#so he keeps his mouth shut; he observes the protagonist through half shut eyes; keeping all of his thoughts to himself

[iamtheprotagoneil]

ok so im here crying over your tag essay and to crank up the angst even more, imagine neil jokingly saying to david when he was reading to him, "if i had known it takes a bullet for you to come by and sit with me like this, i would've happily gotten shot sooner 😊" and david just goes absolutely white with shock and crumbles down in fresh tears. (1)

and neil would be like, oh god no no, i'm sorry i'm just joking my stupid mouth runs away from me again 😭 david just sits there realizing how much he had hurt neil and broken his heart in the first place, and neil is panicking inside trying to comfort him and tell him it's okay, it's okay, i'm just glad you're here with me now ♥️ (2) - alicia

damn, alicia. y’all really be going off with all this angst huh 😭😭😭 

[korpuskat]

Kinktober Day 16 - Fearplay - [Tomura Shigaraki/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2,312 Summary: UA Student!Reader runs into Shigaraki at the mall instead of Izuku... too bad Reader’s developed a bit of a bad habit since they last met. Contains: noncon; DFAB Reader; fearplay, choking, death threats, dirty talk, voice  =====

Shigaraki's cold hand closes around your throat- “Five fingers and you’ll crumble.” He warns you in that low, rasping voice that makes you shiver. He tuts, "Careful. You want to live don't you?"

You start to nod, which only makes his sadistic smile grow, before stuttering out a meek "Yes."

So you go along with it. He leads you away from the crowds, off towards a quieter part of the mall, all the while struggling to keep pace with his long legs, always aware that one wrong step, one misplaced footing and it'll all be over- it doesn't even have to be intentional. And you hate yourself because that one stupid little part of your mind latches onto it.

USJ had been weeks ago- a memory that had warped with time. The counselor had assured you it was a normal feeling, a common occurrence. Associating bad things with something better, something to give you control again. In all likelihood you'll never have to face that villain again. Oh, if only. And now, now you walk with him and he's talking, monologuing about something you can't quite keep up with considering how dark and serious his voice has gone. Your head spins; you don't remember him sounding like this, but he's so close and that scent of old clothes and death clings to him just as it had before-

"Can't even pay attention." He scoffs, fingers tightening over your throat as you tremble, struggle to breathe- "I knew you wannabe heroes were stupid but that's just pathetic, are you trying to get yourself killed?"

He's too close to your ear, the threats too similar, and even if your hand had never felt so cold, it's all too real, too much like what you'd thought of in the privacy of your own head. Need burns in your belly, the raw associations of it all wash over you and you're pressing your thighs together, seeking out that meager friction before you can think twice. "Too stupid to even hold a conversation when you're being threatened! You'd never even make it to graduation! Maybe I should just dust you now, find one of your little friends instead and-"

A noise rises in your throat.

Shigaraki goes still, his sentence left hanging. Your hands fidget over your thighs, picking at the hem of your shirt as you fight to keep your focus on him this time. But he doesn't continue. A ragged breath- and his other hand touches your leg, index finger lifted away.

You snap to face him. He's close, too close- his scarred face and ruined skin and bright, wide, blood red eyes stare down at you and you think maybe it'd be better if he had that horrible hand to obscure the flat, emotionless expanse of his face. He demands, "What are you doing?"

Shaking your head, you force out a quick, "Nothing." You hadn't- you weren't planning anything, nothing to fight back, nothing that should warrant this level of suspicion. Maybe trauma had fried your brain, but you weren't stupid enough to try anything with his hand around your throat and- the thought makes your legs press together again.

Shigaraki's hand bites in harder to your thigh, leaves four indents in your skin- and his eyes burn. Goosebumps erupt over your skin, prickle under his palm on the back of your neck, that primal fear that makes every cell scream out with the need to get away from him. He's going to kill you. You don't even know what unspoken rule you've broken- you didn't fight, didn't yell, cooperated as much as you could considering what your subconscious has been bombarding you with.

"Are you..." There's something new in his voice. The menacing edge has dulled, replaced by something a little too close to uncertainty for you to feel comfortable. He licks his lips, shiny wet tip of his tongue darting over the cracked, chapped skin of his lips- and to your absolute horror, a dusting of pink appears over his cheeks. You've seen him as this disengaged monster twice now- but blushing? What are you supposed to do with that?

"Get up." He stands so abruptly, you nearly do die by his hand. Shigaraki walks with purpose, almost dragging you as you half-jog just to keep pace.

The realization that he's taking you even further away from the crowds makes your blood run cold. "Where are we going?"

"Shut up."

You do. Your lips remain tightly sealed even as he pushes open a door marked employees only and pulls you into the service halls behind the shops. The trembling starts up again as he guides you further and further into the arteries of the mall. You should be happy: if he was going to kill you, he would've already. But that only makes a ball of dread curl tighter in your belly. If he wasn't taking you somewhere to kill you discretely, what was he-

White-painted cinder blocks rush up to meet you. Your palms catch the brunt of the blow, scrape across the latex-covered cement as his hand shifts, presses hard at the base of your neck. He's right up on you now, his long, lithe body slotted against yours. Breath ghosts over your ear- and all five of his fingers drum over your skin one by one. Perfect coordination to keep you alive, the looming threat of death has you shivering and Shigaraki huffs. "Are you getting off on this?"

Shame rises hard and fast in you, exhaling a sharp "No!"

"You are." He says, but his tone lands somewhere between disgust and amazement. His voice drops low, more observational, more for himself than you. "You like when I talk. You keep shivering."

In ultimate betrayal your body proves him right, a tremor rocking your shoulder beneath his hand- "Please, stop..."

"Not even denying it." In a flash he swaps hands, his dominant right replaced with his left and a quick reminder: "Don't fight."

You wouldn't even think of it- until that right hand is reaching around you and pulling at the button of your pants. You wiggle away from his hand on instinct- which drives your hips back against his. Finding him half-hard and easily grinding against your ass has your brain short circuit, "Wait, wait- Shigaraki, I-"

"Oh, no." He laughs against your ear and your eyes are nearly rolling back. The button to your jeans pops open and he's shoving the fabric down around your thighs. "You've piqued my interest now! A useless NPC has a whole secret side quest just for me? I can't just let you go."

You twist away from him again- and his grasp on you tightens, his whole body going stiff for a moment. His chin jerks- and all at once you're aware of a soft, fluttering feeling around your hips and the cool, conditioned air of the mall against your overly warm pussy.

You should look- should know if you're slowly dying- but Shigaraki exhales darkly and answers the question for you. "That's what happens if you struggle." He'd disintegrated your underwear, that's all. "Now be still." You shiver- and nod. The hand at your throat loosens- while the other slides over your ass, down between your legs.

"You are wet." He says- and those cool fingertips squish between your sopping lower lips. Shigaraki leans in particularly close, close enough for his chapped lips to scrape against the shell of your ear. "Is it just my voice..." You bite your lower lips so hard you taste copper and still can't stop the whimper that rises in your throat. His mouth curves upwards, "Or is it the fact I could obliterate you?"

If he somehow missed your gasp, there was no way he missed your pussy clenching, desperately trying to suck his fingers inside. "Fuck." He obliges your body's whim and eases two fingers inside- and to your absolute shame, you drop your forehead against the cement wall and just let him. Shigaraki snickers, "Masochism isn't a good trait for a hero."

“I’m not.” It’s so pitiful even you don’t believe it. “You’re a-ah,”

“Is it anyone or just me?” His fingers plunge deeper, long thin digits delving in until his knuckles lodge against your labia. “Say it’s me.”

The slick slide of his fingers leaves you breathless, pressing your forehead against the wall in hopes the cinder blocks will part and swallow you whole. You know the answer, have never thought of anyone else’s haunting red eyes in your dark little escapes- and bite your lip to keep from letting the it’s you escape.

As suddenly as it began, you’re left empty. Shigaraki sucks in a breath through his teeth and mutters, “it’s like an eroge.” You’re not naïve enough to think that’s it- and it isn’t. Shigaraki pulls you back by the hand on your neck- presses up close to you again so he can wrap his arm around you and show you. His pale hand comes in close to your face- and Shigaraki laughs that horrible glee-filled noise, “You’re the innocent protagonist and I’m the boss you just can’t beat!”

Clothing shuffles- and something presses between your legs. You stiffen, thoughts narrowing down to what he's going to do, what he's doing- what you've thought about too many times and-

Shigaraki leans in close to your ear, "It's alright if you enjoy it." He snickers, rubs the head of his cock along your slit, gives little teasing thrusts between your thighs that rut against your clit. "You don't have a choice; I'll kill you if you fight."

His threat has you shivering, dropping your head to the wall again- and that's all the preamble you get. There's no use in begging. He lines himself up- and slides into your waiting heat. Your nails scrape over white paint- and Shigaraki is already panting, locking his jaw. He drapes himself over you as much as he can, drops his other hand to your hip.

"I remember you." He hisses as he withdraws, pulls your slickness with him until it's gushing down over your clit. "I touched you, that's why you- mmm- why you like this." He drums the fingers over your pulse again- and the adrenaline surges in your veins, every sense sharpening in the flash of fear. You're so acutely aware of his cock inside you, stroking your walls without any care for you. "Knowing how close you were to dying- how close you are now. One finger away from crumbling away, hah- doesn't even have to be intentional, could just fuck you too hard-" His hips snap forward- and stars dance in your eyes as his cockhead bounces off your cervix.

And you're clenching around him, holding your breath- "Never thought you'd be a little slut, get your own side quest just so I could fuck you- hhng-" Eight fingers tighten their grip, dig in until purple blossoms around them. "Maybe I'll still kill you after."

"I-" Your legs shake, tears budding at the corners of your eyes- and a heat builds behind your navel, your clit tingling with each forceful stroke of his cock. "Please, Shigaraki-"

The hand at your throat constricts- and bends you back until you're arched against him. "Beg." despite the childish glee in his voice, it's a command, leaves no question in his seriousness. "Beg for me to touch you."

It's backwards, completely wrong- the thing you should despise most in the world, should be avoiding- and you're squeezing your eyes closed, gasping out, "Touch me, please, I- I want you to touch me."

"So obedient!" He laughs- and the hand at your hip slides in, squeezes his middle fingers around your clit while the rest float freely. He doesn't let up his hold on your throat, though- leaves you gasping as he fucks you, rubs your clit with an unpracticed rhythm, too hard and rough, not quite where you need him- "You do want to die, don't you?" His middle finger hovers too close over your skin, threatens to make contact and it'll all be over and that's it and-

You clench around him, hips jerking- and whatever noise you would make is caught in his chokehold. Your muscles spasm around him- and all you can do is lean back on him, stare unseeingly at the ceiling as his cock keeps on fucking you as your head spins and empties and throbs with hypoxia-

and Shigaraki is cursing under his breath, right against your ear, words completely devoid of meaning except for the low rumbling of his voice that keeps on dragging your pleasure out. Any kindness in his hips has fled, leaving you with thrusts so hard they pin you up against the wall again, sandwiched between his bony body and the hard wall- until his teeth latch onto your ear and his cock is twitching inside you.

As soon as he's done panting, he withdraws- leaves you to sink to your knees and weakly tug your pants back up, but not before watching his cum slide back out of your puffy, abused hole. You're still lightheaded, pulse pounding in your ears- and Shigaraki is stepping back, tucking his softening dick away with careful hands. You look up to him- and his expression is back to being flat, unreadable. He should kill you, you know that- there's no reason to leave you alive when he's already isolated you.

"I'll tell them," Your mouth moves, but the words don't sound right in your cotton-stuffed ears. "You'll... you'll get caught eventually."

Shigaraki grins, "Tell them what? That you're a masochistic little slut who begged to cum on a villain's cock? Go on. I don't care."

He doesn't wait to see the tears fall from your cheeks, just flips his black hood up over his head and walks back the same way you came.

=====

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[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 4

Neil x Reader

Chapter 4: Save me

(see chapter 3, 2, 1)

summary: what’s gonna happen if we lock them together for some time...?

warnings: some violence, language and other explicit things, 18+ 

author’s note: 4,8k words, just because I thought I needed to add more plot to it because you wanted 2 shorter chapters instead of a longer one. Who’s laughing now? 

Reading this may cause a slight whiplash. Sorry, not sorry. 

song for this chapter: Aimee Mann - Save me 

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

----

The Protagonist’s eyes darted at Ives. 

“And what did she say?”

“Short answer? Nunya,” Ives shrugged, closing the door behind him.

Wheeler giggled and TP looked at her in confusion.

“Long answer,” continued Ives, joining the other two by the coffee machine, “is that as long as they're doing their job, it doesn’t matter who they are fucking in their free time.”

“And are they?”

“What, fucking? I thought we’ve already--”

“No, doing their job,” TP pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I have a mission for them, but it requires locking them together for a significant amount of time.”

Wheeler took a sip from her cup. “If they don’t bond, they’ll bone, and I’d say it’s better than killing each other.”

Ives snorted, clearly amused, but TP hid his face in his palms and groaned lightly.

“Was that your plan all along?”

Wheeler gave them an innocent smile. “Wasn’t yours?” she asked, and as she caught the exchange of looks, her eyes lit up. “You’re welcome.”

-----

You found the car parked near the front door and you had to admit - that grey-ish sedan was the dullest, most ordinary vehicle you’d seen in a while. And that’s why it was perfect.

Neil tossed you the keys and proceeded to load your bags into the trunk. You went to check the GPS setting. The total route was calculated for a little over 5 hours, which gave you enough time to go over the details of the assignment at least once on the way there.

As your mission partner took the passenger seat, you handed him the tablet with all the documents loaded up and ready to go. He nodded, fortunately sparing you the small talk and unnecessary comments, and started reading through them out loud as you followed the GPS directions to your destination.

What you didn’t expect was an almost insultingly short length of reports from the previous stakeout teams, and even a slightly more detailed operation brief was not enough to keep you occupied for too long. Exhausting all the work-related topics, you tensed, suddenly uncomfortable in the silence between the two of you. Especially since you caught Neil’s stare, because if his furrowed brows could be any indication, you had a feeling he might start asking way too many questions any minute now. 

As the radio crackled again, you groaned in frustration. There were still two hours left of traveling through the middle of nowhere, and you’d appreciate any distraction that wouldn’t make you want to drive into the nearest tree. Unlike talking to your partner. 

Neil opened the glove compartment and searched through its contents. He found a thick CD case and started flipping through pages curiously. With the corner of your eye, you saw a grin lighting his face when he finally picked one. 

As you heard the familiar piano notes, your knuckles on the steering wheel turned white. Oh, fuck no.

You glared at Neil, who was gently swaying his head, eyes closed, fighting himself to keep a straight face. When the lyrics started, he pressed his palms to his chest right over his heart and looked at you as he mouthed the words.

//When I was young

I never needed anyone

And making love was just for fun

Those days are gone//

You gritted your teeth and focused back on the road, trying to keep in check the rising anger already boiling the blood in your veins, as Neil was clearly feeling the song more and more with every line.

Well, at least this time he wasn’t--...

And then just as the chorus was about to hit, Neil mimicked the opening drum sequence and spread his arms wide, singing along:

//All by myself

Don't wanna be

All by myself

Anymore//

“If you don’t change that fucking song in the next 10 seconds, be ready to walk all the way to the city--...”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” he complained, the biggest smile not leaving his face even for a moment.

You smacked your tongue, finding your most casual voice, “...and I’m not gonna be bothered with pulling over.”

Neil turned down the volume so the music was barely audible, and while it was not what you’d asked him to do, he didn’t give you a chance to scold him. 

“I bet you’ve spent at least one evening listening to that song with a big box of ice cream on your lap,” he smirked, closely watching your reaction to his words.

You could feel your ears burning. Fucking hell, you really hated his guts.

“No,” you scoffed, but even you were not convinced by the sound of that. Judging by Neil’s expression, neither was he. You winced and groaned, ”...shut up!” 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” - he shrugged - “been there, done that.” 

“Of course you have,” you couldn’t help but snicker at the image planted in your head. 

The blue eyes studied you for a while longer before focusing back at the view outside the window. Meanwhile, the song ended, getting replaced by an instrumental track. You turned the volume up and for the next minute or two, you drove in silence. 

When you heard a light chuckle, you glanced at Neil again. There was something peculiar in the look on his face, a soft gaze in contrast to a knowing grin.

You sighed.

“Do I wanna know what you’re grinning about now?”

Neil raised a brow and his lips parted in an even wider smile.

“Probably not.”

You shook your head, drawing a long breath, wondering how you were going to survive the next forty-something hours together. You could just hope that being at the actual location and starting the real work was going to make it easier. 

Grounding yourself, you stared into the darkness stepping back under the car’s headlights as dusk slowly turned into night. You noticed a faint glow of city lights reflecting in the clouds over the horizon and you relaxed slowly, tuning out anything other than the road ahead. 

Just as the CD player jumped back to the first song again and you switched to a local radio station, now clear of static, you realized your companion had been unusually quiet for the last half an hour. You looked at the passenger seat only to find Neil deep in his sleep and your heart started beating a little faster. Suddenly, everything about the sight seemed endearing - the peaceful face under the ruffled blonde hair, the slightly open mouth almost hidden behind the turned-up collar of the dark navy jacket, the way he wrapped his arms around himself in a little self-hug…

Your lips curled into a fond smile and as your chest clenched painfully, you turned the radio down, wishing you could do the same thing to your feelings just as easily.

-----------

The second you pulled over in the alley at the back of the abandoned hotel, two figures emerged from the door and rushed in your direction. You recognized the fellow agents and jumped out of the car to make the exchange as smooth as possible. 

“Ten-minute window until the patrol comes back,” you said to a short brunette, taking your bags out of the trunk and passing her the car keys.

“Got it,” she nodded, handing you the room key in return. “Our report should be ready before we reach HQ, I will send it to you ASAP.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that the lack of an easy escape plan is intentional,” said Neil as he grabbed one of the bags and looked around.

“But it is,” you shrugged, walking into the building and heading to the nearest staircase. “No loose ends. You’re either good enough to make it out undiscovered and alive, or you get revealed and --...”

“...and then even having the cavalry on call is not going to make a difference, I get it,’ he sighed, matching your two-steps-at-once pace up the stairs, “Can’t say I like it, though.” 

“So let’s try not to do anything stupid so we don’t get caught, shall we?”

A corner of your lips twitched as you heard him scoff at your remark, but to your surprise, he didn’t take the bait. Huh.

When you reached the room, you turned the lock and looked around, taking mental note of the location of every piece of equipment left by the previous team - two cameras, night vision binoculars, and a parabolic microphone placed by the windows. Some parts of the blinds on the windows were broken, others were missing, but the remaining parts still provided a decent cover from the curious eyes peeking up from street level. Other than that, the room was exactly what you would expect from a stakeout location - peeled-off wallpapers of an undefined color, a small table with an electric kettle, a couple of chairs, a mini-fridge, and a mattress. 

As you went to check the last few minutes registered by the camera, Neil started unpacking the supplies. Seeing nothing interesting on the feed, you grabbed one of the water bottles he’d just put on the table and took a seat by the window, your usual first-hour-of-stakeout enthusiasm fending off the tiredness you felt after the long drive.

Neil took a laptop and sat on a chair at the other window, alternating glancing outside and typing in a message to TP with a quick update on your situation.

Your main objective was to observe the building on the other side of the street, especially one loft that was suspected to be a meeting place for one of the smuggling cells’ bosses. Snapping photos of the vehicles pulling over, of the visitors, and reporting any odd activity straight ahead. The usual. But it was past midnight already and your targets were having a pretty quiet night, apparently. 

As Neil finished filing in the paperwork, he stretched his arms and groaned.

“Tea?”

You rubbed your eyes, a sudden wave of sleepiness flooded your brain as soon as you lost focus on the mission. 

“Yes, please, there should be a box with a green one somewhere.”

“Ah, pity, I don’t know how well it’s gonna mix with the biscuits,” said Neil in a ridiculous posh accent, making you facepalm in response. 

Partially, to hide an amused smile. 

You really were that tired, huh?

“I take my tea with no sugar, no biscuits, and no snarky comments, thanks,” you huffed as your eyes followed him to the table.

“I, too, don’t like talking over a cuppa.”

“What did I just say--” you groaned, smacking your thigh in frustration.

Neil giggled and rolled his eyes, now lit by a playful twinkle. “All right, one ‘green tea no bullshit’ coming right up.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, glancing up to the ceiling as if it was supposed to help with the alarming level of annoyance in your system.

Less than two hours on-site and you already wanted to strangle him. 

Among other things.

And before you could stop your tired brain, it brought up a memory of that karaoke night. 

His hands roaming through your body. The sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor. Your frantic gasp when you felt him inside you. His firm grip on your hips. The heart racing in your chest. Your longing body pressing itself into him even further. His uneven breath on your neck. The quickening pace of his thrusts. Your eyes squeezing shut. His muffled moan when you tugged at his hair. The cold wall against your cheek. Your fingers interlocked. His arm wrapped around you tightly. The things whispered into your ear---

“Your tea.”

“Hmm?” you mumbled, blinking rapidly and focusing your gaze on a thermal cup in front of your face. “Oh, thanks.”

Neil studied your expression curiously, a sly grin hiding in the corner of his mouth.

“Pleasant daydream?”

“Maybe,” you sent him a smug smile and raised a brow.

His lips parted slightly at the implication. Drinking his tea, he schooled his features and sat back on the chair. 

You spent the next moments enjoying the hot beverages, the silence becoming more comfortable with every sip you took. But as the time went by and you ran out of tea, the peacefulness turned into boredom. 

Finally, Neil shuffled in his seat and turned your way. 

"We should play a game."

Even though it sounded tempting, you didn’t trust those roguish sparks in his eyes. 

“We already had a chance to play ‘yellow car’,” - you shrugged - “not my fault you chose a nap instead.”

His puzzled face gave you a hint he didn’t get the reference. Pity.

“I was thinking about some sort of...questions game,” he said and cleared his throat, shifting in his chair again. "To get to know each other better."

"Why?" you stared at him with your mouth open, suddenly taken aback. 

He gave you a half-smile. "Don't you think it's weird that the only thing I know about you is all the ways to turn you on and piss you off?"

"Wouldn't be so confident about that ‘all’ part…" you huffed and lost a train of thought as you spotted the familiar flare in his gaze.

"You’re sure you wanna challenge me like that right now?"

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the way his voice got lower. You gritted your teeth as your mind started racing to find a way out of the dangerous waters. 

"Aren't you a master of multitasking?" you teased, batting your eyelashes.

"And aren't you scared of having an actual conversation?" Neil narrowed his eyes and grimaced slightly. 

"Fine!” you fumed as you tossed your hands in the air in defeat. “Why don’t you get straight to the point because I have a weird feeling you have a very specific question in mind."

A silence that dropped after your words was heavy and you realized you’d made a mistake.

"Actually, I do,” he said, tilting his head and locking his gaze on you. “What's up with you and kissing?"

...shit, walked right into that one, huh? 

You pulled one leg up on the chair, glancing outside the window to avoid the blue eyes boring into you. "It's nothing."

“Didn’t look like nothing to me.”

Sighing, you rested the chin on your knee and wrapped your arms around it, as if that little bit of comfort was enough to make the conversation easier. Your ears were burning, your heart pounded heavily in the clenched chest, and it all was only adding to your frustration. Because it really was nothing. Or maybe it should have been, and that was the issue.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it--”

Your eyes darted at Neil only to meet his soft look. A shadow of concern on his face wasn’t helping, but you were grateful that he was willing to give you a way out.

Although at that moment, you felt you owed him an explanation. 

“No, it’s just that it’s a bit silly,” you said, wincing. “I’m gonna tell you, but if you laugh, I will murder you in your sleep.”

Neil smiled lightly in encouragement.

“Got it.”

So you took a deep breath and squeezed the first word past the lump in your throat.

“It’s just that kissing to me was always something… special,” you cringed, fully aware that you sounded like a flustered teenager. “Like it really meant something. Do you know where I’m going with this?”

Neil’s brows knitted together.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good,” you sighed, forcing yourself to breathe again. “And some time ago, I made a mistake and opened up too soon, burning myself. Fuck, it’s pathetic, I know, I just…” you hesitated and looked away, feeling the rising panic. You were exposing yourself, again. “...maybe I’m just wired that way and we should leave it at that. And never talk about it again,” your voice was hollow, the result of your brain’s desperate attempts to keep your emotions bottled up, just to keep you safe. 

And after what felt like forever--

“Okay.”

You shot him a thankful look, too overwhelmed to say anything. 

Neil got up, moving his shoulders in small circles to get rid of the stiffness. As he walked by you on his way to the bathroom, he patted your arm lightly. Reassuringly. The tip of your nose tingled and you bit the inside of your cheek, cursing a sudden wave of softness clouding your mind.  

A few minutes passed and Neil was back. He fell on the chair heavily, slowly massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. Catching a question in your stare, he shook his head and grinned.

