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wwilloww · 3 years

Text

sh. | ot7 | chapter five

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 8k

WARNINGS AND TAGS protected sex. friends with benefits relationship. dirty talk. power play dynamics. angst. semi-public nudity. mentions of open relationship. sexting. reckoning with feelings. talk of alcohol use.

AN: One million bazillion thanks to the best beta and geologist out there, @hesperantha. Everyday I think to myself, how the fuck would this series exist without this magical lady? And every day I am thankful for her beautiful existence.

Also, if you haven’t seen /the trailer, you might wanna check it out. Just because I had a lot of fun making it and it was super fun to visualize the characters and their tiny little world.

Going forward, you can read with they/them pronouns by navigating to the series m.list and reading from there.

That said, LETS JUMP IN!

← || series m.list || →

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

chapter five

January 2020

What is left when you’re not sure where to turn?

You know there’s Yoongi. Dependable, familiar, predictable Yoongi. Predictable in the sense that you know, unabashedly, that no matter what, you can always count on him to draw a short term — but important — curtain over whatever notion, anxiety, or complication that happens to be singing in your mind that day. Erase it, temporarily, with those long fingers, gliding over your skin in expert patterns, drawing you and your pleasure exactly where he wants it to be.

And predictable in the sense that you know you will be perfectly and endlessly satisfied at the end of the night, no matter what.

See, Yoongi doesn’t mess around. He doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t draw you out and dangle you over your own pleasure. He gives it to you. Over and over and over and over again. Extends his palm and pulls as many orgasms from you as you can physically muster and then lets you collapse in his arms. Dependable, see? Dependable, always.

Once you’re settled in his lap, Yoongi lets you grind on him for a bit as he undresses you expertly, long fingers slipping under the fabric of your clothes before tugging them off gracefully and tossing them across the room. This, this he did love to do. Loved to scatter your clothes around and then watch you from the bed as you tried to piece some semblance of an outfit back together after he fucked you senseless.

“Don’t throw my bra behind the furniture again,” you murmur as you kiss down his neck. “I know you thought it was a great tactic to get me to rearrange your room the last time — but I’m not moving a hundred pound dresser to get my very expensive bra back again.”

He chuckles. Murmurs, “As you wish.” And then throws your bra someplace you can’t see.

Now that you’re topless, he lets his long fingers skate up the skin of your back, tracing the flesh of your hips and with such delicacy it almost tickles. That is, delicate until his hand weaves itself up your neck. His grip tightens at the root of your hair, tugging your head back in a swift motion and exposing your neck to him.

“How do you want me to fuck you tonight?” His voice is deep and it raises goosebumps on your skin. He lets his teeth trace a line up the sensitive skin of your neck until he reaches your ear and bites down hard.

“Fuck,” you breathe as a shiver runs through your body. Yoongi always took particular care to curate a library of knowledge about your ticks, turn ons, and vices. And then he played them out for you in an expertly coordinated hand.

“Yes, that’s in the cards. But tell me specifically how you want it.”

Behind him, the large bedroom is equipped with enough musical equipment to run a fully functioning studio. Instruments hang on the walls and a large black bed rests in the center of the room. The dark tones of the wood and sheets make the otherwise sparse room feel warm and dark. Compared to the shabby little apartment that you share with Namjoon, this is luxury. Your gaze rests on the large wall of glass that looks out over the city.

“The window,” you say.

He grins.

The glass is cold against your bare skin when he presses you to it. The difference in temperature between the fired heat of your skin and the iced window slices right through you, makes you gasp as his hands run over your body, taking you in as you are: bare and ready for him.

You watch as he strips off his clothes, gracefully and swiftly. First the shirt, then his pants. It’s no surprise to you that he’s not wearing any undergarments at all. Delight lights in his eye when he notices how greedily you watch him.

“Do you want me to—” He begins to lean down, but you stop him and pull him up.

“Just fuck me.”

He turns you around in one movement, your hands flying up to stop the impact, your chest — and your nipples — pressing to the glass. The sensation overwhelms you as he slides two fingers between your folds, collecting the slickness that has gathered there.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

A smile spreads across your face as you hear the condom packet rip and he slots his cock against your cunt, coating himself in your arousal.

“Don’t tease me,” you say, a hint of a whine slipping into your voice.

“Don’t worry. I have no patience for that tonight.” And he pushes in. “How’s that?” he says, the lilting tease in his tone cutting sharp against your ear as his dick sinks into you, inch by delightful inch.

It feels like you have to catch your breath to speak. “Is it always this good?”

“Baby, if it isn’t, you should ask for a refund.” He punctuates the last word of his sentence with a harsh thrust that rams your chest up against the glass.

“Fuck—” you hiss.

Memory whitens like it’s been covered in a blanket of snow as he begins a punishing pace, hips rutting up into you before drawing almost all the way back, tip barely inside of you before thrusting back into you, all the way to the hilt. Sensation overtakes thought. The slicing coldness of the glass against your nipples paints a stark contrast to the softness of lips pressed to yours, softness of a hand cupping your cheek—

You should be thinking of anything but that.

And it’s easy to do, in this moment. To focus on Yoongi, his commanding presence, the way he plays your body like one of the carefully polished instruments that hangs on his wall.

You cry out when he hits a particularly soft spot within you, and he pauses his movements, drinking in the sound of you.

“God, you sound so fucking good.”

He pulls out of you, turns you around, and pushes your back against the glass.

“Hop up,” he says, and you frown in confusion before realizing what he’s referring to. You wrap your arms around his neck and with a jump, wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck—” With a grunt of effort, he holds you up while slotting himself against your folds and pushing inside again.

The most you can do in this position is tilt your pelvis and grind down on him — while holding onto dear life — and you do, rotating it against his waist, drawing the most delicious sounds from his lips. Your hips begin to move in tandem, each pushing closer to the pleasure that you both so desperately desire.

This is better. This is worse.

See, the two of you have fallen into patterns in your hookups. Rules, even, although no one but you thought of them as such. But the habit — and therefore the lines — were clear to you:

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t confess your love. Hookups only, and breakfast together the morning after. Usually he takes you from behind, because, as he once commented to you, “the ass cheeks are the eyes of the heart.” Which to you, made no sense at all, but you still obliged him. Plus, at the end of the day it was all a little more impersonal that way, anyways. Easier to separate from the rest of your relationship.

But looking into his face, pressed so close — there’s something there. A warmth. An understanding. Too much.

Your head falls to his shoulder and his grip tightens on your thighs as he fucks up into you. Several heavy breaths before you bite gently at the sensitive skin of his neck and he hisses.

“You’re too sensitive,” you chide, although the teasing lilt of your tone is broken up by him fucking into your body — and you both know you love the way he lets you know he likes things done.

“And you’re too shy,” he cuts back. “Why don’t you look at me when I fuck you?” It’s posed as a question but you know it’s a command.

Slowly, you draw your head back and look at him. His eyes are deep and dark, his hair tousled and face lined with pleasure.

“That’s a good little pet,” he whispers. It falls too softly.

It makes you want to kiss him. All you want to do is —

You press your lips to his. Just a peck — the smallest, lightest of pecks.

But the plush of his lips, the way they part so slightly when your lips meet... it leaves you wanting more. So you kiss him again, pressing yourself to him, chasing the feeling of his softness.

He responds, opening his mouth to yours, his tongue darting out to meet yours. His pace doesn’t falter as he continues to fuck up into you. His lips move against yours, fierce, needy, demanding. And it’s then that your stomach drops. It’s as if the winter chill that lays just beyond the door at your back slices through your veins.

You pull back.

“No,” he says, and pulls you back to him. “Stop running.” He brings your face close enough to yours but doesn’t kiss you, just waits.

And you meet him in the middle, kissing him again, afraid of losing the warmth you sparked between you. He groans against you as your hips swivel around his cock, and bites down on your lip.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

With one arm wrapped around his shoulders, you let your other hand press against the nape of his neck, nails digging in just the way you know he likes it. You both have always been in rhythm, in tune with one another, but now with him kissing you — something new sparks between you. Something new, something terrifyingly warm.

When you pull back he smiles.

“Shit,” you whisper, your eyes widening. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi says, an edge in his voice, his hips still circling against yours as he presses your back to the window. “You have nothing to apologize for.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh... stop. It’s okay. It was good.” He punctuates his meaning with a thrust, a small groan slipping from his throat. You want to swallow the sound of his pleasure whole, but still. You let the guilt in your chest rise to your throat.

“No, no, it’s not,” you say, though the coil that’s winding tighter and tighter in your belly makes it difficult to speak. You take a shuddering breath in as he hits your g-spot, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes. It is,” he grunts, and you can tell he’s close too. “You fuck better when you kiss. You feel it. You get into it.” Your brow purses at his words. “Now be good for me, forget it, and cum on this cock.”

You nod.

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll forget it, be good for you, and cum on your cock.”

“Good,” he smiles.

Each thrust brings you a step closer. He kisses you, again waiting for you to meet his lips, and together you move like dancing partners closer and closer to the edge.

You cum, clenching around his cock and crying his name into his mouth.

The two of you breathe heavily, foreheads resting together for a moment that stretches long enough for you to call it a distance.

“Fuck—” Yoongi says, pulling out of you and smiling gently as he lets you down. “I’ve never heard you come like that before.”

Heat rises to your cheeks.

“Hold on, let me get you a towel or something,” Yoongi says, pressing his thumb to your forehead and wiping away a bead of sweat. You watch as he shuffles about his room, looking for anything to give you. “One second, I think there’s clean ones in the dryer.”

He wanders out of the room wearing absolutely nothing at all.

When you turn back to the outside world, the glass is fogged and the world feels a million miles away. The tension that rises up in your chest feels like a wrought iron ball and you need out, out, now.

There’s a fuzzy blanket on the dresser next to you and you snatch it, wrap yourself up tightly and push open the glass door to the tiny balcony. With a held breath, you step out. The cold concrete sends a chill through your body as you step out. Blue washes through you, shocking the pleasure-numbed nerves in your body back to life.

When you suck in a deep breath of snow-cold air, it feels as if clarity settles into you. You take a second, but shuddering, breath as you realize with a lucid sharp pain the reality of your situation.

Yoongi didn’t erase tonight from your mind. Sex didn’t remove Hobi’s kiss from your lips. An orgasm didn’t ease the unnamable want in your chest. If anything, it all just burns a little brighter.

This thing with Yoongi — it’s not supposed to be a distraction for you, or a means to make you feel something else. It’s supposed to be its own thing, a compartmentalized friends with benefits situation that has always been clear and defined between the two of you. But as soon as you showed up on his door with an ulterior motive other than sex, it became something else. As soon as you kissed him, you made it something else.

Fuck.

Around you, fat flurries drift down from the dark sky. They melt as they land on your bare skin. There’s no escaping this thing inside you. But the intensity of the cold seems like it keeps you here, grounded, in Yoongi’s home and facing actuality. As if any form of warmth would leave you wandering into the sickly sweet honeytrap of the what if’s that already threaten on the edge of your mind.

“Come to bed,” Yoongi calls from inside. When you don’t, he comes out onto the tiny balcony and wraps himself around you from behind, his head notching on your shoulder. “Christ, you’re freezing.”

“It feels good,” you say, nuzzing your body back against his.

“I know I didn’t work you up that much that you need to stand in the snow to cool down. Come to bed.”

Still wrapped around you, he waddles you inside, earning a giggle from you as you tumble into bed and he slams the door closed with a bit of a shiver.

“Here,” he says softly, wrapping you in a blanket before settling beside you.

He’s close. Wildly close. His breath brushes softly against your face as you look at each other. You take in the flushed pink of his face, the way his hair is tousled into a gorgeous mess from the effort of your intimacy.

You could kiss him again, you think and a shock runs through your body at the thought. Christ, his cock’s been inside you a million times and yet you balk at the thought of kissing him, of pulling him right where you want him, where he fits so perfectly, where he feels so warm —

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi says softly.

“What are you thinking?” you cut back, just a little too quickly.

Yoongi chuckles. “I’m thinking that you keep yourself so tightly together.”

You smile tightly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

You bite down on your lip.

“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear it,” Yoongi says. “Just tell me. You know there’s nothing you could say that would upset me.” When you don’t say anything, he continues. “For god’s sake, I’ve seen your asshole. It doesn’t get much more personal than that.”

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine,” he grins.

“Maybe we should…” You trail off and bite the inside of your cheek.

Yoongi rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand.

“Maybe we should…?” He prompts. “Join a sex dungeon?”

You laugh, the thought of going to one with Yoongi is one that sends a thrill through you. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“What were you going to say?”

You take a deep breath. “That maybe we should… stop. This.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He knows. “That, my dear, sounds like quite the antithesis to going to a sex dungeon with me.”

You laugh. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes when I am friends with benefits breaking up with you.”

“What? Were you expecting me to be angry?”

“I mean I expected a little bit of a fight. Or at least… I don’t know. Questions.”

“Do you want questions?”

You look at him.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well. Why are you ending things.”

You flop onto your back. Look at the ceiling. The way the lights of the city reflect paley onto the white surface. They look like ghosts.

“I don’t really know.”

He pulls you to him, rolling you onto your side and tangling your hands together. “Okay.”

And then the two of you just lie there, staring at the ceiling in silence, the weight of your decision, of this ending, settling over you with a concrete taste. There’s something uncomfortable in this kind of silence. But it’s not him, it’s not an awkwardness, or the building of tension or resentment. None of that lies between you. It’s the fact that within the silence the answers rise up in you, and you find the words spilling from your mouth.

“I don’t want it to be complicated, Yoongi.”

He waits a moment before responding. “Is it complicated?”

“Well.” You sigh. “No. Not with us. Us is easy. I feel like I can tell you what I need or what I want and I trust you to be able to either give me that or set a boundary.”

Yoongi hums. “I feel the same. So then if it’s not us...?”

“I made a mistake tonight. Crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed.”

His brow furrows. “Not with me you didn’t. I don’t underst—”

“Not you. It’s me. It’s — it’s always me. I don’t want things to spin out of control. And I feel like they’re about to.”

Yoongi is silent for a long moment.

“I don’t want you to feel that way.” He pulls you closer to him, his grip tightening on your hip. “Really.” You stare down at your intertwined hands. “Look at me.” He waits until you do, summoning an inner strength you didn’t know you needed to look at your friend. “There’s a part of me that wonders how much of this is you punishing yourself for something that you don’t have any reason to be punishing yourself for.”

You can’t help the nervous laugh that shoots from your chest.

“What!? Are you laughing at me!?”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “Just… I don’t know what it is, but if anyone were to look right through me and see everything that’s going on, it’s you.”

He smiles softly.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Do you want your friend to wrap himself around you? Pull you in tight to his warm chest? Remind you of the summer that lies on the other side of this long, long winter?

“No,” you say slowly. “I think I need some space. To… process.”

He nods. “Well, as my newest friends with benefits ex, I agree, you should probably leave. You know. So it doesn’t get awkward.” He grins.

“Yeesh, you’re so quick to kick me out.”

“I know. I guess I just need some space. You know. To process, too. Grieve.” He paints a fake frown on his face and does a dramatic rendition of a very gross sniffle.

You giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Together you get out of bed, Yoongi — for once — rifling through his room in search of your clothes. With every piece of clothing you put on, you feel like you take another step backwards. Away from Yoongi, away from the vulnerability in you that feels like it tears open everytime he looks at you. His comfort. Each new piece of fabric is another wall resurrected. But when you go to hook your bra behind your back, he steps behind you, taking the straps from your hands and gently hooking the clips together.

“Here.”

When he’s done, his fingers linger on your skin just a moment too long.

“Thanks,” you say softly, turning back to him.

His eyes are still blown wide, his hair perfectly disastrous. There’s something so deadly soft about him. He looks just as he did when you marched into his bedroom earlier in the night. And yet, on the other side of this night, you feel like a totally different person. As if the stranger inside of you has finally stepped forward and introduced herself.

You turn away hastily, heading to the living room. He follows and pulls your jacket from the couch and helps you into it.

Shoes on, jacket on, you’re all ready to walk out the door. And still you linger. Yoongi glances at his watch.

“Well, I’d say six hours is a proper mourning period. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“How about brunch? I’m not getting up at 9am for eggs.”

“Oh and I’m the one who needs space huh?” He smiles softly. “11am. You’ll get up at 11am and I’ll buy you a breakup brunch.”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him. Even as you taste the edge of fear — of anxiety — on your tongue, there is still a kind of undeniable warmth that blossoms in your chest every single time you look at him.

You broaden your smile. Push it down.

There’s one last thing.

“And—”

But he already knows what you’re asking. He steps forward, taking your head between his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shock that runs through you is quick and cold.

“I know,” he says. “This’ll still be our little secret.”

When he steps back, there’s something soft in his gaze — too soft, you can’t help but think. Tenderness, surrounded by acceptance and strength. All the things that make Yoongi, well, Yoongi. And yet it feels like too much to handle. Too much to be looked at, to be seen, to be understood when you can barely wrap your mind around what’s going on.

“Sleep well, buttercup.”

Different taxi, different driver, different route.

“Home,” you tell the woman at the wheel when you give her your address, her over-bleached and curly hair forming a kind of halo around her in the seat.

“You got it,” she says smacking her gum and throwing you a wayward smile.

As the car pulls away from the curb and picks up speed, you feel a kind of numbness wash over you.

It was the right decision to end things with Yoongi, you remind yourself, even as you feel a kind of twinge in your chest. You haven’t lost a friend. In fact, you’ve probably preserved your friendship. Saved it from wandering into the brambly bushes of complication and ultimate destruction. Even if it means the loss of killer sex.

You phone dings, and you instinctively brush a hand over your body to make sure you left with all the clothes you arrived in.

When you look at your phone, it’s not who you imagine. It’s not what you imagine.

tae: I forgot how loud you are when you orgasm.

You choke, hand snapping up quickly to cover your mouth.

“You alright, hun?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, yeah, just fine,” you say, but your voice is strained. You immediately type out your response.

you: fuck. i’m so sorry. you: it won’t happen again.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, embarrassment and confusion tightening around your throat. How much more can you really take tonight? Hobi, then Yoongi — now this? You tap your foot as you wait for the response, which takes just a minute to pop up on your phone.

tae: oh… well that’s too bad. I actually didn’t mind it all that much.

Oh.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re typing out your response — and turning down the brightness as if it will hide the loudness of your message from the world.

you: is that right?

tae: i said it didn’t i? ive always been a man of my word. brings me back to the old days, in a way.

you: oh?

tae: you know…

you: do i?

tae: you do.

you: it’s been a while. why don’t you remind me?

tae: you’re playing coy tonight. two very loud orgasms and you’re still not done playing?

you: i’d send that shrugging emoji but i can’t find it you: what can i say? I can be needy

tae: should i remind you tae: when we used to park behind the grocery store tae: there was never anyone around but you’d still get so shy and embarrassed tae: and try to cum without a sound tae: but i didn’t hear a single note of shame or restraint tonight tae: shamelessness looks good on you tae: **sounds good on you

you: you were always quite shameless yourself

tae: it gets me far in life

You blink down at your phone, not really sure what to say. Taehyung’s hearty banter is something you’re used to. Even after all these years, your quick back and forth was still twinged with the smallest teasing edge of sexual interest. But you had always kept it within strict boundaries, never returning to your previous relationship, never suggesting—

tae: but my question is how far will it get me with you?

Your breath freezes in your throat. Never suggesting that you return to anything of the past.

tae: jk tae: unless…?

Taehyung’s sexually laced messages have your head spinning round and round on its pedestal. It’s not as if you had never thought about it, never considered it. But there was a line there, was there not? A line you shouldn’t cross, shouldn’t even think of crossing, no matter how you wanted to. With a deep breath, you respond.

you: i don’t know if we should be having this conversation right now?

tae: why? because you’re my ex? or because of Jin?

Before you can even manage to type out the long list of reasons why you shouldn’t be dipping your toes into the perilous waters of sexting your very happily taken ex, the screen is lighting up again.

tae: if it’s the latter, don’t worry. he’s here too. tae: he says to tell u you’re hot tae: which is news to me tae: not that you’re not hot, but that he thinks that tae: and he says hes “sorry he missed the show earlier”

you: tbh that was NOT the response i was expecting to get.

tae: we’re very open about these things. he’s quite… encouraging actually

As if this is the opening, you walk through it.

you: in what way?

tae: he likes visibility in a specific way. he likes to watch. likes to be watched and… the attention, especially when its directed at me, especially when he knows that at the end of the day i’m crawling back into his bed

Your heart races in your chest.

tae: sorry, maybe that’s tmi.

you: don’t apologize. i don’t mind tmi

tae: then i won’t apologize.

you: good.

tae: good 😂 tae: you know, i liked it.

you: sorry, liked what?

tae: hearing it tae: hearing you cum

you: did you?

tae: more than i expected

you: more than you should?

tae: that’s not what i said

you: well, like i mentioned, it won’t happen again

tae: why not? You finally get me to admit i didn’t mind it and now you’re telling me i won’t get more? :(

You chew on your bottom lip before responding.

you: it’s complicated.

tae: an orgasm is never complicated.

you: …

tae: but you know what is complicated? tae: feelings. tae: you’re having feelings. tae: oh my god you’re in love with yoongi

you: i am nOT in love with yoongi you: surprisingly it has very little to do with yoongi

Even as you send the text, you know that’s not entirely true.

tae: okay, then what’s going on??? pls don’t play cryptic with me, it’s too late for that shit

you: i don’t even know what’s going on.

tae: oh. tae: so we’re talking big boy emotions

you: i don’t have *emotions*

tae: you’re a fucking liar

you: hey you: language

tae: alright then let me rephrase it tae: what are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your heart catches in your throat. Oh.

“We’re here,” the taxi driver says, and your head snaps up from the light of your phone to see your apartment complex towering high and familiar above you.

“Oh!” You blink yourself from your reverie and hand the woman the cash for the ride. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” she says, twisting around to look at you as you skootch across the backseat. “Hey—” You pause, looking at her. The orange glow of the streetlights rings like a halo around her head. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” you smile and nod.

A haze settles around your body as you climb out of the taxi. The hard edge of soberness and the sharpness of the winter air mixes and shocks life back into you as his question rings around your head. What are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your breath feels strained as you climb the echoing stairs to your home. The sound of the key fitting into the lock rings with a harsh click, but it brings you back into your body, to the little marks where Yoongi’s hands dug into you, to the confusion that rattles around your mind, and finally, and most devastatingly, the warmth that has sunk deep and inextricably into your heart.

The apartment is dark when you enter.

“Namjoon?” you call out.

No one answers. You don’t bother to flick on the lights as you feel your way blindly through the darkness, hand brushing against the soft fabric of your sofa, the bumpy texture of the wall, and finally the cold knob of your door. Instead of pushing the door open though, you lean against it, taking what feels like the first full breath of the night.

You look at the screen of your phone, Tae’s question, his voice, spiraling around your head. With a shaky breath you respond, fingers flying across the blue light of the screen.

you: something feels off. I don’t… i don’t want to mess anything up. I feel like the only way to keep things in order is to keep myself out of it all.

tae: can i call you?

you: yeah. Joon’s not home.

You finally press into your room. All that silver light from the city reflects off of the white flakes that flutter softly down from the sky. It spills onto your bed like a pool of molten silver, waiting, chilled and cold for you. You flop down onto it, your breath coming out in a long huff.

When your phone rings, there’s a second of hesitation before you hit the answer button.

“Hello?” your voice is shakier than you expected.

“One second.”

You hear the rustling sound of Tae getting out of bed and the door shutting.

“If I can hear you orgasming, Yoongi sure as hell can hear a phone call,” Tae whispers, a slight chuckle to his voice. “Unless you’re just always unreasonably loud.” You can imagine the sly smile that plays across his lips right now. Another door opened and shut and he sighs. “There. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I…”

You trail off. You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what there is to say.

He says your name softly into the phone, the syllables forming such a familiar shape on his tongue. “Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t think so. I don’t feel great.”

“You’re home? Safe?”

“Yeah. I’m home.” You look around your room. Art on the walls, your little desk the messiest place in the room, stacked high with papers and photos and plants.

“Good.” Taehyung takes a long breath. “So. Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. But your voice freezes in your throat and you can feel the way your silence falls around him.

After breaking up at nineteen, you and Taehyung had always remained friends. The truth was that even though you loved each other, you were so caught up in the physicality of it all that the rest of your relationship — and your relationships outside of that — began to deteriorate. No more sex, you both had decided. And at the time, that meant no more romance. There weren’t lingering feelings of resentment, but you did know — because you both talked about it — that you were both plagued with the lingering question of what if. What if…. But the answer was simple. You both needed more than what the other could offer.

Best friend turned lover turned best friend. If the lingering sexual tension was the only consequence of that, you could handle that. And if you were honest with yourself, you enjoyed it, in a safe, flattering kind of way.

But the reality was that the consequence of your relationship wasn’t limited to just a couple of sex dreams here and there or comments about your former sex life thrown about as jokes. The truth was that there was a permafrost of cautiousness that sat like a layer of ice beneath all of your interactions; one that only thawed away after midnight or a second drink.

Right now, the clock on the wall reads: 3:12am.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“No — I want to.” You shake your head. “I should… I should talk to someone about this.” You take a deep breath as the sharp images of tonight’s events spiral around your mind. When you speak, it comes out a whisper. “I kissed Hobi tonight.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Or he kissed me. I don’t really — don’t really understand what happened, we were just standing there and had both had some drinks and suddenly it was happening and I should have kept everything within the normal boundaries, I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have overstepped our friendship, but we kissed and I…” Your voice trails off.

“And you liked it,” Taehyung finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I did.”

“And it scared you.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you both ran away from it.”

“Yeah.”

“And your way of running away from it was to go fuck Yoongi again, huh.”

“Goddamnit, Tae,” you huff, annoyed by how right he is.

Taehyung chuckles. “Babe, I’ve known you way too long for me to not pick up on these kinds of things. These kinds of patterns.”

“Patterns?”

Taehyung sighs through the phone. “I love you, dude, but… yeah. Yeah. It’s a pattern.”

As you let his words sink into you, you realize. It is a pattern.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks. “Do you really want to know what’s going on here?”

You laugh softly, even as fear nibbles at your heart. There’s a part of you that wants to turn into blindness. That wants to shield your heart from the reality of the situation. From the reality of yourself.

But there’s also something about facing into the truth — clear and cold like the night waiting just beyond your window. You want the shock of truth through your body, glaring and sharpened like ice. Because at the end of the day, you’ve had enough of this numbed ignorance.

“Yeah. Go for it.”

“This might be out of the blue. And you might not want to hear it. I could be totally off—”

“Tae, it’s okay. I want to hear it.”

He takes a deep breath. “But maybe… just maybe, it’s time to think about the way you push people away.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whisper, although the reality of what he’s saying is already dawning on you, even if it’s at a glacial pace.

“How you let people in just long enough, just far enough, to let them see something authentic of you. But you don’t really let them take any real stake in your life.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“And that’s okay!” He adds quickly. “At least, it has been okay. We do what we need to do to keep ourselves safe, but… I think you’re past that all now.” You take a shuddering breath and he pauses. “That place in your life where you need to keep the walls and the rules so strict for fear of falling. You’re not there anymore, babe. Maybe it’s time to start looking at the wall that you’ve built and considering letting yourself tear it apart.” And then, so softly you think his voice might be made of something as delicate as a flower petal: “You know, maybe it’s time to think about how you want to start letting love in again. Because you deserve it.”

It’s not until you brush your hand against your cheeks that you realize they’re wet. You look down at your fingertips, glistening with fallen tears, shining silver in the snowlight.

“Fuck, Tae.”

Taehyung lets loose a light, but pained, chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle. “Goddamn it.”

Silence settles between the two of you. Tears slip silently down your face as you hold the phone to your ear. You can hear him breathing softly on the other end, but Taehyung doesn’t say anything. It’s as if he knows you need a minute to process.

His words slide right under your skin. Directed straight at the thing that has felt so heavy in your chest all night now, it’s as if the whole thing has been broken open within you. Suddenly, you can see it all.

The past years, this game of cat and mouse with your own vulnerability. This façade of carefully curated openness and faux vulnerability. All of the things that you kept as reminders of your freeness, your unlocked heart — the hookups, the fast and furious romances that ended in nothing but silence, the friendships you kept so carefully defined — were actually all just markers of the opposite:

A deep and abiding fear that if you let someone love you, a fear that if you let them close enough to really, truly see you, they might see something they won’t like.

Better to keep things clearly organized. Clearly marked and known and understood. That way you’d know exactly when things were spinning out of control and when someone was just about to get too close.

“You know, there are so many ways to love,” Taehyung says. “It doesn’t just have to be in that one way of fucking and falling in love and then a big white marriage, tada! the end. And, uh, it’s okay to want love. It’s really, really okay, actually. In whatever weird way love shows up for you, even if it’s not the traditional way. It’s even more okay to let yourself have that love, even if you don’t know what it is — don’t know what to call it.”

When your breath comes out shaky and ridden with tears, you can hear a soft oh echo through the phone.

“Hey,” Taehyung says with all the love in the world laced so delicately through his voice. “It’s okay. It might not feel like that right now. But opening up again — if, you know, if that’s what you want — that’s something you can do. It can be done.”

“I-I do, Tae. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to keep fighting this.”

It’s as if you can hear his smile through the receiver.

“That makes me really happy to hear,” he says.

“Where do I even begin?” It comes out a whisper, your voice cracked from the tears that have begun to slow. You’re half afraid to even hear the answer. Half afraid to walk down the path riddled with your greatest fear.

“I think you begin by going to sleep. And in the morning I’ll call you. And I’ll keep calling you. And we’ll work through this together. You know, this isn’t something that you have to do alone.”

You’re silent.

“You’re in bed?” crackles through the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Go put on some pjs and go to sleep. You don’t have to do this all in one night.”

You nod, wiping the rest of the tears from your face and sniffling. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I love you to the moon and back, no matter what. You know that. Right?”

You close your eyes. For a second you imagine accepting that it’s true. It fills your chest with a new kind of warmth. One you want to sink into.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you too, Tae.”

“Get some rest then. Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

The dial tone clicks and the room falls into complete silence. Only the sound of your breath breaks through, too loud and uncomfortable amidst the darkness. But still, you climb out of bed, dump some water on a towel and wipe at your face, and change into the largest t-shirt you can find in your drawer.

Tonight, you dream the first dream of many in a line that will haunt you — and spark you back to life. It’s Yoongi, his body pushing you up against the ice cold glass, his hands in your hair, his lips whispering, over and over and over again: Is it complicated?

In the morning, you lay awake, just feeling the way your breath falls heavily in your chest. You text Yoongi to tell him you can’t meet up. You look outside.

The world is covered in a blanket of snow. Unrecognizable. Beautiful. Washed clean.

Something hopeful flutters in your chest.

When you look down, your hands are clutching the collar of your sleep shirt. With a deep breath, you wrap your arms around your torso in a hug.

“I don’t really know how to do anything else other than this,” you admit to Tae one day over the phone, flourishing a hand you know he can’t see to emphasize the point you know he already understands.

“Well. I don’t know how much of it is really choosing to be different. Instead, maybe you ought to try looking at it like an undoing. Whenever you match up against that impulse to run, think about sitting with it. Feeling it. And then choosing to move in another direction. Yeah,” he says, and you can tell he’s nodding on the other end of the phone. “An undoing.”

What does this kind of undoing look like? you wonder.

When the world comes to a screeching halt around you, you don’t expect to find your answer. The reality of the pandemic and quarantine — the emptiness of it, the long, drawn out days that feel long and drawn out when you’re in them but that then seem to blend together into one long, monotonous, anxiety riddled day and leave you wondering and wishing for the end — it’s hard. It’s hard in that quiet way that’s easy to ignore and push off, and hard in the way that there’s a big ache in your chest every time you go to sleep, one that crawls straight into your throat and sits there until the morning. It’s hard, and you learn to live with it. It’s hard, but somehow it brings you what you need. When distance seems to be the defining feature of your life, you don’t expect to find clarity. But you do. As you sink into the new routine of quarantine and pandemic life, and as life begins in a new rhythm with new rules and new realities — slowly and wildly new and sometimes horrific — it becomes clear to you.

What does this kind of undoing look like?

It looks a lot like feeling the emptiness in your home when Namjoon is away. Silence louder, space smaller. You find yourself reflected back to yourself, as if you are staring in a mirror.

It looks a lot like distraction. Emotional exhaustion turning into physical. You do distract — and it’s good — with a new drama or a new hobby. Exercising in your room until your cheeks are flushed. Cooking something new and delicious every night. Or sometimes just letting the small rectangle of light in your hand absorb you until the lingering discomfort is numbed, until you’re ready to fall asleep.

It looks like listening to your thoughts, really, truly listening, for the first time. Hearing the stories that you’ve built up in your head over the ears and how deeply they’ve sunk into your reality. It looks like noticing them, and wanting them to change. It looks like standing in the empty hallway of your apartment, feeling it all, and deciding to do something about it.

It looks like weird-ass sex dreams. Once dreamless nights are repopulated with strange and specific sexual fantasies featuring none other than your seven gorgeous friends in various states of undress and revelry.

It looks like letting people in again. Laughing on the phone until tears well up in your eyes. Building up the courage to tell Jimin about your vivid, even pornographic dreams. Writing letters when facetime just doesn’t do it anymore. Telling your friends just how much they mean to you, even when that voice warns you that you ought to keep your feelings held tight to your chest.

It looks like falling asleep one night, the traffic of the city now quieted by reduced travel, and the silence offering you a new kind of truth:

Love can be without limitation.

Love can be without limitation. It is allowed to flow from you without doubt or embarrassment. It is allowed to exist in the world — and in you — without needing to be reciprocated or validated. And you are allowed to ask for it. To demand it from life, even if, at times, it feels like the only place it pours forth from is from that great gaping space in your chest.

The phone rings a couple of times before it’s cut off in the middle of a digital brrng. You’re ready to hear the familiar buzz of a robotic voice reading: the caller you are trying to reach is not available—

But instead, the deep, heady voice you’re so familiar with comes over the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hoseok?” His name feels foreign on your tongue. After all this time, pushing it away, pushing him away, welcoming his name back into your body feels almost like a fresh rain, washing away the dust on your skin.

“The one and only,” he chuckles. “What’s up?”

A ball of emotion wells up in your throat and the phone line hangs in silence as you try to glue together what you want to say, what you had practiced to say, what you should say. But it feels as if it’s all disappeared.

“I thought—”

“Did I mess up?” he blurts.

You blink in confusion. “What? No, I—”

“That night, I had so much to drink, I’m worried that… I messed up, that— ”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hoseok.”

You can hear the breath release from his lungs and shudder through the phone. “Oh.” It’s silent for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“I just…” You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. “I just miss you.”

“I miss you like there’s an ocean between us,” he says, laughter mixed with sincerity threading through his voice.

“It feels like there’s ocean between us,” you sigh.

“I know,” he says, too quickly for him to realize the meaning behind your words. “But I promise this will all be over soon, babe. How long can something like this really last? In no time it’ll all be done with and I’ll be right back beside you. Right?”

You smile. “Right.”

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nctsworld · 4 years

Text

just let me adore you

✩ jaehyun x reader (ft. mark) | fluff | campfire au | 2.3k → summary: in which the sparks between you and jaehyun burn brighter than the fire in front of you. → warnings: fluff, flirting, swearing, kissing, wingman!mark whoo let’s get it → rating: teen+

→ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Laughter atop of wooden logs and wisps of smoke from the recently made fire fly towards the darkening sky on the beach. On the topic of fires, you and your friends are now reminiscing about when Haechan almost set his house on fire on more than one occasion.

