

The shuttle landed in the palm of his hand. He grabbed on tight--

--and opened his eyes.

#sanders sides #logince #moceit #ts logic #ts creativity #ts anxiety #ts deceit #ts dark creativity #fic #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #no betas we die like men #this is all the artist's fault i'm just a hapless writer that stumbled across it #i don't even know what i'm saying anymore #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years ago

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Psycho Analysis: Count Dracula

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

So, in all my time doing Psycho Analysis, there have been a few villainous characters that, while extremely obvious, have such large and daunting scopes that it seems a bit scary to think I could accurately analyze them. Characters like Disney’s Pete or Bowser come to mind. Both are obvious 11s, but where to even begin with them? And that is a similar problem I faced with the villain who is arguably the single most important foe to ever grace fiction: Count Dracula.

How on Earth is one supposed to talk about a character who has spanned so much media and has remained an enduring fixture of pop culture for over a century? The guy has been in movies, comics, books, video games, plays, cartoons, musicals, songs… and he hasn’t even been a villain in all of them! How does one talk about such a villain with such a broad, all-encompassing scope?

The obvious answer is, of course, to talk about him in a broad sense and how he has affected culture, of course! This one’s going to be a little different than usual since I’m focusing more on the concept of Dracula than one single version, so there’s a lot of Dracula’s to go over here:

Performance: Throughout the years, Dracula has had many actors take a shot at him, though I think the finest takes are courtesy of Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee. The former is basically what cemented Dracula as a sexy, Gothic horror icon, changing the far less attractive man from the book into a seductive monster that would color numerous adaptations after. Lee’s take brings the sexy, but is also far more violent and monstrous, mostly because Hammer horror films were all about that bright red blood, so gotta have someone spill it all!

If you’re looking for more flamboyant, hammy Draculas, Richard Roxbourg of Van Helsing and Duncan Regehr of The Monster Squad have you covered, playing Dracula at his most deliciously, monstrously evil. However, the hammiest (and thus most amazing) Dracula was Michael Guinn’s take in Symphony of the Night, with the entire opening exchange between him and Richter Belmont being a testament to the joys of chewing the scenery.

More comedic takes on Dracula have popped up over the years, with the most notable ones being Adam Sandler’s lovable, fatherly take on the character in the Hotel Transylvania films and Phil LaMarr’s performance on Billy and Mandy, where he plays a ridiculous, possibly senile version of Dracula who is abrasive and hilarious in equal measure.

Basically, when it comes to Dracula, you can easily find any sort of performance to suit your needs and give you what you’re looking for.

Best Scene: Over the years, Dracula has had a great many fantastic moments under his belt, so many fantastic scenes and boss battles… but for my money, the single greatest moment Dracula has ever been in is the opening battle of Symphony of the Night. Just watch this cheesy melodrama unfold and try and disagree with me:

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Though, of course, his death in the animated series sure is a contender:

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Best Quote: From the above scene, we have “What is a man? A miserable little pile of secrets!” among moany other meme-worthy bits of dialogue from Dracula.

On the subject of Castlevania, from the TV show we have Dracula at his most tragic and pitiable, especially when he delivers these fantastically tragic lines like “ It's your room... My boy... I'm- I'm killing my boy... Lisa... I'm killing our boy. We painted this room. We... made these toys. It's our boy, Lisa... your greatest gift to me... and I'm killing him. I must already be dead.” and “Your greatest gift to me... and I'm killing him." as he does battle with his son, Alucard.

Then of course, we have the legendary moment from The Monster Squad where Dracula drops any pretense and starts strangling a little girl, screaming in her face "Give me the amulet, you bitch!" It’s so deliciously, horrendously evil!

Final Thoughts & Score: It’s very strange to think of how much all of fiction owes Dracula. The original book invented a lot of traits (the lack of reflection being one) and popularized others (such as shapeshifting and weakness to garlic), but at the same time also predates a lot of things modern vampire fiction takes for granted. The Dracula of the book has no weakness to sunlight and gets younger as he drinks blood, starting as an old man; in fact, Dracula in the book is entirely lacking in the Gothic sex appeal that almost every adaptation of the character after would give him. He was also not very seductive, instead outright attacking women if he wasn’t hypnotizing them. Hell, he wasn’t even explicitly Vlad the Impaler in the books!

More than any other villain I’ve covered so far, Dracula is truly deserving of an 11/10. Even Count Orlok owes him a debt, seeing as Nosferatu was just a blatant ripoff. Hell, aside from villains from old mythology, I don’t think any villain can lay claim to the sort of scope Dracula has, having forever altered vampire fiction even as certain elements of him become lost in translation.

But what of some of his other incarnations over the years? How do they fare in terms of score? Well, I’m certainly not going to be incredibly thorough and list every Dracula ever, but here are a few I’ve encountered:

Obviously it’s unfair to give the Bela Lugosi incarnation anything less than an 11/10, mainly because this is the Dracula who pretty much inspired most other interpretations of Dracula after him. He’s suave, Gothic, attractive in that dark and mysterious way… it’s no wonder Lugosi’s Dracula became such an iconic fixture of cinema. Then we have the other classic Dracula, Christopher Lee’s take. I think he’s only a 10/10 because I feel like Lee’s tenure is a bit more overlooked and Lugosi tends to supplant him in terms of iconic status.

Castlevania as a franchise is specifically built qround defeating Dracula as the heroic Belmont clan or some adjacent vampire hunter. So you’d better hope that the big bad and master of the magical castle the game takes place in is impressive, right? Well he most certainly is; while he’s not completely fleshed out in every appearance he has some, like his iconic portrayal in Symphony of the Night, really help sell the idea this incarnation of Dracula is a rather tragic villain, though at other times in the series he seems to revel in being a monster far more than that interpretation would allow. Notably, the Castlevania show went with the more tragic approach to great effect, with Graham McTavish delivering a fantastic performance that swings from being genuinely terrifying to hauntingly emotional (just watch the scene where he breaks down upon fighting Alucard and realizing he’s killing his own son). Both game (in a broad sense) and show Dracula get a 10/10, for different reasons.

Duncan Regehr portrayed the Dracula in The Monster Squad, and it is quite obvious he’s having a hell of a time. He’s just wonderfully hammy, and he might be one of the most evil Draculas ever seeing how he called a little girl a bitch and tried to slaughter children with dynamite. This one’s a 9/10 for sure. I honestly think he’s the best take on the character, but his movie is sadly too obscure to really give him that push to being a truly iconic portrayal. He just captures the menace and charisma of Dracula so well, it’s a shame more people don’t know about him.

Van Helsing had a Dracula, played to hammy perfection by Richard Roxburgh. Say what you will about the rest of the film, but any Dracula movie that features evil bat monster Dracula fighting fallen angel werewolf Hugh Jackman in a battle to the death over Frankenstein’s atomic heart is worth at least an 8/10. For a more minor role, we have the Dracula who appeared in the blaxploitation classic Blacula. While he only appears for a bit at the start, long enough to curse an African prince with vampirism and dub him “Blacula,” this Dracula firmly cements himself as one of the most evil Draculas ever, gleefully participating in the slave trade. I believe that’s another 8/10 right there. On a related note, Blacula serves as a chief inspiration to the Billy and Mandy incarnation of Dracula, who is a cranky old black man with a big mustache and lots of sass (in fact, he’s accidentally closer to the original book’s depiction than most other Draculas). Sadly, as a more neutral chaotic comedic figure, I can’t give him a rating, but boy is he a riot.

Scooby-Doo and the Reluctant Werewolf features a more comedic and zany Dracula, one who participates in some good-old-fashioned Wacky Races cheating in an attempt to keep Shaggy as a werewolf forever. He’s mostly amusing for a oneshot villain, so I’d say 7/10 is fair. Speaking of oneshot villains, Dracula also showed up in an animated straight to video movie for The Batman, where he did things such as turn Joker into a vampire and get killed by Batman. He’s probably a 7/10 as well.

And then there are all the heroic takes on Dracula, such as the version from Dracula Untold or the “overbearing but endearing father” take on the character from the Hotel Transylvania movies (though that rap Adam Sandler does at the end of the first movie is pretty heinous).