“What?” you asked, squinting suspiciously.

Neil chuckled, leaning back and spreading his legs. “Trying to figure you out is giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, focusing on the view outside the window. 

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things, you know.”

“So it’s all an act?”

You looked back at him, suddenly perplexed. “What is?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely in your direction and shrugged. “Or rather your usual behavior.”

You snorted. “Oh, I am a real ray of sunshine, but somehow being around you makes my inner bitch jump out,” you teased, meeting his amused gaze. A corner of your lips curled and you exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, after some time you learn life is easier that way, and at one point the line blurs,” you stopped for a second and frowned, wondering what had gotten into you tonight. “Does it make any sense to you?”

Something new tainted Neil’s features as he looked away, smiling sadly.

“You have no idea.”

Just as you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, the blue eyes darted back at you.

“I’ll take the first shift, already had my nap after all,” the little laugh escaping his mouth felt forced. “You must be exhausted. Try to get some sleep.”

Oh you were exhausted, all right. But all of the sudden it felt as if he wanted to get rid of you and you couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt by that. There was something in his presence that gave you a hint that it wasn’t the best idea to pressure him about it now, and you slumped your shoulders, nodding.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, getting up. All that held-back fatigue was going to hit you in full force any minute now, and you really wanted to be laid down by then.

A few moments in the bathroom and you were back in the room again in more comfortable clothes. You rolled out a sleeping bag on the mattress and slipped into it, covering your mouth as you let out a small yawn. 

“Wake me up if anything happens or you need me to take over, will you?”

Neil shot you a quick look from his chair. 

“Sure thing,” he gave you a weak smile. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumbled. 

You curled up and closed your eyes, hoping the heaviness you felt in your chest would be gone by the morning.

--------

It took your still half-asleep brain a moment to remember where you were and what was going on. You looked around as much as you could without moving your body to avoid revealing that you were no longer asleep. Oh right, the stakeout. 

You noticed Neil sitting on the floor by the only floor-to-ceiling window near the corner of the room, looking outside. The early morning light seeping through the blinds was reflecting in the disheveled blonde hair, a fitting addition to his overall tired appearance. It seemed like he’d spent most of the night working through whatever bothered him after your last talk, but he seemed more at peace now. You studied him in a little moment of sleep-deprived self-indulgence, musing over the dark quarter zip pullover, those absurdly long legs in khaki pants--...

Okay, enough. You sat up, rubbing your face.

“How’s the mattress?”

Hearing Neil’s raspy voice made you quite tempted to invite him over to check for himself.

“Passable,” you replied instead, stretching your arms and wriggling out of your sleeping bag. You nodded at the cameras. “Anything?” 

“Not really. One visitor, already on the list,” he said as his eyes followed you around the room.

“All right,” you sighed, flipping the switch on the kettle. “I need coffee, you want some?”

“No, thank you, but if you could pass me a bottle of water--”

You grabbed one and tossed it to him, heading to the bathroom. 

When you finally looked and felt like a decent human being again, you went back to finish making coffee. As you walked to the windows with the thermal cup in your hands, you caught Neil’s resigned stare. You sat down on the floor in front of him, leaning your shoulder against the wall. A glimpse of internal battle clouded his features and you tilted your head, waiting for him to speak up first.

“I didn’t want this,” he blurted out, and when nothing else followed the statement, you cleared your throat. 

“You have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

Neil clenched his jaw. You noticed a hint of frustration in his eyes, but then his shoulders dropped and he let out a nervous chuckle, fastening his gaze on the view outside the window.

“I wanted to do things by the book. When TP recruited me… I thought I’d be just another field agent and I was okay with that,” he sighed and grimaced. “But he insisted on fast-tracking me, even when I told him it wasn’t fair to the rest of you.” Neil shook his head slowly and a corner of his lips twitched. “He promised me one of his best agents’ help on the way though. Imagine my surprise when the agent in question kept snarling at me and shoving me around instead.” 

When Neil looked back at you, you realized the meaning behind his words and your mind went blank. You stared into the blue eyes with your mouth open, trying to process everything you’d just heard and its implications.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you breathed out, feeling light-headed.

“Why?”

“Nobody told you…?” you asked, but his confused expression was his only answer. And you simply couldn’t believe that he hadn’t known all this time. “I’d been working my ass off for that position,” you huffed, studying his reaction to your words closely. “And then you showed up.”

Neil’s face dropped as he finally connected all the dots. “Fuck...I had no idea, I’m sorry.” 

Seeing his sincere look, you sighed, raking fingers through your hair. Fucking hell, what a mess. The impossible mix of emotions swirled inside you and you giggled hysterically, suddenly finding the whole situation absolutely hilarious. 

“And I had no idea I was supposed to babysit you,” you said as you stretched your legs, positioning them alongside Neil’s. 

“Thought we were having a moment here,” he scoffed, smiling lightly.

You smirked and tapped his thigh with your foot.

“Think again.”

Neil tapped you back, stifling a chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Too bad you can’t do anything about that now, huh,” you teased, wiggling your brows as you nibbled at your bottom lip.

The blue eyes lit up. “Just you wait till we finish the job,” he said slowly and placed a hand on your ankle.

But before you could respond, you heard a phone alert and Neil jumped at his feet.

He read the message quickly. 

“Seems like we are about to see some action after all,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. You downed your coffee and joined Neil by the table.

“Hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker… okay, now”

“Hope you two are rested,” TP’s voice filled the room. “We intercepted a phone call. Our target is expecting a delivery in the next hour or so. Significant enough that from this moment on, the mission objective changes.” You exchanged looks with Neil, knowing well what was coming next. You walked back to the windows to keep an eye on the street. “We have a chance to prevent this shipment from spreading to different sellers. I’m sending the cavalry your way. But you’ll need to assess the situation as it progresses.”

“Means we might have to engage early, got it.”

“It’s your call, Neil. And as we have enough intel now… no loose ends. Good luck.” said TP and hung up.

Neil tossed the phone on the table and dashed to the bags to prep the equipment. You noticed movement in the loft across the street and snapped a few pictures before looking back at your partner.

“Are you good to go? You haven’t slept tonight.”

He glanced at you and gave you a smug smile. 

“How nice of you to worry about me.”

You could feel the usual annoyance mixed with a new emotion, but maybe you were just glad to be back on familiar waters.

“Nah, I’m worried about the mission,” you snorted. “Especially if we may end up going in there alone.”

“I’m okay. How does it look out there?”

You looked outside again and tensed as a van appeared at the end of the street. “We’ve got company.”

Neil changed you by the window and you rushed to get ready.

-------

After clearing the back entrance, you found yourselves in the underground garage. 

Splitting up, you took down the guards one by one without raising any alarms. 

Neil checked the van and then you both made your way upstairs. You knew there were at least five more people in the loft, but you had to rely on the element of surprise because the cavalry was still on their way. 

As you got to the door, you cocked your pistol and met Neil’s determined stare. You nodded. 

Bursting through the door, your instincts kicked in, allowing you to put a bullet into two men before they had a chance to realize what was going on. In the next second all hell broke loose. You knew one thing - you somehow underestimated the numbers. And just as you thought that maybe you got lucky and got every last of them, someone grabbed you from behind and you felt something cold and sharp pressed against your neck. Fuck.

You dug your fingers into the arm wrapped around your shoulders, but a stinging pain made you stop any further attempts at breaking free. The blood pounded in your ears and everything seemed to slow down. 

You noticed Neil standing in front of you with a gun pointed right next to your head. 

He secured a grip on his pistol and the man holding you yelled something at him, but you didn’t listen, focusing completely on the blue eyes, now filled with a silent question, looking straight into yours.

You let out a shaky breath and blinked slowly. 

A gunshot echoed through the room.

The pressure on your neck lowered and you heard a thud of a body fitting the floor behind you. 

Neil lowered his gun. 

You stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

“Nice shot,” you said, composing yourself first.

He gave you a weak smile, and just as he opened his mouth to say something, your comms filled with a familiar voice.

“We’ve missed all the fun, eh?”

------

Neither of you said anything on the way back to the HQ, not counting the short answers to the questions asked by Ives, but even he gave up after a while seeing you weren’t in the mood for talking.  

You got your duffel bag out of the trunk and looked around. Neil was standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the building, talking on the phone. You walked up to him slowly, waiting for him to finish the conversation.

“Do they need us to get in to file a report?” 

“No, I convinced TP to give us the rest of the day off,” he said, hiding the phone in the pocket of his jacket. “We can do that first thing tomorrow, I’m just gonna drop the equipment now.”

“Great, thanks.”

You couldn’t wait to get back to your apartment. You tossed the bag on your arm and smiled at the thought of a long hot shower and crashing in your own bed. 

There was just one thing you needed to do first.

Neil took a step towards the building and without thinking too much about it, you reached out for his hand.

“Neil…?”

He stopped and turned around, puzzled. His eyes dropped to your joined hands and slowly moved up to your face. 

You gave him a nervous smile.

“Thank you.”

His features softened and he squeezed your hand gently.

“Don’t mention it.”

And then he smirked.

...of course.

“Guess that makes us even.”

(next chapter->)

[route22ny]

What My Korean Father Taught Me About Defending Myself in America

Born in 1939 during what would be the last years of the Japanese colonial occupation of Korea, my father, Choung Tai Chee, also called Charles or Chuck or Charlie, came to the United States in 1960. He was flashy, cocky, unafraid, it seemed, of anything. Wherever we were in the world, he seemed at home, right up until near the end of his life, when he was hospitalized after a car accident that left him in a coma. Only in that hospital bed, his head shaved for surgery, did he look out of place to me.

A tae kwon do champion by the age of 18 in Korea, he had begun studying martial arts at age 8, eventually teaching them as a way to put himself through graduate school, first in engineering and then oceanography, in Texas, California, and Rhode Island. He loved the teaching. The rising popularity of martial arts in the 1960s in Hollywood meant he made celebrity friends like Frank Sinatra Jr., Paul Lynde, Sal Mineo, and Peter Fonda, who my father said had fixed him up on a date with his sister, Jane, in the days before Barbarella. A favorite photo from his time in Texas shows him flying through the air, a human horseshoe, each of his bare feet breaking a board held shoulder high on each side by his students.

When I complained about my wet boots during the winters growing up in Maine, he told me stories about running barefoot in the snow in Korea to harden his feet for tae kwon do. His answer to many of my childhood complaints was usually that I had to be tougher, stronger, prepared for any attack or disaster. The lesson his generation took from those they lost to the Korean War was that death was always close, and I know now that he was doing all he could to teach me to protect myself. When I cried at the beach at the water’s edge, afraid of the waves, he threw me in. “No son of mine is going to be afraid of the ocean,” he said. When I first started swimming lessons, he told me I had to be a strong swimmer, in case the boat I was on went down, so I could swim to shore. When he taught me to body-surf, he taught me about how to know the approach of an undertow, and how to survive a riptide. When I lacked a competitive streak, he took to racing me at something I loved—swimming underwater while holding my breath. I was an asthmatic child, but soon, intent on beating him, I could swim 50 yards this way at a time.

For all of that, he was an exceedingly gentle father. He took me snorkeling on his back, when I was five, telling me we were playing at being dolphins. There he taught me the names of the fish along the reef where we lived in Guam. He would praise the highlights in my hair, and laugh, calling me “Apollo.” And as for any pressure regarding my future career, he offered something very rare for a Korean man of his generation. “Be whatever you want to be,” he told me. “Just be the best at it that you can possibly be.”

Only when I was older did I understand the warning about being strong enough to swim to shore in another context, when I learned the boat he and his family had fled in from what was about to become North Korea nearly sank in a storm. In Seoul as a child, he scavenged food for his family with his older brother, coming home with bags of rice found on overturned military supply trucks, while his father went to the farms, collecting gleanings. His attempts to teach me to strip a chicken clean of its meat make a different sense now. I had thought of him as an immigrant without thinking about how the Korean War made him one of the dispossessed, almost a refugee, all before he left Korea.

When I began getting into fights as a child in the U.S., he put me into classes in karate and tae kwon do for these same reasons. He loved me and he wanted me to be strong. I just wasn’t sure how I was supposed to take on a whole country.

We moved to Maine in 1973, when I was six years old. My father had taken us back to Korea after I was born, to work for his father, and then moved us around the Pacific—from Seoul to the islands of Truk, Kawaii, and Guam, in his and my mother’s attempts to set up a fisheries company. Maine was his next experiment, and not coincidentally, my mother’s home state. On my first day of the first grade, in the cafeteria, after a morning spent in what seemed like reasonably friendly classes, my troubles began when I went up to take an empty seat at a table and the blond haired, blue-eyed white boy seated there looked up with some alarm and asked me, “Are you a chink?”

“What’s a chink?” I asked, though I knew it wasn’t a compliment. I had never heard this word before.

“A Chinese person. You look like a chink. Is that why your face is so flat?”

This was also the first day I can remember being insulted about my appearance.

“I am not Chinese,” I said that day, naively. In a few years I would learn I was in fact part Chinese, 41 generations back, but at that moment, I tried to explain to him about how I was half Korean, a nationality and situation he had never heard of before. Half of what? And so this was also the first day I had to explain myself to someone who didn’t care, who had already decided against me.

He was a white boy from America, and he was repeating insults that seem to me to have come from a secret book passed out to white children everywhere in this country, telling them to call someone Asian “Chink,” to walk up to them, muttering “Ching-chong, ching-chong.” To sing a song, “My mother’s Chinese, my father’s Japanese, I’m all mixed up,” pulling their eyes first down and then up and then alternating up and down.

I was struck, watching Minari a few months ago, when the film’s Korean immigrant protagonist, David, is asked by a white boy in Arkansas in the 1980s why his face is so flat. “It’s not,” David says, forcefully—so many of us have this memory of someone saying this to us and responding that way. Why did a boy in Arkansas and a boy in Maine, in their small towns thousands of miles apart, before the internet, each know to make this insult?

When I got home from that first day at school, I asked my mother what the word “Chink” meant, and she flinched and covered her mouth in concern.

“Who said that to you?” she asked, and I told her. I don’t remember the conversation that followed, just the swift look of concern on her face. The sense that something had found us.

I was the only Asian-American student at my school in 1973, and the first many of my classmates had ever met. When my brother joined me at school three years later, he was the second. When my sister arrived, four years after him, she was the third. My mother is white, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed American, born in Maine to a settler family. I have six ancestors who fought in the Revolutionary War, but none of them had to fight this. I don’t know how to separate the teasing, harassment, and bullying that marked my 12 years of life there from that first racist welcome. It makes me question whether I really had a “temper” as a child, as I was told, or whether I was merely isolated by racism among racists, afraid and angry?

My father dealt with racism throughout most of his life by acting as if it had never happened—as if admitting it made it more powerful. He knew bullies loved to see their victims react and would tell me to not let what they said upset me. “Why do you care what they think of you?” he would say, and laugh as he clapped me on the shoulder. “They’re all going to work for you someday.”

“Don’t get even, get ahead,” was another of his slogans for me at these times. As if America was a race we were going to win.

Two decades after his death, writing in my diary while on a subway in New York City, I began counting off all of my activities as a child—choir, concert band, swimming, karate and tae kwon do, clarinet, indoor track, downhill and cross country skiing—and I asked myself if my parents were trying to raise Batman. Then I looked down to the insignia on my Batman t-shirt, and I laughed.

These lessons my father gave me—to be the best you can be, to fight off your enemies and defeat them, to swim to safety if the boat sinks, and in general toughen yourself against everything that would harm you—these I had absorbed alongside certain unspoken lessons, taken from observing his life as a Korean immigrant. To have two names, one American, known to the public, and one Korean, known only to a few intimates; to get rid of your accent; and to dress well as a way to keep yourself above suspicion. Did I need to train like a superhero just to be a person in America? Maybe.

But if I thought of superheroes, it was because my father was like one to me, training me to be like him.

One legend I heard about my father when I was growing up is the story of a night he was being held up at gunpoint, while he was unpacking his car. Whoever it was asked him to shut the trunk and turn around and raise his hands in the air. He agreed to, slamming the car trunk down so forcefully, he sank his fingertips into the metal.

By the time he turned around, the would-be stick-up artist was gone.

He would often ask me and my brother to punch him, as hard as we could, in his stomach. He was proud of his abdominal strength—it was like punching a wall. We would shake our hands, howling, and he would laugh and rub our heads. One time he even used it as a gag to stop a bully.

A boy on my street had developed the habit of changing the rules during our games if his team started losing. We had fights over it that could be heard up and down the street, and one day I chased him with a Wiffle bat, him laughing as I ran. My father stepped in the next time he tried to change the rules during a game and prevented it, telling him all games in his yard had to have the same rules at the beginning as the end—you couldn’t change them when you were losing. When the boy got mad, he said, “I bet you want to hit me, you should hit me. You’ll feel better. Hit me right here, in the stomach, as hard as you can.”

The boy hauled off and punched my dad in the stomach. I knew what was coming. The boy went home crying, shaking his hand at the pain. His mom came over and they had a talk. The rule-changing stopped.

I tried teasing my classmates back after being told to by my father. Stand-up as self-defense requires practice, though: During a “Where are you from?” exercise in the second grade, I told my classmates and teacher I had “Made in Korea” stamped on my ass, which elicited shocked laughter and a punishment from my teacher. I remember the glee when I called a classmate an ignoramus, and he didn’t know what it meant—and got angrier and angrier when I wouldn’t tell him, demanding that I explain the insult. When told to go back to where I came from, I said, “You first.”

Increasingly, I just hid, in the library, in books. When given detention, I exulted in the chance to be alone and read. I was an advanced student compared to my classmates, due in part to my mother being a schoolteacher, and I learned to make my intelligence a weapon.

The day several boys held me down on my street and ran their bicycles over my legs, to see if I could take it, as if maybe I wasn’t human, that felt like some new horrible level. I don’t remember how that ended or if I ever told anyone, just the feeling of the bicycle tires rolling over the skin of my legs. The day I bragged about my father being a martial artist to my classmates, they locked me in the bathroom and told me to fight my way out with kung fu, calling me “Hong Kong Phooey,” after the cartoon character, as they held the door shut. This was the fourth grade. After I got out of that bathroom and went home, I told my father about it, and he told me it was time to take tae kwon do. I had to learn to defend myself.

I would never be like him, never break boards like him, but for a while, I tried. I still cherish the day he gave me my first gi and showed me how to tie it. I learned I had a natural flexibility, which meant I could easily kick high, and I took pride in my roundhouse and reverse roundhouse kicks. But after a few years, my father took issue with a story he’d heard about my teacher’s arrogance toward his opponents, and he pulled me out of the classes. “It is very dangerous to teach in that spirit,” he told me. And he said something I would never forget. “The best fighter in tae kwon do never fights,” he said. “He always finds another way.”

I have thought about this for a long time. For the ordinary practitioner, tae kwon do and karate prepare you to go about your life, aware of what to do in case of assault. They offer no guarantee, just chances for preparedness in the face of the violence of others as well as the violence within yourself. At the time I felt my father was describing the responsibility that comes with knowing how to hurt someone, but I came to understand it as a principled if conditional non-violence, which, in this year of quarantine and rising racist violence, is one of the clearest legacies he left to me.

Like many of us, I have been trying to write about these most recent attacks on Asian-Americans, some of them in my old neighborhood in New York, and I keep starting and stopping. How do we protect ourselves and those we love? Can writing do that? I know I learned to use my intelligence as a weapon to keep myself safe from racists, starting as a child, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like enough. The violence is like a puzzle with many moving parts, but the stakes are life and death. “You’re really going to homework your way through this one?” I keep asking myself. The people attacking Asians and Asian Americans now are like the boy I met on my first day in the first grade. They don’t care whether or not we are actually Chinese—the primary experience Asian Americans have in common is mis-identification. The person who gets a patriotic ego boost off of calling me a “chink” isn’t going to check if they’re right about me, and I don’t imagine they’ll stop their fist or their gun if I say, “You’re just doing this because of America’s history of war in Asia,” even though we both know this is true. And so I have been thinking of my father and what he taught me.

The most overt way my father fought racism in front of me involved no fighting at all. He founded a group called the Korean American Friendship Association of Maine, which helped new Korean immigrants move to Maine and find work, community, and housing, along with offering lessons on how to open bank accounts, pay taxes, file immigration paperwork, and get drivers’ licenses. For both of my parents, community organizing, activism, and mutual aid like this were commitments they shared and enjoyed and passed along to us, their children, and this led to much of my own work as an activist, teacher, and writer. I am not my father, but I am much as he made me.

There’s a difference between fighting racists and fighting racism. Where my father stayed silent, I have learned I have to speak out, which has felt, even while writing this, a little like betraying him. And as a biracial gay Korean American man, I don’t experience the same identifications or misidentifications he did. I am mistaken for white, or at least “not Asian,” as often as I’m mistaken for Chinese, and have felt like a secret agent as people speak in front of me about Asians in ways they would not otherwise. I learned most of my adult coping strategies for street violence from queer activist organizations after college.

Even as I write, “I wonder if he ever felt fear living in America,” it feels like a betrayal, especially as he isn’t around for me to ask him. I think again about how my father always made a point of dressing well, for example, but it always felt like more than that. Men wearing suits as a kind of armor, that isn’t so strange. He had his suits made at J. Press, wore handmade English leather shoes—shoes that fit me. I sometimes wear them for special occasions. Among my favorite objects of his is a monogrammed J. Press canvas briefcase, the name “CHEE” in embossed leather between the straps. After his father gave him an Omega Constellation watch when I was born, he eventually acquired others. For a time I thought he did this aspirationally, but most of his family in Korea is like this: Well-dressed, with a preference for tailoring and handmade clothes. All of my memories of my uncles coming from the airport to visit us involve them arriving in their blazers.

The first time I followed my father’s advice to wear a sports jacket when flying, I received a spontaneous upgrade. I didn’t have frequent flyer miles and the person checking me in was not flirting with me either. There was nothing but the moment of grace, and the feeling that my father, from beyond the grave, was making a point as I sat down in my new, larger, more spacious seat. Because I had never tried out this advice while he was alive.

Like much of my father’s advice, it came from his keen awareness of social contexts, and it worked. His wardrobe came from the pleasure of a dare more than a disguise. You don’t acquire a black and gold silk brocade smoking jacket in suburban Maine because you want to fit in with your white neighbors. Sometimes his clothes were a charm offensive, sometimes just a sass. The jacket advice may well have been an anticipation of racist treatment, of a piece with perfecting his English so he had no accent, and raising us to speak only English. My mother spoke more Korean to us as children than he did—a remnant of her time living in Seoul.

Now that I am old enough to choose to learn Korean, I still feel like a child disobeying him, just as I do when I dress too casually, or acknowledge that I’ve experienced racism. I know I am just making different choices, as you do when you are grown, but also, I am stepping out from behind his program to protect myself. I feel the fears he never spoke about, and instead simply addressed with what now look like tactics. At these moments I miss him as much as I ever do, but especially for how I would tell him, this may have protected you. It won’t protect me.

In my kitchen the other day, as I was making coffee, I fell into the ready stance, with my right foot back, left foot forward, and snapped my right leg up and out in a front snap kick. This is the basic first kick you learn in tae kwon do. And you do it again, and again, and again, until it is muscle memory. You move across the room this way and then turn to begin again.

I wasn’t sure if my form was exactly right, but it felt good. Memories came back of the sweaty smell of the practice room, the other students, the mirrors on the walls, the fluorescent lights. All those years ago, I had thought my father had put me in those classes in order to become him, but as I sent my practice kicks through the air, I remembered how even learning them made me feel safer, protected at least by the knowledge that he loved me. I could not have said this at the time, but after those attacks, I had feared I wasn’t strong enough to be his son.

I still fear that. I suppose it drives me, even now. It is dehumanizing to insist on your humanity, even and perhaps especially now, and so I am not doing that here. Each time I’ve tried to write even this, a rage takes over, and then the only thing I want to do with my hands doesn’t involve writing, and I stop. But I know from learning to fight that hitting someone else means using yourself to do it. My father’s advice, about fighting being the last resort, has given me another lesson: You turn yourself into the weapon when you strike someone else—in the end, another way to erase yourself—and so you do that last. In the meantime, you fight that first fight with yourself, for yourself.

You may never be able to protect what you love, but at least you can try. At least you will be ready.

Alexander Chee is most recently the author of the essay collection How to Write an Autobiographical Novel. A novelist and essayist, he teaches at Dartmouth College and lives in Vermont.

[cafedanslanuit]

RFA with a MC that has dyslexia

This is the last request I had saved! It’s by @gompereatsall​, who sent me this:

The other is where MC has dyslexia (and dropped out of high school, so she doesnt even have a high school education) and she struggles to keep it s secret from her S/O

I ended up having no ideas for Jaehee :( Since it was already long, she’s skipping this particular headcanon. I hope you liked it, sending hugs!