Your face is stuffed in Mark’s shoulder, unable to control your fit of laughter. As you pull away to breathe, you see a familiar group of men walking closer. Your eyes widen in reaction to one in particular.

“You didn’t tell me Jaehyun was coming,” you spew behind the gritted teeth of your smile, leaning into Mark while having your gaze still locked on the group approaching.

“Whoops?” Mark shrugs nonchalantly. You punch the imp smile off of your best friend’s face. He mumbles an ow and rubs the tender spot.

“Could’ve at least given me a heads up, you little shit.”

“Maybe tonight you two will finally—hey, guys!”

His words are cut off as the group finally arrives at their destination, greeting everyone perched on the logs.

You may as well have flung yourself into the flames when Jaehyun flashes you a smile and maybe it’s all in your head, but you swear his eyes are fixated on only you.

Jaehyun and you were in an... odd spot.

You may have gone to the same university, but the campus was huge, and you only ever really saw each other during large mutual gatherings, like tonight, so it was hard to get to know each other when you were often encircled with your particular clique.

You two were mutuals on Facebook, but there wasn’t any concrete reason for you two to message each other out of the blue. However, you’d be lying if you said you never opened up the chat, stared at the blank conversation, and spent more time than you’d admit in thinking of a message to muster up.

Yet, during only the handful of times you’ve been around Jaehyun, you liked being around him. He was sweet, like how he gave you pointers during the get-together at the bowling alley, and Mark has only said good things about him, giving him the seal of a best friend's approval.

Sure, it was a little awkward at times. Small talk was the norm, but neither of you could deny that there was something itching under the surface between you two. Maybe some nurture and care was all that was needed to break the chemistry free.

Or maybe all that was needed was tonight.

Because the logs near you are already occupied, Jaehyun and the latecomers sit across from you. Jaehyun’s in your direct line of sight with only the fire coming between the two of you.

The night falls as the blaze burns stronger and higher, becoming the only illuminating presence on the beach. Although conversations are all about, everyone’s attention is on it. Flames dance, entangling with each other in freedom. Orange and yellow hues reflect off of every face surrounding the warmth. It’s uncommon to see unconstrained flares like this often, so the rarity adds to the addictive pull of them.

Everyone’s attention is on the fire, save for two people.

You prefer listening to others speak and don’t really say much unless elicited, so you spend a lot of your time appreciating the beauty of the things surrounding you—at the rolling ocean waves, up at the stars, or across the wavy haze at the figure before you.

And when you aren’t looking at Jaehyun, you’re unaware of how he’s appreciating the beauty in front of him too.

Back and forth, neither of you expect to lock eyes, but when it inevitably does, neither of you break away. On the contrary, Jaehyun offers a side smile, which showcases his dimple, and a modest wave.

Returning his gesture with a giggle and a weak wave back, you then pretend to listen to neighbouring dialogue for a moment.

Five seconds later, you can’t help it and steal a glimpse of him once more.

You’re surprised to find him beaming back.

Even though Mark’s preoccupied with telling the recent story of him winning another watermelon eating contest, he sees you smiling in his peripheral vision. His mouth still runs off, but he turns his head and sees that Jaehyun's the reason behind your smile. Although the eye flirting makes him mentally gag, he fully supports your pursuit if it makes you happy.

Catching on, your best friend stands up to “stretch his legs” and moves closer to the ones he’s talking to, continuing the anecdote while standing. Not even a minute passes, and it doesn’t take much for Jaehyun to make a break for the empty spot next to you.

Jaehyun doesn’t sit as close to you like Mark did, respecting your space, but is close enough to have you nervously plucking the fabric of your jeans.

It starts off with the normal small talk, asking how classes have been and what you’ve been up to lately. Immediately after, silence takes over.

Now that he’s in close proximity, looking at him feels like a sin. Nevertheless, you still commit the crime, stealing little glances at him throughout the bustling chatter and crisp crackling.

Feeling overwhelmed by the silence, you grasp onto more small talk, which unfortunately soon reduces to you just rambling. Throughout it all, Jaehyun doesn’t say anything. All he does is nod and listens intently, leaning closer to you with his forearms on his thighs to capture everything that you’re saying.

When you take a breather, he finally speaks up.

“Although I love to hear you talk,” his voice is low and gentle, sending a small shiver down your spine. “And by all means, you can keep talking, but don’t feel pressured to fill the silence.”

He pauses for a beat, and you peer over to view him lowering his head.

He’s rubbing one thumb over his other, and the friction only makes his palms sweat more. Tingles reach Jaehyun’s ears, and he ponders if you notice it under the dim glow.

“You don’t have to say anything at all; I always like just being around you, even if we aren’t talking.”

The cool air blows, calming you along with his words. A shy grin spreads across your face. Feeling more at ease, you shift towards him, closing the empty space between you on the log and letting your leg lean onto his. Jaehyun’s focus trails from your leg to your face, and he dives deeper into your perfection with another of his famous, sweet dimpled smiles.

Despite Jaehyun’s reassurance, you two slowly start to converse with less tension. Through the night, you get to know each other bit by bit, unravelling each other’s life stories, yet simultaneously writing a new chapter, intertwining the lines of your lives together.

Additionally, you begin to melt for Jaehyun’s jokes. This is a first, to hear him joking around like this, but you soon find yourself laughing into his shoulder like you did with Mark not long ago.

And Jaehyun adores how you click with his humour, but he adores your laugh even more.

Someone remembers that they brought snacks in their bag, and fast enough, marshmallows are being passed around. Jaehyun, along with a few others, hunt along the beach and come back with stray sticks for the sweet treats.

As you two roast marshmallows, you’re sitting in comfortable silence, exchanging glances every so often. Suddenly, he lays a hand on yours, pulling it back along with the stick.

“Careful,” he warns softly into your ear. “You don’t want a burnt marshmallow.”

Your breathing hitches, thinking about the only other time Jaehyun touched you.

It was during Johnny’s birthday dinner at a buffet restaurant. You were in the midst of devouring your food when your hair got in the way (out of all the days you forgot a hair tie, it had to be today). Failed attempts transpired at moving it; you blew, you shook your head, you rubbed the loose strands against your upper arm sleeve...

“May I?”

His delicate inquiry made you freeze. Jaehyun already finished his food and offered his clean hands to fix your dilemma. You were so dedicated to finishing your meal that you forgot that he was right next to you, probably thinking you were a hot mess.

Regardless, you nodded. You gulped as he daintily tucked the strands of your hair behind your ears. His touch was so brief, so simple. He barely ghosted over your skin, and the moment fleeted as fast as the way your hair ran through his fingertips.

So if his touch was so simple, why was your heart bursting at the seams?

Your heart thumps against your chest just the same now as it did then. Maybe even more, since you turn to face him and he’s so close, you feel his warm breath against your face. Your gaze slowly wanders to his lips. Subconsciously, he licks them, and you catch him staring at yours too. Your mind’s drawing blanks, while your body takes control. Both of you draw your bodies nearer and nearer until someone hollers—

“Dude, your marshmallow’s burnt!”

Both of you stop in your tracks and whip your heads towards the fire, realizing it’s Jaehyun’s marshmallow that the person is referring to. Hastily, he pulls it away, blows the flames off, and stares at the charred piece with a pout.

“Well, I guess you like burnt marshmallows though, huh?”

Jaehyun turns to you again, watching you chew your marshmallow with a smug expression. Shaking his head, he runs his tongue along his bottom teeth.

“Hey, for the record, I saved your marshmallow from being burnt.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure,” you hum, still chewing, then getting up. “I’ll go get us some more marshmallows. Maybe extra for you, in case you burn more.”

He clutches his chest in jest at your quip and watches the way you saunter over to the bag, his eyes full of hearts, yet regret courses his veins over how the moment was ruined.

It’s past 1 AM, and the combination of the summer air and ocean waves pack a bite that urges you to go home. You’re both standing near the fire, waving at others who are leaving, when you begin to say you your good-bye.

“I should also get going.” Your hands are in your pockets, feet kicking at the sand.

“Is Mark your ride home?” You nod in reply and open your mouth, ready to tell him how nice the night went with him.

“Can I…” he abruptly cuts in before inhaling sharply. “I was wondering if you’d let me drive you home?”

Your jaw drops at the suggestion, causing his expression to change instantly. “Unless you’d prefer Mark to, I totally understand.”

Obviously, you accept without hesitance, and run off to Mark to inform him of the change of plans. After hugging him and saying your good-byes, Mark whispers, “Don’t stay out too late.” Then, he gives you a wink before you run to your driver for the night, walking side by side with him back to his car.

Because it’s late and you’re both a little tired, the ride home is quiet, albeit for Jaehyun’s music playing in the background and when you begin to speak up to give directions on how to get to your place. Rolling up in front of your home, he turns the ignition off, but leaves the music still on.

“I had a great time with you tonight,” he says with a hand still on the steering wheel.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you nod, “Me too.”

Anticipation lingers in the air for a while prior to Jaehyun cutting it with a question you’ve been dying to hear.

“Are you free next weekend?”

You press your lips together, trying to hide a smile back.

“Only if you are.”

He laughs with a shake of his head, amused at your playfulness. He can definitely get used to this.

“I’ll message you when I get home and we can work out the details soon.”

“Sounds good,” you sway a bit in your seat whilst holding in your excitement. “Well, good night, Jaehyun.”

Your fingers are on the door handle, but you aren’t quite curling them around it.

“Good night,” he says your name in a hush and you look back at him. The two of you match eye contact and get lost in the gleam of each other’s starry eyes.

You’re unsure who made the first move, but it doesn’t matter because his kiss scorches you, melting you into putty. As you think you’re about to fall apart between blissful sighs, Jaehyun catches you with each caress, holding you together by your cheeks and the nape of your neck.

Breaking away for air, you lay your forehead against his, panting, “Wow.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly. “I’ve been waiting to do that since I burned my marshmallow.”

No coherent thoughts are running through your mind, except your yearning for the man in front of you. All you want is him and his touch on your skin again, so you agree with his sentiment by diving in again without warning.

It takes much strength for you to finally depart from each other’s embrace for the night, but when you do, Jaehyun plants a kiss on the back of your hand and wishes you sweet dreams.

Exhausted and in disbelief over tonight’s events, you quickly change out of your clothes and tuck yourself into bed. Unfortunately, sleep is near impossible because your mind replays everything over and over.

Suddenly, your phone lights up, notifying you of a new message.

Little did you know you’d stay up messaging the man on the other end until the sun rose.

Next weekend really couldn’t come fast enough.

#jaehyun #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #nct 127 fanfic #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct scenarios #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun x reader #nctcreations #myfanfics #mywritings

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hanatiny · 3 years

Text

Perfect Illusion

a/n: this fic is inspired by this post (although I modified the idea a bit)! for those interested, I even made a spotify playlist to hopefully enhance the experience~

pairing: royal guard!San x royal guard/spy!f!reader

genre: smut

word count: 2113

warnings: royal AU, weapons (knives and daggers), brief mention of infidelity (which I do not condone), swearing, teasing, dry humping, hair pulling, name-calling (they keep insulting each other... oops), enemies with benefits, implied enemies to lovers (kind of), slight knife kink, implied pain kink, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, no clear dom/sub roles

-----

Despite excelling at undercover work, you weren’t known be incredibly ‘out there’ in the way you executed your tasks, so this particular mission you had been given must have been the one you disliked the most as of now, not to mention that you despised the tactic of seduction.

You did your best to attract as little attention as possible in order to carry out your information gathering in peace. Although it seemed that in doing so, you had become a little too suspicious for one of the guards. You heaved a sigh, meeting his eyes while most of his face remained covered by the hood and the mask he wore to not look like the odd one out at the royal masquerade event. He nudged his head towards a nearby balcony after asking for one of his fellow guards to watch his spot, signalling you to follow.

Albeit slowly, you did what was asked of you - your beliefs were much too deeply rooted in obedience not to. Once outside, the guard closed and locked the door behind you. Shrugging off his hood, he took off his mask while you did the same so the two of you were equally bare to each other.

“San?!” “Y/n?!” You both gasped aloud in equal shock and surprise, slapping a hand over each other’s mouths to prevent anyone from hearing how casually you spoke with each other.

Prying your hand away from his face, although still holding it in his own, San quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at you, “What, pray tell, are you doing here at this party wearing that?”

Your voice was teasing as you spoke and he gestured towards the black dress you were wearing, “Oh, this old thing~?” He rolled his eyes at your playful tone but allowed you to continue, “As much as I didn’t want to, His Highness requested me to keep my eyes and ears open for anything or anyone suspicious... and had the bright idea of having me use seduction to get the job done.”

Despite knowing how much you hated the technique in question, San thought it fun to tease and rile you up about it, “Do I classify as suspicious then? Cause you’ve definitely caught my interest and seduced me...~”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing him and pulling him close by the tie he was wearing before whispering in his ear, “With how flirty you’re being, definitely. I might have to arrest you now, sunshine~ But if you play your cards right, I might let you fuck me, pretty boy.”

It was your turn to cock an eyebrow when San nonchalantly turned the situation around on you and pinned you against the wall roughly, both of your wrists above your head in one of his own while an almost bored grin danced across on your face at the act. “That all you got~?”

“Not at all, sweetheart...~” “Show me then,” you challenged without hesitation, hooking one of your legs around his hip to draw his body closer and flush against yours, “show me what you can do, unless you want to admit that a woman could dom you~”

Bullseye. You hit him right in his sore spot, knowing him to be much too competitive to let such a cheeky comment slide. You saw something shift in his eyes, something dark, and you knew you had him right then and there, “You asked for it... don’t complain if you limp afterwards.”

“Wanna bet~?” San effectively shut you up by melding his plush lips to yours, your hands tugging greedily at his already messy hair while the grinding of your hips against his coaxed a soft moan from his lips.

“You really don’t intend to make it easy for me do you, little vixen...” He whispered against your lips, his voice low and raspy as he did so, causing you to give him a casual shrug, “You know me, I always want to be the one who comes out on top. Whether that is in the physical sense or not couldn’t matter any less to me, frankly.”

San huffed softly, he knew you were competitive but so was here. However, the difference between the two of you was that you were willing to play dirty to get what you want.

As such, you couldn’t prevent a slight smirk from tugging at your lips when his breath hitched audibly after he pushed the hem of your dress up to your hips and spotted the daggers strapped to one of your thighs. “Staring longer won’t make the image imprint itself in your mind any faster. And in case you haven’t noticed with how much you want my daggers on your body, I’m worked up and hereby telling you to hurry up and fuck me. Right here, right now.”

“Getting feisty and demanding, are we? Two can play that game, Y/n...~” Reaching into the inside of his jacket, San pulled out a knife and held it to your throat while the cocky smirk never left your face, “Are you just gonna keep threatening me with a good time so that I’ll walk right back in there and tell everyone you’re my bitch, or are you actually gonna do something about that obvious boner in your pants?”

San’s eyebrow twitched at your audacity, the discovery of the fact that you had foregone underwear tonight not helping his dwindling patience in the slightest, “Pathetic how desperate you are for my cock, you minx. Needing to cover it up with such a tough girl act...”

He trailed off, watching you closely as he pocketed his knife and used his now unoccupied hand to quickly unfasten his pants and free his aching length from its confines. He stroked himself a few times, the seconds passing torturously slowly in your eyes as you licked your lips in anticipation before throwing your head back against the wall with a strangled gasp when he fully inserted himself inside of you without warning.

“You son of a-” “Shush doll, don’t want anyone to hear what we’re doing out here do you~?” You huffed as he interrupted you, pretending to think for a moment before shaking your head with a smile, “I actually do, imagine the surprise when they’d hear that two of the royal guards are all over each other...~”

San’s eyes darkened once more before narrowing them at you, “You asked for it, then... Be prepared to scream.”

“Such big words from the man who’d let me spit in his mouth~” You weren’t having it though, only mewling and moaning softly while San repeatedly snapped his hips into yours. His pace was rough and quick, eager to get both you and himself off, “Won’t even, fuck- won’t even scream for me... am I not fucking you hard enough?”

“Mmh... nope~!” You replied with a toothy grin, gasping sharply when San thrusted inside of you particularly harshly. “That better?” “Much~” He continued to move at the harsh pace he had just set, his breath hitching when his hand accidentally brushed against the leather garter still fixed securely around your thigh.

He felt himself twitch violently when you spoke through low pants, his thrusts stuttering, “Wouldn’t you love to have me trail one of those daggers over your sensitive skin, sunshine? Perhaps even pierce it a little here and there to show who you belong to~?”

Those last words came out unintentionally but you didn’t feel the need to correct yourself, considering that your possessiveness appeared to be the last straw for San judging by the warmth that filled you as he came, your own orgasm washing over you shortly after. Once you had both caught your breath, he carefully pulled out of you and helped you straighten out your dress after doing the same to his own clothes.

You implying that he was yours was undoubtedly a matter to be discussed, but for now, you two had a masquerade to return to. As such, San handed your mask back to you after having previously stored it in one of his jacket pockets. You both secured your masks back on your faces so that your identities were concealed once more, although San decided to not pull his hood back up.

He unlocked the balcony door before turning to you with a teasing albeit charming smile, holding his hand out for you to take, “Will you let me have this dance, m’lady~?”

You found it amusing how quickly he could switch back to his professional persona, placing your hand in his own regardless, “It’d be my pleasure~”

He led you back inside of the large, well-lit ballroom where no one was any the wiser of what had transpired mere minutes ago, your dress swaying slightly while you danced with San, a small grin painted on your features.

You ended up getting to bed incredibly late, almost stumbling out of it the next morning before quickly making yourself presentable after being requested in the throne room by His Highness himself, wondering what it could possibly be about.

You ran into San on the way there, finding out that he had been called to see the prince as well. Pushing the heavy wooden door open, you weren’t particularly surprised to find it empty besides the presences of you, your companion and Yeosang, who had placed his crown on a pedestal near himself.

Letting his emotionless facade crack a bit, he gave a small smile when he saw the two of you kneel before him as it was custom for the subordinates or the royal family.

“Those who want to wear the crown need to prove they are able to bear its weight.”

Yeosang’s voice rang out through the room, causing you and San to look at each other questioningly and then back up at him in confusion. The older male had never been more glad to not have any other of his court officials or guards besides the two of you inside of his throne room, relieved that he could be blunt about his message.

“I’m sure you both are aware of how I came to be where I am presently, yes?” You both nodded in response. “Then you know my mother was not a true queen and slept her way to the throne. Hell, I’m even a bastard child - her husband was not my father. In short... she was a whore.”

San gasped quietly next to you in surprise at the word choice, causing you to nudge him gently to remind him to focus and listen.

“I don’t want to keep the two of you here any longer than necessary,” the unrightful prince leaned forward, his weight still resting on the arm he had previously propped himself up on, “My coronation is set to be held eleven days from now. Whichever of you comes up with the better plan to cover up my ‘coincidental’ disappearance by then gets to claim the throne.”

It was a tempting offer, that much you had to admit, but it sounded almost too good to actually be true.

“Your Highness-” “Please drop the formalities Y/n, you’ve known me since I was a little child.” The young man in question corrected softly as you cleared your throat with an understanding nod, “Are you sure this will work out as you intend it to? I’m not sure anyone would believe one of your royal guards to be allowed to inherit the crown just like that...”

“Y/n. Surely you’ve noticed how desperate the people are for a ruler who stands with them, even with all the time you spend working? They’ll accept just about anyone. As long as neither of you exposes the truth about any part of my family... do we have a deal?”

San looked at you and met your eyes, lingering for a few beats before getting up from his knees with you following suit as you looked up at the prince and spoke in unison, always up for a challenge - especially if it just so happened to come with a high reward like this one did, “We have a deal.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now off you two go, there is work to be done~” Yeosang hummed, you and your ‘companion’ bowing respectfully and nodding before turning on your respective heels.

San pulled his hood back over his head and glanced at you with a smug grin that you happily mirrored, both of you making a run for it out of the throne room.

After all, it was only a matter of time and of who created the most perfect illusion, aware that only one of you would come out on top.

----- Taglist (tell me if you wanna be added):

@atinykitty @cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva @galaxteez @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @nightqueennyx @twancingyunhoe @vocalyunho @yunhoiseyecandy

Network tag:

@8makes1teamnet

#8makes1teamnet #ateez royal au #royal au #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #san smut #ateez san smut #me coming out of my figurative writing cave with this: hi did u miss me #hanatiny writes

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cafedanslanuit · 3 years

Text

[ k i n k t o b e r ] d a y 31 - masterlist

↪ characters: hawks / takami keigo & dabi [boku no hero academia]

↪ tags/warnings: +18, female!reader, college au, threesome, spanking, eating out (giving and receiving), facesitting, masturbation, vouyerism if you squint, jacob’s ladder, tongue piercing, friends with benefits.

↪ a/n: thank you for joining me in this event!!! hope you like the big finale <3

Keigo’s tongue pushed against yours inside your mouth, his hands stroking your sides as you ran your fingers through his scalp. You were sitting on the desk, your legs circling his waist as the kiss continued. After dancing and grinding against each other during a house party you had both been invited to, you had sneaked inside an empty bedroom and started touching each other, lips crashing against each desperately. You had liked Keigo for a while now, so being alone with him felt like a dream. The scenario was perfect, as you had been teasing each other for a while while dancing, his hand getting extremely close to your ass and your lips grazing his ear as you moved your hips to the rhythm.

You still weren’t sure you led who to the second floor. Avoiding gazes was easy since the house was packing with people and your friends didn’t catch you leaving with the blond.

That idea immediately ended as soon as you heard the door opening. You gasped and tried to lower your dress to cover your bare thighs. Upon realizing who it was, you let your dress rile up again and rolled your eyes.

"Don't mind me, go on," Dabi said, closing and locking the door behind him. He walked to the bed and sat on the edge, a sly smirk on his face as he kept his turquoise eyes on both of you.

"Dabi, go away," you warned him.

"You didn't say that last Saturday,” he reminded you with a cheeky grin.

"You and...?"

You cursed under your breath and pressed your eyes together. Fucking Dabi and his big mouth and also fuck you for giving him a blow job at a party where you were extremely horny and he looked hot in a dark shirt. Unwillingly, you turned your head back to Keigo, ready to see him walk away.

You quickly realized there wasn't an inch of jealousy in his features. His honey eyes flickered from yours to Dabi's, his pupils dilated and eyebrows slightly raised, a question that even thought it wouldn't dare to leave his lips, you understood.

Oh.

"I mean, if no one is actually going to say it," Dabi shrugged, walking towards you.

You parted your lips in preparation for what you thought was going to be a kiss, but instead watched Dabi grabbing Keigo’s chin and pulling him for a kiss. The blond’s hands were still on your hips, and you felt them tensing as he kissed him back. Your mouth watered at the show in front of you, and your legs twitched at the sight of Dabi’s pierced tongue stroking against Keigo’s bottom lip.

Dabi broke the kis and turned his head to you, a hungry look in his eyes. Without hesitation, you leaned in for a kiss, his scent filling all your senses as you moved your lips against his. You opened your eyes and saw Keigo looking at you with awe. His hands started stroking your thighs once more and then moved up to your breasts. You moaned inside of Dabi’s mouth and he looked down at Keigo’s hands on your chest.

“Bed,” he ordered, and it was almost comical how both Keigo and you nodded and walked over to the bed. Trying to take the lead, you pushed Dabi to the bed and straddled him. He chuckled at your attempt of dominance but let you kiss him, as he worked to get you out of your dress. When Dabi pulled away to take off his pants, you turned to Keigo with a smirk on your face.

“Come here,” you said, crawling on the bed in just your underwear. You took off his shirt as he got rid of his pants and underwear. As he sat back on the bed, you knelt in front of him and started kissing his neck, drawing a path across his chest and abs. When your head reached his crotch, you looked up to him, knowing the kneeling position and curvature of your spine gave you an entinting look. It was almost adorable how open his eyes were as he looked at you. You put your lips around the tip of his cock and heard a groan from Keigo. Using your hand to pump him, you focused on twirling your tongue around the head, trying to discover what he liked the most.

Suddenly, you felt a couple of hands grabbing your hips from behind. The sharp inhale of breath was comical to Dabi, you started lowering your panties and then made you lift each one of your legs to get rid of it. You couldn’t repress the moan when you felt Dabi’s breath against your exposed crotch. He gave a long, slow lick across your folds, his piercing making you clench around nothing. Dabi’s hands parted your thighs a little more and started moving his tongue again.

You lost track of the movements of your mouth for a moment, clouded in the feeling of Dabi eating you out. Quickly enough, you started bobbing your head up and down Keigo’s length, relaxing your throat to be able to take as much of him as you could. The blond put his hand on your head, and tangled his fingers with your hair. You looked up again and saw him panting, a deep blush on his cheeks as his eyes went from looking at you to looking at the man eating you out.

A particular flick of Dabi’s tongue made you moan loudly, the vibrations of your voice making Keigo shudder as well. You pulled away and buried your face on Keigo’s thigh.

“Fuck, Dabi,” you groaned, to which he spanked your ass, making you squeal. He finally pulled away as well, and watched your knees give in as you sank on the bed again. You turned around and gave him a small smile.

Sitting up, you pushed Dabi on his back on the bed. He lifted his hips to let you take his underwear off, his cock springing free at the sharp tug. He was already hard and leaking, and you couldn’t help but take an extra moment to look at his Jacob’s ladder.

“This brings back memories,” he teased. You rolled your eyes at him again, but this time the way you licked your upper teeth with a smile sold you out.

“You’re an asshole just because you have a pretty cock,” you argued. Dabi’s eyes widened the slightest bit at your blunt remark, but immediately covered it with a smirk. You lowered your head and took a long lick to the underside of his cock, feeling the metal against your tongue.

Dabi set aside your hair to be able to see your face as you sunk him inside your mouth, small grunts coming from his mouth as you pleasured him with your tongue. Remembering the last time you had been together, you remembered a couple of things he liked, like when you grazed the tip of his cock against your lips as if you were smearing lipstick, and twisting your wrist outward everytime you pumped him.

Keigo watched you and Dabi while he touched himself, his hand sliding up and down his cock still slick from your mouth. Dabi turned his head to him and called him over with his hand. Keigo obliged and kneeled next to him, bending down when the man pulled him by the nape of his neck. Dabi kissed him slowly but deeply, his tongue entering his mouth with almost familiarity. Pulling away with a smack sound, Dabi’s fingers went to Keigo’s mouth, who immediately opened it. Keigo sucked on his fingers diligently as you kept bobbing your head up and down. Once they were coated enough, Dabi’s hand traveled between Keigos legs in his kneeled position. They didn’t take long before finding his entrance and drawing circled around it.

When you listened to Keigo’s moans you shot your eyes up, your legs pressing together at the scene of Dabi pushing his fingers inside. Keigo had thrown his head back and was almost riding the other man’s hand, lewd sounds coming from his mouth even louder than before. You sank down on Dabi’s length as much as you could, tears forming on your eyes as his cock hit the back of your throat. He hissed at the feeling and turned his head back to you.

“Don’t get jealous, doll. I’m going to take care of you in a minute,” he said, his free hand picking up his pants on the floor and taking out a packet of condoms.

Dabi kept on his promise when not long after that, he guided your body until you were sitting on his face. His hands were permanently squeezing your ass as he was eating you out eagerly. From your sitting position, you saw Hawks sinking down on Dabi’s wrapped length slowly, deep grunts as the man laying underneath you filled him up.

Once Keigo got comfortable enough to start moving his hips up and down, he was finally able to set his eyes on you. Knowing he was watching, you started fondling with your breasts as you moved your hips. Keigo watched the show you were giving him and let out another moan. You bent over and started pumping him with your right hand. His lips searched for yours and you complied, kissing him as you hand kept working on him.

“Fuck-- I’m gonna…” Keigo whispered against your lips. You quickened the pace of your hands and in a few moments, you saw him releasing on your hand and Dabi’s chest with a loud moan. If the music wasn’t so loud on the first floor, you would have been worried. Keigo pulled away and let himself fall on the bed on his back, chest rising up and down as he tried to regain his breath. You moved away from Dabi’s face as well as he discarded the condom, throwing it on the floor.

Dabi pulled you down for a kiss, making you taste yourself in his tongue. His big hands roamed over your naked body, feeling up your breasts, waist and ass. He rolled over your body, and the pressure his weight made against you riled you up even more.

“Dabi, fuck me,” you asked in between the kiss. The last thing you saw was his smirk.

In a quick motion, he turned you around, face on the mattress as he moved your legs to a kneeling position. You heard him opening another condom package and the head of his cock against your entrance.

Dabi didn’t pause as he sank himself into you, the whimpers and curses you made only exciting him further. He set one of his hands on your hip and the other one on the back of your head, pushing it against the mattress.

His hips started moving rapidly, thrusting inside of you and hitting exactly where you needed him the most.

“Fuck…” he groaned, his hips quick and sharp against yours. He felt big inside of you, and you could still feel the burning sensation from the stretching every time he pulled himself almost entirely away only to push himself back in. Dabi spanked your ass harshly, and you immediately clenched around him. “You like that, huh?” he asked amused, before spanking you again. And again. And again.

Maybe it was the dominant position, but you didn’t take long to come undone around him, your legs giving out again and falling on the mattress. You felt him push your head against the bed harsher, and that was how you knew he had come not long after you.

While Dabi discarded the second condom, you turned your head and looked at Hawks, who was watching you while touching himself languidly, already hard again. With a smile, you leaned over and kissed him softly, cupping his face with your hand as you did so.

Soon, you had replaced his hands, touching him and watching his face change expressions with wonder. He looked so beautiful while you pleasured him. A strong arm circled your waist, fingers hovering over your stomach in a soothing motion. Dabi placed a kiss on your shoulder as you kept moving your hand up and down, your thumb circling around his tip every now and then.

“Hey,” you whispered, making Keigo’s honey open, trying to focus on yours..

“Hm?”

“You’re really planning on bringing me here and not fucking me?” you asked, with a sly smile. Keigo chuckled and bit his bottom lip. He leaned in for a kiss and pushed you on your back, setting between your legs just as you had been found earlier.

Without needing to be asked, Dabi handed him a condom. Keigo rolled it over himself and looked straight into your eyes once more, as you circled his waist with your legs. You nodded as he pushed himself in slowly, letting out a breathy moan as he did so. Your hand went to tangle on his blond locks, and you took notice in his pressed eyes and parted pink lips as he kept pushing inside.

Keigo kissed your lips as he started rocking his hips, his rhythm already making your eyes go blank. You weren’t sure if he was rolling his hips every time he pushed himself, but there was something he was doing, because you had never felt so much pleasure during missionary. Keigo’s handsome face and hot expressions were definitely helping, though. He wasn’t as thick as Dabi, but hell, he knew exactly how to move.

Having been taking almost to your limit more than once that night, you felt your body start to tense up again around him. As you were looking at Keigo, you saw a big hand tilting his chin to the side. Looking up, you saw Dabi on his knees next to you, his cock erect again and lining up for Keigo’s mouth. You saw him opening his mouth, his honey eyes fixed on his turquoise ones as he started moving his head up and down.

Keigo’s hips kept moving without missing a beat. You watched him take the other man in his mouth eagerly and moved your free hand to fondle Dabi’s balls. Dabi looked down at you and winked at you, as he tugged on the blond man’s hair.

It was too much to handle. Gripping on Keigo’s shoulder with your free hand, you screamed as you came undone, small shocks of pleasure running around your entire body. Your hips moved against Keigo as you tried to make it last as long as you could. You had never come as hard, your vision blurry (you were sure that you saw colours for a couple of seconds) and all your muscles twitching without control.

After you rode it out, you started kissing Keigo’s neck, leaving small biting marks as he kept moving his head along Dabi’s length. Soon, he started moving his hips faster, and you clenched down on him as much as you could. Dabi pulled away from Keigo’s mouth, and after pumping himself a couple of times, he came on his hand with a low grunt, a little of it spilling on your chest and on Keigo’s shoulder.

The blond buried his head in the cook of your neck, his hips moving faster, his rhythm now lost as he tried to follow his own orgasm. You licked the edge of his ear and he came hard, his hips stuttering. You hummed at the twitching sensation of his cock inside of you and stayed there, stroking his hair as he slowly came down from his high.

Keigo pulled away from you, panting and covered in sweat. While he got rid of the condom, Dabi let himself fall on your other side as well, lazy eyes looking at you. You tapped the tip of his nose and he scoffed with a small laugh. Keigo circled his arm around you from his side, his head resting on your shoulder.

“Give me a minute before going back to the party,” he asked, taking a deep breath.

“Sure,” you assured him, stroking his bicep with your hand. Dabi made an attempt to get up from the bed, only to be stopped by your hand holding his wrist.

“Keep us company,” you asked him. Looking back from your eyes to Keigo’s honey eyes, Dabi rolled his eyes and let himself ungraciously fall on the bed once again. The smirk on his lips was small, but it stayed there while you started drawing idle patterns on his abs and when you inevitably leaned over for another kiss.

#bnha x reader #hawks x reader #dabi x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #takami keigo #dabi #todoroki touya #takami keigo x reader #keigo x reader #touya x reader #todoroki touya x reader #bnha hawks #bnha dabi #dabihawks #hawks smut #dabi smut #bnha smut #allie after hours

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kira-bitz · 3 years

Photo

Edd was already fed up with his situation. How had it come to this? Well, the events have not happened long ago, they were still fresh in his memory.

And it was that his parents didn't saw with good eyes that, as he grew up, Edd developed a greater interest in cartoons and comics. Even traditional arts like painting and sculpture were alternatives they were willing to accept for their oldest son, but comics? Animations? He wasn't even talented enough to stand out from the crowd and have a promising future. This is how, when Edd mentioned his intention to study animation after finishing his studies at school, his father didn't hesitate to give him an ultimatum:

- Either you choose a traditional career as how it has to be, or you finance them by your own.

Edd already saw that answer coming, so he wasn't discouraged by his father's words. In a way he understood his fear, but that wasn't going to stop him, he would prove to them that he could fulfill his dream with or without their help. He had already planned what to do in advance, because due to the great income of money from his family, he knew that the loan or grant options wouldn't allow him to cover much of the cost of his studies if he continued living with them, so he was already focused in finding a part-time job. On the other hand, his friends Matt and Tom told him about their intentions to share a flat, in order to live in a more central place. Nothing could go wrong.

But there he was a year later, exhausted from the fifth merchandise landing of the night at the supermarket. Too tired to get home and get on with his college projects, he just wanted a shower and sleep. Wasn't there another type of work that drained less of his energy? A job that didn't take up so many hours of his day?

This is how Edd began to investigate in different places, increasingly corrupt sites, until in one of them reached at his ears the information of a certain business that was done in a night pool club, where in exchange for "requests" of clients a good sum of money was paid. Edd hesitated to try after seeing what kind of requests there were, but one in particular caught his eye.

“A guy on my campus constantly harasses me. I have denounced him repeatedly, but I haven't received a response from the authorities since he has not physically attacked me. I just want to give him the scare of his life so he can leave me alone. I'm scared."

Edd thought about it for a moment as he looked at the contact number attached to the application and the amount to be received for said service. He was tall, maybe not the most muscular boy, but he had knowledge of fights from his most rebellious school years. Plus, he had a pretty convincing dummy gun. Maybe... he could try.

