#iwaizumi hajjme x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miyarinrin · 3 years ago

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𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

» Word Count: 4.4k

» Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

» Genre: 18+, Mafia AU.

» Chapter Warnings: Violence, Blood, Slight Body horror, Slightly Suggestive.

» Beta Read by: @vanille--kiss @kurinoot @liaxxx109

» Summary: Two lives that couldn't be more different from each other. One has nothing and one has everything, but when their paths cross, there's one thing they have in common; their lives and freedom are both trapped behind cages.

» A/N: (Reposted from my old blog.) This was supposed to be a one chapter and eventually turned into multi-chapter chaos! It is a joint effort between my precious friend Vani and I!

(Iwa Fanart from the Banner belongs to @vanille--kiss)

Human nature is a bizarre thing.

Creatures capable of loving everyone around them, of providing a sense of warmth, safety and comfort to those considered part of their family, at the same time they can thrive off other’s pain in the same breath.

Thunderous screaming, shouting and stomping resonates through concrete walls. The smell of sweat, cigarettes and alcohol permeated through the surroundings with a pungent mixture that could easily overwhelm one with a frail stomach. Burly and muscular bodies surround a rusty cage while high off adrenaline, watching two men fighting inside the metallic contraption.

The floor inside the cage isn’t different, consisting of the same dirty concrete as the whole building where all those people shouted profanities, clutching wads of cash with a vice grip. The same floor that gets splattered with spit, sweat and blood as one of them lands a powerful hit against his opponent, harsh enough that his poor victim stumbles back against the cage with a heavy wheeze.

Good, this could only mean the fight will be over soon. That’s what goes through Iwaizumi’s head as he wipes the blood off his bruised lip. Compared to the bloody mess across his opponent’s face, that bruise was insignificant, all thanks to the rigorous training he’d always put himself through.

It may not be the life he was preparing for, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make sure to pull out his best performance. Not when there’s always someone watching between the crowds, someone who always stands out between all of those beefy brutes craving for violence.

He can feel it coming from his right, a piercing gaze unfitting for such a soft, pretty face. A face he’s never considered anything less than breathtaking the more he’s looked at it.

What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?

Watching with arms crossed and a nonchalant smile as the two men kept turning each other into bloody pulps...or at least the other one tried to, because no matter how much he tried, he could only land a couple punches to Iwaizumi.

Tonight, your presence stirs him to show off, to be a little bit more ruthless during the fight. An urge to prove himself before the dozens of eyes but more specifically, before that soft pair of eyes holding such power behind them.

Focusing back on the fight, Iwaizumi sees the walking, bloodied mass lunging towards him one last time. Feeling pity for him, he throws one last punch to his face, and a horrendous crack echoes across the building. He can see everyone’s reactions to that punch; cringing, flinching, gasping or gaping by the intensity of that punch….but you? You don’t even blink after he just fractured someone’s nose with his bare fist.

There’s a thick and heavy silence as the blond-haired opponent falls hard on the floor, eyes rolling into the back of his skull and and the lower part of his face coated in a thick layer of crimson. It’s a good thing he went face down, avoiding the risk of choking on his own blood. These are the kind of risks that come with his… “career choice”, but complaining is not an option for him at this point.

Once again the crowd breaks into a deafening chorus of yelling, both shouts of victory and profanities are thrown in his direction, but he ignores them all as he walks out of the cage, heading towards the back of the room to change out of his bloody and sweaty clothes while a couple of “bouncers” take the other fighter out of the cage. On his way to the backroom, his attention wanders towards the crowd that’s still drunk off the carnage. Iwaizumi’s eyes follow after your retracting figure, walking away with a step radiating nothing but pure confidence with every step.

It’s always the same, he always catches you watching his match with that unfaltering gaze, and right after he walks out of that rusty cage, you walk away from the warehouse without looking back. Now that he thinks about it, how come nobody mentions a thing about it? Surely more than one of the men around should’ve noticed someone as graceful and elegant amidst the crowd of men snorting lines on the counter and betting their savings on clandestine fights.

Oh well, it’s not really his problem and it’s not like he can talk them out of this, and as long as he gets paid for breaking someone’s nose, he really cannot complain.

