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savagecowboy · 10 months ago

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𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒

The roar of the motorcycle’s dirt clogged engine came to a shuddering, grinding stop within the effervescent glow of the building’s scant outside lighting. A heeled boot drove the kickstand into the cobbles with a grating scrape.

Sidling off of the seat, Severen braced on the handlebars a moment. A hand, dirt grimed with the dust and detritus of the road he had not taken care to remove from the grooves of his coarse skin or nails, swiped over his mouth; leaving a rude smear of congealed gore from chin to cheek.

There is a vapid, glazed look to his naturally predator-like gaze, and by the state of his once more tattered, blood stained clothing, it is clear this is not his first stop of the evening. Heavy, plodding steps take him to the front door.

The attendant there gives him only a slow look, recognition clear, a distinct desire to be rid of the creature before them apparent in their expression. With no interest in incurring a further moment spent in Severen’s presence, a regrettable decision is made to bid him entry.

Normally, this would have been a prime time for Severen’s typical sarcastic humor— especially at the expense of another serving his interests—but he has something else on his mind; even more credence to the rather smart choice to avoid small talk and let the man pass. In respect of this, Severen gives them a smirk and reaches into his jacket. He fishes out a wallet, well-worn, brown leather, he flips through its dividers some, clearly unfamiliar with it, and digs out some folded money.

“Don’t spend it all in one place”, he chuckles as he presses it to their chest, pushing past. The door guard lets it fall to the ground, the blood smeared paper scattering about their feet in a small arc.

Inside the dimly lit inner entrance hall there are clusters mingling, holding drinks in various shades of red and neon, a mix of liquor and other fluid more to his taste.

Eyes rise to scan over the new entrant, but unease has them dart away— or in a few cases, settle in for longer appreciation. Mockingly, he blows a kiss to one such admirer flashing his teeth in a grin that makes them shudder, turning back to their fellows to avoid summoning the monster. Severen sneers, edged with violence as always, continuing his press into the crowd.

Skirting around the edge of the lower bar, he ducks through an unlocked side door that leads into an out of the way restroom. Catching sight of his reflection, he sees there is no helping the ruin of his attire, still, he decides it may behoove him to at least clean up his face some. He vigorously rubs his hands under the cool water, the bowl of the sink quickly running red, then pools water between his palms to splash into his face. Now scrubbed free of the evidence of this night’s latest victim— or victims—it is a little less clear what he has been doing in the previous hours; all but the memory erased.

He still has the buzz of a meal well earned, reveling in the post adrenaline thrill. They had given him a struggle— a treat when so few did— the need to exert himself, feeling the unbridled strength break free, was a true joy. The ferocity that coursed through their veins as they fought to live burned like fire as it pumped into his mouth; an invigorating elixir made of human life. Involuntarily he laughs at the memory, wiping his fingers down the corners of his lips like a drunk thinking about his next drink. Dragging his still wet hands through his hair he pulls it into a semblance of order before it falls back over his face.

The haze breaks, he hears the music now, loud and thrumming at the heart of him, the rush of scents— all nature of beings, booze, smoke, burning herbs— he slams his hands against the wall and menaces at the reflection in the mirror, the beast that stares back agreeing that the night is still young.

With a whooping cry he pulls out a pair of sunglasses from another interior pocket. Pushing them on, the world dims into shades of gray. He smiles back at the grinning hellion in the mirror once more, exiting the bathroom and heading straight for the bar.

The lacquered black granite counter is the main feature in the open space, dividing the bartenders from the thirsty public. It is a busy night, most stools are occupied, any open spots have a standing body either waiting to be served or speaking with a seated companion.

Severen pays no mind to civility.

He pushes through, thrusting out his arm straight between a couple who, irritated at his rudeness, click their tongues and shoot him indolent glares. He looks from one to the other, letting the glasses fall down the bridge of his nose so their eyes can meet.

“I’m sorry were you two havin’ a moment?”

“We’re waiting for our drinks asshole!” One shouts back, puffed up in outrage.

“Oh!” He puts on a farcical display of shock, hand to chest, and looks up and down the bartop. Spying two highball glasses he reaches over and snatches them. Placing each in front of him, he pulls up the bar mat, curls it into a funnel, and lets the remnant liquid pooled in its grooves pour into each glass, filling them.

“It’s on the house”, he says pushing a glass toward each of them. Unsure what to do, they take the proffered glasses from him, disgusted, confused, but smartly resolving to walk away rather than engage further. Severen laughs at their backs, “You’re welcome you fuckin little—hey!”

He interrupts himself as one of the bartenders dashes by him.

“Hey!”

He shouts again trying to get their attention.

All he receives is a brief sidelong glance as they went back to mixing; filling one order or another that had previously come their way.

“Hey you, c’mere!”

The next look he got was more sour, “I’m busy, or maybe you didn’t notice, wait for Henna, she can take your order”.

“I don’t want to order!” Severen shouted back, “ I wanna know where Lira is!”

The unnamed bartender took a more studious look at Severen now, trying to place him, but it was clear there was a lack of recognition. Still, he passed some sort of inspection, or at least seemed the sort that the owner might have dealings with, guarded words delivered with care.

“She’s meeting with someone”, they paused to slide a couple glasses toward waiting patrons, “probably be back later”.

They focused back on their work, others muscling in to try and get their attention, which got the newcomers the same cold shoulder Severen had been met with. He felt his severely limited patience dwindling, his deceptive grin slipping away as he stepped back from the bar.

Through some unspoken understanding those that blocked his path stepped to the side as he approached, repositioning himself directly in front of the barkeep once more. In one deft swipe he curled his fingers into the bartender’s mesh top, pulling them within inches of his own face.

“Be back, when?” He snarls through his teeth, returning to his characteristic smirk, though it was more unnerving than ever.

An adroit feat of nimbleness saves the bartender from spilling the beverages they had been preparing, locking their much slimmer hands around Severen’s.

“I don’t—“ they started, then as if truly seeing the creature for what he was now, diffused what had started as vitriol into a more neutral reply, “she went to the office about ten minutes ago to sort something out, if you wait over in the lounge she’ll be stopping by soon”.

Severen chuckled, “Now see, wazzat so hard?”He ruffled the soft white spikes of their hair and let loose his grip. Now released, they stumble briefly before catching their balance, smoothing the wrinkles as best they could, remarkably keeping the same fixed expression. Giving a mock salute, Severen presses back into the swarm, letting the stream carry him toward the far end of the building where the well named Red Room lay in wait.

Black velvet curtains framed the entryway, a carpeted step down, and one was fully engulfed in crimson light. This area was not so much quieter, as it was more passive.

On one side, a slightly smaller bar with a single attendant gave him a congenial wave as he moved through. Opposing it was an area sectioned by dangling chains where groups convened on couches. Black velvet lined furniture was bedecked with the same mixed scatter Lira’s place attracted. Fellow bloodsuckers wooed potential, consenting victims, ethereal entities and eclectic immortals enraptured by the thrumming life around them. Whispered conversations amongst the throng were held in tight proximity as the pervasive music forced them to crush close together to be heard. Those that sought to lose themselves to the body pounding sound were just ahead on the dance floor; this one the smaller of the two in the building. It was ringed with seating, a design choice that also confined its occupants. It was unclear if this was purposeful, or a case of aesthetic over convenience. Severen meandered through the masses, stepping past bodies and elaborate decor until he came to one of the few unoccupied chairs, a large throne-like monstrosity, more wood than cushion.

He was used to sleeping under tables, crushing himself into small dark confines to escape the sun’s deadly rays, he was unperturbed by the clearly disliked chair.

Always with a flair for the dramatic, he made a show of adorning himself upon the seat, tossing out his cuffs and leaning back with a thud; throwing his heavy, booted feet up onto the closest table. Few paid him mind in his theatrics, except the woman behind the bar who now left her post to stride over.

“You look comfy”, she said with gentle sarcasm, hands akimbo as she gave him a wry little smile. Severen threw his arms up, interlocked his fingers and rested them behind his head.

“Oh darlin’ I most certainly am”, he grinned back. She gave a short giggle, a sound that seemed practiced for use in her trade.

“Anything I can get ya, handsome?”

He stayed implacable, looking away from her and toward the entrance.

“I’m waiting for someone”, there was an emphasis to how he phrased the statement that chilled some of her previous exuberance.

“Ok, anything in the meantime then?”

“Only if you can tell her I’m here”, he turned to face her, moving a hand to push his glasses back over his eyes. She stepped back, gave a nod, and went back behind her bar. Severen could see her—despite her trying to keep her movements less than obvious— place a call into the corded phone by the till.

His smile spread. It shouldn’t be much longer now.

He gave an unrestrained, jubilant laugh, full of loosed, self satisfied confidence, then slouched down, relaxing; letting the ambiance engulf him.

———

Lira hung up the phone, watching the door to her side office close behind her guest. She reached for her glass, drops of condensation chilling her fingers, dripping onto her leather pants with muted pitter-pats. She took a slow sip of whiskey, the cool burn distracting her momentarily from current events.

It was never enjoyable keeping the peace, however, she was adamant about doing what needed to be done to keep her territory by her terms. It was a precarious balance that took more effort than many realized, least of which was that of the guest awaiting her in the Red Room.

“It just had to be tonight”, she growled into her glass, draining it until nothing but the few shards of ice remained; with the full intent on getting a fresh one downstairs.

Because she would have to go downstairs.

There would be no avoiding him without repercussions—indulgent as she was with him—here she had been hoping for a calm evening. Of course, it was hard for her to be entirely regretful that he had made an appearance. It had been a while since their last meeting, a more intimate setting, a night that had ended with teeth and claws. She gave a snort, brushing back her curls from her face, rising off the sofa with a stretch.

It was time for another drink, booze or blood was yet to be decided.

———

From the relative quiet of her office to the hall, where the music rumbled through her core, she stepped past the curtains and into view of all.

Heads turned, any in her path stepping aside respectfully for her to pass; more than reputation preceding her. Courtesies were paid her way in the form of nods and raised glasses. She greeted some with a warm gaze, returned pleasantries where needed, yet wasted no time in making her way through the lounge. A side glance from Nancy at the bar indicated where Severen had sat himself, but she feigned incomprehension of the gesture. Instead, Lira walked up to her, leaning onto the bartop with a grin.

“Pour me the good stuff”.

Nancy obliged with a shrug, “You got it boss”. Lira could sense the intensity of his gaze on her exposed back, burning holes in her leather top.

Very subtly, Lira arched her head just slightly over one shoulder, curls pooling over in a dark cascade. She had turned just enough that she caught Severen within her periphery, splayed on the throne at the end of the room—appropriate seating for one of his ego— clearly beginning to seethe. He looked every bit the spoiled prince.

Teasing him was all too easy, ignorance was as good as insult to the bombastic show off. It was sure to rile him; one of her personal delights.

“Here boss”, Nancy said sliding a fresh glass to Lira. She raised it in appreciative acknowledgement taking a healthy swig, the rich, warm taste reinvigorating. Sliding her drink back onto the table she checked back on her beau from the corner of her eye. He was staring at something past her, his lip curled back showing a glint of one of his honed teeth.

It was then that she realized her display had attracted unwanted attention.

A man, only slightly taller than herself, had positioned himself in the only open spot beside her. The space had been left free of intrusion, due to congenial propriety, allowing Lira some much deserved privacy from others; making his presence in it that much more obscene.

“Can I get you another?” He offered, Nancy pulled a face and pointedly moved to the furthest end of the bar away from them; clearly uninterested in being an involved party in the exchange.

“I get my own drinks” Lira replied coldly, irritated at having her game interrupted, even more so that someone obviously ignorant of the unspoken decorum might approach her.

“I’m sure there’s something I could get you”. The sheer audacity of the statement caught her off guard. Lira’s brows knitted in confused offense, lips parted as she tried to formulate speech instead of dragging his heart out through his chest cavity.

A moment before she came to a conclusion about what action to take, the decision was made for her.

———

Severen had exhibited a remarkable amount of patience in waiting for her. He had only berated two other guests— firmly in the opinion he was in the right since he was in fact using the table—and snapped at Nancy once about what was taking so long, which was record complacency for him. Most of the folks nearest him were either pointedly trying to go unnoticed or had cleared the seats surrounding by this point, understanding that he was trouble. It had an added effect of making him a prominent focal point in the room, which made it all the easier for Lira to spy him when at last she did appear.

Her coy dismissal was not surprising, and he would gladly play her game. As she bent over to speak to Nancy he got a great view of her ass framed in her low rise leather pants. He gave the sight an appreciative whistle which was mostly drowned out by the music, although he was sure she would catch it, being what she was.

As he was preparing to make his grand appearance before her, an intruder sidled into the spot he had been ready to occupy; catching even Lira off guard as the lowlife asked her some inane question. Severen’s expression turned from one of jovial mischief to enraged fury in an instant. In short, swift motions he crossed the room to loom behind the man, just as he delivered the next bit of driveling dialogue he somehow managed to scrape out of the diminishing barrel.

“I got something for you instead” words dripping with malice, Severen clapped a hand down firmly on the man’s shoulder.

“Wha—“ was all he managed before having his head forcibly smashed into the bar, right over an abandoned drink.

“Drink up!” The nocturnal cowboy crowed as the man slumped to the floor, shards of glass embedded deep into his face, blood oozing around the wounds. Few took immediate notice of the gravity of the situation, caught more off guard by the sudden loud noise than comprehending the state of the man on the floor—not an unusual sight in the least.

“Hey”, one patron who had turned around eyed Severen, “what’s going on?”

“Just getting my friend here a drink” he replied kicking the man in the ribs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The interloper stepped forward in misplaced concern, Severen did not hesitate to grab him by his collar, yanking him off balance as the violent creature tugged him closer.

“Taking out the trash” Severen said with a smile, lifting the unfortunate off his feet and hurling him toward the wall. Would he have met the wall directly it certainly would have fractured his skull, for better or worse he collided with another person who broke his fall and knocked them both out.

Now others took notice of the ruckus happening around them. Some turned to Lira to put a stop to the ruffian, but she seemed more preoccupied with her whiskey to notice. Her lack of intervention inspired him to keep going, the aggression feeding into his pervasive hunger.

“Anyone else got sumethin’a say?” He asked pulling off his glasses completely, to reveal the predatory mania beneath.

Most looked around evasively looking to find the path of least resistance to exit the room as far away as they could get from the increasingly dangerous situation. One man, a few inches taller and quite a bit more muscular than Severen stepped swaggeringly forward; he was every bit insolent bravado, scowling down his nose at the shit-starter.

“I do”, he reached out to grab the tattered white shirt, still damply clinging to Severen’s chest, but was intercepted by the rabble rouser grappling his thick forearm and wrenching it outward. An audible, terrible ripping sound of tendons forced the wrong direction against their will, made even distant bystanders grimace. The man cried out, his assailant curling his ringed fingers around the squared lower jaw presented, pulling downward; at first dislocating it, then wrenching it clean off. The bruiser’s eyes bulged in shock and pain, lending the now frozen expression a strangely comical look. Blood poured from the jagged mess of his face, a gurgling, agonized noise burbling out of the now visible throat.

Severen stuck his tongue out to catch spurts of blood. His pale skin was soon coated in red gore, what stains that had once been dry upon his clothing darkening, the only white remnants of his shirt just as saturated as the rest. Those intrigued enough to watch had their fill at the sight of a man turned fountain, most went stampeding by, while some weighed the possibility of trying to take out the predator in their midst. Watching them flee only frenzied the beast, any in arms reach were lambs to the slaughter. Severen lashed wildly, dragging any he could to his open maw to rip them open, consuming what hot blood he could lap up into the reddened, fanged chasm in enthusiastic gulps.

It lasted minutes, Severen cut down humans and fellow supernatural creatures alike, indiscriminate in his irrational gorging. Anything he could kill was prey, and prey deserved to be devoured.

As survivors clattered into furniture, slipping in the puddles of mixing fluids, he could hear them being accosted by other attendees in the main room; Lira’s staff asking the panicked crowd what happened.

A distant commotion of activity began, but he had no attention for it. Instead, Severen turned to look at Lira, still leaning against the bar, her whiskey glass nearly empty, held in a performative fashion by her lips.

“Were you thirsty?”

A wet, throaty rumble is all the response Severen can manage, a bloody drool languidly dripping out from around the sides of his mouth, melding with the slick coating over the rest of his face. He had arrived with the spurt of frenetic energy—intermixed with mild soporific satisfaction— that came from his nightly meal, but now he was entirely blood drunk; a berserker of carnage.

Glazed blue eyes met hers and she could scent the hedonistic lust emanating from him.

It was hard for her to hide her smile.

Severen was on her in a minute, his gore caked hands reaching for her with an aggressive passion, his attention solely fixated. She wrapped a firm hand around his throat, clenching like a choke collar to remind the beast it was able to be controlled. Although she overpowered him with ease, Severen still pushed against her, taking little regard for his own safety. Lira could feel his skin tearing under her nails, his fresh feast leaking out from plumped veins.

“You’ve made a mess” she mockingly scolded him, one of his hands reaching out to capture the back of her neck. Lira gave a delighted hiss, feeding off the infectious craze he had whipped himself up into. She tightened her grip on him only to pull him forward into herself, allowing him to press his weight closer, his thigh pressing up against the side of her own.

“And now I’ll make a mess of you”.

Severen pulled her head back and made to lunge for her neck, Lira allowed him the bite, feeling sharpened teeth puncture under her jawline, briefly sucking at the marks made before she wrenched his head away with a growl. Fierce, bright, preternatural green flamed at the sensual pain. She ripped away the rest of his mangled shirt to expose the flesh beneath, unconcerned of the gouges she had rent as an after effect.

Severen didn’t even wince.

At the taste of her unnatural, ambrosial nectar Severen’s innate savagery intensifies, everything in him craving another fix.

Forgoing all pretense he pulls her hand from his throat, skin raking open in weeping tears. He pins her arms back behind her on top of the bar, closing the distance of their bodies with his own until he has her sandwiched between himself and the wooden barrier.

Lira allows him to shift her, but refuses to relinquish all control. As a show of her own dominance she snaps at his face, he does not jerk away, instead capturing her lips with his in a passionate, tooth-filled kiss. Crimson bloomed anew around his mouth the taste of him mixed with his earlier prey. She sucks it down as eagerly as he had, she might not need blood for sustenance, yet her own bestial nature could not dismiss the pleasure that came from consuming the life of another.

Their battle of wills ends when Lira rends his lip, halving it at the center. Severen pulls away, rage tinged with manic delight converging on his face. She takes the moment to boost herself up on the bar, nearly slipping as she had forgotten just how much liquid there was everywhere.

Severen doesn’t notice if she is balanced or not, his need is too great. Her breasts are at eye level, and he is yanking at her top, the aesthetic lacing no match for his hungry hands. It is not just her breasts he wants to feel— although he gladly cups the hot flesh— what Severen wants most lies at the center betwixt both. He drags his tongue over the pallid skin, painting a red streak up to her clavicle.

Lira gasps as his callused fingers, warmed with murder, graze her nipples and covetously clasp her skin; digging her hands into the sticky tangles of his hair. The next thing she feels is his self made fangs gouging into the taught skin over her sternum. She hisses, lacerating his scalp with her claw-like nails, moaning as he laps at the blood— so close to her fast beating heart— in fervor. Severen growls, releasing his hold of her to grab at the bar for purchase pressing his face fully against her chest, sucking and biting at her, her flesh mending just as quickly over the damage he inflicts. Lira pulls his face away, wanting her own satisfaction. She looks into his glassy eyes, the inhuman expression not passionate desire, but a desperate all-consuming craving; she echoes the sentiment.

With her other hand Lira undoes the top button on her pants, wriggling them down over her hips. When Severen notices her actions he is all too eager to help, pulling them to her ankles, greedily thrusting his face between her legs; the heavy scent of her arousal intoxicating.

His vigor nearly toppled her backward, Lira grasping at the edge of the bar; giving a startled laugh as she does so. Bracing her feet on two nearby stools, she manages to reach back to the lower counter, splaying her hands out on the smooth marble for support. Now stable, she can return her focus to him, how his hot breath tickles the insides of her thighs as he nips at the supple skin. She gives him a kick in response. She doesn’t want to play around.

Grabbing a fistful of his matting hair again she jerks his head away from her, Severen gives an enraged roar. She cannot help her enjoyment at infuriating the maddened monster. Lira’s grip is unwavering as he moves back toward her, a tearing sound like meaty fabric splitting coming from his scalp. With a burst of motion— the tension on his head suddenly slackening— she feels his tongue run up her exposed vagina, lingering on her clit. Her whole body trembles as electric fire surges through her.

“Fuck” she says through gritted teeth, repositioning her hands at the sides of his temples as she leans back. Severen dips down, hiking her thighs upon his shoulders, lifting her so he can move his hands from her hips to her lower back, digging in his nails near her spine. Lira bucks against his face, bristles of his cheeks scratching her inner thighs, his tongue sumptuously licking between her labia, deftly slipping inside her. She can’t distinguish what any of the bodily fluids around her crotch are anymore, but can’t be bothered to care.

Clenching her legs around his head, Lira forces Severen to clamp down over her pubic mound, grinding herself into him, fucking his tongue as he sucks down. Black curls cling to her face as she pants, chest heaving as she braces for orgasm, satisfied to use him for her own purposes. She is cumming in his mouth as he grabs her ass, bruising her in his hands, she is lost in the moment, such petty injury not worth concern. She is only just ebbing off of climax when she feels his mouth disengage from her, Lira wants to be irritated—ready for more— but the buzzing throes of the endorphin high leave her limbs unwilling to cooperate.

The distinct jingle of his belt buckle fills the relative silence, a zipper soon following, and she can guess what he is up to, Lira smiles to herself, willing to reward him for his earlier efforts— while reaping her own benefits.

Severen tugs on her leg to pull her to him. The well lubricated surface aides the motion, sliding her over so his body is perfectly centered between her spread legs. He strokes her still sensitive clit and Lira bares her teeth at him, he growls in response, bending over her, hands flanking her waist, his erect cock just out of range of her in the middle distance. Severen bares down, forcefully grabbing her jaw in the cup of one palm.

“I’m gonna fuck you up good”.

Her instinct is to struggle, to overpower him- because she can- but she restrains the urge; wanting exactly what he has promised.

“Prove it” she snarls.

Severen pulls her off the bar, crushing their bodies into one another. He braces the back of her head, holding their faces close, other hand clasping her thigh against his ribs. He rotates them around and drives her back against the wall, pressing his mouth to the side of her throat, teeth grazing the pulsing veins, ready for a second taste. She can feel him bite into her throat at the same time his cock presses against her wet pussy. The noise Lira makes is primal, she adjusts herself so his next thrust won’t be a tease, proving she can be just as impatient as he is.

Severen acquiesces, taking a moment to properly guide himself inside her.

She tilts her head back, claws raking into his leather coat as she fully indulges in the sensation of him pressing inside, filling her. His thrusts push her roughly into the wall, leaving scratches in the skin of her back. Lira attempts to ravage him in return— sunder his flesh, as he has her own— but the thick hide prevents her access. This denial causes her to snarl in irritation. Severen bites down harder, she cries out, rapturous, he slips in further, about as deep as he can manage, and she thrusts against him, ready to get herself off again, focused determinedly on her own gratification.

This Severen will not allow.

Tearing himself away from her- licking his darkened lips as he does so- he holds her hips still, pulling part way back.

“It’s still my turn” he admonishes, watching the wounds in her neck heal over with mild dissatisfaction.

“Then take it already, because I won’t wait” Lira reproaches, reaching down to grab his cock back to where he had been. Severen grunts, it is involuntary, any semblance of dominance over her fading in the clutch of her palm.

Their lips meet savagely, Lira moans into his mouth as he pushes himself back into her, hard. He loses himself in the act, breaking away from their kiss as escalating pleasure begins to overwhelm him. The guttural noises he makes by her ear only make Lira hungrier, she grapples her legs tighter against his sides— surely endangering his ribs— and he bucks with a harsh grunt.

He snarls, jaw so rigidly clenched it is easy to make out the detailed musculature. She can feel him about to climax, she digs her nails into the back of his neck, the sounds he makes completely unintelligible; mere animal noise.

The pace increases, he braces at her hips, going silent, only staccato pants escaping. Lira rides into him trying to get a second shot; she feeds off his intensity, can feel the blur of orgasm close.

Severen suddenly breaks the sound of bodies meeting with a loud groan, she feels hot liquid explode within her, it pulls her trigger. They let loose a slew of cacophonous ecstasy together, each cresting waves of unbridled euphoria, sinking them deep down into the fog of afterglow as it all fades away back to reality.

The brute pulls out wetly, helping Lira to stand on her feet. They are both unsteady, legs weak and clumsy. They end up on one of the chaise lounges, neither cognizant how, wrapping around one another unconsciously. Lira is not sure if it is the weariness after sex, or if morning is close, but Severen is rapidly falling asleep.

She doesn’t mind.

Cleanup can come later, it wouldn’t be the first mess of this scale— or the last— and she knows her team will be good for it. For now, she can luxuriate in this moment, peaceful. If it took a room full of people dying to get a good fuck, she would have them lined up at the door every night. The thought makes her laugh idly, Severen stirs in his slumber, she looks up at his face and rubs some of the dried, flaking blood from it.

He buries himself into the nest of her curls. She holds him there, gently playing with what hair is still malleable, kisses his brow, then allows sleep to take hold of her as well.

————

The doorman takes a cautious peek into the room now that there is silence, glad to see they have settled down. A general visual assessment of the scattered limbs, broken fixtures, and they’ll be off to make the necessary calls. The boss deserves a break, although it is always a hassle to come up with a good story for one of these massacres, the risks are well documented— most likely what attracts their clientele—so it is more nuisance than scandal. That does not lessen the physical workload, however, so it is with a begrudging sigh that they head off to begin the task.

Back near the front, they come across Nancy, one of the few people smart enough to have left the Red Room when it was clear what was about to take place.

“Last call” she says with a little smile, clearly unbothered by the events that transpired. They return the smile and sit at the more intact bar, thankful they were not the only one dedicated to duty.

“Scotch and soda”

“Coming right up!”

They sit in peaceable silence, relishing the calm before calling the cleaners. It will be a busy morning, they think about putting in an order to have breakfast delivered. A little café con leche and pan y mantequilla would go a long way to stifle griping about scouring bloodstains out of upholstery again.

They finish their drink and bid Nancy a good night pulling out the “only for emergencies” phones Lira assigned to the Pack. After scrolling past a few numbers they dial in a contact and put the phone to their ear; stepping just outside.

It is still dark out, but the smell of dawn is distinguishable amid the scents of night. They give a little sigh, of contentment, of weariness, it is unclear.

The sound of the ringer ends as a voice comes on the line.

#near dark #severen van sickle #near dark fanfic #ulfhrafnx #✘ ONE SHOT.

2 notes · View notes

sukirichi · 4 years ago

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rude boy

— As the captain of the volleyball team, you have to set a good example of staying firm to your rule of not dating the male players...but perhaps you’re willing to bend the rules a little bit when a rude boy is kind enough to show you why you’re wrong.

CONTENT/WARNINGS. smut, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving), hard!dom suna, slight exhibitionism, doggy style, overstimulation, mild breeding kink, cumplay, implied size kink, degradation with praising kink (LOL), soft! aftercare suna

NOTE. oh hell yeah we’re turning into a haikyuu blog. i can’t believe i’m writing for a character i haven’t even met yet but hey SUNA RINTAROU SUPREMACY. I’m in love with him, maybe much more than I like Akaashi, but can you blame? he’s sexy AF. tagging @noritoshiikamo

SONG INSPOS. Rude Boy, Disturbia, Where Have You Been All My Life (Rihanna)

Win after win, your school is glorious and honourable once more. Not only did the men’s volleyball team, but as the captain of the women’s team, you proudly carried awards just as they did.

You’re on the dance floor, hazily dancing to the beat with your red cup already empty. It’s rare that people organized after parties but you made it Nationals this time around; surely it’s not too bad to let everyone let loose. Besides, the managers weren’t around and everyone seemed to be having fun, bringing in their plus ones or making out with their fellow teammates.