When the day came, Edd took one last look at the photo of a blond young man to confirm that it was the same one he was watching casually walking down the sidewalk in front of him. He crossed the street while pulling on his hood and shoved the boy shorter than him into the alley, away from the public view. He grabbed him by the neck almost lifting him off the ground as the guy emitted little screams of terror:

- I know you, George Smith. I know where you live, your boring schedule, and that you were now on your way to see your friends Tyler and Henry at the place a few blocks from here. Too bad I'll have to spoil your fun.

Wide-eyed in sheer terror, the smaller guy watched as Edd took his gun from his back pocket, pulled the hammer and aimed it at George's head.

- If I see you near Miss Emily Brown again, I will come for you again, and I will not be alone.

Between screeches and gasps from George from the tight grip, Edd slammed his knee into his stomach, completely knocking the air out of his lungs. Finally, before George could catch his breath, and with one swift movement, Edd hit George over the head with his gun, knocking him out instantly.

The tallest one looked at the scene for a second and felt the adrenaline rush inside him. He has never felt something like this. It reminded him a bit of the school fights of yesteryear but with a much greater intensity. He felt control and uncontrolled at the same time. He liked it.

Slowly, Edd began to take more and more requests from people he called "in a situation of need for not acting of the law" sometimes allying with others like him when the service required more than one individual, and even going so far as to buy a real gun and learn how to use it to take less risk. With this new inflow of money, he could leave his other job since in less hours he was earning much more, he could pay for his studies without problem, improve his work team and pay the rent for his home.

And so he did, the day his new computer and drawing tablet arrived was the happiest day of his life. Tom and Matt were undoubtedly happy for him and when he finally had everything set up he called them over to see his latest model equipment. Edd didn't expect them to come into his room filming and celebrating the fruit of so much hard work. Between congratulations they took one last photo to keep for the memory.

- Thanks guys. You are the best.

Finally, already in the darkness of the night, an Edd could be seen without being able to sleep. Since, although in a couple of years he should no longer have the need to continue with this work, something had awakened in his being that said that what began as a need, was turning into an obsession.

---

Well here I brought the first promised backstory of the boys in the EW Lone Digger AU. I hope you like it! Please remember that this is fiction and that threatening people is bad, carrying weapons is bad, illegality is bad, etc asdfg.

And there is a small cameo of Ghost Friends since I will be part of the team of the first episode as character designer and that makes me happy 💖.

I take this opportunity to comment it is very likely that next week I will open commissions again, but I must adjust the prices and it will be probably 5 slots only for now.

Y para mi gente hispanohablante, abajo del Seguir Leyendo se encuentra la versión en español 😘

Edd ya estaba harto de su situación. ¿Cómo había llegado a esto? Bueno, los sucesos no habían ocurrido hace mucho, aún seguían frescos en su memoria.

Y es que sus padres no vieron con buenos ojos que, a medida que crecía, Edd desarrollaba un interés mayor por las caricaturas e historietas. Incluso artes tradicionales como pintura y escultura eran alternativas que estaban dispuestos a aceptar para su hijo mayor, pero ¿comics? ¿animaciones? Ni siquiera tenía tanto talento como para destacar del montón y tener un futuro prometedor. Así fue como, cuando Edd les mencionó sus intenciones de estudiar animación al terminar sus estudios en el colegio, su padre no dudó en darle un ultimátum:

- O eliges una carrera tradicional como corresponde, o la financias por tu cuenta.

Edd ya veía venir esa respuesta, por lo no se desanimó con las palabras de su padre. De cierta forma entendía su temor, pero eso no iba a detenerlo, les probaría que podía cumplir su sueño con o sin su ayuda. Ya tenía planificado qué hacer de antemano, pues debido a la gran entrada de dinero de su familia, sabía que las opciones de préstamos o subvenciones no le permitirían cubrir gran parte del valor de sus estudios si seguía viviendo con ellos, así que ya estaba mentalizado en encontrar un trabajo de medio tiempo. Por otra parte, sus amigos Matt y Tom le habían comentado sus intenciones de compartir un piso, para de esta forma vivir en un lugar más céntrico. Nada podría salir mal.

Pero ahí estaba un año después, agotado por del quinto desembarque de mercadería de la noche en el supermercado. Muy cansado como para llegar a casa y avanzar en sus proyectos universitarios, solo quería una ducha y dormir. ¿No existía otro tipo de trabajo que drenara menos de su energía? ¿Un trabajo que no ocupara tantas horas de su día?

Así fue como Edd se dedicó a investigar en diferentes sitios, sitios cada vez más corruptos, hasta que en uno de ellos llegó a sus oídos la información de cierto negocio que se hacía en un club de pool nocturno, donde a cambio de “solicitudes” de clientes se pagaba una buena suma de dinero. Edd, al ver el tipo de solicitudes que se habían dudó en intentarlo, pero uno en particular le llamó la atención.

“Un sujeto del campus me acosa constantemente. Lo he denunciado en reiteradas ocasiones, pero no he tenido respuesta de las autoridades ya que no me ha agredido físicamente. Solo quiero que le den el susto de su vida para que me deje en paz. Tengo miedo.”

Edd lo pensó un momento mientras observaba el número de contacto adjunto a la solicitud y el monto a recibir por dicho servicio. Él era grande, tal vez no el chico más musculoso, pero tenía conocimiento en peleas de su etapa escolar más rebelde. Además, tenía un arma falsa bastante convincente. Quizás… podría intentarlo.

Llegado el día, Edd miró por última vez la foto de un joven rubio para corroborar que era el mismo al que estaba observando caminar despreocupadamente por la vereda de en frente. Cruzó la calle mientras se colocaba la capucha y empujó al chico más pequeño que él al callejón, alejándolos de la vista pública. Lo sujetó del cuello casi levantándolo del suelo mientras el chico emitía pequeños chillidos de terror. Sacó su arma y apuntó a su cabeza:

- Te conozco, George Smith. Sé dónde vives, tu aburrido horario y que ahora te dirigías a ver a tus amigos Tyler y Henry en el local a unas cuadras de aquí. Lástima que tendré que arruinar tu diversión.

Con los ojos abiertos de puro terror, el chico más pequeño vió cómo Edd tomaba su arma del bolsillo trasero, jalaba el percutor y apuntaba a la cabeza de George.

- Si te vuelvo a ver cerca de la señorita Emily Brown vendré nuevamente por ti, y no estaré solo.

Entre chillidos y sonidos ahogados de George por el fuerte agarre, Edd le propinó un golpe seco con la rodilla a su estómago, sacándole completamente el aire de los pulmones. Finalmente, antes de que George pudiera recuperar el aliento, y con un rápido movimiento, Edd golpeó a George en la cabeza con su arma, noqueándolo instantáneamente.

El más alto miró por un segundo la escena y sintió cómo la adrenalina corría en su interior. Nunca había sentido algo así. Le recordó un poco a las peleas escolares de antaño pero con una intensidad mucho mayor. Sintió control y descontrol a la vez. Le gustó.

Poco a poco, Edd empezó a tomar cada vez más solicitudes de gente que él llamaba “en situación de necesidad por el no actuar de la ley”, a veces aliándose con otros como él cuando el servicio requería más de un individuo, e incluso llegando a comprar un arma real y aprender a usarla para correr menos riesgos. Con esta nueva entrada de dinero podría dejar su otro trabajo ya que en menos horas ganaba mucho más, podría pagar sus estudios sin problema, mejorar su equipo de trabajo y pagar la renta de su hogar.

Y así lo hizo, el día que llegó su nuevo computador y tableta gráfica fue el día más alegre de su vida. Tom y Matt estaban indudablemente felices por él y cuando por fin tuvo todo instalado los llamó para que vieran su equipamiento último modelo. Edd no esperaba que entraran a su habitación grabando y festejando el fruto de tanto trabajo duro. Entre felicitaciones tomaron una última foto para guardar para el recuerdo.

- Gracias chicos. Son los mejores.

Finalmente, ya en la oscuridad de la noche, se pudo ver a un Edd sin poder conciliar el sueño. Puesto que, aunque en un par de años ya no tendría la necesidad de seguir con este trabajo, algo había despertado en su ser que le decía que lo que empezó como una necesidad, se estaba convirtiendo en una obsesión.

#Eddsworld #EW Lone Digger AU #Eddsworld Edd #Eddsworld Tom #Eddsworld Matt #EW Edd #EW Tom #EW Matt #Ghost Friends #KiraBitzArt #Eddsworld KiraBitz #EW Lone Digger AU KiraBitz

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spicycreativity · 3 years

Note

Fantasy au moceit fluff, for the ask thing. <3<3

Thank you for the request! And sorry it took so long to fill 😅

I went with a Mushishi fusion. The simplest explanation of Mushishi is that mushi are creatures somewhat analogous to fae/faeries and tend to cause chaos when they interact with humans. So it's Japanese fantasy, but it's still fantasy!

I could go on a whole rant about how Mushishi is such a great reflection of Japanese cultural Shintoism and how Janus as a character rejects that and Patton embraces it, which is a fun juxtaposition because Janus is the mushi-shi in this story, but I won't 😇

Anyway! It's a little under 2k, CW for very mild body/eye horror (Patton temporarily gets afflicted with frog traits that affect his skin and eyes)

The steep mountain path was neither well-worn nor clearly-marked, the ground a uniform carpet of deep green pine needles dotted here and there with pinecones. Still, it was a path Janus could tread with his remaining eye closed. A few wooden signs still stood, though they were mostly grown over with moss. Janus let them be. Very few visitors came to this tiny mountain village, at least by this particular path. He was more interested in the chorus of frog croaks that grew ever louder the closer he got to the village. He thought, though it was hard to be certain, wispy and ephemeral as they were, that the mushi were increasing in density, too. This place had always been a hotbed for mushi, even without Janus' presence to draw them near. It was unusual, he reflected, to hear this many frogs this high in the mountains. The croaks were now a maddening constant, enough to make him wish that he only had one working ear, instead of one eye.

He guarded that wish carefully, in case any mushi with the power to make it come true were nearby.

He made it into the village unscathed, pausing when he realized that the croaking had stopped. For the most part. He looked around, rubbing his face against the sharp, familiar bite of the mountain wind, cooled further still by the nearby presence of a lake. Now, only one plaintive croak reached his ears. He tried not to let his heart sink, tried not to jump to conclusions, though he set off for the house where his sweetheart waited for him with an uncharacteristic urgency in his movements.

The life of a mushi-shi did not foster close relationships, and Janus had long since closed off his heart to new connections. Growing close was a one-way journey to becoming hurt, as he could never stay anywhere for long. Yet somehow, on a trip to a lonely mountain village, Patton had slipped through his defenses. They couldn’t be together, not the way they wanted, but they had promised themselves to each other. It was an easy thing for Janus to promise not to love another. The challenge had been in entrusting Patton with his heart. But he had gotten there in the end. In the absence of a proper wedding ceremony, they had simply taken a scrap of the other’s clothing as a token.

Janus didn’t bother to knock on the door when he arrived. Patton’s door was always unlocked, unbarricaded. To Janus’ dismay, the croaking did not stop upon his arrival inside, and several mushi danced in the corners where the walls met the ceiling. “Patton, love?”

“Don’t come closer!” Patton’s voice was high, tight with panic. “Just wait a second,” he added in a pleading tone. “I’m glad you’re back, but--”

“Having trouble with mushi?” Janus guessed. The singular frog croaks had stopped when Patton spoke. “Please, do keep worrying about how I’m going to react.” he tugged on the scrap of cloth tied to the straps of his woven backpack. It was old and tattered now, no longer smelled like Patton or bore the pattern it had before.

“It’s just…” Croak.

Janus considered. Whatever mushi had latched onto Patton, it was probably affecting his appearance, hence the hesitancy. “Come on, love, let me see. I’ll have you cured in no time.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Besides, it’s not like I’m a paragon of good looks, either. Maybe we’ll match for a bit.” This was only partially true in Janus’ mind. His own looks were inoffensive, but strangers tended to shy away from him, frightened by the piercing gold and slitted pupil of his remaining eye.

It was silent for a moment. Then came the shuffle-scrape of bare feet on wooden floors. Patton appeared at the end of the hall with his head angled downward. Even still, Janus could see the patches of mottled brown skin on his hands and cheeks. Frog skin. “We do match a little,” Patton said, forcing humor into his voice. He came closer and lifted his head to reveal that one of his eyes was now golden, with a horizontal pupil.

“Oh,” said Janus, careful not to tease. “That’s not so bad.” He cupped Patton’s face, gently running his thumb over a slightly damp patch of frog skin. “You’re still beautiful, love.”

“But you can cure it?” Patton asked.

“Of course.” Janus smiled a little. He hoped it was reassuring. “You’ve been poisoned by a kaeru mushi.”

“Poisoned?” Patton yelped, and a little nervous croak escaped his throat.

Janus patted his cheek. “If only you knew a deeply intelligent, highly skilled mush-shi who could take care of that for you.”

“If only,” Patton repeated, widening his eyes at Janus. The effect was somewhat dampened by his frog eye, but only somewhat. It was still enough to send a wave of fondness through Janus’ chest.

"Come on," Janus said, taking Patton by the hand. He led Patton to the kitchen and set his backpack on the ground with a light thump. The tight weave was strong, but it was beginning to get creaky with age, and Janus made a mental note to see about getting a replacement. "You can take it as a tea, although the flavor is more savory, like a soup." He opened up his backpack and began to dig through it. The paper-wrapped vials rustled and clicked beneath his fingers, and a few specimens brought back memories of his recent trip. "Here we go." He held up the vial and showed it to Patton. "It does take a while to brew. I hope you don't mind being stuck like that for a bit."

Patton extended a hand to help Janus up and pulled him into an embrace, mindful of the glass in Janus' hand. "I already feel better now that you're here."

"You know me," Janus said, nuzzling Patton's forehead. "I live to serve."

It was meant to be sarcasm, though Patton refused to take it as such. "You're so selfless," he said into Janus' chest.

"Patton, love, you are the first and only person to ever accuse me of that." It was true. Janus' bedside manner was objectively abhorrent, his patience for stupidity and stubbornness nonexistent. Most villages regarded him as a necessary evil, rather than a presence to be celebrated. He pulled away before Patton could get it into his head that Janus needed comforting. "Let's get going on the antidote, shall we?"

Patton nodded. "There's a patch of snow out back," he said. "I've been fishing, trying to make the most of it."

"Fish soup?" Janus asked, putting the pieces together.

Patton nodded. "You'll have some, won't you?" He made a point of looking Janus up and down, and even the golden frog eye did not diminish his look of somewhat paternal concern. "You work too hard."

"Again, Patton," Janus said, turning to examine the cooking pot, "you are the only person who's ever said that about me."

"I think I would know," Patton said definitively, taking Janus by the hand to lead him outside.

They held each other while they waited for the cure to steep properly, Janus wrapping his arms around Patton and holding him close. He rested his chin on Patton's shoulder and watched the mushi dance around them. He found it hard to regard them as anything other than vermin, little nuisances who made his life worse. The world was cruel and arbitrary and mushi were no more than a reflection of that, but he couldn't help but resent the situation at hand. Patton didn't deserve this.

As though reading his thoughts, Patton nuzzled Janus' cheek. "Are they here now?"

"The mushi?"

"Mm-hm."

"Yes." Janus pointed even though he knew Patton couldn't see them.

"Describe them to me?" A principle difference between the two of them: Patton treasured every living thing. He never resented the bears that sometimes stole his fish, he never resented the deer when they ate the flowers he'd worked so hard to cultivate. He cherished them. He cherished mushi, too. Even now, when the poison coursing through his body was turning him into one (though Janus had decided not to tell Patton that, thinking that there was no sense worrying him when the cure was at hand).

"They're moving around a lot," Janus said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Though he harbored no love for mushi, he loved Patton dearly. "There's one that looks like a little octopus." Patton was not very well traveled, though he had gone to the ocean once. "And a few that look like worms. They're all glowing."

"They sound so pretty," Patton said, covering Janus' hands with his own.

"I'll bring you back some candles next time I go out," Janus promised, the idea occurring to him in one lightning strike. "And some lanterns made of colored paper. You can string them up outside."

"Oh!" Patton spun around to pull Janus into a proper hug, and Janus was careful not to stare at the frog skin now slowly-advancing down his neck. "That would be lovely."

"Lanterns are better than mushi, anyway," Janus said, his resolve finally cracking a little, "because they're actually useful."

Patton only smiled and brushed a few stray strands of hair out of Janus' face.

It was around evening when Janus deemed the cure properly steeped. Patton made him sit down so they could eat together, smiling all the while, and Janus found any protest he might have melting away in the face of Patton's innocent kindness. It wasn't like the cure could hurt him, after all.

It took effect when they were washing the dishes with water Patton had carried in from a nearby stream. He stopped what he was doing and touched his face, already turning to Janus for confirmation.

Janus nodded, privately satisfied to see both of Patton's eyes back to their rich, deep brown. "Back to normal."

"Thank you, love." Abandoning the dishes, Patton pulled Janus in for a hug. His hands were wet, but Janus couldn't couldn't bring himself to mind the icy droplets that crawled down his neck.

Janus, who was incurably given to teasing, finally let himself off the leash. "Oh, don't thank me; it was for my own benefit. People would laugh if they found out I was in love with a frog-man."

"Oh, you don't mean that," Patton said. He had known Janus far too long, long enough that Janus no longer had to beat back the urge to flee like a startled animal in the face of such intimate knowing.

"You're right," he said, and he meant it.

#i had to do so much research on the Edo Period idk why i did this to myself #moceit #sanders sides #spicywrites #spicyanswer #anyway! i know i kind of threw you a curveball so i apologize if this isn't what you had in mind skdksjd #also the boys are married QPPs in this one #just to change it up a little

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hoseokmylovesworld · 4 years

Text

Sway Me More | Mafia!Jungkook (M)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x Assassin!OC

Part 2: Sway With Me (M) / Part 3: Sway Me Smooth

Requested: Anonymous:

“ ok i think i got something. i was thinking e2l mafia leader!jk and assassin!oc. they're always competing on killing the same enemies and oc beats kook to it everytime but plot twist he's actually sleeping w oc in secret, his gang doesn't know that she basically does the dirty work for him. maybe a scene where jk is busy in his office and feels something is off and he and oc pull guns on one another but its just a form of power play bc that's their relationship. dirty talk, oral male receiving, reverse cowgirl in his office chair, choking, little bit of degradation bc one of the victims oc had to seduce but kook calls her his little slut bc he's possessive like that and they both just have lots of tattoos and piercings. maybe some light bondage too? he ties her hands and the petname sweetness? i love that shit sm. ok i'm out of ur hair now fksks ”

Genre: Mafia!Jungkook, BTS mafia au, Smut, humor, e2l, angst, pining.

Length: 15,664k Words

Warnings: Strong language, lots of violence, minor deaths, guns, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, squirting, overstimulation, orgasm denial, dirty talk, BDSM(?), degradation kink, praise kink, light bondage, choking, breath play, spanking, rough sex (if you couldn’t tell), possessive!jungkook, Mr. and Mrs. Smith vibes.

A/N:

1. Not sure if this counts as a Song Fic, but this ask immediately made me think of Sway With Me by Saweetie and GALAXARA hence the title so that was on repeat haha (Stream Birds of Prey: The Album and Stay Gold for clear skin!!).

2. I didn’t mean to make the OC that crazy she just kinda was. Like honestly I don’t know what happened at the end there. Also, I thought it would be a fun dynamic for them to only refer to each other by last names. (Y/L/N)

3. Shouts out to this anon for being so specific! Writing this fic ruined my search history.

3.b You said a little bit of degradation, but I mighta over did it lol.

4. This is really fucking long. For no reason...I’m not sorry, it’s all worth it in the end. Please leave a comment, let me know what you think

Jungkook sat in the back seat of his black town car parked at the street corner, his eyes never leaving a specific window of the skyscraper adjacent to him. He watched as the piece of shit who meddled with his gang’s last drug deal canoodled with his lady friend in his apartment. Probably a hooker, he thought. This particular criminal to land on the mafia’s hit list, has been known to bring home many a sex worker.

He took a look at his Rolex and sighed; the man as slowly, but surely losing patience. They’ve been here for a good hour. A hit has never taken this long to complete for Jungkook’s team. He communicated his frustrations to his sniper, Taehyung, who was camped out in the building directly across from the apartments.

“When the fuck is this bitch gonna leave?” He grumbled through his earwig to his employee and friend. Taehyung laughs tiredly.

“Yeah, I’m asking myself the same thing. They’re not even fucking, they’ve been talking and kissing for like thirty minutes.” The sniper griped.

Jungkook chuckled, hearing the response in his ear. “Just stay sharp. Or you’re back on cockfight duty.”

Taehyung paused. “You wouldn’t.”

“Just focus, yeah?” Jungkook said, refocusing his binoculars to check on the couple in the apartment so that he could see them clearly. The bright lights in the room and the lack of curtains or shades helped him out immensely with that.

“Sure thing, boss.”

Jungkook could barely craft a response due to the shock that took over him at what happened next. He watched as the female sitting to the left of the target with her legs draped over his thighs, pulled a knife, seemingly out of her crotch, and stabbed the white collar criminal in the gut at lightning speed.

He lurched up in pain and grabbed at the knife only for his date to pull it out and stab him again, making deep eye contact all the while. She was obviously a strong woman to overpower a man of his burley stature. But why would she want to?

“What the fuck was that?” Jungkook asked immediately, continuing to watch the scene unfold carefully.

“Looks like his date just stabbed him.” Taehyung responded, just as confused as his superior.

“I can fucking see that, but why the fuck would the hooker kill him?” He raised his voice in annoyance. The murderous hooker finished the job, wiping her fingerprints off of the knife still lodged in the target's stomach and travelled to a nearby closet.

Jungkook watched, overcome with awe and confusion, as she returned with a duffle bag. And his jaw literally drops when he sees her pull white coveralls out of the duffle bag, put them on over her clothes and switch off the lights in the apartment, completely blocking Jungkook’s view.

“Fuck, what’s she doing now, Taehyung?” He asked quickly, knowing that the scope on his sniper had night vision.

“She’s...cleaning the apartment...and the body.”

So she’s done this before, Jungkook thought pensively.

“Do you recognize her?” He uttered, needing to know more about this woman immediately.

“Hell no, I would remember this bitch.” The gunman responds instantly.

“What the fuck is going on?” His boss muttered to himself and Taehyung took the liberty of answering him.

“She’s leaving.”

Jungkook cocked his head back in surprise. “Well that was fast.”

“You’re telling me...she’s making her way to the street. You want us to go after her?”

He thinks about it. No harm done, he figured.

“No, leave her be. Less mess for us.”

“Roger that.” Taehyung nodded and packed his things. Jungkook ordered his driver to take him home and they called it a very eventful day.

What Jungkook didn’t count on was encountering that same perpetrator again...and again. Ever since he came across this deadly woman the first time, it’s like he can’t escape her now. “The Hooker”, as the mafia were calling her, had killed three more of the names on their hit list of people who had crossed them...directly before Jungkook’s men got the chance to do it themselves.

And the fact that it didn’t affect the gang took a backseat to the amount of irritation it brought them and Jungkook for their victim to drop dead in front of them at the hands of someone else. It angered Jungkook because he didn’t know who she was or her motives. She was obviously dangerous and stealthy and could be coming for them next for all they knew. He knew he had to catch her and find out what she was about.

“Alright, guys. You know what to do.” Jungkook huffed to his men through his earpiece as they prepared to ambush a traitor of the gang. He had been on the run recently, selling mafia secrets and tonight the gang would put an end to him and soon, everyone he blabbed to.

After three days of following leads, they took to tracking and set out after him. Jungkook and his members followed the conspirator from a distance and three different sides in an attempt to corner him in the ominous dark of the night. They were closing in on the ex-gang member consistently and it all seemed to come to fruition when he shuffled into a dark alley.

This is too easy, the mafia boss thought enthusiastically to himself. Jungkook and six of his men sped up in pursuit, hoping to trap the imbecile before he realized he was a dead end. Finally, the group turned into the alley quickly, expecting to find a young man ready to shit his pants. Instead they found his slumped over corpse that had been propped up against a dumpster.

Jungkook’s spine straightened in astonishment. They literally just saw him walk into the alley and he just drops dead? Each of the men look around for who could have done this in possibly two minutes flat. The leader draws his gaze to the roof directly in front of him and grinds his teeth in anger at the sight in front of him. The Hooker from weeks ago stood above them with an amused smirk on her face in a black, hooded catsuit.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” He roared.

“Would you clean that up for me? Thanks.” She deflected playfully and took off in the opposite direction, jumping from one rooftop to another.

“Get her.” Jungkook said calmly, still looking at the spot where the woman was previously standing. He’s had enough of this nonsense and he would be getting answers.

The gang moves out immediately, splitting up in search of the murderer. Two of them take the firescape closest to them, while the remaining men circle around the buildings to cut her off eventually. In the meantime, Jungkook calms himself down and examines the body.

“How did she even do this?” He pulled a leather glove from his breast pocket and moved the head of the deceased to the right side, looking him over carefully. He promptly noticed bruising around his neck and blood on the crown of his head.

“She choked you out that fast...without making a sound?” He whispered, completely impressed, but absolutely irritated at the same time. He sighed, at a loss and took it upon himself to actually dispose of the body. He waited in the alley with his arms crossed, thinking of how he wanted to interrogate this possible threat.

His men communicated to him that the woman had seriously injured Jimin and Suga and that Hoseok and Jin would stay with them, but the good news was that they caught her and were on their way back.

“Wonderful.” He sighed sarcastically into his earpiece.

After thirty long minutes, Namjoon and Taehyung re-entered the alley, this time carrying their new victim by her arms, her hands restrained behind her back with the rope originally meant for the traitor. She struggled against their hold as they made their way in until she laid eyes on Jungkook.

She straightened slowly and walked with confidence, studying him thoughtfully as they passed the mafia leader and turned her to face him while forcing her to her knees. She winced slightly as her knee caps came in contact with the hard, wet ground.

The three of them watched carefully as the leader paced back and forth leisurely, his gaze focused on the puddles on the ground with his hand picking at nothing in particular on his lip. His train of thought was disrupted when the voice of the woman echoed through the alley.

“You gonna say something?” She scoffed impatiently. Jungkook turned to her slowly, revealing his dark, disapproving facial expression. He didn’t miss the flash of mischief in her eyes when they finally made eye contact.

“You incopacitated two of my men.” He started, continuing to walk back and forth in front of them with his hands behind his back.

“They were chasing me.” She shrugged.

Jungkook stopped in his tracks at the negligence of her tone. He turned on his heel to face his suspect with a serious face. “Who are you and why do you keep killing my targets?” he demanded, just wanting to get to the point of why they were here. A humored smile broke out across her face.

“Your targets? Someone’s a little full of themselves.” She giggled innocently.

“Tell me and I won’t take a hammer to both your shoulders.” He said smoothly looking deeply into her eyes making sure he got his point across.

Her cocky smirk dissipates but doesn't completely disappear.

“You don’t have a hammer.” she muttered to herself, thinking that the mafia leader couldn’t hear her. He just gave her a pointed look, silently telling her to continue. She licks her lips slowly while holding Jungkook’s stormy gaze.

“I was paid, you asshole.” She muttered.

“By who?”

“No one you and your goons need to worry about.” He sighed and looked up in frustration. “Why?”

The woman shook her head furiously. “Are you daft? It’s my job, obviously.”

Jungkook whipped his head in her direction, his eyes widening slightly and his voice taking on a more agitated tone.

“You disrespect me one more time and I’m gonna slap that smug smirk off your face.” He warned her harshly.

“Promises, promises.” She sang with that self-satisfied grin that he was having mixed feelings about.

With that, Jungkook swifty brought his hand up to backhand the assailant and jumped in her direction, but stopped when his hand was halfway to her face. She didn’t move an inch or even blink. She even narrowed her eyes at him playfully.

He backed away from her, impressed. She may have earned some of Jungkook’s respect that day, but he would never tell a single soul about it. He composed himself, eyeing her carefully. He then enganges her in a more calm conversation.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.”

“Does your employer know who I am?”

“I have multiple. Some do.” She shrugs coolly.

“What do they—”

“Look we know you're in charge of the mafia, or whatever, but we don’t care. The people I’ve killed have wronged more than just you and your circus of idiots here and they deserved to die.” She gestured to the two henchmen holding her in place.

“Besides I did you a favor. Several, actually. I’m a blessing in disguise.” She smiled sweetly.

Jungkook shakes his head in disagreement. “You’re a fucking pain in my ass is what you are.”

“Oh, what a pleasure. And how do you figure that?”

“Some mysterious...aggressor taking out a number of important people on the east side. Wouldn’t that alarm you in my position?” He queried with a raised, pierced brow.

“Mysterious? Mr. Jeon, do you find me attractive?” She leans forward and is yanked back in place by the men flanking her. She held a suddenly sultry and intense light behind her eyes directed at Jungkook.

He couldn’t deny her beauty; anything with a pulse would be attracted to her. Seeing her up close, he noticed her many piercings along her ears, on her septum and her left brow, just like his. He could see tattoos peeking out from her sleeves and neckline of her suit and he wondered just how much of her body was covered by tattoos.

He was trying not to let that get in the way of this interrogation and failing miserably with his mind wandering in dangerous directions. It didn’t help that he couldn’t look her in the eye for too long, her gaze was so captivating and somehow held so many emotions that they caused him to lose focus.

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment before asking, “What is your name?”

“Deathstalker.” Wow, Jungkook thought to himself.

“You wanna tell me your real name?” He offered, nodding at her.

“That’s the only name you're gonna get. And just a heads up, I’m not gonna talk if you torture me.” She says confidently with hooded lids. Is she bored?, the mob boss thought. He began to pace for a few moments, the only sound in the alley coming from his designer shoes squelching against the damp concrete.

“No...no, we’re not gonna hurt you.” Jungkook decided. The two henchmen that were restraining the woman, looked up in shock. Jungkook has injured or killed people for far less than what she’s done in the past hour.

She tilts her head uncomfortably in the hold of the gang members, to get a good look at the mafia leader’s face. She gasps and beams as if she’s had an epiphany.

“You like me.” She settled.

He whips around to face her. “What are you on about?”

“I thought I was gonna have to seduce you to get you off my back, but it seems you already have a soft spot for me.” She deduced with an appeased grin on her face.

Jungkook’s breathing deepened. He thought quickly of what he could do to draw the attention away from the truth of her statement. He didn’t know what it was about her, but she was different from any of the other suspicious characters he’s interrogated. And for some reason he didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t be seen as weak in front of his inferiors.

In a flash, he was directly in front of her, teeth clenched and gripping her face tightly in his strong hand. His fingers pressed roughly into her jaw, her cheeks were forced to scrunch up, obscuring her vision and her mouth was bound to a permanent, painful pout.

“Stop spewing nonsense, I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last woman on earth. You’re too dirty.” He lied gratingly. “I don’t have soft spots for anyone and you would do well to learn that. Come into my sight again and you’ll see what kind of damage I can really do.” He seethed.

“Hot.” Deathstalker replied through forcibly clenched teeth. Jungkook sighed before flimsily releasing her chin, flinging it to the right causing her to wince. Jungkook inwardly did the same at the sight.

“Let her go.” The henchmen do as they are told. “Get out of my sight.” She got up off her knees awkwardly with her bound wrists.

“I’m sure you know how to get rid of that yourself.” Jungkook nodded at the rope around her wrists. She nodded back casually and walked passed Jungkook, brushing up against him as she did so.

“Catch you on the flip side.” She whispered to him before she took off in a run into the night.

Three weeks had passed without a surprise appearance from “Deathstalker” and Jungkook was beginning to think she had actually heeded his warning in the alley. He should be pleased with this fact, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Not only was the thought of her ingrained in his mind, but he was slowly convincing himself that maybe he did appreciate her services even if he wasn’t the one paying for them. His men seem to have gotten lazier with the physical side of organized crime since Jungkook’s encounter with Deathstalker.

Or perhaps with no one to properly clean up the mess left after a hit, he’s noticing just how sloppy they’ve been. Either way, people are talking and names are traveling through the air like pollution; they can’t go on like this.

He and his men have been actively searching for the assassin and any information they could find on her. The leader didn’t disclose his true motives to his foot soldiers for fear of looking weak, but he couldn’t have the feds knocking down the doors of his companies and he was desperate. They succeeded in finding her real name, her past hits and the names of some of her employers, but nothing on where she was hiding or how to contact her.

Jungkook curses himself for not realizing Deathstalker’s worth sooner and tries to calm his rampant mind by chugging his flute of champagne. He looks around, disinterested at the ostentatious group of people at the pompous event he was advised to attend.

As the head of the leading construction company on the east side and since no one suspected his night job, he showed his face in these environments from time to time. This one happens to be an art auction and Jungkook was regretting it by the minute.

He quickly snagged one more flute of champagne before taking his seat in the front row for the auction. Half-way through the auction he considers leaving, he hasn’t raised his number card once as none of the pieces appealed to him. His head began to lull back out of pure boredom before he heard an all-too familiar voice above the noise.

“Two million dollars!” The voice was forthright and attractive, causing every head to turn in it’s direction.

Jungkook didn’t have to look far as the owner of the voice was sitting in the front row as well, roughly twelve seats away. His eyes widened at his suspicions being proven correct. He stares at her for a few moments, taking in her full appearance since meeting her for the first time in the alley.

She traded in the black cat suit for a peach colored cocktail dress that hung off of one shoulder and blinding white pumps. She covered up her tattoos with makeup to Jungkook’s dismay, but still showed off her many piercings and her long wavy hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. That’s a good look, thought Jungkook who spared her one last glance before settling into his seat and devising a plan for how the rest of the night will go.

The auction finally came to an end and the elites took to day drinking and networking once more. Jungkook blended in with the crowd, but kept a close eye on Deathstalker, waiting to find her away from her companions. He spotted her amongst strangers, nursing a glass of champagne and intently watching the middle aged crooner sing along with the orchestra.

When Marimba Rhythms start to play

Dance with me

Make me sway

Then he pounced.

He positioned himself behind her and leaned in to speak softly into her ear. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t flinch or even react to his words, as if she knew he was there, and just continued to enjoy the music. She never failed to impress him.

“Well, killing all your targets actually counts for something. I’m spending my hard earned money on some fine art.” She smiled after a moment. Jungkook came to stand next to her instead. He took a swig from his drink, the two of them still not making eye contact. “You know it’s not polite to brag.”

She finally turns to him to show off her expensive outfit. “Does this dress scream humble to you?”

“No, but it does scream desperate.” He took her in, using it as an excuse to check her out. That cat suit didn’t do her legs justice in his opinion, but this ensemble has his approval.

“For what?” She demanded, cocking her head to the side.

“You tell me—”

“You’re full of shit, Jeon.” The assassin sneered and quickly turned to walk away. Jungkook catches her by the bicep at the last second, attempting to make it look playful and desperately trying to avoid any unwanted attention.

“Wait.” He smoothly but firmly pulled her back to him, guiding her left hand to his shoulder and holding onto her right one before leading her in a slow dance towards the dance floor. He told himself he needed a more discreet position to confide his intentions in her ear again.

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close

Sway me more

“I have a proposition for you.”

She glances up at him, sporting narrowed and curious eyes. “Oh? This should be good. Last time you saw me, you threatened to hammer my limbs in.” She swiftly stomped on his foot, with a tight-lipped, spiteful smile.

He groaned and gathered himself with closed eyes before getting down to business. “Drop the attitude Y/L/N.” Jungkook grumbled, causing the assassin to freeze, but he made sure to keep them moving. She switches from her normal playful demeanor to a more formidable version of herself and he is almost alarmed by the switch. She leans closer to him to reach his ear and drops her voice to a grave whisper.