With a heavy huff, he uses a towel to wipe the sweat off his face, frowning at the smear of blood left on the fabric. He shrugs in defeat, before wiping as much of the sweat as possible. God he could really use a nice, warm shower after this, but it’s either getting food or hot water this month. Once he’s finally done, he sits down on a nearby bench with his back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling while deep in thought...How did it end up like this? One day he had just graduated college, and he was ready to take on the next step of his dream career...The next one he found himself having to earn a living in clandestine fights, more than once risking his life and freedom every night he got called for a match. Unconsciously, his hand traces a small scar at his right side, it was probably around the same length as his middle finger, with the skin badly healed, leaving an ugly, scarred reminder that this was his life now, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Frowning at the memory, he stands up with a sour face, before getting changed back into his regular clothes. It’s nothing fancy to wear, denim pants, black sneakers, and an old, blue hoodie thrown over a white t-shirt. They may not be his fanciest clothes, but they’re definitely some of his best ones.

“Good job out there, kiddo.” A man around his 40’s approaches Iwaizumi with a smile, patting his shoulder lightly as he lets out a whole hearted laughter. It was hard to think how a man that radiated the same energy of a father figure could organize these fights without a single problem, or help these guys to get in shape as he provided them a place to train and free of charges. “You gave Ronald a run for his money! As promised, here’s your prize for tonight’s performance.”

He pulls out a neat envelope from his back pocket, slightly wrinkled from being kept in that oversized pocket, but Iwaizumi doesn’t complain about it, not when the thing that matters is inside that thick bundle of paper. Taking the envelope, Iwaizumi opens it and begins inspecting the contents, each bill counted carefully as he counts his reward of the night.

“This is more than the usual.” He has to count it again, and again and again to make sure his eyes don’t deceive him. He can’t stop wondering if it’s some kind of prank, but the coach only laughs in response, belly shaking with each intake of breath before he lays a hand over the young man’s shoulder.

“Kiddo, you’re getting one hell of a reputation out there. Someone came in and made this huge bet on your name. Everyone’s talking about you.” Iwaizumi can’t help feeling happy, proud that his hard work paid off.

The world can be a cruel place, playing twisted games at the least unexpected time, but for a brief moment he doesn’t care anymore. Sighing to himself, he gets up from his seat and shoves the envelope in his bag. Allowing the coach to slap a hand on his back with a tired chuckle before walking out through the back door.

The old, metallic door is closed shut with a faint click. Iwa breathes in with a twitching eyebrow and a frown. The stench around the alley seemed stronger than usual, with a pungent mix of rotten garbage, piss, alcohol and puke that made him gag in retaliation. Covering the lower part of his face, he starts walking through the small space towards the empty streets, ready to get back “home” and get some well deserved rest.

He pulls out his phone to check out the time, the cracked screen coming to life with a dim light and the numbers displayed across the small device make him huff loudly.

“Two in the morning, huh?” Tonight’s fight really took longer than usual, but it doesn’t matter. He got more money than expected thanks to it. The corner of his lip twitches lightly as he walks out of the alley and breathes in the now fresh air, shivering slightly as it makes chills run through his sweaty body.

“Aww come one, sweetcheeks! Let’s have some fun, don’t ya?” A whiney, slurred voice coming from the other side of the street catches Iwaizumi’s attention. A part of him is tempted to ignore everything and keep walking, but Iwaizumi isn't that heartless and he knows that himself. He looks in the direction where said voice came from.

It’s after that moment that Iwaizumi’s whole life changed…

He’s never been one to believe in destiny, until he looks at the drunken nobody at the other side of the streets, with an arm slung over the shoulders of the one person he never expected to come across at this moment….your face.

A breathtaking, nonchalant face as you look at this drunken man with a sharp glare, it may not be directed at Iwaizumi, but even he could feel the sheer coldness behind your narrowed gaze.

“I’ve already said this before,” cringing as you take a hold of the dirty, sweaty hand over your shoulder, you pull it away with two fingers. A grossed out look at the clammy sensation left across the fabric of your top. “I have no interest in this fun you seem desperate for.”