You scowl at the sight. The one thing you hate the most is breaking formalities and relationship autonomies – everyone knows that you have one strict rule: No dating the players for the men’s team.

Naturally, your team members are more than flabbergasted. The male players are gorgeous after all, but you’ve grown up with the Miya twins; you know beauty could never be enough of a reason for your precious teammates to be used for pleasure and dumped to the side once they’ve had their fill. You all have a bright future ahead of you, with goals and dreams to be fulfilled; one that you won’t allow to be trampled upon by these men.

You’re about to head back to the kitchen for another drink when someone holds you in place, large, calloused hands gripping at your hips. You’re about to elbow the intruder when the familiar scent of musky spicy cologne, mixed with sweat and something that was solely him, you relaxed.

“Can’t keep your hands to yourself for the whole party, Suna?”

“You’re here,” his bored, deep voice is sultry as it coos in your ear. Unable to help yourself, you shiver at his touch, your back pressed against the warmth of his chest. “I don’t see a reason to.”

“You’re a little touchy tonight,” you comment, the glare of your eyes softening as the alcohol loosens the usual composed and strict captain in you, falling back into his touches that tell a promise of something more later. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was because you miss him too – whatever it was, you’re grinding onto his front, the middle blocker humming as a warning in your ear not to tease him too much. You being you though, you only push back harder, allowing him to set the pace by squeezing your waist. “You act like you don’t see me all the time.”

“Doesn’t mean I get to feel you all the time,” his voice turns husky, the mere sound of his voice mixing with the party’s music increasing your arousal. You breathe sharply when Suna cups your core experimentally, thankful that his body is big enough to hide what he’s doing. “Upstairs?”

“Here, Suna? In a party?”

“Can you wait until we get home?” he taunts, chuckling when he sees the way your lips press into a thin line. “As I thought.”

Tch, he doesn’t have to be so cocky about it.

Suna leads you upstairs before pushing you inside the closest empty room, his lips hands everywhere on you the moment the back of your knees hit the bed. He’s eager and needy, his arousal evident from how he’s bucking the tent in his pants against your hands. His tongue prods you to open your mouth, and just to tease him, you refuse him access, slipping your hands inside his pants instead to swipe a thumb over his thumb.

He growls at your teasing, retaliating by pinching your boob followed by a flick over your nipple. Suna isn’t only an expert at volleyball; he’s a master of your body too, able to play you and hit the right spots all the fucking time.

He’s aware of this when he finally gets what he wants – a shocked moan from you that nearly makes you fall back on the bed if it wasn’t for his other hand tugging at your wrist to slam you back to his body. Suna doesn’t waste his time in kissing you, sucking on your tongue until you both start fighting for dominance. Just as he’s lost and crazed by the pent up sexual frustration of watching one another play at court today – to see the other so close yet so far away – you swallow his small, little groans into your mouth, your hand eagerly pumping and spreading his pre-cum all over the base of his shaft.

Suna’s cock twitches into your palm, prompting you to squeeze the length at the same time you bite down on his lip. Hard.

His eyes snap open moments before he comes, his touch rough and even bruising when he pushes your arm away from his. As if a switch has been flipped inside him, his eyes have grown darker, his hands running down your form hungry and even animalistic.

Your eyes widen when Suna goes down on his knees, deft fingers tugging at the waistband of your shorts. “S-Suna, what’re you doing—”

“Shh, I want to taste you,” your hands find home in his hair as he helps you shimmy out of those tight, ass-hugging material that had him rock hard during your whole match. He wants to punish you for it, for nearly distracting him when it was his turn to play; the fact you’re always so unaware of the effect you have over him downright offensive. He has other plans in mind though, plans you’re about to discover when Suna suddenly licks at the swollen nub through your panties, making your thighs shiver. “Haven’t seen this pretty pussy in a long time,” he buries his face in your cunt, taking a huge whiff of the intoxicating scent of your arousal.

It’s almost perverted, you think, the way he’s rolling your hardened clit between his teeth, relishing in the way you’re falling apart for him like this, legs spread wide open.

Suna keeps you steady by squeezing your ass closer to his face until his nose is prodding at your lips, the sounds of your pretty moans and whines erotic enough that he feels like busting a nut right then and there. He holds back though, pulling away to breathe just to bite the lace down your legs. The whole time, he keeps his fox-like eyes on yours that are pooled with lust and something carnal, the grazing of his teeth collecting heat to pool at your core.

With two long fingers pulling your lips apart just for his eyes, he licks at your blossoming sex, pulling groans from both of you when he dives into your even harder.

Suna’s tongue is lapping at your dripping juices while you look down at him, pupils blown wide just as he smirks, he actually fucking smirks under you, his tongue suddenly plunging inside your sopping hole.

Your scream is muffled at the last moment when you bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, the nails digging into his scalp making him hiss.

Nevertheless, Suna doesn’t stop, drinking all you can give him while his tongue laps at your walls. The warm, wet muscle exploring each inch of you has you grinding against his face, shameless as you fuck yourself harder on his tongue. Suna chuckles at your actions, the vibrations pushing you over the edge.

He can tell you’re cumming when you start to clamp down on him, the flowing of your arousal easily cleaned up with tight, consistent sweeps of his tongue.

Your eyes are shut tight as you prolong your orgasm by grinding your pelvic bone shamelessly on his cum-stained face. Then your legs wobble until you’re falling, shaking, but Suna pushes you down completely on the bed.

Your breathing is ragged once you see that he’s crawling above you in the same manner a predator stalks his prey, his smirk nothing but devilish while your juices spread on his cheeks gleam under the dim lights.

Suna uses one hand to discard your shirt before throwing it to other side of the room, one knee to pry your legs apart. Your eyes dart down to the sports bra you wore, not sexy at all especially with the Nike logo, and your cheeks warm at the realization. Arms coming up to hide yourself, you fail when Suna slaps your hands away, glaring at you.

“Stop covering yourself. You don’t have to wear lingerie to for me all the time – you know I’d fuck you either way.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to be shy when he rips the bra apart, mouth latched onto one nipple. You gasp when he plunges three fingers in, definitely different to his usual routine of prepping you, and you’re being stretched open by his fingers a little too fast that you’re clutching on his bicep to catch your breath.

“F-Fuck, Suna, can’t even be a little gentle? What happened to foreplay?”

“I’m tired from winning match by match today, baby. Being gentle is the last thing on my mind when you’re splayed out for me like this,” he pulls away just to release his fingers from you, twisting his hand back to back to grin pervertedly at the way your cum slicks his hand. Using that exact same hand, Suna covers his length with it as he hovers over you, pushing the tip of his cock past your lips.

He immediately notices the way you hitch your breath, fingers clutching desperately at the sheets as you struggle to accommodate for him despite already being so wet.

He was just so thick and feels so good – it’s always a challenge not to cum all the while he’s entering you. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve taken me before,” he reminds you, hooking his arm under your knees before he stretches you further, your thighs flat on your chest. You gasp at the new sensation of feeling him so deep inside you, his whole practically atop your calves as he thrusts inside experimentally. “Come on, you’ll take this big cock like a good girl, won’t you?”

“S-Suna.”

“You feel even better than usual,” he praises you, his eyes narrowed and hazy with pleasure as he continues fucking into you. His thrusts are slow yet deep, bottoming out with each time that he knocks the wind off your lungs, successfully hitting that sacred, sweet sensitive spot inside you that only he could ever reach.

Suna smirks at the apparent pleasure written all over your face, teasing you further by grabbing the flesh of your hips while he drives his cock deeper. “You’re just clamping down on me like a bitch in heat,” he notes to mock you, but he wasn’t free of this pleasurable torture as well, not when your walls sucked him in greedily that it took most of his energy just to pull out from your grip. It must be because you’re exerted from today’s match just as he is, and Suna spreads one leg to the side, your knee pressed beside your head. “Muscle cramps? Can’t say I mind.”

“Shut up, Suna.”

“I think you need to shut up,” he stuffs his fingers in your mouth, his chuckles formed in stuttered breaths when you clamp down on him. “Clenching harder on me now? Didn’t peg you for someone who liked this shit,” Suna, having always been perceptive to your smallest reactions, leans over to you to cup your cheek, the tenderness in his eyes a huge contrast to how he’s filling you up to the brim, his hips delirious and delicious with each snap. “You’re just a dirty little whore, aren’t you? So good for me.”

“S-Suna,” you begin to reach for him, feeling that welcomed tightening of your stomach. You never like to admit it out loud, but you and Suna know you’re always so clingy and starved for touches when you’re about to him.

Your lips are puckered out, arms wrapping around his head to pull him in for a kiss when Suna smirks. He knows exactly what you want – and that’s exactly what you’re not gonna get.

He flips you until you’re flat on your stomach, encircling your waist to pull your ass flat against the ticklish hairs resting at the base of his cock, his pelvic bone snapping against your backside. You cry out at the new position, the need to touch him painfully deprived until you’re sobbing on the pillows, wanting nothing more than to kiss him as you came.

Suna Rintaro really is rude.

You came first before him, drool spilling from your lips when you’re left with no other choice but to fist the sheets. Suna’s groans are guttural, his usual pace of fucking you slowly now turns carnal. Sounds of skin slapping and his balls hitting your ass cheeks echo around the room, the sounds too loud that you both fail to hear the rushed footsteps and giggles until the door opens.

Suna feels you tense under him, the crashing waves of your orgasm dulled by the panic rising in your chest. You know he’s covering you, but your heart absolutely lurches in your chest when Suna only continues, scoffing at whoever entered the room.

You scramble to move yourself off him but Suna only holds you down, his palm flat behind your head, arms pinned at the small of your back until you’re completely incapacitated. Once again, Suna’s proved that he’s a man of control, especially when it comes to your body. He won’t fail to remind you again and again that your body is not yours – it has always been his and will always be his.

Once he starts moving again, deliberately and painfully slow to emphasize the embarrassing shlick coming from your pussy, Suna smirks at the new guests. “Rooms taken, idiot – find someplace else.”

“Fuck, is that the captain for the girl’s team?”

You bite down on your lip upon hearing Atsumu’s voice, desperate to prevent the sinful moans to be heard past your lips. You’ve built quite a reputation for being sharp tongued and even wicked when it comes to being strict – to have him hear of all people that his teammate could easily break you like this would be beyond damaging both to your pride and reputation.

Suna glares at the golden-haired boy who’s now forgotten the girl hanging off his arm, his head tilting past Suna’s uniformed frame fucking deep into you.

He could hear it, could hear the sloppy squelching of your sopping cunt, could even hear the way Suna’s breath sharpens, but he wants to see it, to witness this atrocity. Suna, however, wasn’t having any of it.

His possessive grip is intensified with the nails digging into your wrists when he only fucks into your harder, his feet now planted on the mattress as if to mark his territory. “Don’t look at my bitch. She’s mine,” he growled, pulling you by the hair until your head is splayed all over his shoulder, your breasts bouncing from the speed he’s ramming into you at. “Now leave.”

“Suna, don’t be fucking rude.”

The door closes afterwards, but not free from comments from Atsumu on how you had a pretty ass. This ticks Suna off, licking stripe down your neck and up your jaw, nose buried into the crook of your neck to memorize your scent coated with sex hanging off the air.

“You’d rather have them watch?” he slaps your ass, your moan whiny and pornographic – you were really truly different than what you want people to think of you. “Of course you’d like that, filthy slut,” he nibbles at your ear, reaching forward to rub at your clit until you’re shaking again, your second orgasm just looming around the corner. “But I don’t want to share you, baby. Now fuck yourself on my cock like the whore you are.”

He shoves you flat on the mattress again, your forearms weak as you heave your weight upwards. Your head is thrown to the side, back arched down low as you follow his command like a good whore as he’s called you. You gyrate your hips to swirl your pussy around his thick pole, pushing backwards again and again until you’re gasping, shaking, trembling and utterly fucked out.

Your pace is nothing compared to what Suna is capable off, but he’s tense, jealous even that he wants to assure himself he’s the one who could get you to feel this way, even if it meant giving you all the work alone.

“What’re you gonna do now that everyone knows about us?” he asks through gritted teeth, placing his hands at your hips just to steady yourself. Suna’s eyes are zeroed in on the way his length disappears around your pretty lips, so open and puffy as you use his dick to pleasure you. He takes pride at the way you moan, back arching and little growls on your lips when he finally snaps his hips, meeting you thrust by thrust.

“Are you finally giving into me?” he asks again for what seems like the hundredth time ever since he’s laid his eyes on you, thumb flicking over your clit again. You cry out as he does so, uncaring of the strain when your arms reach out behind him, touching him this time around. Suna allows you to do so, hugging your waist to pull you into him, pressing open-mouthed kisses to yours while you moan left and right.

You’re sweating, eyes shut tight and fingers calloused from years of playing volleyball pinching at your own slips. You look so lewd every time you’re thinking of nothing else but the pleasure he’s giving you and Suna grows harder inside you, his thrusts rough along with another slap to your ass.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that. You look so gorgeous bent over for me, you know, might as well just be officially mine.”

You manage to scoff through the pleasure, ignoring the way your heart flutters when Suna interlaces his fingers with yours above your breast, the both of you caressing the flesh tenderly. “I told you already, I’m never dating you.”

“And why not?” he challenges, the grip on your hips tightening again. “Who do you run to when you’re sad? Who do you bother when you’re happy? Who makes you feel good and fills you to the brim when your fingers just aren’t getting you off?” Unsatisfied with your silence, Suna snaps his hips harder, his grin wicked when you scream again, his name falling off your lips like a prayer – which is ironic, since he’s the one always worshipping you despite his need to be in control. “Isn’t it always me? Just say yes, baby, I’d get to do this to you all the time. You’re already fucking yourself on my cock like you’re my whore – what’s holding you back?”

“You’ll fuck me good if I say yes?”

“Aren’t I already?” To prove a point, Suna thrusts up deep and hard enough that he’s hitting your sweet spot again, a fucked out smile rewarding him afterward.

“But you’re a rude, rude person, Suna, oh, fuck,” Suna pinches your clit that makes you snap your eyes open, a seductive glare sent his way when he teases you. “See what I’m – ugh – talking about?”

“Then I’ll be nice for once,” he promises me, his thrusts growing sloppy as he pushes you over the edge. Your mouth hangs open in a silent, breathy sob – hands gripping at his thighs when the mere slipping of his length past your walls and kissing your cervix with each thrust pushes tears out of your eyes. Suna leans down to sloppily kiss away the tears, jaw clenched as he feels you tighten around him. “Cum for me. I’m allowing you to cum. Maybe I’ll fuck you again when we get home if you’re good enough. Fuck, gonna breed this pussy so good, you’ll be so fucking full.”

Your nails scratches blood moons into his skin, right at the spot that isn’t covered by his shorts anymore. Usually, he’s careful when it comes to markings that could affect his play, but you’re so pretty crying as you cream around his neck that tonight he doesn’t care.

Suna groans as you milk him dry with the way your walls are hallowing and clenching around him, making the tall player fall forward above you on the bed, his cum sputtering inside of you. His groans are deep and so fucking sexy right next to your ear, thumb absentmindedly still rubbing at your clit. You’re both panting as he slowly pulls out, the gush of both your cum dripping all the way down your ass. He snickers at the sight and swoops two fingers down, the heated and hard press of his fingers against your sensitive pussy sending chills everywhere in your body.

You’re about to complain as Suna pushes his cum inside you, but he silences you with a kiss, spreading the cum all around your lips until you’re a complete, sticky mess down there. You grimace at the sensation but Suna is moving beside you the next moment, his arms heavy across your breasts.

You blink when Suna presses affectionate kisses on the blades of your shoulder, wiping the remnants of cum across the sheets before tangling your legs with his. You frown in confusion but turn to him anyway, breathing in that cologne sticking to his skin that you love so much.

“I’m not used to you cuddling me.”

Suna smiles at the crown of your head, shifting lower so he could squish his cheeks at the flesh of your breasts. You watch as his usual bored face lights up happily like a kid with ice cream as he kisses the sides of your breast, hands gentle and delicate in making swirls over your hip. He’s almost...unrecognizable. “You should. This is going to be one of the privileges of dating me.”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“You will.”

His declaration is so self assured – as he always is – that you roll your eyes, threading your fingers through his sweat-matted hair. “How are you so sure I even like you back, dummy?”

“Because you’ve got no reason not to,” is all he murmurs on your skin, and well...he isn’t wrong about it, but you scoff anyway, thankful that his eyes are closed so he can’t see your smile. “Now shut up. Just hearing your voice makes me hard again and I don’t think I can go for another round. I’m beat.”

Perhaps...Suna Rintaro wasn’t such a rude boy, after all.

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plus-size-reader · 3 years ago

Text

Nightmares

Bucky Barnes x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2629 words

Warnings: PTSD, nightmares, poor Bucky.

Summary: The reader gets really good at helping Bucky with his nightmares after he lets her in

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At first, he tried to hide it from you.

Bucky really thought that you wouldn't notice the trauma induced panic and PSTD years of torture had left him with, like it was nothing.

Of course, he was wrong.

The two of you lived in impressively close quarters and it would have been impossible to miss. The evidence of what the years had done to him was obvious in everything he did, no matter how small the gesture.

You saw it.

You saw it in the way he dug his nails into his palms when something reminded him too much of the past, and in his tear stained cheeks, which he was never all that good at covering up.

More than anything though, you heard it.

You heard it in the muffled screams from outside the bathroom door, and in the whimpers and sobs that escaped him in the middle of the night.

There was no way you couldn’t have known, even from the first night you spent together.

You had been too involved in too much for too long to be able to turn a blind eye to this. Though you weren’t exactly waiting anxiously to mention it to him either.

Bucky’s past was a complicated one, and you knew that you could never fully understand what he was going through, or what he’d gone through before you.

You’d heard the stories, of course, but you weren’t there and you could only imagine how deep the scars truly went.

It just didn’t seem right to bring it up.

Especially not when he was clearly trying to keep it from you.

Bucky obviously didn’t want to talk about what he was going through, at least not to you, and you didn’t want to push him. You figured that he would come to you when he was ready.

...and eventually, he did.

Not that he had much of a choice in the matter.

The night terrors broke him first.

Eventually, there was nothing he could do but admit that he needed help. It was either that or avoid sleeping next to the woman he loved so that you never found out just how bad he struggled.

They weren't exactly going to go away on their own.

Bucky was embarrassed to have the conversation with you, and upset that he didn’t have more control over what his mind did when he closed his eyes, but like with everything else, you understood.

You always understood.

“I know” you hummed, a soft sigh leaving your lips under the weight of the situation. You weren’t ashamed to be talking about it and you were glad that Bucky finally felt comfortable enough to let you in.

It just made you sad that he had to say it at all.

“You know? What do you mean you know?” the male asked, trying to figure out how you could have possibly known.

After all, he had only just told you that he’d been having nightmares.

“You talk in your sleep, Buck. I just listened” you allowed, trying to give him as much information as you could without actually telling him just how bad it was.

You didn’t want to tell him that he woke you up three times a week begging for forgiveness, begging some invisible force to stop. You weren’t really sure if that force was him, or those who made him what he was.

Not that it mattered.

In any case, telling him that he screamed until he throat was raw during the night didn’t exactly seem like the sort of thing he needed to hear right now. It wouldn’t make any difference to his experience.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry” he tried, his face in his hands as he tried to imagine what kind of awful things you’d heard, and the horrors his memories had painted for you.

Bucky never wanted you to see that part of him.

He never wanted you to have to deal with that, or to see him like that. The Winter Soldier wasn’t who he was, not anymore, and you weren’t ever supposed to see that far uglier side of him.

...or know the ugly, terrible things he’d done.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize, it isn’t your fault” you interjected, stopping him in his tracks as soon as Bucky started to shut down, as he so often did when unsavory topics came up. He was so used to doing this on his own, pretending like it didn’t happen.

You needed him to know that it was alright.

He was in pain, and no matter what you’d heard or experienced at the hands of his unconscious mind, you would never blame him for that.

Those people, those monsters, that took away so many years of his life and so much of his free will, they were the only ones who had something to apologize for.

You understood that it was hard for him, and that he wasn’t accustomed to letting people in, but you were glad he’d had faith in you.

Maybe now, you could actually help him through his struggles, rather than pretending you didn’t see or hear his upset.

That was what you were here for, after all.

At this point, it didn’t startle you anymore.

Bucky had been having these nightmares since you met, and even longer still.

Every night, there was something. Sometimes he tossed and turned in bed, muttering to himself and pleading for something to change, while other times, he screamed and whined as unpleasant memories flashed behind his eyes.

The details didn’t interest you, as your concern was focused entirely on the man you loved. You both already knew you couldn’t just make them go away, no matter what you did.

The only thing that had changed was the fact that now, Bucky knew that you were aware of what he was going through. He knew that you were here, by his side, every night and all he had to do was rely on you.

All he had to do was let you help.

...and now that you could, you had no reason not to.

Tonight, he woke suddenly, his hot skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he let out one scream after another.

In all honesty, he woke up like this so often that you didn’t even jump. Instead, you went to work trying to get him to wake up as you did every time, keeping your voice quiet and calm as you tried to urge him awake.

“Buck?” you muttered, turning in bed to get a better look at him in the dark, blinking a few times to clear the sleep from your eyes.

It was happening again.

The memories that plagued him had such a tight hold on him, and in the dark, they came for him even stronger. When he slept, he couldn’t actively fight them off like he did when he was awake.

He didn’t have a hope of ever actually avoiding them.

“Bucky, it’s me. Are you alright?” you tried, resting your hands gently on his chest before grasping onto him a little tighter, gingerly shaking his shoulders.

You remembered once Steve warned you about being careful with him, because it was hard to know how he’d react. After all, the male had seen the negative effects of PTSD plenty and he knew how violent it could be.

Not that you gave that much thought now.

Deep down, you knew that Bucky would never hurt you and even knowing what damage he could do, you couldn’t bring yourself to be afraid of him.

You loved him too much for that.

“It’s okay, everything’s okay” you hummed, holding the man’s sleeping frame to your chest, hoping that your soft embrace may bring him some amount of comfort. It seemed to work when you’d done it before.

Still, the screaming and whimpering didn’t stop for what seemed like hours, as you kept a close hold on him, repeating those words over and over again under your breath.

It’s okay, everything’s okay.

It’s okay.

Everything’s okay.

“Y/N?” he mumbled eventually, his voice cracking halfway through under the stress and strain he’d put on his throat. The sound of his voice startled you now more than the initial event, and still, you remained as calm as you could.

The last thing you wanted to do was make him panic even more.

“It’s me, you’re safe. You’re home” you promise, taking his face in your hands. The pain and fear sparkling in them made your stomach tense as a single tear raced down his face, but he was alright.

He would be.

It always took him a few minutes to adjust to the darkness around him, and the non threatening environment in which you lived, but you didn’t mind waiting. As long as he was awake, that was all you cared about.

The nightmares couldn't get him nearly as bad when his eyes were open.

The two of you stayed that way for a few minutes, Bucky’s body nestled comfortably against your own in the darkness, his head resting on your shoulder before he spoke again.

“Steve told you not to do that” he sighed, gesturing to how you were holding him and how close you were to his frame.

A small smile crept onto your face as the mention of your shared friend, now gone, but Bucky couldn’t bring himself to feel the same.

You didn’t understand just how dangerous he was, and what he could do to you if you caught him the wrong way or got too close. He would never be able to forgive himself if something ever happened to you.

That would be the breaking point.

“I don’t care” you countered, a small shrug pulling at your shoulders before you went even further, wrapping your arms completely around his thick shoulders, boxing him in.

Your right leg was behind his now upright back and your right was across his waist, meaning that you were closer to him now than physically should have been possible but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

It was important to you that Bucky knew he didn’t scare you.

He never had, even when maybe he should have.

All you saw when you looked at him was your favorite person in the world, and nothing else mattered to you. It didn’t phase you that he saw a killer in his reflection or that he shuddered at the thought of what Hydra had turned him into.

Even his metal arm didn’t bother you, which you proved to both him and yourself as you rested your head down gently there, the cold metal stinging your cheek lightly at the contact.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” you asked, after a few more minutes of silence. You knew that perhaps he didn’t want to, and that was fine, but you didn’t want him to just stew on it either.

Recalling those memories on his own was just as bad as living them had been.

“It was just a memory, something I thought I forgot” he told you, acting for a moment as if it was no big deal.

Unfortunately for him, you knew better than that.

Maybe for a normal person, someone who worked a nine-to-five without any substantial struggles in their life, you would have left it be, but Bucky wasn’t like that. He’d lived several lifetimes, all full to the brim with terrors unimaginable.

He didn’t have bad dreams, even if sometimes you wished he could.

Anything would be better than the terrors he saw every time he closed his eyes.

“What kind of memory?” you wondered, pushing him a bit farther than you normally would. It was just so difficult to get him to open up and sometimes you wished he’d tell you something about who he used to be.

Who he was before.

“A bad one, they’re always bad” he sighed, nuzzling into your hold that much more as you ran your hands through his dark hair, slightly wet with sweat.

You just wanted to help him so badly but you knew you couldn’t.

It was awful to imagine the man you loved in so much emotional distress, and more than anything, you wanted to make it better.

“I’ve hurt so many people”

There was even more pain in those very words, his forehead pressed against your own as he willed himself to be strong.

This wasn’t your trauma to bear and he certainly didn’t want to unload too much on you.

Even now, Bucky found himself worried about scaring you away.

“That wasn’t you Buck, you know that” you try but he blows it off, he knew you would say that.

Everyone always said that. That he couldn’t be blamed for the things they made him do, and that he didn't have any control over it but deep down, Bucky knew that all that blood was on his hands, adn nothing was going to take that away.

Nothing was going to change that.

“You don’t understand. You’ve never watched someone’s life leave their eyes, you’ve never broken someone’s neck with your bare hands” he snapped, and if you were being honest, the words unsettled you.

His words sometimes startled you, sometimes caught you off guard, but it was much harder to actually disturb you.

“I’ve done things Bucky, I have nightmares too” you forced out, grasping at his biceps to try to get through to him. You didn’t like that he thought he was some kind of monster, like he deserved the torment he lived with.

It wasn’t fair, and he didn’t deserve it.

No one did.

“I know that you’ve done some awful things, but you can’t let the past eat at you like this, I won’t let you” you decided, with a bit more force than normal.

You understood that this was hard for him, but he couldn’t keep punishing himself.

It wouldn’t bring them back.

You would have thought that was obvious, but when Bucky still didn’t bother to look at you, you softly grabbed his face again in your hands, bringing his chin up until his gaze was level with your own.

“I love you so much I swear I could burst. I love you more than I’ve ever loved another person, and nothing is ever going to change that, you understand me?” you questioned, a loving edge coating your words, even with as stern as they were.

“Don’t, Y/N” he tries, but you silence him before he can say another word, with a hand on his shoulder.

“No, You worry about hurting me but you’re the one who protects me, You are always so careful…You are the most respectful, gentle man I know and yet you’re so horrified to be who you are” you rant squeezing his hands with your own.

“You’ve done terrible things but so have I, and you love me as I am. Why is it so hard to believe I could do the same for you?”

Now, it was Bucky’s turn to be silent as he considered your words.

You were right, of course, you usually were but that didn’t mean this whole process was going to be any easier.

He still had a lot he had to figure out and a lot of painful memories to dig up and deal with but you had all the time in the world.

You had accepted that it wasn’t going to be fixed overnight, in fact, you knew that well, but you knew that you could show him eventually. Eventually you would be able to prove to Bucky that he wasn’t the monster he thought.

He was the man you loved above all else.

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sabito-dancing-fox · 2 years ago

Text

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

《《Contents: Rare pair! Gyutaro x Sabito (Sabito 21, Gyutaro 26?) Blood.》》

⤫⤫⤫⤫⤫

The air was warm on this night of waning summer, a breeze passing through the quiet world stroking feilds and softly stealing leaves from branches. It was a beautiful and tranquil evening. Deceptive.