“How did you know my last—”

Jungkook doesn’t back down from her close, menacing form and goes as far as to tease her with a satisfied smirk. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re not the only computer genius in this room okay?”

She only glares off into the distance, clenching her jaw.

“What?” Jungkook revels in the feeling of having the upper hand on her. “My men may not be able to catch you in action, but they do know their way around a file cabinet.” He shares proudly, biting his lip with joy.

Realizing the leverage he had over her, Y/N made the decision to hear him out. “What the fuck do you want?” She spat before Jungkook spun her and dipped her quickly. And though she was angry, she moved with grace and he couldn’t help, but admire her beauty.

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

“You.” He smirks, already missing her playful personality and hoping to bring it back out. He smiles wider when he succeeds.

She finally cracks a smile and throws her head back, unable to stop herself from laughing. “That’s funny, I thought you wouldn’t fuck me if I were the last woman on earth.” She threw his line back at him effortlessly.

The mob boss hesitates for a split second. “Okay, your memory is impeccable, I get it, but I’m talking about your services.”

Y/N blinks in bewilderment before forming the words she never thought she would. “You want me to work for you?” He nods evenly.

“I’ve already killed five targets for you, Jeon. What more could you want?” She sputtered, not being able to fathom the request. Jungkook only releases her hand, keeping the other wrapped around her waist and nods to the empty balcony of the ballroom before leading her through it’s floor length glass doors.

“Trust me, I’m well aware. It was insanely fucking annoying,” He said earnestly, making the assassin giggle. His heart seemed to lurch at the sound, but he ignored the pleasant pang in his chest to continue his proposal. “Until I noticed how well you clean up after yourself. Leaving almost no trace of your involvement at the crime scene.”

He released Y/N’s waist carefully close to the door of the balcony, peering into the room to see who might be looking at them. They seemed to have a bit of privacy as of right now.

Y/N tilted her head and raised her eyebrows sincerely. “Are you really shocked that the neanderthals you hired aren’t too keen on cleaning up after themselves?”

“I’m trying to compliment you.” He sighed looking up.

“You’re doing a pretty shit job.” She mumbled. He ignores her complaints and carries on. He tucks his hands into his pants pockets and walks towards her.

“My men haven’t been as stealthy as possible as of late and there’s talk that we may have caught the attention of the authorities.”

“Again, are you surprised?” She overannunicated sassily with her arms crossed.

He marched up to her, towering over her small frame intimidatingly. “Don’t push it, Deathstalker.” He sneered at her. Her snark was beginning to piss him off. Why was he always so hot and cold with her?

“Or what?” She said seductively, suddenly snaking her arm around his torso and pressing herself against him. She gazed up at him, with flirtatious eyes

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek, gazing back down at the woman coolly. He considers feeding into her words and actions for a second, but figures it’s probably just one of her games so he tosses the idea. “I’m trying to make you an offer here.” He insisted. The mercenary sucks her teeth, lets go and turns to walk away. “Ugh you’re no fun...You couldn’t handle me anyway.”

The one time he tried to be professional. He pulls her back by the arm, forcefully pressing her into the stone wall next to the door of the balcony. He presses himself against her firmly while gripping her small waist with one hand and her chin with the other.

"Fine,” He challenged. “Is this what you want? You want me to fuck you right here, up against this wall, like a little slut?" He spoke in a low voice so as not to concern the guests inside and the rumble of Jungkook’s voice in his chest made Y/N’s body start to heat up.

His offer brings a genuine, delighted smile to her face. She tosses the idea around in her head while making heated eye contact with Jungkook. But that would never work, she thought bitterly. Her date would come looking for her soon. Not a good look when you're trying to bag a guy and rob him for his millions. So she decided to tease him instead, It was the perfect opportunity with him being all riled up like this.

"I knew you liked me…” She let her sultry yet snide words linger, toying with the fabric of his collar. “But that would be unprofessional, Mr. Jeon...seeing as you are now my boss." she uttered softly, still keeping her seductive gaze. Jungkook briefly wonders if she could feel his dick twitch when she said his name like that before refocusing on the situation.

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

He took the sudden change of pace and her choice of words as her officially accepting his offer and released his hold on her with a grimace. She walks by him, smoothing down her dress with an unfazed expression and heads to the railing to take in the view, as if she wasn’t just assaulted by one of the most important men in the country.

“So you’ll do it?”

She kept her back to him, letting her heavy voice travel over her shoulder casually. “How much will you give me?”

He joins her side, resting his hands on the railing. “Eight hundred, thousand.”

She whips her head in his direction, an obviously offended expression on her face. “Do I look like one of your minions?” Y/N inquired.

“It would be your first job with me, you gotta start somewhere.” He made a gesture with his hand, trying to reason with her.

“I started years ago and I’m good at my job. The best actually…I want a million.” She decided with a hand on her waist.

Jungkook blinked repeatedly, taken aback. “You want me to give you a million dollars?”

“Yes, or no deal.” She answered quickly before he could even finish the question. The mafioso took a step back and laughed silently in disbelief.

“You’re infuriating, you know tha—”

“And you make me wanna vomit.”

“You’re projecting.”

“Oh, suck a dick Jeon!” She began marching towards the glass doors into the ballroom before Jungkook caught her by the arm and brought her back to him swiftly.

“Fine, it’s yours.” He muttered, glaring down at her with frustrated eyes.

The woman simply winked playfully at him and caressed his face. “I knew you’d come around.” She beamed looking satisfied and walked away only to be yanked back to Jungkook’s chest yet again. This time she grumbled in slight annoyance. He made a note to let up on the pulling.

“If you cross me, we will kill you.” He said seriously. She only smiled as if he’d made a joke.

“Unless I beat you to that too.” His face turned angry and he opened his mouth to speak when they heard the glass door open and a voice call toY/N.

“Oh, Ruby, there you are. Is this guy bothering you?” An older gentleman in a suit and a gold chain spoke in a scraggly voice. Jungkook recognized him as Walter Schillings, a white collar criminal who has been giving Jungkook’s men a hard time and definitely landed himself on their hitist.

Thankfully, the scum has never actually seen the mafia leader before so they were able to avoid a tricky situation at this crowded event. Though Jungkook had men scattered throughout the building in case anything went down, he never travelled alone. But, wait. Why was he referring to Y/N as Ruby?

The mafia leader had no time to figure it out because he had to explain why he was gripping this innocent looking woman the way he was. He lets go immediately and addresses the man. “We were just having a convers—”

“No,” Y/N sighs and saunters over to Walter, grabbing his huge hand and having it encompass her small one.

What the fuck is this? Jungkook thought, his heart suddenly racing. He tried to hide his emotions behind a cold demeanor.

“Just some loser trying to get my attention.” She glanced back at Jungkook arrogantly, allowing Walter to slide an arm around her waist and kiss the side of her forehead as they re-entered the ballroom.

Jungkook ground his teeth together at the sight and nearly sprinted to Walter to tear his arm off when he saw his hand reach down and grip Y/N’s ass. It bothered him even more that she hadn’t reacted whatsoever.

He turned away and braced himself on the railing again, attempting to calm himself. “I hope she slits your goddamn throat, motherfucker.” He grumbled to himself, seething with anger.

Jungkook spent the next fifteen minutes pouting on the balcony, gripping the railing in anger with a bothersome boner while the rich and famous boozed it up inside. Surprisingly no one had come out to bother him, giving him enough to time think about what he just saw.

He didn’t know why the sight of Y/N with Walter infuriated him so, but he knew he never wanted to see it again. He wondered how she could flirt with him so heavily and then disregard him completely at the drop of a hat. He just wanted to make her eat her petty words, drive her as crazy as she seemed to be driving him.

It didn’t help that he had been having fantasies of her for the past few weeks in that catsuit just letting him have his way with her. And here she comes, looking like sex on legs and clouding his judgement after disappearing for three weeks. Just who does she think she is? Jungkook sighed frustratedly at the pitiful turn his night had taken.

He wished he had a distraction from his thoughts. He wished he could leave this vexatious place, but something was keeping him here and he had a feeling that, that something was a menace in a dress and liked to play mind games.

Okay, so, the boner that won’t seem to go away may also be responsible for keeping him isolated on this balcony, but he had every intention of taking care of it. He just had to convince Y/N.

He quickly tucked his boner into his waistband and walked back into the ballroom like he never left, eyes peeled for Y/N’s small form among the guests. He sees her enter the restroom from afar and doesn’t think before pursuing her.

On any other day Jungkook wouldn’t dream of executing what was going on in his head, but Y/N was admittedly the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen and she caused him to think purely with his dick after their interaction today.

He doesn’t know how he managed to skip into the women’s restroom without setting off any of the guests, but he considers it a victory when he’s in and locks the door without thinking about it. He turned to find Y/N touching up her make-up at the large mirror above the sinks.

They make eye contact through the mirror, but they have yet to exchange words. Y/N narrows her eyes questioningly while Jungkook considers the silence and stillness in the room. So far so good.

Jungkook’s shoes clicked on the tile floor as he took a few steps away from the door. “Where did your date go?” He questioned casually.

Y/N finally pauses touching up her face. “He also went to the bathroom, what are you doing in here?” She answers speedily, watching him intently through the mirror. “We made our deal.”

“I came to see you…” The woman hums in understanding and starts on her lipstick again, seemingly uninterested. “You getting all dolled up for him?” Jungkook finishes.

“Essentially yes.” There is a pause before Jungkook just comes out with it.

“So you gonna sleep with him tonight?”

Deathstalker scoffed. “Of course not. I’m an assassin not a hooker.”

Jungkook muffles a laugh at the inside joke amongst him and his men when his new ally finally starts to show some interest. “Why do you care anyway?”

He walks up to her boldly, gripping her waist and pressing against her from behind causing her to put the make-up down and zero in on his face. She continued to watch his eyes when he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“I just wonder what he would say if I messed up this pretty little face.” He brings his hand up to gently grip her chin, unlike how he did earlier. She smiles slightly, making no attempt to free herself from his grasp. If anything she leans more into his touch.

“Mr. Jeon.” She drawled. “Are you still threatening me?” She bats her eyelashes coyly, knowing exactly what was going on. Jungkook has no idea why that innocent look and the words ‘Mr. Jeon’ falling from her mouth made him hard, but he continually needed more of it. He shuddered lightly at the name and her sweet, sweet voice, barely managing to keep his cool.

“Not in the painful way...unless you like that.” He rasped, brushing her lip with his thumb tenderly. She held back a moan and Jungkook took that as an invitation to take it a step further.

“Do you want me?” He breathed deeply in her ear, sending chills down her spine.

She licked her lips and smiled her signature seductive smile. Jungkook was no match for both her smile and her beautiful doe-eyes. “Oh, Mr. Jeon, you know my pride won’t let me answer that.”

“Cut the games Y/L/N. I’ve had enough of your shit today. Do you want me?” He repeats. He fully pressed his body into hers allowing her to feel the need that he had been accumulating out on the balcony, his breathing getting heavier. She returned the gesture, pushing back against him discreetly.

“I thought we agreed that you would just be my boss.” She said with wide, naive eyes, though Jungkook knew better.

“Well, then, as your boss I hope you would do as I ask and let me fuck you on this sink.” He let his fingers travel from her chin to her throat and let them wrap around her neck ever so gently, giving her just a taste of what was to come. He felt her swallow thickly and watched the innocent look in her eyes turn to primal lust. “So? You wanna see if I can handle you or not?” He whispered, touching his lips to her ear.

She shivered at the touch and quickly turned around to face him. Jungkook leaned in and they were nose to nose. She wrapped her arms around his neck, but their lips barely brushed when she backed away suddenly. He looked into her stern eyes confusedly. “This means nothing.” She said, making sure they were both on the same page. “I’m aware.” he responded before they both pounced at each other, teeth clacking and tongues swirling.

Y/N moaned in delight when Jungkook gripped the back of her thighs and sat her on the granite sink counter with a quickness. He forced her skirt up to her hips roughly so he could properly grind his crotch against her and she seemed to enjoy the rough handling. He made a note of that.

His hands were everywhere on her, massaging her breasts, squeezing her hips and ass, eager to finally be living his most recent fantasies. Y/N revelled in the attention with a smile on her face, hands playing freely in his silky hair whilst he kissed along her neck.

He quickly reached down between Y/N’s legs to find that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. He leans back and their heated gazes meet. “You dirty little slut.” He noted, gruffly. “You like it.” She confidently reassured him. “You’re damn right, I like it.” He mumbled as he attached his lips firmly to hers and applied pressure, rubbing her swollen clit with his fingers. “...Mmm, God, you’re so wet.”

The assassin’s body jerked several times and she moaned into his mouth, grinding further into his touch. She separated from him when she couldn’t take anymore and stared deeply into his eyes. “Please,” she pauses to catch her breath. “Please fuck me, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook unzipped his pants before she could even finish her sentence, preparing a condom that he is thanking God he brought with him today. “I like when you say my name like that.” He whispered against her ear.

“I know, your dick told me. Now, hurry before someone breaks the door down.” Jungkook then slides into her easily. Y/N sighs in ecstasy while Jungkook is stunned into silence at the way she gripped his dick. He starts to move almost immediately, holding her in place as he snaps his hips into her, their lips sloppily tangled all the while. The sound of their moans began to bounce off of the tile walls of the bathroom, both of them throwing any cares they had for being discreet out the window.

Jungkook grunted with excitement and pleasure at the sight in front of him. He was watching her moaning form closely, memorizing every detail of her incase he never got this chance again.

“Fuck yes. Your dick feels so fucking good inside me.” She panted, focused on his wide, intense eyes. “Just keep fucking me like that, Mr. Jeon.” He released a satisfied growl at the name.

Even though he had only met her weeks ago, Jungkook never would have guessed that Y/N would be the type to beg for anything. But here she was under him, at his mercy just like in his dreams, begging for him. It occurred to him that the Deathstalker he met would never admit to or do any of this, but Y/N seemed to be living for it. The idea excited him so much that he didn’t know up from down and didn’t bother to control any nonsense that spewed from his mouth in response to her.

“You look like a dirty little slut under me right now. Letting me fuck you in the bathroom while your date’s probably outside waiting or you.” He whispered harshly in her ear, never letting up as he continues to thrust in and out of her swiftly.

Y/N threw her head back and moaned, feeling nothing but turned on by his comments. “Oh, fuck yes..” She murmured, letting herself be carried away with pleasure.

“Not wearing any panties for him, letting him touch all over you, ugh...but I’m the one who gets to have this sweet pussy by the end of the night.” He breathed heavily, not taking his eyes off of Y/N’s face that was contorted in pure bliss. “Flirting with both of us all night long, making us want you. You’re such a bad girl.”

“I am, I’m a bad girl.” She whimpered hurriedly. “I need to be punished, Mr. Jeon.” She finished, her words not completely registering in her drunken state, but they resonated with Jungkook all too well. He forced himself to slow his thrusts considerably and focus on his breathing much to Y/N’s dismay.

She leans back into him and rests her forehead on his, running her fingers through his hair and grinding on him desperately. “No, no, no, no, no, no. Why did you stop?” Her low, lusty voice implored.

Jungkook chuckles lightly. “You’re gonna make me cum sweetheart.” She pulled his hips into her helping him find a new rhythm. “Then by all means, do, Mr. Jeon. I want you to cum inside me.” She purred before kissing him softly.

That set something off in him causing him to pound into her once more. Y/N was thrown back by the force, unable to hold her upper body up any longer. She rested her elbows on the counter and tilted her head all the way back while Jungkook thrusted away into her.

He saw her face in the mirror and appreciated that he got the watch the pleasure they were experiencing together until he noticed her eyes were closed.

He realised he didn’t wanna cum this way. He pulled out of her, ignoring her cries of disapproval, turned her around and roughly bent her over the counter.

“Oh, baby, you gotta see this.” He rasped before sliding into her again and instantly started fucking into her wildly. Y/N yelped before biting her knuckle in order to keep quiet. “Oh my god, yes, fuck me!”

Jungkook grabbed her ponytail and dragged her up off the counter and into his chest so that he could whisper in her ear. She winced, but let him wrap her hair around his fist and pull harder, the back of her head totally resting on his shoulder.

She could see him behind her, relentlessly hammering into her greedy body in all his glory. Maybe she misjudged him. The sight turned her on even more, sending another rush of wetness between her thighs.

“You’d better keep it down princess. Wouldn’t want your date to think his girl was in here getting railed like a slut. Oh, wait.” Y/N wanted to laugh, but Jungkook released her hip to wrap his large hand around the base of her neck and firmly squeezed.

Her eyes immediately rolled back at the gesture, but she made sure to refocus on the mirror as Jungkook was watching closely. The pressure was building in her core more and more. She was gonna fall over the edge any second now, she was so close.

“Oh m-ffffuck, yes! You’re gonna make me cum, Mr. Jeon.” She whined through clenched teeth, looking into his piercing eyes through the mirror.

“Then fucking cum for me.” His deep voice grated in her ear.

“Harder! Choke me harder!” Y/N pleaded as her orgasm crashed right into her. He squeezed tighter at just the right time and with just the right pressure that had Y/N seeing stars and prolonging her high. Jungkook held off his own orgasm, trying not to think about her velvety walls pulsating around him, so that he could watch Y/N fully enjoy hers. And boy was it something to watch.

Her jaw dropped and stilled as her eyes rolled into her head, but it was the most beautiful thing Jungkook had ever seen. Her body was frozen in a perfect arch as he thrusted away into her and her hand firmly cradled his head so that their cheeks were pressed together. He would hold out for as long as he could as she rode her high completely if only to watch her like this for a little longer.

Eventually she tapped Jungkook's hand causing him to let go of her neck and she collapsed onto the counter breathlessly. “Holy fuck.” She gasped as she braced herself on the granite surface.

She coughed a bit and caught her breath and then looked up at Jungkook with fucked out, voracious eyes. He never took his eyes off of her and never stopped pumping his dick into her delicious cunt.

“You gonna cum for your little cock slut, Mr. Jeon?” Y/N croaked, throat sore from being choked. But every word sounded like music to Jungkook’s ears. That look on her face made him wanna blow his load on the spot. “Yeah, baby.” Is all he can offer as his hips break their rhythm without his permission.

“Please, cum inside me.” She moaned out as Jungkook emptied himself into the condom, hips sputtering near the end until they stopped with his dick still deep inside of her. He was in his own head, lost in a post-coital stupor, thinking about how that may have been the best orgasm he’s ever had when Y/N spoke up.

“You can get out of me now.” She said flatly, thrusting Jungkook back into the real world. He murmured an apology and withdrew himself from her, watching her walk casually into one of the stalls without a word or a look in his direction.

He just stood there with his cock out wondering what the hell just happened. He thought they made a connection. He agreed that it wouldn’t mean anything, but was she really that cold hearted to just ignore him after a passionate experience like that? Well, she is a mercenary, his conscience defended, they’re not meant to be caring.

As he heard the stall start to open up he quickly turned around, discarded the condom and tucked himself back into his pants. He then watched as she came back out looking more put together than before.

She washed her hands and began to touch up her appearance again. This time she actually needed it. The foundation on her neck was rubbed off by his fingers, revealing the tattoos that Jungkook missed, her lipstick was smeared and her high ponytail drooped due to the pulling. Awkward silence took over the spacious restroom. Is she really not going to say anything?

He decided to just come out with it. “What was that?”

“What are you talking about?” She requested, haphazardly while fixing her hair in the mirror.

“Well, you were just all over me and now you’re acting like I don’t exist.” He said plainly.

“It’s called sex, you don’t fuck like a virgin so I assume you know what I’m talking about. Besides, I’m not acting like anything.” Jungkook had a hard time believing that. He knew what deflecting looked like, had seen it in many interrogations.

“Then why won't you look at me?” He challenged.

Her eyes widened in annoyance as she reached around to place another bobby pin in her hair. “I’m kinda busy here, Jeon.”

He couldn’t help, but feel bothered that she dropped the sassy formality of calling him Mr., an indication that she was enjoying his company. “Look, will you just talk to me for a sec—”

She suddenly stops what she’s doing. Her breathing is long and deep before she calms down and begins speaking smoothly with her eyes closed. “Look, Jeon. We don’t know each other and I don't know what you think you know about me or what you made up in your head, but you might as well forget all of that ‘cause it’s not real.” She sighed, continuing to recover her foundation.

“That wasn’t real?” He finally commanded. He hated to admit it, but he was slightly bothered when she didn’t even offer him a glance. “That?” She responded, only interested in her reflection.

“That,” He clarified, gesturing to the counter sternly. “What we just did, what we...said.” He gulped nervously. This wasn’t like him, he didn’t get nervous or have passionate sex with strangers and let it effect him. This is only his second time meeting this woman and he let her get in his head. He’s been asking himself the same question since meeting her in the alley: what makes her so different?

She put down her foundation and just stared at it blankly. “And what part of what we said are you confused about, pray tell.”

“Um, ‘I need to be punished, Mr. Jeon.’” He quoted promptly.

Honestly the only thing he was confused about was why she was suddenly being so cold to him. All of the words they shared were noteworthy and he wanted her to acknowledge that. The whole experience still shocked Jungkook and he never dreamed it would actually happen. He just brought up a snippet that he thought might get her attention and maybe evoke some emotion finally. He chose wisely.

Her head whipped in his direction. “And you liked it, didn’t you?” She sneered. “Or perhaps we could talk about how you like to call women, sluts, hm?”

“I thought you liked it,” He tried to get in, but she wasn’t having it.

Jungkook thought her angry face looked nothing like it did five minutes ago or even out on the balcony. She suddenly let out a bitter laugh and Jungkook realized that this woman probably wears many faces. Perhaps to defend herself. Perhaps to survive. Maybe he misjudged her.

“You know, I didn’t take you for a person who throws things that people say during sex back in their face.” She accused, sporting a dark smile.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I didn’t take you for a...a—”

“A submissive?” She shot, putting an end to his stuttering. He deflated, all signs of anger or disapproval gone from his stance. “Yes.” He copped out, not knowing what else to say. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Y/N visibly calmed down as well, turning back to the mirror and continuing her work. “Are you surprised?” She muttered, raising her eyebrows.

Jungkook thought for a second before responding, evenly: “No.” Thinking about how much Y/N might have gone through to be so successful as a trained killer, she must have had to be the strongest and smartest person in the room on any given day. There had to be a time where she wanted to take a break, not be the person in charge for once. Jungkook could relate.

His response made her pause, but she only cleared her throat and continued applying foundation in silence. I can’t leave things like this, Jungkook decided. He just got an actual glimpse into her personality and not the same act she puts on for the rest of the world. He found out that they might even have some things in common. He didn’t want her to shut him out now. It may have been a moment of weakness for both of them, but he wanted to continue this.

“I could, you know, help...punish you, i-if you want.” He spluttered with his hands in his pockets, trying to make himself look as confident as possible since his voice had already betrayed him.

Y/N stills and turns to him with a confounded expression, but didn’t say anything.

“I mean, unless you already have a…” Jungkook left out the last word for her to hopefully pick up on, suddenly shy about the world of BDSM.

“No, I don’t.” She rushed out, looking down at the counter and creating an awkward silence between them. “I’ll think about it.” She added genuinely. She looked at him over her shoulder and offered a gentle nod, her expression completely blank.

Jungkook nods back in acknowledgement. “Okay, then.”

“Now get out of here, I’m sure there are ladies that need this restroom.” She pulled on her signature playful smirk, nearly giving Jungkook whiplash. Many faces indeed.

“Yeah, okay.” He gathered himself and walked towards the door, but turned back when he realized something. “Wait, how do I contact you for the job?”

“I’ll call you, now go.” She said packing up her stuff.

Jungkook nodded, unlocked the door and quickly darted out of the bathroom. As he sped by he saw Walter down the hall posted in front of the men’s room patiently waiting for his date. Thankfully his head was turned when Jungkook made his way out of there and to the exit. He smirked wickedly, knowing he got away with his ridiculous plan. “Dumbass.”

Two weeks had gone by since the bathroom incident and Jungkook worked tirelessly to distract himself from thoughts of the beautiful assassin to no avail. He realized there was no escaping her. He thought their rendezvous at the auction would help get her out of his system, but it only fueled his addiction for her and now he was trapped in a vicious cycle that he didn’t know if he wanted out of.

They kept in contact and Deathstalker killed the enemies on Jungkook’s hit list, but this time she was being paid by the mafioso himself unbeknownst to his men. They found themselves in situations much like the first time they ran into Deathstalker more often than not. Only now she had to be more creative as Jungkook’s foot soldiers still thought she was a possible threat.

As Jungkook sat across from Collin Boardly, a corrupt CEO/gang leader, he wondered if this would be one of those situations. Boardly is a fellow criminal that Jungkook was on good terms with until he heard that Boardly’s men have been attacking and blackmailing store owners in his territory. Jungkook insisted that he pay those victims back and restore all damages. He even invited Mr. Boardly to a very private game of poker so that they could properly discuss matters.

They sat in the dimly lit restaurant owned by one of Jungkook’s close friends with their respective security surrounding them. Boardly felt obligated to bring his men as he offended Jungkook and now he was on his turf. Jungkook’s men insisted on backing him up, but he had a strong feeling that none of that would be necessary.

They had already made small talk while getting the game started and Jungkook got straight to business.

“So, I hear you’ve been terrorizing my streets. What’s the story there?” Jungkook inquired calmly. Boardly huffed a nervous laugh at the mention of what his men did. “Personally I think terrorizing might be too strong a word.”

Jungkook’s brows raised and his expression turned serious. “Well, what would you call threatening multiple lives at gunpoint, roughin’ ‘em up and demanding cuts of their earnings then? Business?” He denounced.

“As usual.” Boardly finished the adage with a large smile. Jungkook only looked at him with the same no nonsense expression and Boardly seemed to regret making the remark.

“Just a joke, Jungkook.” He muttered. “I am sorry that I allowed my guys to do that.” He doubled down. “We simply didn’t know how far your territory reached. We meant no disrespect.”

“I appreciate that.” Jungkook replied, anger stirring inside him as he fought not to rip this man’s head from his shoulders.They continued to play in near silence until Jungkook finally pressed him for answers.

“So how do you intend to fix what your guys broke?”

Boardly looked up with a lost expression on his face. “Excuse me?” He grumbled.

“There was damage done to these stores, yes?” Jungkook assessed slowly. “And you’ve already collected cuts from some of the owners…” He can see Boardly’s eyes widen slightly in recognition.

“Oh, you didn’t know I knew that.” The mob boss gathered. “Anyway, I assume you’re ready to pay for that. I was thinking fifty, thousand dollars would cover it.” He suggested calmly.

Boardly tried to give an excuse, stuttering. “I’m-I don't think you understand—”

“I understood you can afford it, judging by those chips.” Jungkook chided, gesturing to the large bet Boardly made in the center of the poker table. Boardly sighed at a loss.

“Kook, listen.” The CEO leaned forward, trying to reason with his opponent. “We’re friends. It was an accident, can’t we just forget this happened?”

“No.” Jungkook responded instantly, his arms crossed. “We were...associates, but now you’re just someone who fucked with my community. So are you gonna pay it back or not?” He seethed furiously.

Boardly swallowed and stared at Jungkook for a few moments, wondering how else to bargain with him. He had too much pride to go through with this deal, especially in front of his inferiors.

“No.” He finally answered.

Jungkook sighed disappointedly. The air in the room turned ominous and it was felt by all. Normally, Jungkook would be killing Boardly by now and he could feel all of his men tense behind him, ready to kill if need be, but he was doing things differently today. He just nodded understandingly, before gesturing with his left hand to get Taehyung’s attention.

“Taehyung. Will you get me a glass of water from the kitchen please?” He asked politely without looking at him. He hears his right hand man head to the kitchen and he turns back to the piece of shit in front of him.

“Why, Collin? Is there something wrong with doing right by those you fucked over?” Jungkook questioned, heatedly.

“No, Kook—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Boardly scoffed and continued. “I just don’t think we did anything wrong. We overstepped, we apologized, I think that should be enough.”

“Well, I don’t. So where does that leave us?”

“I’m not paying for shit.” The CEO shrugged. That really pissed Jungkook off.

“Go to hell, Boardly.” He growled. I’m really gonna enjoy watching you bite it, Jungkook thought sinisterly.

Taehyung placed the glass of water in front of his boss and made the decision to continue to stand at his side, ready if anything were to happen.

“Fine.” Boardly responded bitterly. “So are we done here? Or are you gonna give me a hard time?” He asked, nodding at Taehyung for emphasis. Jungkook shook his head nonchalantly. “No, no. We’re done.” with a haunting smirk on his face. The look put Boardly slightly on edge, but he ignored it and stood up to corral his men.

Jungkook watched him make his way to the door wondering what the fuck was taking so long? He already gave the signal. He started to reach for his own gun to do it himself when he noticed Boardly stop in his tracks and could hear him choking.

Even Jungkook and his men wore looks of concern. The mafia leader got up to get a better view from where he stood and the others craned their necks behind him still ready to shoot first and ask questions later.

Boardly’s men tried to help him as he clutched his throat, but it was no use as he convulsed and fell to the floor before ceasing to move altogether. They looked at each other for answers before turning to Jungkook.

One of the guys who was wearing a blue suit, which Jungkook assumed to be Boardly’s right hand, pulled out a gun and walked towards him. Taehyung and Jungkook pulled theirs as well, causing everyone with a gun to point them at either side.

“You do this?!” Boardly’s guy raged. “How?” Jungkook argued. “How would I do that to him? He probably had a heart attack or forgot to breathe or some shit.” He surmised, trying to place the blame elsewhere.

“Bullshit! What did you do?” He demanded.

“Look, I’m sorry for your loss or whatever, but we had nothing to do with this. Now you all gotta do something with him.” He pointed his gun at the dead body briefly. Blue suit breathes heavily with a stumped expression, not wanting to let it go. No one in the room showing any signs of letting up either.

“How about we all put the guns down and you guys can take him home-or wherever. Yeah? Does that work?” Jungkook prompted gently. After a beat, blue suit nodded, looked back at the rest of Boardly’s men and nodded. Jungkook did the same and slowly, but surely the guns came down and were put away.

Jungkook and his men watched as they dragged the body out of the restaurant and sped away from the large storefront windows. They’re finally able to breathe without stress. “What the fuck was that?” Namjoon blurted causing the rest of them to chuckle.

“I don’t know, but I’m getting the fuck outta here before they come back. See you guys back at base.” They laughed and said their goodbyes. Jungkook walked in the light rain to the next block over and found his town car ready and waiting for him.

He opened the passenger door, addressed his driver, then retrieved a large black duffle bag before opening the backdoor. There he found Deathstalker sitting cross legged in a black trench coat at the other window seat. He smiled fondly at her. She looked beautiful as always gazing out the window at the rain before she noticed him there. When she turned to face him he replaced the fond smile with a composed smirk.

“Took you long enough.” She opined quietly once he sat down and closed the door. “We got held up, literally. I think this belongs to you.” He passed the duffle bag off to her. She received her present graciously, beaming down at the contents happily once she opened it.

“Thank you Mr. Jeon.” Y/N crooned playfully, sporting that signature smirk that never failed to affect Jungkook. “No, thank you.” He responded after clearing his throat. “So you poisoned him?”

She simply replied, “Yup.” while inspecting the cash that filled the duffle bag in her lap.

“But he randomly started choking and shaking. And you say you controlled it with the push of a button?” He wondered with furrowed brows and pouted lips.

“Well, poison, a small nanobot that I planted in his food to attack his lungs and cause internal bleeding, it’s all the same, you know.” She spoke aimlessly, moving on from the money to buff and inspect her manicure.

“Wow.” Jungkook whispered, genuinely infatuated with the thought of that kind of technology and how he could get his hands on it. While he was lost in thought he didn’t notice Y/N scooching closer to him until they were side by side. He turned to find their noses were nearly touching and his heart rate sped up rapidly.

“Now that, that’s over…” she drawled, grasping Jungkook’s hand. He watched unquestionably as she brought his hand to her mouth and inserted his middle and ring fingers all while looking into his eyes alluringly. At the same time, she easily brought her leg up to drape over both of Jungkook’s. He still sat frozen in place by her gaze while she lifted the bottom of her coat and placed his hand against her bare heat.

They both shuddered slightly when Jungkook instinctively began to rub circles into her already wet core, never taking their eyes off each other.

“You wanna go somewhere?” She coaxed breathily. It almost infuriated Jungkook how she didn’t even have to try to get him to agree to anything. He was indeed trapped.

“James,” He called up to the driver. “The Plaza Hotel please.”

Currently, Jungkook was going through paperwork in his office, taking advantage of the slow week he’s had to take care of some business for his company. It’s been a while since he’s gotten to do this so he was pretty backed up and seemingly had a whole afternoon of this to look forward to. He sighed at the thought, but continued to read through the documents and sign them here and there when suddenly he felt something was...off. He put his pen down and looked around the room.

The room was silent as usual, but all of a sudden it was too silent? Jungkook didn’t know how and he couldn’t really make sense of it until he looked up at the ceiling vent. It was no longer producing the usual soft hum. There was nothing. He silently walked under the vent to inspect it when he saw a glint in between the slats. Immediately, he moved from under it and drew his gun, aiming it at the vent.

“I see you motherfucker! Come out right now or I’ll put ten holes in you!” He shouted. The intruder heeded the warning and right away the vent was forced to the floor. Jungkook watched intently as two feminine hands holding a gun slowly dropped down and though it was upside down, it was perfectly aimed at him.

He still had his gun trained on the vent as the trespasser entered through the hole in the ceiling to reveal the familiar face of Deathstalker herself. Only her upper body could be seen as her strong legs held her in place from inside the vent.

She smiled easily at Jungkook as if they weren’t in a stand-off right now. “Hello, Mr. Jeon.” Her tone was calm, but somewhat guarded, telling him what her face never would. Jungkook was stuck between being relieved to see that it was only Deathstalker and being concerned that she was pointing a gun at him.

“Hello, Deathstalker. You wanna tell me why you broke into my office and have a gun in my face?” He queried with a tilt of his head. Y/N only reached up to grip the hole in the ceiling, somehow removing herself from the vent with one hand, her gun and her gaze still trained on Jungkook as she landed on her feet in front of him. More contradicting thoughts swirled in his mind at the sight.

“You finally caught me. I’m proud.” She smirked, removing the hood of her catsuit from her head.

He fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, maybe you can congratulate me later. Why are you here? You finally turn on me? Did someone send you, huh?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. You have something I need.” She explained with a determined look. Jungkook’s brows furrowed. “Is that so? And what might that be?”

“You know what it is.” Y/N quipped, tilting her gun along with the inflection in her voice. He shakes his head assuredly. “No, No, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you wanna put the gun down I’d love to discuss it.” He entreated informally.

“No.” She spoke firmly. A beat of silence passes before Jungkook has had enough. “Put the fucking gun down, Y/L/N.” He demanded gruffly.

“You put the fucking gun down.” She spat right back at him.

“I’m not doing this, just tell me what it is—” He reasoned.

“You know what it is—” Before she can fully respond, Jungkook rushed her, forcing her gun away from him and ripping it out of her hand. He quickly backed up and flung the gun across the room before pointing his back at her. They each caught their breath and Y/N bit her lip frustratedly.

Jungkook gave a triumphant smile. “There, that’s better. You ready to talk now—”

Y/N’s leg swiftly came up to kick the gun right out of Jungkook's hand before he even realized what happened. He looked at the gun sliding away from them on the floor, then back at Deathstalker, who smirked and raised an arrogant brow.

“Okay.” Jungkook uttered right as Y/N charged at him. He panicked slightly at the thought of fighting her, but the instinct to fight back kicked in when she launched herself and wrapped her body around him like an anaconda.