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And this is not an extensive list by any means. There are so many Draculas I haven’t watched yet, so many different takes I haven’t read the adventures of. And that, I think, is what makes Dracula such a great villain. He is a character who any writer can bend and shape to fit a plot, a villain who can serve almost any purpose and who can fit in almost any fantasy story imaginable. Dracula is incredibly versatile, and whenever he shows up in a work, things almost always get better for a bit. And keep in mind, this is a character who has been around since the year 1897, and yet he is still a household name that even people who have never read the books or seen the movies can accurately describe and recognize.

Is Count Dracula the greatest villain in all of human history? It’s debatable for sure, but I don’t think there’s any denying he’s up there considering his scope and influence and how he helped mold modern vampire fiction into what it is today. If nothing else, Dracula is still wildly influential.

#Psycho Analysis #Dracula #Count Dracula #The Monster Squad #Bram Stoker #Van Helsing #Hammer #Christopher Lee #Bela Lugosi #Adam Sandler #Hotel Transylvania

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akirakurusuimagines · 5 years ago

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Magic in the Air

@p5auweek day three: Fantasy AU // Thank you so much to @askkrisachan for the wonderful idea!! I hope that I did it justice!!!

“How dare you.”

Akira looked up from his latest book, slightly surprised to see you barge into his quaint shop in one of the city’s many dark alleyways, fuming so much he almost thought you would burst into flames. He pushed up his glasses, the large rims hiding his eyes. “Excuse me?”

He watched as you stormed up to him, slamming your hands down on the counter top scattered with trinkets and used mugs he was resting his feet on. Akira just barely caught his fresh cup of coffee before it spilled, making sure it settled down before it ruined any important documents he had scattered around.

“A couple days ago, you sold some students a set of faulty potions!” You leaned in towards the dark mage, though his face was slightly hidden from his large hat, you held the sneer on your face while your relentless rage boiled over. “They had to be admitted to the medical ward because of it!”

Akira’s eyebrows furrowed at the news, his lips pursed in a thin line as he attempted to recall such students. Ah, that’s right. He recognized that uniform of yours. It was one of several schools of magic that occupied the town. He couldn’t say he was surprised by that outcome, but the potions weren’t the ones to blame. “None of my wares are faulty,” Akira explained with a cool tone, “your friends must’ve mishandled it. Therefore I have nothing to do with it.”

You weren’t going to just accept that, of course. They were your friends, after all, and you wanted answers and compensation. “You can’t guarantee that!” you argued, “They told me you sold them a love potion⁠—”

“I don’t make love potions,” Akira corrected you, taking a sip of his coffee. This was tiring him already; he only wished to continue reading the text he bought. “They came to me in search of a way to cheat on their exam. I told them the consequences of doing so, and clearly they didn’t listen.”

“What?”

Akira sighed and pulled his hat off, tossing it aside, yet somehow landing it perfectly on the hook that hung from the wall. Simple magic. He pulled his legs off of the table and adjusted himself so his elbows rested on the counter and his chin rested on his knuckles. “It’s admirable that you trust your friends so much, but you should still do some of your own research before you come barging into someone’s shop, accusing them of something they didn’t do. Luckily, I didn’t have any customers. Otherwise, things wouldn’t have been pretty. Do you understand?”

You gawked at the mage, baffled at his bold words, staring at him for several silent moments. You hadn’t noticed before, but he was just around your age⁠— there was no doubt about it⁠— and yet he’s already become a clearly powerful mage with his own shop in a very prominent city, despite the stigma against those of his dominion. Not to mention he was attractive, but you’d never let yourself be caught saying that to him. Clearing your throat, you attempted to regain your bearings. “It was your fault for selling them something that you knew would backfire on them! They deserve a refund!”

He had the audacity to chuckle at your desperate attempt to not look like a complete fool. He gestured to the small sign next to himself, detailing the conditions about purchasing from his shop. “No refunds, especially because you aren’t them. You have no proof that they sent you here to collect a refund, and if you somehow did get legal documentation, I still wouldn’t provide you with a refund on the count that they did misuse my magic. I had warned them explicitly before they purchased it, so they have no one but themselves to blame.”

“Even so⁠—!”

“Please leave, my answer will not change, and I’d like to get back to reading,” he held his gentle tone, but the glare from behind his glasses sent a shiver down your spine. He didn’t want to use magic or brute force against you to make you leave, but he will if he deems it necessary.

“Oh no, we’re not done here!” you argued, still upset that he took advantage of your friends in such a manner. You didn’t exactly know you were going to say, the way he continuously maneuvered around your words was only making you more and more upset, and yet, you lunged over and gripped the mage by the collar of his cloak, yanking him a little too close.

The words that flew from your lips were ones you didn’t even recognize, flying too fast for you to notice, too overcome by your emotions to notice the panicked look on the mage’s face as your inexperienced abilities spiraled out of control. Your eyes shifted into a shimmering marigold, barely paying attention to the words that left the dark mage as his glasses flew off his face and hair was tossed every which way, a hefty storm brewing within the walls of his shop.

Akira hadn’t recognized the signs until it was too late, realizing that he should’ve known that a student of magic wouldn’t be able to control it when under extreme emotional turmoil, yet he’s never seen unhinged magic from a student be this powerful before. He winced as he heard glass shatter and books fly from their shelves, his neat, though curious shop becoming ruined from your magic. It took him a second to remember the proper counteraction, his hands being frozen in place by the same winds that deafened his ears, yet he still managed to bellow his words out loudly enough to stop your incantations, silencing you and watching as the marigold faded from your eyes, leaving your normal eye color in its place.

You stumbled back, letting go of Akira’s coat and falling on your ass, body trembling with exhaustion and eyes wide with horror as you realized what you had done. “I⁠—” you began, one of your hands coming to cover your mouth as the reality of the situation set in, looking around the now-miserable shop, dread filling every pore in your body. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t…” You began to apologize over and over, feeling terrible for what you had done, even if it was unintentional. This has never happened before, you don’t know why it did now, but any sane person would call the police on you⁠—

“Relax,” he was suddenly in front of you, taking one of your hands, frowning as he turned your palm to face up, seeing blood trickle down your arm. You were numb, you had no idea you had gotten cut, though considering you were essentially sitting on a pile of glass, it was to be expected. “I’m not going to report you or anything.”

You stared up at the mage in disbelief. Frankly, you thought he would do anything to get you out of his hair. “Why?”

“Because you’re still a student. You clearly didn’t mean to. You came to me because you were worried and angry over what happened to your friends,” he explained, focused on healing the wound on your hand. His leather-covered fingers grazed over the cut, the crimson blending in with your blood, seemingly absorbing it, leaving nothing but light pink skin where the cut once was.

“But… I…”

He looked up and offered you a smile. You only noticed then how gorgeous his eyes were, but this was no time for you to admire him. “If it makes you feel better, I have no intentions of letting you disappear now that my shop is in shambles,” he watched as you turned your face away, ashamed, “You’ll work here part time until you can pay off everything that you’ve damaged. In exchange, I’ll also give you some sparse lessons. I’ve never seen anything like your magic before.”

You, frankly, couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was he insane? Were all dark mages this forgiving? Still, it was a relief to hear that you wouldn’t be punished extremely for this. You could manage a part time job, besides, how long would you need to stay there for anyways? A month at most, probably. “Alright…”

Akira stood up and offered you his hand, feeling much warmer than he had when you first oh so rudely burst into his shop. After a moment of hesitation, you took it, feeling a rush of energy from him as he sealed the agreement between the two of you while pulling you up onto your feel.

You were mesmerized at the chain that slowly tattooed itself onto your wrist. It wasn’t painful in any way, leaving only warmth in its wake. “What is this?”

“A physical memento of our deal,” he explained, “that way you won’t skimp out on me.”

You scoffed at him, though you were very grateful for the way he made you feel better, despite you ruining much of his work. “Fine, fine… but can I at least have your name, since I’ll be working for you?”

“Just call me Akira. Or⁠— you could call me master, whatever suits you,” the cheeky mage said with a wink as he made his way into behind the counter once more, picking up an old-fashioned broom and tossing it over to you.