Yoosung

He was really, really excited when he learnt you were the same age as his. His excitement decreased a little when he realized you weren’t enrolled at SKY, though.

He asked for your major, but you decided to keep it a secret. Since he didn’t want to share his either, you joked you would tell him about yours when he told you about his.

It was all fun and games until he told you what his major was.

You tried to hide for months, even going to the extent to say you had online classes so that’s why you were almost always home.

Until that night came.

You had decided to spend the quarantine together and Yoosung was having trouble with the whole online classes idea. You had just woken up and were still half-asleep when he came to the bedroom to ask for your help, since his classes started in ten minutes and he couldn’t get the platform to work.

“MC, I really need your help, please, get up,” he asked, shaking your shoulder gently. You groaned and rubbed your eyes.

“Help you how?”

“I don’t know how to use this platform, and maybe it’s the one you’re using too. Please, they will count me as absent if I’m late!”

“Hmm, how would I know how that works?” you mumbled, turning around and trying to get to sleep again.

“Because you… take online classes,” Yoosung reasoned. He pouted, his eyes going around the bedroom. “Right? You told me all your classes were online”.

The realization you had just messed up made you sit up on the bed, startled.

Yoosung was looking at you confused and you realized there was no way to explain what you had just said. You just looked at him, feeling incredibly small in your pajamas, his confused expression hurting you. You bit your lip, and opened your mouth to talk, but Yoosung cut you off.

“Can we… talk about this later? I’ll call Seven for help”

You nodded as he shut the door behind him. You let yourself fall on the bed again. You knew how much he hated secrets and you couldn’t believe you had done well for so long before letting him find out like this.

A couple of hours later, you went to the kitchen and found him there, drinking a can of soda as he looked at his phone. You took a deep breath and asked him to sit down on the couch with you so you could explain.

Once you told him the real reason behind your lie, his anger seemed to go away for a bit. You explained you were so proud of him for going to school, and that you didn’t want to share your experience with the education system, since you felt it had failed you and your dyslexia diagnose. SKY was a tough uni to get into, and knowing he studied there, you didn’t want him to know you were actually stupid.

Yoosung immediately hugged you tightly against his chest.

“You’re not stupid! Never say that again,” he said, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “It’s not like only smart people get into good unis. The exam is design in a way only with good memory pass it, intelligence has nothing to do with it,” he assured you. “I’m not really smart either. But you’re definitely not stupid. You had something that got in the way of your learning! Your school should have helped instead of letting you drop out”.

The next days, Yoosung took his time in getting educated about everything and anything that had to do with your diagnose. He found out all the ways he could help and tried his best to make your life a little bit easier. He always asked you what else did you need and what else he could do to fill that need.

And, honestly? That level of love and support was everything you needed

Zen

You were watching a series with him after a long day of work. The protagonist and their love interest went to a classic American prom and had the mandatory slow dance scene.

“I guess having something like prom would have been fun. The guys at my school went on a trip” Zen commented. You stayed in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say next. You just hummed and nodded, your eyes fixed on the screen. The episode ended and as the credits rolled, he turned to you again. “How was your prom? Who did you go with?” he asked with a teasing smile.

“Oh-- it was nice,” you answered. “Hey, I’m making some coffee for myself, you want anything?” you offered, getting up from the couch and heading to the kitchen.

“Hey! Why don’t you wanna tell me who did you go with?”

“It’s not important!”

“Oh, that means you did go with someone!” Zen reasoned, following you. “Babe, it’s okay, it’s not like you are still dating or seeing that guy anymore,” he said, his expression falling shortly after. “You’re not, right?”

“Of course not!” you huffed.

“Right, sorry, my mind went somewhere really dangerous,” Zen apologized. “So, why won’t you tell me about your prom? C’mon, I wanna know”

You sighed and turned around, finally facing him.

“I didn’t have one,” you muttered. “I didn’t finish high school”

Zen furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said. “Why… why didn’t you tell me? You know I also dropped out.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t do it for… you know, your reasons. You had to make a choice to further your career and you were also going through issues. I was just stupid”

“You’re not stupid, what are you talking about?”

“I… I had a lot of trouble at school. I have dyslexia and it made school so damn difficult, I was about to fail the year so I… dropped out. My drawings were somewhat good so I became a freelancer but yeah, my stupid brain didn’t let me have a prom”

“Okay, you have to stop calling yourself stupid. You’re an amazing artist! C’mon, don’t be so hard on yourself,” he asked, pulling you to his chest and hugging you.

Two weeks after your conversation, you got home after delivering a project and found Zen’s apartment filled with balloons, a small disco ball on a table, soft music playing one of your favourite songs.

Zen came out of the window wearing a light blue shirt and black pants, a slightly loose tie around his neck. You smiled when you saw him and left your purse near the door. As soon as you were in reaching distance, he twirled you around and then set his hand on the small of you back, his other hand taking yours. He started slow-dancing with you, his soft eyes fixed on you.

“Where did all this come from?” you asked with a grin, swaying your body to the music.

“I guess this way we both get to have a prom dance like the ones we see on TV,” he shrugged. “I even prepared punch, it’s in the kitchen.”

“Is it spiked?”

“You know me too well, babe,” he laughed, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

Jumin

Jumin had noticed you didn’t tell him stories about your school. He would tell you all about his time with V, but you never shared stories of your own. He didn’t mind it at first but was curious.

For a moment, he thought you might feel uncomfortable since he went to a fancy private school and you didn’t, but when time passed and you easily accommodated to his lifestyle he realized that wasn’t the case.

Jumin is a very observant man, so he also noticed how you had trouble reading. He had never mentioned it, figuring you hadn’t put on your contacts lenses.

That night when he left work and came to you, something couldn’t leave his mind. And of course, you noticed the tiny tell-tales he wasn’t as relaxed as he usually was when you two were together. You both were sitting on the sofa in silence when you couldn’t hold it any longer.

“What’s going on, love?”

“You know I hate bringing up work when we’re together, but…” Jumin sighed. “Assistant Kang wrote the speech I’m supposed to give at the gala I told you about and I just can’t see why I don’t really like it. I can’t even tell her to do it again because I don’t know why is it about it that I dislike,” he paused and took out a piece of paper from his briefcase. “Would you take a look at it? Maybe you can help me pin what’s wrong about it”.

You nodded and took the piece of paper from Jumin’s hands. He watched you as you scrunched your eyebrows, but kept your eyes focused on the paper.

“Do you need me to hand you your contacts?” he offered.

“I have them on,” you muttered, trying to concentrate.

“Maybe those aren’t working for you anymore? I could have the best optician see you tomorrow morning”

“No, I just-- I have-- Give me a minute to try and read this,” you tried to explain. Jumin looked at you confused. “I have dyslexia, so I have a little trouble reading long texts. But give me more time and I can finish this”

“I didn’t know,” Jumin said. He stayed in silence for a moment. “Did that make school difficult?”

He noticed the way your hands tensed. “I… I didn’t finish high school. Couldn’t keep up”.

And that was the moment everything clicked for Jumin.

He gave you the time you needed to finish reading and then listened to your comments about it. Knowing it was a delicate subject, he didn’t make further comment on it, but rather tried to be more affectionate than ever that night.

In the following days, he asked you if you wanted to get your high school diploma. He offered the help of a therapist that could help you and a tutor if you needed one. If you didn’t want to get a diploma, he still offered the help, as he knew it could still be beneficial for you.

He would ask a lot of questions about it on how he could make life easier for you. Do you prefer audio messages rather than texts? Because he would ask Saeyoung to change the RFA chat if needed.

He just wanted to know he would try and give you anything that could make you feel as happy as he was with you.

Saeyoung

Working this under the theory that Saeyoung has ADHD.

Neurodivergent team!

SILENCE, NEUROTYPICAL is your favourite catchphrase tbh

You try to help each other as much as you can! You do your best to help with his cluttering and remind him when he should get some rest. You also played a big part in changing his eating habits.

He also makes sure to add a feature for voice messages. Jaehee hates it because she is always working or listening to Zen’s recordings and it’s not practical. But Saeyoung uses it all the time and has upped his prank game sending the most annoying audios to everyone. But you know the only reason why he added it was to make your life a little bit easier.

He offers to pay for a therapist if you want to exercise your reading skills.

One late night, as you both had just finished watching a movie and were cuddling on the couch, you confessed you hadn’t been able to finish high school due to the dyslexia. You told him you hadn’t told him before because you were ashamed of it, and would appreciate if he didn’t tell anyone either. You didn’t want them to know you didn’t have a diploma.

“You know I can hack your school system and get you a diploma, right?” he asked. You chuckled and shook your head.

“Thank you, baby. There’s not need, though”

“If you want to try again, it’s okay,” he said, kissing your cheek. “And if you don’t, that’s okay too. Just whatever you decided to do with it… remember you won’t have to do it alone this time”.

[kpopchangedme]

In-Depth | Jackson Wang [M]

Ambushing Jackson in the locker room for an interview was a bad idea. Now you might find out why his talents outside the basketball court are also praised by the masses...

Protagonists: Jackson Wang & You

Word Count: 3,4k

Genre: NSFW - F*ck Boy - University - Strangers - SMUT - [Drabble 2k]

Prompts: “Oh yeah, and what are you going to do about it?” + “Don’t touch what’s not yours”

**explicit content* *dirty talk* *female oral* *unprotected intercourse (DON’T)* *worship* *breath play* *what has my life become**

Requested by: @wangslut7 J’espère que tu vas aimer, je me suis un peu emportée... ;)))) and it turned really steamy...

GOT7 | M.list

The man frowns walking in but barely slows down. You keep a wiped clean expression when his eyes detail you, sitting on the counter, wearing a long skirt and summer blouse. Your heart still skips a beat though, betraying your professional intentions. Glistening with sweat, Jackson Wang throws his gym bag on a wooden bench, still staring at you like you’re an apparition. It’s because you don’t fit in, shouldn’t be in a men’s locker room at 6 AM, but you intended that as a mind trick. Showing up at an unexpected place to get a scoop or an interesting interview… And Lord knows Jackson owes you one. He’s been blowing off your university newspaper for months; not showing up at scheduled interviews and avoiding the usual questions after a big game.

“Were you this desperate to see me naked?” He quirks a brow, flexing his bicep as he throws open his locker. There’s no question, he remembers what you’re here for, but it’s typical behaviour coming from him. You try to avoid noticing how his damp tank top clings to his back muscles but fail. In the end, your eyes drop to the safety of the notepad resting on your thighs.

“Is it true that your mother used to wake you up at 5 in the morning every day for stretching exercises?”

“Is that how you found me?” The hot player scoffs slightly deterred. “You know I don’t talk about my mother.”

“It’s alright,” you scribble something, unaffected by his coldness since you expected this reaction, “I already talked to her last Friday. Amazing lady, very nice and proud of you.”

His jaw clenches, “The game where I scored over 60 points? Write about that.”

“Everyone knows about that…” You reply confidently, holding his gaze. “I want to write something substantial, an in-depth interview about the real Jackson Wang.”

“Really?” A dangerous smile suddenly stretches Jackson’s face. “If I knew you wanted to have me deep, I would’ve made us happened sooner.” This doesn’t even make you flinch. Wang has a reputation, apparently, plenty of girls want an extensive experience with a self-obsessed Point Guard. He’s hot, you aren’t blind. Now that you’re standing alone in the same room as him, you can totally relate. You blink, trying to mask the effect the man has on you. “What’s your name, doll?”

Fricking. Doll.

“You’ve been told many times, but I guess you’re forgetful when women talk.”

“You’re smart,” Jackson chuckles, taking his sticky tank top off. You concentrate on his face, not letting your eyes wander lower on his ripped body. He’d like that way too much… And maybe you would too. “Join me in the shower, promise I’ll never forget you again.”

“Y/n, for the Uni’ paper. Remember it.” You nervously replace a strand of hair that went astray behind your ear. Suddenly the room feels very warm. “Do you have any favourite Chinese restaurants in town where a fan might run into you?”

“Are you always so frigid, doll? I could help with that.” Unphased, Jackson slips his fingers in the waistband of his gym shorts, sliding them down his thighs and calves in one swift go. Jesus, his briefs are gone too. Your whole face burns at his exposure, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. He grins, observing your shyness and walks up to you. Instinctively, you press your back against the wall and your thighs together.

He attempts to steal your notebook, but you hiss like an animal, clutching to it and staring at the ceiling; “Don’t touch what’s not yours.”

“Feisty,” Jackson licks his lips, scrutinizing you, “I’m a traditional man... I’ll take you to my favourite place if you shower with me.”

You make the mistake of inhaling through your nose, he’s close now but you had not realized he was also in the air all around you. The manly scent of his sweat and skin is arousing, mind-numbing, you can almost taste him. Shit. Lord knows you aren’t made of stone. Being in the same room as a hot naked man is a bit much for your brain, especially if he’s hitting on you. Ambushing Jackson was a bad idea after all. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” The player’s gaze slide on your neck to the little triangle of bare skin in the middle of your chest. There’s nothing impressing there to see but still, he exhales softly, like he’s affected. “Or are you a good good girl, y/n?”

“I ask the questions,” you try one last time to sound convincing and get him to focus on the interview. “You’re naked.”

Ok, not a question.

“Oh yeah,” Jackson steps even closer, trapping you on the counter. His tanned shoulders glimmer rendered sticky by dried sweat from his morning training. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

Fuck. People were right.

He’s dangerous, he has that little something that makes you lose your mind and go full-on primal. Your second mistake is to look down at his body. Until now you had managed to concentrate on his dark brown eyes or your surroundings.

Of course, Jackson Wang is ripped like a god, every muscle under his honey-toned skin shaped to perfection. When you see his already half-hard dick something in your lower stomach pinches violently. Screw the interview. You fell into your own trap this morning.

“You don’t look like you have a boyfriend,” he muses, unbothered by your silence. His right hand brushes your ankle, decidedly climbing your calf to your thigh under your skirt, leaving your skin electrified at the touch. It stops behind your knee. “You look like you’re imagining me fucking you raw on that counter.” Your breath hitches as he roughly pulls your leg until you’re against him. Instinctively your arms wrap around his bare shoulders to stay straight and he presses into your clothes. “Am I right?”

“I-I’ve never done that before.” You hush in admittance, shutting both eyes and already giving up. That sounded like a promising offer. Jackson Wang’s talents outside the court are also praised by the masses. You’re too turned on to care about his fuck boy ways or your interview anymore. You bet a guy like him and a girl like you isn’t the most unexpected thing to happen in this locker room.

“Of course, you haven’t,” Jackson chuckles lowly before kissing your throat, “But do you want to now?”

It’s not like you’ll see him again and to be honest you’ve been thinking about it since the first time you saw him. “Yes.” You don’t hang with the same crowd, might as well have fun with him.

Immediately, his hand climbs back under your skirt, reaching your panties only to get rid of them. “You’re such a good girl,” Jackson muses, not slowing down, “so open for me...” His voice is huskier than before, and you cling to him when his fingers meet your folds.

Your eyes open into his and you read his surprise at your wetness. You grind closer to his hand, craving friction and Jackson stares for a long second, frozen. Dropping your head in the crook of his neck, you repeat the motion and suck on his collarbone. He’s probably marvelling about how compliant you’re being. Should you have been playing hard to get? Thankfully he doesn’t seem to mind any longer and he exhales shakily, inserting his fingers inside you with ease. You smirk into his skin, he’s in for a joy ride, you’re full of surprises. You aren’t his usual type, just like he isn’t yours, but that doesn’t mean you are anything close to frigid.

“So wet,” He murmurs, curving his fingers and making you raise your pelvis, “you have the softest little pussy ever. Did you know that?” You grip his shoulders tighter, digging your nails in harshly. When you roll your hips forward to fuck his hand, Jackson laughs in disbelief. “Someone could walk in…”

“You’d better fuck me fast then.”

“Tsst,” he hisses in disappointment, shaking his head and claiming his hand back, “I didn’t become the best by half-assin’ things...”

“The best?” You curve a brow, observing as he suggestively licks his fingers clean.

“Yes, the best.” Jackson frowns, rolling up your skirt to expose you. He inhales sharply when he succeeds, “Such a pretty pussy, I bet it taste like heaven.” The words should feel cringey but with his low deep tone... It’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to you. The guys you usually hook up with would never dare do anything like that anyway.

“Jesus.” You accidentally hit your head on the mirror in your back when Jackson presses a kiss on top of your pubis. He’s already going for it and he tugs at your legs again, pinning your ass down on the counter to allow himself better access. One of his thumbs digs your inner thigh while his other hand spreads your labia. “F-Fuck.” Jackson licks your cunt fully, lapping your juices off like it’s honey. You immediately fist his damp hair, holding to him.

“Delicious,” he groans, and your eyes roll back in your head. At the sound, you fell your insides tremble in answer. “I love to make good girls say dirty things…”

“J-Jackson,” you manage to get out haltingly as he teases you, stubble on his chin rubbing your private sensitive parts tortuously, “I’ll… die if someone walks in.”

“Why?” He chuckles, “You’re being so good right now...” He swirls his tongue on the bud of your clit and you cover your mouth to keep from embarrassing yourself. Ok, maybe this was the best damn decision of your entire life. Rumours were true, he is amazing at this. Your walls clench from pleasure when he inserts two fingers. Jackson builds you up easy and fast, sucking on your mound while his fingers curl and your hips jolt forward.

“Fuck!”

“So swollen, doll,” he hums in appreciation against your sex, “are you alright?”

“I-I…” You gasp for air, struggling to line up words that aren’t obscenities, but Jackson understands.

Your thighs are already shuddering of their own accord, out of control. He keeps working hard, circling, moving quickly. He’s relentless, tongue and hand merciless. Jackson keeps curving his fingers, holding your legs open with his whole body. You break after a particularly harsh suck on your clit and his fingers’ back and forth seems to hit something deeper buried inside of you. You come apart, crying out. Shivers run on your spine and goosebumps spread on your skin. Jackson holds you down as you jolt forward in ecstasy. His mouth remains, licking your sex clean of your arousal squirting out. When he finally stands, it’s only because you’re so overpowered you must push him back. You might come again right away if he keeps this up.

“Shit...” You curse, hand on your chest to calm your heartbeat. Your whole body feels numb and heavy. Jackson stares at you in awe, almost like he’s the one who just came. You never orgasmed that intensely with anyone before. What the hell just happened?

“Wow.” He breathes out, looking at you with round eyes instead of his usual smug smirk.

He’s also a wreck, full wet lips and messy hair sticking up in the air. When a man eats pussy like that, it’s clear he deserves to be praise to the skies. You can’t resist and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a first kiss. Jackson follows, crashing his mouth on yours without any restraint. Your tongues meet rudely, you’re both way past caring about being decent anymore. Eager, one of your hands runs down his tone body to get a hold of his erected dick. Jackson lets you work your magic, too busy kissing you and caressing your thighs to care. Your fingers course on his burning sticky skin, taking their time to graze his pecks, abs, sliding on his back to explore the muscles of his ass. When you finally take him in your palm, he instantly groans, snuggling closer. Amused, you stroke him a few times, smearing his precum with your thumb.

“I think you promised to fuck me…” You say although you aren’t sure you can take it anymore and he pauses his kissing, pulling back.

“Get down,” Jackson orders darkly, making a shiver of excitation run down your back. You obey, sliding down the counter to stand in front of him on your wobbly legs. If someone was to come in right now, they’d wonder what he’s doing naked when you are still fully clothed. Jackson presses a kiss on your lips one last time before spinning you towards the counter. Obediently, you bend over, staring at him in the mirror as he lifts your skirt again, taking his time. “Fuck, you have the best ass... Why hide it?” Jackson stops to firmly massage it with both hands, grunting and rolling his hips forward. His cock brushes your over-sensitive parts and you grip the counter, holding your breath for what’s to come. He doesn’t seem too stressed and keeps toying with your ass, rolling his palms to raise your cheeks and releasing your skin to watch them bounce.

“Jackson…” You bemoan and he meets your eyes in the mirror, a cocky grin plastered on. “F-Fuck me while I can still take it.”

He chuckles, pulling again until you’re practically bent in half. He rocks his hips, running his dick on your wetness and letting out a satisfied groan. “Don’t worry,” his jaw clenches in concentration as he aligns himself at your swollen entrance, “I’ll give you in-depth, one on one Jackson Wang, baby doll.”

You’re about to reply something snarky when he pushes in, making you forget whatever you were going to say. While one of his hands predictably stays on your ass, the other comes up to fist your hair. You arch, allowing him deeper. Jackson pulls back until his tip is almost completely out before thrusting forward powerfully. Unable to remain quiet, you cry when he fills you again, stretching your hypersensitive sex in the most delicious way.

“O-Oh, shit!” Jackson picks up a rough pace, fingers bruising your ass to hold you still. “Fuck!” You gasp every time your skins meet.

“Such a dirty,” he thrusts, almost making your teeth clatter, “dirty mouth!”

“Please, please don’t s-stop!” You beg and Jackson’s grin widens.

“Your pretty pussy is so soft and wet, doll.” He wipes sweat from his brows, still tugging at your hair. “I could fuck it forever.”

Your eyes shut at his words, and your walls clench around him. Waves of pleasure already course through your body. Jackson keeps going evermore, faithful to his claim. Every push now has you trembling, and he releases your hair, wrapping his hand to hold your throat instead. He doesn’t add pressure. The messy moans you’re letting out are vibrations on his palm, and it’s clearly doing things to him.

Jackson pants behind you, “Open your eyes.” He commands and you execute, holding his gaze in the mirror with heavy eyelids. “You’re so tight. S-Shit.” You clench once more around his cock and he groans, sliding a foot to spread your legs further apart. “Are you really…” He fucks harder and your whole body shudders unable to take it much longer. “… Gonna come again just like this? I haven’t done anything yet.”

You stare in disbelief, fighting a new rush of thrill. You’ve already came once; he must be kidding. “What else can you d-do?”

“Oh, doll…” Jackson chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “I am the best.”

You gulp, throat bobbing in his hand. Perhaps he’s just being cocky, but he’s been amazing so far… Your insides jitter and you cry out. Fuck, you aren’t going to be able to last forever, unlike a certain someone. As if aware of this, Jackson’s hand on your neck tightens lightly. The action limits your air supply but curiously, the new sensation isn’t horrible, far from it. Your eyes go wide when your lungs tingle in protestation. Jackson bites his lips, observing your expression in the looking glass. Weirdly enough, you’re even more turned on than before. The hand on your throat is distracting you from your throbbing, over-stimulated folds. Attentive, Jackson releases you and oxygen suddenly fills your burning chest, nearly making you come right away. You heave, letting out a litany of curses and clutching to the counter for dear life. Jackson laughs, thumb stroking your jaw gently as it relaxes.

“Again?” He asks and you surprise yourself by promptly nodding. His hand tightens around your throat once more and this time you’re more than ready. He keeps burying himself into you, your whole body is on fire, lungs and sex about to explode. Your thighs begin to shake violently and your back curves. You’re lightheaded, you’re about to break and come again. Knowing, Jackson releases the pressure at the right moment, letting air fills your lungs abruptly.

All those sensations at once are overwhelming. You cling to the counter, out of your mind when you come undone. You’re quaking, riding the waves of your second orgasm and Jackson gives up too. His muscles tense and his hips gradually come to a stop. He presses against your ass, twitching and emptying himself completely. His hot cum fills you in spurts.

You are still completely out of it when he pulls back and his cock falls out, done. Jackson is still short-winded, but he starts cleaning you off with a paper towel right away. His touch is strikingly delicate as he wipes what’s leaking down on your inner thigh.

“Your perfect pussy took it all so well, doll.” He whispers in your ear like it’s your secret to keep before kissing your neck. Your silence doesn’t seem to bother him much and he bends to pick up your discarded underwear. Jackson helps you step in like you’re an impotent little girl. For once in your life, you certainly feel like one. He even replaces your skirt expertly as nothing happened. You try to keep your thumping heart and you’re erratic breathing under control when he hugs you tightly.

Jackson Wang is actually hugging you… Minutes after fucking you into oblivion.

“Wait here,” he presses a series of pecks on your jaw, not minding your dazed state, “I’ll shower real quick.”

“Actually…” you are still holding onto the counter when he pulls away, “I should probably show–”

“You should probably sit here and wait for me, like a good girl.” Jackson grins widely, forcing you to go sit down next to his abandoned gym bag. “The swimming team has a morning practice at 7:30.”

“Oh!” Panicked, you turn to look at the digital clock on the wall. “I should go!”

“Stay,” Jackson doesn’t even bother looking back to see if you’re obeying. He’s already in the open massive showers, half-yelling to be heard over the running water; “Let’s grab breakfast if you don’t have plans!” You watch his back as he washes off any traces of you and his morning training. What’s left of his cum sticks inside your panties, it feels unfair that he’s the only one getting cleaned. Still, you choose to accept, curious at the perspective of sharing a meal with him but already hating yourself for being so excited about it.