The moon had just climbed to it's peak as it shone it's light onto the world blanketed by darkness, a world that was now crawling with demons.

Far away somewhere there were screams of some innocent person being slaughtered and eaten, somewhere flesh was being torn and blood was painting the walls of a home belonging to someone who believed this to be a lovely night.

Ignorance traveled in the silence and the darkness kept most of the population blind to the horrors that came with night...Whether or not they were fortunate or not was uncertain.

Another night another massacre. That's the way it had always been...That's the way it would always be no matter the efforts.

Humans were weak, even the strongest would eventually fall to the hands of a demon. Humans had limitations and demons had none except for the time they could roam the earth. No matter how hard a slayer tried they would always be inferior. Even the Hashira.

And deep in the forest one laid curled up against a tree, white haori and mask stained with blood, clinging to life.

It was such a sad sight, at least that's what the demon standing over Sabito thought.

Upper moon six.

Drowsy eyes had been taking in the pittiful sight of that broken and tattered body for a moment now, it was like watching a dog die- or in this case a fox.

"Mm..." blackened nails lightly scratched at his cheek, lazily looking over the poor slayer.

"Look at you... after all that big talk too..." His croaky voice finally came and the writhered demon crouched down, elbows resting on his legs as his gaze lingered over the blotches of bright ruby. He was tempted to have a taste.

Another soft sound similar to a whine pulled from Gyutaro's throat just thinking of what a shame it all was.

"Poor thing~ You really put up a fight but you're just so fragile, that's just how it is no matter how much you pretend different...~"

He admired that about the fox, dispite it all he was scrappy and determined which Gyutaro couldn't help but find adorable.

He released a fond sigh, reaching over for that mask.

"I know you like to think you're strong but you have a habit of biting off more than you can chew. You have no awareness of your own limits and that's gonna get you killed one of these days, ya know?~"

He lifted off the mask, the only thing that made Sabito intimidating. He had such a soft and pretty face, except for that huge scar that made Gyutaro fawn over him even more.

Usually Sabito would be biting back, barking about how he is strong and making violent promises even in his condition but he could only focus on his slow breaths and the harrowing pain in his side. His silence was very telling of the severity of his wounds.

Cloudy lavender eyes stared at the ground, hardly registering what was being said to him. He couldn't move anymore, he had to be still.

Gyutaro brought the mask close to his face, his long tounge slithering out to lick some blood from the cheek, the sweet taste making him shiver. He tossed the mask aside and looked at Sabito's pittiful face, it was evident he was in alot of pain and on the brink of passing out but Gyutaro wouldn't let him fade fully. He liked the little fox far too much to let him die but that wouldn't stop him from torturing Sabito especially when he was too weak to lift his blade.

"You're feisty for sure but at the end of the day you're still small and can't afford to lose alot of blood, how unfortunate...It's sad really, seeing you try so hard only to end up like this...~"

A rough hand craddled Sabito's cheek, his thumb grazing over the mark that made Gyutaro so weak in the knees.

"Poor little fox~ Always getting yourself hurt~ Always being so reckless ~ Can't you see how useless it is~?"

His other hand pulled Sabito's arm off of his stomach where a deep gash wrapped around his side. Just a bit deeper and his insides would've been spilling out.

"You're lucky to have me around to take care of you~" His words drawled out, voice a saccharine poison. He touched the grizzly wound earning a grunt from Sabito, eyes screwing shut as he felt his pain worsen. An acidic sensation burned into the fox's side, overwhelming him and causing Sabito to seize Gyutaro's wrist and try to shove it away, his body weakly twisting and writhing, jaw clenched.

His flesh was sizzling, whatever Gyutaro did was eating into him, thousands of mouths filled with broken glass chewed on torn flesh.

"Come on now, don't squirm around~ I'm helping you out herrreee~"

Sabito didn't sit still, the agony was just too great but at least it granted him strength enough to move. His feet scraped against the roots and moss below. It felt like Gyutaro was making his injury much worse.

It was a blinding and numbing pain, one that made Sabito yearn for his state before Gyutaro's hand laid upon him. The fox moaned and turned his face torwards the tree just wishing he could get away from the demon when suddenly there was nothing. At first Sabito thought his senses had broken, the pain being too great for his body to process anymore.

He looked down when Gyutaro's hand left him, seeing there was still a cut though it was significantly better than it was, nothing a few stitches couldn't mend.

Whatever just happened left Sabito even more drained than he already was, hardly having the strength to keep his eyes open as he looked to Gyutaro.

"See? That wasn't so bad now was it ~?" The demon grinned, bloody hand petting Sabito's fluffy peach hair. "You should be more careful for now on~ Next time I just might have to turn you into a demon~"

Sabito glared at that, drawing a deep breath into his lungs. "I'd...rather die..."

A snicker left Gyutaro, it was a chilling and deranged sound. "There it is~ You're feelin' alot better now aren't you~?"

Sabito didn't want to admit it, he didn't even want to accept the help in the first place much less deal with Gyutaro being all smug about it.

"Shut up.." Sabito grumbled, closing his eyes again.

"Oh come onnn, don't be like that~ I deserve some kinda reward for fixing you up, don't I~?"

Gyutaro moved to sit at Sabito's side, slipping a thin yet muscular arm around his shoulders to yank the slayer into his lap which earned a disgruntled groan from the fox. Sabito had attempted to say something but it only came out as a grumble but his displeasure was expressed nonetheless.

Gyutaro cradled Sabito close, holding him like a child would a kitten. He didn't feel close enough to Sabito, their skin was an annoying barrier between them and the tighter he held his little fox the more unbearable the separation became but he had to settle for this not wanting to hurt Sabito anymore than he already was.

So small...So warm...

He wanted so much more, He wanted to be within Sabito's flesh, he wanted to curl up inside him and sleep for a while.

Sabito leaned into Gyutaro's chest, feeling so damn tired after everything he went through tonight but at least he was finally safe in the arms of one of the monsters he vowed to destroy.

Another breeze kissed Sabito's face and he finally let himself relax in the embrace he was wrapped in. He closed his eyes and felt Gyutaro's head rest against his own. It was quiet, only the sound of Sabito's breathing between them.

There was no beat in Gyutaro's chest and his body was cold but Sabito made the demon feel warm inside, it made him feel alive...Human, even...

Sabito made him think he could be something more than a disgusting creature.

He couldn't let Sabito go, he wouldn't- not ever.

A few hours, a few measly hours was all the time they had left together and for the first time Sabito found himself wishing the nights wouldn't be so breif but the coming autumn promised to make them longer...It was a fact he should grimace about, not look forward to.

Sabito blamed his mushy state on his loss of blood and incredible exhaustion, trying to fight off the overwhelming comfort and peace he felt while upper moon six held him.

He felt the demon press against him more and he expected to hear something sweet.

"I want to be inside you...."

Sabito's eyes flew open and fire rushed through his veins, a bright pink glowing across his cheeks at the sudden filth that was rasped in his ear.

He was flummoxed and stunned as he went into wiggling and pushing against Gyutaro, their cozy and tranquil moment ruined.

"Ugh! I knew it! Get off of me..!"

"Huh?" Gyutaro blinked, sitting back and watching Sabito attempt his escape only to quickly tire and fall back against his chest. He never had a chance.

"Don't act clueless, you know what you said..!" Sabito huffed, grumpiness enhanced by fatigue.

There was a moment of recollection on Gyutaro's part but once the words played over he threw his head back and cackled loudly.

" I didn't mean it like that~!" His voice danced with his maniacal laughter, shoulders bouncing as he howled with entertainment. Sabito was in no mood to put up with the roistering, letting out a sigh as he was jostled around in Gyutaro's arms.

"Sure you didn't."

Eventually the demon's laughter wound down, a warm,tickling feeling in his chest as he hugged his fox closer.

"I didnnn't~!" Gyutaro insisted though the grin on his lips wasn't helping his case.

His voice dipped down, his worn hand taking hold of Sabito's jaw to make the human look at him, a sudden heaviness in his eyes and tone.

"Well heeey,~ you're the one who took it like that, do you want me to screw you or something ~?"

He drifted closer.

"Right here~?"

Sabito's face was a furnace and the closer the demon got the worse the heat became until he couldn't withstand it anymore. He shut his eyes tight and turned his head away as much as he was able. He was in no condition to get up to that sort of thing.

"Quit being a creep!"

Gyutaro snickered and pressed a kiss to Sabito's temple, glad he was bouncing back.

" M' not~ You're the one who made it pervy~" Gyutaro accused, releasing Sabito's face and pulling him tight against his body.

"Well what was I supposed to think when you said that?!" Sabito snapped back, uselessly pawing at the arms that trapped him.

Gyutaro pressed his face into Sabito's hair, wanting to sink into it endlessly.

"I wanna merge with you~ I think it'd be reeealll nice..~ I wanna get closer to you~"

Was that even possible? Sabito was much too exasperated to give it serious consideration. The demon had mannaged to heal him- mostly, but merging the way he could with Daki seemed far-fetched.

He was too tired to deal with Gyutaro's nonsense.

"Just let me sleep already..." He mumbled, exhaling as he rested against Gyutaro.

Upper six knew Sabito had no energy left in him to argue and that meant an opportunity had opened up for him to do as he pleased- and he'd be asleep soon too.

Gyutaro was suspiciously obedient, not whining or insisting like he always did until he got what he wanted. Instead he went quiet and settled for craddling the fox, a silent promise to keep him safe untill dawn.

Sabito knew Gyutaro was up to no good but he couldn't be bothered with his antics, his eyes burning untill he closed them. His bones were heavy and sleepiness overcame him like a poison he quickly succumbed to.

Humans, such simple yet complicated things. What was it like to run out of strength? What did it feel like being pulled into slumber? Gyutaro couldn't remember but it was cute to watch it happen to the fox-like boy.

Sabito's breathing became deep and slow but just before he fell unconscious he opened his eyes one more time and mannaged to raise a hand, his finger tracing over the black blotch that ran from Gyutaro's cheek across his nose, poking the dot at the end of the trail. It was a small and silly gesture but it made Gyutaro smile like an idiot, delight dancing in his chest again.

So warm~

He closed his eyes, taking Sabito's hand to hold it against his face a little longer before he leaned down, a chuckle between their lips before he kissed Sabito.

It was soft passion, Their lips melding together as they shared a breif but tender moment.

Gyutaro wanted more, the kiss was just a small taste that left him sated for only a moment as their lips parted and he rested his forehead against Sabito's, finding his eyes still closed, the poor thing drifted off right then.

This was enough for now. So long as he got to be with Sabito and hold him he was happy, he already had far too much and Gyutaro was a greedy man and the little fox was the only good thing that had ever been given to him.

He loved his sister of course but she had no choice in whether or not to be so, Sabito on the other hand made a decision to be with him, Sabito picked him over all the other men in the whole world, men that were well-built without blemishes, men who could stand in the sun.

Sabito chose to risk it all in their forbidden love, he didn't understand why but Gyutaro didn't care, Sabito was his victory, his treasure, all his to cherish and hold with filthy hands.

As Sabito slept Gyutaro kept him bundled up in that bloody haori, just watching his face for hours wondering what he dreamt about, trying to remember what dreams were like untill he realized he was holding one right now.

He didn't want to go.

Fuck he didn't want to go.

But he had to, dawn would be sending it's scorching, pure rays over the horizon any moment now. Time was cruel, days were too long and nights far too short.

A heavy sigh left him and held Sabito just a little longer while he still could, laying one more kiss to his head.

"Be more careful for now on, I worry about you alot, you know...?"

Sabito couldn't promise him that even if he were awake.

If only he didn't have to leave....

If only he could stay with Sabito...

Gentle sunlight splashed onto Sabito, slowly stirring him awake. The boy slowly lifted his eyes open finding himself laying on the ground. Alone.

The moss was soft and cool under him as he slowly pushed himself up, his mind hazy as he leaned back against the tree and looked up to the light shinning down through crowds of leaves.

His senses faded back in, feeling the strain in all his muscles but the pain in his side wasn't as bad as he remembered it being. He took a breath.

Birds twittered and Sabito turned his head, starring off into the foggy blue shadows of the morning forest as a breeze fled away.

Gyutaro was gone...Or had he just dreamed the whole thing?

A grunt as he stood, picking his mask off the ground, a hand steadying himself on the tree as he rose.

There was a sensation of pins and needles covering his back, from having slept on roots no doubt. Sliding his sword back under his belt he began to pass through the shady, sleepy forest.

It was quiet...

Loneliness set deep in the Hashira's chest as he walked, wishing he could've stayed awake longer last night.

"Hey."

A sudden voice came, it was close, loud. He whipped out his sword and spun, eyes flying over his surroundings. There was no one.

"Aw, did I scare you?~" There was a snicker, a familiar sound -- It came from inside his skull.

"What..?!"

Sabito was struck by disbelief, reaching up to hold the side of his head. There was no way...

"How...?!"

Another devilish titter.

"It was easy, I wish I woulda done it sooner~"

It shouldn't be possible. What else could he do? Did this mean Gyutaro could see what he did? Could he control his body if he wanted? Question after question rolled through Sabito's head- Could he hear his thoughts too?

"I was right, it's so warm in here~" The demon purred with content and Sabito felt a vauge stirring deep inside him. It was too weird.

"Get out. Now." Sabito ordered, though he wasn't sure what to expect.

"Not gonna happen, and it's not like you can make me either~" The demon taunted- there was no greater entertainment for him than frustrating the little fox- finding him too adorable when angered.

That was Sabito, always fighting pointless battles, he thought.

Sabito could only growl, it wasn't like he could make Gyutaro listen to him, it wasn't like he could cut himself open and pull the demon out by the ear.

"Feelin' real helpless now, huh~?" The voice in his head patronized. "You can be grumpy all you want, I'm staying and there's nothin' you can do about it~"

Now he was just rubbing it in, but he had to come out eventually, right?

"Just wait until later." Sabito threatened, his sharp tone cutting through the demon's playfulness, only elating him further.

"I'm looking forward to it~" Gyutaro crooned, fully believing Sabito wouldn't do anything to him when the time came but even if he did he'd just pin the fox until he calmed down like he had done so many times before. Sabito just needed to get used to this was all.

He changed tactics.

"Hm...I thought you'd be happy we can be together during the day~..." Gyutaro's voice was soused in sorrow, sounding oh so pittiful.

Sabito huffed at the demon's attempt to manipulate his emotions, knowing Gyutaro was doing this for himself. Still, as annoyed as he was acting he was glad to spend more time with his lover, no longer having to endure the loneliness that the sun brought.

"You better behave...."

It was all he bothered to say as he continued walking through the forest with upper six in tow, hoping the demon couldn't detect the smile behind his harsh tone.

"I guess I can try to, only because you asked~"

The sound of Sabito's heartbeat- it was so loud now, a little fast- He was happy too.

He didn't have to worry anymore. He could protect the little fox now. Always.

Sabito stepped into the sun and Gyutaro could feel it through his skin- it didn't burn, it was soft, weightless.

It was nothing compared to how Sabito made him feel.

#sabito #Gyutaro #demon slayer #Sabito x Gyutaro #kny

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fics-by-caroline · 3 years ago

Text

Bloodlust

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Magical!Reader

Summary: You and Loki are part of the Avengers, but the pair of you have different ideas of what justice entails than the rest of the group; i.e., more horror, more drama, an eye for an eye. And man, do you two ever look sexy covered in blood.

Category: Smut (18+ only, please!)

Warnings: Smut (blood kink, oral sex -- f receiving), rough sex, porn with some plot), language, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, smoking, alcohol consumption, mention of human trafficking.

A/N: This is my first time writing smut, so please be nice 🥺

Taking a drag from a cigar in the corner of the dimly-lit speakeasy, your target looked you up and down. Even without tapping into his thoughts, you could tell that he liked what he saw; how the black dress you wore hugged your figure, how you had crossed your legs in a way that allowed him to catch the red bottoms of your heels, red that was reflected in your lipstick and nails. You turned to make eye contact with him, and were immediately hit with hearing him imagine you on your knees sucking him off in one of his fancy cars and afterwards kicking you out onto the street.

Typical, You thought with disgust, finishing your martini. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your back. Feeling him get up and walk towards you, you shot a knowing look at Loki across the bar.

“Can I buy you a drink?” The man’s voice was dripping in disgusting salaciousness. He sat beside you, reeking of the over-application of cologne, whiskey, and cigar smoke.

You shot him a demure smile. “A dirty martini, drier than the Sahara.”

The man waved down the bartender before leaning closer to you. “Michael Ashbourne.”

You suppressed an eye roll, taking instead to lighting a cigarette. “I know who you are, Mr. Ashbourne.”

“And what is it that you know of me?” Ashbourne stroked your hair with a drunken finger.

Uncrossing your legs, you turned to face him. “That you are one of the worst Midgardian men alive today. You cheat people out of their winnings in various casinos around the world, making yourself and your friends — no doubt the ones who surrounded you in that corner over there — some of the richest men in the world, while managing to operate under the radars of your enemy governments. You sell weapons and drugs because you always want even more money on top of the billions you already have, not caring about the damage you cause. You drink the most expensive liquors, sleep with all the women you please, and leave people eating the dust in your wake. But what brings you to the epitome of disgusting actions is your engagement in the trafficking of girls, once again, for even more money.” Even though you kept your voice low, you made sure to lace every word with biting poison.

Ashbourne pulled back in shock, unmoving and speechless.

You smirked at his silence. “Your cunningness is almost impressive, especially for a human. You manage to remain one step ahead of the mewling mortals who are left to crawl in your fading footprints. Bravo. Unfortunately for you, however, I am not one of them.” You waved a finger, from which a small ribbon of white magic followed.

“Who the hell are you?” Ashbourne hissed.

“A hero in the eyes of the people you have crossed, and the villain in yours.”

Ashbourne scoffed condescendingly. Stupid bitch, you heard him think. “Speaking in mysterious riddles just makes you look stupid, missy. I don’t know how you know what you know, but it’s a bit too much for my liking.” He raised a hand, beckoning over the large men who had accompanied him.

You sighed, unimpressed. Before they could so much as reach for their belt, you pulled the pistol from your garter stockings and fired silenced shots in between their eyes, before holding a dagger against Ashbourne’s throat. The speakeasy froze in horrified silence.

With a small chuckle at the sudden shock and fear in Ashbourne’s muddy eyes, you called to Loki. “Darling, are there others?”

“No darling, not here … but we can’t have witnesses, can we?” Loki sauntered up to you, kissing you on the head. He looked around at the few bystanders in the bar, terror keeping their feet rooted in place.

“Loki, is that really necessary —”

You were cut off by Loki launching towards the horrified bystanders like a cat pouncing on prey, his daggers slicing through their necks gliding ease. He finished off by throwing a knife into the bartender’s skull, silencing his terrorized mind that shrieked in your own so annoyingly. Loki looked back at you with an amused glint in his eyes, blood on every surface of the speakeasy, including Loki’s own body. Gesturing around him, he noted dryly, “They were dead in seconds, no suffering.”

You rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to Ashbourne, who sat with eyes wide and mouth agape. You smirked and applied a bit more pressure to the blade in your hand, drawing small beads of blood. You snuffed out your cigarette and stood up, toying with his bowtie as your heel dug into his foot. You could taste the fear that drenched his mind. “What’s this?” You cooed. “Feeling scared?”

“Ah, you’re so right, my love,” Loki smiled, looking around the room at the bloody mess he created. “Not using magic is so much more fun. I missed getting my hands dirty.”

You chuckled lowly. You couldn’t help but stare at him hungrily; there was something in the way the blood splatter stood out against his pale skin that awoke an arousal in you. Shaking your head, you turned back to the man under your knife and cocked an eyebrow. “How do you think I should do this? Stabbing is too classic, going for the neck is too neat.”

“Unzip him, dear,” Loki hummed. He shot a bolt of green magic towards the man, binding him in glowing ropes that wrapped around his pitiful body. Noticing your dry look, he shrugged. “I want a proper view of your handiwork, and I can’t have that if I’m holding him.”

“Fair enough,” You said. After a moment’s thought, you waved your hands, making Ashbourne’s shirt disappear in a white flash of your own magic.

“Wait, wait, stop. What do you want? Money? I have money. What do you want?” Ashbourne pleaded.

“I want ...” you said coldly, “to hear you scream.”

You stepped forward and sunk your dagger into his lower abdomen, slicing upwards smoothy, careful as to not sever any major blood vessels. Ashbourne screamed in agony — music to both yours and Loki’s ears. You grinned at the blood that spurted out to meet you, and tossed the dagger onto the surface of the bar. You looked at the open mess in front of you and sunk your hand into the open cavity, making Ashbourne wail.

Loki smacked Ashbourne’s face with a deadly glare. “Stay awake, you.”

You reached farther into Ashbourne’s gut, quickly finding the pulsating aorta. You looked up at Ashbourne’s paling face, cheek now sporting a bloody handprint from where Loki had slapped him, and pulled on the artery, which snapped and spurted hot blood all over you. Loki released his magic binds, leaving the body of the man to collapse like a rag doll onto the floor, very much dead.

You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears as you discarded the shred of aorta in your hands onto the lifeless body. You turned to look at Loki, who was smiling back at you with a familiar, blazing fire behind his eyes. He reached over and picked up your discarded dagger from the tabletop. He looked it over once, then swiped his tongue up one side of the blade. You groaned in arousal at the sight.

“The taste of justice, my dear,” He said, licking his lips.

He turned his fiery gaze back on you, holding the knife out for your taking. Without breaking eye contact, you licked up the other side, the metallic taste of Ashbourne’s blood spreading through your mouth only adding to the wet ache between your legs.

“Fucking hell,” Loki breathed, the large bulge in his dress trousers clearly evident.

You took the dagger, swiping away the rest of the blood that stained it on your finger and licked it clean. A deep rumble escaped from Loki’s lips before he smashed his lips onto yours, your tongues trading the tastes of blood and saliva. With a sharp tug, Loki tore your dress down and pinched your nipples between his bloodied fingers as he backed you up onto the bar. While normally, he would take his time with you, tease you at a torturously slow pace, make you plead and squirm beneath him, he now was fuelled purely by an animalistic flame, his lips and teeth marking your lips, jaw, neck, shoulders, collarbones. You broke apart only for you to render the pair of you naked by way of a flick of the wrist and a flash of white light. You stared at each other, both of you breathless and admiring how the blood that drenched your clothing had stained your bodies in a beautiful pattern of death.

“I love you so much,” You whispered.

“I love you too,” Loki said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip lightly.

In a flash, the momentary gentleness was gone as Loki pushed two fingers inside of you and curled them. You shouted out in pleasure, then gasped when you felt Loki’s tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, Loki!” You hissed, throwing your head back and grinding deeper onto Loki’s fingers and tongue.

The most audacious and obscene sounds filled the speakeasy as Loki twisted his fingers inside your cunt and attacked you with his mouth. You moaned unabashedly and Loki in return groaned against your body. His nips against your clit were anything but gentle, his fingers fucking your cunt so deeply, so gloriously, that your entire body sparked with invisible electricity.

“You’re going to cum for me,” Loki growled, “you’re going to cum for me and make me drink it as you do.”

You nodded into the air, gasping, panting, writhing under him. You clenched around his head, locking Loki into place, and came on his face, rolling and thrusting your hips against his mouth. Loki held your hips and drank your release until your orgasm finally finished washing over you.

Before you could begin to catch your breath, Loki seized your neck in one large hand and pushed himself inside of you in one fluid motion, causing the both of you to moan loudly. He started moving his hips immediately at a quick and relentless pace, splitting you apart in pleasure. You reached up to wrap your arms and legs around him desperately. As he hit that sweet spot that no other could, you brought your nails down his back, no doubt drawing blood. All thoughts had disappeared from your minds, pure animalistic pleasure and arousal clearing everything else out. Your combined energy made the lights spark and flicker, furniture going flying as your grip on your magic became weaker. Loki slammed into you, your walls tight around him, his pelvis grinding in such a way that he moved against your clit. You were only barely registering how you clung onto him for dear life, the most indecent noises pouring from both of your mouths, bodies slick in blood and sweat sliding against one another. Your connection into each other’s minds let you both know that the other was just as close to their climax without speaking. Expletives punctuated your shared groans and screams, Loki’s grip on your body so tight that bruises were sure to follow, your teeth and nails marking his skin.

“Loki, I — fuck — Loki!” You cried as you felt your body begin to tremble uncontrollably.

“I know, I — ah! I know —!” Loki groaned, biting your neck.

You exploded again with a scream and you slammed your hand onto the table, releasing a huge pulse of magic that levelled the room around you. Green explosions set off around you as Loki lost control and spilled into you with a stammering thrust and deep groan. Even though your eyes were both closed, you could see each other in your minds, totally blissful and exhausted, chests heaving. Loki’s lips found yours in a loving kiss.

“We should ... we should clean up here before the others come by,” You said, still out of breath.

Loki nodded wordlessly. He pulled out of you, causing you to whimper. We waved his hand, and the speakeasy righted itself in a glow of green light. Tables and chairs fixed themselves, light fixtures hung back up on the ceilings, blood and bodies disappeared, until the only remnant of your activities was the gore that still covered your naked bodies. You stood up and cricked your neck before cleaning yourself and Loki up, and dressing the pair of you in the dress and tuxedo you two were wearing.

“What will we say to the others when they ask about the sudden disappearance of everyone here?” You asked slowly.

“Don’t worry, love,” Loki grinned, “we can tell them the truth. We’re both too valuable for them to kick us out of the group.”

You laughed and took Loki’s outstretched arm, walking out into the cool night.

#loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x f!reader #loki x female reader #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #mcu loki #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #loki smut #loki oneshot #smut #mcu #mcu fanfiction #smut fanfiction #smut fic

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bandaigaeru · 4 years ago

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a spell for you - hwang hyunjin

→ synopsis: he had spontaneously chosen you as a victim, leaving you with nothing but the desire to return his motives. → word count: 11k → genre: hogwarts au, enemies to lovers → pairing: slytherin!hyunjin x gryffindor! gender neutral reader (feat. jihyo (twice))

→ warnings: one mention of the reader's period (it's not necessary for context, but just know that it is there) → author's note (super quick haha): i feel like i could have done a lot better with this, so perhaps there will be a rewrite in the future if this one disappoints you. happy, slightly belated, new year!

His hair catches the light with a shimmering pang. He brushes a hand through it, tucking a pestering strand behind his ear. Intently, he watches beside him, where his friends are shoving each other and threatening a fight. His lips are parted, threatening a smile.

"Stop trying to steal my potion," Changbin shoves, his grip on the glass bottle tightening as Seungmin reaches for it.

"You're the one who took it from me!" Seungmin whines, defensively hitting the inner elbow wielding his potion.

"No fighting in my classroom," Professor Nam breathily warns, leaning back in her chair defeatedly. She found it too difficult to try corralling them anymore.

You scoff.

Hyunjin turns to you, a smirk pulling the corner of his lip. "What? Got a problem?"

You roll your eyes. "Your presence is breaking my concentration. Why don't you go fight with Seungmin and never come back? That sounds perfect."

"What're you even concentrating on? The test you're gonna fail anyway?" Hyunjin jabs, puffing out his bottom lip in fake sympathy.

"Says the one who has worse grades than me."

He drags his chair closer to your desk, robe trailing slightly behind. His heavy breath casts a warmth against the back of your hand. "That's no way to talk to a superior."

"Superior?" you glance up, laughing. "Slytherins will never be superior to Gryffindors."

"Why is that?" Hyunjin cocks his head, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. His eyebrows jump with curiosity.

"Because snakes will only ever stay in the grass. Lions can at least jump."

He nods. "True. But a snake can kill a lion with its venom, and then your jumping is pointless."

From the seat in front of you, Jeongin groans. "Shut up already. Ravenclaws are the best and it's time you all admit it."

In unison, you and Hyunjin mutter, "Never that."

You look to him, his eyes in the same amount of shock as yours. You slam your textbook closed, shoving it into your bag. "Gross."