You stumbled for a second before catching it completely in your arms, staring at him quizzically. You expected him to wave his hands around and restore everything to its former glory, considering how versatile his magic seemed to be, but clearly he had other plans. He hadn’t even asked for your name before he started to put you to work! “By the way, my name is⁠—”

“I don’t need it,” he cut you off. “You’re my apprentice now, so it’s only natural that I should call you that.” Akira cleaned off his seat and sat down in it, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You should start cleaning before it starts getting dark,” he mused, looking at his now-cold coffee before frowning for a moment, seeing a shard of glass floating on the surface. It was easily remedied with a snap of his fingers, getting comfortable in his chair with his book once more, with a fresh cup of magically-brewed coffee.

Gripping onto the broom tightly, you were astonished, but couldn’t raise your voice against it, slightly fearing a second wave of your fury would erupt. Might take some time to get over that, regardless of how comfortable your new boss was trying to make you. “You’re cruel,” you grumbled under your breath, stealing one more glance at him before getting to work, sweeping up the glass that surrounded your feet and glistened in the candlelight of the shop.

When he was certain you weren’t paying any attention to him, Akira slumped in his chair, a sigh passing through his lips. He wasn’t expecting something like this to occur, and yet… there was something about you that intrigued him. So passionate, full of life and magic, he wondered where your journey would take you, especially if you managed to cross paths with someone cursed like him. His lips curled into a slight smile as he returned his attention to his book, turning the page and happening upon the chapter labeled Love Potions, Relationship Hexes, and More while you silently swept away. This would be an interesting experience indeed.

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lovely-but-tired · 4 years ago

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Pansy cursed as the harsh wind bit as her skin despite the fur coat that sat on her shoulders pulling it tighter she ducked into Twilfitt and Tattings. Puffing out a sigh as embraced the warmer air and let her coat hang around her shoulders.

She smirked at the maze of fabulous dressing gowns all made by the best designers and sold to the wealthiest witches and wizards. She loved the place and its attentive staff that always strived to make each guest feel welcomed and comfortable and ready to give every gallion they owned or more. But the staff wasn't being as attentive as usual. Madame Trance hasn't even come to greet her. In fact she didn't seem to be in the front at all. Waltzing further in with a strut that told any other customers she wasn't to be messed with she set off to find the rode maker.

She was really just looking for herself and find a dress on her own but she preferred being tailed. To be pampered and complemented with each dress she tried on. To be served fine wine and coddled with cucumber sandwiches. She pouted to herself as she wandered the store for five minutes with not even a word of recognition. Moving along she thought about causing a scene reminding the old bat that she was one of the few pureblood families able to buy from the overpriced shop. Had she forgotten most of her precious pure blood customers were serving time damn it.

Whilst in her inner temper tantrum a voice cut through her thoughts like a knife completely drawing her attention and her furry.

"The Nargles infestation is absolutely terrible in here. With all this mistletoe I'm surprised she has a robe left to sell." The voice was so blunt and dreamy almost as if she had been picked up and thrown unceremoniously into the past.

She could picture it plain as day, see it in her mind so clearly it was rage inducing. She could see the dotty girl round the corner with her oversized sweater and robes her necklace with the ugly butter beer corks. Her wand would be resting behind her ear as she stared up at the missile toe with wide eyes. Could the girl even afford to step through these doors? The thought gave her such satisfaction till she remembered rather bitterly that yes she could.

"I wish mum would let us put it up round the burrow. We could get so many people this Christmas. Perhaps even rig it up pop fireworks when two people step under it" The second voice was male but still dreamy and assured. It was laced with mischief.

"Aboslutly brillant idea Ries. Think Uncle Gorgie might even put that into his holiday collection. Perhaps even help us set them up?" The voice seemed the same but so laced with that of a naughty scheming child that it was almost appalling. She didn't even think she could sound so innocent while being so vile.

She wanted to turn the corner. She wanted to turn and see them and sneer and immediate them but now she wasn't so sure she could. They seemed in a class of their own. Then a much older yet still familiar voice spoke.

"Scheming again are we?" He asked and the two seemed to meet his challenge.

"Oh yes very much" the boy answered bluntly. "Having fun is the point of the holidays, after all" he sounded so dreamy and so blunt so much like their mother. The thought made her sneer.

"Is it having fun or forcing me another step towards my grave?" He asked his tone more playful then she had ever heard it.

"Just a step?" The girl interjected. "I thought we'd at least have your foot in the grave by now."

The man gave a sarcastic laugh then told them just as bluntly to go help their sister.

"Draco" she mocked stepping from around the corner only to be thoroughly disappointed she had thought that the combination of her presence and saying his name would upset him but he stayed relaxed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Then again he had changed over the past few years for the worst that is.

"Didn't think I'd see you here. Isn't this place a little high class for people like yourself?" His features didn't change; he simply acknowledged her existence by turning his gaze towards her.

"Is there a point you want to make Parkinson?" He asked in a bored tone but was different than the one she knew. It was just bored not arrogant and pompous it was if he was bored with her existence. It infuriated her.

"I'm just saying that perhaps Madame Trance doesn't know just how much mud your lot is tracking in." She had wanted a reaction; she wanted to see anger flare in his eyes and him to snap just as easily as he used to.

"It's just business. Buying and selling and all that. As long as I can pay the price I don't think she minds" He answered as if he were brushing her off.

"You're paying the price alright. My mum says that your family's status is in the mud. Ive heard you shacked up with a blood traitor then you pulled a Weasley." Crossing her arms she searched his face looking for something, a clench of the jaw, the balling of his fist but still she was given nothing.

"Oh how the Malfoy name has fallen! Even your parents couldn't even keep their heads straight. Letting that Blood traitor into their home was shameful and the little half breed. Did they lose their brains in the war along with their nerve letting the child of a werewolf into their home. There about as daft as your wife" She finally got something a twitch in his eyebrow must have hit a nerve. Oh how she loved hitting nerves it like gold really.

"Where is she anyway? Hunting those invisible creatures? Heard those two talking about them twins aren't they perhaps they were born with halves of the same brain believing in that rubbish." His grey eyes turned quickly to hard iron and she knew she was getting somewhere then suddenly they softened back to stormy grey. Then she was confused, completely and utterly confused.

"Daddy do you think Grandma will like the blue or the green. I think blue." A girl came into sight, Madame Trance trailing behind eagerly her elegent dresses drapped over her arms.

"Though I suppose the Lavender would match her skin tone but the grey has the most subtle hints of violet. I suppose we'll have to get them all" Upon hearing this the woman stared down at the little customers with glee nodding her head vigorously. "Then the turquoise one for Mrs. Weasley?" The shopkeeper suddenly stopped nodding a small frown crossing her features.

Pansy couldn't help but smirk ready to watch the show.

"Is there a problem with whom we will be buying for?" The girl asked noticing the sudden hesitation, rounding on the women her straight silvery blond hair swishing as she turned. "Surely we won't have to take our business elsewhere as I had a few dresses I was looking at myself. But if you have a problem with where your products will be going after bought I won't hesitate to drop all Malfoy business with this shop" her words were cold, calm and calculated. Each word held venom and air of high importance.

It was as if she was looking at a young Narcisa in her prime. She watched as the shopkeeper gapped like a fish for a moment fumbling over words shaking her head vigorously.

"No no of course not! Course not!" Her voice rang shrilly, her eyes going wide.

"Right what I thought" she responded brushing the women off then turning to her father.

"I suppose you should throw in the powder blue one then" He added and she nodded as if thinking the same thing.

"Come along we need to go find Mrs. Weasleys new robes" The women followed like a puppy wanting a treat.

She was gobsmacked completely gobsmacked the young girl played the woman like any pure blood brat and she did it with complete confidence. Didn't she know her family wasn't seen as anything more then cowards. That their name was ruined well before her time. Yet she played Madame Trance like it was a mere pawn on a chess board.

"Dad why do I have to be here?" A boy asked, coming into sight. His hair as silvery blond as his sisters falling around his grey eyes. He looked bored and aggravated.

"You're the one who said you wanted to come Christmas shopping" his father told his simply.

"I was planning on meeting James at Quality Quidditch. Or before him so I could get the lighting bolt before him" the boy stressed gaining no sympathy from his father. "Well now you two can get it together."