Of course, when alcohol takes over and clouds one’s common sense, it’s when things rarely end up well. A blind fury takes over this man, and the same grimy hand takes a not-so-firm hold over your forearm. It’s like a switch goes off in both Iwa’s head and yours. In an instant, Iwa’s already bolting in your direction. He can hear something along the lines of “You damn cunt” which ignites his blood. How dare this scumbag talk to you like that?

The growing rage inside him doesn’t get to come out against the drunkard. Everything happened so quickly as your own hands took a firm hold of the jerk’s hand, twisting it backwards with a brutality that sobered him up in no time. The pain is such that he ends up falling on his knees, a chorus of high pitched yells coming out of his mouth as he attempts to pry off your hand, just to get it bent ever harder, threatening to dislocate his wrists if he keeps it up any longer.

“Ack! Let me go, you bitch!”

The pained frown he gives you is nothing compared to the cold, hard glare over your features, growing harder and harder with each word coming out of the bastard’s mouth. He wants to say something else, curse your whole blood line and entire existence.

Iwaizumi finally approaches, determined to make this guy swallow his words.

“Is this guy troubling you, Miss?” Both you and the aggressor turn around in surprise, neither of you expecting another voice outside this late at night.

“Dude help me out! This bitch is assaulting me!” He cries out once again, but another twist of his wrists instantly makes him shut his mouth.

“Say one more thing and a broken wrist will be the least of your worries.” You twisted his wrist tighter, making the bastard yell out in agony as he could feel the joint threatening to dislocate at any moment. So all he did was nod rapidly, little beads of sweat gathering at his temple, instantly sober up from the sheer pain at his limb before your hand slowly released him from the painful grip, just to be shoved back on the floor with the heel of your boot. “Good. Now get out of my sight, you pig.”

The glare he gives you is just as pathetic as his existence as he crawls back on the dirty street, before getting up and scrambling away into the dark night. Iwa stands firm on his spot, just a couple feet away as he watches you from afar, pulling out a handkerchief from the pocket of your jacket, nose wrinkled in disgust as the delicate silk brushed against the spot in your shoulder where that pig had laid his hands on, before wiping your hand next.

What just happened?

“Can I help you?” Your words snap him out of his trace. He finds himself looking right into those same eyes that would always watch him from the crowds, this time less lively than those moments when you wouldn’t even flinch when a punch was thrown during the fights.

With the handkerchief stuffed back in your pocket, you look at him with your arms crossed, hips tilted to a side and an eyebrow raised in boredom. How did those little gestures manage to fluster him so badly?

“I-” He coughs awkwardly against his closed fist, clearing his throat from the small bundle of nerves at the back of his throat, “saw that asshole giving you trouble, but it seems like you already took care of it, miss.” From the look on your face, it’s obvious to him that you expected a completely different answer. Blinking confused at his remark, he watches you release a small huff of surprise.

“Miss? Wow, such a gentleman.” His ears get warm rapidly as you look away, muffling a giggle against the palm of your hand. “What are you, a knight in shining armor?” You look back at him through long lashes, “You’ve got the strength of one.”

So you do pay attention to more than just the ripped bodies in the arena, huh?

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, unable to find a clever answer to your question, and he’s met with another round of laughter as you lean back against the back of a nearby bench with an ankle crossed over the other while he stood still in place.

“Relax, will you? I’m not going to twist your wrist….unless you want me to?” A smug little smile adorns your face as his own burns in embarrassment. He’s used to having insults thrown at his face, words of encouragement from the coach, even praise from the other guys during training, but flirting? That’s definitely a new subject for him.

“Oh my god, you should see the look on your face!” There’s a small grunt at the back of his throat. A blush coating his cheeks as you laugh shamelessly at the look on his face.

“Okay I’m sorry, you’re just so easy to fluster!”

“You tease every stranger you meet like this?”

“No, only the handsome ones.”

Flustered, Iwa’s eyes go wide open as you laugh at his blushing face, hands resting over your chest and shoulders shaking uncontrollably. A small tear prickling the corner of your eye which is wiped away just as quickly as it appears.

“The look on your face, oh my god!”

