#unfortunately I have a soft spot for people who speak a bit posh

[melivora]

Absolutely obsessed with how Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen speaks

[notnctu]

push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details -  hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞  

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical 

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn��t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances. 

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.” 

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression. 

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander. 

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room. 

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head. 

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

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[ggukcangetit]

Tomorrow: Jungkook x Reader

**

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: Fluff. Grad student au!; grad student! jungkook; grad student! reader; grad student! bts

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Suggestive language, mild kissing. Not much else really.

Summary: At the beginning of your third year of your PhD program, you didn’t expect many changes. Until the new PhD cohort started classes, and Jeon Jungkook became part of your group of friends.

A/N: i just wrote this randomly with zero plot in mind. idk what this ended up becoming but read it and lemme know if you like it? 

“Choi is a madwoman. I swear she makes me do so many lit reviews just to see me suffer.” Park Jimin, 2nd year PhD student, works part time at HopeWorld dance studio, and is currently regretting many of his life choices.

“I told you not to say yes to every single project that came your way.” Min Yoongi, 4th year PhD student, weekend DJ at Club Moonlight, recipient of the university’s most prestigious research grant, currently lives in a posh apartment four streets away from the main research lab.

“We’re older. Which means we have more experience. Which means we tend to be right more often.” Kim Seokjin, another 4th year PhD student, enrolled into the PhD program after realising that the completion of his MBA meant he would have to join the family business, amateur chef with professional sass, and sole reason behind Min Yoongi being able to afford living in a posh apartment four streets away from the main research lab.

“Not when you bet Tae he couldn’t finish grading Kang’s first year Intro class papers in 24 hours.” Jung Hoseok, 3rd year PhD student, simultaneously working on a second Master’s degree, also happens to run HopeWorld dance studio during his oodles of free time.

“Speaking of, weren’t you supposed to treat us if you lost the bet, Seokjin?” Kim Namjoon, 3rd year PhD student, plant dad, head of the graduate student council, and all-around overachiever.

“Tae was supposed to choose the place. Did you decide on which exorbitantly expensive restaurant Seokjin is going to take us to, Tae?” Y/L/N Y/N, 3rd year PhD student, roommates with Namjoon and Hoseok, addicted to bubble tea.

“I have a better plan. The incoming first year PhDs are supposed to have their orientation tomorrow. I think Seokjin should organise a mixer to welcome them.” Kim Taehyung, aforementioned ‘Tae’, 2nd year PhD student, works part time at the local art gallery, roommates with Park Jimin, deceptively fast at grading papers.

“I do not remember agreeing to that,” said Seokjin, with a frown, shutting his laptop with a definitive snap.

“Come on, it’s not like you can’t afford it,” Yoongi remarked, not having looked up from the large stack of papers in front of him. “If you can insist on paying 3/4ths of the ridiculously high rent of our apartment even though we could have moved into the perfectly reasonable priced place 20 minutes away from the lab, you can damn well afford to host a mixer for the incoming cohort.”

“20 minutes by car. It takes 45 minutes to walk there, Yoongi. Or do I need to remind you of the fact that only Y/N and Sooyoung own cars in our department?” scoffed Seokjin.

“Do I hear trouble in paradise? Have Yoongi and Seokjin finally had their first fight after years of marital bliss?” Lim Sooyoung, 4th year PhD student, part-time yoga instructor, full-time reluctant designated driver due to being the only other PhD student in the department with a car. 

“Hilarious,” grumbled Seokjin. “That joke is about as old as the milk carton at the bottom of Namjoon’s fridge.”

“That’s still there?” asked Hoseok, scandalised. “You told me you threw that out 4 months ago!”

“It’s a limited edition Blue Bean milk carton! I couldn’t throw it out, Hobi,” replied Namjoon, sheepishly. The use of Hoseok’s nickname meant that he had run out of logical arguments against throwing out the milk carton that had been purchased three months into their first year of doctoral studies. 

“Have you ever considered emptying out the contents and keeping just the carton?” you asked. This suggestion was met with the raising of an eyebrow and the throwing of an airpod by Namjoon. Unfortunately, this also meant that the airpod didn’t reach its intended target.

“Ow!” exclaimed Hoseok, rubbing the side of his face where the airpod had made contact. “This is why you’ve been through 33 pairs of airpods in the last year, Namjoon! You have dormant violent tendencies and terrible hand-eye coordination.”

“Now back to that mixer,” said Taehyung, turning towards Seokjin. “I’m thinking around 5 pm at the Underground should be good. What do you think?”

“Fine,” sighed Seokjin, reluctantly. “I’ll send a message on Slack. Who’s got the first years’ contact info?”

xxx

The next day, you found yourself struggling to find parking outside the Underground, despite it being 4.30 pm on a Tuesday. Namjoon and Hoseok were sitting at the back and discussing ways in which they could watch as many of the student films that were being shown over the weekend, while Taehyung sat shotgun and muttered to himself as he tried to destroy some kind of adversary on that godforsaken game that he always seemed to play. You whipped out your phone and started texting Sooyoung about whether she had found any parking.

SY: just parked… sending you the location… its behind the club

SY: is seokjin with you

Y/N: thanks!

Y/N: no i’ve got tae joon n hobi 

SY: ok… wonder how he’s getting here… yoongi’s with me… said seokjin left a while back

Y/N: idk… sure he found something… uber or lyft or whatever… don't worry he won't ditch lol 

Y/N: i found a spot damnnnnn. cya in a bit

SY: lol tae wouldn’t let him live if he ditched

SY: nice :D yoongi and i are in the purple section

The purple section was undoubtedly the best spot in the Underground, as you had discovered almost 2 years ago. Being new to the city, you had basically followed Joon and Hobi wherever they went to socialize or get food. It was around the end of your second month in the program that Seokjin planned a mid-semester gathering, refusing to eat at, in his words, “another cheap taco truck masquerading as kitschy Instagram bait”. That was your first encounter with the Underground as well as your first experience in the purple section. Simply put, it had the best sofas and chairs, an abundance of vintage arcade games, easy access to the bar and food counter, and a separate music setup. It also cost a lot more to sit at the purple section, but Seokjin had never been the type to scrimp when it came to anything. It had become a kind of tradition after that; every time someone had a birthday, Seokjin would reserve the purple section for the evening. Not having grown up surrounded by luxury and riches, it was sometimes difficult for you to understand how Seokjin never thought twice before spending money on things. Then again, you doubted you would’ve been this thoughtful even if you had this kind of money at your disposal. Seokjin might’ve been hard to read at times, but his heart was in the right place.

Speaking of, you spotted Seokjin standing next to a couple of people you didn’t recognise. Deciding that this was probably the best time to get introduced to the first years, you walked over to them with a smile.

“Just deposited Joon, Hobi, and Tae near the bar. I feel sorry for your tab today, Seokjin.”

Seokjin lifted one of his thick arched eyebrows at you and then burst into his signature windshield wiper laugh. “I’ll give them a free pass today. Afterall, it’s the beginning of a new academic year!”

“You’re planning on dumping all of Kang’s data analysis on them, aren’t you?” you asked, trying to suppress a grin.

“Ah, Y/N, you know me so well,” he grinned, his features lighting up mischievously. “By the way, here’s two thirds of the new cohort. Song Yeri and Jeon Jungkook.”

You glanced at the two unfamiliar people and smiled in greeting. Yeri was a petite girl with long black hair who quickly fell into conversation with you. Jungkook, on the other hand, gave you a soft nod and walked over to where Jimin was opening a couple of beers. 

“So is Professor Kang someone we should be worried about?” asked Yeri, not giving you much time to pay much attention to Jungkook. “I wouldn’t want to be unprepared.”

Seokjin laughed at her worried tone. “Straight off the bat, huh?” 

Yeri flushed slightly, tucking her hair behind her ear self-consciously. “Oh no- I mean, it just seemed like that from your conversation!”

“Don’t worry, Yeri,” you assured her. “Seokjin’s a fourth year - not much phases him. He’s doing his PhD under Kang so he has to do tons of data analysis for her projects. Which he sometimes dumps on people who have been bothering him.”

Yeri looked suitably concerned at this new piece of information. She glanced at Seokjin’s handsome profile and smiled uncertainly. You couldn’t help but giggle at her reaction. It really was difficult to get a grasp on everyone’s personalities just by their looks. Each and every guy in the department was strikingly handsome, and Sooyoung, the only other female besides you, looked like she had walked out of a fashion show. It would’ve been extremely intimidating if you hadn’t personally been a witness to how clumsy Namjoon was, how lame Seokjin’s puns were, how scared Yoongi and Hoseok were of anything remotely resembling an insect, how Tae hadn’t managed to cook a single meal without setting off the fire alarm or giving Jimin food poisoning, how Jimin often collided into objects because he was laughing too much, or how Sooyoung had gotten lost multiple times on her way to campus in spite of driving along the same road for more than 3 years. You were sure Yeri, and the other two first years, would definitely get over the initial nerves and intimidation surrounding their colleagues. In fact, if Jungkook’s animated conversation with Jimin was anything to go by, it seemed like he had gotten over that already.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others.” You steered Yeri in Sooyoung and Yoongi’s direction.

xxx

“Thanksgiving next week! I cannot wait to get away from this blasted Ethics class!” 

You were currently in Seokjin and Yoongi’s shared posh apartment, trying to proof-read a paper before the conference deadline. On the couch next to you sat Seokjin and Namjoon, eyes blinking rapidly in tiredness, while Jimin sat across from you, his silver hair tied into a messy ponytail. 

The door to the apartment swung open at that moment as Jungkook walked in, armed with takeout from at least 4 different places.

“I come bearing sustenance,” he announced, as Jimin jumped up with surprising alacrity and rushed towards him. 

“Your Busan blood runs strong, my friend,” said Jimin, appreciatively, eyeing all the different containers on the table. “I knew I could count on you.”

“That makes zero sense, Jimin,” scoffed Sooyoung. She was buried deep inside Yoongi’s favorite bean bag, having taken it over since the owner was currently not at home. “But li’l Jeon has proven to be a valuable addition to our department.”

“Ugh! Don’t call him that! Li’l Jeon sounds like something else,” you said, scrunching your nose in distaste.

“I agree,” replied Jungkook, rolling up his sleeves as he began opening the containers carefully. “But i can assure you of one thing - there is nothing li’l about this Jeon. In any sense of the word.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” you declared, throwing a particularly soft pillow over your face. 

Three months into the semester and Jungkook had become an integral part of your group of friends. It had turned out that Jungkook and Jimin knew each other very well, having gone to school together in Busan. It’s not as if you hadn’t become well acquainted with the other two first years - Yeri still consulted you whenever she needed advice on how to deal with grading or professors or classes in general; and Lauren, an international student from France, was very friendly and turned up at all the department hangouts. But Jungkook seemed like he had been part of your group forever - not someone who had met almost everyone for the first time about 3 months ago. As was customary with first year PhD students, they were required to complete a few mandatory courses before being allowed to customize their coursework around their individual research interests. So even though Jungkook had all the same classes with Yeri and Lauren, almost every moment outside of classes was spent with one of you.

“I can’t believe it’s already time for Thanksgiving,” said Jimin, popping an entire dumpling into his mouth. “-ime eeli plyz.”

“Chew your food, you barbarian,” scolded Seokjin, blowing on a particularly large piece of fried chicken before putting the entirety into his mouth. A couple of chews and a large swallow later, Seokjin was ready for a second piece.

“Speak for yourself,” remarked Sooyoung, holding onto her food protectively.

“I remember Yoongi telling us during our orientation,” Namjoon piped up, a can of beer in his hand. “‘In a PhD program, days are slow, but semesters are fast’. I thought he was high at that time, but I realise now that he’s a true genius.”

“I still don’t get why you’re such a Yoongi fanboy,” grumbled Seokjin, settling comfortably into the couch once again. “I’m just as wise, and definitely a lot funnier.”

“Don’t forget about being a drama queen,” said Sooyoung, nudging Seokjin’s knee with her toes. “You’ve got that one over Yoongi as well.”

“Four years and you're still as ungrateful,” sighed Seokjin, looking uncharacteristically cheerful at the teasing. 

“At least I’m consistent,” shrugged Sooyoung. “Gimme some of your kimchi.”