They struggled while Deathstalker tried to take Jungkook to the floor. Luckily for him, he wasn’t only a skilled shooter, but a trained and very skilled fighter as well. It wasn’t long before he freed himself from her vice grip and they were in a standoff once again, this time with their fist raised and ready to defend.

“What the hell has gotten into you Y/L/N? I wish you would tell me what this is about.” Jungkook grumbled as they circled each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

Y/N chuckled mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yes, actually!” He exploded. She took his emotional outburst as an opportunity and pounced once again. Jungkook was quicker to react this time and they were practically sparring in the middle of his office and only lord knows why. Jungkook found himself getting irritated because he was barely one step behind Deathstalker in her strikes and attacks.

As they got more invested, Jungkook noticed that she didn’t intend on hurting him, but she did intend to win. Somewhere in the scuffle, he fell behind and let her right hook distract him from the leg that swept his feet from under him. She was on top of him in an instant, with a habitual flat hand at his jugular ready to stop him from breathing. They stare at each other, both of them breathing heavily.

“Got you.” Y/N suddenly whispered smugly. “Now, are you gonna give me what I want?” She prompted provocatively, sliding her hand into the collar of his shirt slowly. The feel of her hot skin on his almost burned with their charged up bodies and wild emotions. He blinked in realization at her increasingly turned on form above him.

“You. Crazy. Fucking. Bitch.” Jungkook fumed quietly, looking up at her in disapproval. She just giggled freely and though usually the sound would bring a smile to Jungkook’s face, it only pissed him off.

He pushed her off of him and shoved her against the wall roughly, holding her there by the neck. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, breaking in here and waving a gun in my face.” He hissed in anger, their noses touching. “You know, if you wanted dick you could have just said so.”

“Where’s the fun in that Mr. Jeon?” She crooned, leaning forward to kiss him and he denied her, coolly tilting his head back. He continued to hold her by the throat to the wall firmly, causing her to choke briefly, but if she was uncomfortable she didn’t let it show.

“No.” He shook his head, Y/N could see his gears turning as he did so. “No?” She echoed, curiously.

“To answer your question. I’m not giving you what you want.” A devious smirk slowly appeared on his face that made Y/N’s body temperature rise. “No, you’re gonna do what I want now and you’re gonna like it.” He breathed, pressing himself against her and brushing her lips with his teasingly. She inhales audibly, trying not to look affected by his sudden behavior.

“But, Mr. Jeon, I want what you want.” She encouraged him sweetly, reaching for him. He put a stop to that quickly by pinning her wrists above her with one hand and resuming his hold on her neck with the other. She grunted and squirmed before giving up, looking up a childish defeated expression, but Jungkook knew she loved it.

He looked into her eyes with a strong dominance that had Y’N swallowing thickly in anticipation. “Are you talking back to me, Y/L/N?” His eyebrows furrowed intimidatingly.

She bit her lip to suppress her giddy smile. She needed to play along and not mock Jungkook’s very real emotions. The dynamic has officially shifted and now Y/N’s main objective was to please him. “No, Mr. Jeon.” She assured in a register slightly higher than her natural voice.

“Really, because you seem to have a lot to say for someone who’s at my mercy. I wonder if you’d still be as talkative with my dick in your mouth.” He growled hotly in her ear sending shivers down her spine.

She shuddered a hopeful response. “Can we find out, Mr. Jeon...please?” She implored when she felt him pull away.

He looked her over, taking in her needy form. “Look at you, already begging for it.” He shook his head in amazement. “I should keep you here and see how long you can hold your breath for me before your face starts to change color.” He whispered while closing his hand tighter around her neck. Y/N hummed delightfully at the feeling, her eyes fluttering shut.

“But you’d probably like that wouldn’t you?” He leaned back in, getting her attention. She opened her eyes and gave a pleasant smile. “You know that I do.” She choked out. He smiled back at her admirably before releasing most of the pressure on her throat.

“No, I got something else planned for y—” He stopped abruptly, looking towards the door because he thought he heard the click of familiar shoes in the hall. His theory was proven correct when he heard them getting closer. He quickly looked to Y/N with wide eyes.

“Get under the desk.” He ordered softly before they both scurry to the huge desk near the window. She easily fit herself under it on her knees facing out and Jungkook took the seat right in front of her. As soon as they were situated, there was a knock on his office door.

“Come in.” He called pretending to look over his files. Taehyung poked his head in with a concerned expression before he fully entered the room. “Hey boss. Everything okay here?” He questioned.

“Yes, fine. Why?”

“Nothing, we just thought we heard some...I don’t know, movement?” As Taehyung spoke, Jungkook could feel hands raking up his thighs and his eyes widened quickly. He tried to compose his expression, but he then felt the unbuttoning of his pants.

No, no, no, no, he thought in a panic. He tries not to focus on just how Y/N got his zipper down as silently as she did and focuses on Taehyung’s lips as he talked.

“Oh, no, yeah. That was just me. I was practicing...sh-shadow boxing.” He lied choppily as Y/N released his already hard dick from his pants.

“In a suit?” Taehyung replied, confusedly.

Jungkook jolted slightly and fought back a moan when the assassin took him in her warm, wet mouth. “Waauuuhh, yes. Yes, I was.” He cleared his throat to cover up more moans when she began to skillfully bob her head up and down on his length.

“Oh, well okay.” Taehyung settled. “So if that’s all—” Jungkook attempted to see him off with no success.

“Anyway, we got a lead on that Deathwalker chick.” He offered in a more chipper tone. Y/N paused her movements, intrigued by the information. What had they found out? Jungkook shamelessly rested his hand on the back of her head and pulled, encouraging her to keep going much to both of their disbelief. She obeys and continues the task eagerly, but careful not to have too much fun or she’ll risk getting caught. “Is that so?” the mob boss replied.

“Yeah, it’s not much, but we assumed you wanted us to brief you on it as soon as possible.” His soldier nodded respectfully.

“Ugh,” Jungkook moaned, half-way masking it as a noise of gratitude. “Thank you, Tae. I appreciate it. We’ll be sure to discuss thisssssss later.” He faltered. “Yes, sir.” Taehyung nodded again, making a face at Jungkook.

“Hey, you okay boss?” He looked closer at his superior with genuine concern. “Never better Tae.” Jungkook forced out quickly. “Are you sure? Y—”

“Taehyung?” The gang leader addressed him firmly. “Yes?”

“Get the fuck out of my office.”

“Yes, sir.” Taehyung nodded, knowing when he was unwanted and without another word he was exiting the office.

Jungkook pushed away from the desk immediately and grabbed a handful of Y/N’s hair as he stood both of them up. She only smiled at the manhandling and wiped the excess spit from her mouth.

“You really want me to hurt you, don’t you?” He snarled at her. She fought back the strong urge to moan a yes and instead just stayed silent with a feigned guilty look on her face. “Take that off. Now. ” He commanded, gesturing to her catsuit. She shimmied it off of her arms and down her legs to reveal her naked body, leaving her heels on, all while Jungkook kept a tight grip on her hair.

“How many do you think I should give you?” He asked, suddenly calmer than before. “How ever many you think is right sir.” She spoke in a small voice, but her innocent act didn’t fool him. He stared at her bare, unapologetically, beautiful body in wonderment before forcing her body to bend over his desk.

He caressed her thighs and backside tenderly and then when she least expected it he delivered a delicious slap to it. Y/N yelped and then sighed with contentment. The wait was over, now the real fun could begin.

“I told you.” Slap. “We weren't.” Slap. “Gonna do.” Slap. “What you wanted.” Slap. “To do.” Slap. “But you just don’t listen.” He accentuated his words with powerful smacks delivered to both of her cheeks and then rubbed at the tender flesh to soothe the sting.

He ran his finger up her spine gently, making her shiver visibly. He smirked at his effect on her, bending his body over hers to whisper in her ear. “Tell me. Are you sorry?” He breathed heavily.

“No, sir.” Y/N panted after a few moments. “I knew it…” He stands up straight, regarding her vulnerable yet durable body.

“You disappoint me, Y/L/N.” He slaps her ass and massages again. Y/N hissed before replying. “I’ll do better sir.” she declared sincerely.

“You promise?” Jungkook lifts his hand and watches as Y/N braces for the impact, watched as her body tensed and her pussy clenched greedily around nothing in awe. He savored the moment, spanking her again.

She hummed graciously at the delicious pain she was receiving from him. “Yes, sir. I promise.”

“But you’re not sorry.” He clarified. “No sir.”

“Why?” His brows furrowed in curiosity, gearing up to spank her again. “Because I love sucking your cock sir.” Y/N whined. He stopped his movements, taken aback and released a soft laugh. “Is that so?”

“Yes sir.” Slap. “Tell me more Y/L/N.” he requested as he moved his left hand to her cunt and kept the right one on her ass.

She closed her eyes and smiled, envisioning herself doing the activity, even licking her lips at the luscious memory of it. “I love how heavy it feels on my tongue. How you force me down on it and it hits the back of my throat.” She mused longingly. Y/N stops speaking and her body tenses as he inserts his thumb into her.

“Keep going Y/L/N.” Jungkook’s tone made it clear that he would stop if she didn’t keep talking so she continued.

“I love how thick it is, oh fuck.” She moans, digging her nails into the wood of the desk as he rubs two fingers against her clit and picks up the pace. “What else Y/L/N?” He breathed.

She gulped in a breath, the sudden pressure taking her breath away. “How you make me gag on it when I’ve been bad and— mmmm, how you coat the inside of my mouth with all your cum when you’re done with me...How you check to make sure I swallowed all of it.” She giggled that last bit breathlessly, grinding back on his hand.

“You’re such a dirty girl Y/L/N.” He moves in and out of her quickly while rubbing her clit perfectly in sync, pulling lewd moans from her until he suddenly removes them, delivering another hard smack to her backside. “Ah, fuck.” She squealed.

“But you’re right, you need to do better. Now count with me.” He ordered sternly.

To which she immediately responded, “Yes sir.”

Y/N counts every hit Jungkook delivers to her extremely tender ass dutifully with her fingernails creating crescents in the mahogany wood below her. By the time they reach twenty, his hand is as red as a tomato and Y/N is quite literally dripping onto the floor in front of him. He watched as her slick dripped out of her cunt from in between her spread legs and onto the floor, creating a tiny puddle of her pleasure.

Jungkook is incredibly turned on by the sight and doesn’t think twice before taking his hard cock and shoving right into the assassin without warning. He didn’t wait for her to adjust, not that she needed to as you could literally mop the floor with her arousal. He just continued to hammer into her with complete abandon.

It felt as if Y/N had forgotten how to breathe and her head shot up from the desk at the abrupt intrusion. “Ohhhhh shhhhhhit.” She cursed choppily with Jungkook’s hips slapping against her, making her ass sting more, but she loved it.

He reached up to push her head down against the desk forcefully and held it there as he fucked into her. “You love the pain don’t you my little cock slut?” He growled out.

“Yes, sir. I love it. Thank you, Mr. Jeon.” She babbled dazedly into the desk.

He pulls out of her then, leaving her moving back in search of him and clenching around nothing. “Please put it back in, Mr. Jeon.” She whimpered, reaching back for him, but she didn’t dare sit up for fear that he might think she was disobeying him.

He smiles and sits down in his chair, grabbing the hands that searched for him and guiding them to it’s arm rests. “Why don’t you come sit down and do it yourself?”

She moves right away and backs up onto him. Bracing herself on the armrests, she hovers above him still facing the desk, grabs his cock and engulfs it in her wetness. They both groan wildly when he is fully seated inside of her and she begins to move up and down.

“Just like that baby, keep bouncing on my cock.” He muttered huskily, placing his hands on her hips. Looking down, he finally noticed the mess Y/N’s juices made on his suit pants. He should have pulled them all the way down, but damn if that wasn’t one of the hottest things he’s ever seen. “Goddamn. Who made you this fucking wet baby?” He grunted, pulling her down on him with fervid force.

“You did, Mr. Jeon.” Y/N breathed heavily with her eyes closed in ecstasy. She could feel her orgasm finally approaching and she was chasing it with every move she made.

“You gonna cum baby?” Jungkook’s voice rasped in her ear. Y/N mentally cursed, already knowing what was coming to her. “Yes, I’m so close, Mr. Jeon.” She whined, trying to plead her case.

It was no use. He swiftly pushed her off of him roughly and forced her down against the table once more. “No, no, no, please, please.” She begged and squirmed.

He only bent down to her level, gripping her chin in his hand. “You should know by now not to fuck with me Y/L/N. Now you need to be punished.” He says whispering sadistically in her ear. “Come on now.”

Jungkook gripped her by her forearms, dragging her up from the table and keeping them in place behind her back like a criminal. He guided her to the expansive wall length bookshelf on the far left of his office. Y/N knew just where they were going and somehow it prompted more wetness to come cascading down her already damp and sticky legs.

He finds the handle on the inside of one of the shelves and pulls on the hidden door to reveal his playroom. The ceiling was a deep red while the walls were painted black with several tools for causing pain hanging on them all around the room. Several large contraptions used for pleasure and pain were scattered along the sides. But Jungkook’s favorite part of the room was the alaska king size mattress against the back wall which had a mirror of the same size attached to the ceiling above it. He loved that he could see every facet of Y/N’s squirming body just by looking up.

“Stand here.” He directs her after stopping under the pair of leather handcuffs that dangled from the ceiling. He lifted and secured both her arms before focusing on her wanton eyes. “You comfortable, sweetheart?” He asked, grasping her chin firmly in his hands.

“Yes, sir.” She replied truthfully. “Good.” He pecked her lips and began removing her boot heels. This created more distance between her and the floor. She was now truly dangling from the ceiling, the balls of her feet barely touching the floor.

Jungkook marvelled at his work and how after a while Y/N struggled to hold her weight against the cuffs. He then undressed quickly and made his way back to her, placing his lips on hers in a rough and passionate kiss that left Y/N breathless and moaning.

She feels a hand thread it’s fingers through her hair and massage her scalp before it’s yanking her back and gripping tightly. She opened her eyes to see Jungkook, lustful and giddy smiling back at her. His hand slipped out of her hair, down her neck, chest and around her torso as he slowly circled her body.

“I wish I could touch every piece of you at once.” He expressed sofly once he was behind her. Y/N breathed heavily with anticipation as his large hands gluided up her raised arms, down her waist, over her hips and ghosted over her plump, raw ass making her hiss. He chuckled at the sound letting his hands wander to her front and administering feather light circles to her swollen clit. Y/N twitched causing her body to sway uncontrollably. Jungkook stilled her, but continued his teasing much to Y/N’s dismay. But she didn’t dare say anything about it, she knew better and she wanted to cum so she stayed silent.

He comes back around to face her and really takes his time appreciating her body. He kisses her lips, along her neck and sucks on her nipples just enough to have her squirming with more want for him. Suddenly he presses down on each of her sensitive nipples with two fingers and she squeaks, painful electricity shooting through her.

He looked her over keenly. “God you’re so fucking beautiful...and you’re all mine to play with.” He kisses her biting her lip. “Who do you belong to?” His fierce tone demanded an answer.

“You, Mr. Jeon.” Y/N avowed, increasingly turned on and desperate to cum.

“Who else?” His hands moved haltingly towards her core, never breaking eye contact. Her eyes flashed knowingly at him. “No one. Only you, Mr. Jeon.”

Jungkook smiled contentedly before it disappeared little by little. He knew the words weren’t true and that she only said them to please him, only said them when they were intimate. But he couldn’t help how much he yearned to hear it, how much he wanted her to truly be his. This room is where they both get what they want no matter what.

Y/N gets someone to dominate her and take care of her needs and Jungkook gets to live out his fantasies of her truly belonging solely to him. But he knew she would never go for that and that he would continue to toture himself this way.

He tucks the thought away as he suddenly plunges two fingers inside of her. “And who does this pussy belong to?” He growled.

Y/N immediately clenches around them and lets out a cracked moan. “You, sir! This pussy is all yours. Oh fuck, ugh!” She cried out. At least Jungkook can be sure of that, he thought as he began curling his fingers into her at lightning speed. He holds her hips in place as he goes to work and Y/N can’t even think about the pain in her arms anymore once she feels her orgasm approaching.

She grunts fervently as the pressure in her core builds and builds until she can’t stand it. She gives no warning, just allowing the glorious, all-consuming feeling to ignite her insides without a single sound. The only noise to be heard in the room was the sloshing of Jungkook’s fingers moving rapidly inside of her and the slap of his palm against her wet mound.

Jungkook was so enraptured by her eyes rolling back into her head that he didn’t notice the clear liquid escaping from her cunt, getting all over his hand and dripping onto the floor. He brought her drooping head up so he could kiss her eagerly as he removed his fingers and stroked her clit like a wild man, getting more of her juices all over him.

She never told him to stop as she was struck silent by the amount of pleasure she just experienced, but he removed his hand and continued kissing her writhing body hungrily. She was out of breath as she twitched and mewled against him, audibly shuddering from time to time.

“Holy fucking shit. You’re just full of surprises huh?” He praised her with her face in his hands. Her only reaction was to smile tiredly. Her body was absolutely spent and still experiencing aftershocks.

“Now let’s see if we can make you do that again.” he says, lifting her legs to wrap around his waist, thankfully taking the weight off of her arms.

She finally speaks in a disoriented voice with her eyes half closed. “Yes, please sir.”

Jungkook pushes inside of her, her cunt was now extremely wet and extremely tight due to that first squirting orgasm and he could tell he wouldn’t last long. He began speedily fucking into her, his hips slapping against her bruised and aching ass over and over again.

Y/N was in another realm of euphoria, this one being better than the last. She didn’t even know that was possible. Her head was tilted all the way back and her eyes were closed, but they were focused. She was too far gone to even remember her own name at this point.

“Please…” She mumbled. “Please what?” Jungkook grunted, his vigorous hips never changing pace.

“Please, please make me cum, Mr. Jeon.” She begged through gritted teeth. “I want it so bad. Please give me your cum.”

“Oh fuck, baby.” He moaned, thrusting impossibly faster, both of them close to the edge.

She felt herself growing slightly over stimulated, but she was so close, chasing that high that made her see stars. She was concentrated on the feeling of Jungkook’s dick pumping in and out of her and hitting just the right spot against her walls. Jungkook felt a force resisting him from inside of Y/N and before he could grasp it he was being pushed out along with Y/N’s cum.

A full fledged scream escaped from her throat that was elongated by Jungkook who swiped at her clit wildly to prolong her orgasm. He watches her twitch and moan helplessly before sliding back in and picking up where he left off.

“No, p-please sir, I can’t.” She choked out, her chest heaving with exhaustion.

He gripped her face roughly in his hand and brought it close to his. “No, you wanted this dick so you gonna take this dick.” He seethed. “That’s what you came here for right?”

“Yes sir.�� She cried. Jungkook thrusted up into her half a dozen more times before he came inside of her, ripping yet another orgasm from Y/N. She felt tears slide down her face at the sheer force of energy in her veins. She saw white behind her eyes and her body burned all over in the best of ways.

“Argh!” Jungkook growled boisterously as he came, holding her hips rigidly against his as he came down. When he looked up he could see Y/N practically falling asleep against him, yet her body was shaking slightly. He pulled out of her and released her from her restraints.

“Let’s get you to bed, huh?” He grinned, holding her tight as he let her down because he didn’t expect her to be able to hold herself up. He was proven right as she immediately slumped over his shoulder once her arms were free. The mafia leader carried her to the bed and gently laid her on her back, taking a moment to clean both of them off before he laid down too.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” He whispered sweetly. Initially, the assassin didn’t realize he was speaking to her as she was quickly drifting off to sleep, but after a moment she assured him, “I’m fine Jungkook.”

#bts smut #jungkook smut #mafia!bts #mafia jungkook #mafia!jungkook #jungkook au #hoseokmylovesworld

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shewillreadyou · 3 years

Text

Haven’t met you yet

As always. I hope that you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

A/N: This is a TRR AU. Liam is already married, but see’s Riley and wants his cake. If the readers are receptive this might turn into more than a mini series.

Disclaimers: Most characters are property of Pixelberry

Warnings: NS*FW (+18) don’t read this fic if you’re a minor; period.

Word Count: 1887

Prompts: @wackydrabbles prompt #88 “I meant every word.” will appear in BOLD

Pairings: Drake & Riley

Song inspiration: Haven’t met you yet -Michael Buble

Be Kind: Hit the heart button, leave a comment or reblog. It makes a writer so so happy.

A replay of the Royal wedding of King Liam and Queen Carsyn of Cordonia was playing in the background as she packed her clothes in the small carryon. She giggled when they kissed. Although it was rumored that the king was into black women, something seemed off when he kissed his bride. She had watched this wedding a half dozen times and still couldn’t really put her finger on it. She was headed to New York to stand up in the wedding of one of her sorority sisters. After landing her dream job in Dallas, Riley couldn’t wait to meet her sorors in New York to celebrate. After all, Norah was about to marry the man of her dreams and Riley was truly happy for them.

There was currently no man in Riley’s life and no prospects. Maybe she’d meet someone in Dallas or maybe she was destined for the life of a career woman. Maybe there would be no happily ever after for her. She turned out the lights in her new downtown Dallas apartment, and grabbed her carry on dragging it to the door as she headed to the airport.

She opened the door to see her latest amazon purchase on the door mat. She took a moment to retreat inside to open the box. She was hoping it was delivered before she had to head out. Her pink Bedroom Kandi toy was still packed away lost in the sea of boxes crammed into her guestroom. She knew that she would not survive this long weekend in NYC without some form of sexual entertainment. She was disappointed when she opened the box to find her new toy was smaller than the picture made it look. Her flight left in 2 hours and her uber was downstairs so she shoved the disappointing toy in the side of her bag and headed down.

After the uneventful three hour flight, she finally landed at JFK. Mack was supposed to pick her up from the airport. She stood to the side as people herded to baggage claim to send a quick text. A group of men came from the opposite direction. One was this tall, very attractive Asian guy who looked alot like King Liam. He was with a few other men but there was one in particular who caught her eye. He was beautiful, he had dark hair and the most beautiful blue-grey eyes. The guy who bore resemblance to King Liam smiled and winked at her, while his brooding friend who definitely glanced at her, kept moving. She was snatched from her day dream when Mack texted to say she was outside.

They checked into the Crown Plaza in Manhattan, freshened up and changed into their little black dresses before meeting the girls at a local rooftop lounge for appetizers and drinks before the bachelorette party.

The sounds of Dua Lipa’s “Don’t start now” played in the background and encouraged a slightly inebriated Lauren to shake her body on the empty dance floor. Still licking the wounds behind a very fresh break up she intended to use this weekend to drink her troubles away and vowed to nail a stranger.

The hostess seated a group of gentlemen at the table directly behind the ladies giving Riley, who never sat with her back to the door the best look at the group. It was them. The men from the airport. When they were settled, Riley’s eyes met with the Asian guy’s who was smiling and licking his lips. She rolled her eyes and turned to Kourtney.

“So, how is Gabrielle, is she two now?”

“Yes, she’s great. Busy, but great. That was real smooth. You have an admirer.”

“Ugh, I saw those guys in the airport when I landed. He smiled at me then too.”

“But now there are two of them looking at you like you’re a steak.”

Riley coyly glanced at the group again, this time noticing the dark haired man looking. She blushed and turned back to Kourtney right as the server approached with a whiskey sour, complete with a phone number written on the cocktail napkin.

“How did he know what you drink?”

“Girl, I have no idea. Should I drink this?”

“Sure, they wouldn’t have served it if it had been tampered with. But the real question is are you going to call him?”

“Me? Noooo. What would I say?”

“What do you have to lose?”

“Wait, you have never dated a white guy before have you?”

“Well, no. Not that they aren’t attractive. I just never had one interested. Not all of us find our Prince Harry.”

“You do now. Besides, Chris is no Prince Harry, but he does treat me like a queen. I have always wondered if there are people who would rather be alone than to date outside of their race. Chris is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I definitely would date outside of my race if it were the right person. He is gorgeous, I’m still not calling this guy. He’s going to think i’m desperate.”

“You are!”

“I am not!”

“When was the last time you got laid? Mack told me about your toy.”

“Remind me to kill her later. It’s been 8 months, 3 weeks and 5 days. But who’s counting?”

“Exactly,” Kourtney cackled, drawing the attention of the men at the next table.

Maroon 5’s, “Moves like Jagger” started to play as they continued to chat.

“May I have this dance?”

Riley was disappointed to find the King Liam look alike.

“Thanks, but my feet are killing me.”

“That’s too bad,” he said as he flashed her a sexy smile.

Just then she glanced across the rooftop to see him whisper something to his brooding friend. In an instant the guy with the beautiful eyes headed over and slipped the DJ a tip and whispered something in his ear before heading Riley’s way.

“Kourt, shit! He’s coming over here what do I say?”

“Don’t. Let him do the talking.”

He held out his hand and smiled at her and she was sure her panties were ruined.

“Hey, did I get your drink right?” he asked placing her hand in his.

“Actually, yeah you did. Impressive.”

Just then the DJ changed the song to Silk Sonic’s, “Leave the door open.”

The stranger pulled her to her feet.

“Let’s dance.”

His scent was intoxicating, his arms where strong and she could get lost in his eyes. He held her with a familiarity that made her feel at home in his arms.

“So are you going to tell me your name?”

“Drake. And you are?”

“Riley.”

“We don’t have to talk right now. Let’s just dance. Just use my number when you’re ready.”

“Their bodies swayed slowly to the song before her friends pulled her away to the next leg of their night.”

Two weeks later

After a very long weekend in New York, Riley was back in Dallas. She had been there for almost a month and hadn’t met anyone at all. Well, there was Will from work. But she doesn’t date co-workers and she is pretty sure he is gay. In her freetime she goes to the gym, and eats at new restaurants a few times a week, which leads her back to the gym. After a particularly long work day, circuit training and an hour on the treadmill Riley came home and poured herself a very large glass of wine. She filled the tub, lit some jar candles and grabbed her toy and the romance novel that she was currently reading.

She was soaking in bubbles up to her neck when her phone rang, it was Kourtney. Out of all her friends she probably checked on Riley the most. She dried her hands and pressed the speakerphone button.

Hey Kourt,

Hey Ri, what’s new?

Not a thing, work, the gym, dinner, wine repeat.

That’s sad. No human interaction?

Not really. I’ve hung out with Mack and Ben twice but I always feel like a third wheel.

Remember when I told you to call the guy from the rooftop?

Yeah.

I meant every word.

I will think about it. I gotta go. Early morning. Love you.

Whatever, I know when I hit a nerve. I love you too.

Three days later

Riley was as lonely in Dallas as they come. She thought about online dating but wanted something more organic. Kourtney’s words lingered in the back of her mind. Maybe she was right. Riley had nothing to lose by reaching out to the handsome stranger who sent her the drink in NYC. She decided to take the plunge.

The next morning Riley sat on her balcony reading the paper and sipping amaretto flavored coffee when her phone rang.

Hey Mack!

Hey, I am running into church and I know it’s short notice but Ben is out of town next weekend and my college roommate is getting married down in Waxahachie. Please tell me you don’t have plans and you’ll be my plus one.

I’ll have to check my planner. She laughed.

Who am I kidding? I don’t have plans. Free booze, food, and maybe a groomsmen to have a fling with. Count me in…

Yay! She squealed. I will pick you up Saturday morning and we can ride down to the ranch together.

Saturday

The doorbell rings and Riley grabs her clutch and the wedding card she got for the newlyweds before heading down to meet Mack. They catch up while they take the 30 minute drive out to the Walker Ranch where the ceremony is to be held. Mack talked about feeling like an after thought when it came to her boyfriend. Riley mentioned the need for human interaction, more specifically from a man and how the one man she met in New York lives in Europe. When they arrive Riley takes in the vast land and the beautiful event space.

“Savannah’s family owns this ranch? Wow, it’s massive.”

“Yeah, I know at one time they were really struggling to keep things afloat. But it definitely looks like they are doing well for themselves now.”

“Right? I love when family businesses do well. It’s really a gorgeous day for an outside wedding. But we should probably take our seats. The ceremony will be starting soon.”

Mack led Riley to a couple seats on the bride's side. Before long a very serious looking groom and an officiant that Riley could only describe as a King Liam look-a-like stood under a wedding trellis decorated with blush colored blooms. The violinist started to play a beautiful arrangement as the attendants began to descend the aisle.

“All rise and receive the bride.”

They guess all stood and turned to receive Savannah. She was a stunning bride. Then Riley laid eyes on those hypnotic blue-grey eyes. She instantly broke out into a sweat. She couldn’t ever mistake those eyes for someone else’s. He was as beautiful as the first tine she saw him. She swallowed hard and her mouth went dry. Her heart seemed to be pounding out of her chest, she was shaking when she gave Mack’s hand a firm squeeze.

“What’s wrong Ri?”

Before she could answer, his eyes met hers, he bit his lip and her knees buckled.

“Um Ri?”

“It’s Drake from the rooftop in New York..”

@txemrn @pixie88 @secretaryunpaid@khoicesbyk @blackkingliamstan @mom2000aggie @shannonwrote @hopelessromanticmonie @fanjessfic @rideordiechronicles @lucy-268 @dcbbw @darley1101 @maurine07 @burnsoslow @sfb123 @bbrandy2002 @kingliam2019 @schnitzelbutterfingers @lem-20 @choicesficwriterscreations @wackydrabbles

TRR: @twinkleallnight @bebepac @mainstreetreader @romereadingshop @romewritingshop @lem-20 @texaskitten30

#choices fanfiction #choices #the royal romance #fanfic #fandom #fanfiction #drake walker #drake x riley #follow shewillreadyou #kim reads #kim writes

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stusbunker · 3 years

Text

AGA: Spit It Out

A Supernatural Denny AU

Featuring: Dean Winchester/ Benny Lafitte

Other Characters: John and Mary, Jody, Garth, Anna, Castiel, Sam, (mentioned) Benny, Jo, Jack

Word Count: 4222

Summary: Dean has the toughest conversation of his life. Cas asks questions. Sam is a little shit.

Warnings: Homophobic language, internalized biphobia, coming out

Series Masterlist

Shout out to the amazing @cracksinthewalls for all her help on this series.

Dean hadn’t realized how terrified he was of facing his father until he broke down at Jo’s. It hadn’t felt like something he would ever have to do until then. Now, it felt as inevitable as a death sentence.

John had always been a huge force in Dean’s life, but since he had gotten hurt to the point of disability, he was less of a presence and more of an imprint. Letting down his folks was the ultimate sin, one Dean had fought his whole life to resist. He knew they loved him, but would it be enough for them to see beyond the idea of Dean they had in their heads. Could they love a pansy?

His mother would be easier to bring on board; he was her favorite whether she’d admit it or not. On the other hand, John was a Marine, he was a mechanic; he didn’t deal with feelings or things he thought were reckless, selfish choices. Dean had never been selfish a day in his life, but this was something that seemed worth it. Benny was worth it. Dean couldn’t give up on family, and he needed them in his corner if it was going to work at all.

First, Dean just needed to get the words out.

The wind whipped through the neighborhood he grew up in like a child unleashed upon the playground. Direction and speed split its focus until it stilled long enough to move on to the next distraction. Dean parked on the street, letting the familiar siding and newer front door center him as he approached, trying to ignore the uneasiness that was unfurling in his gut. Sam was having lunch with some guys from high school who were in town early for Thanksgiving, granting Dean this window of privacy.

Not that Dean told Sam anything. He had done enough talking at Jo’s, even Benny didn’t know everything that he’d been processing the last few days. He hadn’t wanted to make any promises. Dean walked into the house, calling out his greeting, never one to knock at home. John was parked in front of the television in the living room while Mary sent her welcome from somewhere in the basement.

“Hey! Talk about timing, lunch is just about done,” John teased. “What brings you ‘round? Sammy’s out for the day.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know. Kinda why I came,” Dean shoved his hands in the pockets of jeans, still standing.

“Jayhawks are playing at two if you wanna stay,” John offered. Dean hummed in uncertainty. John dragged his feet from the ottoman to sit up and face Dean better. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing we can’t talk about over lunch. I’m gonna go see if Mom needs anything,” Dean nodded towards the basement steps and left John to his football.

Dean bowed his head as he reached the bottom of the steps, clearing the duct work to find Mary folding laundry at the long narrow table they used for everything from school projects to writing out Christmas cards.

“I thought that was you,” Mary said pleasantly. “Did your dad tell you lunch was almost ready?”

She dropped the shirt she had finished atop an awkward pile and opened her arms for a hug. Dean scooped her up, probably a little too enthusiastically, but he didn’t care and she didn’t mind. A simple gasp told him she noticed though.

“So--- what’s the occasion?” Mary asked, turning back to the basket.

“Nothing really, just wanted to catch up,” Dean downplayed, grabbing a pair of jeans to help. Neither of them pointed out that they’d see each other the next day for Sunday dinner. Mary welcomed the visit as much as Dean was dreading it.

“Your father had physical therapy yesterday. I don’t think they get paid enough,” Mary conspired with a heavy side eye.

Dean chuckled, “I’m guessing not his at least.”

“And supposedly I’m the stubborn one,” Mary muttered. “If you want to make some sandwiches, I’m almost done down here. I don’t want to spread the soup too thin.”

Dean nodded and handed her the sweater he had folded last. “Sounds good, anything in particular?”

“Just don’t let him trick you into letting him have the salami, his doctor says he needs to watch the fats,” Mary warned.

Dean perched against the edge of the steps, listening. He slapped the banister and headed back upstairs. “On it.”

The kitchen’s layout hadn’t changed in thirty years and Dean quickly set up an assembly line with poultry, condiments, lettuce and tomatoes. He tucked the cheese with the processed deli meat back in the drawer, hiding the temptation from John. But not before stealing a slice for his and Mary’s sandwiches. He set the table, like hundreds of times before. John’s spot was the head of the table, Mary to his left. Dean set his own plate on John’s right, a seat he fought Sam for more often than not.

Dean stirred the pot, which was much more a vat, of chicken noodle soup. John’s approach was announced by the steady clink of his cane on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Dean pulled out John’s chair before settling down to his heaping sandwich and extra large bowl of soup.

John lifted the top tier of his sandwich, judging the contents. “She got to you, didn’t she?”

Dean just chewed purposely and gave John innocent eyes.

“Figures,” John muttered before bellowing through the house. “Mary! Soup’s ready.”

They ate comfortably, fighting the cold outside with the warmth of the familiarity of a shared meal. The grease from the chicken made bubbles in the broth and Dean blew across the surface mixing them back in. Meanwhile Mary made small talk and John teased her about her part time job.

“Well, I need to get out of the house, or we’d kill each other, you know that,” Mary flicked John’s ear as she cleared their bowls.

“How’s that going?” Dean asked, eyes fixed on his mother’s face. Panic clogged his ears at the thought of never seeing her again.

“‘S fine. People are picky, but it isn’t bad for what it is. Better than being behind a desk or answering the phone,” Mary explained of her work at the local sporting goods store. “Friday will be nuts, lots of sales, but it’s not like we would have been doing anything anyway.”

“So, Bobby and Ellen’s on Thursday?” Dean verified.

“Yup, dinner’s at 1. He says you’re on pie duty?” John asked, surprised.

“That I am. Sam’s stuck with sides, so please remind him. I don’t want to show up and only have rolls and turkey,” Dean asked Mary.

“Can do. We’re bringing the---,” Mary started.

“Cranberry sauce,” Dean and John said in unison.

“And the wine!” Mary said in dismay at their laughter. “Jerks.”