"Why does Scorp not have to hear here but I do?"

"Scorpius went with Luna to the tea shop and from what I remembered you picked 'the lesser of two evils' the boy groaned but walked off mumbling under his breath.

"Are you dad's friend?" She nearly jumped out of her skin she hadn't even heard them approached yet now she had two children on both sides of her.

They looked up with big eyes of powdery blue eyes that held mischief beyond her imagination. Their dirty blond hair curled round their eyes as it hung in waves down the girls back.

"No, I don't think she is," the boy answered.

"Why do you think that?"

"We've never seen her before. Think we'd remember her face. Don't you?"

"Yeah we would."

They exchanged glances then suddenly shrugged uninterestedly with her leaving her like she was rubbish on the ground.

She felt flustered, embarrassed , angry , oh so angry. She nearly started venting when the mother of them all came floating in. Her long red and green robe flowing round her shoulders and an assortment of holly in her hair. It made her almost sick to look at. Beside her was a little boy who stayed close clinging to her hand.

He was exactly what Draco once looked like. Straight pointed features pushed back platinum blond hair and grey eyes. There was no difference really other then that wide curious expression.

"Hello Pansy it's been quite a while" the woman greeted in the same fashion of calm as she did in her younger years.

"Your children are brats did you know that" the words shot from her lips like bullets.

She didn't feel like she was lying though. So far one had bullied a shopkeeper into submission the other had complained about being there and the two creepy ones had already started talking about pranks and were very rude to her.

"Have they been acting out?" She asked her husband.

"No there, about as normal as always" he offered and she nodded.

"Do you have children?" She asked, tilting her head. "Surely you understand that very hard to handle."

Pansy gritted her teeth. "No I don't have children. Though if I did they would more well mannered"

"Perhaps but I like my children the way they are."

"Ginny will be round soon. Had Gemini finished her Christmas shopping?" And now she was being ignored; it was as if she wasn't standing in between the two!

"More Weasleys, how far has your family sunk Malfoy?" She shot at the man behind her not bothering to turn.

"I like to think my family has grown. Whatever we've lost wasn't that important to begin with" Luna smiled as the boy next to her beamed at his father's words. They looked as if he had said something extremely pleasant. She herself had heard rubbish and pure nonsense.

"Whatever you lost wasn't that important!?" She nearly bellowed whipping around to look at him.

"You and your parents have made themselves blood traitors. Publicly!" She felt anger pouring out of her words. "Your mum and dad were once highly respected and now they're going out for tea with that Mudblood lover as if it were nothing. There was a chance Draco! A chance for your parents to have even the slightest bit of redemption and look at what they have done. You could have been there saving grace married respectively and reminded them what pureblood supremacy is. You could at least have some sort of shame in what you and your family have lowered themselves to be!" She was breathing heavily taking in a large breath.

"The woman that you're speaking of is my aunt." She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms.

"You mean the werewolf supporter. My mums told me all about that half breed. Honestly those things are dangerous and you've had one in your house!" There was a flash in his eye but he kept a straight face. He seemed to get ready to speak when his voice cut him off.

"Did you just call my cousin a thing?" The voice seethed as she saw the boy who had complained before his eyes filled with malice.

"He is a thing" she knew instantly that she had said the wrong thing. The boy's laid back posture straightened his jaw set.

"A woman with the features of a pug animagious gone horribly wrong has any right to judge others?" He asked though it was obviously rhetorical.

"You are talking to a superior little boy. I suggest" he cut her off with a laugh, his eyes narrowing.

"We're both pure blood. The only difference is that you lack a moral compass and I lack your narrow minded views." His arms crossed, staring at her like she was filthy, his gaze was searing.

"Is there a problem?" The girl asked Madame Trance trailing behind her currently holding multiple robes she looked absolutely terrified looking between the two.

"No no my dear no problem" Trance started in attempting to cover the situation. "You've gathered everything you wanted so we should have Lord Malfoy check out yes yes that's what we should do." The girl's eyes shot over to look at the seamstress, her gaze piercing.

"Puggy over there called Teddy a thing." The boy seethed crossing his arms.

"If this" she paused scanning the dark haired women as if she wasnt sure how to address her. "Women has something she would like to say. I suggest she say it then promptly leave" she was taken aback by her declaration she had never been treated with such disrespect by a child.

"Leave?" Both the seamstress and heiress found themselves saying.

"Yes leave I don't want her in here while I'm doing business" she crossed her arms then looked up at the women who looked uncertain at the request. "Mrs.Parkinson's is a very loyal customer at my shop" Trance's voice quivered as she tried to reason with the younger girl.

"Well then if she is so loyal she'll be able to come back when we leave which will be very soon if she's not gone sooner rather than later" Trance looked past her to her father then to her mother both seemed to be telling her they had no control of this situation.

"Ms. Parkinson, you have made my customer's very uncomfortable. Would you leave them be and stop disturbing them." The girl looked unsatisfied by the sudden alternative but before she could voice it her mother moved to place her hand on her shoulder.

"Them? Their mere presence has disturbed me. This is supposed to be a filth free establishment. Yet all I see is tainted blood!"

"Just leave them be Ms. Parkinson or I will have to ask you to leave" she told her in a broken tone.

She felt defeated looking around at the family with a sneer curling on her lip. But holding her head high she strutted away giving a look of burning hatred at the man she once knew. There was a snicker from behind one of the shelfs the two wide eyed children walked past her, the boy telling his sister that he was completely right. She huffed and resisted the urge to strangle children.

#druna #draco malfoy #luna x draco #luna lovegood #Phoenix Malfoy #Gemini Malfoy #Aruroa Malfoy #Aries Malfoy #scorpious malfoy #pansy parkinson

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heartbeatan · 5 years ago

Text

Damned Royalty (Chapter 19)

Return to Chapter 18.

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Desperado Series.

Return to Jimin Fanfictions.

Return to Masterlist.

Chapter 19

You nearly broke your ankles as you rushed up the stairs of the Park’s estate in your heels. The place looked much different than it did the night of Jimin’s party. This time, instead of crawling with party goers, it was quiet and eerie save for the few security guards you noticed on occasion. When you got to the door, you were greeted by a face you recognized. It was the man – Jimin’s man – the burly one you saw in the penthouse the first night you stayed over. Despite not having ever formally met him, it brought you a modicum of relief to see a familiar face.

He led you through the house, through a wing you hadn’t seen last time, until he ushered you into a large office where you found Stanford, his wife and a tall, lean man in a black suit.

“Ms. Y/N,” Stanford greeted you when you walked in.

“Oh, please, sir. No need to call me Ms.”

“Of course. Take a seat,” he smiled and gestured towards the chair in front of his desk.

“Thank you so much for calling me,” you tried to at least maintain pleasantries even though your insides wanted to scream.

“Of course – you deserve to know what is happening.”

“What is happening?”

Stanford looked to the man in the suit. He must’ve been his head of security or something. The man began to speak.

“Jimin went for a walk the other night. He decided not to take security with him and that’s when he was picked up.”

“Picked up by who?”

“From what witnesses have told us, it was the cartel.”

“What are they going to do to him,” the panic rose in your voice.

Stanford spoke. “We assume this has something to do with certain… activities we’ve had with the cartel.”

“The selling off of your assets?” you interjected.

“I see Jimin has told you then,” Stanford looked curiously at you.

“He’s told me some,” your cheeks flushed, afraid you had perhaps ousted Jimin to his father – but that wasn’t what was important right now.”

“We assume they want to hold him ransom, or at least make some sort of power claim by having him… but we haven’t heard a thing yet.”

“Well… how long has it been?”

“Four days,” the man in the suit informed you.

“Four days?!” you nearly shrieked. You opened your mouth to yell at the room – to demand why you hadn’t been called sooner, but you closed it again, realizing it would do no help to blame them.

But you felt an overwhelming sense of regret. A regret for having ghosted him all this time; a regret for the fight you had. That’s when you realized… four days ago was when you last saw him. It was the last time you spoke. It was the night of the fight. It was the night that he was taken.

“Don’t leave me.”

Jimin had asked you not to go, but you did. That must’ve been why he went out by himself that night – after you did leave him.