“Consistency is only useful across data samples,” remarked Seokjin, picking up a small amount of kimchi with his chopsticks and feeding Sooyoung. “Not sure how desirable it is in human relationships. Life would be unbearably dull in that case.” 

“They’ve been dancing around each other for as long as I’ve known them. Why can’t they just get together and stop their incessant flirting in front of the rest of us,” you muttered darkly, vigorously pouring chili oil over your ramen. You, Namjoon, and Jungkook were still getting your food from the kitchen, while Jimin had gone ahead and joined the incessantly flirting pair in the living room.

“Y/N is always so bitter about anything to do with romance,” chuckled Namjoon. “Jungkook, do you know how annoyed she was when Hobi started dating last year?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of hearing that story.” Jungkook glanced at you cheekily, while popping open a can of beer.

“She didn’t speak to him for an entire week. Which was particularly inconvenient because the three of us had just started living in the same apartment, and we were all assigned to assist Choi on her year-end department survey. Poor Hobi thought he might have to find a new place to live.” 

“I’m sorry? Were you the one who came back home after extended office hours to find your friend butt-naked and balls-deep inside the barista who works across the street from our lab? I couldn’t get coffee from there for a month because I couldn’t look Sujin in the eye without immediately imagining Hobi in his natural drawers.”

Jungkook, who had chosen this exact moment to take a sip of beer, spat out the amber liquid on an unsuspecting Namjoon. 

“That’s what you get for deriving pleasure from other people’s misfortunes,” you remarked, smugly.

xxx

It was around 11.30 in the morning, when you heard a loud knocking on your apartment door. Classes had broken for Thanksgiving yesterday, which meant that today was your day to catch up on all the sleep you had missed over the last three months. But instead, you had been woken up much ahead of your intended 16 hours of sleep schedule. 

“You look awful.”

Jungkook walked into the apartment, looking far too fresh and sprightly for your liking. He was wearing that godforsaken plaid shirt that hung loosely off his body, but would highlight his rather well-defined muscles every time he happened to move in a particular way. You absolutely hated what a tease his shirt was. Fortunately for you, he wasn’t wearing the skin tight black jeans which always looked like they were about to burst at the seams, thanks to Jungkook’s equally well-defined thighs. 

“It’s not even noon. Why can’t you call before showing up? Where are your manners, Jeon?” you grumbled, checking to see if your pajamas had any glaring holes in them.

“I need help with the data analysis,” he mumbled sheepishly. “Professor Lee gave me a really tough dataset because I breezed through the first two assignments.”

“Still don’t see why you came over without any notice at this ungodly hour,” you continued, tapping your foot impatiently.

“I also got jjajangmyeon, kimbap, and bubble tea from Kimchi Palace.”

“What kind of bubble tea?” you asked, pushing yourself off the doorframe.

“Strawberry milk tea, half sugar, light ice, with extra strawberry jelly, and no boba.”

“I suppose it isn’t that early.”

A few minutes later, you were explaining principal component analysis to Jungkook, while eating jjajangmyeon and sipping bubble tea. The kimbap was put into the fridge for later, in case Namjoon or Hoseok wanted to have some when they got home at night. 

Jungkook was very intelligent; he picked up new concepts quite easily and was one hundred percent committed to whatever he worked on. He also had a refreshing sense of humor, where he didn’t always crack jokes or stay in the limelight, but his occasional quips were enough to send everyone into fits of laughter. He got along extremely well with each of them. He and Taehyung often walked around the city taking obscure, artsy photographs. Seokjin had basically adopted Jungkook as a younger brother due to his video gaming abilities. Namjoon was glad to finally have someone who enjoyed going on nature hikes with him, while Hoseok had been hugely impressed at Jungkook’s dancing and promptly asked him to help out at his studio. Jimin already knew Jungkook quite well, and Yoongi was more than happy to teach someone else the intricacies of cooking different kinds of meat. Even Sooyoung, who usually remained closed off from new people, had allowed Jungkook to use her car whenever someone needed to be picked up but she was too exhausted to drive. 

“I’m sorry I came by so early. I know you’ve been looking forward to catching up on sleep over the break,” he said softly, looking up from his laptop. That was the other thing that had struck you about Jungkook, he was very perceptive and sensitive to people around him. A rare quality which you appreciated far more than you let on.

“It’s fine. You saved me from having to cook lunch. That itself deserves many prizes from my end. You know how I hate cooking,” you shrugged.

“Speaking of, I’m making dinner for me and Tae tonight. Jimin’s visiting his brother, so it's just the two of us. And since I’d rather not get food poisoning, I’m putting Yoongi’s lamb chop recipe to good use,” he grinned boyishly. “You should come over if you don’t have anything else planned. It’ll save you from cooking another meal.”

“I might take you up on that offer. Let me check if either Joon or Hobi are having dinner at home, otherwise I’ll definitely be there.”

xxx

Taehyung and Jimin (and now Jungkook) lived about 10 minutes away from your place. It was a much larger apartment, so three people were more than comfortable there. Jungkook was staying there until he found another place to stay, but judging by how happy Jimin and Taehyung were with him around, he would probably end up staying with them permanently.

“I found parking at your building for the first time today,” you remarked, dropping your bag on the nearest couch. 

“Half the people are visiting family over the weekend. You won’t be so lucky next time.” Taehyung walked over lazily, his thick black hair falling messily over his eyes. He was dressed in his favorite Celine t-shirt and a pair of the loosest pants you had seen till date.

“The perm’s still looking good, Tae,” you grinned at him, taking the soda from his hand. 

“I’m planning on getting it done again once it wears off,” he said happily, settling into the couch. “Catch up on your sleep? Or did Gguk ruin your Thanksgiving plans as well?”

“‘As well’?” you asked, trying to suppress a grin.

“Taking advantage of the nearly empty laundry room and washing all the sheets does not count as ‘ruining’ anyone’s Thanksgiving plans!” yelled Jungkook from inside the kitchen.

“He woke me up at 7 am and stripped the sheets off my bed, emptied all our laundry bags, and locked me out of my room so that I wouldn’t dirty the bare mattress with my grubby clothes.” Taehyung’s grumbling was always extremely funny because he would end up pouting by the end of his rant and no one would take him seriously after that.

“Okay, the bread is in the oven and should be ready in about 15. Lamb chops are almost done as well. We’ll be dining in no time,” said Jungkook, flopping onto the couch beside you.

“That gives me enough time to answer the emails Choi sent me this morning. Jimin was right, she’s a madwoman. Doesn’t understand what ‘a break’ is , apparently,” sighed Taehyung, getting up and walking towards his room. “Lemme know when the food is ready.”

3 years ago, if anyone had told you that you would be more than halfway through your PhD having become close friends with seven of the most handsome guys on campus (or even in the country), you would’ve laughed at them and then silently questioned their sanity. But now, you couldn’t imagine life without them. Even Jungkook, you realised, glancing at the boy next to you. He had also become an extremely important part of your life. He didn’t say much, but his actions made things abundantly clear. He was extremely caring and thoughtful, even if he didn’t always have the right words to express himself. 

“What’re you thinking?” he asked, looking at you sleepily.

“That this soda is almost lukewarm.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

Suddenly, you felt a rough set of fingers poking your ribcage. Slowly, but surely, you were squirming in place as you struggled to not spill your soda while Jungkook continued tickling you mercilessly. 

“I know your weakness, remember?” he managed to say between giggles, his voice turning high-pitched as it usually did when he laughed too hard. 

“Gguk stop! The soda! It’ll spill on the carpet!” you gasped, trying to keep your hand steady.

“Oh shit! Sorry. Yeah, Jimin would freak out if he saw a stain on this carpet.” Jungkook let you go so that you could place the soda can on the nearest table. But as soon as you had freed your hands, you jumped on him and pinned him on the couch.

“I also know your weakness, Gguk,” you grinned, deviously, before tickling him with all your might. 

Needless to say, a scenario with two people in their mid-twenties behaving like 4 year olds, was bound to have certain consequences. In this case, it ended with both you and Jungkook falling off the couch, your faces mere inches away from each other. 

This wasn’t the first time you had been struck by how handsome Jungkook was. In fact, you had noticed the exact number of moles on his face and neck, having stopped yourself from reaching out and touching the one under his lower lip on more than one occasion. His large doe eyes also held a certain innocence and wonder in them, even though he was an extremely bright and capable PhD student with a lot of varied knowledge bases. Not just that, his impressive physique had caught you off guard many times. Particularly because it contrasted so heavily with his boyish face.

None of that mattered at this moment, as you could feel his breath on your face. He was so close… If you reached up a little bit, you would be-

“The oven timer’s been beeping for the last 10 minutes. But you both are too busy eye-fucking each other to notice.”

Taehyung’s deep voice caused you both to spring apart from each other, mortification heating up your face and neck. Jungkook’s ears, you noticed, had turned a very beautiful shade of red as well.

Dinner wasn’t as awkward as you expected because Yoongi dropped by a few minutes after your ‘eye-fucking’ session, extremely hungry and annoyed at Seokjin - who had decided to use this night to slow cook some pork.

“Gguk, this is really good,” said Yoongi, once all of you had finished eating. “Didn’t think you’d be able to get it right on the first go! Y/N, what’d you think? You’ve been awfully quiet the whole time.”

You nodded your head in response, keenly aware of Taehyung’s intense gaze that followed your every move. “It was really good, Gguk. Thanks for a lovely meal.”

“Do you need a ride home, Yoongi?” you asked, once all the dishes had been cleared away. “I’ve got my car.”

“Life-saver. I need to pick up a tin of coffee from the convenience store. I’ll meet you at the parking lot in 10?” said Yoongi slipping on his jacket.

“Wait, I’ll go with you. I need to buy some soda,” said Taehyung, springing up suddenly. Not bothering to change out of his slippers, he rushed out after Yoongi, but not before glancing quickly between you and Jungkook and sending you a rather outrageous wink.

“That was… weird,” you remarked, relieved to see that Jungkook had missed your exchange with Taehyung. “Anyway, thanks again for a great meal. You’re a really good cook, Gguk.”

“Thanks,” he said, not really looking up from his phone. He had also been rather silent throughout the meal.

“I’m heading out then. See you later, Gguk.” You picked up your bag and proceeded to open the door.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You turned around to find Jungkook standing rather close to you. You could see the mole below his lower lip quite clearly from here.

“You never told me what you were thinking about.” His voice was a lot more husky than usual, and you gulped as you realised you had no clue what to say to him.

“I-”

Before you could finish your half-formed sentence, Jungkook’s lips were on yours, kissing you slowly. After being frozen for a second or two, your hands made their way into his soft brown curls, relishing in the feeling of having him so close to you. You realised that you had been wanting to do this for a while now. Maybe even since the first day of classes, when he had offered you his cup of coffee after the machine in the department had stopped working. 

“Never mind,” he said, breaking the kiss with a soft ‘chu’. “You can tell me another time. Yoongi’s probably waiting at the parking lot.”

“And Tae might come back any minute now,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, a soft smile on his face. 

“Tomorrow?” It seemed like your brain had short circuited. 

“Yeah.” He dipped down and placed another chaste kiss on your mouth, before displaying his adorable bunny smile. “But even that seems too far away right now.”

You were really grateful that you managed to get both yourself and Yoongi home without crashing the car that night. Once you got home, you checked your phone and found two messages - a text from Jungkook checking if you had reached home safe, and another one from Taehyung.

T: the couch is off limits. don’t even think about it...

xxx

please do not repost anywhere. reblog if you enjoyed the story!

[tsukuna]

Side by Side

Summary: You wandered into Red Grave City to warn the “Legendary Devil Hunter” of a certain… negative shift in the area’s energy. It was an energy you knew to be demonic, and it grew stronger by the day. But on your way to meet with the intermediary, a noisy bird caught your attention. A noisy bird that would bring you to a frail man on the brink of falling apart.

Rated M • Female Reader • Before the Events of DMC V• Under the Cut • Part 2

The news began to speak of the Qliphoth, or the “tree shaped object,” that emerged in Redgrave City. No one, from the average citizen to local police, had a clue that a powerful demon lurked inside. Despite repetitive warnings to take shelter, crowds loved to gather around the base and just stare. Ignorant fools, all of them. 