“Okay,” you yell back, jumping on your shaky legs to fix your hair and makeup in the mirror where you just watched him fuck you, “but only because you still owe me an interview!”

“I’m sure you have plenty of amazing things to write about me now!” Jackson laughs, shutting the water off. “Then we can go to my place. I’ll show you what else I can do.”

You bite your lips, wiping a smudge of mascara from under your eye. “Sounds great,” you manage to reply just before he reappears in all his wet, steamy, god-like glory.

“Great,” A still very naked Jackson repeats, grinning like a little kid as he steps into his clean sweatpants, “you won’t regret it.” Perhaps clothes should be forever banned from campus. The thought never occurred to you before.

Cautiously exhaling, you feel the familiar pinch of arousal in your lower stomach watching him get dressed. Again? You’re still throbbing everywhere but apparently, you’re already excited for next round. Feeling your gaze on him, Jackson turns, winking as he puts his t-shirt on. His abs stretch deliciously before sadly ending up being covered.

“I’m sure I won’t…”

GOT7 | M.list

[yellowcanna]

Humanity’s Strongest Nanny

Summary: If anyone told Levi that he would find a full-time career in baby-sitting some rich bastard’s spoiled brat a year ago, he would shove a rifle up their ass and pull the trigger.

He’s gonna murder Hanji.

Protagonists: Nanny Levi, young Eren

Genre: Comedy, Family, Possible fluff

Rating: T

Author: Canna / Yellow Canna

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 1 - 6 Years Old

"Where did he go?"

The thumbing sound of footsteps echoed down the dark corridor.

"He's got to be around here somewhere!" The man leading the group said through gritted teeth as he adjusted his night vision goggle in attempt to see through the shadows in the far distance. The men around him were observing the area cautiously with weapons clutched in their hands—ready to fire at any given moment.

"Sir!" A bearded man suddenly called as everyone turned to see him pointing at something on the ground.

The leader shoved away his men and knelt down to see some black stains on the cracked concrete. He wiped his gloved hand over the sticky fluid, rubbed his fingers together before bringing it up to his nose for a sniff.

The moment he caught that familiar metallic smell, a cruel smirk lifted his lips.

His eyes followed to where the black trail was leading towards and nearly laughed at their prey's stupidity.

Before coming down here, they've studied the blueprint well. They've memorized every nook and corner of this hellhole. The idiot had ran himself into a dead-end. He made a few hand gestures in the air and immediately his men spread out with rifles and guns pointed towards the dark hallway.

"Well, well, well, to think the infamous Rivaille would come to this kind of end!" The leader snickered as his men began to march forward in an organized line—movements completely synchronized. With each step they take, the sound of their footsteps would thunder in the darkness and shook the entire building.

The leader walked behind the line, keeping a safe distance with his men acting as barrier while continuing to throw out words of mockery. "To be betrayed by your own informant! How stupid!"

As the group close in on their destination, their fingers began to tighten on the triggers, ready to pull the moment their target comes into view.

"Look how far you've fallen! The entire underground knows who you are and where you are! There's no place for you in this world anymore!" The man laughed hysterically as though it was the best joke he has ever heard. "Number one hitman?! Don't make me laugh, Rivaille! You don't deserve being called number one! The number one is mine! It was always mine!"

The moment the men took another step, they all froze in shock as they stared at the end of the hallway that had become clear to their vision. There, sitting against the wall, was a man. He wasn't just any man. He was one of their own—a comrade they thought they had lost in the earlier battle.

He was the second-in-command in the operation.

He sat there; eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at them with his mouth wide open. His white shirt was stained by the same dark substance they had been trailing. They could still see some flowing of the wound through their goggles, adding to the tiny puddle under where the man lifelessly sat.

"What's wrong?" The leader asked when his team had stopped. Since he was standing a bit further back, he was still unable to see the end of the hallway.

"Number one?" A husky voice suddenly snorted, sending goose bumps crawling over the man's skin as he quickly whirled around with his gun raised. His men hastily did the same, looking all over the place as they aimed their guns wildly around them—searching for a target.

Out of nowhere, a couple of cylinder objects were dropped right in the center of their formation before an explosion of light overtook the darkness.

The men screamed as they shut their eyes in pain.

No one saw a petite Asian male walking out of the group, dressed the same as everyone else as he removed his night vision goggles, revealing his closed eyes. He pulled out a rectangular package from his pocket and placed it down by his feet.

"You're not even fit for the role if you can't even tell there's an extra member on your own team."

With his eyes still closed, he walked around a corner. Pressing down on the button in his left hand, the entire building shook as explosion blasted through the hallway like a torrent of flames.

The raven haired man ignored the heat of the flames licking at his back as he walked up the stairs, eyes still closed yet somehow able to avoid all the obstacles in his way. It was as though he was able to somehow see with his mind as he moved through the building until he finally reached the surface.

It was when the cold wind brushed again his cheeks did he finally opened his eyes to the starry winter sky.

Rivaille stared at the head of the sun that was already peeking out in the horizon. The light irritates his eyes, but he didn't look away. Despite having lived for so many years, the man realized that he had never properly looked at the sun like this before. Soon, the construction workers will arrive and demolish the building behind him—erasing all traces of the battle that had occurred in the rundown museum.

Feeling warm fluid dripping from the tip of his fingers, he glanced to his shoulder to find that his blood had seeped out of the makeshift bandage again. He clicked his teeth in annoyance, but didn't bother with it.

Right now, his priority is to get out of here first.

The moment he took a step forward, a sense of danger suddenly rushed through him. Without even pausing to think, he ducked behind a car as bullets pierced into the ground of where he once stood. Then another bullet shot right through the outer shell of the car he was hiding behind, hitting right into the fuel tank.

The man wrinkled his nose when he caught the heavy scent of gasoline. This car is completely unusable now.

"Tch…the bastards even called in snipers." He cursed, looking down at his right leg that couldn't evade in time and was pieced through. He ripped off the fabric of his sleeve, using it to quickly bandage his leg before ripping off the side mirror of the car. He held the piece of mirror up, using it to reflect the buildings on the other side of the car. From the location and angle of the bullet holes left on the ground, he was easily able to pinpoint which buildings and levels the snipers were hiding in. And from the amount of bullets that were aimed at him, he'd say there's about five of them.

He looked around and found that the nearest place he could run to was a narrow alleyway. It was just on the other side of the road. While it wasn't far, it was enough to get him killed before he could even get half way there.

He huffed, pulling out a pack of cigarette to found that he only got one left. He snatched it up with his lips and lit it up with his lighter. He took a deep breath before breathing out a puff of white smoke.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, the cigarette flew into the air, creating a smooth ark over the car before landing right into the puddle of gasoline that was leaking out of the fuel tank.

Seven seconds ticked by before the car suddenly blew up before the snipers' eyes.

Shocked by the sight, they can only watch as pieces of the car were blown apart from the force. None of them noticed the car door that was blasted across the street, nor the petite figure that had slipped out from behind door and right into the alley.

Rivaille landed with a pained grunt, but he gathered himself quickly, using the wall as support to pull himself up. The right side of his clothes were burnt off and his skin suffering second-degree burns. However, that matters little to the Asian. His right side was pretty much useless now, so adding some burns wouldn't make much difference.

He limped his way through out the narrow passageway until he found the lid of a sewer. He swore under his breath. Sewers are far from sanitary. Even if all these assassins aren't able to kill him, whatever diseases living down there definitely could. Unfortunately, he doesn't have much choice right now. It was either die here, or later in some garbage dump. He chose the latter. If he was to die, he rather it be from his own stupidity than by someone else's hand. He stuck his finger into the hold of the lid, grimacing at the amount of germs he was getting on his skin as he pulled it open.

With one last look around, Rivaille disappeared into the darkness as the lid fell back into its proper place as though it had never been touched.

As the sun slowly rise into the sky, the citizens of Shiganshina greeted yet another new day.

People walked about the street, completely carefree and oblivious to the battle that had taken place in their city. The workers arrived at the old museum and began the demolish process as scheduled. They put out warning signs all over the street, making sure no one could get near as the building began to crumble, burying the charred bodies of men beneath the earth—never to see the light again.

Even as the night fell once more, the city remained lively and full of lights. A petite man sat in the dark alleyway as he stared at the giant Christmas tree in the distance.

To the happy couples walking about, it was another year of celebration.

To the hitman however, it was just surviving another year.

No…perhaps he wouldn't survive another year.

He lost too much blood…to the point where remaining conscious was all he can do. Not to mention with all these open wounds, he's certain he had at least picked up one or two deadly diseases. He also wasn't wearing much to protect himself from this chilling weather either. The only thing that would provide him the slightest bit of warmth—his lighter—was completely used up navigating through the sewage.

"Wah! It's snowing!" The excited scream caused the raven to turn to the source of the light beyond the shadows where a woman was waving her arms up at the sky with her boyfriend laughing beside her.

The hitman looked up and indeed saw snow fluttering down from the sky. Letting out a small huff, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. For the first time since he could remember, he slept. Not a five minute nap, but a full length sleep that shut away all of his senses and leaving himself vulnerable to the world around him.

As time slowly passed, the night fell into silence once more.

The people were gone, tucked away in the safety of their home as the light of the Christmas tree disappeared, leaving nothing but darkness behind. The only thing left was the tiny little snowflakes, drifting down from the sky as they covered the raven haired male like a thin sheet of blanket.

"Mommy! Daddy!"

A shrilling voice rang next to his ear as the raven haired man's eyebrows twitched.

"Over here! Over here!"

The irritating voice continued, buzzing like an annoying fly as the hitman slowly parted his eyes. His vision was blurry, but he could make out a tiny figure jumping up and down next to him, waving at something in the distance. When he shifted, some of the snow that had gathered on his body fell off.

That caught the tiny thing's attention as he turned, bright green eyes meeting steel grey ones.

Rivaille squinted, trying to focusing his sight until he made out the wide, smiling face of the boy.

"You're pretty!"

Those words caught the man by surprise as his eyebrows twitched. Never in his twenty years of life had anyone ever told him such words before. Usually pretty wouldn't be a description people use on him.

However, the moment was broken when the boy spoke out his next words.

"I found you, so you're mine now!"

"Fuck off." Rivaille hissed weakly. His voice was hoarse and even cracked a little, but it was enough to get the message across.

At first, the boy had a look of disbelieve, obviously his demands have never been turned down before. His cheeks puffed up as he stomped his feet like a cliché pampered brat.

"You're mine!"

"…Are you stupid?"

"You're stupid!" The boy shouted, angry tears brimming around his eyelids. "I'm gonna tell daddy!"

As the boy was turning around, Rivaille caught the sound of car engine approaching from the distance. He looked to the boy who had ran out of the alley, heading towards the other side of the street where a man and woman stood, surrounded by some men in fancy black suit.

"Daddy!" The boy shouted as tall man with rounded glasses turned just as the screeching sound of tires resonated through the air.

The hitman didn't know what possessed him. He didn't even realize he still had this much strength as he flew out of the alley, grabbing the boy by his hoodie with his better hand and flung the brat right into the glasses wearing man.

As the force of the car shattered the left side of his ribcage, Rivaille looked back into his life and found how empty everything has been. Ever since the day he was born, it was nothing but a battle of survival. Every step of his life was paved by the bodies of the people he killed. He never once regretted his choice. He killed because that's what he must do to survive. However, as he had gotten used to killing, he began to feel numb of everything else. There is no thrill or fear when he goes after a target. It was just a job after all—a daily life thing for him.

Day after day, it was always the same. Kill someone, get the money, kill more people, get more money. An endless cycle over and over…

Perhaps this was what he had always been waiting for. Perhaps all this time, he was living just for this moment. The moment where the cycle would finally break, bringing this mundane game to an end. But of course…being the world's number one hitman and the most wanted in the underground society, nothing ever goes Rivaille's way.

He didn't know if he should blame his ridiculously strong vitality or some shitty snot-nosed brat that doesn't understand what no means.

"As you can see, Mr. Rivaille. My son has taken quite a liking to you."

"No shit." Rivaille retorted as he lay in the small, single bed wrapped up in white bandages with multiple IVs injecting all sort of substances into his body. Whatever's going into his veins, Rivaille can be certain that it wasn't anything good judging by how unnaturally numb his body felt. His right hand and leg were in casts with his left limbs chained to the bedpost by handcuffs. He stared at the older man with his right eye—his left bandaged up thanks to the car that slammed into him.

Now that his head is completely clear and his vision no longer blurry, Rivaille recognized exactly who the smug looking man standing before him.

Grisha Yeager.

In the government society, people known him as an accomplished doctor who owns the state's largest hospital.

However, in the underground, he was a scientist running multiple facilities around the world researching and performing illegal human experiments. He was a complete madman, but his skill was something many people in the underground sought after.

"Work for me as my son's caretaker or I could hand you over to the people after your head. The choice is yours."

Of all of Rivaille's life, that must be the most ridiculous demand he had ever heard…and he had heard a lot. He didn't even need to think to know what this man is after. He may say it's for his son, but the look in the man's eyes clearly lust for power.

Power that only Rivaille could give him.

That was what everyone in the underground wanted. With someone as skilful as Rivaille, he became a dangerous entity. Many mafias tried to get him to join their family, but the hitman turned every one of them down. Due to that, he quickly became wanted world-wide. It was simple really. If no one could get him, then they would destroy him before he could turn his guns towards them. They would use him when they could and destroy him the second they get the chance.

That was how he ended up here, because a certain shitty four-eye gave them that chance.

And now some shitty four-eye doctor thought he could control him just because he was injured a little bit more than normal.

"What makes you think you're in the position to strike a deal with me?" Rivaille asked as a dangerous glint flashed by his eyes. A veteran would instantly be able to pick up the bloodlust he didn't even bothered to hide, but Grisha Yeager was no veteran. He bet the man never even shot another person before. All he does was conduct experiment on people who can't even fight back.

Then again, if he was as smart as they say, then he wouldn't even think of controlling Rivaille when so many before him—all powerful individuals—had failed.

"You seemed to be misunderstanding your situation, Mr. Rivaille—!"

Without even waiting for the man to finish, Rivaille suddenly bolted forward. The handcuff on his left wrist broke apart through brute strength as he snatched one piece of the broken handcuff and pointed the jagged edge of the metal against the man's delicate throat.

Immediately, guards rushed into the room, all of them armed guns that looked brand new, as though never have been fired before.

Rivaille snorted as he kicked Grisha off his chair before cracking the knuckles of his better hand.

It literally only took him ten seconds.

The guards Grisha had hired might have been pros, but being bodyguards for so long and kept away from action, they have grown sluggish. Rivaille didn't know what kind of life they led before hired by Grisha, but in front of the number one hitman, they were all amateurs.

"So…" Rivaille nudged the barrel of the gun against Grisha's temple. It was a little something he had snatched from one of the guards before throwing him out the window. He sat on the edge of the bed, sucking in a deep breath of the cigarette clasped between his lips before nudging it to the corner of his mouth and breathed out a stream of white smoke.

The man's head was trap under his foot, trembling and spluttering words that he didn't even bother trying to understand. He simply enjoyed the sight of what the charismatic and technically powerful man was reduced to.

Rivaille had seen too much of these kinds of people. These are the people that hides behind others and talk big but when real power stood before them, they could do nothing but coward.

It was utterly pathetic.

He thought about killing him. The man had attempted to threaten him after all, and Rivaille doesn't take threats lightly. He also has no qualm on killing the most influential man. He was already wanted in the underworld, adding in those tax leeching police hardly makes any differences.

But then, Rivaille remembered the tiredness that had been eating him away for some time now. The boredom he felt when he finishes his target and his growing lack of motivation. That was how he had fallen into that trap in the first place.

"…Let's make a deal." Rivaille smirked. It was just a spur of the moment, but Rivaille didn't think too deeply into it. After all, when he gets bored, he can just massacre everyone and leave. "I'll take on that babysitting position of that bratty kid of yours. For that and in exchange for your life, you're going to do me a little favour."

"I-I'll do anything…!" The man whimpered when Rivaille grinded his foot against his head, pulling some hair out of its roots and further pushing the man's face into the marble tile.

"Put up a notice for all the underground to see. Tell them Rivaille has died under the hands of your men. It shouldn't be too hard for you to get me a doppelganger and implant my DNA into the body right?"

The man instinctively tried to nod, but when he found that he couldn't because of Rivaille's foot, he spluttered his words out. "Y-yes, yes!"

"Good." Rivaille removed his foot. His lips lifted in a faint smirk as he slowly rolled out a tiny capsule hidden under his tongue. The moment Grisha tried to get up, a pain prickled the side of his neck. He raised his hand only to find something small and cold sticking out of his skin.

"W-wha—?!"

"You won't die, relax." Rivaille huffed at the paleness of the man's face. Now that he took a closer look at him, the man already seemed to have aged ten years compared to when the hitman first saw him after waking up.

"That's just a special type of bacteria created by a certain acquaintance," Rivaille bit out the word there, "of mine. They're perfectly harmless until mating season, which happens early spring—around March. The types I've given you are all females. I have the males. Get the picture now?"

As pathetic as Grisha is, he is a smart man and was immediately able to put the pieces of Rivaille's words together. The man gritted his teeth as he glared at Rivaille with both hate and fear as he took in the information. As a scientist, he had never heard of such bacteria before. It has to be a bluff—

"Whether it's a bluff or not, you'll find out when the time comes."

"What do you want? I said I will do as you—"

"It's just a little precautious. Don't worry. As long as you don't plan on turning against me, I have no reason to kill you. Who knows? Maybe we'll get along in the future."

With that, Grisha's fate has been sealed as the dark cackle of the devil rang next to his ears.

A week later, the name Rivialle forever disappeared from the underground.

Humanity's strongest hitman has been killed. Many large organizations secretly let out a breath they had been holding for years. Rivaille's name that has been sitting on the top of the chart was finally removed and replaced by another. With the biggest threat to all under-grounders gone, their society continued to function as normal.

Within a month, no one bothered remembering the once greatest hitman anymore. His name faded away, joining all those other names that were lost in the darkness.

At the same moment Rivaille's name vanished, a new name was born.

Levi Ackerman—humanity's strongest nanny.

"No!" A high, squeaky voice echoed down the hallway, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

As Levi strolled down the long hallway, he could hear the maids of the manor gushing over the brat, using those disgustingly sweet voices in attempt to calm the child.

With a click of his tongue, Levi raised a foot, ignoring the butler screaming behind him as he kicked the door off of its hinges. All at once, the noises in the dining room died away. When the maids saw Levi approaching, they quickly backed away. While they had never interacted with the newbie worker, just his aura was enough to make them tremble in fear.

They couldn't understand why the master of the manor would hire a guy like this to look after their young master. More than that, they couldn't understand why this violent man was given rights over all the servants in the house.

"What's going on here?" Levi asked, looking down at the shattered plate of food before turning to the older and more experienced looking maid.

The old lady jumped when his eyes landed on her, but quickly explained nonetheless.

"T-the young master wouldn't eat his dinner…" The old lady shuddered when Levi's glare grew cold.

"Why?"

The elderly maid was stunned by his question. Her eyes darted around as she thought over everything that had happened before remembering the root of the problem. "This a-afternoon…the young master wanted to eat candy so we—"

"I'm not hungry!" Eren Yeager —the spoiled brat of Grisha—declared. "I'm going to play!"

The boy hopped out of his chair. When a butler came up in attempt to reason with him, he was rewarded by a kick in the shin.

Levi narrowed his eyes.

With two wide strides, he crossed the distance between them. He picked up the boy by the back of his collar and before anyone could react, he drilled his knee into the kid's stomach.

Immediately, stomach fluid along with the shit the brat had eaten from the afternoon gushed out of his mouth along with tears and snots.

The maids and butlers were shouting as they tried to approach them, but were easily stopped by a single glare from the ex-hitman.

Levi dropped the kid, waiting for him to finish emptying his stomach before picking the boy up and dropping him back into his chair.

"Someone get some food and clean this disgusting shit up."

Levi pulled out a chair beside Eren and sat down; ignoring the way the boy was pitifully curling into himself, no doubt still feeling the pain.

Time slowly ticked by.

By the time Eren's hiccups died away, a maid finally returned with a plate of food. Levi frowned at time it took for that girl to get food. Looks like it's not just the brat he'll have to re-educate.

"Get over here." Levi frowned when he saw the girl still standing by the doorway.

At first the girl was hesitant, but when Levi's brows began to furrow in impatience, she quickly ran over, almost tripping a couple of time in her haste.

"Took you long enough." Levi snatched the plate over as the maid paled.

"Um, t-that's—" Levi glared at her, causing her to shrink back and shook her head, indicating that there's nothing.

Even without the maid speaking, Levi knew what the issue was.

The food on this plate obviously looked plainer and more simplified compared to the one on the floor. It wasn't hard for Levi to guess that this is the servant's food and that Eren's proportion are all gone because the brat decided his food fits the floor more.

"Your stomach should be empty now right? Eat." Levi slid the plate over to the kid. He didn't raise his voice, but that just made it ten times scarier as the child shivered under his presence. Large, pearly tears were rolling down his face, but he didn't dare to cry out loud. He was even trying to hide his sniffs, scared that if he makes even the slightest noise he'll get beaten again.

Levi felt something pricked his heart at the sight. He frowned as he looked away from the boy, trying to figure out what came over him. It was a weird feeling—something completely new and unknown that intrigued Levi.

"Ugh…uh…" Hearing pained moans, Levi looked back to the kid to see him struggling to swallow the food in his mouth.

At first, Levi wondered if he had hit the brat's stomach too hard. He was certain he had held back. However, when he looked closer, he realized it was just the kid was trying to shove too much down his throat at once.

"Are you stupid?" Levi growled as he pulled the kid's hands away from his mouth and gave a sharp pat against his back, forcing him to spit his food back into his plate.

"D-don't huwrt me!" The kid cried as Levi's brows twitched again. He was tempted to whack the kid over his head, but decided against it at the last moment. He wrinkled his nose at the mush all over the plate. Swallowing his disgust, he grabbed a fork and stabbed it into a piece of smaller meat and held it up to the kid's mouth.

"Take small bites or you'll choke yourself." Levi said coldly.

Not daring to defy him after what happened, the child quickly leaned forward and bit into the soggy meat. He chewed quickly at first, but when he saw Levi glare at him, he slowed down. He chewed and chewed until all the flavour in the meat is gone. He swallowed it before opening his eyes to see a piece of veggie held in front of him. It was a carrot, something he hated, but didn't dare to voice it out.

Levi watched as the kid ate the carrot with a pained look on his face. Once the kid finally swallowed, he held the fork over to the kid.

"You can eat by yourself, can't you?"

The brat quickly took the fork from him. It was then that Levi realized how small that hand is. How old was this kid again? Six? When Levi thought about it, it was right around six that he made his first kill.

Time slowly ticked by as Levi watched the boy eat. He could tell that the kid's already full and couldn't eat anymore, but the brat didn't dare to voice it out. He just keep picking at the remaining food, sweat rolling down his face and tears threatening to fall again.

With a sigh, Levi stood up. It was 10:30, about time for little brats to go to bed anyways.

"Come on, you're going to sleep."

Eren perked up at his words. In the past, the kid would have thrown a tantrum about not wanting to go to bed. Now, he couldn't be more eager. Anything to get away from the torture of stuffing himself.

However, when the boy tried to get up, he cried out at the sharp pain coming from his stomach. He held onto his tummy and tears were streaming down all over again.

"Tch." Levi reached a hand out to the kid, only to notice how filthy the brat is. His shirt was filled with bits of food and sauce…as well as some of his puke. Grimacing, Levi grabbed the back of the boy's shirt and easily tore it off him.

"L-Levi-san!" The servants around him gasped before Levi yanked off the brat's pants as well. He then looked around the servant before spotting a butler who was holding a clean change of table cloth.

"Hey you, get over here." The butler was startled at being called. He hesitated just like the other maid, but when he saw the look Levi was giving him, he all but scrambled over.

Levi snatched the table cloth out of his hands, mentally reminding himself to do something about these useless workers. When Levi turned back to the naked kid, his gaze stopped at that bruising stomach. The man frowned. He had definitely held his strength back when he kicked the spoiled bastard. For it to still bruise like that…it was definitely out of his calculation.

The kid's body was weaker than he had expected…but then again, Levi never dealt with kids before so he didn't know what to expect. Giving that darkened patch one last look, the raven haired man threw the white sheet over the boy, wrapping him up like a burrito. He was going to toss the boy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes when he remembered the kid's injury that he had given. With a sigh, he gathered the kid into his arms and began to head towards the unnecessarily large bathroom upstairs.

"You there. Call a doctor and tell him to wait in the brat's room." Levi ordered when he passed by the head butler who looked like he was close to fainting from the over-excitement this one night has brought him. Levi frowned, lifting the priority of dealing with the workers even higher.

The walk down the hallway was silent.