As you're standing from your chair, he coos, "If you're going to the common room, you should change."

"Why would I change for you, Hwang Hyunjin?"

"Because there's a stain on your pants," he smirks.

You grimace, tossing a dismissive wave over your shoulder as you leave the classroom. Nam doesn't care. She's too busy filing her nails and trying to keep Seungmin and Changbin from decapitating each other. You know, a normal day in her classroom. Plus, the bell is nearing its drone.

The hidden entry shifts for you as you approach. "Thank you, madam," you shout to the portrait above you.

The lady hums. The cement crackly replenishes itself behind you as you relish in the abandoned common room. Everyone is in classes, or should be, at least. You rush up to your room, tossing your bag and immediately changing into a different set of pants.

Sure enough, on the butt of your previous plaid ones is a small brown splotch. It can't be your period, so you slowly get closer to look at it. The waft of chocolate tickles your nose.

"Hwang Hyunjin," you grumble. He's probably sitting in that classroom still, snickering with his friends at how gullible you are. But hey, at least the stain kind of blends in.

ii.

The idea of revenge had seemed a waste of time in your formative years. Until your eyes locked with Hwang Hyunjin's in your first year. Those beady little pupils that followed every move you made. Tactical. Always ready to sink his fangs.

His first prank had been a simple fart joke (as fresh teenagers love). With the wave of his wand, he summoned a low groan right behind you. His acting skills were put to use as he brought a hand to his nose. "Ew, Y/N farted!"

Your cheeks flushed as you confusedly turned to him. You snapped, "No, I didn't."

Though, his choir of laughs had drowned your defense and left you with the heat of shame. He smiled back at you as he sat down, his dark wand still poised in his fingers.

Now, as you sit in the dining hall with hyperactive attention and a dismal pull for hunger, the target enters. His blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, with a few straying pieces. There is a quirk to his lips as he talks to the friends at his sides. You can feel the bass of his laughter in your shoulders.

"Hello? You in there?" Changbin waves a hand in front of your dazed eyes.

"What?" you turn back to him as Hyunjin takes a seat in his usual spot.

He sighs. "You scouting him again?"

"I have to get back at him," you mutter, picking up your fork before you stab the noodles on your plate.

"Y/N," Changbin whines. Your steely eyes look to him, and he immediately softens, caving in on himself.

"You're a Gryffindor," you start, twirling the noodles, "better start acting like one."

"Are you saying I can't be friends with both of you?"

You shake your head. "Never insinuated that. I'm standing my ground, and you shouldn't be preventing me from doing that."

Changbin looks to the other faces listening in, but all of them are little help. Jisung catches his eye, shaking his head. Defeated, he sighs, turning back to his meal. He drowns the words on his tongue with water.

The dinner session ends rather quickly (thanks to your rambled thoughts). Students bustle to return to designated common rooms for the night. Your eyes are glued to the back of Hyunjin's head. He's in no hurry, evidently, because he is still seated at the table, eyes crinkled with laughter. The cold wood of the wand is a familiar feeling in your palm. It's comforting. It reminds you of a time where Hwang Hyunjin was merely a classmate. How simple life was.

The hollowness he had claimed in your stomach deepens when he finally stands. You

point your wand at him carefully, suddenly grateful Changbin isn't here, and whisper, "Confundo."

The trademarked confident stride caves in on itself as the boy shrinks. He glances around. Upturned eyebrows and lost eyes. You rush to walk past him, a small wave and a smile. He doesn't seem to recognize you.

You can't help but laugh.

iii.

Your head is held high as you're walking to your first class of the day. Last night hasn't stopped replaying in your head, and the smile has yet to fade. He looked so lost. His eyes were wide and puppylike, and it even sent a jolt through your heart. Finally, he'd gotten a piece of his own medicine.

A barrier stops you from going further. It tugs you back by the sleeve of your blazer, leaving you to stare back into the somewhat lost eyes of the boy you had terrorized.

"What do you want?" you mumble, glancing down the hall. If anyone were to see you two, this close, they'd know something was up.

"What spell did you use? I can't shake it. I've been awake all night trying to get rid of it."

You chuckle and shrug. "Well, it's already lost some of its oomph. Only time can cure you."

You try to continue your path, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you back to look at him. He leans close to your face, and your breath chokes you. His eyes are no longer wide with innocence. They hold a knife back at you. "What spell did you use?"

"Confundo. Why, do you think I cursed you?" you scoff, squirming beneath his palms. "I'm not that mean, Hwang."

He lets go of your shoulders, staring at his shoes in defeat. You stumble a little. "Dumbass," he mutters, "We have an exam today. I can't concentrate on something like that, especially since I was up all night. Why would you do this?"

A sprout of something dizzying scratches your chest. You lean onto your toes as you whisper, "Should have thought about that before you started this mess."

You continue your walk to class with newfound guilt. Behind you, Hyunjin mutters, "I'll get back at you. Big time."

Your day had always been thwarted by the presence of Hwang Hyunjin, for he was always in every class. But today, he's not there. You presume he's caught in the Slytherin tower, curled in a ball as he tries to dispel his confusion. Mayhaps he's even sleeping. In a way, you kind of miss his antics. The way he tossed his head back and let his hair cascade at the fate of gravity simply for the muse that it 'helped him think.'

You found yourself smiling at your exam packet, and you instantly recoil. Hyunjin's an asshole, and he deserves everything he gets.

Changbin nudges you. You glance at him and he begins to fight a laugh. "What're you thinking of in that pretty little head of yours?"

You look back to your test in alarm. "Nothing," you whisper, warily glancing at Professor Nam, whose eyes wander up and down the aisles.

"Is it Hyunjin?" he leans toward you.

You shake your head, hissing, "Absolutely not."

Professor Nam skips over a row to you. "No talking. I'll take points if I catch you two again."

Changbin settles back into his test, leaving you with thoughts of your own. As you aimlessly bubbled in answers seemingly obvious, you thought to Hyunjin. Maybe you were a little out of line with the confundo incident, but it was your turn for revenge. You glance up at his empty chair when you finish the test. In the far corner of your head, you swear you can hear his obnoxious laugh and breathy, "I told you so."

Overhead, the bell rings. It dismisses everyone from their classes and momentarily dismisses Hyunjin from the warmth of your thoughts. You pass your exam forward, quickly scavenging your things together and following the pack into the halls. Nam's class is the last of the day, and it's Friday. Your weekend is free ahead of you, and you consider inviting Changbin and Jisung to a picnic or something.

A hand claps down on your shoulder before a deep laugh shakes in your ears. "Y/N! I heard what you did to Hyunjin. Genius, I must say."

You glance to the owner of the voice, meeting the glimmering eyes of Kim Seungmin. He looks down on you with a warm smile. So unlike a Slytherin.

"Thank you," you straighten your posture as you continue walking.

His hand doesn't move from your shoulder. His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, "But if it's just between you and me, you're gonna wish you didn't do that."

Shivers trail the back of your neck to your wrists. When you look at him, he's still harboring that welcoming grin. "Ciao," he removes his hand to wave at you. Then, he starts in the opposite direction, against the wave of traffic.

You walk the rest of the way with your eyes glued ahead. A Gryffindor does not back down. They are brave, you remind yourself.

The Fat Lady allows you entry into the common room, but the hallway is backed up. You stretch your neck to try and see above the crowd, though nothing but heads of hair taints your view. There's a pit in your stomach, and before you can shove through, you already have an idea what's going on.

The Gryffindor common room has been plagued with the stench of Hwang Hyunjin's mischievous antics. It is drenched in a potion of Nidore, resembling the smell of untreated B.O. Han Jisung plugs his nose as he glances around. He catches your eye, muttering, "Do you smell this?"

Your eyes are lazed with irritation. Curtly, you nod. "Yeah. Hyunjin did this. I'm sure of it."

Jisung whines, tapping his foot impatiently, "Why can't you two just keep your tricks in class? This is violating school rules. He shouldn't be in here. He's a Slytherin!"

You bite on the inner piece of your lip as heeled steps echo closer. The presence of a tall woman sends anxious goosebumps down your spine. You turn to her, though you're sure you look pitiful.

"What is the meaning of this?" she shouts, looking among the students for any clue.

Jisung nudges your arm.

"We have reason to believe it was a Slytherin's doing, madam," another professor slips into the room, promptly covering his nose.

"Do we have a name for this Slytherin?" she crosses her arms and purses her lips.

The professor shakes his head, looking to his freshly shined shoes. Faintly, he wonders if the smell will ruin them. "No. Not yet."

The headmistress sighs, waving her hand. "Gryffindors are to report to the dining hall immediately until this mess is covered. Start an investigation at once."

"Yes, ma'am," the professor's head falls as he pushes back through the crowd, which is now graciously evacuating. Those simple words were all they needed.

You feel bolted to the floor. All you can do is stare at the bun atop the headmistress's head. Hyunjin had gone too far, but you had triggered this. Jisung grabs your wrist and pulls you out.

He takes you up the hall, into the bathroom. He closes the door behind you.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he whisper-shouts.

You shake your head, a rock lodging its way into your throat as you avert his sharp eyes. "I fucked up."

"Obviously."

Han Jisung is standing with his hands on his hips, his eyes looking like they're about to bulge from his head. He must be disappointed. "What're you gonna do about this?"

"I'm gonna have to tell McGonagall."

Jisung sighs, taking a long look at you. "If you think that's what's best, go on." He opens the door for you.

You trudge back to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady grants you entrance, though she says, "It sure smells in there, love. I wouldn't stay long if I were you."

When you reach the end of the hallway, McGonagall is no longer there. Instead, there's a blond boy who laughs quietly to himself. He looks back at you. "I knew you'd come back."

"Hyunjin, what the hell do you think you're doing? You went too far. You could get expelled over this, you know?"

He shakes his head. "I won't get expelled. My family's donated too much to this school. You should have seen the look on your face, though."

You blink as he stands. "Have you ever stopped to think about other people for a change? I'm nothing without this school."

Hyunjin sucks his teeth. "Should have thought about that one."

You open your mouth to retaliate, but overhead a voice takes over. "Y/N Y/L/N of Gryffindor and Hwang Hyunjin of Slytherin, please report to the headmistress' office immediately."

Hyunjin wraps his arm around your shoulder, the tips of his fingers trailing a path along your collarbone. "Shall we?"

iv.

"I can expel you. Is that what you would like?" McGonagall inquires, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. Around her, papers float as she pointedly looks for one in specific.

"No," you mumble.

Hyunjin tips his head back, allowing his hair to fall back. There is a menacing curl to his lips.

"Your antics have been going on for how long? Nearly six years?"

Your gaze is locked on your shoes. They need a shining, you note.

Hyunjin begins chuckling. "You're not actually serious about expulsion, right? My family would never let you hear the end of it."

McGonagall plucks a paper from the air, looking at it. "No, Mr. Hwang. But keep up your attitude and I'll make the remainder of your time here a living hell."

You look at Hyunjin, whose eyes wait for yours. He smiles, offering a sharp pierce to your heart. Your eyes shoot back to the floor. The toe of his shoe pierces your vision, inching to nudge yours.

"What I think is appropriate," McGonagall starts, plucking another paper. "is that you two seek a middle ground. I am requesting that wizardry chores are to be saved for you two, and you will perform them together. I am uncertain on the duration, still, but I assure you it will not be comfortable."

Hyunjin scoffs. "You're gonna make us do laundry or something?"

McGonagall sighs, looking up at him. She offers a pitying smile. "It'll be much, much worse than that, Mr. Hwang."

"Thank you," he sarcastically remarks.

You look up to McGonagall, bowing your head gently. "Thank you for not resorting to expulsion."

"You two are immature wizards, which is incredibly dangerous in today's society. I need to knock sense into you, not allow you the means to rebel."

You don't dare look at Hyunjin, but you're sure he has smoke billowing from his ears. Because nobody, not even the headmistress, should talk down on him. "A Slytherin," you recall him saying, "is the top of the food chain."

"Now," she claps, sending a jolt through you. "Your first task is to remove the potion from the Gryffindor common room. That should be fairly easy for you, Mr. Hwang."

He grimaces, starting out of the office. He swears beneath his breath, and doesn't even make fun of you when you trip and nearly faceplant. Instead, he offers a glance back at you before continuing on his way. Not even a single sly comment.

When you return to the common room, Changbin waits outside. He pushes off the cement walls, arms crossed against his velvet robe. "Oh? Are you two finally allowing your love for each other to blossom?"

You shoot him a warning look, but it amasses to nothing when Hyunjin grabs him by the collar and pins him against the wall. "Watch your mouth."

He throws him to the ground before hesitantly entering the hallway.

"Who pissed in his Cheerios?" Changbin scrambles to stand up again. He seeks you for answers, but falls short when all you offer is a secured gaze on the floor.

The Gryffindor common room is still oozing with stench, but in the center of it is Hwang Hyunjin, the mastermind. He seems more bothered by McGonagall's comments than the smell. He raises his wand of Blackthorn, chanting an unknown spell. The odor vanquishes, leaving you only with the other elephant in the room.

Hyunjin starts out the door, bumping into your shoulder on the way. "Just stay out of my way and we won't have problems."

You huff, staring at the back of his neck, "Be mature for once."

He stops, his head slumping. He slowly turns back to you, venom laced with his words as he says, "You're the reason we're in this mess. Stay out of my way so we can get this over with, okay?"

Ice builds up your ankles. You cannot move. You cannot speak. You're left to watch as he storms out of the room. So much for a stable weekend.

Things truly began with doing the laundry. Muttered remarks fluttered from Hyunjin's lips, though he does not speak directly to you. Nor does he even offer a spare glance.

Then, you had a trip to Hogsmeade. Though, under strict supervision by Professor Kim, whose gaze never left your necks. "Isn't the grocer that way, Mr. Hwang?" he had said. Hyunjin tensed, dark eyes looking back at the old man. Though, he did not speak. He simply moved on his way.

After that, McGonagall had sent for you two to clean the Slytherin dungeons. "Real Slytherins aren't this piggish," Hyunjin grumbled, scrubbing harshly at the moss buildup.

Hesitance built in your veins every time he was around. Though, his gaze has not crossed your skin once. His words, too, were never meant to travel over your robes. He treats you as though you are an imaginary friend who he vowed to erase from his life.

You release a shaky breath.

"I won't be at dinner," you warn your friends for the sixth day in a row. A setting sun peeks through the broad window panes.

"You serving time again?" Minho manages through sips of scalding coffee. For a Ravenclaw, he didn't always live up to the stereotype.

"They're not serving time, per se," Changbin counters. "But close enough."

Chan tugs at your sleeve, pulling you away from the crowd. "Are you okay?"

Tears prick the corners of your vision, but you nod. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just kinda wanna get this over with."

Chan offers a small, sheepish smile. "Okay. Just let me know if you need anything. I may be a Hufflepuff, but I can beat his ass if you want me to."

You giggle, bringing your sleeved arm to brush against your nose. "Thank you."

At the end of the hall, where it halts with the choice of the dining hall or the potions branch of the school, you take a left while everyone else turns right.

Today, McGonagall needed you to clean the bathrooms. Hyunjin, of course, was not looking forward to it. He didn't look forward to anything, you realize.

"Hey," you greet, gently setting down your bag outside the bathroom. The door is still closed.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone. He doesn't say anything, but at least he acknowledges you by slipping his phone into his pocket. His hand encases the doorknob before he pushes it open.

Disgust twists his face as he gags. "What the hell? Have these ever been used?"

"Evidently," you remark, peeking around the doorway to see a pile of green sludge accustomed to the floor.

Hyunjin sighs. "I guess we better get started."

You nod, picking up a mop that awaited. You work in silence. Hyunjin curses under his breath, grunting as he works. When you steal a glance, his face is reddened and there are beads of sweat threatening to drip from his brow.

The sludge, you presume, is mutated moss. It's actually quite common in castles like this one. Nonetheless, it's gross to eliminate. And the smell. Just thinking about it would send shivers down your spine.

On Hyunjin's end of the bathroom, behind the protection of a wall, there is a gurgle and an accompanying shout. "You're joking," he whines.

He steps out from the stall, the white of his undershirt blotched with green and orange. It looks like vomit, but it smells much worse. You don't have time to laugh, for he's gathering his things. "I'm tired of McGonagall making us do her stupid errands. Doesn't she have servants for this? I'm done!" he offers you one last glance before he leaves.

Silence was more comfortable when he sat in it with you.

vi.

You jolt with the realization. Certainly you weren't starting to enjoy Hyunjin's company. That's outright impossible. If anything at all, you were merely starting to see him as a comrade or acquaintance.

But you were not, absolutely not, starting to feel something for him.

The sun starts to leak through your curtains, portraying your sleeping roommate like a silhouette. You sigh, falling back onto the pillows. The ceiling stares back at you with an intimidating uncertainty. Hyunjin wasn't going to be doing the chores anymore, so it would be pointless in talking to him about it. So long as McGonagall doesn't find out that you're working solo, things should be okay.

You travel with the crowd, accepting breakfast alone. Your friends were probably still sleeping. Minho might be awake, but he's likely locked in the Ravenclaw chamber, hiding from the outside world on his rest day.

McGonagall's wishes for today, as delivered by Professor Kim, was to visit Hagrid's hut and obtain a dragon egg. The reason, she did not state. Probably official school business that you had no intention, nor desire, of searching into. If Hyunjin were with you, that'd likely be a different story.

You leave the castle at quarter to noon. It's chilly outside (you probably could have used a jacket) but the sun is held central in the sky. You take a deep breath, admiring the traveling scents of blossoms and lilies. The gravel path crunches beneath your shoes. A bright pink azalea catches your eye. It hangs on the edge of the forest, serving a bookmark among the green. You step off of the path, taking careful steps toward it.

"Wow," you mumble, bringing your palm to it. It's soft against your skin.

You wonder if Hyunjin likes flowers. A smile cracks your lips. "It'd be funny if he did," you whisper to yourself.

A squealing cry causes you to flinch. You turn in the direction of the noise, spotting a pig running for dear life. Its little legs overworking themselves in a blur. Close behind is a hippogriff, tall and muscular. It walks with leisure, for its legs equate to nearly thirty of the pig's.

You gulp. They're bigger than the textbooks lead on. You take a wary step back. A stick crunches beneath your weight. The hippogriff's gaze sways toward you. It cocks its head curiously.

You wished you paid more attention in Care of Magical Creatures. Stupid Hyunjin and his stupid distractions. Why did he even begin picking on you in the first place? Was it chance? Did he know you were a Gryffindor and simply nod and declare you were the one? For whatever reason, it has brought you here.

A Gryffindor shouldn't cry in a situation like this. They should stand tall and tame the beast. Fight if they have to, but that's a shrugging matter. You're not like other Gryffindors, though. Who are you kidding? You're a lousy one.

So you cry. If death is upon you, all you really can do is cry.

The hippogriff opens its beak and lets out a shrill cry. Its heavy footsteps echo into the trees, shaking birds from branches. It poises its hind legs in a crouch, preparing for the hunt. Like any predator, it expects you to run.

You shake your head, glancing to the pink azalea beside your head. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact. You hear its footsteps drawing near.

"Alarte ascendare!" a voice yells. There is a boom and a crash.

Hesitant, you open your eyes. The hippogriff is laying in front of you, bloodied and gasping for breath. A wave of heat washes over you as you dizzily fall to your knees. You try to look for the source of the voice, but your vision is hazy.

Arms wrap around you. They steady you. You look up. "Hyunjin?"

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here," he pulls your head into his chest, resting his chin atop your head.

"What're you doing here?" Your mouth is dry. Any moment, you feel as though you might fall. Through the earth and into an abyss. But still, Hyunjin holds you.

"Same goes for you. Why're you out here unsupervised, huh?" his voice is in a calming whisper. His fingers trace repeating lines through your hair.

"McGonagall wanted us to go get an egg from Hagrid," you tell him, removing the detail of the flower. You didn't need him calling you stupid for straying from the path.

He sighs. For once, he's speechless. He just keeps playing with your hair, occasionally glancing to the hippogriff, who has since long stopped breathing.

vii.

Behind the large wooden doors of the infirmary, you hear a droning voice. "Slaughter of a magical creature on school grounds can be charged with expulsion. Are you aware of that, Mr. Hwang?"

The following voice is much quieter, though you don't have the energy to strain yourself. Your head is pounding, and there's a bandage around your ankle. Your eyes fall on the door. A nurse has her ear cupped to it. Heavy eyelids take their reign over you. The voice fades into the darkness, leaving you cold and lost.

When you finally open your eyes again, there is a face hanging over you. You slowly blink.

"Sleep well?" McGonagall inquires. Her glasses hang low on the bridge of her nose. You're afraid they might fall on you if she stays much longer.

You nod. "What time is it?"

McGonagall steps back, bringing her wristwatch into frame. She tilts her head. "Around 2:30. It's Thursday. You've been here nearly twenty-four hours, you know?"

You fight to sit up. Imaginary weights drag you back. "Don't expel Hyunjin," you find yourself saying, though the words seem foreign. You're not even sure you spoke them in your native tongue.

"Sorry?"

"I said," you pause, taking a deep breath, "Don't expel Hyunjin. It's not his fault."

McGonagall juts out her chin, pursing her lips. "And why shouldn't I?"

You sigh, as though you cannot believe that you're defending Hwang Hyunjin. "I was careless. I strayed from the path to Hagrid's because I saw a stupid flower. If it weren't for Hyunjin, I'd probably be dead meat."

She hums, removing her glasses and pointing the golden frames towards you. "So my plan, it worked?"

"What plan?"

"Of getting you two to mature and see each other as equals."

"I don't know about the whole equals thing-"

"Hush, I don't want to hear it. You two will meet in my office Saturday morning, I expect. I'll send a reminder tomorrow evening," McGonagall huffs, turning to leave. Her heels clobber against the tile all the way to the end of the hall.

Within no time, the nurse is at your bedside, offering you a glass of water and a blonde potion. "Can I get you anything else?" she asks, interlacing her fingers and resting them on the pocket of her apron.

You glance at your ankle. "What happened?"

She offers a weak smile. "I wouldn't be able to tell you. Ask that blond boy who brought you in. I'm sure he knows. Or at least, he'll be able to point you in the right direction."

You slowly nod. "Thank you."

"Yes, dear. Oh, and you should be able to return to your dormitory as soon as you're ready. Take it easy."

When she's disappeared into the office by the set of doors, you sigh. What mess did Hwang Hyunjin get you into? More accurately, what mess did you get yourself into? You can't even find it in you to be mad at him, though logically you should be. Especially with the way he stroked your hair before you fainted. At that moment, he seemed like an angel. A blond-headed angel, whose blood was tainted with the venom of snakes.

Even so, none of this would have happened had he not stormed off. And you'll remind yourself that every time an endearing thought crosses your mind. He may have saved you, but he had essentially set you as bait. Indirectly, but still.

Near dinnertime, you leave the infirmary to freshen up. Your hair was matted and there was dirt smudged on your cheeks. After a quick shower, wary of your wrapped foot, you hobble to the dining hall. Before you settle with a questioning Seo Changbin, you glance at the empty spot of the infamous Slytherin section. The setting sun failed to cast a glow on blond hair, for he was not there. Perhaps he had been pulled from school, and McGonagall has yet to hear the news. Or maybe he's punishing himself for even going after you. Regardless, a swollen hole burns through your chest. It sparks irritation as you push around tonight's meal with the tip of your fork.

"Hey, what happened to your ankle? Did Hyunjin do something? Why aren't you answering my questions? Why are you sulking?" Changbin racks off. "Hello? Anybody in there?" He nudges your shoulder.

"I don't know what happened. I need to talk to Hyunjin about it," you simply say, finally forcing yourself to eat the food. Despite not eating for nearly two days, you felt no sense of hunger. In fact, you felt as though you were about to explode. As if you had eaten too much.

"Ah, I see. You're sulking because you have to talk to Hyunjin."

"I don't think it's that," you sigh, slumping as you look back to his spot. Still, it's empty.

"Then what's the problem?"

You think hard about what you say next. You can't tell him about this weird concoction brewing in your chest, for he'll run with it and send the school into another Battle of Hogwarts. "I just feel off. I don't know."

Jisung nudges your shin from beneath the table. You look up to him. He mouths, slowly and deliberately, "Are you okay?"

You nod, half-certain.

Changbin continues to pester you, despite the lack of responses. Even when you stand to return your tray, he follows. All the way to the common room, he sticks close, leaning over you to whisper more questions. You can't even fathom how he hasn't run out yet.

He grabs your shoulders, spinning you around. "Look at me."

Your eyes feel slow as they scan for his. He continues, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you need to talk about it, I am here for you. If it's about Hyunjin, I won't run off to tell him, okay? Family before friends."

"Thanks, Binnie," you force a smile, before breaking away from his grasp and closing the gap to your room. You gently close the door before plummeting onto your bed.

viii.

Hyunjin fails to appear to any class other than Professor Nam's. His seat, though filled, holds a barren figure with bags pulling at his eyes. He spares you a small smile when he catches your stare. He even offers a spare remark about your shoes. "Don't you think it's time to retire those, Y/N? They're all shabby."

But that's all he can bring himself to say. When he turns back in his seat, he slumps a little. Seungmin whispers something to him, and his head barely shakes in response.

You try not to stare at the back of his head. Even it seems to have lost some kind of sparkle to it. The bell blares its dismissal, and the class evacuates immediately. You take your time, for Hwang Hyunjin appears to be in no rush.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" you block his way when he tries to pass without a single word. "Don't you need to get your quota of insults in? The week's over, bud."

He looks at you like he's never met you. "Oh. Sorry."

He pushes through, brushing past your shoulder. Gently. Not the usual brash interaction.

You huff, stumbling after him. "We need to talk."

"Go ahead."

"Not if you're gonna be like this. C'mon, I wore my ugliest pair of pants to try and get a rouse from you."

He spares a glance at the bright plaid trousers. "Nice."

You smack his shoulder. "What is the matter with you?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

You stop walking, merely watching as he continues down the hall. There's no point in this, you realize. Arguing with this Hyunjin is like talking to a brick wall encased by another brick wall. Things will resume to their normal pace in due time.

You pull yourself to the Gryffindor common room, barricading yourself in your room. The moment your head connects with your pillow, a single tear falls. It's hot against your cheek.

At quarter to six, you decide to skip out on dinner. You're not sure what you'd do if you saw him sitting at his table, drawn back from the usual conversations with Seungmin.

A card slips under your door, scraping against the hardwood. You sit up to retrieve it. On the front, in large, careful cursive letters is your name. A small letter is inside, reading, "Do not forget our meeting tomorrow morning. 9:00 A.M. sharp. If you are not here, I will have someone fetch you."

You begin laughing. McGonagall's going to have a fit when she sees you and Hyunjin. A vivacious boy with a tongue for quips turned hollow and you, a Gryffindor with a newfound fear of facing him.

ix.

The back of his neck is marked crimson by the amount of times he scratches it during that meeting. His gaze averts yours, even when you know you've burnt a hole in his cheek.

"I'm sure you're aware why I've called you in," McGonagall sighs, crossing her arms as she leans against her desk.

You force your gaze to rest on her, slowly shaking your head.

"I have no choice but to dismiss our project we had."

"You mean making us do chores together?" you question, sure Hyunjin would be proud of you for such a comment. When you glance at him, he doesn't even spare a blink out of routine.

"Well, if you view it as such I'm afraid I can't change that," she nods. You know that if Hyunjin had said that, he'd be getting yelled at. Good day to hold the Gryffindor title, you dejectedly admit.

She scans Hyunjin's face for any sign of life. "You in there, Mr. Hwang?"

His head shifts upward toward her. "Yes, sorry."

"You're awfully quiet," she mentions. He shrugs, returning his eyes to his lap. He fidgets with the dark wood at the tip of his wand.

"Well, if there are no further objections, you are free to leave."