You observed the horde from a helicopter heading into the den. There was you, V, and Dante of course, but an additional two women accompanied. One had short, ebony hair and an eye of green, an eye of red--not to mention an enormous arsenal. The other was a near carbon copy of the woman you saw on Dante’s desk, and she smelled like a demon. Frankly, it was all perplexing, but you assumed questions would receive no answers. They are beautiful though. You admired their deadly radiance.

While the three demon hunters chatted amongst themselves, you looked to V. His demeanor was entirely muted, and his face showed little expression. There was a decent understanding between you too at this point though, and you could tell there was anxiety building in him. You would have given him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder; however, you had a feeling the gesture wouldn’t be too well accepted.

“So,” the black haired one drawled. “Who are you?” She eyed you rather intensely.

You introduced yourself. “What about you two?” You looked back just as intense. The names Lady and Trish rang out. “Your names are pretty,” you smiled softly.

“Pretty?” Trish was surprised by the comment.

“Mm,” you affirmed. “I wouldn’t have guessed them. But they match perfectly.”

“Ahhh, so you think we’re pretty, huh?” The girl named Lady tried to tease.

“Extremely,” you said with confidence, not allowing yourself to show embarrassment.

Both of them seem more than satisfied with your answer. “How come you never pay us compliments, huh, Dante?” Lady complained.

“I don’t want to inflate the egos of two crazy ladies anymore than they already are,” Dante replied with a shrug. That seemed to spark an impassioned, yet silly argument. It was an interesting display of friendship for you. I never knew it could seem so… fun.

The light air wasn’t meant to last though. Once the helicopter landed, it was business. “Hey, Dante,” Lady spoke up. “I haven’t even heard the target’s name yet.”

“Uuh… hey poem kid,” Dante seemed peeved.

But in juxtaposition, Griffon began to laugh, “Hee hee hee, that’s our wise guy Dante! What a memory! V, he deserves some praise.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the bird. So extra.

“... some said, it is Urizen.” It was a name you proposed after you met up with Dante before the trip.

“How about Urizen?” Those deep green eyes looked at you with a curious expression. “I read the story in your little book,” you explained.

“Ah yeah, right.” Dante seemed less than enthused. “Urizen, Urizen. You people keep it in mind for me.”

“Not a problem,” you whistled a tune while exiting to wait outside Devil May Cry once again.

“I’m surprised you remembered the name,�� V admitted.

“How come? I spent quite some time reading the book while waiting for you.” There was a small pause before you giggled. “I was even pleasantly surprised by how soft your hair was. I thought about doing a little braid.”

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” V placed his palm on his face, but it didn’t fully hide the amused smirk on his lips. In spite of what was about to go down that night, you were glad you could provide some bit of comedic relief.

The skepticism on Trish’s face at the name made you a tad nervous, but whatever she was thinking, she didn’t bring it up.

“Looks like the party venue is still open,” Dante announced as you made your way into the Qliphoth.

“Shit, gross.” Your nose crinkled upon moving forward. But why does it seem similar to V’s faint demonic scent?

Lady affirmed, “Oh, it stinks in here.”

“I know. Smells like hot garbage.” Dante fanned himself with an irritated expression. But was it truly irritation, or something else? You couldn’t help but remember his reaction to the true name of the demon. Vergil.

V suddenly crumbled forward, and you caught him just in time before his whole body hit the (disgusting) bottom. His face looked similar to when he was on death’s door. “V?” There was no hiding your concern.

“This is far worse than I thought,” he whispered underneath his breath.

There was no time for questioning before Dante called out. “There’s no crime in turning tail. These things might be a little too much for ya.” He continued to walk while looking at him, hands cooly in his pockets.

“... you’re right.” V gritted his teeth. “I’ll leave the rest to you.” He turned on his heel, leaving both you and Griffon to stare in disbelief. Immediately, the demon flew over to question him in a panic.

Dante’s eyes turned to you. “What about you?”

You did consider your two options. You knew you could fight, and you could tell they needed all possible help. But could V make it without you? It seemed as though his health took a turn for the worst in the blink of an eye. “I’ll go with him, just in case.” Dante nodded before waving goodbye unceremoniously.

It was only a short jog before you caught back up with V. “One must always have an insurance policy,” he told Griffon. Strange. V acknowledged your presence with a nod. It let you know you weren’t unwelcome or a hindrance to whatever he was planning. Had he not given you the clear, however subtle it was, well… you supposed you would’ve turned back to rejoin the other there.

“What do you mean, insurance policy? Wait… Do you mean that brat?!” Griffon quite literally screeched. “Hey, hey… he got his right arm lopped right off,” he tried to reason with V. “He won’t be of any use in battle!” V mumbled some sort of reassurance to him, citing the blood of Sparda. It offered Griffon no comfort. “I said not to fall behind Dante, right? And then you just leave! If they kill him while we are out fetching some greenhorn, we’ll...” the little demon trailed off.

V glanced back. “That… won’t happen. I think.” It appeared this situation was worse than imagined.

“Perhaps I should’ve gone,” you thought aloud.

“I believe you would’ve died,” he paused. “And that would be rather unfortunate.” While V often omitted aspects of the truth, he didn’t seem to lie about what he did choose to reveal.

You, Griffon, and V made your way back to Morrison and the helicopter. His expression was confused. “Well, that was quick. Where’s Dante?”

“Inside. Send the helicopter now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Right now? And send where?” Clearly, the intermediary was puzzled.

“Fortuna,” V stated.

Fortuna--it was a place you heard about in passing. Rumors of mass destruction caused by demons and the existence of cults in the obscure city floated about. Is this where that “brat” resides? The entirety of the Qliphoth was once more in view. It was a disappointment, leaving before you had done a thing about the demon within.

Clearly, V noticed your irritation. “It will be solved in time. It must.” Though he said that to you, it also seemed like he was reassuring yourself.

“I simply wish it will be sooner rather than later.”

You fell back into a lull of science. Until the pilot broke it with annoyed chatter about these “boonies” having no heliport and how he’d have to look for a little landing spot.

“There is no time. We’ll meet below. I’m going ahead,” V prepared to jump from the helicopter, causing the pilot to panic even further. He turned to you and offered his hand. You hesitantly took it. You had a suspicion Griffon would be the way down, but you were skeptical on how well he’d do with carrying the weight of two people.

You clenched your jaw when the air initially hit your face. “God, fuck.” V seemed to laugh under his breath at you before pulling you a bit closer to make Griffon’s job easier.

“While I don’t mind helping out because, y’know, my life counts on it… try not work me too hard,” Griffon bitched. His complaints were met with no words of remorse.

Before your feet hit the ground, V began to discuss his plan. “I’m going through the window.”

“Alright, I’ll wait outside.” The distance to the bottom wasn’t far, so you let go, landing on your feet softly enough. At least I’m stealthy.

Over 15 minutes passed before your ebony-haired companion made his way back down. You looked around for whatever it was he came for. “He’ll be here shortly.” So it IS the brat.

The rattling of metal had you turning around, your eyes catching sight of a boy with blue eyes and silver hair--very similar to Dante. He looked to V, who he already met, then you with skepticism. Regardless, he moved forward to join you. “You’re telling me that’s our ride? Talk about posh.” When you looked at the city streets you assumed that yes, it was posh in comparison to what other residents typically saw. “...Don’t get it too close, the others will wake up.”

V was irked by the comment. “Do I look like I can contact it right now? Try jumping and telling the pilot in person.”

“Yeah, sure,” the other boy rolled his eyes. The conversational-less void quickly turned awkward, unlike the time you typically spent with V. You knew nothing about this boy though, and it’d be a lie if you said you weren’t semi-interested.

While still staring forward, you said your name. The boy turned to you with a questioning look. “Your name?”

He seemed to consider whether or not he even wanted to give it to you at first. “Nero,” he finally said.

Immediately upon landing in the Qliphoth, Nero seemed ready to rush in. But V warned him of the danger that waited. Shortly after, a gurgling sound came out from what you noticed to be Shadow’s “liquid” form. “I’m leaving,” V looked over his shoulder. “I doubt you two would get lost here, but still… I suggest you do not fall behind.” And so he did go ahead, using Shadow as a mode of transportation.

Nero’s face soured a bit, making you release a short laugh. “Not very personable, is he?”

“I can agree to that,” Nero grumbled. It wasn’t long before demons began to spawn, creating little roadblocks in your path. “Get behind me.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need protection, y’know?”

“I don’t see any weapons on you,” he eyed you.

You sighed. “Why must one waste energy and space by carrying physical items?” You gave Nero a peace sign before allowing white-gold light to envelop your hand. With a small shake, the glow around your hand turned to light throwing needles. “You take care of half of them, I’ll deal with the rest from a distance for now.”

The demons crawled closer and he grudgingly understood there was no time to ask more at the moment, but oh man, you knew it’d be constant interrogation once there was time. Whatever. A disgusting creature with both the face of a man and an ant’s body caught sight of you. You lazily threw a needle at it, watching it explode once it was pierced between the eyes. They were clearly bottom of the barrel demons. They were quick work for you, and clearly Nero as well who finished shortly after you.

“So you gonna tell me what the hell that was about?” He placed his shoulder across his back as you two continued walking.

“Don’t think that’d be right,” you drawled, “I haven’t even let V know yet, and I’ve been hanging out with him longer.” Nero huffed. “But I will let you know that light exists to extinguish this darkness.”

“How poetic,” he rolled his eyes, which warranted you to bump you first on his head. “Hey! What the hell?”

“Don’t be a douche, Nero,” you stuck your tongue out. “But y’know what? I won’t give too much away from myself, but I have to say, for a kid with one arm, I’m rather impressed by your sword skills.”

“Tch. You should’ve seen me when I had both,” it was funny how quickly Nero could go from brooding to cocky.

A sideways smirk spread across your face. “Would’ve loved to spar with you and kick your ass.”

You both continued to banter and deal with anything in the way. It was actually fun, and, surprisingly, the pair of you laughed together. It took no time for you to see V in the distance once again.

Nero stepped forward. “Huh? What, did you come back?”

The comment undeniably miffed V. “I told you, had I not? Your presence is needed.” You still didn’t quite understand why he needed Nero. He was strong, yes, but he still only had one arm. And if the reaction V and Griffon had earlier meant anything, this demon was far out of Nero’s league.”

Speaking of the devil (or rather the demon), Griffon piped up. “Hey, hero, you do know your role, right?” Nero quirked a brow at the bird. “What I’m saying is get going. We’ll take care of the grunts.”

“Whatever,” he turned around. But then he called out your name, which had a surprisingly colloquial tone to it. “You coming with?” Dante asked the same thing, and you would give the same answer.

“This seems to be your fight,” you shook your head. “I’ll stay back and help here.”

“Gotcha,” Nero nodded and began to move forward.

Griffon cackled, “Fast friends, huh?”

“He’s a funny kid. But how about we focus on the issue before us, hm?” The demons, which Nero had let you know were called empusas, bubbled up.

“Work, work, work!” Despite the complaint, Griffon charged then released cracks of lightning onto the demons. “Fuck yeah!” Huh, I guess I never saw what he did. The bird then chided V for not helping.

“Don’t rush me,” he voiced as he pierced one of the empusas. “Garbage.”

“He, he, that’s the spirit. We gotta catch up to the kid! Even she is helping out!” Griffon was ranged, you noticed, so you took a more melee stance this time (as opposed to your strategy alongside Nero). Instead of conjuring the needles, you created an elegant scythe of light. While the hacking and slashing was entertaining, being splattered by rancid demon blood was a major downside.

“Ugh, disgusting,” you at least wiped it off your face. V looked at you, startled and speechless. “No time for a Q and A, we’re needed ahead.” You grabbed his (warm) hand and began to run forward. “I can tell they’re right up there!”

The first thing you saw was Nero already bloody and beaten. “Fuck, Nero!” You rushed towards him and continued to scan the scene ahead of you. Dante. Lady. Trish. All of them lying on the ground in defeat. The demon, the monster, who defeated the famed devil hunters sat at the far end, appearing bored on his “throne.”

“He lost?! How did this happen?!” Griffon’s panicked screeches rang in your ears. “Oh no… oh no… This is it. This is the end.”

V softly murmured “Dante…” It was as if that conjured him back from the grave.