John and Dean grinned as Mary rolled her eyes.

“So, was that everything? It seemed like you had something to hash out with us,” John asked Dean, picking up the last of his sandwich.

“Yeah, mostly. I gotta check with Ellen first, but I might be bringing somebody along,” Dean rushed out. He tipped his bowl back, finishing the final dregs.

“A special someone?” Mary asked delicately, looking at John in hope.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dean grunted, standing to grab another sandwich.

“Well, is it somebody we know?” Mary prodded, not trying to be too pushy, but obviously curious. “Dean, why are we just now hearing about this?”

Mary’s tone had shifted to apprehension, Dean felt their silent conversation behind his back as he slapped the ingredients together. He shrugged in response, unable to find a proper jumping off point.

He tried to remain casual, but the dred had clawed back up. Without enough wherewithal to speak, Dean sat back down and ate, drawing out his confession to the point of confusion.

John chuckled at Mary’s suspicion. “He’s nervous. Let the boy get it out.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the phrase. “I’m thirty six, Dad,” he said through a mouthful.

“Is that right? Coulda fooled me.” John tisked his tongue. Mary ignored his teasing tone.

“Dean, what’s the matter? What’s this girl’s problem that’s making you act so--- cagey all the sudden?” Mary asked anxiously. John slipped Mary’s hand into his, silently soothing her as they waited for Dean’s answer.

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Dean started, sitting back, and shooting for blase. “Turns out I actually like guys, too. So, uh, there’s no problem with a girl. I just wanted to bring, um, this guy I’ve been seeing, Benny, to Bobby and Ellen’s.”

Mary inhaled and clenched John’s hand. John stopped stroking Mary’s arm and twisted in his seat. Dean exhaled slowly, like a pin prick in a deflating balloon, he couldn’t take any of it back. Dean took a chance and looked out through his lashes, face tilted towards his plate. First to Mary’s blue worry and then a flicker to John’s almost black disbelief.

John swallowed and ducked low enough to force Dean’s eyes onto his. "You tellin' me you take it up the ass, is that what you're sayin?"

"Jesus. John!" Mary reproached. But neither man's glare faltered. The dark challenge in John's eyes caused Dean's lips to turn up in a silent snarl.

Dean finally broke the silence. "You really want me to answer that?"

"I think I have a right to know exactly the kind of man my son is," John countered.

Mary stood abruptly. “He's your son! What's the matter with you?! You asking Sam his jerkin' habits now that he's single, while you're at it?!" She went to the sink, bowing over it as if it would cleanse the images the conversation had conjured.

“Oh, hell, that’s not the point,” John muttered.

Dean had been arrested in high school for drag racing. The whole ride home from the police station he was worried what his dad was gonna do to him once they got home, it was the same quiet rage that had terrified Dean as a child. But it was Mary’s disappointment when they walked in the door that tore into Dean to the point of scarring. He could live with his father’s anger, Sam had taught Dean how to slowly stand up to John over the years.

But Dean didn’t know if he could live in the shadow of Mary’s disappointment. He needed somebody to see him as himself, not just a screw up or a queer.

Dean sighed. "I am your son. But if you can't handle this, Dad. I don't think you have any right to know me anymore." He looked from Mary to John as the last sentence left his mouth. Maybe he was asking too much after all.

Everyone in the room froze. But not even an ultimatum like that could stop John Winchester from digging himself deeper. "Christ, son, Jo really did a number on you, didn't she? Made you turn tail to the other team all together."

"Leave Jo out of this,” Dean spit out as he stood up. “This is about me and who I'm with now." He stalked the long way around the table, shoving chairs in as he went. He approached Mary alone, carefully, one terrified animal to another. "You'd love him, Mom. He cooks, runs his own business, even got an old Harley in the garage."

Mary couldn't hide her tears, but she tried to smile through them for Dean's sake. "Sounds like a catch, sweetie. But what matters is if you love him. You don't need our say so."

"Don't I?" Dean replied sadly before glancing over Mary’s shoulder to John. "You know Jo told me to give you the finger if you couldn’t see how happy I am. How important Benny is to me. And maybe she's right. But I wanted this to work. I wanted to keep the family together. That's why I'm here. The rest is up to you, Old Man."

Dean kissed his mother on the cheek, between murmured reassurances and left without another word to John. He teetered on the brink, somewhere between busting his knuckles against the cold glass of the impala’s window and losing his lunch on the frostbitten ground. Somehow, Dean made it into the solitude of the driver’s seat before he broke down and sobbed. The only saving grace he got was when his mother's voice roared from inside the house.

Dean dragged the salt and snot from his face with a heavy palm and started the engine. He couldn't stay there, but he didn't know where to go either. He just drove.

Dean pulled into the parking lot at The Pearly Gates on autopilot. He’d spent the afternoon equally suppressing and dissecting his conversation with his parents as he kept it even between the lines of two lane country roads. Now, Dean was ready to be somebody else, to make drinks and flirt and just forget everything that had happened.

The college football crowd was winding down, which allowed Dean some time to catch up with the day shift bartenders Garth and Jody. Back before Cas got blindsided with the responsibility of business ownership, Cas, Dean, Ash and Artie would claim a booth near the pool tables and blow their grocery money every weekend. When Sam moved back after law school he and Mick joined the crowd that were regularly praised for paying for Jody’s son’s braces.

Garth had been the first dragged from the friend pool to fill the schedule when Cas’s brother dropped off the face of the earth. Though Garth volunteered, Dean knew it was just out of the goodness of his heart, not a need for extra cash.

“Here he is!” Garth announced Dean’s arrival. Luckily for Dean, Garth was pouring a beer otherwise he would have been wrapped in one of Garth’s spider monkey-like hugs. A few regulars in the corner raised their glasses to Dean in greeting as he passed by with his company smile. Jody whipped by him, fresh out of the stock room with her arms full of their dollar bags of chips they sold to keep from having to run a full kitchen.

“Look who’s early,” Jody exclaimed before dropping the load onto the back counter. “You trying to cut into my time there, Winchester?”

“You know if you ever want more hours, you just gotta ask,” Dean offered suggestively, strolling behind the bar.

Jody sputtered dramatically, “And work nights? No, thank you.”

“It was worth a shot,” Dean replied, shrugging at Garth who knew better.

Jody sighed and cocked her head. “You’re cute, but you’re not that cute.”

Dean ducked his head against the compliment as she patted his arm apologetically.

“Want me to split your tips before you go?” Dean asked, bending out of his jacket.

“That’d be lovely,” Jody answered, sorting the chips by kind. “Garth get’s an extra twenty because Bess and Donna were ‘round.”

“Look at you, Mr. Slick,” Dean teased as he grabbed the old milk bottle filled with mostly singles. Garth blushed.

“You know what they say Dean-o, flattery is everything,” Garth explained. Dean, who routinely had the most tips out of any of the staff, including Bela, just nodded at the quirky dude. Dean doled out their shares and washed up before officially punching in.

Jody was gone as soon as Anna arrived, but Garth waited for Jack to show before leaving her and Dean on their own. It was seven o’clock before Cas arrived instead of his unreliable nephew.

“Everything alright?” Dean asked knowingly as Cas hung his trench coat on a broken notch on the rail beside the server’s station.

“Jack is under the weather,” Cas explained blandly. Dean eyed the windows, taking in the light flurries that danced in the streetlight. “I guess I’ll have to do tonight.”

It was a surprisingly unremarkable shift, the weather kept traffic bearable even after Anna’s shift ended at midnight. Dean walked her out the back to her car, like he always did as the plow eased out of the parking lot.

“You gonna be alright with him for the rest of the night?” Anna whispered before they breached the cold. Her big brown eyes held more mischief than worry.

“Goodnight, Anna,” Dean drew out as he held the door sternly.

“Night, Dean,” Anna chuckled. Dean watched her tiptoe around the icy patches and make it to her old Tahoe. He made sure it started before heading back behind the bar, and three more hours with Castiel.

The speakers were set lower than usual to balance their minimal customers. On his shifts, Dean had always insisted on having control over the musical selection. So when he walked into a pop singer’s version of mopey folk he did a double take before bee lining for the stereo.

“Please, don’t,” Cas’s simply requested from somewhere to Dean’s right. “I kind of like this song, but more importantly one of the customer’s requested a change of station.”

Dean eyed the patrons like suspects in a line up, uncertain who would blaspheme in such a way. No one seemed particularly guilty and he had to let it go. Between drinks, Dean washed glasses in the small sink behind the bar until Cas was finally able to start his nightly paperwork. The last couple paid their tab just after 1:30, leaving them holding their breaths in hope as they started to put up the chairs.

“Is it often this quiet?” Cas wondered aloud, “I don’t recall Saturday’s business to dwindle so.”

Dean smiled to himself; leave it to Cas to look a gift horse of a slow night in the mouth. “No, man, this is not the usual. But, it worked out. And thanks for filling in for the kid, I know you don’t like getting your hands dirty.”

Cas quietly beamed at Dean’s gratitude before pausing at the not so subtle jab at the end. They went through the remaining end of day routine in silence. Dean turned off the faux neon signs in the windows to signal the early close as Cas handled the money. Dean would usually even out the till and split tips with Jack, leaving the deposit for Cas to handle the next day. Instead he was left with cleaning detail as the boss man did the accounting.

Before long Dean was rolling the dirty mop bucket back to the office/store room/ kitchen/ employee area. Exhaustion had eaten at Dean’s internal walls, leaving him on the slippery edge between slap-happy and zombie. He hummed to keep his eyes open, waiting on Cas to finally call it a night and let Dean clock out.

“We don’t talk anymore,” Cas said abruptly, without looking up from the cash machine. Dean’s head shot up, concern furrowing his features. “In fact, I’m prone to think you don’t like me at all, Dean.”

“What do you mean, we’re talking right now,” Dean downplayed defensively. Cas glanced up over his desk, mild surprise evident. Cas always seemed such a mystery to Dean, from his social awkwardness to his blunt observations. Dean had come to envy Cas’s almost innocent lack of need to perform for others, to be anyone but himself. He had forgotten that Cas would read into his demeanor in the uncanniest of ways.

“True, we are. But are we?” Cas typed the code into the safe and waited for the time delayed entry. “We used to hang out, watch football, play pool, or cards even.”

“We’ve got bowling every week, man,” Dean wrung out the mophead and latched it onto the rack on the wall. He was trying to remember the last time he and Cas had fun, just the two of them and couldn’t recall a single occurrence over the past year.

“I miss you. I miss my friend,” Cas replied sadly. “And I don’t know what I did to ruin it, but I want you to know that I didn’t mean to.”

Dean closed his eyes and grimaced. “Hey, no, it’s not like that,” Dean started. He walked over and leaned against the edge of the desk, assertive reassurance written all over his face. “Look, I’m tired. Working all week and then coming here is kicking my ass. So I don’t have a lot of free time or brain capacity to hang out like we used to. But I’m doing my best, man.”

Cas looked like a confused puppy, eyes drooping and head tilted. “That isn’t it. There’s something else, something you’re not telling me?”

Dean huffed and shook his head, hands raised in exasperation. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I like you, okay? We’re still--- you know--- buddies.”

“Buddies,” Cas said it like it was a war crime.

“Yeah, man, friends. Do you need me to pull up a dictionary on my phone?!” Dean was getting anxious. He didn’t know what exactly had set Cas down this path of questioning, but he was certain he needed it to end. So much for a quiet night.

After a few weighted stares, Cas squinted and turned them down a different path. “Did me employing you negatively affect our relationship? Should I not have asked that of you?”

“Wait, that would have stopped you?” Dean asked, surprised by Cas’s sudden, if extremely late, realization.

“I wouldn’t knowingly do anything to hurt our friendship, Dean. Has working here hindered you?” Cas asked apologetically.

Dean’s mouth dropped open and his shoulders slumped. “Yeah, man. Working here--- everyone is great, don’t get me wrong--- but man I need a break. I wanted to help out here or there, but I’ve got no time for a life if I stay on.”

“I see,” Cas sat back, poorly masking his own discomfort with Dean’s confession. “Look, I know I’m not the best at what I do. But I find it very hard to trust new people. Employees, especially, tend to let me down. I guess--- I guess I’ve relied on you for too long, Dean. I’m sorry if I’ve taken advantage.”

Dean chuckled. “To be honest, I wouldn’t have minded if you had.”

Missing the joke, Cas continued, “I am taking this conversation as your verbal resignation. I hope you will stay on for the customary two weeks time?”

“You’re serious?” Dean asked, stunned.

“You’re unhappy. I don’t want to cause you anymore grief,” Cas replied simply.

“It wasn’t that bad, Cas.--- But, you gotta do something about Jack. Man up and light a fire under his ass, or just kick him to the curb until he’s ready to live up to the family business. You need to hire people who want to be here,” Dean offered.

Cas nodded dejectedly. “I know, I just have an awful gauge for people’s reliability from a simple interview. And past employers rarely ‘spill the tea’ as Bela would say.”

Dean giggled, but stopped himself once he saw the worry in Cas’ eyes. “Hey, what if somebody does the interviews for you? I bet Jody would weed out the bad seeds before their asses ever hit the bar stool.”

Cas was surprised by that option. “That could work. She is very intimidating.”

“Right?!” Dean exclaimed, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “So, we’re really doing this? Two weeks and I’m out?”

“Yes, Dean. You’ve done more than I should have asked of you.” Cas stood and extended his hand.

Dean grabbed it and pulled Cas in for a hug, their bound hands stuck between them. “Thanks, man. But, I’m glad it worked out. It will work out. This is gonna be good.”

“And we’ll---,” Cas asked as they broke apart.

“We’ll still be friends. Hell, if I’m free maybe we can reclaim our old table every once in a while,” Dean offered, patting Cas’s shoulder. A genuine smile crept across Dean’s face for the first time all day.

“I’d like that,” Cas admitted as the safe alerted his time was up.

The next morning, Sam held the door for Dean who was smirking as they walked in. Exhausted and needing the comfort of his favorite diner to fill his empty stomach, Dean agreed to Sunday breakfast with a seemingly none-the-wiser Sam, certain he'd be missing their weekly dinner with his parents for possibly the first time.

"Not that one. Let's see if there's a spot in the back," Sam muttered as Dean tried sitting in the first open booth he saw.

"What? Why?" Dean groaned, but straightened up and followed Sam passed the bustling counter.

Sam lifted his chin and motioned Dean to the second to last spot. Slightly annoyed, Dean threw himself onto the bench seat, only to have Sam slide beside him, caging him in.

"Glad you boys could make it," the all too familiar drawl of their father's voice greeted them from across the table.

Dean looked at Sam and cursed beneath his breath. Sam had the nerve to look guilty, but his puppy dog eyes didn't hold an ounce of potency now.

"Wow, Dad, I had no idea you'd be here. Funny coincidence, hey, Sammy?" Dean snarked.

"Shut up," Sam grumbled.

"I made him drag you here, Dean. So if you wanna be pissed, be pissed at me," John began. "I ordered your usuals, to give us some privacy. It seems we need to talk."

Tagging: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @fookinghelljensensthighs @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @crashdevlin @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary @itmighthavebeenintentional @thoughtslikeaminefield @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6 @cracksinthewalls @atc74

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#A Gentlemen's Agreement #bi!dean #dean winchester fanficiton #dean/benny #dean x benny #coming out #john and mary #aga: spit it out #spn fanfic #spn au #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural au

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secret-engima · 3 years

Note

Here I am. The anon who enables. The enabler anon. Send forth your RWBY verses' rambles *opens arms wide to receive* (only if you want to of course)

ANON WHO ENABLES. ENABLER ANON. BLESS.

Wolfcury:

-Blake isn’t sure what to expect of her new teammates, but Ruby having a GIANT WOLFDOG is not one of them. It takes- a long time for Blake to not flinch and throw herself onto something high whenever Mercury shows up, even though he TRIES to not be a gremlin and bark or prank her.

-Weiss lasts maybe three days before she breaks out the baby talk. Because while Mercury is big he’s still a dog and we’ve seen how Weiss responds to Zwei. Mercury is annoyed by the baby talk and ignores her until Ruby convinces Weiss to “please just talk normally”. Then he will permit the scratching of ears.

-Weiss and Blake are both going to be SO SHOCKED (and upset) that Mercury is actually a person and they were never told.

-Ruby gets super into prosthetics and the building of them because of Mercury. She knows they can get him a prosthetic human leg, but it’s not going to transform into a wolf leg when he does. That technology just- doesn’t exist in that specific way yet. So Ruby decides at age ten or so that she’s gonna make one.

-Ruby: It’s transform when you do and it’ll be great and it’s also gonna be a *gun*.

-Mercury: Ruby I have teeth and claws, I don’t need a gun for a leg.

-Ruby, excitedly drawing prototype blueprints: GUNLEG.

-She does in fact build him a transforming gunnel with Velvet’s help. Mercury is a goodnatured Sigh.

-MercuryxEmerald is the eventual ship planned, and Yang teases him mercilessly for it once she’s sure Emerald is serious about defecting to the good guys. I’m also dabbling in Rosegarden (is that the ship name? OscarxRuby) because the idea of Ruby going from “ew crushes” to having one of her own amuses the heck out of me.

Always I Dreamed (Raven AU):

-Raven has a propensity for adopting things, as evidenced by Ozpin and later Emerald. But it doesn’t stop with them, and her habits are infectious. At various points in Yang’s childhood, she gets a gruff ex-assassin sibling from Mom (Mercury), two adorable cousins from Uncle Qrow (Ren and Nora), one angry older sister bandit (Vernal), a Cool Big Sister Figure with Fire Powers (Amber), and of also another Big Sister with Many Issues of The Anger that Raven carefully helps her work through. This particular big sister is a fav of Ruby’s because she can make cool toys from black glass.

-Yes Raven is fixit adopting Cinder

-No I didn’t see that coming either, neither did Raven. It just kinda- happened.

-Raven absolutely sings RWBY songs sometimes. Usually “Home” as a sibling lullaby for Qrow and later Team STORQ, then later All Our Days for her kids. But sometimes she can be heard humming other themes under her breath.

Azur verse:

-I’ve mentioned that Ozpin is a former Khara and proceeds to adopt Azur the feral Khara child, but I can’t resist touching on how Azur and Qrow meet.

-Azur is feral bby. He woke up in this world in the wilds and his Semblance (or magic, Oz is still not sure which it is) saved him from Grimm, and Azur tended to follow Grimm everywhere because they kept the other predators away. So this child is very feral when Oz finally coaxes him into his house. Azur is also protective and dedicated and knows that the only two people who come here are Ozdad and Housekeeper Lady.

-So when Qrow, very drunk and newly returned from a mission, decides to crash on Oz’s couch, Azur doesn’t have a clue that this is normal and fine. Cue Qrow being attacked and knocked out by a very persistent and angry 7-10 year old.

-Ozpin comes home to a trashed living room, a very proud Azur, and a Qrow who has been tied up using every bit of rope, string, or wire Azur could find and is nursing both a concussion and a hangover.

-Ozpin unties Qrow and explains he’s welcome here once he’s stopped laughing himself sick.

Dragon Yang:

-Yang really likes Ozpin. *Really* likes him. It’s not a crush or anything, but she went from a world soaked in magic to Remnant which has barely any left and it makes her feel off balance and numb. Then she goes to Beacon and the Headmaster HAS MAGIC. She can feel it. So she starts to heavily gravitate toward him when possible because he feels “normal”

-Ozpin, who has been the object of many school hood crushes, takes a bit to realize that Yang is not yet another student with a crush. And then he’s confused on why she keeps falling into his orbit when possible.

-He has no idea that in this magic-starved world, he is basically the living equivalent of dragon slayer catnip.

-Oznip.

-Ruby also thinks Yang has a crush and is thoroughly grossed out because *Yang he’s a TEACHER*. Yang just laughs at her baby sister’s discomfort.

Noctscar:

-Luna wakes up slowly, in fits and starts and dreams of rain and a knife in her side. She wakes up to the cold, to the loneliness, and then wakes up further because no child should have to deal with this.

-Luna wakes up when she is once again eleven years old and stares at herself in the mirror.

-Weiss Schnee, second daughter of Willow and Jaques Schnee, looks back. And looks *tired*.

-Her sister has already joined Altas academy and is on the fast track to the military, and though she loves her sister, it smacks greatly of Ravus from a lifetime ago and Luna cannot bear to look at Winter sometimes because of it.

-She dotes on her little brother, on poor Whitley who is neither stubborn like Winter or an old soul like Luna and yet is stuck in this abusive, neglectful household. She tries to shield him from mother’s blank stares and father’s sharp bursts of temper. She has lived with bruises like this before, better she take it than Whitley.

-When she is young, she hears on the news in school that there was a mining accident, that a great many Faunus died. While the rest of her classmates titter, one girl who Luna always avoided because she hung out with a crowd Luna didn’t trust, bursts into tears and turns bright blue. The other girls recoil. Luna sits down next to the girl and holds her hand, not hiding the tears falling from her own face at the thought of such massive loss of life.

-She never sees the Faunus girl again, but it is a wake up call. A reminder that something is very likely *wrong* with her father’s company. So she investigates.

-She is twelve the first time she sneaks out in a hoodie and a little painted theater mask. She makes it all the way down to Mantle, and there she reaches for blistered hands and weary souls. She is no longer an Oracle, but magic is of the soul and she remembers it well. When she calls, golden magic answers. She heals until she is exhausted, and somehow she manages to make it home without falling over or getting caught by Klein. She does it again, in between recitals and school and taking care of Whitley, she continues to sneak down to Mantle. Never speaking, never showing her face (they would hate her for her blood if they knew, she knows, reject her help if they saw her white hair and blue eyes), but always helping and healing where she can.

-The people of Mantle name her. Ghost, they call her.

-Moon Angel, the Faunus whisper. Helper, healer, lost soul.

-When she is thirteen, Luna signs up to a combat school despite her father’s disapproval. When Whitley clings to her in fear that she too will abandon him as Winter has (Winter visits to rarely, and always her attention rests solely on Weiss when she does and it makes Luna so *angry*), Luna tells him her plan. She will become a Huntress, and when she has her license, nothing will stop her from coming and taking him away from this place. She will be able to make money to provide for them, to free them from this cold palace of finery and recitals and empty wine bottles and bruises under their clothes in the shape of a man’s hands.

-When she is seventeen she applies to Beacon rather than Atlas, in defiance more than desire. She bids Whitley goodbye and promises once again to come back for him, he just needs to hold on a little longer.

-There is faith in his eyes as he waves her off. Luna died keeping her word, her duty, in another life. She will do no less here.

#SE asks #anon asks #Always I Dreamed verse #Run Wolf Warrior verse #One in a Hundred verse #Through the Dark verse #Dragon Yang verse #Secret Engima Rambles

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shih-coulda-had-it · 3 years

Note

37. NanaHiko, please

37. “Because I love you goddammit!”

Consider this my sourdough starter for a Nanahiko Die Hard AU. If it ever comes into a fully-realized oneshot spectacular, well. Maybe for Christmas. Anyways, this is, believe or not, a break-up scene.

Fighting with Sorahiko is never pretty.

To clarify, Nana doesn’t mean physical fighting. They’ve honed that particular aspect of their partnership to near-perfection (always room for improvement), and when Nana has extricated herself from a fight, sometimes she has enough time to watch Sorahiko work his brutally efficient magic on loose ends.

That kind of fighting is pretty from a professional point of view.

Anyway, what Nana means is—having an argument with Sorahiko. It’s not the first time they’ve engaged in a war of cold shoulders and barbed words, digging up old insults and humiliating stories, resolved to leave reconciliation to the other party.

Nana has always thought it boded well that it never took a mortal injury to get either her or Sorahiko to apologize.

She is, however, very close to inflicting a mortal injury.

Sorahiko also looks close to committing partner-cide. They are spending a break from patrol by cooling their heels on a rooftop no employee bothers to spend a cigarette break at, and for the past ten minutes, have been politely exchanging words like, “Please do this,” and, “Fuck doing that.”

A full month has passed since Nana digested the whole conspiracy theory about a supervillain controlling Japan’s underground. En’s transferral of One for All had been traumatic for all parties involved, even if Sorahiko didn’t have to witness the horror that was the shoulder socket gushing blood and the half-buried body. Why? Because the first time Nana tested out her new Quirk, she had broken her notoriously hardy partner’s arm.

… It’s been a scary month all around.

“I’m not,” her partner grits out, “going to just quit being a pro-hero.”

“I didn’t say you should ditch the license,” Nana says reasonably.

“You might as well have!”

She rolls her eyes. “Splitting up for a solo career would probably mean better pay for you,” she reiterates. “Better pay, more taiyaki. You’d be a treat by yourself, Gran Torino. Any high-profile agency would want you on the payroll.”

“The salary isn’t the point,” Sorahiko snaps.

“And you shouldn’t conflate your position as a pro-hero with your position at the Eyrie! Don’t let the agency limit your ambitions!”

“What ambitions?”

“You know,” says Nana, gesturing aimlessly. She’s trapped herself with that useless encouragement. Sorahiko is so thoroughly unambitious, he would let a pet rock win an election to Prime Minister. “Whatever made you get into heroics.”

He stares at her.

“Get out there,” she adds. “Chase your dreams.”

“You’re being stupid,” he says.

“Don’t start.”

Sorahiko starts. His mouth twists into a snarl, eyebrows drawing together under the mask, frustration creeping into his posture. He is madder than she’s ever seen him, and Nana once witnessed Sorahiko yell bloody murder at his landlord. The landlord had been reduced to tears, and furthermore, had reduced the rent for the entire complex.

Nana does not intend to yield.

“First you inherit a transferable strength Quirk that knocks you out of commission for a week,” he says, “then you get all weird about tanking hits you know I can take, and now you’re advising I leave the Eyrie by myself? For my own good?”

“Yes,” she says, already feeling miserable.

“Are you on some kind of power trip?”

“No!”

His gloved hands curl into fists, mirroring Nana’s, or maybe she is mirroring him. Another side-effect of being friends for so long; she can’t imagine what kind of pro-hero she is without Gran Torino next to her.

A pro-hero that won’t drag their best friend into the worst conspiracy theory to come true.

“I won’t quit until you do,” Sorahiko swears. “Are we partners or not?”

“Partnerships dissolve.”

He flinches back for once. “You don’t mean that.”

“People sometimes grow in different ways. It doesn’t mean they’re abandoning their partner, it’s just… You don’t have any obligation to hold my hand for my entire career. If there’s a roadblock ahead, and you see it, you should be able to jump out of the car, right?”

“Shimura. Shut up.”

“I really mean it,” Nana continues doggedly. “One for All attracts way more attention than we agreed we should aim for, so if we split paths now, you don’t have to suffer all the cameras tracking and recording your moveset. Did I say cameras? I meant henchmen of some evil bastard. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“Don’t tell me what I did or didn’t sign up for,” he hisses.

“Well, I have to guess,” she says, “considering I never saw your origin story, haha!”

His face goes a blotchy pink, starting with his ears. Sorahiko’s jaw visibly clenches. Nana, however, is one-hundred percent serious. Despite being friends with Sorahiko from primary school up till now (excusing the few years of junior high), Nana still has no idea what drives Sorahiko to be Gran Torino.

Reuniting in Class 1-A of U.A. High had felt a bit like fate.

“You have to guess?” he grits out, sounding slightly incredulous.

“You’re a very private person. Ah, don’t tell me I’ve somehow forgot it.” Nana puts her hands at her hips, trying to drag this fight back into friendly banter. “Not for the applause. Not for the legacy, assuming the Commission ever gets their memorial site set up. Are you sure it wasn’t for the money?”

“Shimura.”

“C’mon,” she says coaxingly. “What’s the dream-goal, Gran Torino? Why heroics?”

“Shimura.”

“Don’t worry about harming my feelings! Oh! It’s for your namesake, huh? Ah, Sorahiko, you really gotta let that one go, I don’t think you’d have any fun driving around these streets. You’ll just scare all the pedestrians into throwing tomatoes at your precious baby—”

“Because I love you goddammit!” Sorahiko shouts, barking it loud enough to frighten some voyeuristic pigeons.

“What,” Nana says. She has to process his words even though they ring in her ears. His confession is a curse. Typical Sorahiko, Nana thinks hysterically, except this is not typical at all. Torino Sorahiko, admitting to love?

Torino Sorahiko, not being done yet, rails on. “Because you’re my best friend, and I like myself when I’m with you, so stop trying to cut me out of your life! If you—if you hate me, then just say it! Say I’m annoying! Clingy! Useless! Don’t just tell me to step out the front door and leave you behind!”

Oh, he’s properly mad now.

Thing is, Nana’s mad too.

“Don’t you use that against me,” she says, fury seeping in, because how dare he? Like confessing to loving her settles this argument, some deus ex-machina device that will defuse Nana’s very sincere attempt to prevent Sorahiko from being murdered. She can’t believe the nerve of her partner, trying to manipulate the part of her that’s a hopeless romantic. “Don’t lie.”

“Lie?” Sorahiko echoes, enraged. “You think—?”

“I think you would do a lot of things to win a fight,” Nana seethes.

“You’re impossible.”

She wants to punch his stupid face so badly, but Sorahiko’s hands are already scrabbling at his domino mask, ripping it off. After blinking several times to reorient his senses, he refocuses his glare at her.

“What part of that confession sounded fake?” he demands, crumpling the black silk-composite in one fist.

“The timing. The whole concept. Everything!”

“You don’t think I’m capable of it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Nana objects, but her immediate gut reaction had been to say, I’m not worthy of it. She has a name for Gran Torino’s behavior now—his loyalty, devotion, affection—he tied himself to her so long ago, and Nana never even knew she was holding a leash. How unfair to him, how stupid and shortsighted of her.

Sorahiko takes a step into Nana’s personal bubble. He persists. “Say you hate me.”

She can see where Sorahiko wants to take this.

“Do you hate me, Shimura?”

Nana bites her tongue from its reflexive denial; when she tries to lie, it sticks in her throat.

“Do you really want me to go?” Sorahiko asks, and without his mask, he looks vulnerable. Pale brown eyes catching the sunset, gleaming gold. How much of Sorahiko’s life has been deferring his dreams to follow hers? What has he given up that Nana’s never asked about? Does he have any commitments outside of heroics?

“I think,” Nana finally forces out, “we need some time apart.”

One beat of silence. Two.

“You’re not joking.”

“No.”

Sorahiko breathes, a steady and barely audible sound, and Nana finds herself mirroring it. She crosses her arms and looks to the horizon. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sorahiko slowly uncrumpling his mask, smoothing out wrinkles with his forefinger and thumb. Methodical for a nervous tic.

“It’s not that you’ve done something wrong.”

“Spare me the bullshit,” he says. The bitter tone sends a chill through Nana’s heart, but she steels herself. “How long?”

“Long as we need,” she deflects.

“What’s the goal here?”

Nana glances at Gran Torino, notes the grim set of his expression, and restrains herself from poking at the down-turned twist to his frown. Instead, she says, “You said you like who you are when you’re with me. I don’t think you’ve ever really been without me, so… Figure yourself out, Gran Torino.”

“And Sky High?”

“We’ll shelve the idea for a later time,” says Nana weakly, as though running an agency together hasn’t been their—her?—dream since high school.

He grunts in acknowledgment.

Together, they survey the cityscape. They will finish the day’s patrol. Gran Torino will, for the first time, clock out early and storm home.

And Nana will quietly file her two-week notice.

There’s an international pro-hero exchange program being organized with the United States, and Nana intends to join. The probation period is a year; if Nana can make it through that, then she can apply to be a mentor to aspiring pro-heroes, all the while cultivating One for All on the side.

(She doesn’t mean to forget the confession. But then again, who knows if that’s really what Sorahiko felt for her?)

#bnha #nanahiko #shimura nana #torino sorahiko #gran torino #shih.txt #asks #anon #diehard!au #and YES sorahiko is cast as holly #and nana will show up in a few years #wearing a cool leather jacket #to the HPSC's Holiday Party #toshinori will also be present but he will unfortunately be made to stay in the car

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yatorihell · 3 years

Text

In The Darkness Chapter 82 - Silence

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 8,000

Summary: For the Ratchat, who witnessed this very first HP AU scene being written, and made it my legacy.

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

The Snatchers hadn’t been sure if he was Yato, but the spell Hiyori had used proved useless as they were still being led to the Sorcerer.

Their hands had been bound and wands taken before they Disapparated into a small country lane in the middle of nowhere. Dusk cloaked them as the Snatchers pushed and shoved them into up a lane no bigger than an alley.

Yato could barely see, his face swollen and puffy from the jinx Hiyori had blasted him with, but he had heard Kazuma had also been Snatched. He heard Yukine cursing him briefly before being ordered to shut up. Their bags had been searched and taken. One of the Snatchers – a man who seemed to be stuck halfway between human and werewolf – carried the Sword of Gryffindor, using it every now and then to prod them along like cattle.

They trudged silently before being brought to a halt. Lamplight illuminated a hazy image of black and grey ahead of him, and Yato pried his eyes open. Black, wrought iron gates in the shapes of serpents latticed together stood before them, dark and tall and imposing before them.

Yato felt his heart stop. He knew those gates; they were once his prison bars.

The creak of metal sounded in their ears and the gates melted away, the snakes slithering away into the stone arches to allow the Snatchers to push their prisoners up the gravelled path. A looming shape appeared up ahead, but Yato didn’t have to squint to know what it was. A stately home – a castle, really – lay cloaked in darkness, save for the few lamps that shone on the porchway to shine down on visitors. The windows were dark with inactivity, but inside he knew there would be life and death.

The lead Snatcher banged three times on the black door, ignoring the serpent knocker. After a few moments light spilled over them, cutting through the darkness and burning Yato’s sore eyes.

“What’s this?” A gruff voice said.

“We’ve come to see the Dark Lord,” the Snatcher rasped. “We have Yato.”

A hand gripped Yato by the scalp, pulling his head back to present him to a blurred figure surrounded by the gleaming light of the manor.

“Doesn’t look like him,” the voice said. The blurred shape of a head moved to peer around Yato. “But I know those two – friends of his. Bring them in.”

It took Yato a moment to recognise the owner of the voice; he hadn’t heard it since they killed Professor Tenjin. Kugaha.

What was he doing at Father’s house? Yato thought briefly. A shove propelled him forward, stumbling through the threshold followed by Hiyori, Yukine, Kazuma, and the rest of the Snatchers.

Kugaha led them the way through the mansion, white marble gleaming on every surface. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling every few meters, dazzling his eyes painfully under the swelling. The hallway blurred from dark to light as they passed, but even without his full sight, Yato knew the walls were lined with portraits of great witches and wizards.

They passed what Yato remembered to be the drawing-room where Father took guests late at night. The fireplace was barely a flicker, but numerous lamps and candles had been lit on the mantlepiece, enshrining the portrait above it of Salazar Slytherin.

“If this is Yato, his sister will know,” Kugaha said to no one in particular, not bothering to turn his head.

Yato felt his heart twist in his chest. They were led into a vast room that Yato recognised as the main parlour, though it was more the size of a ballroom. The chandelier seemed to not have been lit in years, hanging on an iron chain above the center of the room. The fireplace was roaring, licking at bits of wood that servants – or slaves – fed into the flames. Beside it stood a girl dressed in white.

She turned at the sound of footsteps marching into the room, echoing off the empty walls. Her eyes grazed Kugaha, then flickered to Yato’s deformed face. There was a moment's confusion, but it was swept away the instant she saw Hiyori and Yukine stood behind him.

“Nora, come here,” Kugaha ordered.

Nora made no move, her profile flickering in shadow and flame as she stared at Yato. She knew exactly who he was, and it terrified him.