Hyunjin runs with these words, taking his bag and rushing out. He barely even offers a polite quip. You follow him out, a few distancing steps in between. He heads for the Slytherin tower. For a moment, you consider calling out and inviting him to lunch. But you don't. Instead, you go back to the Gryffindor common room, nestling in for a game of chess with Changbin. He's not very good, but at least it serves as a laughing distraction.

The sun falls over the horizon rather slowly, as though someone tugs it back on a pulley system. Changbin wishes you goodnight a bit past eight, leaving you with a distant desire to study. You shuffle to your dorm, preparing to stare absentmindedly at a textbook, when your eyes fall over the emerald robe.

Hmm, you think. Should I? Or should I not? Well, he has been very weird. And you're overly curious. It's swallowing your life.

You sigh, picking it up and swinging it over your shoulders. You pull the hood up, slipping back out into the common room. The students continue their nightly games of Mafia. Not a single set of eyes shoot at you.

Breaking curfew is punishable by copious amounts of detention. Good thing you're invisible to the guard wandering the halls.

Sneaking into the Slytherin tower is rather easy, given the circumstances. The cobblestone corridor leads you to a darkened room emblazoned by the crackle of fire. A blond boy lays on the gray carpet, his eyes vacant as he blinks at the ceiling. His friend sits on a leather couch, shrugging as he says, "I don't know man, you've just been so weird lately."

Absently, the boy on the carpet mumbles, "Sorry, I guess."

"C'mon, talk to me. I'm your best friend, Hyunjin," Seungmin sighs. He rubs a distressed finger across his brow.

Hyunjin shakes his head. "There's just this weird feeling in my chest."

"What?" Seungmin leans forward on the couch, dangling his hand close to the boy's face.

He leans out of the way as he sits up, resting his palm on his heart. "I can't explain it. I feel full all of a sudden?"

"How long have you been like this?"

"Ever since the hippogriff situation."

Seungmin falls back against the plush of the couch. His mouth is agape until a smile creeps upon him and he laughs. "I hate to break this to you, Hyunjin, but I think you've developed a crush."

Your heart catches in your throat like a rock you're incapable of swallowing. It thrums louder than the conversation unfolding. Hyunjin's lips are loose as he glances around the room. His eyes sit on you a little too long, and you slowly back into the corridor.

What do you do with this information?

A harsh sneeze interrupts your slumber. You glance around through tired eyes. It's still dark in the room. Your roommate is snoring lightly.

You rest back onto the mattress, trying your hardest to dismiss a quiet cough. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck. Just what you need, you think as you shut your eyes. Maybe this is karma for sneaking into Hyunjin's space.

You hate the euphoria you experienced when you settled into bed that night. Heart a fluttering mess and cheeks pummeled with heat. Changbin would kill to hear this. Both ends. Regardless, though, you feel way too guilty to talk to Hyunjin. Some crushes are best suppressed, you think. A Slytherin-Gryffindor duo traditionally doesn't end well.

By the time you fall asleep, the sun has begun to rise. Then, by the time you wake up, the sun is ready to fall. You moan when your roommate asks if you're feeling alright. Her shivering hand comes in contact with your forehead. "Oh my God, you're burning up!"

You hiss, trying to pull your covers over your head. She tugs them back down.

"You should go to the infirmary," she says. "I'll help you there."

Hesitantly, you sit up. There's a sour taste in your mouth that burns the back of your throat. A quick palm jumps to your lips as you rush to the bathroom.

"Here," Jihyo comes close behind you. She offers a Ginger Ale.

"Thanks," you say, rubbing your mouth with the back of your hand. You take a quick swig of it, swishing it around before spitting it into the toilet.

Jihyo leads you out of the room with an arm around your shoulder. The common room is empty, aside from a few who sit behind vast textbooks. "Everyone's at dinner," she informs.

You don't have the energy to nod. It's hard enough trying to keep a straight path, even when you're leaning against her shoulder.

"Welcome back," the nurse jokes. You try to smile.

She takes your temperature after Jihyo tells her your situation. "Ooh. 101. Thank you for bringing them, sweetheart."

You take to a bed, slowly leaning to sit on it. Jihyo leaves shortly after, telling you to seek her if you need anything.

"How's your ankle doing?" the nurse asks as she offers you a cup of pills (a fever reducer and an anti inflammatory).

After you struggle to swallow them, you say (through a crackly voice), "Good, I guess. Still haven't gotten the story to it."

She presses her lips into a line, "That boy. I'll have to talk to him."

A strange light feeling punctures your heart. She pushes gently on your shoulders, forcing you to lie down. "Get some rest, dear."

Sleep comes very naturally. There's only a few moments where you struggle to return to it. The next day, the nurse brings you a cup of pudding for breakfast. You ask her what time it is.

"It's around 10. Monday."

You sigh. "I'm missing classes."

"I'm sure your professors won't mind, given you're still feverish," she checks your forehead with the back of her hand.

You eat the pudding in solidarity, watching the small TV across from you. It's displaying The Desperate Housewives of the Wizarding World. It's on all day, which is fine by you, since you're not leaving anytime soon. The final dismissal bell jumps you from your daze.

Only a few moments pass before the large doors swing, followed by the pattering of feet. "Y/N!"

Jisung rushes toward you, his burgundy robes trailing behind him. He pushes his round frames up. "Are you okay? I heard from Jihyo."

You nod. "Yeah, I feel a bit better now."

His hand finds your shoulder and he shakes you gently. "You're not going to believe this."

Your thoughts jump to Hyunjin and your eyes widen eagerly as you wait for him to continue.

"Hyunjin was whining all day about you. He was all 'where are they?' and stuff. Did something happen when McGonagall started that chore thing?"

You fight a grossly parasitical smile, shaking your head. "No. Nothing really."

He stays a little longer, telling you things you missed from the classes you share. As he's departing, you stop him. "Hey, Sung, I got a question."

He turns back to you. "Shoot."

"Can I borrow that magic note passing thing you bought on vacation?"

The good thing about Jisung is he doesn't ask questions. So long as you're not harming anyone, he'll do just about anything for you. He simply returns ten minutes later, gently placing the notepad on the table beside you. "You just write your note and address it. It should be sent immediately. Oh, and the other person receives a pen too," he informs, passing you a normal looking pen.

"Thank you, I owe you."

He waves his hand. "Nah, it's no big deal."

You pick up the pad of paper. It appears no different from normal paper, though it smells rather lemony. You rethink the words over and over before you finally settle. In the center of the paper, you write: I heard you missed me :)

Then, you address it before you can find a reason to regret this.

xi.

You cannot find yourself an ounce of sleep, so you stare at the television screen. It's still playing reruns. A paper fizzles into your lap, the corners materializing before the center. Your note reads back to you. You flip it over, where a new pattern of ink lay.

To Y/N: I'm going to murder Han Jisung.

Your laugh echoes in the large, empty infirmary. The nurse has gone to her quarters, now that the sun has set.

You write back, He has cool magic though!

Not only because it's true, but because you would like to keep this conversation going for just a little longer. Even if it is useless and greedy to want something like this from him.

Few seconds pass before the paper returns. To Y/N: I will give him that. I didn't even know this was a thing. Can we meet up in the Charms hall?

You bring your hand to your forehead. After Jisung's visit and your nutritious dinner of pudding, you feel much better. Like normal, even. Plus, the nurse had told you it's up to you when you want to return to daily life.

So you gather your things and return to your dorm. "Hi, Jihyo," you say quickly before rushing to shower. She is left in a dismal state of shock, staring at the bathroom door.

"I'm meeting up with someone, don't wait up for me," you inform as you pull a sweater on.

"Who?" she asks, bouncing her wand as she jiggles a paper midair.

You glance at her as you pull shoes on. "Classified info."

"Just say it's Hyunjin," she starts. "I can read you like a book."

You giggle. "Then fine, it's Hyunjin."

"Don't set the school on fire, please. I would like to finish my seventh year in peace."

"I don't plan on it."

"Be safe!" she calls as you open the door.

"I will."

You shuffle through the common room and out into the halls. Curfew was nearing. Maybe you should've grabbed your invisibility cloak.

In all honesty, you weren't sure why you were doing this. Until the glimmer of blond hair beneath the moonlight pierces your view. Knowing fills your chest, warm fairies dazzling your skin.

He looks up to you, a smile rushing onto his face. "I thought you weren't gonna show."

"Well, I suppose you're in luck."

He grabs your wrist when you're in reach, "Come on, I wanna show you something."

You allow him to pull you out to the courtyard. A little way's past the quidditch fields, there is a flower box. Filled to the brim with peonies and lilies. There's even a couple pink azaleas.

"Tada," he says, opening his arms to the post.

"You snuck me out of the castle to look at flowers?" you laugh.

"Not just any flowers," he points, crouching down to look at them. "Healing flowers."

"Really?" you inquire.

He looks up at you. Beneath the moonlight, his hair shines and his eyes twinkle amongst the stars. "Yeah. They heal everything."

"How do you even know about this?"

He shrugs, looking into the stamen of a certain peony. "My mom's a flower nerd. When she called most recently, she told me about this spot."

You crouch beside him, "Did she plant these?"

"Some of them. I think she likes azaleas, so probably those."

Your heart skips a beat. "Do you like the azaleas?"

"I-"

From behind you, a voice shouts, "Now I can't keep you away from each other?"

In sync, you look back. McGonagall is standing at the top of the hill, her arms crossed against her silk black robes. "Come on, you two, it's past curfew."

You dawdle up the hill, slightly limping on your ankle. You suppose you should have asked him about it.

When you meet McGonagall, she whispers, "By the way, I'm getting more eyes on you two. No more late night meetings."

xii.

The moon takes its reign in the sky, passing time as though it never wants to leave the throne. There's a waft of nutmeg traveling through the vents. Felix must be baking again.

The lamp on your bedside table clicks on. You look over to Jihyo, who is very much asleep. Her mouth hangs open and her limbs are flailed in varying directions.

A piece of paper forms against your chest. To Y/N: I'm sorry for getting you in trouble.

You shake your head, heart taking fire, as you search for a small piece of room to write: It's okay, I willingly went with you.

You wonder why he's awake. More importantly, why he's apologizing. He's never been one for owning up to anything, so why start now and here?

Within minutes, you receive the paper. To Y/N: I guess she can't police these notes haha

In return, you write: I hope not. Can you smell that nutmeg?

To Y/N: YES IT KEEPS TICKLING MY NOSE!!

To Hyunjin: It's probably just Felix, so I'm letting it slide this once.

To Y/N: Even then, I'm still considering killing him.

To Hyunjin: Same time you're gonna kill Jisung?

To Y/N: Yeah, actually. Thank you for reminding me.

You stifle a laugh, cautiously looking at Jihyo. She releases an abrupt snore, which stands in solitude.

To Hyunjin: Hey btw, do you know what happened to my ankle?

A few moments turn into minutes of twirling your thumbs for a response. The nutmeg retracts its intensity, leaving room for the Sandman to tarnish your eyes with the temptation of sleep. You grow tired of waiting, turning off your lamp and settling into the covers.

Morning comes, but the receiving message does not. You prepare for your day, following the stream of students to the dining hall. Hyunjin is already there, and his eyebags prove his late night. He looks up upon Seungmin's pointing, offering you a wave and a grin.

Nice Hyunjin is so weird.

You smile back. Changbin waits at the end of the food line by the time you get there. "Hey, heard you got caught with Hwang last night," he nudges your arm, raising his eyebrows.

"Nothing happened," you assure.

He nods, though he's not sure he believes you.

You grab a muffin and a carton of orange juice before following Changbin to Jisung, who is nursing a bowl of burnt oatmeal.

"How can you eat that shit?" Changbin grimaces.

You steal a glance in Hyunjin's direction. He's playing a rather intense game of rock, paper, scissors, with another Slytherin. After several rounds of ties, he finally beats the other with scissors. He pumps his balled fists into the air and laughs. His hair falls over his shoulders when he throws his head back.

He looks beautiful.

Maybe you were succumbing to the greed of this desire to be near him. So what if he was a Slytherin? He could be a Hufflepuff and no one would care if you two began seeing each other as more than friends. So why should anyone care if he's a Slytherin?

Jisung presses the tip of his wand against your cheek. "Hello?"

You hastily turn back to him, nearly redirecting his wand into your iris. He flinches back. "Zoned out much?"

"Sorry," you mumble, peeling the wrapper from your muffin.

"It's all good. I was asking if you're coming to Hogsmeade with us this weekend."

You tilt your head, as if the answer is teetering to one side of your brain. "I don't know."

"Come on," Changbin whines. "You've been so disconnected from us recently."

"Plus," Jisung adds, "This is gonna be the last weekend until April."

It's October. You sigh. "Fine. I suppose I'll tag along. But you guys are paying for butterbeer."

You probably would have gone anyway, despite how little you showed interest. Hearing their pitiful whines was just too fun.

"Good. Invite your boyfriend," Changbin nods to Hyunjin, who is walking down the aisle to get breakfast. He marks your gaze, turning a bit to come talk to you. A heat jumps to your chest, slowly rising to your face as he claims the seat beside you.

"Hi," he simpers, his eyes squinted and his teeth glimmering beneath the drowning sunlight.

"Hi," you return the expression. Not because you have to out of politeness, no, but because it's so hard not to.

"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" he asks, the smile quickly dissipating when he realizes Changbin is just over your shoulder. Eyes of a hawk, that one has.

You open your mouth to speak, but Changbin has already gathered his words. "Yes. They're coming with us."

You thrust your elbow back, nailing right between his ribs. He wheezes, doubling over. "Yeah, I'm going," you tell Hyunjin.

"Good. Meet me at the sweet shop around one," he pauses, turning to Jisung, "I won't keep them long. Promise."

Jisung shakes a free hand as he pools oatmeal onto his spoon, "No, it's fine. Take as long as you need."

Hyunjin smiles. "Nice. Okay, I'll see you later," he stands, patting your shoulder as he walks by.

"What a nice guy," Changbin manages with a smile, though he's still clutching his chest.

xiii.

His gaze is tilted upward as he watches the chocolate dragonflies dart to and fro across the ceiling. There's the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lip. It twitches ever so slightly when a dragonfly threatens to sit on his nose.

"Hey," you greet. He jumps a little, turning to you. The chocolate bug has vanished, fluttering up to its haven.

"Oh, hi. I didn't think you'd get here so quick," he laughs.

You glance at your wrist. "It's 1:05."

He shrugs. "Aren't Gryffindors normally late?"

"Aren't Slytherins not the type to wait around for a Gryffindor?" you retaliate.

He nods, pointing a finger at you as his eyebrows furrow. "Touche."

He buys you a chocolate frog, despite your complaints that you could pay for your own. "No, no, it's on me," he insisted, shoving his money into the cashier's palm before you can say much else.

You perch atop floating stools, staring at him as he tries to wrangle his frog. His mouth hangs open with anticipation as he tries to guide it there. There's a tug at your chest that compels you to smile.

"So why'd you want to meet with me? I thought you were still in your sulky phase," you tease.

He looks up at you. There's a film of innocence to them. For a moment, you forget his reputation. He blinks, summoning a twinkle to the corner of his right eye. "I wanted to ask you for some advice," he finally says, rather confidently. His posture straightens and a cocky smile finds his lips. The Hyunjin you know.

"You didn't knock a girl up, did you? Because I will not be helping you get out of that one. You may be cool, but not that cool," you ramble.

His frog jumps from his palm, hopping away into the niche of chocolate animals with a poised ribbit. Hyunjin rolls his eyes, though a contradicting smile forms. "I was looking for this spell."

You lean closer, interested. "And? Which one?"

"Amortentia."

You pull back. That's a love potion. "Why would you need that?"

He sucks air in through his teeth, glancing away as he informs, "Well, I wanted to use it on you, but I thought maybe it's best not to drug you."

You laugh despite the thundering of your chest. Your fingers find the corner of a Wizard

Card, routinely picking at it to distract yourself. Hesitantly, you mumble,"What are you trying to say here?"

"God, Gryffindors are so dense," he throws his head back, a bubbling laugh bursting into

the air.

"No, I just want to hear you say it."

He groans, gaze slipping back to yours, "I like you a little bit."

"A little bit?" you challenge, recalling his fit in the Slytherin common room.

Hyunjin rests his arms on the table as he leans closer to you, your noses nearly touching. "It sounds like someone told you something. You don't seem very surprised," he hesitates before adding a quiet, "or appalled."

His lips are so close to yours. You can smell his green apple chapstick. You find yourself at a loss for words, for his lips keep your gaze. Oh, what the hell. You close the gap between you, allowing your lips to mingle for a few seconds before pulling away. There's a small giggle to your words as you say, "You're not good at hiding your emotions, Hwang Hyunjin. Aren't Slytherins supposed to be good at stuff like that?"

He scoffs. "Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be noble? You snuck into the Slytherin common room!"

"How'd you know?"

He chuckles, "Your shoulder kinda slipped out of the cloak."

This takes a minute to process. It seems like your usage of the invisibility cloak will now be put on hold. You can only look at the oak table, lips pursed in a disappointing defeat.

You rotate your ankles in small circles when you remember. "Hey, by the way, why was my ankle all messed up? You never answered my letter."

"Seungmin came in," he grabs your hand. "But when I was carrying you back to the castle I may have been a little careless and let your ankle run through a bush of thorns."

You smack his arm with your free hand, mouth agape. "You what?"

"It was an accident! I'll make it up to you," he promises.

"How so?"

He draws your lips to his for a quick peck. "What do you want?"

You think, squinting. "Hmm. I can get anything?"

"Within reason," he declares. "I'm not buying you a unicorn or anything."

You shake your head, for what you want is much more simple. "Can we go on cute dates?"

He hums, interlacing your fingers. "Of course."

"Oh! And we have to go to the Yule Ball together-"

"Sure."

"But we're wearing Gryffindor colors."

He drops your hand, pulling away as if your fingertips scalded him. "Absolutely not."

"C'mon, you owe me."

"Not that much. Your ankle will heal. My pride, however, will not."

You sigh. "Fine, we can settle for non-house colors."

"Deal."

xiv.

"I saw him playing with your fingers," Changbin shakes you vehemently after you sit down at the dining table.

"Why won't you let this go?" you ask.

"Well, you see, when a guy who traditionally hates someone randomly asks them to hang out, their friends should be a little concerned."

You look to Jisung, who is more interested in his soup. "Did you watch us too?" you ask.

He barely looks up. "No, I was at the book shop—I think."

You turn back to Changbin, though he's already shaking his hands in defense. "No, the difference between me and Jisung is-"

"That Jisung's smarter than you?" Hyunjin appears, sitting on the bench beside you.

"Yeah, I think it's that," you nod, sharing his smirked gaze.

"No," Changbin defends, "Jisung is only concerned for physical wellbeing after the fact. I care prior to the event happening."

"If we all lived your way, we'd be sheltered," Jisung adds, twirling his spoon.

They dive into a heated discussion bordering an argument. Hyunjin wraps his arm around you, and the sounds of Changbin whining fades to black. You look up at him, "Shouldn't you be sitting with Seungmin?"

He shakes his head. "I got banished for talking too much about you."

You roll your eyes. "Don't sacrifice your friends because of me."

"Hey, you're the one who makes me this way. If I could not be 'Y/N would like this' every time I saw anything that even remotely reminded me of you, trust me, I would."

"Do you really do that?"

"Any time I see flowers," he sheepishly admits. He catches glimpses of the flower beds every day, nearly four times. Sometimes five if he sneaks out to see you.

You chuckle. "Just say you're in love with me, geez."

"I don't want to inflate your ego," he kisses your temple.

A stray comment from Changbin floats into your bubble, "Gross!"

"Speaking of egos, do you have your suit for the ball?" you ask, pushing your spoon into the sea of spinach and kale.

"I guess I should tell my mom about that," he mumbles.

"Hyunjin! The ball is in a week!"

"Yeah, and I also need to tell her we're dating," he laughs dryly, suddenly absorbed with something down the aisle.

You shrug his arm off of your shoulder. "What? It's been nearly a month!"

He looks back at you as if you're arguing over spilled milk. "Life at the Hwangs is very hectic, okay?"

"He's lying," Changbin says. "They only see each other, pay the kids, and leave."

Hyunjin looks ready to punch the sly grin off of his face. Instead, he pats your thigh. "I'll call her tonight."

xv.

He calls to you from across the bustling room. You stand in awe as your eyes lay upon the black velvet of his blazer. In the chest pocket is a red and gold handkerchief, folded to perfection.

"You look great," he simpers, eyes slipping from your exposed collarbone down to the dark green fabric that expands out from your blanketed feet.

He wraps an arm around your waist, whispering, "You're wearing my color."

Butterflies take reign over your stomach, swarming out in packs. You grow shy as he pulls away.

"You look stunning," he presses a soft kiss on your lips.

He drags you over to Seungmin, who chats with Minho in carefully structured quips.

Seungmin takes a long look at your gown, smiling as he comments, "Slytherin colors."

"You know," Hyunjin turns to you, "I was going to get a red suit but they were incredibly ugly so I'm settling for a handkerchief."

You smile up at him, "It's okay, the sentiment is there."

Minho dismisses himself when he spots a cat swaying between dancing feet. Its eyes are wide with fright as it stares up at the unfamiliar faces in search of its owner. Seungmin smiles fondly as he watches the boy pick up the cat, delicately taking it out of the room.

"Where are Thing One and Thing Two?" Hyunjin inquires, leaning against the bar.

You scan the hall. "I'm not sure. Changbin said he'd be here. Jisung might skip out."

Seungmin laughs unexpectedly, receiving a few confused glares in return. He soon clarifies after taking a sip of water, "I was thinking about Changbin having a date. Weird."

He certainly doesn't have a date. When he arrives, the ball is nearly over and his tie is messily made up.

"Did you get dressed in the dark?" Seungmin stares as he approaches.

"Yes, actually. Long story."

A slower song comes on. It's a change in scenery from the previous publike songs. Hyunjin offers you his hand, dramatically asking, "May I have this dance?"

Your hand slips into his, "You may."

He guides you to an empty spot near the edges of the dance crowd, swiftly tucking his arms around your waist. You nestle yours around his neck. For a few seconds, you stare into his big brown eyes, watching as the twinkle shifts in the light. You fight a smile.

"What's the smile for?"

"Nothing," you say, pressing your cheek to his chest so you can grin in peace.

He sighs, though a vibration in his chest tells you he's also laughing. "I know we tease each other a lot, but I love you."

Your heart skips a beat and your breath clogs up in your throat, though your smile never falters. Each day that has passed, it has grown harder to fight saying those words. When you return them, you feel lighter. As though you have relinquished thirty pounds from your shoulders.

"Don't tell anyone I'm getting sappy with a Gryffindor," he fake gags.

"Same to you, snake."

You smile in these moments. With music guiding your feet and a boy who warms your heart, despite his stereotypically shivering attributes. He rests his chin atop your head as he repeats those cursed words, grounding you with him more and more each time. He's yours. And you're his.

Perhaps it's always been that way.

#bandaigaeru #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin skz #hyunjin stray kids #stray kids imagine #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin au #skz au #stray kids au #skz imagine #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids hyunjin #skz hyunjin #slytherin hyunjin

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anlian-aishang · 4 years ago

Text

I realized that in times of stress, I get this crazy unrelenting impulse to write about spanking & fucking the hell out of Levi >> so here it is.

Word count: 3500 Tags: levi x reader, smut, bondage, spanking, rough sex, sub!Levi, femdom!reader

Eyes stung. Tears fell down his face.

Skin broken. Cheeks stung red.

Throat sore. Saliva pooled onto the sheets.

It was a promise he swore by - to live with no regrets. Each time that he peeked past squinted eyes, taking in the sight of his lover revived, served as a reaffirmation: he would never regret submitting himself to you.

// // //

You were tired of feeling this way. He was tired of seeing you this way. Coming home late every night, and even then, you would still stay up and work. It was the end-of-quarter crunch, so the end was in sight, but these days, it was hard to remember that. You needed a reprieve and he knew just the thing.

Laid out on the sofa, head and feet on the armrests, your laptop was propped on your stomach with 25 open tabs. From the moment you kicked off your heels and opened up the computer, your eyes had not left the screen since. There was one man, however, who could always garner your attention.

Levi propped his hands on the couch, one at each side of your head. Bangs cast a brief shadow over your face, pupils dilating in response, just before he leaned down and pressed his soft lips to your ear.

“I‘d do anything to make you feel better, you know.”

You turned over your shoulder, meeting his eye contact. The first glint, the first smile he had seen from you in a while, “Anything?”

A weak, knowing look singed those steel-grey eyes. When he said anything, he knew the extent that you would take it to. However, if it meant that he could see the old you again - free and happy - he would do, “Anything.”

// // //

How wrapped up you had been in work, how plagued your mind was with deadlines and drafts, he never could have predicted how rapidly things would escalate. Before he knew it, his ankles were tied by those stretchy black ropes, binding him to the bedrail. Wrists were in those cold metal handcuffs, linking him to the bars of the headboard above him. You had yanked those sable nylons as high as you could, strappy suspenders holding them to the matching thong that hugged his hips. Finally, the collar at his neck served as a visual reminder to you, a tangible reminder to himself, he was all yours always, especially here and now.

The bondage at his legs, wrists, upper thighs, and neck had all of him constricted. Tightly you had adorned him - a carefully conscious choice for your good boy. The slightest restriction of blood flow could likewise make the slightest of touches feel that much more intense. The red imprints that would last till morning looked like a punishment, but were in fact a reward. Hyper-sensitivity was fun for him - watching him go through it even more fun for you.

Evident already. Before you had even gotten started, he was panting, stuttering, “D-Do you like it, miss?”

A different glimmer lit your gaze, another one he had not seen in a while. The peak in his pants made his underwear adorably futile. Plenty of shame but no secret lay underneath. At the waistband, even, he spilled over. The first dribbles of precum dripped down, staining the black garment white.

You licked your lips and snarled, “I do, Levi.” Hand reached out and palmed him over the thin fabric. Twitches and moans below you made you laugh in repetition, “I do.”

Fingers trailed from between his legs, over his bulge, and up his abdomen, resting momentarily at his neck. Sharp nail outlined the square made by his clavicle, chest, and nipple - hardened perk contrast to the soft of your fingertip. A few circles around his bud drew more of those whines - the purest form of music to your ears.

“I like the way you sound too, darling.”

He grit his teeth, shuddering, “Th-Thank you.”

Knee then palms on the mattress, you crawled on all fours until hovering over his body. Teeth grazed his ribs. Gaze lifted to meet his. Tongue swiped the line that divided his middle before speaking against his navel, “Are you ready, baby?”

The setup alone had been a test: bondage from head to toe, his arousal already aching. I’ve been ready all along, but now…

“Yes, mistress.” Toes curled, back arched, fingers grappled with the chains. “Please,” he whined, “have your way with me.”

// // //

The choice to forsake the blindfold was a deliberate one. Anxiety, arousal, and anticipation made those silver eyes all the more enticing.

Lingering above him, you took your time in drinking up his sight. The more you looked, the more you adored. The divots in his wrists were pronounced, strained by their elevation. A twitching quiver in his lip, begging to be kissed. In the low light of the room, bright was the pink that tinged his face, chest, and tip. If you had more patience, you would have stared and denied him for hours, but it had been a trying week.

“Turn over for me, Levi.”

Just enough leeway in the loops around his ankles, he was able to rotate them and himself so that his face was down and his ass up. Looking over his shoulder, concerned arch in his brows asked, Is this good?

You crossed your arms, scraping over the buttons of your blouse, “Higher.”

A hint of a whimper as he arched his back and straightened his quads. “Is this okay?”

“Mmm,” a satisfied sigh quelled by a lick of your lips. Fingernail traced his spine, dwindling at the small of his back, “much better, baby.”

You always thought it adorable, the way that a single touch of yours could change him so completely. As much as he had tried to perch himself up for you earlier, he reached an even higher level unintentionally. The sensation you gave him making him rise on instinct.