“Round two!” He transformed into a devil right before your eyes. Who the hell are all these people I got involved with?

“Heeey, what do we do?! We could lose an arm too V!” Griffon flew around anxiously. “Earth to princess V! Get yourself together!” You joined his chorus of yells, however… the words did not reach his ears. Tears rolled down V’s face and you realized just how dire this situation was for him.

“V!” You and Griffon shouted, but he continued to stare ahead. “V!” This time you took him by the shoulder and began to turn him around. “We need to go!” His eyes finally came back into focus and he nodded.

“Get Nero out of here! This was a bad move,” Dante yelled out.

“I can still fight,” Nero screamed in response but you were already beginning to pick him up and drag him away. “Tch, shit, back off!”

“You’re just deadweight!” By expression alone, you could tell that Dante’s words reverberated through his whole being.

Even as the ground collapsed, Nero shouted, “Quit messin’, back off!”

“We have to leave here!” You and V both tried to shake sense into the boy. “He’s far stronger than we could’ve imagined…!”

“That bastard called me “dead weight”?! Don’t underestimate me!” Nero screamed out Dante’s name.

Your eyes widened with shock as V threw Nero against a wall. “If you’re frustrated then think of ways to get stronger!” You had never heard his voice ring so loudly. “If Dante loses… I need you to defeat Urizen.” Nero’s face was full of scorn, but he seemed to finally give up fighting you and V off.

“Yes Urizen, the demon king…” He’s the demon king? Fuck. “That’s the name of the demon who took your arm,” V explained to Nero. It was news to you that it was Urizen who stole Nero’s arm. First question you had was why? What was so special about his arm that the demon king needed it to ascend? Perhaps I can barter information with him another day. I’m sure we shall meet again.

A crisp snap cut the air, and suddenly the black from V’s hair dissipated, leaving only white behind. An enormous creature crashed down and busted the rocks. Its appearance seemed to be made of rock (though that would be too simple) and it had a single eye. Another of V’s familiars, huh? But unlike Shadow and Griffon, especially, it didn’t seem to have any conscience. “This is Nightmare,” V  whispered to you. Good to know he thought that you may want that information.

The descent was over and once the familiar gurgled away, V’s hair became black once more.

“Where’s Dante? Hey!” Morrison exclaimed, voice full of confusion.

“He’s buying us time.. But it won’t last long,” V answered smoothly, not showing his despair to the other man.

Morrison was stunned. “Dante lost?!”

[turtle-steverogers]

Not Guilty

remember when I was gonna write a murder mystery? well, it kinda took a turn plotwise, but here it finally is

Being a homicide detective is all fun and games until you start to fall for the lead suspect in your most recent case.

warnings: description of a dead body, talk about death

ship: ralbert, platonic spalbert

word count: 2480

Chapter 1

Even before Albert walked in on the dead body, his day wasn’t going well.  

His good uniform shirt hadn’t dried properly the night previous, so he had to go with his old one that was a little bit too small in all the wrong places.  The department was out of his favorite green tea, which meant he had to settle for that fucking dirt coffee Kelly and Conlon kept around for “sanity”.  And he’d been late on his lunch break, since Chief Roosevelt stuck Cortez’s paperwork on him last minute.

So, when he ventured into the bathroom of his favorite sandwich shop, only to find a fresh corpse and more blood than he ever really cared to see propped up neatly on the toilet, all he could find in himself to do was sigh.  And gag a little, but that was a given.

The coppery smell of blood and freshly shut down internal organs cuts brutally through the air and Albert reaches under his button down to pull his undershirt over his nose as he dials Spot’s number.  

As his phone’s ringing, Albert takes the time to steel himself and assess the body, first checking the pockets for any kind of identification.  When all he comes up with are a couple candy wrappers and a condom, he sighs again.  So, they’ll have to do this the hard way.  Typical.

“Yo, Dasilva, how’s the meatball sub?”

Albert gags again.  The last thing he wants to think about right now is his abandoned meat sandwich covered in red sauce.  No, nope.  Not right now.

“Yeah, uh, no,” Albert says, leaning back on his haunches, “We got a 10-54, possible homicide- multiple stab wounds to the chest and stomach.  I’m gonna need backup down here.”

There’s a pause, then Albert hears Spot groan, “And you’re still at Gianno’s?”

“Unfortunately.”

There’s a pause and Albert can picture Spot rubbing his eyes, “Fuck, okay, me and some others’ll be there soon.”

The line goes dead with a click and Albert casts another cursory look over the body.  Dilated eyes stare back at him, a slack jaw giving way to a bluish, swollen looking tongue.  He scrunches his nose, feeling a little dizzy.

“Bruh, you’re lookin’ rough.” 

The body does not answer.

-

The victim, Albert learns upon returning to the precinct, is some low level reporter for one of the smaller newspapers in New York: the Brooklyn Eagle.  

“Frank Wiesel, but folks call him Weasel.  Fitting, too.  The guys a biased asshole, apparently.  Republican, Conservative, the works.  Probably would fit in better with Fox News instead of a city newspaper, but…”

Spot leans back in his seat, tossing down the manilla case file and taking a long drink from his “10-4 Coffee That” mug.  It’s a stupid mug, but Spot has worshipped it since Jack had passed it over one Christmas Eve in the department, and honestly, Albert hasn’t seen him nearly as passionate over anything, so he bites his tongue. 

“An asshole, huh?” Albert pulls the case file towards himself and flips it open, eyes scanning the scowling face of Wiesel, “Anyone in particular who would have it out for him?  Or is he more of a generally known bastard type.”

“Hard to say,” Spot says, “He wrote some pretty nasty stuff about a few left leaning politicians in the area and got some pretty bad backlash because of that.  Plus his general lack of a filter’s gotten him kicked out of bars here and there around Manhattan, so…”

Albert hums, scrunching his nose.  Wiesel really is ugly.  All 1940s mobster with a stupid bowler hat and beady eyes, mouth turned down under a ratty handlebar mustache, “Has the autopsy come back yet?”

“They’re finishing up the toxicology report,” Spot says, “S’taking a little longer than usual, ‘cause Mush suspects something mighta been up with the vic’s blood.”

“Poison?”

“Maybe,” Spot shrugs and pours himself more coffee.  Albert eyes him, wondering how many cups he’s had today and vacantly wondering if Spot would be off put by him taking the pot and drinking directly from it.

“Has the wait staff at Gianno’s been questioned yet?”

“Mostly,” Spot answers.  The look in his eye tells Albert that he’s about to drop something pivotal.

He cocks his head, “Mostly?”

“One waiter went home right before the murder occured.  Claimed a migraine.”

Albert’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.  Now that is interesting, “And nobody fucking thought to bring this guy in?”

XXX

The waiter- Antonio Higgins, according to the file Katherine handed off to Albert and Spot- lives in an older looking apartment complex a few blocks down from Gianno’s.  Despite the slightly dilapidated exterior, the place has a pleasant enough, homey sort of vibe.  The vague smell of pasta sauce wafts through the air, assaulting their nostrils the moment they step into the building.  Distinct Italian villa music plays in soft undertones through the lobby and the walls are adorned with various renaissance-era paintings.  

Albert and Spot exchange a short glance, raising their eyebrows slightly before approaching the front desk.  The lady behind the counter is a stout, but demanding woman, her eyes lined with harsh black rouge and hand gesturing wildly as she speaks on the phone in rapid fire Italian.  A quick glance towards her name tag tells Albert that her name is Maria, which fits her whole Italian mother look.  Albert watches, bemused, as she looks at them inquisitively, then at the badges on their shirts and rolls her eyes, firing off a few more sentences into the receiver before hanging up the landline and placing it back on its phone stand.  

“Yes, hello officers, how may I help you?” Her heavily accented voice is tinged with annoyance and Albert sees Spot shoot him another glance in his peripheral.

Inwardly, Albert sighs.  He’s never understood why people can’t just be cooperative.

“Hi, ma’am, sorry for the inconvenience,” He trains his voice into something resembling empathy and plasters his most charming smile onto his face.  She doesn’t look amused, “I’m Detective DaSilva and this is my partner, Detective Conlon.  We’re here from the 17th precinct investigating a case regarding the tragedy that occurred over in Gianno’s earlier today and one of the waitstaff there, Antonio Higgins, lives here in your building.  We’ve got a few questions for him, so if you could do us the courtesy of buzzing us up to his room, that would be greatly appreciated.”

Maria’s eyes widen and when she speaks, the previous irritation is absent, “Tonio?  Is he in trouble?  That boy is the sweetest thing, so helpful.  There’s no way he could be who you are looking for.”

Albert tries to soften his expression, “He’s in no trouble yet, ma’am, I assure you.  We’re just following protocol and questioning all employees at Gianno’s.  He went home a little before the incident occurred, so we were not able to question him with the rest of the waitstaff.”

Maria looks a little relieved at this, but her sternness is back when she says, “Alright, I will buzz you up, but don’t do anything to hurt my dear Tonio.  He’s had a tough year and I’d hate for some pish posh detectives to upset him further.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Spot says, amicably.  

Maria picks up the phone again, presumably to call Higgins’ room and Spot looks at Albert, mouthing, ‘tough year?’  Albert shrugs and shakes his head, turning back to Maria as she hangs up the phone with a friendly, “Si, si, abbi cura, tesoro.”

“Okay,” She says dismissively, waving her hand as she picks up a pen and starts scribbling on some papers, “You can go up.  Elevators are around the corner.  Tonio lives on the 7th floor, room 712B.”

They thank her and head towards the elevators, relieved to find the one that picks them up to be empty.  

“I wonder what this Higgins dude’s been through for the fuckin’ receptionist to be that protective,” Spot says, pressing the button for the seventh floor and wincing when the elevator groans as it begins to ascend.

“Yeah, me too,” Albert agrees, “Sounded kind of cryptic, too.  Hope he’s in a good enough headspace to be helpful.”

And it’s true.  The more fucked up the suspect, the less willing they are to talk.  Vexation is one of the many banes of Albert’s existence.  They arrive at the floor and find room 712B at the end of the hallway.  Spot knocks and in less time than they anticipated, the door swings open to reveal a tired looking man.  He’s a bit taller than either of them with curly blond hair that sits like a mop on top of his head.  His blue eyes are accentuated by the bruise-like bags that sit underneath and the pallor of his skin makes it look like he’s sick; or was sick.  With a wince, Albert remembers that this guy had supposedly gone home with a migraine earlier.  

“Officers,” The man- Antonio- greets tiredly.  He looks bored at their presence and leans his shoulder casually on the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  His grey t-shirt stretches obscenely over well-muscled arms and Albert swallows.  Spot snorts next to him.

Recovering, Albert flashes him a quick smile, “Antonio, right?  I’m Detective Dasilva and this is my partner, Detective Conlon.  I’m assuming you’re aware of the incident that occurred over at Gianno’s earlier today?”

Antonio’s bored expression doesn’t waver, but when he sighs, it sounds shaky, “‘Course I heard.  Business is about to go to shit ‘cause of it, too.  No one’s gonna wanna come to a murder scene to eat, so bye-bye good paychecks.”

“Right, I apologise for that,” Albert continues, “But we’ve gotta ask you a few questions regarding the case.”

Antonio’s eyebrows shoot up, “Am I a suspect?”

“Everyone’s a suspect until we find the culprit,” Spot says evenly.

“Right…” Antonio sighs again, “Okay, come in I guess.”  

He opens the door wider to allow them to enter and turns to walk into the apartment, flicking on a few lights along the way.  Albert follows him, noting how excessively clean the apartment is as he makes his way to the kitchen where Antonio is opening a pill bottle and throwing back a few pills, washing them down with what Albert assumes is coffee.  Spot joins him in the mouth of the kitchen, looking as hesitant as Albert feels.  Antonio looks at them, lips quirking upwards into something like a smirk.

“Want anything to drink?” He offers, “I’ve got water, coffee, milk...if you’re weird like that.”

“We’re good, thank you,” Spot declines, stepping further into the kitchen and leaning against one of the counters.  

Albert follows suit, noting with a frown that everything here is impeccably organized as well.  A neat row of cookbooks are pressed against the fridge, descending in order from thickest to thinnest.  The counters are bare and shiny, boasting no crumbs or residue.  Kitchen appliances line the walls neatly, also showing barely any sign of use.  Albert suspects if they opened up the fridge and the cabinets, they’d find neatly stacked dishes and immaculately organized silverware.  