“Shit,” you buried your face in your hands. “This is all my fault.”

“How so?” asked Stanford.

“I was with him that night. We had a fight. A bad one. We were both upset, and I left. He must’ve wanted to clear his head.”

“That’s not your fault, Y/N. He knew better than to go places without a security detail.”

His words were meant to sooth you, and in many ways they did – but they still didn’t bring Jimin back… and now all you could think about was if your fight was the last thing that would ever happen between you two. It couldn’t be. You needed to get him back.

You collected yourself and lifted your face from your hands. “So, what do we do now?”

“We burn this damn city to the ground until we find him,” Stanford spoke, his voice now hardened and resolved. “I don’t care if the streets run red with blood. I want my son back.”

“Can we not reach out to them – see what they want?”

“We’ve done that already,” said the security man. “They won’t talk. That’s what is so strange about this whole thing. There’s no ransom – no obvious endgame. We don’t know why they did this other than to retaliate.

“They’re fucking monsters,” Stanford chimed in. “We’ll be lucky if he has all his limbs if we get him back at all.”

You shuddered at the thought and a hundred scenarios rushed through your mind. Was he safe in a cell or a container somewhere, or was he beaten and tortured, lying on some concrete floor? Was he even alive after four days?

“If we don’t know what they want, what do you think we’ll be risking if we retaliate?”

“This is my concern,” the man in the suit spoke again. “We start rattling chains without knowing what they want, we might not get him back alive.”

“Or,” Stanford piped up. “We’ll have them running scared when I unleash hell upon them. I’m fucking sick of these guys – thinking they can challenge me. It’s time to set an example.”

The two continued their back and forth of the possibilities and outcomes. All of them bloody, all of them risky. There had to be another way – you needed leverage. That’s when an idea came to you.

“Don’t,” you stood up and gathered your things. “Don’t retaliate. Not yet. Give me until midnight and if he’s not back by then, let the streets bleed.”

Your leg bounced rapidly as you waited impatiently in the office of a one Mr. Gwan… Kijung’s father. You had forced your way passed his secretary, pulling status as you refused to take “no” as an answer. You needed to see him now – the clock was ticking. Another minute ticked by, and you found yourself another minute closer to breaking into his conference room and demanding an immediate audience with him. But, fortunately, you didn’t need to.

“Y/N,” Mr. Gwan entered his office, a smile across his face but a look of bemusement in his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“I suggest you sit down, sir, and I’ll get straight to the point.” It felt odd ordering around your elder, but this was a necessary evil to get back what was yours. When he was settled in his chair, you began.

“I know you’re in business with the cartel in the east end, sir,” you began and immediately his eyes widened in shock. He opened his mouth to refute you, but you continued anyway.

“There’s no need to pretend otherwise and I’m not here to cause any trouble – but I need your help. They’re holding someone hostage right now and I need you to order them to release him.”

His eyes narrowed at you as he thought and his demeanor changed from someone who was pleased to see you to someone who saw you as a bug in his presence – but you held your posture and your disposition.

“This is about the Park boy?” he began. “I heard you two made quite the stir last week at some party.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, a smug look spreading across his face. “Listen, I appreciate that you’re my daughter’s friend – but this is business, girl. What happens with him doesn’t concern me. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“This is your last chance, sir,” you cut him off just as he was about to dismiss you. “I won’t be asking again.”

He grinned, and for a moment you hoped that he would refuse you again so you could wipe that stupid look off his face. “And where do you get off thinking you have any hold over me, Y/N?”

You smiled… guess he wanted to do this the hard way. You pulled your tablet from your bag.

“You see, sir… Kijung is a lovely girl. But she’s not exactly the tightest lipped,” you said as you clicked along the screen. “At least not to me.” You turned the screen to show him the image of your mailbox.

“In here are three emails, Mr. Gwan. The first one is directed to your board. It details how you’ve falsified your education credentials and covered up your drunk driving charges from last May using company finances. The second email is to the police and provides evidence of how you knowingly allow the cartel to use your shipping yards for their merchandise, and how in return they become the key figures of your racketeering schemes. And finally, my favourite… the third one goes to your wife. It seems she doesn’t know about the love child you have with your housekeeper.”

You watched him carefully as his gaze shifted from one of arrogance to one of fear. It was satisfying.

“Now… I have these set so that they’ll be sent at midnight tonight,” you locked the tablet screen and shoved it back into your bag. “The only way I’ll stop it is if that Park boy is at home, in his apartment by 11:59 PM. That gives you about,” you looked down at your watch, “six hours.” You stood up and made your way towards the door.

“Wait,” Mr. Gwan called to you. You turned back around to face him. “I… Please… I don’t know if I can convince them to let him go.”

“Then find away to convince them. Get creative. I don’t care what measures you take.” You turned on your heels and strode out of the office.

You paced the living room of Jimin’s apartment, unable to sit down or relax in any fashion as you waited for a phone call, or the door to open, or something to happen. It was nearly ten-thirty, and there had been no word from anyone. Stanford and his wife were seated on the couch, also waiting impatiently – Stanford’s men waiting closely by to launch a first assault on the cartel the moment the clock struck midnight.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Stanford’s wife asked you as you made your third pass by her in under a minute.

“No,” you sighed as you brushed your fingers through your hair. “Not in the least. I’ve never extorted anyone before.”

“Those bastards are ruthless. We should be taking that head honcho’s little shits for children. Make them pay. Force an exchange,” Stanford began to fume. He and the security men began to go at it again – mapping out assault plans and retaliation measures. You couldn’t stand to listen to them, so you left the living room and went to Jimin’s bedroom to lay down for a minute.

When you got there, you noticed a grey box placed neatly at the end of his bed. You walked over to it, crooking your head as your fingertips admired the black silk ribbon wrapped neatly around it. It hadn’t been opened yet. You checked the tag to find your name written across it. It was your gift to Jimin – for his birthday. It must’ve finally been delivered to him. You didn’t know for how long he had held onto it. It was supposed to arrive the night of his birthday, when you were supposed to return after the party to his penthouse for some promised birthday sex – but instead were redirected to the hospital because of that creep Jinhyun. He must’ve wanted to open it with you.

You closed your eyes as they began to well with tears.

He has to come home, you thought to yourself. You never got to give him his gift. You never got to make amends for your fight. You never got to tell him what he meant to you. Please, God. Bring him home, you said a silent prayer before you picked up the box and stored it away in his closet. That’s when you heard a commotion coming from the living area far down the hall and your heart leapt into your throat.

You ran back down the hall, the sounds of happy cheers and voices beginning to fill your ears with every step you took closer, until you rounded the corner and saw that your prayers had been answered.

Jimin was home.

He was in the embrace of his stepmother while his father patted his back. You looked him over, trying your best to keep yourself from tearing up. He had a cut over his forehead, his cheek was bruised, and his knuckles swollen – but otherwise, he looked just as fine as the day you left him. He then looked up and noticed you. Your eyes locked immediately. You blinked hard, regained your composure before you crossed the room to greet him.

“You’re here,” he was bewildered to see you. You nodded, then wrapped your arms tight around him, burying your face into his chest. He locked his arms around you as he felt your body begin to shake.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, audible enough so that only you could hear him.

“Of course, she’s here,” Stanford spoke loud and proud. “She’s the mastermind who got you out of this mess.”

“Is that so?” Jimin leaned back so he could look down at you. You shrugged.

“She found someone who had some sway over those sons of bitches. Pulled a few strings of her own.”

“What did you do?” Jimin mused.

“I asked nicely,” you replied.

“And that worked?”

“No. So, I threatened him legally, professionally and personally. He saw reason after that.”

“The triple tap,” Jimin laughed. “Geez, you’re scarier than most mobsters I know.”

You smiled meekly back up at him – trying to match his sense of amusement about the whole thing. But the truth was, you were devastated by the turn of events and just wanted to cry and scream. Jimin noticed. You could see it in the way his smile faded as he cupped your cheek in his hand.

Stanford then began talking business. The business of revenge. How they were going to retaliate, when they were going to retaliate, and just how bloodied the ordeal was going to be. You bit the inner of your cheek and closed your eyes, trying to drown out the sound.