At least, that's what it began with until he started to hear small sniffs coming from the bundle against his chest. He looked down to see the boy trying to use the blanket to muffle his noise as he cried.

"What now?" Levi asked, irritated that the brat cries so often.

The boy froze at Levi's voice before he quickly shook his head, not daring to say anything as he buried further into his arms. The boy's action made no sense to the scowling man. After all, if the kid is crying because he's scared of him, why would he try to get even closer to him and not the opposite? Levi didn't know the answer and he has no interest finding out. He was just thankful that the kid was smart enough to cry into the table cloth instead of his shirt. Otherwise it wouldn't be just a sore stomach the brat would be crawling away with.

After some thorough bathing—plus some screams and more crying—Levi brought Eren to his room where a doctor and a butler waited.

The doctor was around thirty years old with short brown hair and a plain face that could blend into any crowd. When the two men saw their young master whose eyes were puffy with tears and skin raw from all the scrubbing, they both freaked out.

Needless to say, Eren didn't dare to skip a meal since then…and may have also learned how to properly wash himself without anyone's help.

Author's note:

Here it is! This is the official chapter one of the one shot, Humanity’s strongest Nanny which I have wrote two years ago! I am really happy with the responses I got so I decided to make this a multi-chapter story! 

For those who have never read the one shot, you can find it HERE.

While this story is multi-chapter, there's not going to be any plot. It'll just be random, unrelated chapters of the daily things in Levi's and Eren's life. The reason for that is because I'm not confident in my ability to keep a story updated, so please look at this as just a bunch of one shots together instead of a story.

The chapter names will go by Eren's age to show when the event has occurred. Sometimes I might jump back and forth from future to past, depending on what I come up with.

Finally, I apologize if the abusive behaviour to kid Eren makes anyone uncomfortable. I promise this will be the only chapter that'll have child abuse! I feel bad writing it but it's necessary for the story! Due to the environment Levi grew up in, it's only logical that he doesn't know any other way to teach someone other than to beat it into them. He'll definitely change his ways later on and becomes a real family with Eren.

This story is aiming for light hearted comedy and fluff! There's not gonna be any dark stuffs like angst, self-harm, character deaths, etc!

Thank you all for reading! I hope everyone has enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a review if you have the time and tell me what you think!

[wigglywormy]

forget the movie [kirishima/bakugou/kaminari, 2k~]

thx for the prompt! xoxo

---

They usually take turns on who’s in the middle during movie night, but if it’s a scary movie that Bakugou’s picked out, then Kaminari always gets dibs on the middle. Namely, because he’s fucking terrified of any and all horror movies and the only way he’ll sit down and watch it with Kirishima and Bakugou is if he’s snug in the middle, safe from harms way.

“Didn’t we watch a scary movie last time?” Kaminari complains, crossing his arms over his chest as Kirishima settles down to his right, warm even through their clothes.

“No. Kirishima made us watch all of the Shrek movies, remember?” Bakugou says, switching the lights off and then dropping down onto the couch on Kaminari’s other side. “Don’t be such a baby, this one isn’t even that scary.”

Kirishima snorts. “Don’t lie, Katsuki.”

“What?” Bakugou growls. “I’m fuckin’ not!”

“Does it have any jump scares?” Kaminari asks meekly. Bakugou sighs and wraps an arm around Kaminari’s waist. He stays silent though, and Kaminari takes that as a bad, bad sign. “Maybe, since you’ve obviously seen if before, we could watch something else - ”

“Denki,” Kirishima whispers, tossing his arm over the back of the couch and burying his fingers in Kaminari’s hair. “You know half the reason Bakugou picks these movies out anyways is because he secretly loves when you cling to him, you know.”

Kaminari feels his face heat up, and Bakugou grunts and reaches over to smack the back of Kirishima’s head. “Shut up shithead, the movie’s starting.”

Kaminari sinks further into the couch, Bakugou’s arm around his waist tightening in case he tries to run away from the film. Honestly, Kaminari could just close his eyes the entire time, but even the sounds and music scare him, god dammit. He’s never been a fan of horror, or halloween, or any of that freaky stuff. He’d prefer a good action or comedy any day, thank you very much.

The movie starts out a bit slow, but a jump scare hits the screen soon enough, around twenty minutes in.

“Fuckin’ lame,” Bakugou snorts, but then his gaze shifts to Kaminari, curled up in his side and clutching Bakugou’s shirt for dear life. His eyes are closed, squeezed shut tight, and Bakugou leans down so he’s whispering in the boy’s ear. “Oi. Open your eyes.”

Kaminari shakes his head, and Kirishima laughs as he drapes himself closer, kissing Kaminari’’s temple.

“C’mon, leave him be. If he wants to close his eyes the whole time, let him.”

Bakugou frowns. “No way. He made me sit through and pay attention to three whole romcom’s last month. Let him suffer.”

Kaminari peeks his eyes open for just a moment, but when something flashes on the screen he squeaks and shoves his face into Bakugou’s chest. “No. Nope. Nuh-uh.”

“Sparky,” Bakugou growls, tightening his fingers where they rest on Kaminari’s hip. His thumb brushes bare skin, where Kaminari’s shirt has ridden up, and the shorter teen shivers and yelps, clutching tighter at Bakugou’s shirt.

“What was that?” Kirishima asks, confused. “That wasn’t even a scary part, the protagonist is literally just eating lunch right now.”

“I’m just - ” Kaminari says, and he swallows when he hears Bakugou hum in thought. “Jumpy. I’m just jumpy, f-from the scene before.”

“Man, you really are scared of these types of movies,” Kirishima observes.

Kaminari is about to whole heartedly agree (maybe hoping they’ll both let him abandon the movie and save himself from nightmares tonight) but he’s interrupted with his own yelp when he feels a single finger pressing into the curve of his waist.

He tilts his head up towards Bakugou, and his eyes are on the screen, but he’s smirking, and oh no, this is bad. This is super bad, Kaminari thinks, slowly trying to inch away. The movie seems to have momentarily captured Bakugou’s attention, and okay, yes, this is his out, right here -

Right as he feels like he’s in the clear, Bakugou whips his gaze towards him before tugging him roughly back by the fabric of his tee shirt. Kaminari flails and gasps as Bakugou’s arm snakes around his waist, and this time, all of his fingers curl against his ribs on purpose.

Kaminari breaks down into giggles, but he quickly slams a hand over his mouth when Kirishima makes a noise of confusion.

“Okay, what’s going on here?” Kirishima questions, turning towards the other two boys on the couch.

Bakugou smirks. “Pikachu’s tickl - ”

“I’m not, I am not,” Kaminari says, waving his hands frantically. “I swear I’m... totally not.”

“Oh?” Kirishima says, widening his eyes at this new, incredibly interesting information.

“Yeah, watch this,” Bakugou says, hooking an arm across Kaminari’s chest to hold him still, then using his other hand to tickle his belly over his shirt.

Kaminari giggles and kicks his legs a bit, squirming in Bakugou’s hold.

“D-Don’t!”

“Wow, he’s super ticklish,” Kirishima grins, making Kaminari flush darkly as he tries to pry himself away from Bakugou’s exploring hands. “How come we didn’t know about this before?”

“Guys - ”

“Where else?” Kirishima pries, completely engrossed in this newfound information, because once Kirishima sets his mind on something, there’s no stopping the rampage that comes in its wake. He scoots closer on the couch, and there’s no malice in his voice, just genuine curiosity, when he says, “Where are you the most ticklish?”

Kaminari flushes. “But…. but I’m not - ”

Bakugou’s still got an around around his middle, so the sudden pinch to his ribs shouldn’t be all that surprising, but Kaminari still yelps and flails, luckily somehow managing to weasel out of Bakugou’s hold.

Right into Kirishima’s waiting arms.

“Damn, he’s slippery,” Bakugou comments, pressing close so Kaminari is sandwiched between them, half on Kirishima’s lap as he’s given up trying to escape and has finally accepted his fate.

“If you tell us, we’ll be nice,” Kirishima promises, but Kaminari knows them both. He knows Kirishima would keep his word. But Bakugou? Bakugou would probably literally kill Kaminari if he found out where he was the most ticklish -

If he was ticklish. Which he’s…. not. Of course. Not at all.

He decides playing oblivious is his safest option here, because none of his other options end in freedom anyways, so.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kaminari mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and averting his eyes to the ceiling as he feels Kirishima kiss the nape of his neck softly.

The movie is still playing in the background, but no one is paying attention to it any longer. Bakugou’s extremely close now, his hands gripping Kaminari’s knees, and when he smiles, it’s more like a sneer, full of a million and one ideas and promises that Kaminari knows he’s going to absolutely hate.

“I don’t like liars,” Bakugou says, squeezing right above Kaminari’s knees, which causes him to jerk and nearly kick his leg out. He refrains, somehow, and crosses his arms tighter.

Fingers wedging themselves under his arms surprise him though, and he makes a strangled sound and arches his back, his arms uncrossing from their position as he flails. Kirishima laughs, his fingers pausing for a moment but staying in place, and Kaminari prays to whatever gods are up there that his boyfriends are going to be nice to him.

The gods, apparently, aren’t listening very well tonight.

Bakugou bats Kirishima’s hands out of the way, and Kaminari nearly breathes a sigh of relief before he’s squealing as Bakugou’s fingers get shoved in his armpits instead, tickling like he’s searching for a damn confession (which, Kaminari guesses, he sort of is), and Kaminari can’t stop the broken gasp that escapes his throat.

It takes a moment, because Kaminari is pretty good at holding his ground, but once Kirishima’s hands find their way to his ribs, he bursts into a flurry of giggles and sparks, tiny electric zings shooting out from his hands as he squeezes his eyes shut and laughs.

“There it is,” Kirishima chuckles.

“Two against one is s-so unf-fair!” Kirishima protests, and when Kirishima noses behind his ear, Kaminari accidentally snorts around his next giggle.

Bakugou’s cheeks go a bit pink and his eyes lock with Kirishima’s. “Oh.”

“That was - ”

“Real fuckin’ cute,” Bakugou finishes for him, and Kaminari wants to die. Bakugou is so scarce when giving compliments, that when he does offer one unthinkingly, Kaminari knows he means it tenfold. He can’t tell if that’s more embarrassing or not, but either way, he wishes the couch would just swallow him whole at this point.

“He still hasn’t told us where he’s the most ticklish,” Kirishima pouts after a minute or two of torturing Kaminari.

“I got this,” Bakugou says, and then he’s gripping Kaminari face in his hand, his other hand still tracing teasingly along the grooves of his ribs. “Tell us, or we’ll do this all night.”

“Mean,” Kaminari pants, but he knows Bakugou isn’t joking. He pouts and averts his eyes. “If I tell you, you gotta promise to ….. To be nice, okay?”

He knows he can’t ask them to just not explore, because it’s gonna happen whether he wants it to or not. At least by asking this (because Kirishima is the loyal boyfriend, and he can trust the redhead to shove Bakugou off if he gets too intense) he can ensure he won’t, well. Die, or something.

“We promise,” Kirishima coos, and Kaminari shivers when Bakugou just nods silently.

“Um. It’s. Uh,” Kaminari stutters out, feeling his cheeks heat up significantly. “B-behind my knees?”

Bakugou immediately stretches one of his legs out, and Kaminari made the unfortunate decision to wear shorts today. He whines quietly and covers his face with his hands. Bakugou has one hand gripping his ankle, keeping his leg pulled taut, and as soon as a single finger strokes along the back of his knee where the skin is the most soft and sensitive, Kaminari’s whole body jerks, and Kirishima winds his arms tightly around Kaminari’s waist so he doesn’t topple everyone off the damn couch.

“Please - ” Kaminari gasps, but then he’s breaking down into hysterical giggles, snorting softly as his wasted attempts at pleading fall on deaf ears. His leg trembles as Bakugou grins at him, curling his fingers around Kaminari’s knee and using his nails to flutter against the skin, and it’s torture, oh god. Kaminari’s whole body feels electrified, and when Kirishima’s fingers curl against his stomach, prodding around his navel, Kaminari is sure he’s going to die.

“Damn, Sparky,” Bakugou comments, methodically and merciless tickling the skin behind Kaminari’s knee, occasionally drifting further up to pinch behind his thigh. “It’s that bad?”

“Y-yes - I can’t - ” Kaminari gasps and squeals, giving up on squirming aggressively and instead just writhing, defeated, in Kirishima’s arms. “Please s-s-stop!”

“Okay, okay, c’mon, Katsuki,” Kirishima says softly, and Kaminari almost sobs with relief when the hands stop completely. His body feels tingly, his face red and eyes damp with unshed tears, and he heaves a deep breath as he goes limp completely against Kirishima’s chest, his eyes fluttering a bit when Bakugou smoothes his palms up his legs, fitting himself fully in between them so he can lean forward and nose along Kaminari’s flushed cheek.

“That was fun.”

Kaminari glares, but there’s no real malice. “Yeah, for you.”

Kirishima laughs. “What Katsuki is trying to say, is that…. Well, it’s fun, because we like making you laugh!”

“Uhhgg,” Kaminari bemoans as his face heats up more, and he quickly covers his cheeks with his palms as he feels the warmth blossom. “You guys are so embarrassing. Don’t do that ever again.”

“Stop being so fucking cute, then,” Bakugou grumbles, sounding physically frustrated, and Kirishima laughs louder when Kaminari squeaks again in embarrassment and amazement because two compliments from Bakugou…. In one day? Kaminari feels blessed, and honestly, he wouldn’t really mind getting tickled every day, if it’s by his two boyfriends.

But only then.

[fabermemorialrink]

some mistake, part 5

When exactly is something going to happen in this story, you may ask. Soon, but the pacing will be super weird, I tell you. In other news, to answer a question that I am too dumb to understand how to tumblr-reply to, this story isn’t yet on AO3 because it’s very unfinished, but hopefully someday I’ll get it together! Thanks for reading so far!!

Derek’s first year at Phillips Andover finally draws to an end, and it's as he’s locking his dorm room closed that he takes a deep breath and decides that yes, he's got this. He can make it through the next three years.

Summer passes in a blur of lazy days spent lounging at the Met trying to find inspiration for his summer writing assignment and hot afternoons on the balcony looking out on the city. Derek rides four different airplanes and swims in two different oceans; he visits family down the east coast for the Fourth of July and hits up Chowder in early August to see all the local sights in the Bay Area. Chowder takes him to San Francisco where they walk along the wharf and gawk at fish at the aquarium. He drinks milk tea full of custard and eats enough egg tarts to last a lifetime. They go surfing and Derek manages to trip while underwater, causing Chowder to go into heroic lifeguard mode even as he's shrieking barely censored profanities in alarm. C helps him pick out a tiny orange crab keychain for Dex that Derek wraps protectively under several layers of tissue paper.

Derek returns to New York to hang out with his parents before their schedules de-sync again. Mama takes him to the ballet while the other two are busy. He goes with Mom to Central Park where they eat ice cream and people-watch for an entire day. Dad decides they should try a glassblowing class together while he's not needed for a few blessed days at the company. Derek makes a clear paperweight with a golden-red heart, like a flame suspended in crystal. It's pretty and pointless and it makes him think of Dex, who'd hate to know what Derek's comparing him to. He wonders what Dex is doing for the summer. Is he working somewhere else, or still doing his odd jobs in the forest? Derek can imagine him working in a hardware store half the week and on the docks for the other half, plus baby-sitting duties on top of it all. Dex has never talked about his family, but he seems like he would have siblings. Derek's never asked if Dex is home-schooled, though he suspects it might be the case. Why else would he have so much time to spend in the woods? He figures he'd have learned by now if Dex went to Andover High. Maybe he attends the technical school in town?

There are a lot of things he still doesn't know about his best friend. It's sad, he realizes as he watches sunset dip into twilight over the skyline. He knows little things, like Dex's favorite cookie and that he likes all bugs except mosquitoes, and that he knows how to ask for a glass of water in French and Russian. He knows that Dex is afraid of the undertow in one of the forest's brooks, and that he has a collection of odds and ends that's been bestowed upon him by the forest crows (which Derek maintains is the most YA protagonist shit that he's ever heard of).

But none of the big stuff. Where Dex lives, what his parents do, how many siblings he has. What his hobbies are and what his dream job was when he was a little kid. Whether he's ever broken a bone or his favorite Halloween costume or the first person he gave a real valentine's card to in middle school. Who he is when he's not with Derek. Who he is when he's not in the woods.

Derek doesn't even know Dex's real name.

That's a part of the rules though. Derek knows that, but it doesn't stop him from wanting.

Early at the start of sophomore year, Derek finally takes Chowder into the woods with him. Chowder waffles between being excited to meet Dex after so long and wary of all the rumors that still float around the school.

“Do you think Dex knows about all the ghost stories?” he asks as they trek across the field. “Do you think he’s ever seen a ghost?”

“Even if he has, he probably wouldn’t admit it to me,” Derek says. It seems like the kind of thing Dex would remain tight-lipped about. Dex can talk for hours with Derek about fly fishing and carnivorous plants and the nitrogen cycle, but important subjects like Dex’s birthday and rumored exorcisms have him clamming up before Derek can even think of an objection.

“Maybe he’s shy because he thinks we won’t take him seriously! Nursey, you’ve gotta tell him that I won’t laugh at him. I mean, unless he does something hilarious. He sounds like a funny guy.”

Derek isn’t sure where exactly Chowder got that idea from, but Chowder does have a hidden streak of schadenfreude under his naturally caring personality. He and Dex probably have that in common. Derek’s been chirped enough times by both of them for injuring himself whilst just trying to live his life.

Shit. What if they get along too well? Not that Derek’s jealous or anything. He just doesn’t wanna get ganged up on by these two terrors.

They enter quietly, with Chowder making a suppressed fuss over every cool thing they see. Derek brings him to his hollow tree, where they huddle together trying to listen for ghosts, or birds, or any other sign of life. Nothing appears, as always, so they lie there trying to decide if they should take digital photography or sculpture next year.

“But think of how sick it would be if you woke up and were like, ‘oh I sure would like some wheaties-’”

“C, wheaties, really?”

“ ‘-wow am I glad I can eat out of this mad awesome bowl I made in sculpture with my buddy Chowder!!’” Chowder’s New York accent is so exaggerated it warps into Jersey, Appalachian, and leprechaun by the time he's done.

“Okay, but consider this: you, fifteen years in the future, sitting at your desk coding or some shit. You look to your right, it's to a stunning framed photo of your beautiful spouse and your beautiful kids. You look to your left and see a gorgeous photo of yours truly that you keep on your desk to remind you of what a hella cool idea it was to let me convince you to take photography!”

“Pretty convincing, but why does ‘hella’ always sound so wrong coming from your mouth?” Chowder ponders, which is when Dex pokes his head into the hollow and observes them needling each other about regional slang, Chowder starting to put Derek in a headlock.

“Yeah, I think I'm gonna go,” Dex says blandly, ducking back out as Derek tries to pinch behind Chowder’s knees.

“No, wait, hold up,” Derek gasps out as Chowder lets him slip free. He falls to his knees, about to introduce them to one another when Chowder releases him like deadweight and springs to his feet outside the tree.

Chowder opts for a wave at the same moment that Dex reaches for a handshake, and they wind up swaying their hands around in that dance of indecision, until they settle on some sort of awkward introductory fistbump mush. Derek clears his throat to pretend he isn't laughing. Without further delay, Chowder jumps right into his spiel, full speed ahead.

“Hey, Dex! Nursey’s told me all about you. You can call me Chowder! I know you have these, um, special rules, but I swear I won't break them, so I hope we can be friends too. Not to pressure you or anything! Acquaintances is fine! People in casual acknowledgment of each other, or whatever! It's all good!”

He finishes by tossing up his arms in a mix of declaration - here I am! the famed chowder! - and apology, which Dex watches with a sort of baffled fascination in silence. He looks somewhat overrun, Chowder drops still after his stream of crescendoing words, and Derek has flip-flopped from being afraid they'd like each other too much to being terrified they won't like each other at all.

But Derek’s told Chowder all the rules before, made him promise to remember every single one or Dex would blow his fuse and murder them both, and it pays off, because all Dex does is take a deep breath before meeting Chowder’s greeting with his own slightly flabbergasted one.

“Hey...Chowder. Nursey talks about you all the time. But I didn’t realize you were, uh. So exuberant?” Dex scratches at the base of his skull, watching Chowder like he might solve him if he looks long enough.

“Oh my god, it’s too much, isn’t it? Shit, sorry, I know, I know, I'm way too excited, but like, Nursey’s my closest friend here? I still feel like the ‘new guy’ with everyone else, and you’re his best friend, and I just thought it’d be ‘swawesome if we could also be...something? I should just shut up, sorry-”

“No! No, ch- calm down,” Dex says, biting back the ‘chill’ that Derek is positive he was about to let slip. Derek cackles internally, expressed as a smirk, and Dex glares at him before continuing. “You’re fine. I just don’t hang out with people much. Besides this guy,” he says, jerking a thumb and Derek, and how he manages to make it sound both fond and contemptuous is impossible to understand. “I need to adjust, but it’s not a big deal. You're kind of refreshing.”

Chowder goes from raincloud to solar flare in under a second, beaming at Dex so brightly that the redhead staggers momentarily under his light. “Really? I mean, since you mostly talk to Nursey, and he’s a huge dork-”

“What,” Derek interjects.

“-I mean, I love him and all, but…”

Chowder stops to give him a pointed look, which Dex notices with a stifled laugh, and he claps C on the arm.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, the lines of his frame finally loosening up. “I’m with you on that one.”

Derek eyes them suspiciously. “Yo, are you two just here to slander my name, or-”

“Oh! I brought you a burrito!” Chowder interrupts, swinging his backpack around to present his prized offering to Dex, who accepts it with an unholy gleam in his orange demon eyes.

Chowder had wanted to bring a gift for their “host” because it’s only polite, and Derek has learned by now that Dex, despite being a self-professed unadventurous white American, will eat basically anything Derek offers. Junk food, spicy food, vegan food; “anything but bugs” seems to be the general rule. Regardless of his height and a fair amount of muscle from what Derek can make out under Dex’s loose flannels, Dex’s poor dietary choices can't be doing him any favors.

“Wow, thanks,” he says blankly, trying to absorb the burrito through its foil wrapper with his stare.

“Go ahead; we’re down to chill while you eat,” Derek says, and Dex tears into it, dropping to sit up against the roots of Derek’s tree. He's toting a canvas bag that he dumps in favor of food.

“What's in the bag?” Derek asks.

“Garbage,” Dex replies. “No, seriously, I was picking up litter,” he says when Derek tries to sneak a peek after that unsatisfying answer. True to Dex’s word, there's nothing but wrappers and styrofoam and cigarette butts.

“Whoa, that's great! Nursey says you’re really into nature and science, but I didn't know you were such an environmentalist!” Chowder, squatting next to Dex, bounces on his heels.

“It's not quite like that,” Dex says, words only a little muffled by all the food he’s crammed in. “I'm not planning to study this at college or anything, but- it's just something I do. I take care of the forest.” He scrunches his mouth on one side as he tries to find the words; Chowder waits patiently until he starts explaining. Both of their hands soon join in the conversation as Dex gives Chowder an overview of what he does in the woods all day. Derek watches as they string together movement and sound, orchestrating words with every sweep of their arms. There’s poetry in it, but Derek is content to let the words flow through him without trying to capture them.

He lets them talk without giving much input, happy to sit back and see where things go. Around him, the forest is quiet and light, an island of respite from outside. Conversation between the other two runs easy, a comfortable air already settling around them, and Derek lies down to rest his head on Chowder’s shin. He feels almost completely at ease.

He doesn't realize he's dozed off for a short while until he’s woken by the sound of his name from Dex’s mouth.

“Y’know, I'm, uh- I’m glad Nursey has you at school. He was- I think his first semester was hard for him. But you’re actually normal and nice, unlike all those dyed-in-the-wool old money jackasses. And me, who lives in the fuckin’ woods.” Dex’s voice is wry, but truthful, and Derek studiously keeps his eyes shut so Dex doesn’t stop talking. It feels slightly disingenuous to be listening in like this, but when else will he get the chance to enjoy Dex being the secret sap that he is?

Chowder, perfect as he is, hasn’t moved at all since Derek passed out on his leg. He keeps his legs still, though Derek can feel that his upper body must be moving as he speaks. “No, you're super cool! Living like a book character from one of those outdoorsy survival books like The Hatchet? And you're really nice too!”

“I’m really not,” Dex says around a smile; Derek can tell as much even with his eyes shut.

“Even better, then,” Chowder declares. “It's good to have at least one friend who’s kind of a dick.”

Dex’s laugh slips out, raucous and surprised, and Derek bites his lip to keep from laughing himself. “That's a role I can play,” Dex replies warmly, and for the first time in his life Derek is truly, legitimately glad he came to Andover, if only for the chance to meet these two.