Antonio shrugs, sipping again from his coffee mug, “Suit yourself.”

“Okay,” Spot pulls out his pocket notebook, flipping it open to a blank page and clicking his pen against his chest, “So you claimed to have gone home around 12:20 with a migraine.  Did you take any detours on the way home?”

Antonio’s jaw clenches, “Well, seeing as my head was trying to kill me from the inside out, I wasn’t very keen on going window shopping, so…”

Albert hears Spot blow out a breath through his nose, “I need a direct answer here, sir, if you could please.”

Antonio rolls his eyes, “Yes, I came straight home.”

Undeterred, Spot plows on, “Did you have any connections to the victim, Frank Wiesel?  Was he a regular customer that you knew of?  Anything of that sort?”

“Fuckin’ Weasel was the one to get his ass smoked?” Antonio says, nostrils flaring.

“So you did know the victim,” Albert says.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ knew him.  Worked with my Pa for a while, before leaving him in the dust to go work for some hotshot newspaper.  Asshole if I ever knew him,” Antonio shakes his head, laughing dryly, “‘Bout time he met his maker.”

“Okay, don’t say that to any officer about a murder vic,” Albert admonishes, “And you said he worked with your dad?  What did they do together?”

Antonio shifts, suddenly looking uncomfortable, “I don’t really know, but my Pa never liked him much.  Always complained about how he was tryna ‘do him in for a big one’ whatever that means.  I think it had something to do with accounting, but I’m not entirely certain.”

Spot’s nodding, scribbling rapidly in his notebook, “You met him, yes?”

“Few times,” Antonio says, “ornery fucker.  Homophobic, too.  That was the only front he and my Pa ever agreed on it seemed.  Which worked wonderfully in my favor.”  He says that last part sarcastically and Albert sends a brief look to Spot who grimaces.

“Where’s your dad now?” Albert asks.  The situation Antonio’s painted for his involvement with Wiesel sounds like a breeding ground for motives- if not from him directly, then his father.

“Dead,” Antonio smiles bitterly, “Was fighting cancer for a while and finally kicked the can ‘bout three months ago.”

There’s a tense pause and Spot clears his throat, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Antonio snorts and Albert senses his frustration building.

“And you were here, in this apartment building, when the murder occurred say around...12:50?”

Antonio blinks, “I already told you I came straight home,” he pauses, “I didn’t fuckin’ kill Weasel.”

“We’re not saying-”

Antonio scoffs, “Kind of sounds like you are.  We done here?  ‘Cause as you seemed to know, I went home because of a migraine, which is still fucking me up.  So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Yes, my apologies,” Albert says, sensing that they weren’t going to get anything else out of this visit.  He nudges Spot, beginning to back out of the kitchen.  Antonio follows them to the door, watching warily as they step out, “Thank you for your time.  I appreciate your cooperation.  We’ll probably be back sometime this week for a few follow up questions.”

Antonio wrinkles his nose, “Wonderful.”

The door shuts with a resounding click and Albert and Spot stare at it for a long moment.

“Well…” Spot starts.

“Yeah,” Albert says, “There’s some digging to do here.”

“Sure is.”

They begin to retreat back towards the elevators.

“You gotta be careful, though.” Spot says, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

“About what?” 

“You were totally hot for him.”

Albert thunks his head against the elevator wall, groaning, “Man, shut up.”

Spot just laughs.

-

i actually know where this one is heading plot wise, so...,.,

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[bluesfortheredj]

Okay so my idea is maybe she meets Richard on set of a movie and one night at a NYE party some guy gets fresh with her and Richard backs him off her, she thanks him with a kiss and they walk back together to her hotel, one thing leads to another? New Years starts off right for them.

Filming for The Take had finished a couple of weeks before Christmas, and a New Years party with the cast and crew had been arranged as soon as you all touched down in London again. The thought excited you the most, as you’d grown close to Richard over the past couple of months, and you had a feeling that something could possibly grow from this budding friendship you’d created. Getting home, your feeling was made stronger by the immediate text you received from Richard.

-Hope you got home safely. Already counting down the days ‘til NYE x

You squeal out loud to yourself, almost dropping your phone as you bounce around like an excitable child on the sofa, and then think of what your reply should be. It’s got to be cool and casual, as if you weren’t crossing off the days on your calendar, even though you really were, and yet it can’t come across as if you don’t care. Why was this so difficult?

-I did, thank you. Hope you did too. Not long to go! X

You read it over and over until you manage to persuade your thumb to hit send, then read it once more to check that you didn’t sound like an idiot, even though it was too late now. As you’re scrutinising your message, another one from Richard pops up on your screen, and the first thing that hits you is the amount of kisses at the end.

-Still too long for my liking xxx

You blush at his words, and in a sudden bold move that appears from nowhere you send back a kissy face emoji along with a kiss next to it.

“Oh, god, what have I done?” you ask yourself as you watch it send.

-

The roof terrace of a restaurant in central London had been hired out for the party, and you felt very underdressed when you arrived to see just how posh this place was. There were waiters with silver trays filled with canapés that looked more like miniature pieces of art rather than edible food, and champagne was flowing already. You take a glass from one of the men standing at the entrance to the terrace, then float through the crowd, greeting people you knew as you went, and eventually get to the balcony to see the gorgeous view of St. Paul’s cathedral before you. Hands land on the railing next to you, and when you turn to see who it is, there stands Richard in all his overwhelming beauty, his blue eyes sparkling in the fairy lights that line the short wall next to you.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he smiles, his accent making your legs wobble slightly.

“What a coincidence,” you reply, taking a sip of your drink to try and calm yourself.

“Would you like another?” he asks, gesturing to your almost empty glass.

“Yes please,” you nod, and you turn to watch him walk to the outside bar. A waiter with a tray offers you a tiny sliver of food and you take it gratefully, quickly stuffing the tiny bite into your mouth before Richard got back.

“I like a woman who likes her food,” a voice next to you comments, and you turn to see someone vaguely familiar standing there, but their name escapes you.

“Hmm,” you smile as politely as you can while you frantically chew.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here on your own?” the man asks.

“Well, actually...” you start, then pause to swallow, unfortunately allowing him an opportunity to cut you off.

“It’s alright, guess it’s lucky I came along then, isn’t it?” he grins, stepping towards you and placing his hand on your arm. You instinctively step back, bumping straight into Richard as he stands there with both drinks in his hands, but he soon puts them down on a nearby table and moves in front of you.

“Everything alright here?” he asks, staring at the man standing in front of him.

“I was just, uh...”

“Harassing this young lady? Yeah, I saw that. Maybe next time try and get your own date, yeah?” Richard says, watching as the man scuttles away quickly, and then he directs his attention back to you, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you smile as Richard places both hands on your upper arms, searching your face for any sign of something off, “thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” he grins back, then the both of you stand there for a few seconds, your eyes locked as you try and figure out what happens next. He moves his face towards yours ever so slightly, then you take his action and run with it, leaning in to press a brief kiss against his lips. When you move back again, there’s a mild look of shock on his face, and you immediately start apologising.

“I’m so sorry, oh my goodness, sorry. I don’t know why-”

“Can we do that again?” he asks, stopping you mid-sentence.

“Yep,” you squeak, and this time it’s him who takes the lead, leaning in to you and capturing your lips softly as his arms wrap around your body.

“What do you say to ditching this party?” he whispers, barely leaving your lips to speak.

“I’d love to,” you smile, then he kisses you once more before taking your hand and leading you back into the building and down the stairs.

“Where are you staying?” Richard asks when you get outside onto the street, his hand still gripping yours.

“Just around the corner, actually. South Place Hotel,” you answer, and he grins as he shoots you a wink.

“I know the place,” he nods, “let’s go.”

You start to walk side by side, speeding up into a short jog every now and again, both of you giggling when you walk that little bit faster; the thought of what was to come overwhelming you both with giddiness.

Texts had flown back and forth between you both since you’d landed back in England, and the kissy face emoji you’d sent had allowed you both to show your true intentions, and the flirting had almost got to the point of sexting, but you’d both been good, resisting until the time was right and you were both together physically rather than just in photographs.

“This way,” you grin when you get in to the foyer of the hotel, tugging his hand towards the lifts in the corner. You both bundle into one together, Richard possibly pretending to trip up a little and managing to pin you against the wall of the lift, his hands either side of your head. You bite your bottom lip as you look up at him, and his eyes turn dark in front of your face as he gazes down at your body.

“What’s the time?” you ask, making him look back up at your eyes with a small frown.

“It’s, uh… Eleven.”

“One hour until new year,” you smile.

“And only seconds until-” the lift stops, making Richard unable to finish his sentence as the doors open to reveal people waiting to get in at your floor. You push through them, then run down to your door, unlocking it as quickly as your hands would allow you, and as you both fall into the room, Richard miraculously seems to find your lips again, pressing against them hungrily. There’s pant, moans, groans, the odd seam that rips, and a lot of shuffling as you both dance around the room trying to get out of your clothes without having to lose contact with one another, then you both very unceremoniously fall onto the bed, your bodies bouncing together as you land in a flurry of giggles.

Richard stills for a moment as he props himself up on one elbow, looking down at you in all your naked glory, and for a second you feel very self conscious, but as he trails his fingers lightly down from your cheek to your calf, you shiver with anticipation.

“I’ve been waiting for this for such a long time,” he sighs.

“How long?”

“When did we start filming?”

“Umm, the beginning of October I think.”

“Since then, then,” he nods, and you reply with yet another giggle, “it’s true!”

“Then shut up and kiss me,” you grin, snaking a hand around his neck and pulling him down to your face. He manoeuvres a leg between yours, then spreads them open gently as you deepen the kiss, his tongue now invading your mouth much to your excitement, and he lifts himself up to hover over your body before taking a quick glance down to line himself up with you and push inside. A long moan rises from your throat, and your hands travel down his back, pressing into his skin as he starts to move his hips, his lips now having fallen to your neck as he tries to stop himself from making too much noise.

A muffled cry against your skin is an indication that he can feel your hips moving up off of the bed and circling in to his for a deeper thrust, and you can feel your bodies starting to dampen with the first small beads of sweat. He calls your name when you start to pant aloud, the sound of how he’s making you feel turning him on even more, and one of your hands glides its way up his now sticky skin and into his hair, tugging lightly on the short curls. A ragged breath is drawn from your mouth as he starts to speed up, his climax imminent, and his mouth finds its way to your breasts, switching from one to the other as he leaves behind shallow teeth marks on the soft skin.

One of your arms pulls away from his body and lands with a thud on the sheet next to you, and the duvet finds itself gripped in your fist as your torso lifts off of the bed, feeling Richard’s orgasm shuddering inside you. He slows for a few seconds, regaining some kind of composure to keep going for you, then he lifts his chest off of yours to angle up in to you, hitting your sweet spot each time he moves. Soon enough you’re tightening around him, your breath stopping momentarily when you let go, and a loud groan leaves you as you relax in to the soft mattress. Richard kisses you again, pulling out at the same time, then collapses next to you and quickly eyes the clock.

“Happy new year,” he says breathlessly.

“I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a good one,” you chuckle.

@springlady @nkalli @givemeanorigami @teaxcupxcake @pineapplebooboo @itisjustmethistime @parkerplexed @king4thesirens @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers

[codename-bewareofthefangirl]

Hell Mission, IwaOi

DEAAAR @kiviont! Sorry, when people tag me in the comments I don’t receive any notification and I’ve noticed it only know. Anyway, I’ve written this on the train during a no-day, trying to cheer me up. After your comic I was stuck on the story and in the end I couldn’t resist: I wrote this little thing, just to satisfy myself a bit. Now, I’ve corrected it (I hope, since usually my English sucks) and fixed some parts; I don’t know if I should write a sequel or not,  every time I write about IwaOi I feel like I could write about them for hours. I hope you won’t be disappointed by the the setting, explanations or developing. I just love their bantering and immediate pining: those two for me a real soulmates.

Have fun and enjoy!

IwaOi, Spy!Iwaizumi x ProPlayer!Oikawa AU, Inspired by/Sequel of This Post, Humor, Fluff, Oikawa Is Thirsty, Iwaizumi Is Done, Mentions of Akaashi/Bokuto/Kuroo/Sugawara

 Hell Mission

 “Akaashi please send someone else.”