And with that lift, the dark fabric - perfect opposite to his light composition - riddled his curves. Stretched between his legs, barely covering what there was to be seen. Thin strip separated his cheeks, blanketed his sack, and outlined the length of his cock. A facade of innocence. You admired, “So cute…”

You reached under his hips and between his thighs. Four fingers kneaded his shaft as thumb circled the base. With each repeat, your digits crept further and further underneath the cotton thong. The hold you had on him increasingly more direct. Again, you chuckled: his inadvertent thrusts making his behind stick up even more.

His neck bent forward in tire, mouth muffling into the pillow, “N’Nghh…”

“Hmm?” The smirk across your lips was audible, “What was that?”

Your pumps intensified and accelerated, making his gasps do the same. His low voice frantically heightening, you cooed, “You okay?”

Incoherent sentiment snuck past clenched teeth, “T… Ti…”

“Use your words, Levi.”

“Tight…!” Surging in your hand, “It’s - you’re...!” He whined, “Too tight...”

You snickered. Was he talking about the binding briefs, the bondage on his body, or the grip you had on him? So pathetic. Such a good boy. Offering himself to you like this, you decided that he had earned a reward. With a final oscillation, one that nearly sent him over the edge, you released his member. Fingers were then quick but tantalizing in curling over his waistband and yanking it to his knees, freeing him from the cotton confines. Apart from the socks that reached his thighs and the links that bound him to the bed, he was now completely bare - how you liked him best.

A solid erection was coated in his own anticipation, leaking from the sensitive tip. A toothy grin as you watched the drops drip down his length, onto his knees, and at last making a puddle on the sheets. Though you loved it, messes simply had to be punished.

For a second, you thought about the toys - hidden but glaring - in the second drawer of your nightstand. The array of paddles, the nipple clamps, the slew of other tools. There was something about tonight, though. You needed to work him with your own two hands.

You pressed your front to his back. Breasts pillows to his shoulder blades. Right hand rubbed his right cheek as your left hand looped around his left side, fingers diving past his lips and down his throat. First was the gag - reflex. Second was the sucking - instinct. Nose in his undercut. Lips at his nape. You whispered against him, sending shivers down his spine - ones you felt at your front. “You’re a hot little mess, you know that?”

Mouth made an O around your digits, tongue swirling between them, “Mhm…”

“Just look at you - dripping all over yourself, the sheets, and that nice little set of undies I bought you.”

At your ridicule, his jaw fell, light pants falling on your soaked fingers.

You’ve been so good for me so far, but “you just can’t help yourself sometimes, huh?”

“N-Not around you.” You felt the first of many hot tears spill down to your knuckle. Humiliated, embarrassed, but most of all - yearning. That gentle caress of your right hand on his butt, he wanted its opposite so so bad.

Your fingers in his mouth - he could taste it. The sudden shift in your motion - he could feel it.

In a split second, you yanked your hand out of his mouth and threw it into his locks. The moment your fist formed and pulled his hair was the same moment that your other hand lifted and plummeted. A harsh slap bouncing off the walls.

The scream that followed made it clear just how much whiplash you had put him through - and you chased it. Again. Again. Again. Fingers massaged his temples and nodes before squeezing his bangs and yanking his head back towards you. Palm whipped again, the arc in your hand shaped to match his curve entirely. Stimulation at his top and bottom was simultaneous. This dire combination a surefire way to draw the purest of filthy moans.

“How are you liking this, honey?”

Once again, he used his ears over his eyes to deduce your happiness. That was what he liked the most. The violent spanking a close second. “I -”

You cut him off with another hit, turning his I into an Aye! Instilled in him, though, was the need to talk through it, “I - I like it!”

An eyebrow raise, “Like it?” Another spank. “I was hoping you’d love it.” Or hate it.

The next hit hard - hard as you could - and he could tell. Across both cheeks, deliberate contact with the space between them made the inhale catch in his throat, made him choke and cough so hard that the veins in his neck protruded, made saliva splash out of his mouth and onto the pillowcase, toning it two shades darker.

“I … I … !” Struggling, to say the least. Examining, your gaze descended from his shaking body down to the bed beneath you both. Larger were the puddles of his tears and spit, now both helplessly streaming from his flushed face.

It was then that you noticed the red’s permanence: long after your hand left, the imprint was still there straight across his pale behind - color intensifying by the second. It gave you no qualms, though, only further drive. Just how red can I make him?

Hands snapped to the sides of his hips, squeezing so hard that his skin turned white, acting as leverage as you brought yourself down and down his body.

Skin red as an apple. Ass thick like a cake.

What if I took a bite?

It started with a nuzzle - your cheek against his. Then you turned your face into him. A kiss. A lick. A bite.

Blood ran hot. A sting he was used to feeling anywhere but there. For a second, his veil of submission tore and revealed the man underneath. “Ahh!! What the - ?!” He flung his gaze backward, “What the hell?!”

“Relax, baby.” A light, reminding spank. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.” Two strokes of his length quelled his worries, or at least distracted him from them. “I know you can do it. For me. Right, Levi?”

Gritting his teeth, he felt that sheath begin to drape back over him. Anything for you, even if it meant something new.

That’s what I thought, you nodded against him. An endearing layer of sweat, those neverending sighs, he was nothing short of a treasure and you wanted to make him feel like one - no matter how twisted the way.

Jaw opened and snapped shut, taking another bite of his cheeks. Levi winced, confused and conflicted by this new sensation. Just when he thought you two had tried everything, here you were now: him tied up and on all fours, you kneeling behind him and nibbling his ass.

Widening your gaze, peripheral vision could not help but notice the reaction down below. His precum was completely out of control now - his entire length glistening in the clear fluid. With each and every touch, his member reacted with a twitch or a thrust. All controlled movements you made met with an equal and opposite reaction.

Teeth sunk in again, nearly touching each other as you teased, “You like this, Levi?”

It was already so evident: the way he gripped the chains in desperation, the way his shoulders knit together, the way his neck tremored. He hated to admit it. At the same time, he could not help it. “I love it.”

// // //

It went on for some time. Spanking. Biting. Spanking. Biting. Occasional breaks with kind strokes of his cock only when you sensed his need for a reprieve. Just when he was about to catch his breath was always the moment you returned to the pattern, pausing only when he neared his limit.

There was a certain aspect to it, though: these intermissions were all temporary. If his fucked-out and deprived state told you anything, it was that the end - the finish - was a deep desire, one that was growing by the second.

He was never one to complain, though. As he had promised, he offered himself up to you completely. It was your own inference - your own undertaking as a dom - to read him like the back of your hand. “Levi, baby…” you kissed his neck - his absolute favorite, “are you ready to cum for me?”

For the first time all night, it was him who caught you by surprise. You expected his typical yes, please, if you’ll let me, but what he managed instead made your heart skip a beat, “Will it make you feel better?”

Wh… What was that? You gave him some backrubs, silently coercing an elaboration.

Overstimulated beyond belief: strung out was his temperament, strung together was his sentence. “I - I just…” he swallowed, “I just want to make you happy.”

The night you had put him through, the punishments he had taken, everything that he had submit to you came with a clear objective in mind. All of this all for you. “If I cum, will you… will that…” he panted, “will that make you ha-” a cough interrupted, “happy?”

What was more pathetic? The way he sounded or the way he looked? Maybe it was neither his sentiment or his sight. Maybe it was how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger. That was the pathetic part.

But it just so happened: pathetic was your favorite look on him.

You smiled, feeling your own tears start to well. No one loved you like he did. No one loved him like you did. Special was your relationship. Unique were the feelings you had for and gave one another.

Gently, your hands caressed his sides and flipped him back over, forcing him to face you. Sweat encased his bangs. Tear streaks painted his face. A blush reminiscent of a fever had warmed from forehead to chin. There’s my Levi.

Carefully, you crawled up his body until your lips landed at his. A long-awaited kiss for both of you - his tongue a hot contrast to your cool. When you departed, a clear string trailed, leaving you two connected until gravity lowered it down to his sternum.

Against his jawline, you whispered, “Levi?”

His chest rose and fell with rapid yet heavy breaths, “Yeah?”

“To watch you -” you corrected yourself, “to make you cum.” A smile from ear to ear, “Nothing would delight me more.”

// // //

Never before had you been more excited to step into that harness. Adorning it, you picked out the longest one, the hot pink one, the one with the remote control that he always seemed to forget about.

Grip wrapped around his member. A calculated pull brought the remnants of his arousal to your strap-on. You smirked, satisfied. Coincidence or not, how much he leaked earlier made no need for lube now.

A few preliminary strokes coated your 8 inches of silicone. With an exchange of glances, it was communicated just how wanted this was - just how ready you both were. Restrained as he was, he used all he had to pull himself towards you, lift his hips high, and wrap his ankles around the back of your neck. The look in his eyes just begged to be fucked. At a time like this, the last thing you wanted to do was make him wait.

In fact, the exact opposite.

“I’m gonna make you cum, Levi.” While his eyes widened, yours narrowed, “hard and fast.”

A tried rasp in his throat, his voice broke past it, “Please, master…” from head to toe, he was utterly helpless, “fuck me…”

Unplanned was the repetition of his words. With a thrust and a reception that had been built up for hours, you plummeted past his ridges. Reaching all the way back drew out those same two words, “H’ah!! Fuck…” he whined, “Fuck me!!”

You were out of dirty talk, chastises, and insults, but sometimes, it was actually for the best. Perhaps more humiliating than any words you could hurl were the sounds of his own vulnerability echoing throughout the room. He was a little bitch - your little bitch - it was his own high-pitched noises that reminded him the most.

If not that, then the pleasure you provided. His own reach, the solo sex toys, certainly no one else on earth could make him feel the way you made him feel. Those perfectly paced jolts, the alteration of half to full pushes and pulls, the times that you waned and the times that you rammed. He deemed it nothing short of incredible - the way that you could surprise him after the countless nights you had spent together.

How you fucked him only forced him closer and closer to the edge - dangerously close to teetering over. You could see the waves ripple from his heart and lungs, chest and abdomen, to v and erection where it all peaked. That slight part in his lips, the acceleration in his breathing, you loved it all so much. It was a split-second thought: even if he was not all dressed up in your bondage, the signs of his approaching climax would be enough to feast your eyes.

“Levi, honey,” you sighed, a meek breathlessness audible in even your voice, “You remember what you say when you’re about to cum?”

Your fucks amplified with haste. Intentionally or not, neither of you could tell. With each draw out and drive in, the signs of his submission exaggerated. Muscles spasming, sex throbbing, his entirety pleading, Being his dom, it was only natural that you would chase those signs consciously or not. It was all so cyclical - beautifully cyclical.

His writhing and whimpering gave you no pause. You fucked him harder, faster, just as you had promised. 180s were your specialty. Hours of foreplay and teasing, overstimulation and denial, were followed by an orgasm that was earned in a matter of minutes.

Finally, it was that telltale sky-high pitch in his voice that did as he was told - telling you, “Please.” Levi whimpered, “Please watch me as I cum!”

Fingers dove into his hair, tousling his locks. The motion and words that made him see stars, "Always, Levi."

His back arched. Dick surged. Thunder followed lightning. Sound followed sight. It was why his orgasms were always freaks of nature, the symphony of his pants and moans always preceding the cum that shot all over his own front - reaching from neck to navel. You could watch the miracle over and over.

It was a high he rode for an eternity and then some. Each pulse of pleasure was a test and reward in itself. He had waited for this so long, tried so hard to earn it. Still, every rhythm thought to be the last he could handle was followed by another even more intense than the one before. Your handling of him had left him a crying, stuttering, convulsing mess. A beautiful disaster you could never get enough of.

In a post-coital clarity, it was obvious to you and him both: if this was what it took to make you happy, he would offer himself up again and again.

// masterlist //

#levi #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #my writing #anlian writes #alias's #smut #oneshot #2021 #spice rack

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tobiosmilktea · 4 years ago

Text

umpah umpah! smau

↪︎ bokuto x f!reader x iwaizumi

[021] — like a storm!

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: swear my writing hasn’t been that good recently and i blame it on my lack of freetime 😔 anyway here’s 4.5k words of trashy word dump that i wrote in 2 hours ;)) also peep the tlc reference

in theory, this picnic blanket was much too small for the likes of fitting a webtoon author, an editor, and a beefy volleyball player all at once, and yet, it still managed to fit two more to come join—tightly bunched up in the park at night as the crisp air temperature slowly drops. having a picnic at the cusp of autumn and winter was a definite mistake, but then again, perhaps they were used to it by now.

it wasn’t like the cold was bothering bokuto at this point anyway as his blood simmered with a boiling hot ichor. he had a death grip on his phone as satomi left him on read. all the volleyball player could do was roll his eyes and scoff as he taps your shoulder. akaashi, who sat on the other side of you was in the midst of speaking to you, yet was interrupted by the bright white light from the screen shone across your faces.

your eyes scanned the texts, feeling your lungs desperately yearning for air. her words suffocated you, crushing your airways as you struggled to breathe. perhaps you have forgotten how to at that very moment. they say it takes about three minutes for someone to suffocate from the lack of oxygen and if akaashi didn’t shake you, that probably would have been you. the fact that seeing that damn photo made your heart shatter more times than you could count over a course of the past few days. you couldn’t catch a fucking break, could you?

you had to look away. if you had stared at satomi in iwaizumi’s bed any longer, you would’ve screamed your head off.

“god, these cookies are so fucking good. i would literally marry these if i could,” kaori moaned into another bite of a matcha shortbread cookie. she practically threw herself over yuko’s lap as she reached in her little baggie for more. “these cookies are a godsend, (y/n), where did you get them?”

“this bakery right next to onigiri miya, apparently they make good lemon macarons as well.” you mutter. the semblance of seeing those texts was still evident upon your expression.

yuko doesn’t fail to notice the way the timbre of your voice had changed within a sudden moment. she gives you a look, “what’s wrong?” her words, careful and genuine filled you with something somber as bokuto handed his phone to her.

kaori grunts slightly as she lifts herself off of yuko, yet her body was still leaned over to skim the texts along with her.

it was a nervous habit of yours to fiddle with your fingers, picking and scratching at your chipped nail polish until it was all gone. you don’t remember when this became a habit, but you always did this whilst you waited for something you dreaded to hear the answer to. as if the nerves within you pooled into a wave, crashing back and forth like a tide until you either get dragged along with it or somehow manage to survive.

their expressions contorted into a nasty mixture of disgust and absolute horror. even kaori who has seen the despicable sweet-tongued manipulations of nicotine-stained fingers of incels had to shake her head and push the phone away.

“i never liked that girl from the start,” yuko scoffs. she hands the phone back to bokuto, watching him switch it off and dropping it onto the cushioned picnic blanket in annoyance.

“god, the amount of anger coursing through my body right now...” muttered bokuto, “i can’t believe she would do this.”

“at least she didn’t do anything to iwaizumi,” akaashi tried to reason. things were already so messed up, it was the least he could do.

kaori shakes her head, clearing her throat from the dryness of the shortbread cookie. “doesn’t matter,” her words were venomous and cutthroat, “she’s still a terrible person considering she got him drunk and made him tell her shit that wasn’t any of her business. what a fucking snake.”

you pursed your lips slightly, wanting to close your eyes and make this all disappear the moment you wake up. the chill of the night air had finally struck you. it was that sudden urge to run away as fast as possible, to escape the words you wholeheartedly wanted to leave behind continued to follow you like haunting poltergeists. and as if the tingling phrases of whispered memoirs of your mistakes weren’t enough, your own decisions whether it was right or wrong lingered back to both iwaizumi and bokuto. it’s heavy baggage you so dearly wanted to get rid of, but the solutions seemed so skewed and out of place for you to comprehend properly that even the chill in the air started to burn.

bokuto glanced at you with worry coated the emotions in his eyes. his hand reached for yours, lacing his fingers through your own as his palm—though rough and calloused—was warm against the biting cold of your hand. it comforted you more than you had expected with the way it was hidden from the others, almost melting when bokuto started to rub his thumb in little circles on the back of your hand and over your knuckles.

your hands were so soft, he had forgotten how much he liked holding them. he could memorize each and every detail just by admiring the way your hand looked so tiny next to his, yet they fit together like a glove.

you swore your heart was ready to jump out of your throat then. you weren’t sure if bokuto could even feel the way you squeezed his hand slightly as a silent answer.

��we should do something about it,” you say after a few beats of silence had passed, but it only comes out in a hushed mutter.

bokuto squeezed back, “like what?”

“i don’t really know,” you shrug while you shook your head, “just something that’ll make her learn a lesson or two.”

kaori gasps, “we should sue her!”

you and the others gave her a look.

“like seriously, sexual assault allegations are terrible especially since she’s a famous sports team’s physical therapist!”

“there probably isn’t enough evidence for that to work, kaori, considering they only made out.” yuko says matter-of-factly, “besides, suing someone is expensive and we don’t have that kind of budget right now.”

kaori braids over arms over each other in disappointment, “that’s lame.”

“yuko’s right.” you sighed, “i don’t want things to get out of hand and end up going public either. iwaizumi is already mad at the fact that i used him for a webtoon and surely being part of a lawsuit would only make it worse.”

it had come to a point that you had noticed how far everything has come. you wanted to laugh at how fast everything went downhill within a matter of months. the skeleton of your mistakes was just waiting for its last bits to fall and crush you.

there had to be a way to just make this—whatever this entire thing is to just end already.

akaashi opened his mouth to speak after keeping his thoughts to himself this entire time, “what if we just... get her fired?” he finished the last of his words in a blazing hesitance as if we would absolutely hate the idea. granted, it wasn’t much to work off of just by a simple proposal, but it had potential.

“we could, but how exactly are we going to do that?” bokuto asks curiously.

“didn’t you say that tomas recently got injured?” akaashi starts, earning a nod from bokuto to have him continue, “well if we want to be discrete as possible we could do it the old-fashioned way.”

yuko furrowed her brows as she asked, “which is?”

“if she keeps missing work or arriving late, she could potentially lose her job.”

kaori bursts out laughing, heaving a heavy snort as she mused at akaashi, “seriously? is that really our best option?”

akaashi rolled his eyes as she teases, “since you wanted to go the legal route, technically, it is.”

the girl’s laughter came to a slow cease, cocking her head in interest as she waited for one of them to elaborate.

“no yeah, there’s still a chance for this to actually work.” bokuto starts without a second thought. hell, he even forgot he was still holding your hand. “professional sports teams require their medical team to be at every game whether it’s real or just practice since the players are always at risk of getting injured. satomi’s known to be good at being there every day on time, so if yoji and their boss sees that she’s consistently missing work now for... let’s say—iwaizumi—and tomas isn’t getting treated asap, they’re allowed to replace her. and if you’re replaced, there’s basically no going back even if it is just temporary. and if that happens...” he pauses as he holds back a smirk, “she’s going to be fined legally with negligence—worst-case scenario, she’ll probably be fined for nonfeasance too.”

“whoa there, those are some big words, sir.” says kaori, “someone catch me up here?”

akaashi lets out a sigh, “nonfeasance means failure to do what’s expected.”

the sound of awe left kaori as she nods in understanding.

“is this really necessary? it seems like a lot of work just to get back at her.” yuko has always been a rational person, just like akaashi, but the only difference between them was that she liked to do things the fastest and most easy way.

“if we play our cards right, i think we could do it.” says bokuto.

“then i think we need all the help we can get if we really want this to work out.” akaashi said, craning his neck towards you to ask, “should i tell semi and suga about it?”

it’s not even a question for you to answer considering how obvious the answer was. of course, you had to tell them. they basically knew everything already, and if anything they’re the only ones who could make this plan actually work.

“i can also tell my team about it to help.” bokuto adds in, but you cut him a look, “only atsumu, sakusa, hinata, and tomas of course. i promise i’ll only tell them what they need to know. what do you think?”

“as long as satomi gets what she deserves.”

you hated the way your thoughts were an endless motion of suffering. it had been keeping you awake all night as you tossed and turned. you couldn’t rest now as if a giant cinder block of forbidden serendipities would clash-boom-bang back onto you as it was being held by a teetering string of floss. it was bound to snap at any second. you yearned for even just a few minutes of rest as maybe these suffocating feelings would disappear once you woke up in the early morning.

it was still dark out—three a.m... maybe, but all you knew was that it was late and your flurrying thoughts were giving you so much residual energy that you needed to extrude. it wasn’t a form of adrenaline or a sugar rush, no, it was something else. your body was well beyond fatigued, but rather your mind was running like a brain on drugs.

there were so many things rushing through your head that it morphed into a jungle of tangled vines of plenty. it was a storming blizzard that couldn’t be calmed down as you finally pushed yourself off your bed, forcing your sheets off of you and sitting on the side of the matress. guilt was eating you alive, gnawing at your hollow chest as your semblance withered while the minutes passed. you just wanted for everything to just stop. please just stop.

maybe this is why you never told any of them. the stress, the consequences— you knew damn well that shit would hit the fan if you did, and yet it’s inevitable. the truth would have come out sooner or later.

ugh, why are you like this? you thought to yourself, dragging your fingers through your hair as you sighed out.

the answers were obvious, but it was the tingling of your lips that sent waves of heat to your cheeks as you recalled the kiss... the kiss! holy shit, the kiss. it hit you then when it played back in your head from a few hours ago when bokuto dropped you off at your door. something melted in bokuto’s eyes the moment you looked back at him, heat emanating from every inch of his skin as you tracked the tension in his body. he leaned over with his face just a few centimeters shy from yours and you swore he could probably hear your heart punching against your ribcage. bokuto could feel the warmth of your breath fanning against his chin and for a moment the world and all the problems in it seemed to disappear for a brief moment. before you knew it he kissed you gently as if it was his last. it certainly would be for a while, anyway.

“dammit,” you cursed in a harsh whisper, leaning over to switch on your bedside lamp in a swift flick.

you slapped your cheeks to force the thought out of your head as you made your way to your desk. you turned your desk lamp on with it’s bright yellow hue flickering slightly over your messy work area. it was scattered with paperwork and miscellaneous notes that it was surely beyond your mood to even fix-up.

usually, you tend to be pretty clean and organized with your desk space, and yet with recent events, you’ve been letting the work pile up instead. you’ve always liked the saying, this is something future (y/n) can deal with, but for once you hated yourself for it. besides, look where it got you.

a sigh escaped your lips when you plopped yourself upon your chair. your delicate fingers traced along the edges of the neatly bonded sheets of love cemetery’s storyboard. you started it earlier today with the help of the rest of the ddd team after the director of the project gave you the freedom to do so as usually, he would be in charge of making the storyboard and such. despite being rather chaotic on a daily basis, you were glad to be surrounded by people who always put a smile on your face while still getting work done. those were the best types of people to work with—friends that cared about you.

you guys managed to get the first fifteen pages done and you needed twenty completed panels in less than twenty-four hours. you were used to this type of pressure, especially while you were working on your webtoon. you were surprised how many times you sprained your hand from constantly working that the aching pain between your joints and your wrists were second nature at this point. surely, you would have carpal tunnel by now if akaashi wasn’t there to always nag you to take breaks.

with a few wrist stretches and cracks of your knuckles, you flipped to the next scene—the day you and bokuto met. your heart tugged slightly as you envisioned the scene you drew in your webtoon, slowly converting it into a movie scene in your head.

oh, how things have changed.

your hand ached for mercy by the time seven a.m. struck. the sun had already peeked through the horizon, sending rays of sunlight through the blinds of your bedroom window as a greeting for the new morning. you had been sketching out the storyboard for five nonstop hours (give or take a few minutes in between trying not to let the different events in the story get to you).

you’ve always had a strange habit of ignoring the pain in your wrist, but now it was certainly unbearable. the lead pencil that was hot to the touch from the heat from your hand dropped onto your desk in a clatter. your eyes flicked down to your palm as you could feel the fatigue darkening your eyebags. your hands were practically alabaster from the constant pressure that it took a good moment for the circulation to run back into your hand.

you left your bedroom and made your way to your kitchenette. it was like your body was moving on its own, grabbing a mug, turning on your kettle, and tossing teaspoons of sugar in your cup for your morning tea as if you were on autopilot.

silence had surrounded you for far too long, you needed some form of sound to keep you sane from staying up all night and leaving you alone with your thoughts to just take over. sounds from the television hummed through the quaint air of your apartment in the lowest possible volume, just beneath the whistling of the tea kettle atop your stove.

you poured out the boiling hot water as your eyes followed the way the tea steeped through the liquid like a spreading storm.

the doorbell rang then, causing your head to swirl towards your door with slight confusion filling your expression. who would even come by so early in the morning?

the floorboards of your apartment creaked at your light steps as you trod towards the door, almost flinching at the cold surface of the handle as you unlocked it. you pulled the door open. there was that infamous morning chill in the autumn air that bit at your bare arms and legs. the heat from your apartment escaped at the motion as your breath hitched within your throat.

he looked out of breath and filled with fearful tension as his broad shoulders relaxed a bit at your sight. his usual soft brown locks that are always styled was tangled and woven into each other like a basket weave. hell, he looked as if he rushed immediately here the moment he woke up, all disheveled and almost desperate. poor guy didn’t even think to put on a coat before coming.

what the hell is he doing here?

“iwa—?” you attempted to say out loud in a harsh whisper that could barely leave your body in the first place. and yet, your voice disappeared into his chest as he pulls you into him, warmth engulfing you like burning ember.

you swallowed the lump forming in your throat as you froze. call it shock or just plain confusion but you couldn’t bring yourself to move your arms from the way iwaizumi’s embrace trapped them to your sides. just the plain sensation of the heat rising from his skin was enough to simmer down your awe as you finally managed to wrap your arms around him.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters into your shoulder.

you captured your bottom lip between your teeth. “i’m sorry too,” you say in the same matter, yet your voice almost sounded hoarse from the dryness in your throat. “i should’ve told you the truth.”

“and i shouldn’t have said those things that i said to you...”

a response would usually follow right after, but you couldn’t piece together the correct words and all of the nuanced phrases in your head to say into the air. your thoughts were too far cluttered and chaotic to even say anything more other than, “it’s okay.”

iwaizumi could only pull you in closer, hold you tighter, and leave his arms around you as if he feared that you would disappear out of his reach if he were to let go even in the slightest. he made the mistake of letting you go that one night many years ago and he has learned his lesson since them. he’s not going to take any more chances.

you two have been in each other’s arms for a while now, but you couldn’t find the strength in you to let go. you haven’t felt iwaizumi’s hugs in so long that perhaps you wanted to savor it a bit longer as well. like a little treat—a reward of a few minutes of peace after a thunderstorm of misunderstanding where all that’s left is the aroma of lingering petrichor of bittersweet nothings. you would like to call this a small victory, but something was off.

“iwa,” you say once you finally pulled yourself into your senses, “what’s wrong?”

“i did something bad, (y/n). i fucked up.”

you pull away from him slightly, just enough to be able to look at him in the eye but still be in the comfort of his arms. “what happened?”

“i was so fucking stupid, i shouldn’t have agreed to go with satomi.” oh, you thought as the words left his mouth. you pursed your lips together, forcing yourself to lock your gaze onto him as he spoke. “i ended up getting drunk and telling her everything that happened by accident.”

it’s okay, i already know. i already know, i already know. the words rang inside your head as you fought to say the words, but nothing was coming out. you did nothing wrong, it’s okay, it’s okay. there was so much hurt and betrayal lacing iwaizumi’s copper eyes that you feared anything you say (regardless if it was in his favor) would obliterate everything that just happened into dust. seriously, how bad would it sound telling a person that you were already aware of what they did? iwaizumi already had so many trust issues that you were treading on thin ice right now.

it really all came down to the question: do what’s right or do what’s easy?

right or easy, right or easy?

for years you have been choosing the easy route to undermine your problems. you always thought to yourself, if you had ignored the problem long enough, eventually it’ll all go away. it might have worked for the tiniest of things, but you should’ve known it would never work when you were fucking up other people’s lives from your own selfishness.

you didn’t want to be selfish anymore.

“we ended up sleeping together.”

you scrunched your brows in confusion, “what?”

did satomi lie then? did they actually sleep together?