With a loud yawn Derek visibly rouses, stirring on Chowder’s shins. He meets Dex’s upside-down gaze and crosses his eyes even though it makes him dizzy, just to see the way Dex’s mouth twitches as he raises an eyebrow.

“Good nap?” Chowder asks.

“Of course; you're the best pillow I could ask for,” Derek replies, and both his friends snort.

“Don't sugarcoat it, Nursey. I know I'm all bones down there,” C says, nudging Derek with his knee to drive the point home. “Good thing you woke up. I was just about to ask Dex for camping tips! He lives in the woods, you know. Oh, you probably do know - have you seen his house before?”

Derek, stretching his arms wide enough to almost punch Dex in the side, finally lifts himself off Chowder as he tells him, “C, he doesn't actually live in the forest. He just spends like 85% of his time here.”

“Ha, yeah, what he said,” Dex says hurriedly, taking another bite of his burrito. “This is really good; thanks, C,” he mumbles, cramming the rest in and tossing the tin foil ball into his rubbish bag.

Chowder goes supernova when he notices Dex using Derek’s nickname for him, and dives into an extended analysis about the burrito places he's encountered so far in the northeast, and how they can never compare to the ones back home. Dex, used to Derek’s rambling, impassioned treatises about food, flashes him a knowing smile and settles in to listen.

When sunset draws close, Dex walks them to the field. Derek stays behind a minute to dig up a few pieces of trash Dex didn’t notice: glass shards and what looks like a crumpled dryer sheet. Carefully, he wraps the glass pieces so he doesn’t cut himself and jogs to catch up with C, who is saluting Dex goodbye and starting to walk swiftly backwards out from the trees.

“Hey, wait for me,” Derek calls, but Chowder shakes his head, yelling back, “I’m not gonna get stranded in pretzel prison again!” as he hustles across the grass at an alarming rate while waving at Dex.

Derek resists the urge to pull a face, but Dex notices his displeasure anyway, asking, “Pretzel prison? What the heck is that?”

“Team movie night. Coach always buys these unsalted wheat pretzel sticks and someone gets stuck with the responsibility of eating them. Usually it’s last one through the door; C learned this the hard way.” Derek wrinkles his nose, then gets an idea. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to-”

“I’m not going to pretzel prison for you, Nursey.”

“Weak.” Dex bats Derek’s thumbs-down away, his face a ruddy pink. Odd. “Why do you look like a Valentine’s Day candy display?”

“Shut up, that’s why.”

“Ooh, nice burn,” and when Dex just rolls his eyes, Derek decides it’s time for his customer satisfaction survey. “So, um, Chowder’s cool, right? You guys had a lot to talk about.” A flutter of worry lands on his chest at the thought of them somehow hating each other, regardless of any evidence saying otherwise.

“Yeah, he’s really- uh, he’s great. How do you handle it? He’s so...dazzling,” Dex hisses. He looks overwhelmed still, a tinge of pink on his cheeks. He keeps glancing away from Derek to return another little goodbye wave to Chowder, who's shuffled backwards quite a ways on the soccer field, waiting for Derek despite his fear of low-sodium snacks. Dex’s gaze won't hold for long though, and keeps skittering back to rest safely on Derek, who doesn't make him act like a shifty corner dealer. Suspicious.

“Holy shit, you have a crush on Chowder,” Derek accuses when he realizes the truth.

“I don't have a damn crush-”

“Your face is fluorescent pink right now, you liar-”

The color only worsens. “He gave me a hug, okay? I haven't hugged anyone in years, and he's good at it, so sue me.” Dex’s choppy robot arm movements aren't doing him any favors. “And you know I turn red at everything; it doesn't mean anything, Jesus.”

“Years?” Dex's family must not be big on physical affection. “You should've told me. I could hug you.”

“Why the hell would you hug me?”

Derek fixes him with his sternest frown. “You're clearly hug-deprived; it's my duty to fix that.”

“It's really, really not. Stay back, Nursey, don't you come any cl- aaaurgghhh!”

It's unintentional, of course, but when Derek latches on for a hug and unavoidably knocks them to the ground, Dex lands in a painful heap on a cluster of roots and rocks, and he groans miserably into Derek’s shoulder.

“Shh, shh, there there. I'm here now.” Derek uses one hand to pet gently at Dex’s hair; Dex wriggles anemically in his grasp for a moment before sagging into the ground, his face still buried in Derek’s shirt. He’s solid under Derek’s weight, all his sharp corners leaving Derek comfortably uncomfortable.

“Thanks. Now please leave.”

Derek already knows he’s going to be turned down, but he can’t help asking on the off chance that one day Dex decides to accept, so as they walk to the treeline he asks, “You sure you don’t wanna come crash movie night? We’re watching Toy Story 3. It’s supposed to be incredible.”

“They made a third one?” Dex looks pleasantly surprised, but he shakes his head. “You know me; I’ve got wood to chop and fires to extinguish. Maybe next time. Good luck on your math test tomorrow.”

Maybe next time is better than all the other previous rejections. Someday perhaps it’ll become a yes.

“Alright, Smokey Bear. I’ll save you some pretzels.”

By the time Derek catches up with Chowder, Dex has retreated back into the forest, but Derek is left pondering one glaring oddity about his friend that he’s wondered about before.

It’s been over a year, but Derek has never seen Dex cross the treeline before. At the very most, Dex will linger right at the edge of the wood, but Derek has never seen him step foot on the soccer field. That, he could attribute to some kind of superstition, but what he really wants to know is...

Does Dex actually live in the woods somewhere?

His stories - the ones about Bitty the baker and his boyfriend J, about Lards and Cam and April and the party girls - mostly seem to happen in the woods. Could it be that they all reside in some kind of wilderness commune?

Dex talks more about his friends than his family, and Derek would assume that Dex just has a shitty home life, or terrible parents, but the few times he does mention them in passing during vague anecdotes of his childhood, he always sounds fond. Sometimes he seems envious of the good relationship Derek has with his parents, but as if he misses them. Maybe his parents passed, or there's some other complicated situation with his folks, but Derek doesn't know how to ask without making Dex feel trapped and on edge, so he continues to keep his mouth shut and wonder about all the sad possibilities.

Because there are times he wants to ask more, wants to press his luck and tell Dex, hey, you're my best friend and I'm here for you; you can tell me anything. Like when Derek asks why Dex has such strong feelings about the fishing industry, or where he grew up, because sometimes his inflection and the draw of his vowels doesn't quite match any of the Massachusetts accents Derek’s used to.

Or when Dex traces those three letters on his hatchet, KAP, and his eyes go dark and wistful before shuttering when he notices Derek watching.

But Derek is patient, and if he needs to wait a lifetime until Dex is comfortable enough to tell him all his forest-kept secrets and the memories he holds close to his heart, then he will. He will wait until they're both ready.

[bubble-tea-bunny]

mr. sandman

[steve trevor x reader]

author’s note: most of the time when i write, i don’t plan for things to get that long but i always get carried away wtf. this happens with essays too i don’t understand. anyway, i think i kind of like this one, which is unusual for me to say of my stuff lol, but i do hope you enjoy

word count: 2,037

The snowfall is heavy and the wind is whistling but, oddly enough, Steve doesn’t feel any of it. His coat might be thick, but it’s not entirely impenetrable. Winter is merciless, but its severity is lost on him at the moment, as is the fact he feels like he’s standing next to a fireplace and not like he’s out on the sidewalk in the middle of January. His focus is on a figure, standing in the middle of a street blanketed in white and whose boots crunch loudly because all else is silenced from the slush. When he breathes out, puffing out cold air which momentarily obscures his vision, he wonders if that form a comfortable distance away can hear it clear as day.

Her back is turned. He can only see hair, soft and shiny beneath the sun which peeks its head out through the clouds. He can observe with ease because he’s standing beneath a shop blind. He’s not sure what store he’s in front of, but he doesn’t want to tear his gaze even for a moment to check behind him, to peer in through the window to see if it’s a café or a pub or a home for antiques.

His chest tightens the longer he watches this mysterious girl, who sways side to side—never twirls around—to music only she can hear. He wants to see her face, hear her voice. He wants to know her. But when he opens his mouth to call out, no sound escapes him. So all he can do is continue to study the scene before him. Does she know he’s here? He feels intrusive, like this is a private moment, but it looks so perfect, feels so perfect. He still wants to reach out and his chest is still tightening with an overwhelming sense of love for this girl who has neither face nor name. Because she’s not real.

Waking up is a cruel sorrow. Fall is beginning to give way to winter, and when Steve is out there, he can feel the cold very well even through all the layers of clothing. The wind bites at his nose until it’s red and he’s sniffling. His body welcomes the warmth of the pub as he enters, content with the heat from the fire and from the number of people here. His friends are sitting in the corner booth, immersed in a story one of them is telling. He joins them immediately, finds a spot among them and orders a pint and laughs and forgets about the harsh winds of winter.

But he doesn't forget the dream. He doesn’t push it away, doesn’t try to ignore it despite how empty he’d been left feeling after waking up from it. He almost shares it with the others. They’d have speculations about who she could’ve been, though most of them would be teasing and unserious, which he expects. But then he decides against it. It seems better to keep it to himself—to keep it as something personal, something to keep safe. Because as he thinks more about what he’d seen, which had felt so real, he surmises it to be a sort of revelation, a revealing of the very depths of his soul. And if such is the case, well, he won’t so easily bare something like that to just anyone. Therefore he is content to keep it to himself, within the walls of his small apartment, within his mind’s eye, a moving picture in a projector that hums with the flicking of the reel.

Now when he’s at the theater he’s reminded of this girl whose name he doesn’t know, whose eye color he doesn’t even know. Are they blue or brown or green? But that’s besides the point. What is the point is that now he feels that every movie he watches could never match up to his dream. And he deflates a little, because he knows he’s pining after nothing, but in weather as cold as this, it is a warm comfort, and he should at least be allowed that much.

The snow is falling this morning. For a while it had only done so in the evenings when everyone was asleep and all the shops were closed, presenting the city with a fresh blanket of white by the next day. Luckily Steve doesn’t have far to walk to get to where he needs to be, and perhaps when he’s on his way home, the snow will have stopped.

He descends the stairs quickly with shoes that haven’t yet trekked through wet slush, eyes downward as he goes down each step. The door to the apartment building opens, a gust of wind roaring through as someone walks in, only to be promptly silenced as the door shuts again. When he reaches the first floor landing and heads to the exit, he walks past the person who’d just entered—your hair is flecked with snowflakes and he smiles amusedly. You see him and smile as well.

“The snow fall is pretty but now my hair will be wet,” you remark, and he chuckles, but doesn’t say anything. You pass each other and he hears the sound of your footsteps ascending the staircase. They’re slower than his, perhaps because your own shoes were wet from being outside. His hand is now poised on the doorknob, but he doesn’t twist it right away. He remains there, bracing himself for the wind that is sure to attack the moment he steps out. He takes a second to glance behind him at you, and he watches you take the last few steps as you reach the landing. His brows furrow because this feels… strangely familiar. He stares until you’ve begun to go up the next flight and he can no longer see you.

He’s not entirely prepared for the wind but the snowflakes are pretty.

Your eyes had been the most charming shade of [eye color].

———

It’s the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon in full force.

Steve has seen you around the apartment building more often. You live on the same floor, on the other end of the hall. Some mornings you leave around the same time, and on some evenings you return around the same time. You started out by exchanging friendly smiles, and then small greetings, asking how the day went, to which the answer would be something vague but polite, and so on and so forth.

But then one day it’s not like that. Steve comes out of his apartment just as you walk past it, and he catches a whiff of your shampoo. (Which, for the record, smells really nice.)

“Hey,” he calls out with a smile. “Good morning.”

You stop and turn to him, smiling widely. “Good morning.”

“I always see you when I leave or come back. That’s never happened with anyone else here.”

“It is strange, isn’t it?” You laugh.

“I’m steve,” he introduces himself, holding a hand out.

You shake his hand. “[Name]. I actually just moved in not long ago,” you explain with a shrug.

“So that’s why I suddenly started seeing you everywhere!” This pulls another laugh from you.

“Yes, the first day we passed by each other was…” You pause to think. “My second day here.”

“Well I hope you’re liking the city and its company so far.”

“I do. Very much.”

“Good.” The conversation seems to end here, and you smile amiably, bid him goodbye. You turn around, but before you can take a step, he speaks up again. “Would you… maybe want to get some coffee… sometime…?” It doesn’t entirely feel like he’s the one doing the talking, because he hadn’t exactly planned to make this proposition, but it’d left his mouth before he could stop it. Or maybe that’s just his half-assed excuse because in all honesty he’s nervous he’ll be turned down and he’ll have to live with that rejection. Although it didn’t hurt to try, right? That’s what everyone always says.

You twist back around and the smile is still on your face, but it’s shier. “Yeah, I would. That sounds nice.” You nod.

Steve smiles, thoroughly relieved. “Great.”

“I’ll see you around then, Steve,” you tell him, smile soft, and after you say goodbye again, this time he lets you go.

“I’ll see you, [Name]…” he murmurs as he watches you leave.

———

Steve has loved this city and its company himself for a long while now, but even if you’re a newcomer, you’re quickly becoming his favorite company. It’s typical for the two of you to get coffee then walk back to the apartment building together. You’ve not been here long, but it feels like he’s known you for forever.

Tonight you’d roped him into watching the newest motion picture with you. It was a spur of the moment decision, so you don’t get to the showing on time, which means you take your seats towards the back so as not to interrupt the other attendees. The theater isn’t full. There are people here and there, spread out. You wonder how many of them had decided to come watch in order to get out of the cold. That’s half the reason you and Steve are here. The other half is because the title sounded interesting.

Halfway through this film, when the protagonist is confessing his love for a beautiful dame, Steve glances at you, and he wonders if this was a mistake because you feel his gaze and return it and even with just the light of the film your eyes are vivid and he is fully pulled in, with no say in the matter. There is no turning back, no looking away. But he doesn't want to turn back or look away. You are a riptide he more than willingly succumbs to.

It’s the first time he kisses you. The hum of the flickering film reel is loud.

———

You walk to the café early this morning. The sun is starting to rise but the streets are quiet, almost eerily deserted. You’re hand in hand and it’s the most natural feeling to Steve. Your conversation is hushed because you’re still tired and it feels wrong to interrupt the silence. When you start to notice the first few snowflakes falling, your eyes light up. You hold your free hand out and wait for snowflakes to settle upon it, only to melt right away from the heat of your skin.

Steve smiles as he watches your face, studies the fascination so evident in your eyes. You let go of his hand and he observes as you venture out to the middle of the street. Usually you would never be able to do this since there would be cars. But it’s early so there’s no one and the snow still needs to be shoveled out of the way anyway.

You tip your head back, peering up at all the snow that floats down so gently and so quietly. They settle in your hair, on your eyelashes, and the small flecks of ice resting on your skin prompt you to laugh quietly.

It’s like a postcard, this scene, the likes of which you send to the folks back home with some short and sweet little note on the back about how “life is great out here” and “wish you were here,” and other such standard sentiments. The smile fades from Steve’s face as he really takes in the sight because it is… too familiar. And all at once his chest tightens.

You’re swaying gently from side to side, and your [hair color] hair which cascades down your back shifts with your movements. When Steve exhales and the puff of air momentarily obscures his view of you, he smiles, in shock and awe and in disbelief. You are so beautiful, dancing by yourself to silence and he is overcome with love, to the point he wants to cry because his heart can only hold so much and how can it not burst as he watches you?

You are the depths of his soul, and Steve knows this better than he knows anything else in this world because you are standing right there, in the middle of his daydream.

[wth-am-i-writing]

Title: Unicorn Protagonists: Reader, Leo, Female!OC Warnings: Rated M, Smut, FFM Threesome, BDSM Theme, D/s, Spanking, F on F sex, M on F sex, Oral sex, Face sitting, Toys, Bisexual!Reader, Switch!Leo Word Count: 5764 Summary: How typical of Leo to pick the small, mousy ones. Author’s Note: So I started this fic back in September 2014. An anon requested Leo and his girlfriend dominating another woman together. This was the result. I got stuck halfway through because threesomes are hard. Especially ones with two Doms... but I eventually worked through the block and my worries and finished the fic. I was actually really excited to write this, as I’m Bi and have wanted to write some F/F for a while. At the same time, I’m really nervous and worried that the F/F didn’t turn out well since I have no experience writing it and am honestly less knowledgable about it. Anyway.... I hope you all enjoy!

-.-.-.-.-.-

She was small, petite, the top of her head barely lining up with your eyes. Modest bust line, wide hips and a shapely but small ass. How typical of Leo to pick the small, mousy ones. You circled her with sharp eyes, picking apart everything about her appearance, enjoying the way it made her squirm. She was dressed in sinfully tight skinny jeans, a tank top and a lightweight jacket.

“So, you slept with Leo?” you asked, voice razor sharp and filled with contempt you didn’t actually feel. She flinched at your harsh tone, squirming uncomfortably when you slapped your thigh a second later to reiterate your question.

“Y-yes,” she replied meekly, flinching when you scoffed.

“Did he mention me at all when he fucked you?” you asked, swooping in close to the side of her face as you rounded to her back.

“No,” she squeaked.

“How about after?” you pressed, hovering close enough to make her uncomfortable but not touching her in any way.

“Briefly,” she blurted.

“Oh?” you prompted, rounding to her front and cocking your eyebrow. “What did he say?” you came to a standstill right in front of her, only a few inches of space between you. She fidgeted and looked like she was about to step back.

“That if I’d enjoyed my time with him, that I’d enjoy playing with you too,” she mumbled.

“Did you enjoy playing with him?” you asked, catching her chin and tilting her face so she had to look you in the eye. She swallowed, starting to tremble, eyes alight.

“I-I did,” she stuttered. You smiled and let her go, stepping back.

“And what did he do to you?” you asked, starting to circle her again. “Did he pull your hair?” you asked grabbing a fist full of her hair near the roots and yanking her head back and to the side. She whined in affirmation. You released her hair, stepping around to her front and pausing there. Bringing up your hand, you pressed a single digit to her sternum and traced it down between her breasts. “Did he play with your tits until they were sore and red?” Her breath hitched.

“H-he did,” she breathed shakily, trying her best to keep calm despite the memories you were making her recall. You pulled your finger away and stepped around her, stopping at her back.

“Did he spank you until you couldn’t sit down?” you asked, raising your hand and slapping her firmly on the ass, causing her hips to jerk forward.

“Yes,” she moaned in pain, biting her lip and she straightened her posture. You rounded to her front with quick steps, catching her shoulders. With a firm grip, you pushed her down to her knees. Once she was down, you brought your hand up and traced the line of her lip with your finger.

“Did he fuck your mouth?” She parted her lips and took your finger in, sucking on it lightly as she nodded. “Seductive, aren’t you,” you observed flatly, pulling your hand away. “What made you agree to playing with both of us this time?”

“I was curious,” she replied, voice more solid than before, growing in confidence. “I wanted to know what his girlfriend was like. What it’d be like with you both.”

“Daring words,” you hummed. “You’re okay being with a woman? Both giving and receiving?”

“Yes,” she answered firmly. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“I suppose you know what you’re getting into. If you enjoyed your time with Leo, I’m sure you’ll have fun with us both.” With your next question, you turned more serious. “But only if you have your documentation. Do you have your recent test results on you?”

“I do ma’am,” she answered, reaching into her jacket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. She held it out to you and you took it, quickly unfolding it. You skimmed over the medical document--her most recent STI test results. She was negative for everything. You handed the paper back to her and stepped away as she scrambled to put it away.

“Looks like we won’t have any problems tonight,” you said as you walked over to the nightstand next to the bed. You grabbed the two envelopes there, returned to the kneeling woman, and held them out to her. “In case you had your doubts.” She took the envelopes and pulled the papers from them, quickly looking them over. When she was finished, she returned the papers to the envelopes and held them up for you to take back. You took them and returned them to the nightstand.

“Since you’re all negative, we get to have a lot more fun,” you said, returning to her. Taking her by the chin, you forcefully tilted her head back. “I’m going to put that mouth of yours to good use.” Her breath hitched at the promise. The door to the hotel room opened and Leo entered, a backpack slung over his shoulder, drawing your attention away from her.

“Sorry,” Leo apologized, meeting your eyes and ignoring the woman. He closed the door behind him and made his way over to the bed.

“What took so long?” you asked, turning to look at him more. Leo lowered the backpack onto the bed, hands quickly coming up to unzip it.

“Too many choices. Long checkout line,” Leo answered, pausing when he finished unzipping the bag to look up at you.

“Oh?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow at him. “But you decided?” Leo hummed, reaching into the bag and pulling out a black shopping bag. You took the bag from him and plopped down on the bed. Crossing your legs, you started digging through the bag--two bullet vibrators, a dildo, a bottle of lube, latex gloves, and a pack of condoms. You turned to Leo with a smirk.

“And who’s the dildo for?” you asked. He cocked a single eyebrow, expression looking like he couldn’t believe you were asking--it was for whoever you wanted to use it. He looked away from you and pulled a small silicon paddle from the bookbag, making your breath hitch. You turned back to the woman, smirk turning wicked. Her eyes were trained on the paddle, slightly wide and definitely wanting.

“Your safeword is ‘panda’, correct?” you asked, drawing her attention back to you.

“Yes,” she responded, lowering her gaze to the shopping bag in your lap.

“Then let’s get started,” you said, turning the bag over and dumping its contents out on the bed beside you. “Leo?” He hummed in affirmation, rounding the bed to where the woman was kneeling. He leaned forward slightly, catching her by the chin and forcing her head back.

“Take off your jacket,” he ordered, the volume of his words quiet but the tone was nothing to be messed with. She complied, quickly removing it. “Now your shirt.”

You looked away from the pair, picking up one of the bullet vibrators and testing it out in your hand. It seemed Leo had been a good boy and taken the time to pry the new toys from their packaging and wash them before bringing them. Turning the vibrator off, you glanced up as Leo tugged the woman to her feet and pulled her in for a kiss. His long fingers threaded into her hair and gripped, forcing her to move in the direction he wanted. Dropping your eyes back down you grabbed a condom and opened it, dropping the bullet into it before dropping it back on the bed.

“Leo, bring her here. I want to get a good look at her,” you ordered, looking up. Leo had straightened, tugging her up so she was forced to stand on her tiptoes to maintain the kiss, his free hand fiddling with her bra strap. At your words, he broke the kiss and let her relax. He gave her a few seconds before turning to face you and tugging her forward by her hair. You uncrossed your legs and slid to the edge of the bed, motioning for her to come closer.

“Bring her right here,” you instructed, spreading your legs a bit more. Leo nodded, guiding her between your legs and letting go of her hair. You took her by her arms and jerked her in closer. She squeaked at the suddenness and you tightened your grip. As you slowly roved your eyes up her exposed stomach, Leo brought a hand to her hip and reached for the bullet vibrator you’d put in the condom. He pocketed it before bringing the hand to his hip and pressing close behind her. You looked her right in the eye just as Leo leaned down and murmured something in her ear too quiet for you to hear. She whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as she shivered. You dropped your eyes back down to the hem on her jeans where Leo was digging his fingers into her hips.

Drawing your eyes up her body a second time, you couldn’t help but admire it more fully. There was hardly any fat on her body and she was small enough that Leo could easily pick her up and toss her around as he liked. You couldn’t wait to see him bend her in half and fuck into her.

Loosening your grip on her arms, you trailed your hands up to her shoulders, keeping the touch gentle. Hooking your fingers under her bra straps, you tugged them down. You caressed back up her arms to her neck, then down to her chest, Leo’s eyes trained onto your hands. You squeezed her breasts through her bra and pushed them together, catching Leo’s breath speeding up ever so slightly. You released one breast and smacked it, drawing a whimper from her lips as she flinched back into Leo.

“Do you like your tits getting played with?” you asked her, chasing after her with your finger and tugging the cup of her bra down to expose her nipple.

“She likes it,” Leo answered for her, stilling her with his body and pressing forward so she couldn’t shrink away from your touch. “She gets dripping wet if you tease them.”

“Oh?” you cooed, catching her nipple between your index and middle fingers and pinching. “You like it when your tits get abused,” you sang, twisting and tugging her nipple. You pulled your hand back and slapped her exposed breast again.

“Such a naughty little slut,” Leo purred, one hand slipping between her legs. You tugged the other bra cup down and started rolling the newly exposed nipple between your fingers. She choked down a whine, eyes opening and falling to watch your hands as you began to roll her breasts.

“Take off your bra,” you ordered, pulling back.

“Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled as Leo stepped back. She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. After she’d tossed it off to the side, Leo closed the gap between them again, fingers immediately going for the button on her jeans. You smiled and leaned forward, flicking at her nipples.