“Iwaizumi-san pl-”

“Akaashi, I’m serious. Send. Someone. Else.”

A sigh from the other end of the transceiver.

“Iwaizumi-san, it’s the first time you’ve asked me something like this in years and I’d love to help you, but, unfortunately, it’s impossible. I can’t send a substitute agent at this time.”

Iwaizumi groaned loudly, hitting the white wall with the palm of the hand.

“Why?” He asked, nearly begged.

Another sigh.

“First, because we’ve already sent to anyone who’s organizing the wedding party your false identity and you can’t suddenly disappear. It could blow our cover.” Akaashi kept speaking in an unexpressive tone, but Iwaizumi could recognize that infamous inflection he used to calm down Bokuto during his childish mood swings and it was irking him, “Second, you’re closed in the restroom. What do you expect me to do?”

Oh, the devil was even smirking right now, Iwaizumi could swear it.

“He’s tried to hit on me. He. Has. Hit. On. Me.” He hissed trying to keep his voice down as someone suddenly entered the luxurious bathroom.

“Yeah, he has good tastes, nothing strange.” Iwaizumi had to bite his tongue to not curse and clenched his fists, waiting for the guest to leave. When he heard the toilet flush and the door closing, he exhaled tiredly.

“Do not make things worse, Akaashi. I’m not supposed to get in touch with him.”

“He’s the one trying to approach you, it would be more strange to blatantly avoid him. Especially when he’s that handsome, and please do not deny it, I have eyes.”

“Yeah, I have them too, thanks. But he’s a freak: he’s followed me after I turned him down and he’s annoyingly persistent. He calls me Hiri-chan and I haven’t even told him my fake name. By the way, I fucking hate it.”

Iwaizumi should have known, from the second his eyes had lingered a second too much on that fake, flamboyant smile, that the mission was going to be hell. “It’s the usual bodyguard stuff!” they have said, “It’s only a week!”, “You’re attending a wedding! You can eat and enjoy yourself as much as you want!” they have repeated while pushing him on a plane to L.A.

Bullshit.

After three hours of following around his never-stopping target, the same guy had had the guts to corner Iwaizumi and shamelessly hit on him.

“It only means the cover is working well,” Akaashi tried to reassure him, not understanding what was bothering his colleague that much, (apart from the name thing, but he found that amusing), “You can’t do nothing about his…cheerful personality.”

“Shitty personality!” Iwaizumi automatically corrected him, “I’ve seen him showing real emotions maybe twice in the entire day…Anyway! That’s not the problem! I wasn’t trying to attract attention, Akaashi. Hell! I tried to keep a low profile!” Iwaizumi said frustrated as he paced back and forth the lucid tile of the toilet. At that point, he hoped someone was going to attack the target for real so that he could vent all that stress out.

“Bokuto let you know that it’s because you’re hot, especially with that shirt, and to not worry about it.” In the background, Iwaizumi could hear the loud agent cackling, probably with Kuroo.

“Tell him I’m going to whoop his ass as soon as I come back.”

He could practically hear Akaashi’ smile.

“I will,” he complied with the usual politeness, “Now, please Iwaizumi-san, leave that restroom and go back to the party. Our target can’t remain without cover too long and you’ve been away for fifteen minutes.”

Iwaizumi sighed, rubbing his temples, but nodded. He knew he hadn’t a choice and, honestly, now that he had calmed a bit, his pride as a secret agent was prodding him to find his mark and do his job as good as he usually did: perfectly. Iwaizumi wasn’t the ace agent of his agency without motive.

“Akaashi?”

“Yes?”

“Keep your eyes open,” Iwaizumi mumbled, “That guy approached me too quickly. It’s strange.”

“Iwaizumi-san, he’s a professional volleyball player, please relax.”

He heard a sudden ruckus and a loud voice pierced his left eardrum.

“GOOD LUCK IWA!” Bokuto screamed excitedly. “EAT A LOT OF GOOD FOOD! THE TARTS LOOK DELICIOUS!”

“Relax Iwa!” Kuroo followed with a lazy chuckle “The poor boy just wants a good bang!”

Iwaizumi felt his vein popping and he angrily hanged up before he could lose his patience and blow his cover by yelling at those dumbasses of his friends.

Gritting his teeth, he straightened the collar of his shirt and checked the guns and knife were hidden in their place. He finally opened the door and cautiously exited from the toilet, surveying his surroundings.

Clear.

He washed his face with cold water and glared at his reflection in the mirror, green eyes ready to murder someone on the spot.

“You can do it,” he whispered to himself, “You’re a professional.”

Iwaizumi took a deep breath and braced himself.

Oikawa Tooru was just a normal, egocentric, pretty guy. Everything was going to be fine.

  Or maybe not.

The next day, Iwaizumi was once again locked in the toilet of the restroom, trying to understand what the hell had gone wrong with his mission.

“How the fuck is possible?! Is he the devil?” he roared, scrolling through the photos he had taken that morning.

“Well, this is…interesting.” Akaashi mused in his ear.

“No, it’s creepy!” Iwaizumi repeated, tapping furiously on his camera. He felt partially infuriated, partially amazed and a tiny bit scared.

“Are you sure it’s not a coincidence?”

“I was taking photos of everyone, strolling casually around. I was far away, using the zoom to locate him. It can’t be a coincidence,” He replied, staring at a pair of sharp chocolate eyes, “It can’t be.”

After the incident of the afternoon before, he had decided to try and avoid direct contact with the target. He had kept Oikawa under surveillance from further away, focusing on chatting with other guests and building a more credible cover. During the night, he had managed to sleep only three hours, as that devil had chosen to stay up watching old volleyball matches and shitty tv series until four; for this reason, at morning he had been less than inclined to interact and had used the excuse of photography both to avoid conversations and keep an eye on Oikawa from afar. He had taken photos of him, probably with the idea of studying him later.

And Iwaizumi could have sworn that every time he had pressed the button and snapped the photo, Oikawa wasn’t looking at him. He shouldn’t have, because Iwaizumi was far away and faking to photograph flowers, other peoples enjoying themselves and other shit like that. Because Iwaizumi was undercover and a plain, normal guy that had never talked before with the amazing Oikawa Tooru. Because Iwaizumi was good at his job and his job meant secrecy and going unnoticed.

And yet, there he was. Looking directly into the lens, a faint grin on the thin lips as he challenged Iwaizumi.

“This bastard is playing around,” he growled tightening his grip around a particularly good photo of the boy, sunrays playing with his chestnut hair as he entertained a group of damsels, surrounded by bushes of roses. But he was gazing at Iwaizumi.

“Iwai-”

“Don’t worry Akaashi, one way or another I’ll win this battle!” He felt his heart drumming, the lips curving into a predatory smile. Oikawa wanted to play? Oh, he was ready. Iwaizumi was going to show him how fucking good he was.

“Iwaizumi-san I don’t think you should let hi-”

“Later. I’m going.” And he cut off the communication, storming out of the bathroom ready to fight.

 Iwaizumi made small conversation with some random guests, just to mix in the group as he strolled around the spacious, shining ballroom. He side-glanced Oikawa, still surrounded by squealing fans; funny thing, Iwaizumi had never seen him talking to the same person more than twice. Did he really know someone there? He didn’t remember reading about Oikawa’s friends, but maybe he had forgotten it and it wouldn’t have been a surprise. The room was full of people he had been forced to memorize faces and identities, all dressed up in elegant dresses and suits, but that he was already forgetting. It was just…too much. A soft music played in the air, the crystal chandeliers gave everything a golden aura. Well, for being on of the most awaited wedding of the year, they were doing a good job.

“Some champagne, sir?” A posh waiter offered him a flute and he gladly accepted.

The problem with this kind of events? There were too many people. Even if you learned the identity of every guest, an unexpected enemy could still sneak in as a waiter or a forgotten relative or…well, pretty much as everyone. And, obviously, Oikawa had to accept the invite to such a grand occasion instead of staying in his small, tidy apartment where his team could watch over him with ease.

Iwaizumi fought to not frown and sipped the champagne.

“At least the food is good…”

“Well, I’m happy you’re enjoying at least that, since you seem to dislike the company.” It took Iwaizumi all the years of training to not jolt. He stiffened and tried to keep his poker face as he turned to greet his sudden interlocutor.

“The fact that I dislike your company it doesn’t mean I dislike everyone else’s,” he replied blankly. Five seconds before, that little shit was at least twenty feet away from him, how had he done it?

Oikawa Tooru, staring down at him with evident mirth, burst in an amused chuckle.

“Oh no, I’m pretty sure you’re bored out of your mind,” Oikawa winked at him, “I’m an incredibly good observer.” His smirk got sharper as he finished the sentence.

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Really? Is it due to your job?” He faked to not know every single detail of Oikawa’s life.

The brunet frowned and then gaped offended, realizing what he meant.

“You don’t know who am I?” He asked incredulous, a ridiculous pout on his lips.

“I even know your favorite brand of milk bread,” Iwaizumi thought, yet he answered with a shrug.

“I just know you’re annoying. And suck at flirting.”

Oikawa was jaw-dropped. Iwaizumi had to mask a grin watching his butt-hurt expression.

“I,” Oikawa stressed it as he scrunched the nose, “am the national volleyball player Oikawa Tooru-”

“Oh right, I’ve seen you. You’re not bad.”

“I’m not bad?-What?-I’m the best!” Oikawa was now outraged, and Iwaizumi couldn’t restrain himself anymore, bursting in a warm laughter.

“Are you making fun of me?” Oikawa asked suspiciously, crossing his arms. Iwaizumi shrugged again, still a faint smirk on his face.

“Maybe?” He took another sip and glanced around, but nothing attracted his attention. Not when his target was chatting with him, not when the most outstanding man in the room was whining like a child by his side.

“And, anyway,” Oikawa continued poking his shoulder, “I don’t suck at flirting.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes.

“You pinned me to a wall, talking about smooth and subtle,” Iwaizumi snorted, giving him a dirty look. Oikawa scoffed and replied with an alluring half-smile.

“I wasn’t trying to be subtle.” Iwaizumi ignored his cheeks heating up and his mind screaming “FUCK HE’S HOT” and remained deadpan.

“Guess it’s not your forte, anyway.”

Oikawa threw up his hands with an exaggerated sigh, “Let’s leave that aside! I mean,” he corrected himself, “it is outrageous and absurd that you don’t appreciate my appeal, yet I’m more disturbed by the fact that this conversation has just destroyed all my hypothesis.”

Even if he still wore that carefree smile, Iwaizumi noted how his eyes had become suddenly serious. He should have left with an excuse, not letting his target drag him into dangerous situation but…there was something captivating, something that pushed Iwaizumi to stay to discover, see more about him. He felt curious. And, damn, challenged and irritated, but that was another factor.

“What hypothesis?” he asked as Oikawa checked him from head to toes.

“Uh? Ah, that you are a tsundere, obsessive fan of mine.” Iwaizumi’s disgusted and horrified expression hurt Oikawa’ pride.

“Do you have this kind of fans?”

“Yeah, from time to time, but you evidently are not one of them.”

“On my dead body,” Iwaizumi assured him gravely. Fuck the mission, he has his pride to protect.

Oikawa nodded, acknowledging his words, and hummed thoughtfully. His long, slender fingers loosened up the knot of the teal tie he was wearing and Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered to the smooth skin of his throat.

“So,” Oikawa mused regaining the other’s attention in a heartbeat, “Why were you photographing me?”

Iwaizumi risked choking. Shit, that dumbass really wasn’t subtle at all.

He stared at his target. The boy was waiting, trying to hide the trepidation behind the sharp, piercing eyes, and everything in his body posture, straight back and arms crossed, signaled that he didn’t have any intention of back up without an answer. Maybe, there was a little of fear or hesitancy in the way he bit the corner of his bottom lip, but Iwaizumi felt sure that wasn’t going to stop Oikawa. He had seen one of his matches: that guy was made to fight, especially battles that seemed impossible.

“How did you know?” He asked instead, taking his time to choose what to do.

Oikawa flashed a peace sign, grinning proudly.

“Setters’ keen senses,” He replied puffing his chest out, “A real setter is able to see everything on the court and to analyze every detail to plan how to move. I told you, I am the best.”