“i-i don’t even remember how it all happened!” iwaizumi exclaimed in such urgency. he certainly didn’t want to make the gap between you two any bigger, “all i remember was that we kissed but before i knew it, i woke up to her in my bed but she was fully clothed.”

you sigh with a huff, trying to piece together the disarrayed parts together as you recalled bokuto’s words from last night, satomi doesn’t lie when it comes to sleeping around. the sentence wandering your thoughts as the boy before you continue to ramble. so maybe satomi didn’t lie after all, “listen, iwa—”

“you gotta believe me, (y/n), i didn’t mean to do it. when i said that i still love you the last time we texted i meant it—”

“haji, i said listen!” you huffed as you grabbed his arm. the sudden name change was enough to shut him up and possibly cause a surging red tint to his ears. you found it adorable, but you had to cut him some slack since you hadn’t called him that since high school. “last night i was with akaashi and bokuto.”

iwaizumi was already making a face before you could even start. “why were you with them?”

“just hear me out okay?” you pleaded.

he saw the aggression in your eyes and immediately shut up, nodding for you to continue.

“while i was with them, satomi texted us about everything that happened. she said that you guys only made out and didn’t do anything beyond that.” you explain, watching the slight relief softening his expression, “she ended up just sleeping over instead that’s why she was in your bed.”

you didn’t expect him to say anything when you finished your thought. it was a lot to sudden comprehend as you two just stood there waiting, swallowed up in your own thoughts.

“don’t blame yourself, okay?” you attempted to break the silence, “what satomi did was wrong.”

iwaizumi’s wandering gaze flickered back to you, fist curling up into a tight ball until his knuckles turned marble white. but as quickly as he felt the aching of his nail digging into his palm did he let go and let his shoulders drop. he sighs while he ran his hand through his tangled hair. he didn’t know what to say and the silence was punishing.

you parted your lips slightly as the words tickled your tongue. “this, um, might be too much to ask and you don’t have to say yes, but we need your help with something.”

“who’s we?”

“bokuto, akaashi, kaori, and the rest of my team.” you answer truthfully, “we’re trying to get satomi to face the consequences.”

iwaizumi nods, not hesitating for a second. “alright, i’ll do it.”

well that was easier than you thought.

you held back an amused laugh, hiding your smile behind your hand as you pull away from him. you made your way back to your kitchen as you had forgotten about your cup of tea from earlier.

“but...” iwaizumi trailed behind you as you sipped from your mug. “i was the one who made a move on her first.”

“oh,” you say. you definitely didn’t know about that small detail that sent ivy-like jealousy through your veins, “i mean... you were drunk so it makes sense.” you tried to justify without making your envy too obvious.

you turned away from him, fearing that he could see right through you.

“i kissed her thinking it was you,” he states.

your eyes widen then, slapping your cheeks that heated by the second. there was a grip around your swiftly beating heart, aching within your ribcage as you attempted to calm the roaring serendipities that threatened to bloom prematurely.

a composed sigh leaves you as you pull yourself together, turning back around to face iwaizumi with a meek smile. “cool,” you mused awkwardly as your brain search rapidly for a way to change the subject. iwaizumi moved closer to you, sending you into a mild panic, “have you had breakfast yet?” you asked out of the blue.

but before you could even fathom what he was doing, he cups your face between his hands and pulls you in.

your heart flutters and stops when iwaizumi pressed his lips against yours, soft and delicate as if you were the most fragile thing within his grasp. and you were. his touch against your jaw was light as it trailed down your neck. he could feel the raging ichor that soared through your veins like a wildfire while your hand that was splayed against his broad chest could feel the thumping of his heart against your own palm.

you pull away from him as he says, “no, i haven’t.” but it wasn’t to let him answer, rather, it was the thought that iwaizumi came second place again.

fun facts! —

yes. y/n did kiss both bokuto and iwaizumi within a span of a couple hours 💀 queen shit fr

after iwaizumi left, y/n immediately facetimed kaori and akaashi and told them what happened

it was definitely awkward between bokuto and iwaizumi when they saw each other, but it was harder to avoid satomi

(also by saying “iwaizumi came second place” means who was able to kiss y/n first not who won her feelings over)

taglist: (closed!)

@moonlightaangel @elianetsantana @k4tiepie @memorableminds @wheeshllumi @suhkusa @kitsunetea @airybby @noeminemi @truly-a-snitch @keichan @cosmicmermaid25 @bap-kingdom @saturnfarie @kwdflash @ennos-baby @dinablossom @chrisrue15 @seikamuzu @nestlevanilla @chasekudo @yammmers @pixcldust @iwaizluv @h0ngh0ngh0ng @emogril @tiredandkindaoverworked @tsumue @underratedmage @bokutosuwus @kellesvt @unstableye @oh-tapeworm @scrappyfka @alittlebitofrain @mxngy @tpwkatsumu @atsumuwoah @macchiatoast @dicerawr @kageyamasbabygorl @some-random-stranger-007 @vhskenma @wntrmn @little-plants @stargirlara @kissungjae @je11yfishwriter @sbaepsae @apollochjld

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smau #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto scenarios #bokuto imagines #bokuto smau #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi imagines #iwaizumi smau

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amyscascadingtabs · 3 years ago

Text

don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you [chapter 1]

“Actually, I want to add one more rule.” “Yeah?” Jake leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and flexing his biceps through the green shirt with a smug grin. “You’re not allowed to fall in love with me.” "Won't be a problem."

Amy Santiago doesn't date cops. Jake Peralta's sworn never to date a lawyer again. When a couple of drinks and the returning of a borrowed shirt ends with the two of them in bed together, Amy decides to take control of the situation the best way she knows how: a comprehensive set of rules. There's just one little thing she hadn't anticipated – Jake Peralta is full of surprises.

Written for the B99 Summer 2021 Fic Exchange.

AO3 link // playlist

My contribution to this year’s fic exchange, for @fezzle! @b99fandomevents 💛

1. i never saw you coming (and i’ll never be the same)

He gets out of the car, and before Amy can gather the courage to shout after him, he’s disappeared from her sight.

She leans her forehead against the steering wheel, squeezing her fist and punching it in frustration. It doesn’t feel better, just makes her hand hurt. Amy pretends that’s what’s making her eyes tear up, and not the thought that she just screwed up her chances of ever seeing Jake Peralta again.

five months earlier.

The cop is five minutes late entering the courtroom, and Amy vows to dislike him from that point onward.

What's worse is that he doesn't seem ashamed. He simply gives Judge Stewart an apologetic grin, runs a hand through his already messy hair, and sits down on the bench next to the sergeant Amy recognizes as Terry Jeffords. Amy gives him a polite faked smile to tell him she's noted this presence and she's going to win this case, but the cop doesn't seem to notice the toxicity in her facial expression, because she gets another wide grin back. Judging from the colorful marks on his teeth, it looks like he had candy for breakfast – could it be gummy bears? Either way, Amy's respect for the man sinks even lower.

At least she won't have to worry about him, she tells herself. She already knows this case is about to be a win.

That is until it turns out this man has a reply for everything. She’d been certain the evidence against her client was circumstantial at best, nowhere near enough to get him convicted on, and the notes she’d gone through from the initial police questioning had lacked significant information. It had been nothing short of sloppy, and she’d entered the courthouse this morning filled with glowing confidence. That same confidence is now seeping away, dripping onto the polished floors of the courtroom in exchange for heated frustration as it turns out the detective – Jake Peralta, she learns – was present at the scene earlier than Amy had gathered, and from the vantage point he had, saw her client running from the corner store at full speed.

“Would you say it’s possible my client was running for a different reason?” She asks, staring coldly into the detective’s eyes as she speaks. “Such as exercising, perhaps?”

“Well, he was carrying a huge green backpack, identical to the one he was wearing when my partner Charles caught him ten minutes later. So, no,” he says, meeting her look with a smug smile of his own. “I would say that’s unlikely.”

“But not impossible?”

“Considering we also found the stolen goods in that same backpack, I’d say the chance is pretty solid it was him.”

“The bags couldn’t have been switched? Or, as my client claims, the goods couldn’t have been dropped in there by someone who wanted to get rid of them?”

“With all due respect,” says Jake Peralta, and the self-assuredness in his voice is enough for her to know the case is lost. “The streets were more crowded than a Taylor Swift concert, your honor. Someone would have seen something.”

It’s late Friday afternoon by the time Amy returns to the office of Newsom & Associates, but there’s still plenty of her coworkers left to watch as she throws her briefcase on top of the chair before closing the door to her office and digging out her pack of shame cigarettes from the bottom drawer of her desk. The only window in the room opens out to a back alley with trash cans and forgotten bikes, which is a drab view most of the time but comes in handy for secret shame-smoking. She closes her eyes and leans back against the wall, trying to savor the first inhale. She hates the habit and always tells herself she’s going to quit soon, but at times when work stresses her out like this, there’s no better fix. It’s all Jake Peralta’s fault, anyway. He’d waved at her when they’d left the courtroom, looking genuinely pleased to see her, and that had only worsened her frustration. It’s one thing being defeated – it’s worse when the winner acts like it wasn’t even a big deal.

“You should stop that.” The sound of Rosa’s voice appearing in the doorway to Amy’s office causes her to inhale too much smoke, coughing and tearing up as she hurries to extinguish the cigarette butt on the windowsill. “It’s gross.”

“I needed it,” Amy coughs again before drying her eyes with the sleeve of her blazer. “You should’ve been there. That fucking detective ruined my defense.”

“So? It happens. Doesn’t make you a bad lawyer. Stop pitying yourself.”

“You’re just saying that because you win nearly all your cases,” Amy mumbles. “And everyone’s terrified of you.”

Rosa does a little shrug, but Amy thinks she can spot the hint of a smile on her lips. She can’t be certain, though. Rosa almost never smiles, but that’s not nearly the most terrifying thing about her. She also rides her motorcycle to court and wears leather jackets and skin-tight black jeans to trials, and somehow no one's ever dared to police her on it. Amy once asked her out of curiosity if putting on a blazer would really hurt that much, and the stare she got back told her she’d be a fool to make that mistake again.

“Either way, it's not that. It was that cop who ruined everything. I mean, he showed up late, for god’s sake, with candy in his teeth and a wrinkled suit! But he somehow had an answer and explanation for everything,” Amy snorts. “And he smiled the whole time like he’d already won. And he referenced Taylor Swift! During the trial! Who does that?”

Rosa lets out a laugh. “You're a Swift hater? God, please don't tell me you took Kanye’s side too.”

“I didn't – that's beside the point!”

“Which is?”

“That he has zero respect for the sacred rules of a courtroom, and gets away with it all because of that super-charm smile.”

“Yeah, you mentioned the smile. Twice.”

“It was just so…” She clenches her fist until her red nails press into her palm to the point of pain, then releases it. “It's fine. I’ll win my next case, and there are lots of cops in New York. I probably won't ever see him again.”

Amy can barely hide her frustration in court the next week when she hears the doors open and looks up from the papers she was sorting, only to see Jake Peralta for the second time in her life. He’s on time today, which she supposes is progress, but there are stains on his shirt that seem to be coming from the can of orange soda he’s holding in his hand. She wonders if it's his breakfast. If that's his diet, he looks surprisingly fit in a grey suit for it.

He grins again when he sees her, raising his hand in a lazy wave. Amy gives him a forced smile, then returns to her papers. She’ll have to make sure to win this time.

But despite her confidence and very best efforts, she loses to Jake Peralta yet another time.

And another.

It's not that she's suddenly magically unlucky, because she still manages to win several other cases, but every time Jake Peralta shows up to testify, without fault, Amy loses.

It infuriates her.

The worst part is that Jake seems oblivious to her anger. He smiles at her every time they leave the courtroom, even though she returns them with little to no genuineness at all. She once spots him doing a childish victory gesture outside the courthouse, but he never once takes the opportunity to brag about his win to her face.

Aside from his surprisingly good manners when it comes to bragging, though, he's a mess. There's always some kind of stain on his shirt or his cheek that he seems unaware of, his ways of describing things involve one too many pop culture references for Amy’s liking, and she starts preparing to meet him every time a detective is five minutes late. She wonders if no one's ever told him how one is supposed to behave in a courtroom, but he’s usually accompanied by the precinct’s sergeant, so that seems unlikely. The more likely option, Amy figures, is that he just doesn't seem to find it that important; especially considering he seems to get away with it every single time.

She swears it's all because of that stupid infectious smile.

It pleases Amy to no end when she learns that Jake Peralta is going to be the witness in one of the strongest cases she’s had in a long while. The client was clearly acting in self-defense, she has a witness of her own who can testify to that, and although she knows that nothing is for certain until the verdict falls, she’s got a good feeling about this one. Finally, the day has come for Jake Peralta to watch her win.

At first, the state attorney’s case seems solid. Jake is assisted by a short, round-faced man with dark brown hair and an expression that looks like he’s seconds away from apologizing for taking up everyone’s time, but his suit is matched and perfectly straight and he gets right to the point without any odd references, so Amy still earns a fair amount of respect for detective Charles Boyle. He and Jake had entered the subway car after hearing about a fight taking place, and stepped on just in time to watch her client aim a closed-fist punch at the face of the man on top of him. It’s clear and convincing, but Amy knows that after the recess, it will be her time to shine. She loves these moments, when it’s obvious the other side thinks they have it in the bag but she knows something they don’t, and they have no idea what’s coming. She knows trials are about justice and not personal victories – but she’s only human. Winning is always a thrill.

She’s thinking about how she’s going to be celebrating her win later this evening when Jake Peralta bumps into her at the coffee shop neighboring the courthouse. As in, literally bumps into her, with his elbow when he hurries forward to grab a plastic cup with whipped cream and so much caramel syrup on top of the coffee that Amy pities his dentist.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry… wait, it's you!” He shines up as if he’d just seen a past good friend, and Amy’s once more taken aback by how polite he is. A lot of cops she meets during trials either tend to make fun of her profession or glare bitterly at her from a distance, but Jake's doing neither. He even reaches out his free hand to shake hers, so she accepts. “Jake Peralta – wow, you have a very firm handshake.”

“I took a seminar. Amy Santiago.”

“Where?” He asks, but she ignores him and moves forward in line to order her coffee with milk.

“Nothing for your client? Wow. I’d expected you to have better manners than that, Santiago.”

“I offered, but he wanted to spend recess with his partner for moral support. See?” She raises a brow at him. “I do have manners.”

There's that smile again, up close this time, and Amy's relieved when the barista hands her the coffee so she can hide the involuntary blush in her cheeks. She never noticed he had dimples before.

“So, how are you feeling about the rest of the trial, then? Ready to go defend the guilty guy?”

“Innocent until proven guilty, Peralta. Famously one of the most sacred principles in the American justice system. And I was born ready.”

“And lose. The whole question was, are you ready to go defend the guilty guy and lose, and you said you were born that way.” Jake grins in a way that makes him look like an overgrown mischievous school kid. Maybe not that far off, Amy thinks.

“Twist my words all you want, I am winning this case.” She hesitates for a moment, noticing Jake's detective partner looking at the two of them from a table in the corner of the room. Not normally something she'd be that creeped out by, if it hadn't been for the fact that the man isn’t tearing his eyes away from them, and he looks weirdly overjoyed. “Uhm, is detective Boyle okay? He's staring at us pretty intensely.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, he has… an eye condition.” Jake turns around and mouths something that looks to be BOYLE, and the man rolls his eyes before stalking away. “Ignore him. Anyway… so what do you think about the judge?”

Amy's about to launch into a description of her good experience with judge Myers when someone brushes past her with their iced coffee in a hurry, losing control of the plastic cup. The unsecured lid wobbles, and before Amy realizes what’s about to happen, cold coffee splashes onto her earlier pristine white blouse. “Fuck!” She reaches for a bunch of paper napkins and tries to dab the worst away with them, but the milky coffee is already seeping through the fabric and leaving an obvious stain that her blazer can’t hide.

“What a jerk,” Jake mutters, glaring in the direction of where the stranger disappeared.

“Never mind that! I don’t have another shirt! I can’t go into a courtroom looking like this! Unlike you, I actually care about whether my clothes have giant stains on them!”

“First of all, rude, and second of all, they’re not giant.”

“I don’t care. I’m screwed. Fuck, I don’t have time to run back home before the trial starts – I guess I could call Rosa –”

“Hey, hey.” Jake holds up his hands as if trying to calm her down, which only makes Amy more frustrated. “I know this is kind of crazy, but, I have a shirt in my car that I was planning to return to my ex. But emphasis on ex, so…” He shrugs. “You could borrow it?”

Amy considers her options. On the one hand, she figures there’s about an eighty percent chance that whatever Jake has in his car also has some kind of mysterious stain on it, but on the other hand, she took the subway today and there's no way she’ll make it to her apartment and back before the court is back in session. Asking for a longer recess is an option, but making everyone wait simply because she needs a change of clothes makes her too uncomfortable to even consider.

“Fine,” she relents. “Where's your car?”

Jake's car turns out to be an old Mustang, which Amy can tell even from her strictly limited car-knowledge is pretty impressive, but she doesn't understand how he can find anything in there. The backseat is a mess of empty orange soda bottles, a couple of frisbees, candy wrappers, what looks to be cartoons and old CDs, and the cup holders have shaving foam next to another can of orange soda. She's equally surprised and impressed when he pulls out a clean, dark blue charmeuse blouse. Whoever Jake's ex-girlfriend was, she seems to have both taste and money.

“You're totally saving my day today,” she says as he gives it to her. “You really didn't have to.”

“Prove that cops aren't all bad?” Amy rolls her eyes, and Jake laughs. “Just kidding. You have to give it back, though.”

“As soon as I’ve washed it. Wait, we have to be able to get in touch.” She digs in the inside pocket of her briefcase and pulls out two of her business cards. “I’m assuming you don't have any, so write your number on the back of that one.”

“Rude, but correct.” He scribbles down something on one of the cards before giving it back. “I’ll see you up there, then… Amy Santiago.”

Something about the way he says her name, slowly and with perfect pronunciation, makes her want to hear it again. She hurries back into the building and toward the bathrooms, hopefully before he can tell that she's blushing.

“The defense may call the next witness.”

“The defense calls Elinor Simons.” Amy can feel everyone's eyes on her as well as the witness as a young girl, no more than eighteen, walks up to the stand. She's pale, but she looks determined, and Amy gives her a comforting smile as she swears the oath.

Elinor’s voice trembles at her first words, but Amy keeps steady eye contact with her, and soon she’s speaking louder and less hesitant. She had been on her way to her friend’s house when she entered the same subway car as the two young men, and had overheard the two of them fighting over something. Sitting only a few seats away from them in the near-empty car, she’d noticed the defendant looking scared, and out of curiosity, had turned off her music. She’d heard the man who’d later gotten attacked – Mr. Lorentz – scream that the defendant was an asshole, and then she’d seen him push him to the floor, much unlike the way the prosecution had described a course of events in which both men had slipped. It had scared her, so she’d gotten up to walk away, but before she could move she’d seen Mr. Lorentz leaning down.

“It looked like he was about to hit the defendant,” she says without wavering, and Amy can see a few of the jury members nodding in understanding. “And even if they were about the same size, Mr. Lorentz looked really strong. The defendant tried, but it seemed to me like he was unable to get up. I remember thinking this wasn’t going to end well, so I headed for the end of the car before they noticed me.”

“And you’re sure of what you saw?”

“Completely sure. I only found out later that the defendant was a cousin of my sister’s boyfriend, which is how I learned about the trial.”

Amy nods and clasps her hands together, trying to assume a confident stance as she keeps her eyes focused on the witness stand. “Elinor, in the position he was in, do you believe that the defendant would have been scared?”

“I think anyone would have been.”

“So the punch witnesses watched the defendant throw, could it have been in self-defense?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so.”

Amy smiles. “Thank you. No further questions.”

The prosecution’s closing arguments are short and precise, sticking entirely to the part of the events that took part after the police walked in. The district attorney, a balding man in his fifties, as good as overlooks Elinor’s testimony in favor of focusing in on detailed descriptions of the headaches Mr. Lorentz had experienced after the event, and that alone is enough to make Amy’s blood boil; but instead she just sits there, waiting with a polite smile on her lips.

Finally, the other attorney sits down, and the judge nods at Amy to stand up. During her very first trials, this moment used to freak her out – everyone’s eyes on her and waiting expectantly – but with time she’s come to love this. It reminds her of the thrill of getting the last word in a heated fight with her siblings when she was younger, only now, she doesn’t have to shout to be heard. Everyone’s already listening.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: it’s correct that the defendant hit Mr. Lorentz on that train. He admits to doing so himself.” Amy nods to the young man sitting next to her, fidgeting nervously with the cuffs on his shirt. “But there is one key aspect which the prosecution has so conveniently chosen to ignore, and that is the events which led up to Mr. Petersen’s actions. A background which he not only has explained clearly himself, but which is also backed up by Ms. Simmons’ testimony.” She gestures with her hand to Elinor.

“You see, Mr. Petersen wasn’t acting unprovoked. When the incident happened, he had been pushed to the floor, and like both my client and the witness described, he was unable to get up. Mr. Lorentz himself admits to practicing weightlifting; he’s not a weak man, and in the moment, he was clearly upset with the defendant. As Ms. Simmons put it… “ She takes a break to gather the attention of everyone in the room. “Anyone in that position would have been terrified.”

“Under New York Law, Penal Law paragraph thirty-five point fifteen, a person is justified in using physical force against another, when that person is under the reasonable belief that the physical force is necessary to defend the person from what they reasonably believe to be the illegal imminent use of force or the illegal use of force. Mr. Petersen was stuck, and under the reasonable belief that Mr. Lorentz could hurt him unless he managed to free himself. He acted in self-defense, which I remind you that the prosecution has not been able to disprove. In fact, the case against Mr. Petersen cannot be proved against reasonable doubt, which means that you must find him… not guilty.”

From the other side of the room, she swears she can feel Jake’s eyes on her. When she looks up, she sees him mouthing nice job.

“What did you say he looked like, now again? Except for crazy hot and adorable?” Kylie takes another sip of her mojito, spying over the crowded bar.

“Okay, I said neither of those things.”

Kylie shrugs. “Didn’t have to.”

“Ugh. Whatever. Brown hair, brown eyes, medium height, I guess kind of a bigger nose… and I don’t know what he wears outside of court, but there was a leather jacket in the front seat of his car, so maybe that?” She strains her neck to try and see through the Friday night crowd. She’s never been to this particular Brooklyn bar before, but Jake had suggested it when Amy asked about a good place to give him back the shirt, and she’d figured after a long week, she might as well treat herself to a couple of after-work drinks with a friend. After being asked about the so-called mystery hottie five times, though, she’s starting to regret bringing Kylie along.

“Mm, that’s like, all the guys in here… oh, wait, that one’s waving to you!” Kylie points to a figure near the door, elbowing Amy in the side and causing her to nearly choke on her wine. She’s still coughing when Jake walks up to them, trying to offer him a smile while drying her eyes. Jake looks politely confused, but shakes Kylie’s hand in the meantime.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says with a meaning wink to Amy before sliding off the leather barstool, leaving it for Jake. “Have a good night!”

“Ignore her.” Amy sighs. “Sorry, I…”

“No, no worries,” Jake says, and the honest care in his expression makes her feel oddly warm. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” She waves a dismissive hand and picks up the dry-cleaning bag hanging on the back of her chair. “Well, here’s the shirt. Thank you for the loan. Or thank your ex, I suppose.”

“Dry-cleaned, really? You truly are type A.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, it makes sense.” He nods to the glass in her hand. “Celebrating Tuesday’s win?”

“Something like that. It was Monday, though,” she can’t stop herself from correcting him. “I don’t get a lot of time off. Gotta make the best out of it.”

“Yeah, me neither. Do you mind if I join you for another drink? Or maybe you should do water, in case you choke again?”

Something about the way he poses it like a challenge makes her take the glass, put it to her lips, and swallow the rest of the wine in one gulp. “I think I can handle it.”

They pay for their own drinks, because whatever this meeting is, it’s definitely not a date, and it makes Amy relieved that Jake doesn’t seem to think so either.

“A toast,” he suggests. “To your win this week. I gotta give it to you, those closing statements were solid.”

“To justice,” Amy says, and they raise their beer bottles in unison. “And my win. Finally.”

“Yeah, what has it been, like, five wins for me?”

“Four, but dream on, Peralta.”

Jake laughs. The dimples in his cheeks become even more prominent when he laughs, Amy notes. “Have you always been this intense about winning cases, then? Or is it something that comes with law school? Like there’s a class in being petty about this stuff?”

You’re intense too, she thinks, but doesn’t say it out loud. “Maybe. I have seven brothers, and I was the only girl. I got pretty good at winning fights using other things than physical strength when I was a kid. Actually, sometimes physical strength, too.”

“I feel like you could beat someone up if you wanted to. You could surprise them.”

“Oh, I could most definitely beat someone up if I wanted to. But I stuck to arguing. I got good at it. And I always had good grades, so I ended up at Columbia, and I’ve never really regretted it.” She takes a swig of her beer. “Not even when cops call me the devil.”

“I wouldn’t call you the devil,” Jake says. “I mean, do I think you lack a bit of a moral compass? Probably. But each to their own.”

She leans her head a little bit to the side, eyeing him closely. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, you have to defend people that you know did awful things, right? Doesn’t that make you feel sick sometimes?”

“I don’t have to defend their actions. Most times, it’s not even about that. It’s about making sure the trial is fair, the evidence is sufficient and their rights are respected, so that if there’s a conviction, it’s actually beyond any reasonable doubt. I like to believe most people are better than their worst moments. I see it as my job to make sure they’re treated that way.”

“Huh.” Jake nods slowly. “Guess I never thought of it that way.”

“Plus,” she winks, “someone’s gotta hold you guys accountable, right?”

“Fine.” He shakes his head. “Hey, did you say you went to Columbia? My captain’s husband teaches law there. Did you ever have a Kevin Cozner?”

“No way! Your captain is Raymond Holt?” She’s speaking way too loudly, she can tell from the way other people are glancing at her, but Jake looks entertained. “Sorry, it’s just – Professor Cozner was my favorite constitutional law teacher. I still send him and Raymond Christmas cards every year!”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Jake grins. “But, how weird is that? Almost like the universe is bringing us together or something.”

Amy thinks that it’s not that weird, since Kevin must teach hundreds of students every year that g on to become lawyers, but she kind of wants to keep seeing that smile on Jake’s face forever, so she nods. “So weird.”

They order another drink, plus some chips and nuts when Jake realizes he forgot to eat dinner, and move to another table in the back of the room. Amy’s surprised how comfortable she feels in his presence. It’s like she can’t wipe the smile off her face but doesn’t want to, and with time and a little more alcohol, jokes that she barely would have noticed on any other day become laugh-out-loud funny. It feels natural, even though she’s not sure how, and she tries not to glance at the clock on the wall when he doesn’t either. She’s got work to do tomorrow and she can’t stay out forever, but she doesn’t want to be reminded that this evening has to end at some point.

“So what made you become a cop, then?” She asks when she realizes she’s the only one who’s shared her origin story tonight. “Childhood superhero dreams?”

Jake shines up like he’s been waiting for the question all night. “Oh, that’s easy. Die Hard.”

“Really?”

“For sure. Actually, my mom said I was always good at protecting people, so I ended up doing it for a job. But I think that’s bullshit. It was definitely Die Hard.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Amy confesses, and Jake stares at her like she just insulted his entire being. “But if you want a cop movie, my top three’s Training Day, Lethal Weapon, and Fargo.”

“Wrong, wrong, and wrong! How can you not have seen Die Hard? It’s classic, man!”

“I just never did! How many lawyer movies have you seen, then?”

“Uhm…” Jake squints. “Charles made me watch Legally Blonde once? It was pretty good, honestly.”

“Well, duh, that movie is a cinematic masterpiece and a feminist work of art. How feminist is Die Hard, from a scale of one to ten?”

“Hey! Holly Gennaro does plenty of cool stuff throughout the movies! You’re just going to have to watch them yourself.”

“I can almost guarantee you I won’t.”