“Aren’t her tits so small and pretty?” you asked Leo, dropping your gaze down to watch him pull her zipper down. Leo hummed, withdrawing his left hand. When he brought it back, he had the bullet vibrator. He turned it on before dipping his hand into her panties, thrusting his hips forward and holding her hips tight against his when she gasped at the new sensation. You looked back up at her breasts, cupping one and rolling the nipple with your thumb. “So perky and cute,” you admired before leaning forward to blow on her other nipple. She flinched and Leo snaked his arm around her waist to further restrict her movement.

“Don’t move, pretty,” he ordered, nuzzling into her hair.

“But let your voice out,” you added before leaning back slightly, cupping her other breast and starting to roll them. She whined, hips pressing back. Leo’s breath hitched, drawing your attention upwards to his face. His eyes were trained on your fingers and he was struggling to keep his straight face. You switched to pinching and tugging the woman’s nipples, enjoying the effect that it had on both of them. Her hips rolled back with a moan and Leo suddenly pulled his hand away. She whined and you withdrew too. Leo tugged her out from between your legs before releasing her completely.

“Take off your pants,” he ordered, eyes dropping to her ass.

“Panties too,” you added, crossing your legs.

“Y-yes,” she murmured, hands coming up to her pants and pushing them down. They clung to her so tightly it took her a minute of working to get them off. Once they were off, she straightened, fidgeting under Leo and your gazes.

“Turn around,” you ordered, motioning with your finger. She did as told, facing Leo. You raked your eyes down her backside. “Her ass looks like it’s just begging to get spanked,” you commented, bringing your eyes up to meet Leo’s.

“It does,” Leo agreed.

“We should bend her over the bed and give her a spanking,” you hummed.

“We should,” Leo agreed, stepping closer to her and reaching around to brush his hand over her ass. You watch his hand intently. He was teasing her with a gentle caress, making large sweeping motions up to her hip and back down.

“Bend her over right here,” you ordered, patting the empty space beside you. Leo hummed, hands quickly coming to her shoulders. She squeaked when he jerked her around to face you. She resisted when he pushed her forward, so he dropped his hands to her waist and lifted her off the ground, causing her to squeak again. He dropped her when he reached the bed and shoved her down.

“You like being spanked, don’t you?” you asked, reaching out to move the hair from her face. She was leaned over the edge, arms propping her up.

“Yes, I do,” she answered.

“Then how about you tell Leo how much you enjoyed last time?” you hummed, dropping your finger to her chin when she flushed. You could feel Leo’s disgruntled glare on you, but you ignored him.

“I... really enjoyed the spanking last time,” she started. You looked up at Leo, smirking when his ears started to tint pink. “The sting of your big hand made me feel alive. I thought about it every time I sat down.” Leo brought a hand up to cover his face and was diverting his gaze, but he was good and well straining in his pants now.

“Did you hear that, Leo? She thought about you every time she sat down,” you teased Leo. He groaned in response, causing your smile to widen. “It was that good, hmm?” you addressed the woman.

“Yes,” she answered. “No one spanks me like he does. I want him to spank me again.”

“Then I’m sure he won’t disappoint you today either,” you said, retracting your hand from her chin. Leo straightened at the implied order. He came to kneel behind her and reached out to caress her ass. Her breath hitched in obvious anticipation and she dropped her head. Leo gave her a light squeeze, then returned to soothing the muscle.

You turned to put the other bullet vibe in a condom, the first slap ringing in the air as you ripped the condom package open. The second following soon after as you dropped the vibe in the condom. You dropped it to the bed and stood, the third spanking landing as you tugged off your shirt. The fourth hit as you dropped your bra to the ground. You turned to face them as you unfastened your pants and pushed them down with your panties, watching as Leo struck the woman’s pinkening ass for the fifth time. He soothed the muscle with a gentle caress, leaning in to press a kiss to the faint pink.

“I think she can take it a little harder,” you said, grabbing the vibe and moving to sit beside them. Leo hummed, squeezing her ass and straightening before slapping both of her cheeks in a sharp movement. She yelped, flinching her hips into the bed.

“That’s more like it,” Leo cooed, raising his hand and spanking her again, his eyes lighting up at the squeak she let out. “You’re taking it like such a good girl,” Leo cooed. You hummed in approval, turning the vibe on and bringing it to your clit. You watched Leo continue spanking her at the new intensity, counting silently as you rubbed the vibe over your clit. When he reached five, he paused, breathing in deeply before leaning down to pepper kisses along the nicely pink skin. “Such a good girl,” he praised before grazing his teeth along her flesh. She whined deliciously.

“Do you think she’s ready for the paddle?” you asked. Leo hummed, straightening, so you handed it to him. “How many strikes do you think she should have?”

“Ten.”

“Ten?” You reached out and rubbed her shoulder. “Can you handle ten?”

“Yes, I’ll gladly take ten,” she answered. You hummed approvingly.

“Count them off for him.” She nodded, mumbling a soft affirmation. Leo struck his palm with the paddle, and the woman flinched in anticipation, expression wanting. You leaned back, focusing on her as Leo brought the paddle down.

“One,” she called out, the expression on her face delicious in every way. “Two, three, four, five,” she continued counting off. Leo paused, stepping in and running his hand down her back and gingerly over her ass to sooth her. When he stepped back and raised the paddle, his eyes were practically sparkling with how much he was enjoying spanking her. “Six,” she resumed counting until Leo reached 10. When he was done, Leo placed the paddle on the bed and soothed the angry red of her ass with gentle touches.

“You took it well, just like I expected,” you hummed as Leo dipped down and started peppering kisses up to the small of her back. He held your gaze, eyes burning with desire. You motioned for him to come to you and he pulled away from her, obediently crawling up the bed and kissing you hungrily. You moaned into the kiss, abandoning the vibe to wrap your arms around Leo, letting him envelope you. You wanted him in you, but that could wait, he could wait.

“Get the dildo ready,” you directed when the kiss broke. Leo hummed his understanding, crawling off the bed and starting to strip as he rounded to the toys.

“What are you going to do with it?” the woman asked as you sat up. You smirked, pushing off the bed and coming to kneel behind her.

“We’re going to fill you up. By now, I bet you’re aching to have something inside you, aren’t you?” you said, grabbing a latex glove and pulling it on.

“I am,” she admitted, head ducking down as you began to caress her sore ass. You hummed, trailing your hand in between her legs, fingers gliding over her teasingly until you found her clit. She was so wet, and the way she whined when you started to play with her clit went straight to you core.

Leo sat down in the spot you’d been earlier, naked, erection practically at his stomach. He placed the dildo beside him, his gaze focusing on your hand as he held out the lube. You held your hand out and he poured some on your fingers. You took a moment to make sure they were well coated before sliding your hand back between the woman’s legs, returning to her clit. She moaned, making small movements to encourage the friction. Leo’s tongue darted across his lip as you slid the hand between her legs up, sucking it into his mouth and biting it as you poised to press a finger into her. You circled around her entrance a few times, teasingly, before pressing in. She whined deliciously.

Keeping your ministrations purposely slow, you brought your other hand to the back of her leg and traced little designs. Leo leant back and brushed her hair over to her other shoulder, hand quickly returning to trace along her ear and jawline, down to her neck. “You look so delicate, but you can take a lot,” Leo hummed, fingers trailing back up to start playing with her ear.

“I’ve always liked it rough--” she replied, breaking off into a moan as you added a second finger. She pressed back into your touch, and you shifted your focus to properly stretching her.

“Hand me the vibe you’d used on her earlier,” you instructed Leo. He nodded, laying back completely on the bed and twisting so he could get it. When he dropped it in your hand, he raised his eyebrows and nodded, gaze dropping from yours to his crotch, seeking silent permission. You nodded, turning the vibe in your hand and hitting the power button. Leo buried his hand in the woman’s hair. Tugging her up, he climbed on to the bed and sat back on his heels, legs spread on either side of her shoulders.

“Suck it,” Leo directed, tugging her head down. She shifted, arms moving to support the new position. Leo closed his eyes, brows knitting and small moan tumbling off his lips as her head lowered. You brought the vibe to her clit, refocusing your attention on her as Leo began directing her head. You added a third finger as Leo built up the rhythm and clicked the speed up on the vibe. She pressed back onto your fingers with a moan, causing Leo to hiss.

“Take it deeper,” he almost growled. When he directed her head down again, she gagged. He let her take a breath when he directed her back, then lowered her back down, three quick bobs before she gagged again. He let her breathe, setting that as the new rhythm. She shifted slightly, pressing back into your touch as you continued to stretch her, her gagging becoming less frequent with the new angle. By the way Leo squeezed his eyes shut, his brows knitted together, smalls moans of approval tumbled from his lips, you knew he was getting close. He tightened his grip in her hair and pulled her head back before he could reach his release.

“She’s ready,” Leo announced, opening his eyes. You caught his gaze and noted the teasing glint in his eyes.

“Is she really?” you asked, scissoring your fingers as you played along. “She still feels a bit tight to me.”

“She said she likes it rough,” Leo said, a haughty smirk pulling on his lips.

“I’m not so sure,” you hummed, continuing the stretch.

“I’m ready--” she affirmed, “I want more.”

“See? Greedy girl,” Leo said, practically cooing. You hummed, pulling away from her completely.

“Very well,” you said, reaching for the lube and dildo--Leo had thoughtfully wrapped it in a condom earlier. “On your back.” Leo scooted back slightly, guiding her a little further on to the bed as you poured lube onto the dildo. He directed her onto her back, positioning her so her head was on his lap. Propping her feet up on the edge of the bed, she spread her legs for you. Both of their gazes fell to you as you pumped the dildo. You brought the tip to her entrance and pressed it in, only letting about an inch disappear before pulling it out.

“Please, give it to me,” she whined. You pressed it back in a bit deeper, only to pull it out. “Please, I can take it, I’m ready.”

“Unfortunately for you,” you started, pushing it back in a little deeper, “I prefer slow and teasing.” You pulled it back out to the tip. “If you want hard and rough,” back in, a little deeper, “you’ll have to beg Leo.” She whined as you pulled it back out. Leo brought his hands to her shoulders.

“Beg me,” Leo ordered, caressing down her arms then back up to her neck, “Or I’ll let her keep that pace until you’re crying in frustration.”

“Please, I want it rough,” she whined.

“That tone is unconvincing,” Leo teased.

“Please give it to me roughly,” she whined. You continued to work the dildo into her slowly, altering the angle ever so slightly in experimentation, eyes trained on where it was disappearing into her.

“Give what?” Leo asked, the impish tease in him taking over.

“Your dick! Please!”

“Just my dick?” Leo asked, amused.

“No--I want--” her breath hitched and you knew you’d finally caught the right angle.

“You want what?” Leo prompted. You glanced up--Leo had taken to playing with her nipples, and she’d hooked one arm back around his waist.

“I want you to fill me up with your dick--”

“But you’re already full,” Leo teased, fingers skittering down her stomach to under her navel as you pushed the dildo into her. “You’ve almost taken the whole dildo.”

“I want it rough, I want you to fuck me hard,” she whined as you pulled the dildo out at an almost glacial pace.

“You forgot the please.” His fingers skittering back up her body, brushing over his nipples before going back down her sides. She groaned in frustration, twisting a bit.

“Ah-ah,” you scolded, reaching up with your free hand and pinning her hips to the bed. You thrust the dildo back inside her. Leo brought his hands to her lower abdomen and pressed pressed down.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “Please, fuck me hard and fast, please,” she begged.

“I’m still not convinced, are you?” you asked Leo.

“Not at all.” His voice was alight with amusement.

“Please, please, please, give it to me hard and fast. I need it, please,” she begged.

“That’s more like it,” you hummed approvingly. Leo drug his hands back up her body to her breasts.

“You want me to fuck you hard?” he asked her, pinching her nipples.

“Yes, please fuck me hard, please.” Leo flicked his gaze up to you, asking permission. You nodded.

“Then I’ll fuck you hard,” Leo said, lightly smacking her breast.

“Yes, please,” she moaned. You pulled the dildo out and placed it on the floor as Leo moved out from under her. Bringing your hands to the back of her thighs, you urged her legs further apart and crawled onto the bed. Settling over her, you leaned down and kissed her. She returned the kiss, hands coming to your waist and sliding around you. You buried your hand in her hair and pulled, directing the kiss.

Leo’s fingers brushed over your ass, slick, and dipped between your legs. You moaned into the kiss when he pressed a finger into you, lazily thrusting it. Fuck, you wanted him in you. But you could wait, and he could wait for you. You both had someone else to tend to first. You broke the kiss and tugged her head to the side, pressing a few kisses against her jaw before pulling away.

Leo’s hand slipped away and you crawled off to the side. He coaxed her further onto the bed, following her, hands coming to the back of her thighs as he slotted himself between them. He hooked her calves over his shoulders, angling himself and thrusting in with one fluid movement. He didn’t give her any time for adjustment before he rolled his hips back and snapped them forward again, setting a vigorous pace. She moaned her approval of the pace, hands fisting into the sheets as Leo fucked her.

You leaned down and caught her lips in another kiss, swallowing her moans as you reburied your hand in her hair, your other hand settling on her rib cage, caressing small circles there. She wrapped one arm around you as best she could, fingers curling and her nails raking across your back as she tried her best to meet Leo’s thrusts.

“Love,” Leo called to you, hand brushing your lower back. You broke the kiss and looked over your shoulder at him. He’d slowed his pace to a slow grind and the woman whined beneath you. “Her tongue is good at things other than kissing,” he said. You lifted a brow in surprise at the suggestion--it wasn’t that you hadn’t already thought about it, but that he’d suggested it. He caressed the small of your back, grinding lazily into the woman beneath you, his hooded gaze affectionate. He didn’t want you left out of the fun--how sweet. You smirked turning back to her.

“I did say I’d put your mouth to good use,” you said, bringing a finger to her lips.

“Please,” she breathed, tongue flicking out to lick your finger. Your smile to widened. You sat up, crawled up the bed, and swung your leg over her head. You settled over her, back to Leo, hands on the wall for support. She tilted her head up to meet your as you lowered down, tongue sweeping across you as you moved so your clit was easiest to access. She began to suck it, one hand coming to rest on the back of your thigh. Leo started to move again, the pace not nearly as fast as earlier, but hard enough to pull a pleased moan from the woman.

You stayed still, letting Leo’s thrusts rock through her to you, not particularly interested in smothering her. Leo brushed the tips of his fingers down your back and you let out a pleased moan. He picked up speed a little, and you began to move your hips, fucking down on her mouth as she moaned. Her nails dug into your thigh, another moan ripping through her as she shifted below you, building you higher.

“Fuck,” Leo moaned, the needy, almost desperate tone shooting straight to your core. He was getting close, and by the way the woman continued to claw into your thigh, she was too. It was only a few more thrusts before she tensed, moaning beneath you. “Good girl,” Leo cooed breathlessly as he fucked her through her orgasm. She relaxed as she came back down, her other hand coming to your thigh as she refocused what energy she had left into you. Leo only lasted a few more thrusts, cumming with a moan that drove you to the edge. You followed shortly after him, tensing as you let it wrack through you.

Leo pulled out of her and flopped down on his back beside you, panting. When you felt stable enough, you lifted up and did the same on the woman’s otherside. You waited until the woman’s breath started to even out before brushing your hand along her thigh. “You need to clean up the mess you made on Leo’s dick.” Leo groaned.

“Yes, ma’am,” she agreed as she sat up. You watched lazily as she pulled the condom off him and tied it off.

“Clean it properly,” you encouraged as she tossed the condom towards the waste basket in the corner of the room. She hummed, taking his softening cock in hand and dipping down to lick the length of it. Leo hissed, one hand weakly coming to her head. His head lolled to the side, gaze heavy and sex tired. He reached out for you with his other hand and you took it, squeezing it as he whined at the overstimulation. You smiled and brought the back of his hand to you lips for and affectionate kiss before pushing yourself up from the bed.

You fetched the wash clothes from the bathroom, wetting and wringing them before returning to the bed. Leo moaned, hand buried in the woman’s hair as she bobbed leisurely, his expression halfway between pleasure and pain. You brush your hand over her shoulder.

“That’s good,” you said gently. She pulled back, Leo sliding out of her with a pop, and looked up at you. “You were very good.”

“Thank you,” she said, dropping her gaze.

“You’re a good girl,” Leo panted, hand leaving her hair to rub her neck.

“Do you need anything?” you asked gently.

“Hold me?” she requested. Leo urged her up to properly nestle into his arms.

“There’s some cream to help sooth the spanking in the front pocket of the bag,” Leo said, gaze catching yours.

“How thoughtful,” you hummed with a smile, kneeling down to dig it out of the bag he’d moved to the floor sometime earlier. Cream in hand, you crawled back onto the bed, settling beside them. You wiped down her lower body with one of the wash clothes before rubbing the cream into her still pink ass. When you were done, she turned in Leo’s arms and pulled you close, nestling into the crook of your neck.

 -.-.-.-.-.-

 When the woman was gone and the hotel door was closed, you sat down on the edge of the bed. The room had been tidied and the toys cleaned and put away. Leo opened a bottle of water and chugged.

“You should choose someone with more meat on them next time. It’s starting to feel like I’m not your type at all,” you half joked. He cocked his eyebrow at you, lowering the bottle.

“Aren’t you the one that has a thing for girls like her?” he asked, coming over to you. You blinked at him in surprise before the meaning of his words sank in. A wide grin spread across your lips. He was trying to get your type.

“I suppose I do,” you laughed. Deep down, he really wasn’t that different from you. In the few times the two of you had sought out a third partner, you’d sought another guy to join twice and had pointedly looked for someone that was Leo’s type. “She worked out well.”

“I’m glad,” Leo hummed. He capped his water and placed it to the side, hands coming up to cup your face. He bent down to kiss you, soft and full of affection. “Mistress,” he breathed when the kiss broke. You hummed. “Can we make love before we leave?” You still ached to have him in you, but the request caught you off guard.

“Again? So soon? Were you not satisfied?” you asked. He shook his head.

“It’s not that,” he said, kneeling in front of you. “Before felt like it was about me and her,” he explained, “I want this to be about you.” You smiled and pulled him into a kiss.

“You performed so well for me, I didn’t feel neglected at all,” you hummed when the kiss broke. “But I guess we can extend our stay.” 

[slytherin-writing-blog]

When Your Friend Ships Drarry

"Draco?" The heaving breaths were echoing from what was looking to be the Restricted Section of the library. She hurried towards the sound warily, wondering how bad Draco's panic attack was this time. Draco had been having these since the end of the War. Initially he had unsurprisingly, tried to deal with them alone. However one night she had come across him huddled in a corner of the Eighth Year Common Room, clutching a pillow, desperately trying to breathe. She had panicked slightly then, trying to console him with empty words. He had not responded until he suddenly, collapsed into her arms, a trembling gasping mess. She had then tentatively wrapped her arms around him and held him, until he had calmed down. There had been an unspoken agreement between them that she would not divulge this particular event to anyone. She knew that Draco's panic attacks had reduced since then, as he himself had volunteered to tell her. They had grown somewhat close after that incident and ate breakfast together at the Great Hall, often. However she knew that his attacks were not gone completely and when she rounded the corner, she knew what she had to do to help him. She wrapped her arms around Draco's shoulders and held him tight. She felt him stiffen and try to move away, but she held on, placing her chin on his shoulder and raising one hand to run through his hair gently. She felt him slowly begin to give in and smiled at the tension slowly ebbing away from his taut frame. She felt his arms encircle her waist and was surprised at how warm his embrace felt. He drew her closer and as she stood there, she felt him shudder and tears soaked into her shoulder. She didn't let on however, and continued to hold him until he calmed down. Gradually, his ragged breathing slowed and the shaking subsided, leaving a rather limp Draco in her arms. She carefully lifted her head and pulled back a little to peer into swollen grey eyes. They stared blearily back at her with a hint of defiance shining through the grief, as though challenging her to bring up all the crying he had just done. She gave him a half-smile and put a hand on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat coming back to normal and was about to let go of him altogether when she felt herself being pulled forward. She let out an involuntary gasp as she felt soft lips press against hers. She felt her stance become rigid and opened her eyes a fraction to see Draco, eyes scrunched close comically, eyebrows drawn together in concentration, determinedly trying to kiss the life out of her. She almost laughed out loud there and then but caught herself, before slowly pushing Draco away. "Draco," He looked at her with a mixture of shock and fear at what he had done. "Oh Merlin... I'm sorry... I..." She smiled calmly up at him before shushing him with a wave of her hand. "Draco. It's okay. What you want right now is physical closeness to someone who cares about you. You want to be held and caressed, but you're confusing me with whom you really want," Draco's look of shock changed to one of bafflement as he processed what she had said. She took his silence as a sign of encouragement and kept going. "Trust me, you don't want to kiss me, just as much as I don't want to kiss you. You simply want that physical closeness. I can hold you and I'm always there to talk, but that particular feeling you were searching for when you decided to snog me, that you're going to be hard pressed to find with me." Draco gaped at her as she finished her little speech. She smirked and continued, this time with a hint of slyness in her voice. "Potter on the other hand... Well let's just say a snog from him won't be as dreadfully boring as the one you just subjected me to," "Hey!" She threw her head back and laughed at the indignant expression on Draco's face. She slapped him lightly on the arm to show she was joking and noted the pink flush colouring his cheeks and neck. Clearly even the thought of snogging Potter was too much for him to handle. "Potter... He doesn't... He'd never..." Draco trailed off, casting his eyes downwards and scuffing one shoe against the other. It was a painfully adorable show of insecurity and she resisted the urge to reach out and pet and coo over him. Instead she stuck to giving him a knowing grin before saying "Not everything is as it seems, Draco. Not Potter and certainly not you," On seeing the questioning look in his eyes she elaborated, "Your 'oh I am an unfeeling monster with a debt to pay' act is getting really old, you know," "I do have a debt to pay! I owe Potter my life. Not just once but on multiple occasions," "But Potter owes you his life too, along with his friends' lives as well," She held up a firm finger when she saw Draco open his mouth to argue, prompting him to shut up and let her finish. "Also, Potter thanked you verbally for refusing to identify him at the Manor, when he returned your wand to you. If you feel so burdened by your debts, why don't you swallow your pride and do the same?" "Malfoys always repay debts properly," he sniffed. "A simple 'thank you' will not suffice." She rolled her eyes at the sloppy cover story. "So sticking to Potter like a leech in the rains is obviously going to invoke feelings of understanding from him, hmm?" Draco's face was now flaming and he unwittingly ran a hand through his silvery blonde hair, leaving it sticking out at odd angles, not much unlike the raven-coloured mop of the boy he pined over all the time. "No! Shut up!" Draco sputtered. "When one has to repay something, proximity is.... favourable," he finished lamely. "Yeah right. Tell me, how many creases are there on Potter's forehead when he frowns?" "STOP!" Draco looked a bit livid so she decided to end her little teasing session there before he hexed her. (Not that he'd dare, she was a mean dueller and he knew it) "Okay, okay," she placated. "But you can't deny that he has actually reciprocated your flirting. Otherwise you would probably have given up by now," "How do you even know that?" Draco was looking at her incredulously, as though she had used Occlumency to sift through his mind. "Give a Slytherin some credit, darling," she drawled, enjoying being able to read him like a book. She marvelled at how easy he was to read, when he wasn't hidden behind that carefully constructed shield of indifference. "So you know..." Seeing the look of resigned fear in his eyes, she quickly cupped his cheek with her hand and stared into those grey eyes. "Yes. But I won't tell anyone else, you have my word," she reassured him earnestly and felt relieved to see him relax at that. "I only wish that you would allow yourself to consider the possibility that these feelings you have for him are not one-sided." Draco pursed his lips, looking pensive. "Well... We have talked to each other quite a bit after the trial...." "And was it all animosity?" "No... Just some random stuff.." "There!" "And he does start conversations with me during Potions sometimes. And it's more than 'pass the lacewing' and 'did you add the bezoar'. We talk about Quidditch and umm..." She raised an eyebrow as his recounting suddenly turned to bashful mumbling. She waited for him to finish, wondering what could be so scandalous it made Draco red to the roots of his hair. "Well... We discuss Muggle stuff," he said, looking anywhere but at her face. "Muggle stuff." She repeated blankly. "Yeah. I lived my life hating Muggles but he... respects them, even if the ones that he lived with as a kid where complete shitbags. I wanted to know why he didn't just hate them for what they had put him through and then next thing you know, he's teaching me what a telephone is!" He continued to proudly explain how a telephone worked on eclectricity and cordless ones used batteries. Obviously he had forgotten her own half-blood heritage in the excitement of sharing the wealth of knowledge he had received from Potter. Seeing Draco talking so passionately made her want tease him again but she didn't want to give him cause to doubt her, so she schooled her expressions and smiled softly at him. "So you guys have some good banter, huh?" "Yeah, I suppose..." "So what's stopping you?" She watched as Draco mulled over everything they'd discussed and did a small internal victory dance when a familiar determined glare crept into his eyes. "Nothing. Nothing is stopping me." He stood up a little straighter and squared his shoulders, as if preparing to have it out with an invisible foe. "That's the spirit," "I'm going to snog Potter." There was no quaver in his voice, none of the doubt she had been hearing five minutes ago had resurfaced in his declaration and she was so proud of him that she almost spilt the beans on the secret she was harbouring. The secret she had pledged to keep to herself, when a certain black-haired, spectacled Saviour of the Wizarding World had begged her to do so. The secret that she herself had uncovered by simply observing the Gryffindor from afar. The secret that confirmed that when Draco finally did snog Potter, there was no chance in hell that he would push Draco away. "Really," she thought, allowing herself a triumphant grin as she watched Draco's retreating form, no doubt off to search for The Chosen One. "Being a Slytherin is so much fun." (A/N: I didn't name the female protagonist in this story because I felt that she pretty much is just the fanfictional equivalent of all of us haha :p I'm of course not implying that all Drarry shippers are female Slytherins, I chose this character simply because I myself am a female Slytherin. We are her in spirit ^_^)

[kpopchangedme]

Nocturna: Part IV

The fragile peace between undead and lycanth is imperilled your arrival to the Inferorum Castrum. Between the changing power dynamics of the wolf pack and the insatiable urges of the vampire king, you aren’t exactly sure where your loyalty lies.