His unwavering self-coincidence struck Iwaizumi. The setter wasn’t joking, he was oozing honesty and pride and, for once, it was genuine and sort of…not annoying? Iwaizumi could tell it wasn’t just boasting, Oikawa knew what he was talking about and seemed to have worked hard for it.

“So?” Oikawa pushed, leaning a bit to get on the same-eye level of his.

Iwaizumi clicked his tongue, irritated by the difference in height, and flickered his forehead. He grabbed the tie of the brunet and pulled him closer.

“Follow me,” he ordered in a gruff whisper and quickly turned on his heels, walking straight to the balcony.

Oikawa, cheeks reddening, stumbled on his feet and rushed behind him. That had been…hot. Shit that man was hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. Oikawa could hear his friend Sugawara laughing at him for being such a clumsy, thirsty teenager.

 Iwaizumi guided them until they were in a secluded area of the garden, inside a childish maze of pruned hedges. The red rays of the dying sun cast strange shadows on the ground, while silly couples chased each other or strolled peacefully while talking in whispers. The man nudged to the brunet to sit on a bench of stone.

Oikawa was literally quivering with curiosity as he bounced his leg up and down while he waited for the answer. He wanted to know why that -hot- stranger was observing, or stalking, him and he really, really hoped it wasn’t because he was a sort of psychopath.

Iwaizumi scanned the area, searching for any sign of threats. When he found none, he finally brought his gaze back on the player.

“Could you stop moving? You’re attracting attention,” he grunted with a dirty look.

Oikawa glared.

“If you answered me, maybe I could,” he coldly replied, yet he did as asked and smoothly relaxed his shoulders. He even wore a fake smile, as a practiced mask.

Iwaizumi snorted at his expression, but didn’t comment.

“Do you remember the middle-blocker from the Kyoto Team you defeated three weeks ago?” he asked instead, stretching a bit to loosen the tension in his muscles.

Oikawa eyes fell on his arms and his throat dried.

“You mean the lousy, whiny middle-blocker that offered me money to let them win?” Oikawa managed to answer, tearing his gaze away and focusing on Iwaizumi’s face. Bad idea, those cheekbones were sharp enough to cut his heart in two.

The raven nodded, hiding a smirk at the disgust in Oikawa’s voice.

“That one,” he confirmed, “He hadn’t lied when he had threatened you, dumbass. He really was from Yakuza.” Iwaizumi revealed it slowly, trying to read every expression passing in Oikawa’s eyes.

Surprise. Shock. Confusion. Understanding.

Fear.

“Yakuza?” he repeated, playing with the hem of his shirt. “I thought he was bluffing...” Even if he was trying to conceal the tremor in his voice, Iwaizumi still noticed it.

“Yeah, he’s one of the younger sons. He didn’t take really well your rejection and…asked his dad to take care of it, to heal his wounded pride. The fact that you whooped his ass during the match didn’t help.”

Oikawa frozen, chocolate eyes blown wide. His entire body tensed and Iwaizumi stilled in response; he had a feeling that if he dared to make the slightest move, the setter was going to flee with all of his energy.

“So?” Oikawa whispered, forcing a blank expression.

Iwaizumi frowned. Fear didn’t suit Oikawa.

“So, they sent me to protect your shitty ass, stop being so fucking scared.”

Oikawa gaped, “You’re here to protect me?” he shrilled loudly and Iwaizumi cursed, slapping a hand over his mouth with a deadly glare.

“I’m trying, but you’re making things difficult Trashkawa!” he growled as he glanced around. Nothing suspicious.

Oikawa nodded and Iwaizumi released him before his mind could focus on the fact that Oikawa’s lips were in fact as soft as they looked and-Fuck.

“Who asked you to protect me?” he whispered excitedly, smiling like a child, “Are you a bodyguard? Have you done this before? Is your name really Hiri Nezumi? Have you already find someone suspicious? Can I help you in any way?” At every question, Oikawa inched closer until he was few breaths away from Iwaizumi’s embarrassed face.

Shit, his lashes were long.

“First,” he slapped his hand on Oikawa’s face and pushed him away, “We were already monitoring that gang and we couldn’t let them kill off a national player, so we took action.”

“I knew you knew who I was!” Oikawa cheered proudly, making him roll his eyes.

“Second,” Iwaizumi continued, “I’m a secret agent, not a full-time bodyguard and-”

“That’s so cool!” the brunet thrilled bouncing on his seat and Iwaizumi felt the need to slap him on the head and hug him at the same time. Oikawa was more of a dork than what he seemed.

“Anyway, my name is not Hiri Nezumi*, my stupid colleagues chose that stupid name for me.”

Oikawa snorted and chirped a “Fitting,” before Iwaizumi shut him with a glare.

“And finally, no I haven’t found anyone suspicious for now and the only way you can help me is behaving and not blowing my cover. Do what you were doing, be normal, forget everything.”

Oikawa pouted, deluded.

“But I can’t forget it now that I know it!” He complained waving his hands around, “I can’t Agent-san! Absolutely impossible.”

Iwaizumi groaned, “Do you want to die? No? Do what I say.”

Oikawa stubbornly shook his head and Iwaizumi felt tempted to stun him and lock him away until the week had passed. He wasn’t bothered about it being illegal, not when Oikawa’s capacity of annoying the shit out of him and still looking cute was illegal as fuck.

“What if I have a better idea?” Oikawa interrupted his dark plans and the raven knew from that sultry tone that he was going to regret everything he had done until that moment.

The brunet leaned again, locking eyes with him. A hopeful, tempting light shined on his perfect face and Iwaizumi would have wanted to stand up and leave, but he could only restrain himself from headbutting him. Or kissing him. He hadn’t decided yet.

“I bet it’s going to be a stupid one,” he deadpanned, but Oikawa didn’t waver.

“Well, you have to keep an eye on me, right?” Iwaizumi nodded slightly and Oikawa’s sharp grin widened, “Then, let me flirt successfully with you, Mr. Secret Agent-san,” he whispered tilting his head to the side, chestnut locks falling on his eyes, “I’ll make sure you’ll never lose sight of me for the rest of the week, night and day. Never.”

Oh, Iwaizumi should have known that mission was going to be hell.

His target was the devil himself.

   *Hirinezumi means Hedgehog (guess who has chosen it ;D)

Next

[skywailer]

oooh... dramione, "you missed a spot."

I’m sure this was supposed to be fluff, but um you must not know me

Sorry this took a hot minute, I got wrapped up in it and another ficlet.  Here you go, darlin’!

Sometimes, Hermione wonders at her own will.  She is short arms and small fingers, and awkward legs, but her chest is iron and steam-power.  She has the strength of someone much older than her twelve years, the strength of someone who had and would fight many battles.

This is one she wins.

There is nothing worse than dropping a tower of books and parchment in the middle of the grand staircase.  

She spots through the flurry of hair a rather lengthy essay flutter away like nothing down at least two flights, a few curious eyes glancing up to see which unfortunate soul has lost their day’s work.  She also feels the stairs start to creak, ready to change and ruin her progress at collecting all her things- a particular pair of texts just on the ledge where the staircase is bound to snap apart.  She hurries to grab it all up, moving quicker than most thanks to her nimble size and determination, to make up for the lack of help around.

Some students pass, and fewer help.  Hermione has yet to make enough friends, and made a few too many enemies, to expect much compassion in the moment.

But that’s just fine.  She’s better on her own.  After all, in the end, she manages to pick up the mess all on her own.

But that staircase just has to move.

It shudders, and like that a piece of parchment goes fluttering off again- ready to join the others in their ground-floor coffin.  

Hermione twists herself, one mighty little hand reaching in vain-

The escapee is snatched, clasped and crinkled in a pale, equally little hand.  Not a hand she wants holding anything of hers, Hermione realizes with absolute dread.  She frowns at the smirking boy who stands before her, and his ever-present Slytherin pose; it’s strange how much this boy needs attention, validation from others.  It says much about him, almost as much as the amused expression on his face.

He looks far too pleased to have caught Hermione in such a position.

“You missed a spot, Granger,” he remarks, to which his shadows laugh- inflating an already gorged ego.  

It’s not a helpful comment, nor is it meant to be.  His hand dangles her work over the edge of the railing, and Hermione knows where his heart lies on the matter.  He’s a vengeful little twat, and she’s on his list of people to annoy into an early grave.

“Malfoy,” she speaks as though to a wild animal.  Anything too sharp and he’ll lash out.  Anything too soft, and he’ll step all over her.  “I need that for Transfiguration tomorrow.  Can I have it back now, please?”

Someone laughs amongst the horde, and she thinks it might be a boy named Crabbe; charming, suitable name.  “Can she have it back now, please?” He mocks, to which everyone cackles in perfect cacophony.  Except Malfoy.

He’s eyeing the paper intently and Hermione already knows she’s messed up somehow, and goes about kicking herself internally.

“Transfiguration, eh?”  He murmurs, and there’s an odd lick of a smile on his face, and she doesn’t like it one bit.  It promises nothing good for her or her essay.  “No, I don’t think she can, Goyle-” Well, she was close.  Malfoy lowers the paper for better scanning, and that smile of his is widening in all the wrong ways.  “I haven’t even started my assignment, so this one will do just fine.”

Hermione refuses to let her face crumple, but her chest is in fits- heaving in absolute rage and despair because she worked hard on that, and it’s hers and she really thought Professor McGonagall would like it- and she liked her so much.

No one notices her eyes start to gloss over as they walk away.  Except Malfoy.

Something irksome causes his legs to fall short of leaving, and he pauses just past her shoulder- the glimpse of her face stuck in his mind even though he’s presently staring at the back of Blaise’s head.  She’s desperate and sad- but not at all tragic; there’s a spark in her eyes, something lit and passionate and refusing to back down, refusing to break.

Draco Malfoy suddenly feels ill, and rotten to his core.  He hates it.  He hates her for inspiring such a feeling.

He waits until the others are a good distance away and backpedals, shoves the essay into her stunned, but willing hands.  He darts away from her eyes, hides his better nature behind his gel-smothered hair and posh clothing, and grumbles something stupid and childish like-

“Don’t tell anyone I told you this: it helps if you charm the books with a binding spell.”  He sneaks a glance at the young witch who obviously doesn’t know everything, despite claiming she does.  Realization is dawning on her face, but he wants to imagine he’s being helpful in clarifying further when he says: “You know, to keep them from falling over.”

“Right,” Hermione gasps, her face brightening, though her eyebrows are scrunched in scrutiny of her own thickness.  “How didn’t I think of that?”

Draco smirks but it doesn’t seem as spiteful as usual.  Hermione finds words at the tip of her tongue that she never thought she’d say to the likes of him:

“Thank you.”

That wipes the smirk right off his face.  Draco’s cheeks puff up, soft yet stubborn even as they turn a telling shade of pink.  “Don’t thank me.  I just don’t want to be on the receiving end of your blunders.  Honestly, it’s a wonder someone isn’t in a coma down there, somewhere,” Draco prattles on indignantly, and he’s already hurrying off that she doesn’t get to laugh at him quite properly.

When he’s gone, it dawns on her that maybe she isn’t quite alright on her own.  She needs help sometimes.  That night, she talks to Harry and Ron in the common room- and this time she tones down the ridicule.  A little bit.

More so than ever before, Hermione wonders at her own will.  She is of small build and torn, tired muscle, and her chest is cracked and leaking spirit onto the floor.  Yet, still she has the strength of someone determined to survive, the strength of someone who keeps fighting even when the battle is over.  

This is one that will never be over.

The skin on her cheeks and neck is raw from all the scrubbing.  She has a piece of ripped cloth in her hand, scrapes it against her chest and over her shoulders, under her shirt; peeling the war off her in sedimentary layers of dried blood, ash, grit, and sweat.  Her nails drag through the fabric, and leave her skin irritated and clawed red.  But this way she knows it’s off.  Or at least, she’s gotten what she can.

She knows she’s only scraped the surface, can feel the battles sinking one by one into her pores and deep within her.  It does this as the child she was pours out of her side.