“Hey, Dad,” Jimin interrupted his father. “Can we talk about this some other time?”

Stanford’s eyes darted from Jimin to you then back to Jimin. “Of course, son.”

“Thank-you. And I don’t mean to kick you out, but… I’m just really wiped from everything.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Stanford’s wife as she stood up and gathered her things. “Perhaps we could all have dinner when you’re feeling better, honey,” she leaned over and gave Jimin a kiss on the cheek. With a shake of Stanford’s hand and a lecture about security detail – they were all gone – leaving you and Jimin finally alone.

After a long silence of just awkwardly looking at each other, you walked up to him and grazed your fingers smoothly below his bruised cheek.

“Are you alright? Maybe we should get you checked out?”

“I’m fine,” he nuzzled himself into your palm. “I want to know if you and I are okay.” You swallowed hard and the tears you had let to release swelled behind your eyes once more. “It’s okay, Y/N. I’m back now. I’m fine.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck, needing to feel him solid against you. He reciprocated, squeezing you so tight that you thought he’d never let you go.

“I was so scared,” you almost sobbed into his skin.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay,” he stroked your hair. You pulled yourself from him and looked up to meet his gaze. He looked timidly back down at you, but you could tell he was happy to have you in his arms once again.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked him once more.

“I’m sure.”

“Good,” you pulled his face down and crashed your lips against his. You kissed him hard, firm, desperate, holding him even tighter – terrified that he’d be gone again if you didn’t. He matched your need for him, twisting his arms around you, parting your lips with his so you could breathe into each other. Your need for him was unfulfilled… you wanted more. Wanted his skin against your skin, his weight on top of you, his tongue hot in your mouth. Your hands slipped from his shoulders and began fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, shaking with each one they undid. He pulled at the zipper at the back of your dress, then tugged at the sleeves, stripping the fabric from your flesh. You gripped and clawed at each other like this, tearing at clothes, tearing at skin as you made your way down the hall to his bedroom, pausing every few feet to press each other against the wall when the inches of distance between your bodies was too much to bear. When you were both finally naked, a trail of clothes behind you, he gripped you under your backside and hoisted you off the ground and onto his hips – taking you in his arms the rest of the way.

He tossed you gently onto the bed, then, kneeling at the end of the mattress, made his ascent towards you, kissing your body along the way. But it still wasn’t enough for you – you needed him inside you. You needed to feel him, taste him, smell him – all those things you thought you’d lost when he was gone. You pressed at his shoulders, guiding him to lay on his back while you swung a leg over him to straddle his hips. He was hard already, and you could feel his cock graze over your centre. You rocked your hips a few times, slipping along his length, revelling in the small bout of pleasure it brought you, moaning lightly as you did.

You picked up his erection in your fist, bringing it to your slit, rubbing him against you, teasing you both until you were ready to burst out of your skin. You were like a woman possessed – beyond the interest of foreplay; deaf to his pants and moans; you needed nothing else but to sink yourself onto him and feeling him pierce your gut. With that, you lowered yourself onto him, basking in the burn of how he stretched out your insides until you bottomed out and you could feel nothing but his cock inside you.

You both sat still for a moment, you resting your weight on his thighs, your eyes closed, your hands over his abs. It was such a flawless feeling - it frightened you just how right it felt.

“Oh, God,” you breathed when everything came together.

“I know, baby,” he breathed back, clearly just as affected as you were. You began rocking your hips – back and forth – feeling his pelvis tight against your clit, his muscles contracting beneath your hands, his cock slipping pleasurably inside you. He grabbed a tight hold on your hips, digging his fingers into your flesh – encouraging you to move at a lazy pace, because he too wanted to feel as much of you as he could.

But you were too far gone – too lost in him – too lost in the sensation of the heat between your thighs. You rocked harder, faster, fucking him into the bed, fucking yourself on his dick – desperate for something more than a simple orgasm.

“It’s okay, baby,” you heard him whisper, and it broke you from your manic trance. That’s when you open your eyes, bringing them down from the ceiling to look at the man pinned beneath you. Park Jimin. The man who not so long ago you didn’t know… who not so long ago you feared… to now, the man you were willing to risk it all for… the man you knew you couldn’t live without… to the man you were so close to losing today. You felt that pain well up again in your throat. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispered again, looking empathetically back up to you, rubbing his palms soothingly up and down your thighs.

“Stop saying that,” you choked out. “It’s not fucking okay.”

“I’m right here, Y/N,” he said calmingly, and it only brought tears to your eyes.

“But you weren’t, Jimin. You weren’t fucking here,” this time your words came out in a sob. He sat up so he could wrap his arm around your back, stroke your hair out of your face, press his forehead against yours. That’s when the tears finally fell – when you finally couldn’t blink them back – when you no longer had the will to be strong.

He didn’t care that you melted down in the middle of sex. He wiped away your tears, stroked your back, your arms, your thighs to sooth you, and waited for you to release everything you needed to release.

“I thought about you the whole time,” he said.

“You did?” you sniffed.

“Of course,” he smiled lightly as if you had asked something ridiculous. “I was mad. I was so mad at myself for that fight. For letting you walk out.” You scoffed, smiling slightly through your drying tears – the fight seemed so minor after everything that had happened. “I promise, Y/N. I won’t give you any more reasons to not trust me.”

“Ok,” you nodded.

“So, you and me? We’re okay?”

You nodded. “We’re okay. From now on, no more secrets, yeah?”

“No more secrets.”

“Just you and me… against the world?”

“Just you and me,” pressed his lips to your temple as he said it. “Us against the world.”

#bts smut #jimin imagine #jimin smut #jimin x reader #jimin x y/n

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yamithediaperdork · 4 years ago

Text

Happy Fathers Day (Mortal instruments..because..of course XD)

It was the annual father day picnic in central park, and while something semi scandalous seemed to happen every year, this year would be the one to take the proverbial cake. If nothing else one group of boys, close knit friends since they were in pre school together, would have a whole new world opened up to them. they were Alex and Jacob Wolfe, 12 year old twins with dirty blond hair that Jacob had in a mushroom cut while Alex kept his buzzed, Keith Ryan who had shoulder length brown hair and finally Kevin west, who kept his black hair buzzed down. Today while their four man band (At least that's what their dad's liked to call them, the boys all just rolled their eyes at that) where playing a game of football, waiting on their dad's to call them over for food, they got treated to a sight one may not of expected at a public park, at least not during the day. It was Jacob who noticed the sight first, stopping and starring and his jaw dropped which let the ball deck him in the face, but the pre-teen didn't seem to notice. "Dude, what's with you?" Keith asked, running up, annoyed since they were on the same team. "Jacob, you ok?" Alex asked, worried about his brother. "Oh man, he's gone comatose..tell me you didn't eat any of my dad's chilli. I warned you guys about that!" Kevin groaned. All Jacob could do was point, and the other three followed the finger, and joined him in drop jaw reactions. After all, it wasn't every day you saw a adult baby being lead into the park.

going back to a few days earlier, and Jace had been snuggling in his daddies arms. the shadow hunter had just finished a coming out party involving all of his closet friends and while not everyone was happy, they had been understanding and gushed about how cute he'd been in his barbie diaper and teddy bear top. Simon, the vampire daddy of the littlest monster killer had been semi glad about how well the party had gone, though he was also disappointed. "and then when Alec gave me head pats and said he knew it, had knew it fer years..ehehehehe your right daddy! Coming clean was the best thing to do!" Jace coo'ed, and nuzzled into Simon's chest. "Well to be fair, I guess I shouldn't of been shocked so many of them knew, since you've been wearing them to bed every night." Simon admitted and patted the boys soggy diaper. Barbie had long since faded away from the front but the diaper could take a bit more punishment, and with how often Jace went well, they had to make every diaper count. "And pull up's during the day, just like you told me to cuz I'm SUCH a good boy!" Jace beamed, all proud of himself for letting himself be sent back into 24/7 diaper wearing. "It's just..I dunno..I was mayybbeee..." Simon started and Jace giggled and smirked. "You wanted them to tease and torment me and make me a red faced big baby so I'd be super squirmy and cry baby~" Jace giggled. "Well tough! They were loving and understanding and I'm just all happy and want cuddles, not filled with massive humiliation and going into a whiny big baby mode!" Jace finished and blew a raspberry. "..You know. since you're gonna be my widdle guy 24/7.. I think we need to let even more people know and see the real you." Simon said, as he wiped the spittle from the raspberry off of his face. the fact he had a evil grin on his face made Jace gulp and lose his, and a muffled fart sounded from his rear. "...I don't like it when you get that look on your face daddy."