Kugaha ripped Yato from the Snatcher’s grip and dragged him forward towards the firelight. “Is this your brother?”

Nora didn’t reply, and Kugaha pushed Yato forward in response. He avoided eye contact, and it seemed Nora was doing the same. She looked smaller, shrunken into herself as if parts of her had been chipped away since leaving Hogwarts.

“Well?” Kugaha pressed.

“I don’t know,” Nora murmured. She stole a glance at Yato, feigning interest, but looked away just as quickly.

“Look closely!” Kugaha urged. “If this is him, the Sorcerer, your father, will reward us beyond our dreams! If we call him and it’s not him…”

“If it’s not him, it’s not him,” the half-human called from behind. He had propped the sword on his shoulder, his other hand on Yukine. “Leave his ugly mug in the dungeon and question these two, since they’re meant to be his friends.”

“Is this his girlfriend, Nora?” Kugaha gestured for Hiyori to be brought forward. she stumbled to catch herself as she was hauled up beside Yato. “And that blond boy? Are these the ones?”

“I – they were friends…” Nora mumbled, perhaps hoping that the words would be lost, and they were when the doors on the other side of the room slammed open.

A woman’s voice pierced the air, sending their hearts beating even faster. Her robes billowed around her, hair loose from its usual style though the beads remained entwined in some strands. The darkness of the room only accentuated the paleness of the skin and the fire highlighted the mad glitter in her eyes as they fell on the prisoners.

“What’s all this about?” Oshi barked.

It may have been the swelling, but Yato swore he saw Kugaha puff his chest out in pride. “The traitors, my lady,” Kugaha replied.

Oshi circled Yato and Hiyori with wary eyes. Her gaze roamed Yato’s face, taking in the pink scarring and the swelling which was beginning to lessen around his eyes. She looked between the two, noticing Hiyori’s avoidance to meet her eye. Her gaze went over their heads to Kazuma, and then Yukine.

“Oh yes, this is definitely Yato,” Oshi smiled slowly and sweetly. “He has his Mudblood pets with him.”

“I told you it was him!” Kugaha hissed to no one in particular. Nora’s eyes slid away from Yato, guilty: a silent witness to their sentencing.

Oshi raised her sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark, indelible on her arm. Her fingers hovered above it for a second, to summon her master, before Kugaha caught her wrist.

“I will be the one to inform the Dark Lord,” Kugaha said smoothly. “They were found under my watch –.”

“Actually,” the half-human cut it, “We were the ones who found them, so we will be claiming the gold –.”

“Gold!” Oshi shrieked with a manic smile, shaking Kugaha’s grip from her arm. “Take your gold, you filthy mongrel. I seek only my…. Lord’s…”

Oshi’s eyes dropped from his fanged face to his hand. Kugaha took the chance to pull his sleeve up his arm, the Dark Mark scarred but irremovable on his arm as he moved to summon the Sorcerer.

“STOP!” Oshi screeched. “DO NOT SUMMON HIM!”

Kugaha froze and the room hung in silence.

Oshi brushed past Yato, a finger raised. “What is that?”

Yato risked turning his head to the side. Despite his clearing vision, it was hard to make out that Oshi was addressing the wolf-man who held the Sword of Gryffindor.

“A sword,” he grunted.

“Give it to me.”

“Finders Keepers.”

There was an immediate flash of red and a thump of flesh on marble. There was a roar from the other three Snatchers, releasing their captives and drawing their wands to face off Oshi.

“Are you mad, woman?” Kugaha roared, all pomp and circumstance gone.

They were never a match for her; she was a witch, mad and skilled and without conscience. They all fell where they stood, laying on the marble in various degrees of injuries.

Oshi bent and picked up the sword, the hilt glimmering in the firelight. She held it before her, examining the blade. A groaned cough came from her feet. The Snatcher who had held Kazuma wheezed and tried to roll onto his back, but Oshi placed her foot on his throat and pressed down.

“Where did you get this?”

Her voice was no more than a whisper that would’ve escaped them if the room hadn’t been so quiet. A rasp came from below, and her foot pressed tighter.

“Where?! This sword is meant to be in my vault!”

“In… the girl’s… bag…” the man wheezed.

Oshi snapped her foot to the side and a crack resounded in the room. When she moved away, dark robes willowing, they saw the man’s neck bent at an unnatural angle. Yato’s heart thrummed again as he realised Oshi was heading back towards him… but her eyes weren’t on him.

They were on Hiyori.

“What does it matter they stole the sword? We have it now,” Kugaha asked, but Oshi threw up a hand in disgust to silence him.

“Shut up, I need to think,” Oshi ordered. “The Dark Lord cannot know about this, he cannot know that anything was stolen from the vault.”

Her gaze fell on Hiyori again and Yato felt her arm flinch against his.

“If this is Yato, then he must not be harmed. The Dark Lord wishes to kill him himself… But if he finds out… I have to know….”

Oshi trailed off and turned to Kugaha. “Put them to the cellars with the other one.”

“The Dark Lord –,” Kugaha argued.

“DO IT! HE’LL KILL US ALL IF I DON’T FIX THIS!” Oshi screeched back. “DO IT NOW!”

Yato felt a chill roll over his body. His eyes weren’t as swollen now, and he could see the pure, unadulterated madness and fear in Oshi’s eyes. She clutched the sword in her fists in front of her, knuckles white.

Kugaha’s jaw clenched but he didn’t argue. Holding out his wand, he gestured for Yato and Hiyori to walk ahead of him and join Yukine and Kazuma by the pile of bodies.

“Wait.”

Yato and Hiyori froze. Kugaha raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Except… except for the Mudblood.”

Kugaha’s lips twitched into a smile. He caught Yato by the arm, pulling him away from Hiyori. Oshi had her wand trained on her, a malicious glint already forming in her eyes.

“NO!” Yato shouted, his mouth cooperating with him despite the tingling swell of his lips returning to normal size. “YOU CAN HAVE ME! KEEP ME!”

A blow struck Yato across the face, hard, and the word went muffled. Between Yukine’s shouts for Hiyori, he heard words murmured in his ear.

“Welcome home, Yaboku.”

The cell door slammed shut behind them and the lock clicked into place. Kugaha’s footsteps echoed and receded up the stairs until silence enveloped them.

Yato gripped the bars and shook them, but they held fast despite their aged rust. He swore under his breath, turning back to Yukine and Kazuma, eyes adjusting in the dark.

“We need to get out of here,” Yato said.

“What is this place? Why have they brought us here?” Kazuma asked, wringing his hands.

“This is Father’s house,” Yato said darkly.

The gravity of those words was lost on Kazuma, but Yukine knew exactly what that meant.

“Why are we here? Where is he?” Kazuma asked.

“Hell do I know,” Yato grumbled, running a hand through his hair. His mind raced with memories: The death of his parents he couldn’t even remember, the ‘recruitment’ for Father’s army that led to nothing. Meeting Nora. The endless days where they were giving punishment worse than death for defying Father. The dying screams of those who would not surrender. The feeling of losing himself to something much stronger; a connection forming between him and Father which could not be broken.

“Do you know a way out?” Yukine asked, but Yato shook his head.

He glanced around the room, familiar and cloying with dampness that clung to his clothes. One of these dungeons had been his home for a time when Father took him, and he had no intention of staying prisoner again. Not when he knew of what may be waiting around the corner.

A scuff came from somewhere in the darkness, and they froze.

Yato reached for his wand, but cursed when his fingers remembered it had been taken by one of the Snatchers. They waited with bated breath and strained ears as a figure emerged from the darkness, stepping into the slivers of light cast by the cell door.

“Kazuma?”

Bishamon – dirty, her hair matted at the ends and completely filthy, and alive – looked at them with wide, reproachful eyes.

“Bishamon!” Kazuma cried.

Kazuma surged forward and took Bishamon’s face in his hands, not noticing the way she flinched at the contact. From the look of her, it seemed she hadn’t eaten properly in weeks, and her skin was littered with cuts and fading bruises.

“What are you doing here?” Bishamon whispered, pulling herself away from Kazuma’s embrace. Her eyes finally slid away to the shadowy figures. From the look on her face, she knew exactly who it was despite the slight swelling.

“What is he doing here?!” Bishamon exclaimed.

“He sold us out!” Yukine spat, shoving a finger at Kazuma.

Bishamon looked aghast. “What?!”

“I’m sorry!” Kazuma begged, but Yato couldn’t meet his eye. His gaze fell on the slivers of light that shone down through the cell bars. Yukine folded his arms across his chest, eyes brimming with hate.

Kazuma whirled to Bishamon, eyes pleading. “I couldn’t take it. You’ve been gone for months, I didn’t know if you were dead! I had to get you back. What have they done to you…?”

Kazuma reached a hand to touch her face again, but Bishamon knocked his hand away aggressively.

“You should’ve known not to do this! How could you turn the only hope we have of killing the Sorcerer over?!” Bishamon exclaimed.

“I’m sorry!” Kazuma begged. “We can get out of this. It’s just a few of them-.”

Yato briskly crossed the room to the cell door. He wrapped his hands around the bars again, searching the perimeter for a weakness as he did so often as a child, a chink in the rock that could work the hinges free, but found nothing.

“There isn’t a way out,” Bishamon said softly. Months of captivity had taught her that much.

A beat of silence passed between them.

“Where’s Hiyori?”

Yato’s attention snapped back to Bishamon. The realisation that Hiyori wasn’t among them gave Bishamon a sudden chill of fear. Hiyori – her friend, her teammate, her disciple – was not with them. She looked between their faces, looking for grief, but Yukine jutted his head skywards.

Fear filled Bishamon’s eyes. “Why?”

“We have the Sword of Gryffindor. Apparently, it’s meant to be locked up in Oshi’s vault?” Yukine said.

Kazuma nodded. “At Gringotts. She sent it away after we tried to steal it, to keep it safe. How did you steal it?”

Yato recalled the high halls of Gringotts bank. He’d been there a few times, but he never had reason to open a vault with his pittance of money. He had nothing worth a dragon guarding. “We didn’t steal it, the sword appeared to me.”

There was another beat of silence.

“Let’s hope that Oshi believes that,” Bishamon answered.

Yato frowned. “Why wouldn’t she? Gringotts is impenetrable. No one can steal from it.”

No one could answer that question. Not because they didn’t know of Oshi’s madness, nor because they didn’t know of her ruthlessness.

The question went unanswered because of the screaming.

The screaming lasted what felt like hours but could have only been five or ten minutes. It was enough to drive Yato into a frenzy.

“HIYORI!” Yato bellowed up the staircase that descended to the cell, his knuckles white as he thrashed against the cell door. “HIYORI!”

Bishamon had begun to weep, snuffled breaths against Kazuma’s shoulder. Yukine cried silently, knowing it was useless to throw himself at the bars the way Yato did.

Eventually, an eternity after the screaming stopped, footsteps echoed above them and approached down the stone steps. Grey robes appeared, and Kugaha’s face appeared at the bars.

“You fucking bastard!” Yato spat. “What have you done to her?!”

Kugaha didn’t reply. He swiftly pulled his wand from the folds of his robes and hit Yato with a spell, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Yato’s head spun, barely aware of the sound of the cell door clicking and grating open. Kugaha raised his wand against the others, herding them backward until he stopped with Yato at his feet.

Kugaha dragged Yato to his feet by his collar, pinning one arm behind his back and pressing his wand to the side of his neck.

“There’s something we want you to see, Yaboku,” Kugaha said wickedly with a manic grin on his face. He roughly pushed Yato forward and up the stairs to the hall where they had been brought to hours ago. The cell door clicked behind them with a wordless spell.

The injured Snatchers stood around the edge of the room, Nora amongst them but half-hidden in the shadows. On the ground in the center of the hall, Oshi straddled something with her wand drawn.

“Oh look, there’s our Yaboku,” Oshi smiled sweetly, surveying his face now that the swelling was gone. “Welcome home.”

Kugaha shoved Yato to the ground before he could reply, his body hitting the cold, pristine marble with a crack. Looking sideways, he squinted past the stars that had formed in his vision, and his blood ran cold.

Hiyori lay unmoving beneath Oshi, a wand pressed painfully hard into her throat. Her watery eyes stared petrified at the ceiling, arms pinned down by the knees of the witch above her.

“Hiyori?” Yato whispered shakily.

Hiyori’s eyes darted to him, terror evident in her eyes as she saw he had been dragged into whatever they were about to do next. She moved her head slightly, her lips parted slightly to speak as fresh tears leaked from the corners of her eyes before she was silenced by a slap across the face. Hiyori’s sharp gasp was following by quiet sobs, shoulders shaking as she tried to contain them.

Yato hastily moved to push himself up, seething at the witch who had made him listen to Hiyori’s agonising screams, but Kugaha’s foot planted itself into his back, pinning him down. Oshi smirked at him before slowly leaning down to Hiyori, making her flinch and try to shrink away from whatever twisted idea she had in mind.

Her lips brushing against Hiyori’s jawline up to her ear as she relished in the scent of sweat and fear, whispering quietly into her ear.

“Oh, look. Your boyfriend is here. Want to give him a little kiss?”

Hiyori gave a small shuddering sob as Oshi abruptly sat back up, bursting into a happy laugh as if she had told a funny joke. Grinning, she tilted her head to Yato who still lay trapped on the ground, his teeth gritted as he stared daggers at her.

“Well, now that you’re here, Chosen One, we can begin,” said Oshi said sweetly, her malicious eyes boring into him.

“This is how it’s going to work. You tell me how you got into my vault, else your little girlfriend here,” Oshi pressed her wand harder into Hiyori’s neck, a trickle of blood seeping out of the puncture she created. “Won’t be your girlfriend for much longer.”

“You… bitch,” Yato said heavily, trying to move his head so he could face her, but a hand fisted in his hair, pinning him back down. “Let her go.”

“Tut tut, that isn’t how you speak to your masters,” Oshi said mockingly. “I’ll have to punish your little friend for that.”

Oshi moved swiftly and gripped Hiyori’s left arm, plunging the wand deep into her flesh.

Hiyori’s head turned immediately back to face the witch, allowing Yato to see her face. Her guttural scream echoed through the hall and reverberated through the manor. Her back arched in pain and her face contorted in agony as she heaved for breath.

“STOP IT!” Yato screamed, thrashing desperately as he tried to escape his captors. Another boot kicked him in his side, winding him. Unable to move or breathe, he continued to hear Hiyori’s screams.

Tears running down her face, she frantically tried to pull free as the wand carved into her, but was subdued by the point being pressed to her throat once again as she heaved through the pain.

“Do I make myself clear, Yato?” Oshi asked him. “If you don’t answer, she gets hurt. If you haven’t answered by the time I’m done, she dies. Now, how did you get into my vault?”

“Torture me instead!” Yato pleaded, “She doesn’t know anything!”

“Wrong answer.”

She drove her wand into Hiyori’s arm once again, carving. Hiyori screamed louder than before, voice on the edge of breaking.

Yato pleaded for it to stop, uselessly twisting himself around onto his back where a fist connected with his jaw. His right temple smacked back onto the floor, blurred eyes meeting the sight of Hiyori’s legs kicking wildly as she tried to throw her torturer off of her to no avail.

When it had stopped, her head fell to the ground and lulled to the side, empty eyes looking at the blood which streamed from the growing wound.

“Stop it,” Yato whispered. “Don’t hurt her.”

“THEN ANSWER THE QUESTION!” Oshi screamed. “HOW DID YOU GET INTO MY VAULT?! WHO TOOK YOU THERE?!”

Yato fell quiet, breath rasping as he looked at Hiyori. Her unfocused eyes were looking at him, but they looked lifeless. His throat hitched at how she looked exactly like Sakura when he killed her. He felt as if he was being crushed, not by the weight of Kugaha whose weight immobilised him, but by the realisation that he was slowly killing the person he loved.

Bishamon was right; no matter what the truth was, Oshi would not believe it. Hiyori’s screams when he was locked in the dungeon was proof of that.

“Magic,” Yato croaked, hoping that the change in answer would protect Hiyori from further harm. “We used magic.”

“THAT’S ONLY HALF AN ANSWER,” Oshi screamed, losing patience with how long it was taking. “I’LL STOP WHEN YOU’VE TOLD ME EVERYTHING.”

Her hand squeezed on Hiyori’s arm, forcing more blood out and opening the wounds wider. She plunged the wand into the skin, again and again, dragging it harshly through the soft tissue as she carved her way down her arm.

Hiyori thrashed harder than before, the pain more intense as the witch branded Hiyori as what she was. She released strangled screams with every breath, her voice becoming weaker and more cracked as it went on, begging for it to end.

Yato fought weakly against Kugaha, his fists missing his target, and punches raining down on him as they asked the question again and again. Trying to push himself away, another pair of hands pinned his hands above his head to stop him from fighting or protecting himself. A great weight lay on his chest, stopping him from moving. Even if he could move, he would drag himself to Hiyori’s side and let himself die in her place.

Minutes passed and the screaming became weaker and weaker until there was silence. Hands going slack, Yato allowed himself to be beaten as his heart plummeted, oblivious to nothing but the silence. The punches slowed to a stop and a heavy silence hung in the air.

Twisting his head to look at Hiyori through blackened eyes, he could see her brown eyes staring blankly back at him but did not show any signs of their usual brightness. Slowly, they closed.

Dried and fresh tears stained her cheeks and starred her lashes, her mouth hanging open slightly as if still gasping for air. Blood trickled from the injury on her arm which had splattered blood white marble. The tarnishing streaks of blood from the brand engraved into her arm like ink on parchment read a word - a word he had come to hate.

One word that marked her as unworthy of the wizard life.

Mudblood.

Her name barely made it through his cracked lips at the first few attempts. Perhaps because he’s been beaten senseless, or perhaps because the mere sight of what he’d done to her.

“Hi... yori,” Yato said breathlessly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he spoke her name.

Oshi stood up and smirked, kicking Hiyori’s body so she rolled over to face Yato. Wiping the blood off her wand, she walked away, happy at her handiwork. Hiyori lay still, her limp body turned towards him. Blood had slowly stopped seeping out of the wounds on her arm and neck.

“HIYORI!” Yato choked, wrenching a wrist out of his captor’s grasp and thrashing wildly. A wand was instantly pressed to his heart, but still, Yato fought to reach Hiyori’s side.

“Let him go,” A quiet, familiar voice sounded from the edge of the room, from whom he did not know.

Reluctantly, Kugaha pressed his knee harshly into Yato’s stomach as he pushed himself up, leaving him alone on the blood-splattered flagstones. He rolled himself onto his stomach, straining as he began to drag himself pitifully towards Hiyori, leaving bloody marks on the floor with each movement.

Reaching her side, his arm reached out shakily, pulling her broken frame into his protection. He gently touched her cheek, but she did not react.

“Hiyori! Wake up!” Yato whispered, voice thick with emotion and tears beginning to spill. “Hiyori! We can go home now… just like you wanted...”

Yato's eyes looked into her face, praying that there would be some sign of life, but she may as well have been dead in his arms. His fingers trembled as they slid up her face and into her hair, his other hand wrapping around her waist pulling her against his chest. Her head and torn arm rested on his shirt, blood staining the fabric.

“We can go home…” Yato repeated, voice cracking. He closed his eyes and put his lips against her forehead. His hand trailed from her hair down her neck and to her back, where he held her in a gentle embrace, afraid that she would shatter entirely. “Let’s go home.”

“You killed her, Yato,” a voice said mockingly after a few moments of silence. “If only you answered the question, she would still be alive.”

Yato opened his eyes, tears distorting his vision. He turned to look at who had spoken, seeing that Oshi was taking delight in his anguish.

No, Yato thought, but it was a desperate thought that slipped through his fingers like sand. Hiyori wasn’t dead, she couldn’t be dead. Not like this. Not here.

“Take him away, we’ll start over with one of the others.”

Yato snapped, panic rising as Kugaha and a Snatcher moved towards him to drag him away from Hiyori.

“No!” Yato tried to scream, but his voice was too weak and broken to raise. He wrapped his arm tighter around Hiyori, desperately holding onto her so they wouldn’t be separated. Hands grabbed his arms and hair, trying to pry him away from her, but he wouldn’t let go.

Never.

“Petrificus Totalus.”

Yato’s muscles locked into place. He was picked up easily and slung over Kugaha’s shoulder, unable to resist or scream.

“We’ll give you some time to decide if you want to tell us or not,” Oshi called after him. “If not, we’ll start over with that little kid you’re so fond of.”

All Yato could do was look at Hiyori’s fragile body getting smaller and smaller as he was taken away.

Yato had been dumped back in the dungeon where his companions waited in terror, hearing the screams from above suddenly cease. They rolled Yato over, trying to ask him what happened when they saw bloodstains over his clothes.

Yato’s eyes frantically searched their faces, trying to show them that he was paralyzed. But when they asked about Hiyori, pain tore through him again and tears burned behind his fearful eyes, unable to fall.

Kazuma was beside himself. He had become a bigger mess than Bishamon as he realised the full weight of his actions; that he had led them to their torture and deaths. He begged forgiveness, and the anger that had raged inside them turned to grief and hopelessness.

Trapped in his mind, words in his Father’s voice haunted Yato.

Look how much you’ve hurt her, he taunted, you couldn’t protect her. She’s dead now because of you. You only had to do one thing, and she would have been safe.

Poor Yaboku, you just killed another. Did you love her? Did she love you? Does she hate you for not saving her? You’ll never know. Because you killed her.

All you desire is possible. All you dread is inevitable.

The thoughts tortured him endlessly, hissing sweetly about how much she must have suffered, how relieved she must have been when he arrived, thinking that he would stop the pain. How terrified she must have been when she realised, he didn’t love her enough to save her.

The curse eventually wore off and Yato weakly flexed his fingers as he worked the muscles loose.

Yukine sat him up against the wall, asking what happened. Finding his voice, still weak and cracked, Yato began to tell them what happened. Shock, anger, and fear filled their faces as they listen to what they endured, disbelieving that Hiyori could be dead. The fears that Father knew to play on had become common knowledge, and it had been used against him.

“She isn’t dead!” Yukine cried out desperately, fingernails digging into Yato’s arm, trying to cling to evaporating hope. “She can’t be dead!”

“Yukine…” Yato said brokenly, bowing his head and biting his lip as the tears threatened to spill. He couldn’t let Yukine see him like this.

A sting of pain struck Yato’s stomach, his earlier beating catching up to him and forcing him to clutch himself and double over. He felt something solid in his pocket pressing against his hand. Realising what it was, he pulled Sakura’s two-way mirror – now cracked and missing a few pieces – from his pocket.

Yato held it up in front of his face. It was a child’s wish – one he didn’t believe he would ever outgrow – but there, a large green eye looked back at him.

“Help us,” Yato whispered, not knowing to what or who he was begging.

The eye vanished from the reflection, and Yato’s hand fell into his lap. They sat in silence, no words to console him or even offer a plan of escape. Minutes ticked by. Footsteps on the staircase alerted them of Kugaha’s return.

“Well, Yato, what’s your answer?” Kugaha asked.

“They don’t know anything. Take me to Hiyori and I’ll tell you,” Yato demanded, determined to keep his friends from harm for as long as he could.

“That’s not the agreement,” Kugaha said nastily.

The door opened and Kugaha strode across the room, wand pointed at Yukine. He roughly grabbed his hair and began dragging him towards the door. Yukine yelled in protest, hands clawing at Kugaha’s wrists as Yato tried to stand up to protect him. Falling, he grabbed Kugaha’s leg, clinging onto him like a child.

A bolt of light hit Yato’s back, making him cry out and release his grip. Kugaha’s aimed his wand at Bishamon and Kazuma as they stepped forward to stop him, grinning happily at their powerlessness. Yanking Yukine outside, Kugaha locked the door.

Yato gaped for breath as he pathetically tried to drag himself to the iron gate.

“I’ll be back when we’re finished with this one,” Kugaha’s receding voice called out to him. “Can’t make any promises that he won’t end up like your girlfriend. You better hurry up before we kill the other ones too, Yato.”

Yato collapsed on the ground, his hand stretched out to the locked door. He weakly called after Yukine, but his voice had shattered from grief.

Kazuma kneeled next to him, softly speaking words he did not hear. They’re going to die because of me, Yato thought to himself. Defeated, he lay his head on the ground, wishing he had never dragged his friends into this.

And then someone Apparated in the room.

Kugaha released his grip on Yukine’s hair and shoved him to the ground.

Yukine shielded his head with his arms, his curled-up body hitting the ground hard. After a moment he moved his arms apart slightly. A pair of feet lay a few meters in front of him. His head moved slowly to take in the person lying before him, sickness setting in his stomach as he saw Hiyori’s unconscious form. Bloodstained her clothes and face, skin pale as marble.

“Hiyori!” Yukine shouted, frantically scrambling towards her. He knew she couldn’t be dead; it was just a sadistic ploy. Hiyori couldn’t be dead…

A fist in his stomach stopped him from reaching her, his body crumpling to the ground as the breath was stolen from him. He knelt on the ground, head pressed against the ground as he clutched his stomach as he gaped for air, blurred tears distorting the dried streaks of blood in front of his face.

Fighting for breath, a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Slender fingers dug into his chin, forcing him to face his friend’s unstirring body.

“That’ll happen to you if you don’t answer me,” Oshi hissed in his ear.

“Let me help her... I’m begging you!” Yukine choked out, legs weak as he noticed the word carved in Hiyori’s arm.

“How will you save a dead person without magic?” Oshi sweetly asked. A lump rose in Yukine’s throat as he realised that he was powerless to save her.

Something hard pressed into his spine, bringing his mind back from the edge.

“Crucio.”

Yato stared disbelieving at the short figure that had Apparated into the cell.

It was impossible. No one could Apparate into the cells – or even this house, as he had found out all too soon as a child – yet Ebisu stood before them.

“Ebisu?” Yato asked quietly.

“I have come to rescue Master Yato,” Ebisu shuffled his feet, unnerved to have so many eyes on him at once.

Yato looked at him, agape. The mirror, the eye… did Ebisu have it all this time? The questions were short-lived in his mind as Yukine’s first cries drifted down to them. Yato felt his heart shudder. They needed to be quick.

“Can you Disapparate from this room?” Yato asked quickly.

Ebisu nodded.

“Can you take humans with you?”

A nod.

Another scream reached them, and Yato’s plan bloomed to life. “Ebisu, I need you to Apparate us out of here, to… anywhere. Take Kazuma and Bishamon first -.”

“No chance, we’re not leaving you,” Bishamon interrupted.

Yato hesitated for a second, but more hands would make escape easier. “Fine. We need to get our wands and bags back from the Snatchers, then get Yukine and Hiyori.”

Ebisu nodded and reached his hands up. Yato held Kazuma’s shoulder, and he and Bishamon took them hesitantly. A second later they were at the top of the stairs of the dungeons. Yato looked around and realised they were only a few rooms away from the great hall, though Yukine’s cry and Oshi’s voice would’ve easily directed them. Yato silently beckoned them forward, sticking to the edge of the hallway, which was filled with wide, draped windows.

Yato stopped short and ducked out of sight behind one of the heavy curtains, dawn breaking over the fields in the horizon and temporarily blinding him. Ebisu tucked himself beside Yato, and Kazuma and Bishamon hid behind the other curtain. Yato twitched the curtain and peered further up the hallway.

Two Snatchers had emerged from the great hall, talking quietly to themselves at the bottom of the staircase just out of sight. Yato looked over to Kazuma and Bishamon, who nodded silently in response.

They crept forward on silent feet, leaving Ebisu beside the curtain, thankful that they were looking the other way. Yato flung himself at the taller Snatcher, clamping a hand over his mouth and hanging on as he thrashed. Kazuma had hit out at the other Snatcher in an attempt to knock him out, but it seemed that his punch had landed awkwardly.

Yato cursed inwardly. if they made any noise, someone would come looking and they would be back in the cells, or under Oshi’s wand. Kazuma’s Snatcher reared back, wand in hand and a warning call rising in his throat. A metal pitcher was against his head and the Snatcher fell to the ground in a thump.

Bishamon breathed heavily, setting the pitcher back on the small table she’d found tucked beside the staircase.

Yato rummaged in the Snatchers pocket, hands finding stickiness and finally three wands which he recognised as his own, Hiyori’s and Yukine’s. Beside him, Kazuma emerged victorious with his own wand, and Bishamon picked up the Snatcher’s fallen wand.

They crept along the hallway, looking back over their shoulders to make sure no one was there, but there was not a soul in sight. Yato briefly thought of Ebisu before the air was punctuated by another of Yukine’s cries, and Yato’s heart somersaulted again.

They pressed their backs against the doorway’s arches, wands to chests. Yato slowly peered around the door. Oshi straddled Yukine in the same fashion she had tortured Hiyori, who still lay in the center of the room. Kugaha and Nora stood to the side of the room, flanked by two Snatchers.

Yato noticed three new figures in black robes on the opposite side of the room, their arms tucked into their sleeves. The only woman among them wore an ornate headpiece unlike her companion’s black hats, but Yato instantly recognised the man to her left. His slate grey eyes watched Yukine’s torture with no sympathy: Mitsuguri, the man who had read Tenjin’s will to them. One of Amaterasu’s traitorous advisors.

Yato quickly scanned the woman and the other blond-haired man. Mikagami and Mitama, the other advisors who betrayed the Minister of Magic for the Sorcerer. They were here. Why?

Yato felt a chill run up his spine. Had the Sorcerer been summoned? Was he on his way now? No, it couldn’t be. Oshi was so desperate to know how they had acquired the sword that she wouldn’t dare bring the Sorcerer here until she could hide it.

Yukine’s broken voice pierced the air again and Yato snapped back to attention, finding Kazuma’s and Bishamon’s eyes on him, hands tensed and nostrils flaring. With a nod, Yato gave the order.

“Stupefy!”

Yato, Kazuma, and Bishamon surged into the room, wands blaring in a multitude of green and blue light that bounced from the walls, windows, and the chandelier as the room descended into chaos.

Oshi was on her feet in a second, teeth bared and wand spitting green blasts in their direction as they dived for what little cover the room offered. Nora pressed herself to the wall, mouth agape, as Kugaha slipped his wand from his sleeve. He drew his arms wide with a wicked smile, glad to finally have some fun.

Yato threw himself to the floor, his and Yukine’s wands clutched in his hands as he fired a blinding spell towards one of the Snatchers that advanced on him. In the madness he saw three plumes of blackened robes Disapparate, leaving an empty spot where the advisors had stood.

Yato swore inwardly, but Oshi’s cry caught his attention. Yukine had kicked his leg out, scattering Oshi to the floor and sending her wand spinning around the cool marble. She snarled at Yukine, but he was already up and on his feet, arm hanging by his side and limping furiously towards Yato. Yato was relieved to see no blood on him, but he could see the fury and fear in his features. Yato pressed the wand into Yukine’s hand and together they entered the fray.

The two Snatchers had engaged in a duel with Kazuma and Bishamon, spells and sparks flying as they defended each other and attacked in sync. Nora and Kugaha were moving towards them. Kugaha stepped over Hiyori’s body like she was a fallen tree, a grin on his face, but Nora looked back over her shoulder like she wanted to run.

Yato’s eyes flickered to Oshi who had grasped her wand, eyes glittering with malice, and tore at them like a wildcat.

Without a word, Yato and Yukine threw themselves forward.

The spells deflected off the shields they threw up, the onslaught of three witches' firepower pushing them back and barely giving an inch for them to fire. Oshi cursed every murderous hex she could think of at them, and Kugaha bore down on them.

On the other side of the room, one of the Snatchers had fallen, leaving one more facing down the unstoppable power Kazuma and Bishamon presented as a team. A particularly well-aimed from Kazuma sent his wand flying from his hand, and the Snatcher was knocked out by Bishamon.

Yato’s eyes flickered to Nora. She was stood back a bit, her hand raised with her wand protecting them, but when their eyes met, something in her waivered. For the briefest second the shield slip, Yukine’s stunning spell got through and hit Oshi straight in the chest, sending her flying backward and landing in a heap. Kugaha’s smile turned to a snarl and he redoubled his efforts, but it seemed that Nora’s protection was gone now. Yato hit Kugaha with a freezing spell and he fell to the ground stiff as a board.

“Drop them.”

Yato’s eyes snapped to the middle of the room. His heart stopped. Oshi held the unconscious Hiyori up to her chest, a sliver of a silver blade pressed to her neck.

“Drop them,” Oshi growled. “Drop them or she dies.”

Yato heaved, anger and desperation rising in his chest, but lowered his wand. Beside him, he saw Yukine, Kazuma, and Bishamon lower their wands too.

She snapped her head to Nora. “Summon you father!”

After the briefest internal struggle, Nora raised her sleeve, face contorted, and Yato saw the ugly scar of the Dark Mark on her arm begin to rise and coil underneath her wand.

He’s coming…. The voice from the wedding echoed in Yato’s head. They needed to get out of here. Now.

“DROP THEM!” Oshi screeched again, knife pressing further into Hiyori’s throat and drawing the barest whimper.

Her voice echoed around the room. The reverberation faded away, and a dull squeaking filled the room. Oshi’s eyes clouded for a second in confusion, as did the rest of the room.

Slowly, their eyes went up.

Ebisu clung to the thick iron chain that suspended the chandelier above Oshi’s head, his hands methodically twisting the fastening. Dust and cobwebs rained down on them, and a second before they could react, the chandelier came crashing to the ground.

Oshi threw herself backward, knife clattering to the ground as she and Hiyori fell inches away from one of the pointed edges. Yato and Yukine surged forward over Kugaha, a blasting spell knocking Oshi even further back away from Hiyori. Yukine grabbed Hiyori by the shoulders and hauled her up into his arms.

Yato crashed into Nora, sending them both sprawling the ground. He rose up over her, seeing the Dark Mark contort and writhe as if the serpent had come alive in her flesh. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds before Yato wrapped his hands around Nora’s wand and wrenched it from her grasp. The Dark Mark sunk back onto Nora’s arm, shifting over the pale skin.

Yato kicked his way back up and stumbled to the back of the room, hearing Oshi stirring behind him and the sound of metal scraping stone. Ebisu stood on the fireplace with Kazuma, Bishamon, and Yukine with Hiyori in his arms.

Ebisu snapped his fingers and a second later he was holding a wand – Oshi’s wand. Shock registered in her face which was quickly filled with rage and disgust.

“How dare you take a witch's wand!” Oshi screeched. “How dare you defy your masters!”

Ebisu drew himself up taller, eyes glittering in the remnants of the fireplace and the breaking dawn through the windows. “I have no master. I am a free elf!”

Yato felt the clamp of a small hand on his shoulder and instinctively reached out for Yukine’s and Kazuma’s hands.

As the world spun and turned to darkness, he caught a glimpse of Kugaha’s frozen face, Nora’s tears, the redness of blood, and the silver of a dagger.

The world came back in the form of a grey sky and a biting wind that stung their cuts with saltwater. Yato stood alone, staring at the bleakness of a grey sea far from shore and an old cottage stood on the tufts of grass that edged the beach.

Bishamon and Kazuma were a few feet away, clutching each other and just as disorientated. Beside them was Yukine, untangling Hiyori’s limbs from him and laying her on the beach, frantically looking into her face. Yato took a step forward, questions on the tip of his tongue.

"Yato..."

Yato spun around, the small, weak voice catching his attention. Nothing but grey overcast skies met his view. Until he looked down.

Ebisu stood hunched over, the ornate handle of a dagger lodged in his stomach. Blood smeared his small hands and bled dark red droplets into the wet sand below as he took faltering steps forward.