The bandage at her waist is soaked through, and she knows she can use her wand- but there’s a terrible fear that locks up her fingers whenever she reaches for it.  So, Hermione sits there, crouched in a hidden corner of the Great Hall, and tries not to fall asleep.  Tries not to close her eyes.  Tries not to look around.  At the bodies.  Closed or opened, the bodies are there.  Her friends are there, and her enemies.  

Enemies she’d killed- some of the blood she’s scraped off isn’t hers- there’s blood on her wand-

There’s a soft caress at her cheek, silk and tender and completely contrast to the scratches she still feels digging deep into her bones.  So, Hermione’s immediate response is to run from it.  She jolts, and turns her head away from the touch, and only in that action sees the image of friendship she’s cast aside.

“You missed a spot,” Draco says quietly; he’s crouched beside her, hand still reaching out- limp, awkward, stubbornly remaining in place.  His thumb is freshly painted red, and Hermione stifles the urge to scrub her face raw again.  

Instead, she remains perfectly still as Draco attempts to do right by her again.  Breathes slowly and deeply as he wipes the blood from the height of her cheekbone, unknowingly relaxing as his thumb brushes over her screaming temple.  

That mind of hers has been screaming all day, and now that it’s quiet out - too quiet, she thinks - it’s all she hears, curses and green lights and the voices of loved ones echoing off the walls of her skull.  Bellatrix is alive and well in her head, the smell of corpses on her breath as she tears Hermione limb from limb- Hermione thought she was over it, but everything comes crashing down mercilessly.

Now, with the simplest of touches, the screams dial down to cries, and Hermione’s able to think about Draco, and how he’d surprised her - surprised them all -  with his staying.  Especially when she’d urged him to go, to listen to his mother- because she was tired of watching friends die and he was one that didn’t have to.  It had been selfish of her.  The memory of it stains her with shame.

“I’m-” She doesn’t even know where to start, and there are already tears drowning her throat.

All at once, the small, meager presence of Draco’s thumb on her cheek is replaced by the encompassing comfort of his hands.  He’s holding her together, but she feels like an egg cracking open- and nothing can hold or piece her back together.  Not the way she was.  She knows Draco feels the same, she knows he’s just as desperate to be a child again, yet he’s anchoring her with his eyes and touch, and he’s been such a shocking, kind friend in all this-

“It’s okay.  We’re okay,” he breathes, and for a split moment she believes the sweet sentiment but every breath pulls in the scent of stagnant flesh and drying blood.  For another split second, she wants to believe him- for his sake.  Because as much as he’s trying to comfort her, he’s trying to do the same for himself; Hermione spots the searing red deathmark scar he’s been branded with for life, scratched and red and raw- their skin agonized twins.

The truth is it’s not okay, they’re not okay, and they wouldn’t be for a long while.  How could they?  A lifetime of fear and grief has been forced into the souls of children, making soldiers and mourners of them all before they could ever be anything else.  And for that she claws at her own skin, feel herself chipping away, and knows something is coming from within.  Something new and inescapable: her future, full of holes and hauntings, and a person she isn’t sure she’ll recognize in the morning.

She doesn’t say any of this, doesn’t have to, because Draco’s thoughts call out in unison to hers.   

So, he pulls her into his arms, tries to make bone and muscle into iron to protect her.  And no one notices her caving in on herself.  Except Draco.

Something selfish and needy, and ill-timed, causes his arms to wrap tighter around her.  He’s falling apart, too, but can’t help the nasty bud of relief blooming in his chest.  Because while she’s afraid of the blood on her clothes, and its ability to stain her- reshape her, she’s still Hermione.  He knew it the moment he caught sight of her in the Grand Hall, leaning against a broken table, not lying on the floor; his lungs torn to shreds at the look of her painted in the greys and reds of war, breathing.  Still breathing.  Still the girl from the staircase.  She’s desperate and sad- but nowhere near tragic.  She still has that spark in her eyes, the spark of stars always bright and burning.  And maybe one or two are breaking apart, dying, but she’ll always be reborn something sublime.  Beautiful, terrible, alive, sublime.

And Draco Malfoy suddenly feels thankful, and happy to his core.  He hates it, hates feeling this way amongst the cries of grief, but he loves it too.  Because even though she’s breaking, and so is he, she inspires him to heal and change in ways that promise hope.  He wants to inspire her, too.  But, for now, he’ll just hold her.  Just for a little bit.

Hermione doesn’t wonder about her will anymore.  She is and always will be of small particles and scarred flesh, but her chest holds vast worlds inside it- the lives of those she’s loved and will always love stars lighting up the shadows of her heart.  She’ll always have the strength of someone who wants to survive, but more so the strength of someone who will live through the battles.

This is not one.

“You missed a spot,” she hums, her voice a happy, quiet song meant for just one someone.  He’s holding her, and they sway softly on pillowy grass.  There are others around, Ginny resting her head on Harry’s chest and Ron chases Teddy around the fine tables.  Others sit at those tables, eating cake Hermione imagine tastes heavenly - even though she’s only had it smudged on her cheeks, the barest of crumbs sneaking past her lips.  There are chairs that are vacant, guests preferring to dance, but Hermione can’t help but imagine those chairs filled with the ghosts of friends lost; Fred waves and laughs, surely because he and George would’ve pranked her severely on her wedding day.  Remus and Tonks watch with wistful smiles as Teddy’s blue hair bobs up and down and between table covers and shocked legs.  

Draco kisses the corner of her eye, and his lips catch Hermione’s heartache before it can turn to heartbreak.  He pulls her closer into his embrace, and she leans into his touch, momentary grief turned to bliss with just a breath from him.  Her husband.  Their matching gold bands make a soft ringing sound when she holds his hand tighter and closer to her cheek; Hermione smiles as she remembers Draco firmly arguing to have his wedding band be placed on his right ring finger- so everyone knew the moment they held hands, that they were this- together.  That neither of them would ever be on their own again.

“Did I get it, now?” He whispers, a loving smile in his voice and it wraps itself around her, and holds her.  And it’s never really quite enough, so she shakes her head, biting back an absolutely euphoric laugh.

“No,” she murmurs, and Draco laughs enough for the both of them- the sound of it vibrates and stirs the butterflies she’s had multiplying in her chest for years now.  He’s kissing her again, kissing her a little bit here, and a little bit there, and everyone notices how completely magnificent she is in all her proud, scarred, and healing, loving pieces.  

Especially Draco.

[the-yunhaneul]

OOC WEEK: DAY 2

What country are you from?: Let’s hear it for England, EN-G-LAND!

What is your first language? Do you speak any other languages?: My first language is English but I also speak a little German, tbh I’d like to be fluent in more languages and it’s probably something I’ll get around to doing at some point, at the very least it’d be nice to be able to speak more German ‘cause I really enjoyed learning the language.

What language would you like to learn?: Japanese.

What’s one movie from your country that you like (or recommend others see)?: Just one British movie? Hahahahahaha. Don’t want to be controversial but tbh we make some of the best movies... ever. I would actually though, out of all the British movies in the world, recommend everyone watch Paddington. That may sound ridiculous but there is something so positively charming and British about the whole film, it really does have what I’d call genuine British comedy in it, it’s multi-layered so people of all ages can enjoy it and the Brown family are just so very British, it’s wonderful. Not to mention Ben Whishaw voicing Paddington, that man is an actual angel, his voice is ridiculously gentle and soothing so he makes the perfect Paddington bear.

Pick a song from your country (or in your language) and talk about why you like it: One British song... Again, we make some pretty great music. I’m actually gonna go with good ol’ Take That, ‘Never Forget’, because I think tbh it’s like a ridiculously good song. It’s cheesy as fuck, it was actually written before I was born but whenever I hear it it puts me in a good mood, tbh I just have a soft spot for Take That like gimme my boys, though if you wanted to miss out Robbie I’d be alright with that. I’d actually put this song down for the next question too but I’ve got many in mind pffftttt

Pick a classic song from your country - aka one that everyone knows, one that’s representative of your country, etc: Would it be too devoted to my own country to say I think ‘We Are the Champions’ by Queen represents us :’) TBH I think it does though, I think not necessarily because we’re the best country (...although...) because we’ve made some mistakes, some very far in our past and some more recent, but for a small country we’re a force to be reckoned with. I think the song speaks a lot about how in general, people from all walks of life, here in the UK we’re little fighters, we work hard at things, we go through shit times but we always come out of that and although there is communities within our country that are complete dicks and need to- in the words of Ronald Weasley- sort out their priorities, I do also think that British people, in general, can be pretty decent and want our country to be a better place in the future.

What’s a book from your country (or in your language) that you’d recommend?: Oh boy, ok, not an easy question at all because... and I must sound like a broken record... but we’ve literally had some of the best writers the world has ever known come from my small little island. I do actually think ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Emily Bronte is an incredible book, I think it’s sort of incredible how she can write two main characters so difficult to like and yet their story hooks you in from the start. I actually have a deep hatred for Heathcliff and Cathy, it irritates me every time how their own denial and selfishness leads to them **spoilers, sort of** destroying the lives of another family, but somehow you can’t help get drawn into this intense obsession and feud of love and hate that they have for each other, not to mention the setting and general imagery is lovely.

What’s your favourite childhood story from your country or culture?: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Honestly, I still love all stories about Alice honestly, I think something truly magical was created with the idea of Wonderland and this girl becoming part of something that she just sort of gets on with and tries to make sense of, I feel like that’s a very British thing tbh, to attempt to find logic in things and look for reason in things.

Talk about a tradition from your country or culture that you love celebrating: Gosh, I have no idea tbh, I can’t think of many big celebrations that I personally attend that aren’t found all over the world? I guess I like the tradition of drinking lots of tea?

Fave food from your country/culture: A full English breakfast is always good, never pass on it, or the very traditional FISH AND CHIPS! A glorious meal tbh, heavenly.

Best season of the year in your country?: I like autumn, personally or spring, I don’t really like extreme weather so summers feel too hot and winters feel too cold.

What’s one thing that you wish you could change about your country? Why?: The party currently in charge of our government because tbh they’re just clueless dicks who make decisions to benefit one class and no one else.

What’s one thing that you’re proud of about your country?: I think, in general, we’re quite an accepting country. I think there are, like everywhere, some people who are hateful and rude but in general we’re a very diverse, multi-cultural country who do want equality and do want to head towards that future possibility.

Name a country you’d like to visit: Any East Asian country; Japan, China, South Korea or Thailand (not necessarily in that order).

Top three cities you’d like to visit: Seoul, Tokyo and Berlin.

What’s the best place in your country that you’ve ever visited?: Honestly, I love Manchester but I do also love London, our lovely capital. I think London really does have a lot to offer, it’s an incredibly busy place where really ancient and beautiful buildings are surrounded by modern culture, if you ever get the chance to go I would highly recommend it.

Have you ever been abroad (out of your country)? If so, where did you go?: Several times actually. I’ve been to Spain twice, once when I was very little and a second time a few years ago, it was the worst holiday tbh because it was roasting hot and right on the beach and that’s just personally not the type of place I enjoy. I like being busy, enjoying cultures etc. a lot more than relaxing holidays. I’ve also been to France but only to Disneyland :’) And I’ve been to Cologne, Germany, it was only for a few days but it has been my favourite holiday ever since. I went at Christmas when they had all the old traditional German markets up and it was just beautiful, the atmosphere, the food (omg THE FOOD, BLESS GERMANY TBH) and the people were all so friendly and helpful with my lacking skills in the German language XD It was great.

What are some myths or stereotypes about your country or culture that are either true or are false?: We all drink tea. True, and if you don’t then tbh get out right this second, we don’t need any of these tea haters, we’re a proud tea-loving nation, I will fight people on this ‘cause I love tea so much tbh. That we’re all super posh, completely false. I have a deep hatred for how English people are represented, especially in American media, because we’re basically all the same and all have the same accent and all seem to be like lawyers or doctors and we all tend to be pricks. Firstly, and I googled this, there are around 56 known British accents so we definitely don’t all sound the same and we definitely don’t all come from super rich families with tons of money and servants- Downton Abbey life is beaut, don’t get me wrong but unfortunately we can’t all live like that. And of course the grand conspiracy that we keep producing hot celebrities to steal the hearts of American women after WW2 as revenge is also completely true, we’re got some real hotties lined up for the future, be warned we are coming for you. That last bit was obviously a lie hahahaha it’s just a coincidence that we produce hot celebs.