In the following days some steps were taken to help Jace be the little boy he wanted to be 24/7, even though Jace started regretting his decision to ask for it soon after. Step one was to gather up every adult piece of clothing that Jace wore, and have a nice big yard sale with them. the money was tucked away nice and next, and would be used not on booze or toy's, or anything like that. It went just right into Jace's diaper budget, with him going poopies at least 3 times a day, and diapers not being cheap. "This sucks! I should at least be able to get some toys!" Jace had argued. "well you can get a lot of toys, if we get you cloth diapers and plastic pants instead. but I'm not gonna be the one washing them or hanging them out to dry." Simon said as they sold the last of Jace's pants. the teenagers buying it had been laughing seeing Jace sitting there in a chair in just his diapers (with the weather being so nice and all) and laughed even more when they heard the argument. "But..but.I'm a baby! I don't do washing!" "and you don't get a say in what money is spent on. maybe if we'd been able to sell your undies we could of gotten you some action figures, but their just too skid marked and no one wants them, even at a nickle a pair." Jace huffed at that and in the end they did get rid of all 10 of Jace's undies, for 10 cents and they were sold to a blushing young man who couldn't stop looking at Jace. "Bet you he's gonna wear them all as like, a form of toddler pants." Simon said as the guy dashed off. "Pffft that's silly, who would do that?" Jace asked,. "oh, you'd be surprised."

The next part of Jace's permanent transformation was taking him out to load up his closet in Simon's home. that meant dozens of cute outfit and loads of diapers. Jace didn't mind the overalls or the shortalls, but the onsies were kinda squirmy to try on at the mall,m double so with the sales lady claiming that she needed 'extra help' and calling over all of the other clerks so Jace was basically putting on a little fashion show. Which only got worst when Kelly, the clerk they had started with, after hearing Simon jokingly complain about how often Jace needed a diaper change suggested that they try some dresses and skirts, They had already seen the poor big babies barbie diapers but Jace was NOT a happy camper as he then spent half a hour shaking his butt, and twirling in his short party dressed, mini skirts, and basically girl clothes that didn't do anything to fully hide his diapers. The fashion show thankfully ended when Jace in the middle of showing off a jean skirt with a fake plastic diamond heart on it off and popped a squat and destroyed the back of his diaper. Kelly hadn't let them get changed in there, though she had to hold a nose while ringing them though.

After a diaper change in the parking lot Jace and daddy had been on their way home when they heard a announcement on the radio about the father's day picnic in the park, opened to anyone and everyone. Jace despite having just gone poopie got a badddddd feeling in his tummy as he looked at daddy in the rear view mirror from his car seat. "Havvvve I ever mention how much I HATE the park?" Jace asked, gulping and squirming. "Oh Really? Maybe that's just because you haven't gone to the park with daddy, and been able to show everyone your cute widdle outfits." Simon said. "..You just want me blushy!" Jace whined and pouted, folding his arms and sulking. "Mmmhmmm, and DADDY gets what DADDY wants." Simon said. "Now who wants McDonald's?" "...I do but i'm not wearing a dress to the park!" Jace said. "We'll see~"

In the end Jace did win his campaign to not wear a dress or skirt to the park, mostly by pointing out that he'd just cry rape and beg for a adult if Simon tried. With Simon knowing the big baby well enough to know that wasn't a bluff, Jace was instead dressed in triple his normal thick bulky diapers, and in a light blue onesie with a teddy bear print all over it. (though to be fair, he'd given Jace a choice between the teddy bear themed Onesie or a white one, just the pink barbie diapers semi showed with the white one) a pair of white socks and Paw patrol light up sneakers were on his feet and a blue paci was in his mouth with a ribbon on it that was clipped to his shirt and his hair had been neatly brushed. One hand was in daddies as they walked into the park, getting stares and a few comments, and the other was hugging a Chase from paw patrol stuffie to his chest. With Jace being tripled diapered Daddy only brought along one change for the little guy, and it was in the picnic basket he carried in his free hand as they looked for a good spot to sit down. "See anywhere that looks nice little guy? or cat got your tongue?" Simon teased. Jace was sucking fast on his paci, quickly going crimson faced as the taunts came at them. "Awww that's so cute!" One girl said, pointing Jace out to her father. "What the hell.." Anther dad said. "Fucking fags. keep it indoors!" Called a big bearded biker dad. "Er..is this against the law?" A mother asked. "I KNEW YOU WERE LYING! THEY DO MAKE BIG KID DIAPERS!" one 5 year old huffed, yelling at his parents.

The 4 man band stared in shock and as Jace and Simon walked/waddled by them a strong smell of baby powder was in the air. two of the boys were fixated on how powerful and cool Simon looked, totally in control of the dumb big baby and wanted to experience a power rush like that,. The other two were biting their lips and squirming as they both focused on different parts of Jace's humiliation. "Whoa..L-Look at how massive those diapers are..t-they are diapers right?" Alex said, gulping. "No dork, he just has a massive butt. of course he's in diapers." Kevin chuckled. "T-That outfit.. oh man.." Jacob chipped in. "Could you even picture wearing something like that? that would get a 3 year old teased!" "heh, your got that right. only a total bitch would let himself be dressed like that. or his daddy is just THAT freaking awesome he's making that blond bitch come out like that." Keith said with a grin, turning and noting the look on the twins faces. "heh, Jealous?" "NO!" both twins yelled out, their own faces going bright red and Kevin and Keith just exchanged grins.

Of course with his Vampire senses Simon knew what was happening and chuckled softly. 'I suppose I should feel bad corrupting the young and all that..buttt fuck it. I'm already a soulless blood drinker.' the vampire thought. "Don't look now but I think we just inspired two new big babies." Simon said in a low voice, then paused and waved a hair in front of his face, acting as if Jace had just let out a stink bomb though the blond baby was holding his poopies in. "Jace! did you go uh-oh already?" Simon asked loudly. Jace's blush couldn't get any worse, but the big baby shook his head no,but kept his paci in. "Mhmmm. likely story. I know you like to sit in it it." Simon said, again in a loud voice and drawing more attention to them as he rolled his eyes. "turn around for a bum check little man." Jace squirmed like crazy but knew better then to argue with daddy, and when he was this humiliated, he went into a whole new level of subby. turning around Jace looked at the group of boys who half of which were watching with grins, the other half with semi envy as Simon dropped down to one knee and patted Jace's butt a few time. "Hmmm I guess it was just gas. sorry for not believing you little guy." Simon said. he looked around and then opened up the basket and pulled out a checkered red and white blanket and spread it on the gas. "I know you wanted to sit at a table buddy, but with the extra diapies you begged to wear daddies worried you'll fall and go boom." Simon said, and ruffled Jace's hair even as the blond baby glared at him, then nodded and plopped on his massive rear. Simon was pulling out their lunches, some fried chicken with mashed potatoes for him, with a bottle of what he would tell anyone who asked was fruit punch but was some of Jace's blood, while pulling out 4 large jars of prune flavored baby food and a bottle of formula for Jace. "Is daddies little man hungry now, or wanna let daddy eat first then spoon him him?" Simon asked, and reached forward, lightly tugging on the paci and pulling it from the big babies mouth. "I um..I.." "Use your big boy words." Simon said, smirking. Jace, who had been about to anyways squirmed and just nodded his head. "I um.. Daddy can eat first." he said,using his baby voice anyways. "ok buddy. I know you wanna eat big kid food like daddy but we BOTH know it doesn't agree with you an-" Simon was cut off as the boys from before strolled over. "Hey Mister um.. if you don't mind, I can feed him" the brunette with the buzz cut said. "Oh, have you ever spoon fed a baby before?" Simon asked. "It's not as easy as it sounds, they can be little fuss buckets." Simon added, reaching forward and tickling Jace's chin making him giggle a little. "well no, But Me and Keith." and the brunette jerked a thumb to the long haired kid. "Figure we'll need the practice." he said, giving a toothy grin as the blond twin blushed and squirmed. "heh Oh?" "Kevin! Don't tell him that!" one of the blonds squeaked out. "W-we're not babies!" the other one added. "Alex, Jacob, Hush. big kids are talking." the one named Keith said and Simon chuckled. 'oh yeah, they're gonna be little naturals.' he thought.