Yato dived forwards, catching Ebisu as he collapsed. His mouth hung open in unmasked horror, eyes fixed on the bloody weapon buried to the hilt in Ebisu’s stomach.

"Y-you're okay, it's okay," Yato hushed, trying to keep the panic from his voice. He turned to look at Kazuma and the others. They watched him silently, morosely, already accepting what Yato could not.

"Kazuma... there must be something... that bag..." Yato’s eyes fell on the backpack slung over Kazuma’s shoulder, remembering all of the potions and salves they had. One of them at least, just something to stop the bleeding, anything. He looked back up at them, silently pleading for Ebisu's sake.

Yukine turned away, biting his lip as he stared down at the unconscious Hiyori. Bishamon's eyes were glassy as Kazuma gently shook his head.

"Yato..." Ebisu's hand gripped onto Yato's shirt as tightly as he could, mustering the last of his life force for a farewell.

Yato looked down at them, breaths shuddering and blinking away tears as he looked at his pale face.

"I'm... glad that I... met you…" Ebisu forced his sentences, staring at the sky, clinging to what remained of his time left in the world. "I don't... want to die."

Ebisu final words were stolen by the wind. His green eyes still observed the sky above, even after they dulled and didn't move again. If not for the way his body went slack, or the way his hand loosened its grip on Yato's shirt, Yato may have been able to pretend that he was only sleeping.

If not for that, Yato would have believed that he hadn’t killed the last of his family.

#this is nearly 5 years in the making #this is what ive been waiting to publish #noragami #noragami aragoto #yato #yukine #hiyori #kazuma #bishamon #nora #yatori #hp au #harry potter au #in the darkness

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sprnklersplashes · 3 years

Text

stars around my scars

or, the tatto artist!robin au that no-one asked for but everyone gets (ao3)

Ever since he was 11, Theo has wanted a tattoo. He still remembers the day he first asked, if only because of his dad’s expression. He had hurried across the schoolyard, with a cardigan that was slightly too big for him and his backpack hanging off one shoulder, thrown himself into the car, and proudly rolled up his sleeve to show his dad the ‘tattoo’ Sabrina had given him during homeroom. It was simple really, a sword and shield adorned with his initials. His dad had chuckled at it fondly, the way any parent would chuckle at their child’s antics, and started to pull out of the parking space when Theo asked, “so when can I get a real tattoo?”.

He very nearly crashed the truck.

His answer was simply “when you’re older”, and being 11, that felt an age away to Theo, and he felt his chest sink at the idea of waiting for so long.

In the run up to his fourteenth birthday, he tried again, responding with “a tattoo” when his dad asked what he wanted. He sits cross legged on his bed and pretends he cares less than he does, all the while watching his dad out of the corner of his eye. Either he must look sadder than he thinks he does, or he should look out the window and check for flying pigs, because his dad sighs, but then his face softens and he does the impossible; he relents, just a little.

“Maybe when you’re 18,” he says.

His sophomore year of high school is when things start to get really rough. Nearly every day he comes home with bruises and cuts and his dad is less convinced by his excuses each time. He wakes up every morning and wonders what it’ll be; stuffed in a locker, shirt pulled up, pushed down the stairs. Words are used like weapons and hurt just as much, whether they’re spat in his face or written across a locker. Getting up is a constant battle and some days it just feels impossible. The school parking lot feels like No-Man’s Land at the best of times. His dad brings up the idea of transferring to him at dinner one night, but he just raised his chin and reminded him that he’s a Putnam. And Putnam’s don’t run away.

His dad had smiled at that.

There was some good mixed in with the bad though. He found answers to questions that had plagued him for years. He chose a new name, after the greatest woman he never knew, and found the courage to tell his dad who he really is. It hadn’t been easy, he hadn’t expected it to be, but when his dad drove him down to the Greendale barber that day, it had meant more to him than his dad might have understood.

His friends were amazing, which should go without saying. Of course they would be. And he feels good, in some ways he feels better than he’s ever felt about himself. Like he’s stepping into a new part of his life and while he doesn’t know what’s in front of him, he’s excited to see where it goes.

But as happy as he was, not everyone felt the same. Teachers and students alike struggled with his transition, some at least attempting to feign politeness, others not so much. The cruel words don’t stop just because he uses different pronouns now and he still comes home with the occasional bruised knuckles or bloodied nose.

Add on a few stressful long-distance calls with his mother and his high school experience thus far can only be described the same way his English essays are-“Could Be Better”.

Maybe that’s why, a week before his sixteenth birthday, his dad pops his head around his bedroom door and asks him “Do you still want that tattoo?”.

He looks up from his book, almost sure he’d imagined it. His dad may have changed his stance slightly, but if there’s one trait they share more than anything it’s that intense stubbornness. He was prepared to just ride it out and wait until he’s 18, or maybe even until he moves away to college altogether. But no, here he is, age 15, his dad looking at him expectantly.

“Really?” is all he can reply with.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, it’s clearly something you want a lot. And I know you’re sensible enough not to get one of those crazy ones that go all the way across your face.” He giggles at that. “And you’ve waited long enough so I figure… why not just let you?”

His mouth falls open and he blinks, waiting for the catch, only for his father to simply shrug at him, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Well if you don’t want to-”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because Theo jumps and hugs him before he can.

He enlists Harvey’s help with the design. His drawing skills aren’t bad, but they’re not the best either and if this is going on his body, permanently, he needs to get it right. So he slides up to Harvey on Monday with wide eyes and a smile that’s just the right amount of cute. And if that doesn’t work, he has money in one pocket and a comic book that Harvey really wants in the other.

The other boy looks up with a raised eyebrow and Theo’s glad he brought the back-ups.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Why do you think there is something?” he asks. “Can’t I just be happy to see you? My best friend? My trusted companion I have known since-”

“Oh my God, what did you break?” Sabrina asks. She’s sitting on the desk behind them and her eyes have doubled in size. “Harvey, whatever you do, do not take the fall for him!”

“That was one time, Brina!” he replies. Sabrina bites back a giggle, a twinkle in her eye as she exchanges a look with Roz, and Theo exhales slowly. His cheeks warm, just a little, but he ignores it. Or at least he tries. Same with the nervous prickle of sweat running down his back “Harvey, what I was going to ask was… well, my dad finally said I can get a tattoo, and I was just wondering if maybe you could draw it for me?” His voice gets smaller and smaller as the sentence goes on, and the last word practically limps past his lips. He holds his breath, fingers twitching to grab his two back up plans. But as it turns out, he doesn’t need to, because Harvey bursts into a grin that warms his heart and undoes the knot in his chest.

“Of course I will,” he tells him. “That’s what you were so worried about?”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. Whatever words he had die on his tongue, and they laugh it off as Sabrina pats the space next to her. He jumps up next to her, their feet bumping against each other, and they take advantage of the few precious moments they have before class begins.

Harvey hunches over his desk, his hands moving as swiftly and carefully as only an artist’s can. It’s kind of amazing watching him, watching him lose himself in his work the same way Theo loses himself on the basketball court. No, it’s not the same and Theo knows it. He’s nevertheless fascinated by Harvey’s process and that’s why he’s hovering the way he is.

No other reason.

The nail chewing is also completely irrelevant. He does this all the time and it’s perfectly normal.

As is the pacing.

Eventually, Harvey just sights and pulls a chair up beside him and lets him sit. He only moves slightly, but Theo takes the hint and sits back, willing his heart to slow down. He does everything he can to pass time; jumps through social media apps on his phone, flips through Harvey’s stack of comics, even doodles something on a spare page. All the time waiting with baited breath and one eye on Harvey’s hand.

“Okay.” Harvey leans back in his chair, his fingers slightly greyed with lead. “I’m done.”

Theo leans forward and immediately a smile forms on his face. It’s exactly what he had in mind, the outline of a small bird sitting on a branch, poised to take flight, but Harvey’s drawing is more carefully and painstakingly structured than he could have hoped to make it. All his attempts somehow look flat, boring, but Harvey’s looks alive and it reminds him why he wants this particular picture on his body.

“Thank you.” He leans against him, cheek smushed against Harvey’s shoulder, and wraps his arms around him. He sings his words a little, bringing a smile to both their faces. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Harvey plays it down, but he hugs him back just as tightly.

Unfortunately, there are no tattoo places in Greenedale. Theo wonders how, in all his fifteen going on sixteen years of living in this town, he never once picked up on this. Especially since he spent most of that time wanting a tattoo. But no, here he is, the White Pages open on his lap and him staring intensely at the page as if the words tattoo parlour are going to magically appear on the page.

He sighs deeply and scratches his cat behind the ears.

“Well, Lila,” he tells her. “Time to go look beyond Greenedale.” Lila lets out a groan, her little ears flopping down as she rests her head against him, and he takes that as her saying she’s with him. He kisses her head, her fur tickling his nose. “Love you too, baby.”

He finds one close enough, in Woodvale, the next town over. It’s pretty decent money-wise, and while it looks pretty small on the Facebook page, it’s close, and more importantly, his dad goes there for business at least twice a month. He tells him that night he has some errands to run there next week, in fact.

“You can go in, get your tattoo done, then maybe we can go for lunch after,” he says. He shrugs awkwardly, wiping his hand on a tea towel. “You know, if you want. Unless you have plans or something.”

“I don’t have any plans, Dad,” he tells him. “I’d love that.”

He doesn’t miss his dad’s bright smile at his answer.

That night, Lila is sitting around his shoulders as he copies the phone number off the Facebook page. Her tail flicks him in the face and he sighs and adjusts her on his shoulders so she’s more comfortable. His dad sometimes calls her The Queen, and for good reason. That damn cat is more pampered than anything he’s ever known. Even if he does love her and thinks she deserves it.

“Don’t suppose you want to take this phone call for me, do you?” he asks her. She meows back at him, which he takes to mean no you weirdo, make your own appointments, you’re an adult now. She’s right, he doesn’t like it, but she’s right, so he kisses her nose and hits the call button.

“Um, hi, Midsummer Night’s, how can I help?”

Theo clears his throat, glad he had the foresight to chug water right before making the call. Social skills aren’t his best in general and they somehow get worse on the phone. Especially with this kind of appointment-booking stuff. He’s made progress, at least. By that he means he doesn’t feel the need to ask his dad any more. Baby steps.

“Hi,” he replies. “I’d like to book a tattoo. For next Saturday?”

“Next Saturday…” Their voice trails off, the sound of stuff being shoved and moved around filling the silence instead. “Sorry, just bear with me for one second.”

“It’s fine.” He turns on his heel and walks the length of his room again, Lila flicking her tail. It takes him a while to recognise the song playing in the background; Kansas. Carry On My Wayward Son. He’s a little embarrassed; he didn’t spend all that time watching Supernatural to not recognise this song instantly.

He catches himself humming just as the second verse hits.

“Okay, here we go,” the other voice says. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” he replies, as though a pink blush isn't colouring his cheeks.

“So that’s next Saturday… what time were you thinking?”

“Is around ten am okay?” he asks. “Sorry, I know it’s like right when you open, but my dad has some business around town that he can’t move and-”

“No, ten’s fine,” they tell him. “And what’s the name?”

“Putnam,” he says, perhaps a little too quickly. “Theo Putnam.”

“Okay, Putnam, Theo Putnam.” It’s a terrible joke, a dad-level terrible joke, but he laughs all the same. “That’s you booked in. I’ll see you Saturday.”

“See you on Saturday,” he replies, and the flutter of excitement in his chest leaves him breathless.

*****

Midsummer Nights' turns out to be a relatively small shop nestled on a street corner, looking only slightly out of place with its dark blue paint job, contrasting with the more pastel colour palette for the rest of the street, and indeed, the rest of the town. He likes it, and he especially likes the shooting stars painted around the door and windows. Twinkling in the mid-morning sun and outlined in thin black lines, trails of gold and silver shooting out from behind them. They’re tiny and probably there as an afterthought, a way to fill space, but Theo is far more enchanted by them than he is the larger pictures of fairies and mermaids that adorn the walls. The care taken alone leaves him breathless. The bigger pictures are impressive, sure, but the care with which the stars have been painted almost takes his breath away. Whoever did them must have the patience of a saint. He’s never really been one for patience, nor for taking his time, instead always running from one thing to the next. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from this person, whoever they are.

“Woah, calm down there,” he tells himself as he turns the handle. “It’s a painting, not a therapy session.”

Inside isn’t entirely what he expected. Well, he’s not completely sure what he expected. Maybe a bunch of hairy biker types, the faint stench of alcohol in the air and a deer head mounted in the wall for good measure. But no, instead he finds white walls decorated with painted trees and vines and as he looks closer, tiny fairies and gnomes poking their heads around them. A smile tugs on his lips as he looks at it. It’s almost magical; a new creature appearing before his eyes the longer he looks. The space is bright, mostly thanks to the large windows, and someone plays folk music softly in the background.

He approaches the front desk, which in actuality looks more like a glorified coffee table and is manned by a girl with blue strands of her hair. She looks up from her book as he approaches and slips a bookmark in without looking. He takes an instant liking to her, or rather she seems like the kind of person he could like.

“Hey,” she greets nonchalantly. “You have an appointment or are you a walk-in?”

“Uh, an appointment,” he replies, scratching behind his ear. “It’s uh-Theo Putnam.”

“Okay, one second.” She flips open a spiral notebook, twiddling a pen between her fingers. Theo takes the opportunity to have another look around, his eyes once again drawn to the walls. He looks up at them, more than happy to wait. There’s something almost tangible yet so surreal about it; like he believes he could find himself here, just not in this reality. And as he cranes his neck, he spies right where the wall meets the ceiling; the stars from the outside.

“Sorry about that,” the girl says, snapping him back to reality. “So yeah, you’re all booked in, if you just want to go down to the back, Robin will take care of you.” Theo nods, a ‘thank you’ on his lips, but before he can say it, the girl turns her head and screams “ROBIN YOUR PERSON’S HERE!”. Theo stumbles backwards, blown away by and also amazed that all the windows are still intact. She simply turns back, her smile sweet, and opens her book again. “He’ll be down in just a second.”

He can’t decide if he likes her more or less after that.

“Jesus Christ Moth, I’m coming,” someone, he presumes Robin, calls from above them, the voice faint. Theo grins as he realises that he probably wasn’t meant to hear that. He wanders past the front desk, but not before catching the small shit-eating grin on Moth’s face.

He likes her.

Robin (he assumes it’s him anyway) emerges on the bottom step, shooting an annoyed look at Moth that disappears immediately once he sees Theo, instead morphing into an apologetic half-smile.

“I’m sorry about her,” he says. “She’s under the impression that she’s cute. And she’s also a middle child.”

“Ah that explains a lot,” Theo chuckles. “Well, it’s fine. I mean, it seemed to be effective anyway.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. Theo’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t work out why. Robin is pretty, but he’s never been the type to lose his words over pretty boys. He’s tall, way taller than Theo, and his short-sleeved black shirt doesn’t leave much to the imagination. His dark hair is streaked with green and falls forwards into dark eyes, causing him to toss his head to push it back. Normally he’d find that kind of look douchey, but it’s not, not on him, it’s actually kind of cute in a punk-rock slash edgy poet kind of way and suddenly he’s aware how neither one of them have said anything yet.

“I’m Theo. We uh, we spoke on the phone.” It comes out as more of a question than a statement, at least in his mind.

“Yeah, I remember,” he says. “Putnam, Theo Putnam.”

“Yep, that’s me,” he replies, caught between laughing and cringing at himself. If he had known it was going to be like this, he’d have tried to make that phone call way less awkward. Robin doesn’t seem to mind though, instead tapping his arm lightly and gesturing with his head.

“Why don’t you come through with me and we can get started?”

“That’s definitely what I came here to do,” he says, and when Robin smiles, his heart melts and he curses silently.

Dimples. Of course he has dimples. The asshole.

He sits up on a leather chair, his backpack and jacket discarded on the floor and his sleeve rolled up. His feet dangle just above the floor and he’s deliberately not looking at the very pointy needles. It’s not like he’s got a phobia or anything, and he definitely knew this would be part of the process. It’s just a little unnerving.

“You got a design?” Robin asks.

“Uh, yeah here.” He holds the paper out to him. “My friend Harvey drew it. He’s really great at the art stuff. But-but the idea was mine and I… dictated it to him.”

“Cool,” he replies. “And where do you want it?” Theo pulls his sleeve up, his fingers gesturing to just below his shoulder. Robin nods, and his eyes darken slightly, as if his focus is shifting entirely to the tattoo and nothing else. He positions himself as close to him as possible, and they sit in silence as he carefully transfers the design onto tattoo paper.

Then Robin’s hand is against his skin, and the needle is barely an inch from it, and goosebumps prickle along there.

He must look as nervous as he feels, because Robin’s grip on his shoulder softens slightly, as does his face, and his voice comes in a careful whisper.

“Hey,” he tells him. “It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that much. And I promise I’m careful.” Theo nods, even if his nails are digging into the leather beneath him. “Besides, it’s only the first one that really hurts. After that everything’s fine.”

“That’s what she said.” His voice is far weaker than he’d like it, the joke even more so, but Robin busts out laughing and so does he, and he barely realises that he started.

He was right though; while the pain doesn’t necessarily lessen, he gets used to it. If one could ever get used to the feeling of a needle jabbing one’s skin over and over. It kind of helps that he’s got plenty to distract him with the art on the walls and even if he didn’t; Robin is surprisingly easy to talk to.

“So you’re not from around here, are you?” he asks casually. “Sorry, it’s just… here you get to know people pretty quickly. And I’ve never seen you around here.”

“It’s fine,” he replies. He relates of course; small towns are small towns. “I’m from Greenedale. Ever been there?” Robin frowns slightly, his mouth falling half-open as he thinks.

“I think I drove through it once or twice,” he says. “Isn’t that the place that’s obsessed with witches and stuff?”

“That’s the one,” he says. “They’ve got all the spooky sights but unfortunately no tattoo parlours.” He goes to shrug but then remembers one arm is currently being used. “So I had to take a little trip out here.”

“You know when I was driving through I distinctly remember the lack of tattoo parlours,” Robin jokes. “Still. It’s a nice place.”

“I guess,” Theo mumbles. “I was always so focussed on the leaving.” He kicks the ground. “I’ve never looked around properly.” Greenedale hasn’t exactly been kind to him either. He may love his friends dearly, and it’s not like his memories are all bad, but there are days when the familiar streets are less comforting and more maddening, and the town line feels more like a prison wall. It’s not every day he feels like this, but enough for him to have taken notice.

Robin chuckles beside him, and it’s then he suddenly remembers where he is, and that there is in fact a person beside him. A person he barely knows. And while a blush does creep over his cheeks, he doesn’t feel nearly as embarrassed as he should.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Kind of dumping my tragic backstory on you there.”

“Trust me, you’re not the first,” Robin tells him. “Guess there’s something about a person having a needle shoved into their skin repeatedly that puts them in a sharing mood.” He flips his head, tossing his bangs out of his face. “So what’s the deal with the witch thing?”

“Basically a lot of witches came over from Europe and settled over there,” he explains. “And when it came to picking a town personality trait, it was between either witches or thinly-veiled bigotry.” He goes to shrug, but then remembers the needle against his arm. “I guess ‘we’ll put a spell on you’ is a more catchy slogan than ‘we’re all raging assholes’.”

“Well, that may be true,” Robin says. “Though I’d admire any town with the balls to admit that they’re all assholes.” Theo chuckles again, swinging his feet slightly. Robin must be right; there must be something about getting a tattoo that makes you pretty chatty. That or Robin’s just… easy to talk to. He hasn’t met someone like in a while, not since Sabrina and Roz and Harvey. Something flutters in his chest and he doesn’t quite recognise it. He likes it, though. Even if in the back of his mind he wonders if he should be scared by it.

“Yo.” Moth appears in the doorway, hanging off the wall by her fingertips. She looks over at Theo’s arm, where Robin’s needle is, and a faint smile forms on her lips. “Not bad, Robin.”

“Thanks,” he replies, his eyebrow raised, and he looks up at Theo. “For her ‘not bad’ is possibly the highest praise you can get.”

“Not true. There’s at least two more levels, you just haven’t unlocked them yet,” she adds. “Anywho, I’m going on the coffee run, what do you want?”

“You know my order,” he replies, focussing more on his work than on her.

“So that’s an iced salted caramel latte, then,” she says. Robin’s cheeks turn pink suddenly, his hand slowing but not faltering. Judging by the look on Moth’s face-which can only be described as a shit-eating grin-that was the goal. “Do you want me to ask for whipped cream like last time?”

“No, thank you, Moth,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. The gesture is equal parts exasperated and fondness, like Moth has been a pain in his ass for so long, and he likes it that way. Theo relates.

“He always pulls that ‘you know my order’ crap when a customer’s here,” she explains. “He’s embarrassed ‘cause his actual order isn’t very macho. Plus he thinks the cool and mysterious vibe impresses clients. Especially around the ones he thinks are cute. Anyway, you want anything?”

Theo freezes, his response-whatever it would be-caught in his throat. Moth seems unaffected, checking her nails like nothing is wrong. Maybe nothing is wrong, and he’s just overthinking. Or misheard her and she didn’t actually imply that Robin might find him cute. Either way, there’s probably no reason his cheeks should be as pink as they are now.

“N-no I’m okay thanks,” he says.

“You sure?” she asks. “No extra charge, just give us a good review.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He clears his throat and hopes his voice doesn’t actually sound that high. “I’m going out with my dad after this anyway.”

“Mm. Suit yourself.” She turns on her heel and flounces off, the sound of jangling keys and her boots on the floor growing fainter. Theo doesn’t dare breathe until she’s gone though-the closing door releasing the tie around his chest. When he turns to Robin, the other boy seems far calmer than he is, already back to work with a bemused grin on his face. His eyes meet Theo’s and he shakes his head lightly, his hair falling in front of his eyes.

“Don’t worry about Moth,” he tells him. “She’s taken it upon herself to try to set me up with every guy that comes in.” He shifts himself slightly. “Trust me, it was nothing.”

“Oh… okay.” The small tug of disappointment comes at a surprise to him, and he searches for a way out. “But was she right about your coffee order though?” Robin chuckles.

“Maybe.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry,” he tells him. “I personally think iced lattes are very macho. Of course we should ask ourselves ‘what is macho’ and then that takes us on a whole lovely journey that you probably don’t want to go through right now.”

“Eh, I might do,” he says. Theo turns to him, and his eyes are the exact mixture of teasing and serious, and the grin on his face widens. “But we can agree that salted caramel lattes rock, right?”

“Absolutely,” he says, and he realises in that moment he really likes this guy.

Which way he likes him though is a question he leaves unanswered.

In what feels like no time at all, Robin is slowly finishing up, an empty coffee cup at his side. At some point, Moth came in and started work on another client, casually talking to Robin above the hum of the tattoo needles. Robin doesn’t stop chatting to him though and they move through things like school (where he learns Robin’s favourite subject is English), music (where Robin actually has to stop and write down Theo’s music recommendations) and pets, where Theo goes on a ten minute rant about Lila and how she’s simultaneously the love of his life and the bane of his existence.

“Your cat sounds amazing,” he says. “Next time you’re in town you should bring her in so I can meet her.”

“You could always come over to Greendale,” he says. It’s so casual he didn’t even think about it before he said it, and he might have freaked himself out. If Robin feels the same, he doesn’t show it, only nodding and saying he might take him up on that.

They turn to talking about Midsummer Nights’ itself; how Robin started working there one summer as a teenager, how only last year he graduated from sweeping floors to taking clients, and how just a few months ago he and Moth (“mostly me,” he added, just loud enough so she could hear) redecorated the entire place, including the outside.

“I did those little stars on the wall outside,” he remarks. “Don’t know if anyone notices them, but they’re my crown jewel as far as I’m concerned.”

“I noticed,” Theo tells him. “I like them.” He doesn’t tell him how entranced he was by his work, but he does notice the softness in Robin’s smile, the pink hue in his cheeks. It makes sense, somehow, that Robin painted those stars. He barely knows him, but he feels like it makes sense.

For the last few minutes, the conversation drops away, and silence falls as all Robin’s focus shifts to his work. It’s a look he recognises from Harvey, an artist’s expression, but it feels deeper with Robin. His movements are so precise, so deliberate, that Theo feels he should hold his breath lest he break his concentration. He imagines him months ago, the same expression on his face as he paints the stars outside, and he’s almost sad he wasn’t there to see it.

Robin groans as he leans back, pushing his hair away from his face, and his eyes light up.

“We’re done,” he says. “You want to see it before we put the bandages on it?”

“Hell yeah I do.” He jumps off the seat and follows Robin, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he goes. Robin leads him to a mirror, his face shining with anxious pride, and Theo gives him a small smile before he turns and his breath is taken away.

“It’s perfect,” he breathes. Perfect as anything could be, really. Clean cut, careful, delicate. There’s so much life in it, even though it’s only ink. The little bird sits perched on its branch, determination strong on its small face. He couldn’t have asked for a better job. It’s everything he dreamed when he was younger, now a physical reality. He takes a deep breath, trying not to be the kind of person that cries after their first tattoo. “Thank you, Robin.”

“No problem,” he says softly and when Theo looks up, he finds Robin’s eyes lingering on him. “Putnam, Theo Putnam.”

*****

He and his dad find a little cafe in the middle of town and sit outside, taking advantage of the good weather.

“So was it worth waiting for?” his dad asks. “The tattoo?”

“Yes, it was,” he replies. “Thank you, Dad.” His dad waves his hand dismissively, as though the back-and-forth between them never happened.

“No problem kid,” he says. “It was what you wanted. And the place was good?”

“Yeah.” He pops another French fry in his mouth. “It was really, really good. They were uh… good at their jobs.” His hand moves to where the bandage sits on his arm, the tattoo perfectly preserved beneath it, and yet that’s not what he’s thinking about. Instead his mind drifts back to Robin, with his hair falling into his eyes and his laugh and those damn dimples. He takes a drink just as he feels the heat rush to his cheeks, and his dad eyes him curiously. He sets the glass down, even though his mouth is still dry. “It was great.”

A knowing smile spreads across his dad’s face and he curses under his breath. This is what he gets for having a close relationship with his father. Stupid strong father-son bond.

Theo puts his hand in his pocket and his fingers close around empty fabric, rather than plastic. He hurriedly checks the other pocket, then his jeans, his panic rising each time. His dad turns when he realises Theo is no longer beside him, his feet rooted to the sidewalk instead, and his eyes widen, reflecting Theo’s own alarm back at him.

“Theo?” he asks. “What happened?”

“I-I can’t find my phone!” he sighs. He pulls items out of his pockets one by one, his wallet, his keys, loose change… no phone. He taps every pocket again to make sure, as if it was going to magically appear if he willed it hard enough. No such luck. He mumbles under his breath, a stream of ‘oh shit’ and ‘oh no’ as he tries to fight off the rising panic. He tries to retrace his steps, to remember the last place he had it out, to think of wherever the hell his phone could be in this town-

“Theo!”

Or maybe he doesn’t need to.

“Theo!”

He turns around to see Robin running down the street, skidding to a half just in front of him. His face is bright red, not from teasing his time, his chest heaves and his hair sticks to his face. They look at each other, breathless, and just as Theo opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing, he holds his hand out.

“My phone!” he squeaks.

“Yeah you… you left it in… with me,” he says between gasps. “I was really hoping I’d be able to catch you before you left.”

“Oh God I’m sorry,” he says, taking another look over Robin. The tattoo parlour is far enough from here, and the streets here twist and turn around as they please. And Robin ran through them. For him. In jeans. “Thank you so much, Robin. I-how did you know it was mine?”

“The picture on the lockscreen,” he explains, pointing vaguely. “It was you.” He pushes his hair away from his face. “And… your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend?” he asks. For a second his mind goes blank, then he realises and it nearly knocks the wind out of him. “Oh God no, Harvey’s…. he’s just my friend. No, no I…” He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes meeting Robin’s and he can’t work out if the hopeful look on his face is real or his imagination. Either way, he ends up saying “I’m completely single.”

“Oh,” he says, about ten times higher than usual. He clears his throat, his hand sliding into his back pocket. “Uh… me too.”

“Seriously? What the whole jacked as hell, dyed hair tattoo artist thing doesn’t attract anyone?”

“Not around here it doesn’t, apparently,” he says, implying that the reason he’s single is beyond no-one wanting to date a tattoo artist. There’s a pause, a brief moment of silence, and Theo goes to say goodbye, to run before it gets awkward, but Robin holds out a small piece of paper.

“What’s this?” he asks as he takes it. Robin ducks his head, his bangs falling in front of his face.

“I hope it’s not too forward,” he begins. “But it-it’s my number.” He shrugs and pushes his hair back. "Just in case you ever want to call me sometime."

“Oh,” he replies. It’s a short, quick word. It hardly means anything. Certainly doesn’t reflect how his stomach as dropped out from under him, or how his brain is vibrating at an insane frequency, or how the unending cry of ‘HE GAVE ME HIS NUMBER’ blasts around his head like a fire alarm. And all the while he just stands there, the paper in his hand, blinking up at Robin like he hasn’t a care in the world. “Um… thanks.”

“Sorry,” he says immediately, his face scrunched up. “I-it was too forward, I didn’t mean like that.”

“No,” Theo says, just as Robin’s hand twitches. He slides the paper into his back pocket with a shaky hand and gives him a small smile. “It’s not… like that at all.” It’s really not. It’s not… He’s not sure what it is. All he knows is that Robin’s not at fault. “It’s okay, really.”

He turns slightly and sees his dad standing at the truck, pretending to be interested in a receipt he pulled out of his pocket. His dad hasn’t pressed and knowing him, he’s probably fully intending on giving the two of them as long as they need to work out… whatever it is they’re working out. Anxiety clutches his chest and he backs up suddenly, his hand still slid into his pocket. He needs time all right, but not here.

“I should go,” he says. “But I’ll...” His voice trails off, his fingers fidgeting in mid-air. The piece of paper burns like a small star in his pocket. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Robin says. He tosses his hair again and damn, he should not find that as cute as it is. “Look us up if you’re ever back in town.”

“I will.” He gives a wave to Robin, who responds with a wave, and Theo responds to that with a small finger gun and screams at himself the minute he turns around. He climbs into the truck beside his dad, who already rolled the windows down. Thank God, Theo thinks, because he feels fit to explode. He leans out as his dad pulls away from the curb, closing his eyes as the air tickles his skin.

“So you made a friend?” his dad asks. He doesn’t need to turn around to see the bemused smile on his face.

“He was the guy who did my tattoo,” is his reply. His dad nods, a soft chuckle escaping him, and goosebumps prickle on his skin.

“He gave you his number,” he points out. “Are you gonna call him?”

Theo sighs, his fingers tracing over the paper in his back pocket.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Maybe.”

He doesn’t call him. At least, not right away. Who he does call is Harvey, Roz and Sabrina, who all stand around his bed with him, the offending phone number sitting in the centre. He filled them in as best he could, although with all his energy being focussed on the decision, he’s only really been able to give them ‘I met a guy, he gave me his number’. And now they’ve been standing there, minutes passing in silence, while Theo stares at it with enough intensity to light it on fire.

“I think you should call him,” Roz says eventually.

“Why?”

“Because he gave you his number for that very purpose,” she tells him slowly. Theo pulls a face at her, but it only lasts for a second because… she’s right. She has an infuriating habit of being right. If she wasn’t so cute and supportive and lovely he’d have stopped hanging out with her long ago for that very reason.

“So why haven’t you?” Sabrina asks. “Called him. I mean his number’s right there. What’s stopping you?”

“What isn’t stopping me?” he mumbles, just loud enough for them to hear, and the three friends share an understanding nod. His experience with romance is extremely limited-his first and only “relationship” was the Valentine’s card that appeared in his backpack in third grade. He never chased them up, and that was the end of it. All other knowledge either comes from his friends or movies. At this moment, he feels like he’s on the edge of the deep end, nothing to help him, and he’s not sure he won’t drown when he jumps.

“Hey.” Sabrina appears at his side, her shoulder bumping against his. “I still think you should do it.” He raises his eyebrow at her. She simply shrugs in response, her eyes flitting over to Harvey as she speaks. “I mean… I know it’s a cliche, but you’ll never know until you try.”

“Yeah,” Harvey adds. “I mean what’s the worst that could happen?”

“So many things,” Theo sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He’s not blessed with what Harvey and Sabrina have-a sweet little romance that’s been blossoming since childhood-nor does he have his pick of suitors like Roz does. As far as he knows, this Robin’s his one chance. He shakes his head, his fingers drumming on his arm. “Maybe I just shouldn’t.”

“I disagree,” Roz pipes up. “I think very hot boys giving you their numbers doesn’t just happen every day and since the universe has presented you with this opportunity, I for one think you’d be an idiot to pass it up.” She delivers everything so quickly that it takes a few seconds for him to register it, and then she comes round to his side and slings her arm around his shoulders, all warm smiles and warm eyes, and he rests her head on her shoulder. “Besides, I know you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She’s not wrong. Again. If there’s one idea that scares him more than it not going well, it’s never even happening at all.

“And in the event it goes horribly wrong, we’ll all buy ice cream and we can have a good cry session,” she promises, and the other two nod in agreement. Theo closes his eyes and buries his face in Roz’s shoulder so they won’t see his blush.

God damn it, he loves his friends.

It takes a week for him to call him, even with those assurances. One day he feels braver than usual; he chalks it up to a good day at school and an even better one at practice, and so he sits on his bed and punches Robin’s number into his phone, the note sitting on his pillow. Because yes, he kept the note instead of writing it down. Nothing wrong with that.

“Hello?” Robin picks up too suddenly, and Theo bites back a squeak. He jumps off the bed and pulls on his shirt for some reason.

One chance he reminds himself. One chance.

“Hi, Robin?” he asks. “It’s uh, it’s Theo. Theo from Greenedale? You did my tattoo last week.”

“Oh, Theo, hey,” he replies. “Um, hi. H-how’s it turned out? The tattoo I mean?”

“Perfect,” he confesses. “It’s a hit with the guys on my basketball team. You should be expecting an influx of jocks coming round soon.”

“I’ll let Moth know, we’ll stock up on Gatorade.” Theo chuckles and sits on the edge of his bed, the beating of his heart slowing slightly. Maybe this could work. Maybe, if the stars are right, this won’t fall apart.

“Robin,” he begins quietly. “The reason I called was… em… I wanted to ask you-” The words stick in his throat like grains of sand against rocks. So many questions overlap in his head, each drowning the other out and turning into static. He closes his eyes, takes deep breath in, and back out. No need to overthink it, he tells himself. Just jump.

“Do you have plans on Saturday?” he asks.

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” he replies. “Why do you ask?”

Theo throws himself on the bed, his legs in the air, and is amazed at just how easy this actually is.

*****

They have their first date in Greenedale, seeing a movie at the Paramount, followed by a personalised tour. Robin gives Theo his jacket at some point, the sleeves falling past his hands, and Theo’s heart flutters.

They have their first kiss by the Welcome To Greenedale sign, Robin’s hand caressing his arm, right above where his tattoo is.

A year later, he’s laying in Robin’s bed, his boyfriend’s fingers gently caressing his newest tattoo-free of charge this time around. Theo kisses his bare shoulder before Robin goes to sit up, reminding him that he has to be at work in half an hour. Theo just pouts, grabs his arm, and tries to see if he can get five more minutes out of him.

Yeah, life is good.

#caos #caos fic #goodnam #theo x robin #theo putnam #robin goodfellow #throbin #caos ff #goodnam ff #me: hoe don't do it #me: writes a long-ass for a tiny ass fandom #me: oh my god

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