He’s never been a fan of being laughed at, remembering the many times his childhood friend always used to throw playful remarks during their youth. But for some reason, there’s something about your reactions, about that heartfelt laughter of yours that stirs something in him. Eventually, he finds himself chuckling as well.

“So,” Taking a deep breath, your head is angled playfully at him with a sweet, yet playful smile across your face. “What’s your name, stranger?”

For the first time in years, Iwaizumi can feel a small weight being lifted off his shoulders, and he finds himself approaching casually, taking the spot besides you on the bench, leaning back as the both of you start having a friendly conversation. When was the last time he felt this calm before? Weeks? Months? Years?

He’s not sure, but eventually the days pass by and with each night, you two slowly become closer. It becomes a personal little routine. Every night he gets offered a fight, the easier it gets to notice those pretty eyes lingering across the crowd. That alluring gaze that never wavers with every hit, as the building is filled with the loud cheering or the crowds going wild with adrenaline.

From that point, there’s something new in his routine as you indulge in each other’s company. Every night after a fight, you find yourselves getting to know each other and talking about some of the most random of things, laughing at both good and bad jokes, sometimes even enjoying a nice can of warm coffee in the middle of the coldest nights. He also tells you about the passion he had for volleyball, of the matches won alongside his team.

Somehow, he never says anything about his life past college...

As time goes by, those gazes slowly become more intense, driven by a hidden desire that slowly keeps growing over time. And the more time he spends with you, the more he notices some of the smallest details, like the way your eyes linger over his body after every fight, following the small beads of sweat running down his abs whenever he pulls the hem of his shirt to wipe the moisture around his face, or the way your gaze lingers on his biceps during the warmest nights, when he’s wearing either short sleeves or a tank top, the way your pupils dilate with the slightest flex of his muscles stirs an urge deep inside when those silky hands glide over the skin one night, tracing small circles on his skin, making him inhale sharply on instinct.

He doesn’t seem to notice the effect that noise has on your body. Of the way you have to bite your lower lip to hold back a whimper, of the way your eyes darken in arousal, all because of his mere breathing, which makes your thighs press slightly against each other. Until he breathes out softly, and it’s like a switch went off inside your head. Blinking rapidly, you quickly pull your hand away, turning away to hide the heat warming up your face.

“Ah, sorry, I... shouldn’t have done that.”

He has to take another deep breath to soothe himself and that familiar throbbing between his legs that slowly became more intense the longer your hands lingered across his skin. Green eyes stare at the back of your head, which is tilted down as you attempt to fan the heat off your face. The sight before him is something new, unexpected even. He’s used to your subtle, yet confident flirting, to those sly little smiles thrown at him from the crowds, and the piercing eyes that could easily kill a man with their intensity, but he has to admit that this side of you is also alluring in its own way. That shy, easily flustered side is endearing.

“It's fine.” He finds himself unable to speak. Maybe, just maybe, it’s that shy attitude of yours that lures him in with its charm, prompting him to place his hand over your shoulder, fully aware that you could easily twist his hand with a swift movement, a small part of him had already prepared him for the pain of an injured wrist, and yet that moment never comes.

Instead, he finds himself looking back into those same pretty eyes that always take his breath away. You both try to look away like a pair of teenagers talking to their middle school sweetheart, but Iwa’s eyes land somewhere else, lingering on your soft and silky lips, covered in a thin layer of gloss, making them look so… appetizing. The more he looks at them, the more finds himself fighting the urge to lean forward and bite them.

And judging from the way you look up at him, he’s not the only one that wants that. The same hand resting over your shoulder grabs a hold of your face, holding your chin gently as his thumb traces the shape of your lips, pressing down gently so the lower lip is dragged along, following after his thumb.

He takes a step closer, and it’s nearly impossible not to feel the heat seep through each other’s clothing. A comforting, yet suffocating warmth that if it were to be unattended it could easily burn everything around them without mercy, leaving behind nothing but a scorched landscape full of pain and agony.

He didn’t even realize how close you stood to each other, until the heat of your breath hit him. One of your hands resting carefully over the firm muscle of his chest, fingers pressing softly against him as he asks you a single thing.