Jace whined and mentally begged Simon not to let the kids spoon feed him, but if anything the chance to pass on his knowledge made Simon even MORE teasing, which was something Jace didn't think was possible. Simon showed the boys how to tie a bib around the babies neck, explaining how important it was to use a good enough knot it wouldn't come off, but not so good you had to cut it loose after. "If I had brought some of his extra bibs, you could of practiced with your little guys." Simon smirked. Jace's heart went out for the blonds as they paled a little at that, and they seem to be trying to decide whether to run or stick around. "It's ok. I think their dad would be mad if they came back wearing a teddy bear bib anyways." Keith said. "they again maybe not. you know he's always saying what messy eaters they are." Kevin added. "Guysssss!" the twins whined in unison and pouted. "ok, that was cute. Now if Jace isn't a total little piggy like he normally is." Simon said and Jace whined at that, and pouted much like the twins were. "And there's any baby food left, you can split whats left between your little guys there, and they can take turns with the bib." "What!?" Alex yelped. "No way!" Jacob added. "Sounds good." Kevin and Alex said in unison. As Jace locked eyes with the twins, they gave him a pleading look and despite knowing just how bloated and gassy he'd get, Jace knew he had to take a bullet for them. 'god I'm gonna be farting like crazy!' Jace groaned. it didn't help he already had 5 pieces of high fiber toast that had been coated in apples and banana flavored baby food for breakfast and a big bottle on top of that. No two was about it, before they left the park Jace was gonna be filling his diapers. "Now you wanna get a fair amount, but not too much on the spoon." Simon was saying, snapping Jace out of his thoughts about his impending boom butt. "Jace here is a bigger boy so he can take more, but every baby really has a different amount." Jace looked at the heaping piled Kevin had on the spoon, and looked over to Simon, silently pleading with daddy to at least get the amount cut down, but Simon just winked and took a bite out of a chicken leg. "I know what to do next. Seen this enough on TV." Kevin said and then switching to a baby talk voice voice added. "Here comes the airplane~ Open widddde!"

Simon almost choked on his chicken as Kevin talked, he knew how much Jace HATED that bit and was nice enough to spare him that much. He flashed the big baby a look that said 'play nice' and Jace like a good big baby opened his mouth as big as he could. Sadly (or was that amusingly?) with the heap of mush on the spoon, there was no way it was going to fit all in Jace's mouth and purple mush dribbled down his chin. "oh crud uh.." Kevin looked over his shoulder to Simon, as Jace closed his mouth and swallowed what had made it in, and made a little face. "use the spoon and get what you can off of his chin and into his mouth." Simon instructed, taking a sip of his drink. "Oh ok!" Kevin said. It took awhile for the boy to get his rhythm down but soon he was stuffing Jace's face like a pro even as Jace started to burp now and then, which made Kevin make a face. "you think that's bad, wait till it comes out the other end." Simon commented. "why don't you boys switch so Keith can get a turn in. and Alex, Jacob..My little guys looking awfully full already, hope your hungry." The twins shared a whimper and were holding each others hands, though Simon noted they didn't try and run for their dad. either they didn't think they could outrun their daddies to be, or while they were scared and nervous, they on some level wanted to be Jace and were rooted to the spot. Either way, Simon had a hunch next time he saw them they'd be sporting diapers. Keith took a different approach to feeding Jace and it didn't take long to figure it out. The Brown haired boy was a tormentor, plain and simple and it showed as he kept missing Jace's mouth on purpose and smudging the food on Jace's cheeks, and would scold him for it. "No no no you silly big baby! Stay still! it's like you wanna wear your din din!" Keith teased and Jace whined loudly and looked to Simon for help. Simon pretended to be interested in a game of soccer that was going on near by instead. "I think your baby is full mister. he just doesn't wanna eat anymore." Keith said, looking at Simon then over at the blonds. "N-No! I hungee!" Jace cried out, and Kieth pouted a little. "I think he's just fussy because he wants daddy to feed him. you boys have been a big help but I better take over." Simon said, he was finished eating anyways. "besides, any second now the fart factory is gonna-" Simon was cut off as a massively long and loud despite the padding fart filled the air and the boys went from laughing to holding their noses. "Yeahhh that." Simon chuckled. "Side effect of the baby food." "Oh god, it's like ten million farts in one!" Keith gagged. "Or worse!" Kevin added. Adorably the twin's only commented on it by saying stinky, though there eyes were watering too. "Is that what they'll smell like if they eat that?" Kevin asked, waving a hand in front of his face but jerking a thumb at the twins. "Pretty much. I'd go with oatmeal if you want them not as rotten." Simon suggested. "Should I take that to mean you don't want one of the remaining jars?" "Uh..I mean..it's a really generous offer..But..we all drove over here together and.." Kevin started "We'll all die in the car if the twins are ripping out back door bombs like that!" Keith finished. "W-we wouldn't be that bad!" Alex huffed and crossed his arms, Jacob following suite and adding "Yeah!" "...Wait..do you dorks WANNA eat baby food?" Keith asked, seemingly forgetting about the stink in the air as he grinned. The twin's seemed to realized that had just tried to argue in favor of it and Alex covered his mouth while Jacob shook his head. "NO!" "looks like you boys have some things to figure out. Thanks for feeding the baby." Simon said and took a couple of 20's out of his wallet and handed one to each boy. they went to say thank you but anther back door bomb ripped out of Jace's backside and they took off running instead. "Cute kids. gonna have to get used to stinkers though if they wanna be be daddies." Simon commented, then turned his attention back to Jace who let out a burp. "then again..subjecting them to your funk when they're just starting is like teaching someone to swim by tossing them in shark infested waters." "DADDY!"

With the rest of the baby food in Jace and his ba-ba, the poor baby had a bloated tummy and was pooting up a storm. Simon had been forced to take the onise off of him with his big Jace's tummy tum had gotten and had tickled his sides till Jace wet himself. In just his socks and shoes and Barbie diapers, Jace was getting lots of attention though no one came too close, his poots were like a fog horn warning people to keep their distance. "you know, I was hoping to help you make some friends today but your butt is scaring them all away stinker." Simon teased. "I sowwy." Jace whined, rubbing a eye. After a month of training Jace was conditioned to get sleepy after a big meal. "well we'll go play in the sandbox for a little bit, then go home ok buddy?" "But sweepy daddy." Jace whined, eyes drooping and nuzzling into Simon. "Already? are you sure you don't wanna play on the slide or the swings or something like a big kid?" Simon asked, smirking. "No Big -yawn- kid. Just Jace. sweepy." The blond baby said, almost stumbling now and so Simon stopped and picked him up, setting his head on his shoulder and a arm under his butt, carrying the basket and Chase was tucked inside. "I guess we can go home. I hope you had fun today buddy." Simon said and kissed the big babies cheek, then whispered. "Because we'll be coming here a lot more often." "Ngggh.. yesh..daddy." Jace mumbled, and then drifted off to sleep, even as a series of wet farts erupted from his back side and the back of the babies diapers bloomed out. "oh I see. go sleepies and leave me stuck with changing you. really nice." Simon teased but as he headed for the car he had to admit, he didn't really mind. He was tempted to stop and change Jace on a table, but then spotted a older looking couple talking to a police officer and pointing over at them, and decided that could wait for anther day and not to give the cop a reason to hassle them.. as long as Jace's diapers stayed on he wasn't naked in public. Thankfully the cop seemed to agree as they weren't hassled on their way to the car, though before he went to put Jace in his car seat, Simon was treated to one last cute site. Kevin and Keith chasing the twins, holding onto a couple of towels each and having safety pins. 'Damn. now I really wish I could stay.' Simon thought and chuckled. there was always next weekend.

The end, fer now

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