“Fine, but you’re missing out.” He grabs a couple of peanuts from the jar between them, throwing them in the air and catching them in his mouth. “Cool trick, right?”

Amy raises an eyebrow. “Is this what you do at work all day?”

“I did teach myself that during stakeouts, but no. Whatever. Throw me another one.” She does, and he catches it again, this time almost sliding off the barstool in the process. She laughs a bubbling laugh as he does it another time. “Now you.”

“Fine. Try me.” The peanut flies through the air between them, and she tries to dive for it, but it just ends up landing at her feet. “Okay, another one.” She misses that one too. “Okay, there must be something wrong with these nuts.”

“Title of your sextape.”

“Title of my what?”

“Nevermind.” Jake laughs. “You just need some practice. Maybe at work? It could liven up a trial.”

“Nuh-uh, don’t need practice. Just need a better tactic.” Without thinking, she grabs a handful of them this time, throwing them in the air. This time, she catches a few of them in her mouth, while the rest end up spread over the couch and floor. “The key is volume!”

“Yeah, and the bartender is looking at you like he wants to kill you, so maybe don’t do it again or we’ll get thrown out.”

“It’s fine, I’m a lawyer.”

“That phrase works well to get out of trouble?”

“If you know what you’re doing. We could order more drinks to keep him happy?”

“Shots?”

“I’m down if you’re down.”

Jake orders a Kamikaze shot for each of them, and as she reaches forward to take the second glass, her hand brushes against the top of his for a moment longer than necessary, resting there. It’s warm, and it feels calloused but somehow soft at the same time. They look at each other, his light brown eyes staring into hers, and she feels instantly hyper-aware that they’re around far, far, too many people.

She lets go of his hand, taking the shot and swallowing it before anyone can notice what’s happening. It smells like sour hand sanitizer and burns going down, and she laughs at Jake’s grimace when he drinks his.

“God, every time.” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, I know this is crazy, but… do you maybe want to get out of here? We could have another drink at my place… watch Die Hard… whatever.”

“Mm, yeah. Maybe I should check that the shirt gets back to your place properly?”

“Shirt? What shirt? Oh, right, fuck, the shirt!” Jake spins in place, rushing back to the table where they were just sat. “Shit, I probably spilled beer on it, Sophia’s going to be pissed now...”

“It’s still in the bag, smartass.” Amy shows him. “Ta-da. Shirt’s still clean. Comes in handy being type A sometimes, huh?”

Jake sighs. “I know you're making fun of me, but I could seriously kiss you right now.”

Maybe it’s the four drinks, maybe it’s the thrill that comes with how rarely she does this, or maybe it’s just sheer and wild impulse, but Amy finds herself whispering,

“Maybe we should get out of here, then.”

Amy learns a lot of things that night.

She learns that Jake Peralta is a seriously good kisser, tasting faintly of orange soda beneath the alcohol and salt, and that being pressed against his front door with his hands protecting her head strikes the perfect balance between feeling adventurous and safe. She learns that he’s never really quiet, soft moans and sighs filling the room in the breaks between their kisses, but that the sound only makes her want more.

She learns that he wears even more layers than her. Beneath the leather jacket and hoodie is a checkered blue flannel that has way too many buttons for her liking right now, and she curses her slight tipsiness while working at them one by one. When she's finally done, Jake pulls the grey t-shirt over his head, and she barely has time to pause to admire how he somehow can look fit despite that catastrophic diet, or the curls on his chest that are begging for her to run her fingers through them, before he's asking “my turn?”. She learns that Jake Peralta is impatient, that his hands work fast on the buttons of her cerise shirt, and that he gets adorably confused when he can't find the button on her suit pants.

“It's on the side,” she tells him and shows him the zipper, and then they're both giggling until she kisses him like that and it's back on again.

She learns that his hands feel good, sliding slowly up the sides of her stomach and back and rubbing against her shoulder blades. She unclasps the white t-shirt bra for him, smiling to herself as he swallows quickly.

“God, you’re hot,” he whispers, and the soft bites he trails down her chest and stomach make her feel that way, too.

They move to his bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind them, and then she’s underneath him and breathing hard as his mouth moves lower, closer. The anticipation of it all is driving her mad, but then he looks up at her and asks “okay?” with the most sincere and caring expression, and Amy’s had very, very few one-night-stands in her life, but she’s certainly never had one like this.

“Okay,” she nods, and there’s that familiar grin again, but this time it makes her feel warm in a very specific place.

She learns that Jake Peralta can do a whole lot more with his mouth than talking people’s ears off. His breath ghosts over her through her underwear at first, warming her up even though it’s barely even necessary, and then he’s finally pulling down the black material and helping her kick them off. His tongue is careful at first, just tasting her as if to gauge her expression, but then she nods at him to continue and the next second, her head is thrown back as she lets out a gasp.

She learns that he likes it when she pulls his hair. At first, her hands are just lightly tangling in it for practicality, but then she holds on tighter as a means of control when her legs begin to tense up and the familiar pressure is starting to rise. She’s raising her hips slightly only to lower them again, helping him get her there, and the curls of his hair are just begging to be pulled.

“Do that again,” he pauses to say, so she tugs his hair harder and he straight-up moans.

She learns that he can make her scream, which she wasn’t expecting, and she rocks through the euphoric waves and pants and practically melts into the bed as she comes down from it.

“That good?” He winks, and she wants to roll her eyes, but he did just make her come harder than she remembers doing in a long time, so she kisses the smile off of him instead, tasting her arousal on his lips.

She learns that he's respectful and a gentleman, telling her that they can stop this here if she'd rather, but she doesn’t want to, and they don’t. He has to rifle through the drawer in his bedside table for a while before he finds a condom – maybe he doesn’t do this as often as she’d thought, maybe it’s another sign of his poor organization skills, but he finds one soon enough so she’s not sure she cares – and then it’s a little bit of a blur, but she rolls it on him with precise strokes and lowers herself on top of him and oh my god.

She learns that when he looks at her, when he touches her, it makes her feel powerful and special all at once. He plays with her boobs as she sets the pace, his thumbs rolling against her nipples in a way she didn’t realize she liked, and she picks up her rhythm, clenching around him and leaning back on his raised thighs.

She learns just how enjoyable it is to watch him fall apart underneath her. His pace stutters and he curses, groaning a confession of how close he is, and she could almost come again from watching him alone but she brings two fingers to her clit and touches herself anyway. He finishes before her, spilling out inside the condom with a moan that she can only imitate, collapsing against his chest as she brings herself to orgasm again right after him.

When they're done learning, they collapse together in his bed. For a moment, Amy considers turning around and calling a cab home, because that would be the most responsible thing to do, but then Jake throws an arm around her to pull her closer, and after all, she's still a little tipsy.

What harm could it possibly do, anyway?

Sharp, unforgiving morning light wakes Amy up before her alarm the next morning. She must have forgotten to close the blinds last night, she thinks, and rolls over on the other side so the light doesn't hurt her eyes. She expects the usual greeting of a sea of pillows, and has to stop herself from letting out a yelp of surprise when instead, she's hit with a wall of Jake sleeping with his back to her. A vague memory of them falling asleep like this hits her. He’d wanted to be the little spoon, she remembers.

At first, knowing that intimate fact about him makes her feel proud. Then it makes her panic.

She jumps out of bed, throwing off her part of the comforter in search of her clothes. She finds her underwear and bra together with her shirt, trying to dress as quietly as possible, quick before Jake wakes up and discovers that she's half-naked in his apartment and they have to have a very, very awkward talk –

“Amy? What are you doing?”

Too late.

She freezes on the spot, chewing on her lip as she fumbles for an explanation. Jake’s eyes rake over her with curiosity, which somehow feels a lot more exposing today than it did last night, and it's making her lose track of her words. His bed head curls and disoriented smile is decidedly not helping her focus.

“We slept together last night,” she manages.

Jake’s smile grows wider and prouder as he sits up fully in bed. Amy blushes as she notices the shadow of two hickeys way too close to his neck to be professional.

“Yeah, I was there.”

“Very funny.” She sees her pants thrown across the back of a massage chair and quickly reaches for them. “But this… You know this can’t be a thing, right? Just so we're on the same page about it.”

Jake frowns. “What do you mean with a thing?”

“This – us – we can't date, Jake. I know that. You know that.”

He’s silent for a moment before he fakes a shudder. “Yeah, yeah, no. I’ve dated lawyers before. Never ends well.”

“You have?” The reveal surprises her. “It doesn't matter. This can’t happen.”

“I know.”

“Good,” she exhales. “I’m just going to find my clothes, then, and then I’m going to leave.”

“Hey, wait.” He twists his hands together, bringing them to his chin with a smile. “This is going to sound weird, but… even if nothing can happen between us, I’m still glad we had sex last night.”

The confession takes her by surprise, and Amy wonders again if she just doesn't know anything about one-night-stands. Sleep together, have fun, sneak out in the morning before anything can go deeper – isn't that how it's supposed to go? If so, she's majorly failing, because she can't stop herself from giving him another shy smile in return.

“Me too. Just because, we were like… really good at it.”

“Stupid good!” Jake exclaims. “It makes no sense!”

“We still can't date, though,” she reminds him. “So how do we work this out?”

“Well, it sort of looked like you were planning to just leave, and I’m not going to stop you if that's your choice, but… there is one more option.”

“What are you thinking?”

“We could be friends with benefits,” he shrugs. “None of the commitment, none of the weird incompatibilities between a cop and a lawyer, just us and some stupid good sex.”

“Friends with benefits? Do the kids really say that, still?”

“I’m saying you could consider it.”

Amy's first instinct is to protest, to say absolutely not and leave on the spot. Her relationship history may not contain that many names, but at least they’ve all been fairly straightforward and conventional. She's never done something like this before, and the mere idea of jumping into something so unknown with someone like Jake scares her shitless.

Then again, she's also never been with someone like Jake. Yesterday hadn't been a date, but it had still been better than all the awkward dinners and half-hearted walks she's been at since she broke up with Teddy a year ago. And the sex – well, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't already thinking of doing that again.

“There would need to be rules,” she says.

“Sure, we can come up with some.”

“I’ll write a contract.”

“We need a contract?”

“Yeah,” she decides. “If this is going to work, we need a comprehensive set of rules, and they need to be written down, because I don't trust you not to adjust them in your head last minute.”

“How am I attracted to you? But, fine.”

Amy shakes her head, closing the last button on the shirt that had been left unbuttoned until now. “So… I’ll put together a draft and bring it over tonight? Your place?”

Jake gapes at her for a moment like he can't believe what he hears, but then he nods. “I’m free.”

“Cool. I’ll see you tonight, then.” With that, she pulls on her socks and shoes, leaving before she can freak out again.

“Cool, cool,” she hears just before closing the door. “Friends with benefits. Cool, cool, cool, cool… cool.”

#b99fandomevents #b99 summer 2021 fic exchange #my writing #b99 #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #b99 fanfiction #jake x amy fanfiction #peraltiago fanfiction #MY FIRST AU PLEASE ENJOY #three more parts to come hahah but i'm only going to post one before the deadline #read on ao3 if you want line breaks since tumblr has ruined those

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thatbangtanbloom · 4 years ago

Text

like cat and mouse | 1

/gif is not mine

like cat and mouse | bts

teaser | 1

categories: suspense, (possibly angst), smut!

pairings: ot7 x reader

genre: mafia!bts, mafia!reader

warnings: curse word, guns mentioned, jimin gets a blow job,hoseok vv skeptical of reader!! , dirty talk, mention of crime

[seeing the warm response, here is the first chapter!]

- - - - - -

From the outset of your meeting, something had told them that you were different. Perhaps it was the sway of your hips as you sauntered over to the boldest of them and cleared your throat as though you belonged there. Or it could have been your first meeting with the third oldest that sent them all trembling in their knees.

You had come across Park Jimin first. He was well renown for his negotiation strategies and his excellence in persuasion. It was a rarity that they did not show up together, but you found yourself more privy to taking chances than questioning why the blonde man had come alone.

“You must be Park Jimin,” You greet him with a hand resting on the small of his back. Your voice is anything but soft and demure, but it has Jimin turning on his heels to face you with amusement. It was rare that women approached him and dared to call him by his first name in a tone that sounded as demanding as yours did.

Jimin’s brow raises at you as he tries to recognize you. He knows better than to assume you have come with someone - no one would dare let their woman come within fifteen feet of the Seven’s prized Casanova. Too often, he had also been approached by opportunists eager to seek their teeth into him, but something about your poise had him thinking differently. Were you someone who was different? “That is me.. and who might you be?”

“You can find out if you keep me interested.” You remark simply as you glance over the men who have long stopped talking to focus on the dynamic between Jimin and you. “I’ve heard about you and I wanted to see for myself if the rumors are true.”

“And if they are?” Jimin replies as he unbuttons the bottom button of his blazer to tuck his right hand into his pocket. Your confidence is far too high for a rookie, yet your boldness is too much for a seasoned veteran. He’s certain he’s never seen your face here before, so why was he still giving you the time of day?

You scoff at his words, “I’d say that you’re worthy of a pursuit then.” You purposely bump your shoulder with his when you pass by, slipping a piece of paper into his palm as you leave just as quickly as you came.

Your lasting impression did not take much for Jimin to join you in the piano room on the second floor fifteen minutes later. He was well aware of the alarming degree of your presence; how he did not have the slightest clue as to who you are and other guests at the party remarking you as the daughter of so-and-so, but he could not draw up an image that could make up for the fraction of your presence. God, it only made him want you ten times more.

“You’re the predictable one, huh?” You remark when you hear the mahogany door close. Leather shoes cross the floor when you are greed by a kneeling Jimin accompanied with a smirk on his face. “I see you read my note.”

Jimin scoffs, “I think it was rather bold of you to tell me your plans.” It had been bold to tell Jimin that you anticipated him taking you home that night. “You know who I am. Do you think I am that foolish to take you back to the place where my brothers and I live?”

Brothers. The smile on your face only spreads. They really did believe that fictitious lie that everyone said they did. “No. If I did, I would have targeted the eldest one. He’s much more fun to play with.” You say as you look up from over your book to meet the hardening look of Jimin. Competition must have been ingrained in them. “I don’t like to blindside people. It’s much more fun to see how you’ll stop me. It would keep both of us guessing. Don’t you think?”

“Mmmm.” Jimin remarks as he sits on the coffee table in front of you. His eyes meticulously run over your clothes: he takes in the curve of your hips, the way the velvet appears to hug you in all the right places, but something feels off. He notices no bulge of a knife or the sliver of a gun. “You came here unarmed?”

You close the book and place it to the side, “If I wanted to kill someone, I would do it with my hands. That’s how I do most things. I like things messy.”

“Fuck,” Jimin rasps as he brings his hand to his mouth. He’s far more invested in the double entendre you’ve elicited from him. It was a rule that the Seven held that they would not bring anyone, under absolutely no circumstances, to their shared home. That was the Sanctuary. That was where their plans were made, where their livelihoods lived, and how they were able to escape from their daily life. Yet, there was no rule in him bringing you back to his apartment. Right?

So that was what brought you to where you were now, on your knees with your cheeks hollow full of Jimin’s hard cock in your mouth. His pants are bunched at his ankles as he guides his hand on the back of your head with an anything but soothing touch. He’s a demanding lover, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty choking on my cock like this. Wanna cum all over your pretty tits and make you mine over and over again…” Jimin’s voice has dropped another octave the second his cock hits the back of your throat. He’s left perplexed as your tongue grazes over the underside of his cock and he barely needs to guide you to his own pleasure.

Just who the hell were you?

He’s nearly gone as his hips bucking into your mouth with every thrust of his hips. His cock throbs inside of your mouth, wanting to feel all of you in every way possible. His praise doesn’t stop, “Can’t wait to feel what your tight pussy is like… you’re already being a good girl taking my cock like this. Imagine how nice it’ll feel with my thick cock in your wet cunt, begging for more of me like the good slut you are.” His words do have an effect on you, especially evident with your arousal that has long begun to peek from your thighs onto your Givenchy dress to leave love stains. Jimin’s experienced enough to know what good sex feels like, and somehow, you were beyond his expectations. It takes everything in him to not cum in your mouth immediately - especially with your dress sliding down your shoulder to show the curve of your breast or hot he spots your fingers creeping between your thighs as you tease your clit from how pretty he sounded.

“Wanna cum inside of you,” Jimin grunts as another thrill of pleasure runs through him at the thought. His chest rises and falls in anticipation as he feels the familiar knot in his stomach further entangle itself from your ministrations. You long have opted to choke on his cock, somehow being correct in your assumption that it boosted his ego. “Fuck- fuck-fuck,” He closes his eyes tightly, “Soojin-ah, please.”

You almost don’t catch your alias that leaves his lips, but you pull away with a lewd pop. “Ah? Is Park Jimin so fucked out that he can’t even speak? Mmm? Did I suck your cock that good where you can’t talk?” You ask as your nail traces along his jawline. He’s not used to someone speaking to him so lewdly, but that only spurs the leaking precut from his cock to grow. You’re so fucking hot that he can’t even stand it. “Use your words.”

“Make me.” He bites back before gripping you by your hips in one swift motion and sinking you down onto his cock. The sudden stretch leads you caught off guard, but you no longer feel empty when Jimin begins to thrust his hips deeper into your wet sex. Your hips soon match his own cadence, rising and falling like a piano crescendo as you ride his cock. “Shit. Who taught you to ride like this? You’re such a good slut and all for me, huh?”

Ah. All for him. You almost laugh. Clearly he had a possession kink. “Mmm,” You moan in pleasure as he soon gives your neglected clit attention. His fingers draw figure eight’s around the sensitive gem, making you bend into him as his hips rhythmically meet your g-spot over and over again. “Jimin, you’re fucking me so good…”

“I know baby,” He rasps before slapping your ass for added stimulation. You hate how easy it is for him to conjure up the tightness in your stomach, your own pussy aching for more from how sexy he looks: his lips stained with your lipstick, the tie loosely dangling from his neck as his shirt is unbuttoned all the way with red marks reminiscent of the bites you left on him. You, too, had a preference for leaving your mark on people. To add on to that, his tattoos are like hidden jewels kissing his skin. He’s beautiful. “Your pussy’s so fucking good that I might just keep coming back to you,” He grunts as he bottoms out inside of you and you’re filled to the hilt. It’s more than enough for you to squeeze him closer by his shoulder, sighing as you roll your hips against his own for the added friction.

“I’m close, Jimin-“ You rasp when he stills inside of you. The ache in you returns, wanting more of his hard thrusts. “Fuck me harder… I’m going to cum-“

Jimin moans, “Me too, beautiful.” He groans as he pistons his hips deeper into your sex. The sound of skin clapping against skin fills the room, soon accompanied by your own moans and Jimin’s own of pleasure. “You’re so fucking tight for me, yeah? Only I can fuck you like this.” He bites into the crevice of your shoulder when he bottoms out inside of you one last time. “Fuck, I’m going to cum-“

He blossoms inside of you without another word, grunting in pleasure as his fingers rub against your own clit more furiously to drag you down to your own high. It only takes one, two, three more strokes before you’re wilting inside of him as his cum fills you to the brink. “J-jimin,” you stammer out as he continues to ride out both of your highs, your dress long torn and bunched around your waist forgotten until he begins to overstimulate you. “P-please-“

“Round 2?” He rasps as his eyes flash mischievously. His cock still inside of you, eager for another round. He’s hungry for you - starving practically despite your previous rendezvous. “You’re so good, baby.” He sounds so sure of it, like he can read you like the back of his hand.

You can’t wait to ruin him.

The next morning, Jimin sleeps soundly in bed. He does not notice the way you slip out of bed undetected and make your way towards his drawers. You noticed in the heat to the night the camera that seemed to follow your every move and only wave to it sweetly. You would have to dig through his belongings later. Now, you would be good and properly feed yourself. And at least Jimin. It was his kitchen, after all.

You pad your way downstairs, focused on satiating the growl in your stomach rather than sleeping Jimin. You would think that he would have awoken the second you turned, but he must have been exhausted beyond repair. He had been rather generous….

“Who the hell are you?” A voice calls out to you and you instantly turn around to be faced with Three of Seven. He looks at you, perplexed. It was unlike Jimin to let his one-night stands stay the night, let alone cook in his kitchen and play house. The younger had often been one to sleep in, but this state of him not answering forced the elder to come visit.

“Jung Hoseok.” You say in an almost robotic tone and smile as you turn off the stove. He watches your every move like a trained soldier - it is quite literally what he is as he moves across the island to approach you. “You’re Three, right?” You ask, smirking to yourself in pure amusement as his face contorts in an unreadable expression.

So you weren’t a dumb one-night stand.

In an imperceptible flash, Hoseok makes his way towards you to pin you against the ground. Two long strides across the kitchen and a swipe across the floor has him knocking you to the ground. Never one to go down without a fight, you grip the fabric of his shirt to pull him down with you before elbowing him in the gut just as quickly as he has made you crumble. He groans from the sudden impact, but doesn’t let up as he pins your hands above your head and sinks his own hips onto yours to stifle your movements.

“Who the hell are you?” He repeats, seeing that he has you trapped.

Nevertheless, you muster all the energy from your lower half of your body to roll on top of him and pin his arms above your own. “Someone you should be worried about.”

A third voice cuts in, presumbly the man you slept with last night from the way he saunters downstairs. “What is going on here?” Jimin asks with a lazy rub of his eye. He is surprised to see you entangled with Hoseok - the older man supplanted under you, much like Jimin was the night before, but under very different circumstances. “Yah… Soojin-ah,” You almost forget to respond to your falsehood, but your head snaps up to bat your lashes at Jimin. “Ah. Did you have fun with hyung?”

“Why the fuck didn’t you answer your phone?” Hoseok asks from below you. He grips his side, still surprised at the swiftness of your move and the blunt force of your actions. Who trained you?

“I was asleep.” Jimin replies simply before sniffing the air. “You made pancakes?” He looks a bit disheveled, but ever the gentleman, extends his hand out to pull you off of Hoseok and into his arm lazily. “They’re not poisoned, right?”

“I’ll eat them all and leave you to starve if that is the invitation that you are extending to me.” You remark with a laugh escaping from Jimin.

Jimin is unfazed by your words. He’s only enthralled by your remarks. He’s already been inside of you. He’s confident you wouldn’t give him up so easily. “She’s got a cute sense of humor, doesn’t she, hyung?”

“You didn’t tell her any of our names.. did you?” Hoseok asks with narrowed brows as he brushes himself off and leans against the island. He’s in slight pain, but it’s not as worse as it could have been. You could have easily broken his ribs but opted for minute soreness. He would overcome it.

Jimin shakes his head, “I’m not stupid. She randomly knew mine.” Jimin inspects you for a moment as his brows furrow. “Come to think of it.. you haven’t told me how you knew of me. You don’t seem like a newbie, but you haven’t been well enough for me to know who you are.” He directs his words to you, but there seems to be more hints of curiosity rather than animosity. It’s reassuring. “She seems dangerous, hyung. I like it.”

Rolling your eyes, you unwrap Jimin’s arm from your waist to return to your pancakes and sigh. “Jung Hoseok, would you also like one?”

“She could be an assassin and you just let her walk right on in.” Hoseok says, less amused that the younger man has thought with his nether regions rather than his brain. “What if she killed you in your sleep?”

“But she didn’t.” Jimin remarks as he sits down at the bar stool to admire your back.

Deciding to defend your reputation, “That’s much too easy. If I wanted to kill him or you, I would let you know ahead of time. I don’t like surprises.” You say simply as you flip the pancake onto a plate and set it down. “You’ve got to be aware. It’s not what you see that matters, it’s what you don’t.” You reply before cutting into the pancake to reveal the chocolate chips embedded in them. You cut a sizable piece from each pancake to demonstrate that the pancakes were, in fact, not poisoned and take a bite bite. “See?”

“Whoa,” Jimin compliments as you slide the plate in front of him and begins to eat them. He is still cautious to take a bite, but he is only met with the chocolate melting in his mouth. It almost taste as good as you do. Almost. “This is delicious! Hyung, try some.”

Hoseok eyes you suspiciously before taking a section from your own plate and bites into it. He, too, is only met with chocolate-y goodness and hums. “I’m watching you.”

“Please do.” You remark fondly, only for Jimin to send you a pout of disapproval. He was a paradox of a man, you realize. He’s adorable one minute yet meticulous the next. It keeps you interested. You take a nibble on your pancake as you eat while waiting for the two of them to speak - talk - say anything about their plans are, but both of them only opt to watch you.

While Hoseok is more reserved, he can not fight the curiosity that looms over him from your presence. It was rare that Jimin ever let someone stay in his place, especially over night with the king of work that they did. It was obvious enough that you were someone to not be trifled with, but what the hell was your deal? “Who do you work for?” He asks bluntly as wiping the corner of his mouth.

“I work for myself.” You state with a shrug of your shoulders. Jimin only smirks at your response and nods. He had gathered that much. You gave him far too much cheek to be tied down to any one organization, but you did have a lot of balls to come home with him.

Jimin clears his throat before grabbing a cup of milk, “She’s a tough cookie, hyung. She didn’t tell me much about her. Think I’m going to have to investigate myself.” He chirps with a small smirk. He soon begins cutting into his sausage and eggs with a wide smile. “I can’t say I don’t enjoy the chase though. She’s worth chasing after.”

“Stop thinking with your dick and use your brains,” Hoseok murmurs despite scarfing down another pancake. “Look, whoever you are…. Don’t think because you’re here that we won’t stop watching you. We deal wit people like you all the time. You grow comfortable. You get careless. You stop following the rules and make mistakes. If you do happen to have some hidden agenda, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your brain, myself.”

You merely blink at his words before finishing your breakfast. “Wow. You really know how to get me going, don’t you, Hoseok-ah?” You wink as his expression hardens from how informally you call him. You fold your arms behind your back as you take a step forward to him. “You must be so confused about how this is going to work, so let me tell you.”

Jimin leans forward at your threat. It’s caught his interest, especially since he has yet to figure you out.

“I don’t care if you think you’re going to end me. If you do, I’d think you’re more talented than I assumed.” You remark as your eyes never look away from his. “You’re no match for me. If I had an agenda, I would tell you what it is.. but I’m innocent.” You poke his chest for good measure and smiles. “After all, there’s only one of me and seven of you, right? Wouldn’t that be a death wish for me to do something like that?”

Hoseok scoffs, “You could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” He gives you a once over. “I don’t take kindly to fakes. So if you have a hidden agenda, I’ll preface by telling you to lose it. You’re too pretty to be getting yourself entangled with people like us. Didn’t they tell you that when you mess with fire, you might just get burnt?”

You would be offended if you didn’t acknowledge he didn’t have the slightest clue about who you were. “There have been foxes who outsmarts wolves.” You quip as your eyes scan over his features. It’s honestly a shame how handsome he is when you can only think of your master plan - your own ambitions to take the single thing they hold most dear to them away. “But if you threaten me with fire, let’s just say I won’t be the only one getting burned.”

This leaves both of the men equally speechless from your words. A fox? The two of them share a glance, as though exchanging an unspoken word in acknowledgement. Crafty.

Those were the days where they realized you had left them all of the clues: you had evidently left traces of your own plans from the beginning. It long leaves Jungkook more agitated while tapping his fingers against the leather seat with Yoongi at his side. How the hell had they had missed that?

“Mr. Jeon, Mr. Min, there’s a message left for you.” One of their servants enters the room. She can sense the tension that has long filled the room since you escaped from them two weeks ago.

You didn’t even know that it would end like that, did you? You know I had to leave because I was a bit too attached, huh? I must say. I am touched that you went through all of that hard work to try to find me… but I think you could work much harder.

You say you’re wolves, right? I’ll throw you a bone then. You can find me where kings perished, where heads will roll, where a tour is named after me.

Catch me if you can. - YN

- - - - - - -

Where do you think YN is? How do you think about their first meeting? What do you think about YN's style of playing with their heads? Don't be a silent reader!

There will be more of the other members in the upcoming chapter and how YN gets closer to them!

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