“Can I?” He whispers against your eager lips, desperate to crash his lips against your own, and ready to devour them. Rather than a proper reply, he can feel one of your hands sneaking its way to the back of his head, tangling itself in his own locks as it pulls him closer. It doesn’t take him a minute to release a ferocious groan against your lips, before his hand releases your chin, so he could wrap his arms around your waist to pull you closer against him. One limb wrapped tightly around your waist, while the other one is pressed neatly across your back, sliding its way up until it’s pressed firmly at the base of your neck.

You’re already kissing him back with the same fervor, moaning sweetly against his lips with your own hands wrap desperately around the back of his neck, before tangling into his brown locks to keep him as close as possible, the last thing you want in that moment is to part from him, and he feels exactly the same way as he pulls away from the kiss.

“You taste so fucking good.” The sight of his tongue running over his lips as he tastes your sweet lip gloss is powerful enough to make you pull him back to attack his lips all over again. He chuckles against your mouth, dizzy and intoxicated like never before. The only time he’s felt this rush before is during a fight, but this is even better, a rush of adrenaline and lust running through his veins like electricity that feels like no other.

Begrudgingly, he has to force himself to stop, to pull away before he might end up ripping off your clothes in the middle of the street.

“One of these days.” He breathes out, resting his forehead against yours as he attempts to steady his breathing, just the same way as you are. “I’m going to make you mine.”

“Why not-Why not now?” You ask him curiously, holding his face with both hands to give him another peck, which he accepts eagerly, and the mere gesture already has you trembling for more.

“I want to wait for the perfect moment.” An arm makes its way around your waist, holding you firmly against his chest. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the skin softly as his breaths slowly become even, aided by the sweet scent of your perfume which helps sooth his senses. “And when that moment comes, I’m gonna make you mine over and over again. Got it?”

When he lifts his face to look in your eyes, it’s like the same guy you met that night had been replaced by someone different. The guy that would stumble on his words whenever you flirted with him was gone, and instead you stood face to face with the same fighter that could easily break someone’s neck if he wanted to. He could do anything he wanted in that instant, and you would take it all without complaining.

“In that case, you better keep that promise, Hajime.” With a soft giggle, you give him another peck, which quickly turns into another one of those passionate kisses that easily took away your breath, the type of kisses that only he could provide. “I’ll be waiting patiently for that day.”

“Is that a challenge, princess?”

“It’s a goddamn promise.”

With that, you share one last kiss together before pulling away from that firm grasp, before walking away with that same, mysterious smile. Iwaizumi’s gaze turns towards the dark sky as he chuckles to himself, hands shoved in his pockets as he turns on his heels, ready to go home for the night. His mood lifted drastically as he’s lost in thought, already yearning for the feeling of your soft lips against his own.

It’s just the same way you’re already missing the feeling of his lips against yours, the warm yet slightly chapped lips that could easily make your body go limp in those toned arms. Smiling, your own fingertips brush against your lips softly, humming happily by the events that occurred less than a couple minutes ago. Nothing could ruin that moment for you.

“You!” Except for that goddamn voice, the same slurred voice and stench of cheap alcohol as the very same man from that time appeared before you, eyes burning with a drunken rage as he came closer, clutching one of the cheapest bottles of beer in the market. “You’re that fucking bitch!”

“Do I know you?” Of course you know him, but he’s just not worth remembering. Not even when he slams the end of the bottle against a nearby light post. There’s pieces of glass scattered everywhere, glistening on the floor as they mix with alcohol to reflect the lights.

“I’m gonna make you pay for what you did, you damned whore!” The sharp ends of the bottle are pointed in your direction, swaying dangerously from side to side, but neither the sharp edges of the makeshift weapon or the rabid look across this man’s face has any effect on you, aside from a raised eyebrow and an unamused look.

Either the people inside the bar are too drunk to notice, or they just don’t care when a blood curdling scream is heard outside. Nobody’s around to help the screeching drunk outside, yelling in agony as his hand is pressed against a nearby sign, pinned in place by a sharp, expensive dagger easily piercing through the palm of his hand, the droplets of blood running down his limbs coming together into a small puddle, reflecting the agonizing look on his face, and your elegant silhouette walking off in the distance, with the heel of your boots clicking delicately against the floor.

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