Protagonists: Bang Chan & You (Im Jaebeom)

Word Count: 5.4k

Genre: NSFW | Supernatural!au | Vampires | Werewolves | Angst | Romance | Love Triangle

Nocturna Masterlist | HALLOWEEN

“G-Gran?” You are so weak you can’t distinguish anything when the old woman runs a cold cloth on your brows.

“Shhh…” She whispers softly. She used to do the same every night you’d have a nightmare after your parents died. “You need to sleep, love.” Feverish, you shiver, and a droplet of water runs down your cheek, burning. It comes again and again. Through the haze, you realize you’re crying and she’s wiping all of your tears one by one, patiently. 

“I had…” Your throat tightens and you let out a whine. “... A-Another nightmare.” Your shoulders jolt overcame with sobs. She pulls you into her arms, hiding you. You cry until you can’t anymore, cry until you fall dead asleep. 

___

You wake up in a bedroom that’s unfamiliar but far more reassuring than the last one. The sun is shining brightly through the three large windows. There’s a fresh breeze coming through, making sheer cream curtains dance beautifully. You have no idea where you are but you are at peace. You’ve cried and slept a lot, then cried some more. Now you are empty, done, dry. 

At least, you are not in pain anymore, it’s a lot better. You sit up to stretch, making the sheets fall from you. Oops, apparently you’re totally naked.

“Good morning,” Chan greets and you jump, startled. Covering yourself a second too late, you locate your friend on the floor. He’s simply sitting there unphased, back pressed to the mattress. “How are you feeling, better?”

“W-What are you doing here?” Clutching to the sheets, you bring both of your knees under your chin to protect the little dignity you have left. 

“This is my bed, y\n.” He smiles faintly, looking away just to stop making you uncomfortable. Were his canines always this sharp, or are you only just noticing now? "The Inferorum Castrum is my home."

“What are you doing on the floor?”

“Guarding you. You’ve been sick for days, but the fever finally broke a few hours ago. You drank too much blood...” His face briefly twists in disgust.  “You must have a lot of questions.” That’s the understatement of the year, you wait for him to go on, but the young hunter doesn’t explain what you’re doing in his bed, naked.

Instead, he stands, crossing the room to casually open a drawer of his dresser. After he finds what he’s looking for, he hands you a black shirt. It’s one of his own, the ones you’ve always seen him in. When he notices you don’t react, Chan hesitates before turning his back so you can dress properly. You wonder if he’s the one who undressed you too. That’s embarrassing, especially if he is to trust and had to spend days nursing you back to health.

“Your First Full Moon is in two weeks. Thankfully, you still have time to familiarise yourself with… Things.” Chan pauses, and you keep your eyes glued to the back of his silver curls to make sure he isn’t peeking as you put his shirt on. As expected, it’s so large on you you’re basically buried under. “That’s… Why I did it that day, so you could have a short period of adaptation.” 

“For what?” He sneaks a glance over his shoulder making sure you are decent. You have absolutely no idea what he's talking about. “When can I go home, Chan?”

Sadness crosses his face for a second, it’s brief, but it's enough to tell you something is deeply wrong.  “I think you should eat first.” He sizes you up and down, walking towards the door. “You’ve lost too much weight fighting vampire venom.” 

“I’m not eating anything!” When you snap, his hand pauses above the knob, in suspense. “Not until you explain everything that happened to me... ” Stopping, you inhale sharply, remembering the details of the giant wolf attack, the pain and the fear. The young man observes from the other side of the room, expression carefully wiped out. “Chan, were you in the Forbidden Forest?” 

Sighing, he steps closer, only changing his mind when he sees you straighten anxiously. “What do you remember from that day?” He looks particularly disheartened, adding; “... And that night.” 

“I went on a hunt alone, as I normally do. On the outskirts and I was attacked by a wolf. I was dying but Jaebeom saved m-”

“Saved you?” Chan immediately interrupts defensive, he crosses his arms over his chest. “Trust me. That wolf wasn’t going to kill you.”

“Trust you?” He bears your accusatory glare like a pro. “What do you know about that beast?”

Please, say it was all a bad dream.

“I do know,” he almost looks mad now, “and I think you do too...”

“You attacked me.” So it was true, Chan is the silver wolf. If your glare could kill, he would be bleeding out on the floor by now. “You’re a monster.”

“A lycanth,” his jaw clenches, “we are shapeshifters.”

Hybrid freaks. That’s how Jaebeom referred to them. “Half-human, half-wolf,” you guess aloud. 

“No, not me... Y-” Chan's mouth remains ajar, but no other sound comes out. Then, he shuts both of his eyes like he swallowed something bad. “Some of us, like me, are born from werewolves mates within the pack. We legacies are rarer now. Lycanth were almost extinct after the war.”

“What war?”

“The Amaranthine Slaughter.” His mouth opens again, then closes. “That’s not important now. You are either born a lycanth, or you… become one... With the bite of an Alpha. You met Jackson, he is our pack's current one. Our highest authority, even parasites have to listen to-”

“But you are the one who bit me...” You don’t like where this is going, not at all. You know Chan like the back of your hand, know when to panic. He's clearly stalling, holding back something important.

“Yes... But I'm from an ancient lineage of Alphas...” He concedes, and you’re pretty sure he’s full-on blushing. “You are my first marking.”

“You… You weren’t killing me…” The room spins, you feel like throwing up.

“I turned you, into one of us.”

The fatality of his words hasn’t hit you yet. “Why me?”

“Hum, I don’t know where to start. I wasn’t expecting...” Chan chuckles clearly flustered, he runs a hand over his face. “The first time I saw you, I-”

“Am I a monster? Just like that!” Ok, now you’re panicking. “A hybrid freak?”

Chan blinks, taken aback and disenchanted, as you stand up. In a second he’s between you and the door, hands raised to try and appease you. He looks more hurt by your lack of interest in his story than your choice of words. “No no, y/n! It’s fine, everything’s going to be alright...”

“I need to see Gran!” He doesn’t budge when you duck under his arm to pull at the knob without success. It’s locked. He has locked you in his bedroom! 

“You’ll be able to visit her soon, after your first transformation.” Chan sounds strained. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know if you just calm down...”

Calm down?

When you stare at him, terrified, he tries to reach for you but you shrink away. This is not a discussion you want to have. Chan isn’t the human orphan you befriended. He’s nothing like the funny hunter you grew to care for and thought you knew. He’s a wolf, and he’s a liar. A cheat that totally freaks out when he reads the fear he now inspires you.

Chan doesn’t wait for you to calm down and clear your thoughts. That's what his experienced brothers and sisters recommended, the ones that already chose a mate. Instead, he makes the mistake of telling you everything. Even if you clearly are not ready.

Everything about what happened in the forest, him, the pack’s history, and this place; Inferorum Castrum.

___

It's only been a week, but you’re allowed outside the walls of the castle during the day, on your own. Well, almost. Even if you can’t see him, he is never quite far. Apparently, he's unable to leave you alone... At first, you were furious at everyone, and you cried a lot. When you were introduced, you refused to talk to the rest of the pack. Now, you are still lost, but you decided only the main culprit deserved your hatred; Chan. He’s the one who ruined your life, your human one.

You still wonder why Jackson agreed of you to join his pack, of all women from nearby villagers. What makes you special that they picked you, that Chan wanted you? Sure, you two had been close for years, but you never got that vibe from him. He never gave anything away, never hinted he might like to spend… You know... The rest of his few centuries of life with you! 

At least there’s freedom in your near future. As soon as you'll master shapeshifting, you’ll be free to go anywhere during the day. Provided that you abide by the Castrum court’s many rules, of course. There’s still a lot you don’t know about, but you’re getting around.

Aimlessly walking into the gardens, you try to work on your new sharper senses, you’re supposed to use your next days to train. You try to focus on the buzzing of a bee’ wings or the smell of one particular flower like Youngjae recommended. He’s one of your new brothers. He explained everything would be easier but even more intense after your first Full Moon; your first night out with the rest of the wolves.

The bright Delta has been the most useful and nice to you, especially since you avoid your ‘mate’ at all costs. You don’t even know where Chan is sleeping these days, you kicked him out of the bedroom and he hasn't come back since. If that psychopath thinks you are going to become his actual partner after what he did... He’s even crazier than you first thought.

Craving the cover of the shadows, you enter the large cedar maze you’ve grown familiar with. If you walk to its center, there’s a bench hidden behind rose bushes. You discovered it the first time you were allowed outside. It’s been your favourite place to nap and think ever since no one disturbs you there. There’s not much to do around at the Castrum except eat, sleep, or get to know everyone by playing games. You don’t feel like doing any of those things today. Tugging a branch to slip behind one of the red rose bushes, you accidentally sting yourself with a torn. Yelping from the pain and surprise, you bring the cut finger to the level of your eyes. Instantly, blood pearls and you stare at the crimson tear, lost in your thoughts.

Blood.

You haven’t had much time to wonder about the vampire that brought you to Inferorum Castrum in the first place. Jaebeom. No one except Chan, not even Youngjae or Jackson, has mentioned your first night here. Still, you’re well aware the whole pack knows what went down... They all heard. Knowing what you do know about this place now, it’s a small miracle the confrontation in the hall didn’t escalate to a full-on fight.

There is a lot of tension within the Castrum. Lycanth and vampires are apparently natural enemies who used to be at war, it lasted over a millennial. An infernal bloodbath known as the Amaranthine Slaughter. Both sides were so busy killing off each other, that they didn’t care about the casualties and destruction they were leaving in their midst. Not until humanity had enough and sought revenge. After two centuries of war, all three species were almost completely wiped out. It became clear they needed to stop killing each other to remain.

The Amaranthine Peace was signed between supernatural beings in the hopes of ending the massacre. Werewolves were the most vulnerable since they used to openly live together in human villages. That’s why the treaty included a special term; Vampires were to coexist with them, waiting for humans’ fugacious nature to forget about their legend. Every Vampire Court welcomed a pack within its castle, usually remote and well hidden from mortals. Thus the Inferorum Castrum became one of those sanctuaries. Jaebeom offered hospitality to his lifelong enemies, the Bang pack, to set an example. 

Vampires may be eternal, but lycanth aren’t, they only live three or four times longer than humans do. So, Chan wasn’t born during the war, but his grandfather was the Alpha who signed the peace treaty. In fact, out of all the rare legacies of your new pack, only Jackson was a pup during the war. It doesn’t keep younger wolves from openly hating the cold-ones though... And the aversion is quite mutual, If there's one thing Jaebeom was clear about with you, it’s that he hates werewolves, treaty or not. 

Since the Amaranthine Peace, life at the Castrum has been fragile and precious. Alphas and noble vampires have been working together to maintain it at all costs. That is the story you’ve been told… 

What the pack hasn’t told you, you’re starting to piece together on your own, slowly. 

Like why Jaebeom did… What he did with you.

He evidently didn’t get you weren’t human anymore. You imagine he knew Chan as one of Jackson’s Betas. He probably wasn’t aware he was from Alpha lineage. That his rank was slowly shifting within the pack, and that his bite could turn. Ah, ranks… Well, that’s complicated and hard to grasp for an outsider, even vampires. Youngjae had to explain them to you at least thrice… As of now. 

There’s the Alpha; the wisest and your leader. His mate is the Lead Huntress, and she is expected to be the fiercest, strongest warrior. You doubt Jackson has a mate at all, you’d have heard about her by now. Wolves are biologically programmed to obey one Alpha, they don’t have a choice. You still don’t fully get that, but they say your bond to Jackson will be stronger after your First Transformation.

The Betas; second in command to the Alpha couple, are skilled warriors and hunters. They keep the pack under control and well organized, Jackson relies on them a lot. The Betas are harder to get close too, you haven’t met many yet. They are mostly legacies, born-wolves.

The Deltas; considered even smarter than most Betas, are in charge of the training of the whelps. Some are also skilled healers, useful in combat. Youngjae is a Delta, and he is taking your training very seriously.

The Epsilons; non-ranking wolves, like you. Apparently, they used to be the largest group within packs before the war, but now there aren’t as many left. Epsilons are rarer, mostly pups that haven’t acquired any valuable set of skills yet.

Lastly, Omegas; always fighting authority... No one ever mentions these troublemakers to you. The fewer, the better.

Lost in your thoughts, you’re still staring at the tiny tear of blood on your finger when Chan appears as if materializing from thin air. He whines, grabbing your hand to assess the damage. 

“Are you hurt?” There’s a deep wrinkle of worry between his brows. Like every time he touches you, warmth envelops you both instantly.

Mates, he explained the first day. Before you can push him away, Chan brings your index to his mouth, gently sucking on your scratch. You’re so stunned by his gesture that you forget you’re supposed to be angry at him. Your lips part in awe, flushing as he licks your finger clean. After a heartbeat he looks up, seemingly realizing what he is doing. Your finger is still in his mouth, but Chan's almond gaze widens. Wolves mate for life, his previous words echo through your mind. What’s with lycanth and vampires with blood?

“I told you to be careful.” Releasing your digit like it’s ardent, he looks somewhat embarrassed. It is hard to actively hate him when every fibre of your being seems to vibrate at his proximity.

“Following me,” regaining poise, you cross your arms over your chest, "again?" 

“Yes,” Chan admits shamelessly, “Jackson asked me too.” 

“And you always do as he says!” You can't help your annoyance. Your former friend looking all cute and innocent after all that happened is too upsetting. 

"Well…” The left corner of his pout jiggles at your outburst. You’ve been going at it every time you see him these days. “He’s our Alpha.” Chan blinks blankly, obviously unsure where you are in your education. “Uh- Jackson is like um… a… How could you… It’ll be like that, you and me… You’ll get it soon, after your First-”

“I know what an Alpha is!” You roar, ducking under a branch to exit his intimate proximity. You need to put as much space as you can between your bodies. This mate bond is making you lose your mind, freaking you out. You can’t even think clear if Chan's near. First Full Moon this, First Full Moon that, there’s never actual explaining with him. “What about what I ask you? I told you… Leave me alone, Chan!” He follows like a lost puppy despite that, only staying a step behind. When you turn to glare at him, his face twists guiltily.

“I’ll do whatever to make us right.” He promises, “I just can’t... Disobey.”

You stop, and he does too, simultaneously. “When can I visit her?” 

“I went and brought Gran some game yesterday, she’s doing fine. She thinks you’re on a hunting tr-”

“When?” You repeat, inquisitive, though you already know the answer.

“Jackson said aft-”

“Don’t bother.” When you turn back to the castle, something catches the corner of your eye; a dark curtain falling back on the window of a room. You catch a breath despite yourself, staring until it stops swinging. It’s the vampires’ wing. That’s one thing that is rather easy to understand about the messy mapping of your new house. Though vampires and werewolves coexist at the Castrum, both equally avoid each other’s company. You haven’t even seen one undead since you’ve been living here, but you are aware there’s plenty of them. 

They live in the West wing, where the sun sets the earliest, and Lycanth – you – live in the East wing, where it rises.  

“It’s not him,” Chan deadpans after a long silence, voice-controlled. He isn't whiny anymore but rather cold. You both know who he means. “He’s been sent away on Council duty.”

“I don’t care.” You lie, although you have a lot on your plate, there’s no denying you do. Not that you have anything special going on with the king just… Ever since that first night, Jaebeom’s not come to see you, not even once. He probably has forgotten all about your existence, you were just a blood bank. Now that you are not fully human anymore, why would he care?

“Do you have any idea how I felt?” Chan asks dryly, all of a sudden. It's the first time he is actually bringing his feelings up. “Or do you not care about that either?”

“I don’t!” You bark back, but even you can tell that it is another lie. Perhaps it’d be easier to truly hate and blame Chan if he hadn’t been your closest friend for years… And if he wasn’t currently taking good care of your grandma, the closest thing you have to a family. You aren’t sure that, knowing what you do now about Chan, you’d made the same deal that night with Jaebeom.

“I was worried sick,” he replies without batting an eye, “I thought he was going to kill you... After... The king took you just to spite me. I finally made a move on you and then you were go-.”

“A move?!” You see it on his face when he understands he messed up bad. You’ve never been one prone to throw fits, but it’s all you can do ever since the bite. You have this anger constantly boiling within, and it's easy to push it all on Chan. “A move would’ve been actually asking me out! Getting me flowers or-”

“You hate flowers.” He reminds, missing the point.

“-or a gift! A move is what Jaebeom made in that room, Chan. Not dooming me into a forced lifelong relatio-”

You regret your words as soon as they slip from your mouth and stop yourself. Not that you don’t believe them, just that he doesn't need to hear that all over again. Even though you’re mad, there’s no denying Chan cares a lot for you. He picked you after getting to know you. Sure, you had no idea what he wanted, but it doesn’t change how he feels. It’s not like your usual self to dismiss people’s feelings like that. He doesn’t need to be told all about what happened between you and the vampire that night because he already knows. He had to listen to it all, has it happened.

“That room.” When he finally speaks again, he looks drained, resigned. He gestures the window with the hovering curtain. “That's Queen Ryujin’s.”

“P-Pardon?”

“I thought you didn’t care about anything or anyone except yourself.” He stares, expressionless, aware his next words have the effect of a stab. “That's his Queen's bedroom.” 

Suddenly, everything is spinning and you reach for your head with both hands for it to stop. Jaebeom is a vampire, he fed on you thinking you were just a lowly human. He hates werewolves, has said so over and over… He is a king somehow, and you’ve… You’ve… How is he married? Does one get that bored when they are eternal?

“Hey... Are you alright?” Chan’s arm wraps around your shoulders to pull you into him.

“Do not touch me!” You growl. Elbowing his chest, you fight back to free yourself. 

“I-I’m sorry,” his arm falls back idly, ‘I just thought…”

He has the decency to shut up then, and that’s how you know his words were absolutely true. In the end, it doesn’t matter. The only thing you’re sure of right now, is that Chan said this out of spite; hoping to hurt you.

“Y/n!” He calls when you leave but you don’t look back. 

You barely hear him, walking fast to the main hall and trying to calm yourself. Lines between your frustration with your mate and the king blur in your mind. When you reach the castle, you are totally hysterical. It isn’t rational at all, but you could murder anyone right now, you can't control it, it has taken over. Of course, the vampire king has a vampire queen! It all makes sense! Still, there’s a small voice in your mind who craves to yell, louder and louder. Why did Jaebeom bed you then? Sure, he called it ‘feeding’, but he did much more than that. 

“Hi, pup!” One of the Betas you don’t know by name, smirks when you storm through the East Living Room. He’s playing cards with two Deltas; Felix and Sana, Youngjae’s mate. His face falls when he sees you don’t slow down. “Jesus, what did you do this time?” The last comment isn't intended for you. The only reason you catch it is because of your new, inhuman, hearing. You’re already running up the stairs.

“Shut it, Minho!” Chan snarls, obviously still trailing you.

You press on through the long stone corridors, the East wing is way more comfortable than the West one. There’s a large window at the end of the living quarters’ corridor, letting in sun and a fresh breeze all day long. No mildew smell, no torches needed at night, all of you can see perfectly through darkness anyway. You barely have time to reach your bedroom before Chan catches up with you. It better this way since you can slam the door to his face, merciless. 

“Y/n!” He barks, also losing his temper for the gazillionth time since you’ve been living here. The built wolf kicks the door you’re leaning against, causing the hinges to shake violently. He probably could burst through, but he doesn’t. “That’s my room too,” he protests, hitting it once more, “you can’t lock me out forever!” On the first floor, Felix and Minho audibly laugh, highly entertained.

“I used to have my own space, you know? At home!” Spiteful, you kick the door with your heel. You too can hit things. You too can be enraged. “That was before you ruined my life, asshole! You can sleep outside, fuck off!”

“I like her,” Felix whispers downstairs, dead serious as he shuffles the cards, “she’s eloquent.” Unbeknown to you, there’s a small audience slowly gathering in the living room, eager to hear you guys go at it again.

“Right!” Chan’s palm hits the wood, and the door vibrates against your back. “Be mad about the bite! Be mad about your former life! Be mad about losing your humanity! You can hate me for that, at least for a while. I understand you need tim-”

“No, you don’t!” Eyes narrowing meanly, you consider opening the door to tell that to his face but decide against it. It’s safer, you might just rip his throat. “You’ll never get it. You were born with this bane. You have no idea what I’m going through because of you.” 

“Fine! I don’t understand anything! Keep cursing me, keep pushing me away...” Chan grunts hollowly, making the hair rise on your body, but not from fear. It's from that something under your skin that’s alive and pulsating every time he’s near. It’s even worse when you’re angry at each other and fighting. “But...” The Beta is a little less explosive when he goes on, though his words still strike you; “Don’t take it out on me when it's about him...  I can’t stand it! It’s killing me!”

Absolute silence falls on the East Wing of the Inferorum Castrum at the comment. You know because you listen intently, breathing rendered heavy by your outburst. You can’t tell if Chan is still there waiting for you to reply with something. You rack your brain, trying to remember why you even started to yell at him today. With you two, it’s becoming second nature, your only way to communicate. He is wrong, this is not about Jaebeom. You should tell Chan that, it's because of why he brought him up. Before you can make up your mind, he is leaving, dragging his feet along the corridor. When the young wolf reaches the stairs, there’s obvious disarray in the living room. He knows the others where eavesdropping with bated breath but doesn’t mind. There’s rarely ever the need for secrecy or intimacy when you belong to a pack. You start to take for granted everyone knows everything about you. As far as Chan remembers, the others also fought with their mates a lot after the marking, it’s just that there was no vampire involved whatsoever. No third party, luckily for them. 

As soon as he enters the room, every head turns to him and he sees that the number of wolves has tripled. They showed up for the dramatic shit show that is his current love affair. He raises a brow, spotting that even Yugyeom and Bambam made it, two incendiary Omegas. God knows where they were before this all started. 

“I hated Sana for a whole year after she turned me,” Youngjae claims, apparently back from his hunt just in time. He’s probably trying to be reassuring, but months of being at each other’s throat don’t sound too appealing to Chan right now. “Cursed her out every single day...”

“He tried to kill me, twice.” Sana deadpans and his arm stretches around her shoulder, patting for forgiveness. Chan doesn’t even bother answering, wiggling from one foot to the other. He wants to go stretch his legs, he craves a turn. He hasn’t been able to escape his responsibilities ever since you joined the pack. Between you yelling at him and your grandmother worrying...

Leaning against a wall, Yeji looks up, hopeful. “Wanna go for a run?” She proposes and Chan smirks at the young Epsilon. He’s yours now, no matter how you feel about it. Yeji will get over her budding crush on him soon.

“Go! I’ll look after your abusive mate for you!” Yugyeom cackles on the sofa. 

“Yeah, we’ll check her out!” Elbowing his friend, Bambam adds; “You still have a few days before the king comes back...” Chan growls at the rebel wolf as a warning. He fully uncovers his canines, but the Omega smiles widely going on; “At least he’s not here to fuck her agai-” 

“Do not talk about my huntress.” In a second, Chan is on Bambam, fisting his shirt and pulling up until their foreheads are pressed against one another. He warns, nostrils flaring and irides glowing yellow; “I’ll kill you.”

“Chan,” Felix murmurs, most sensible, “don’t mind Bam. He’s just-”

“If one of you disrespects her...” Chan’s tone is so low it’s unrecognizable, mouth almost closed. “You’re disrespecting me, understood?” Everyone around the room nods in acknowledgement. It’s not like any would ever stand a chance of winning a fight against the strongest Beta anyways.

“What do we call a wolf that’s whoring around with a leech?” Bambam snickers nonetheless. The Omega must have a death wish. Seconds before Chan guts him – something that is obviously long overdue – a scary howl resounds through the whole Castrum. The entire pack stills at the timed entrance of the Alpha into the living room. They’re all well aware of where he’s coming back from. 

“What do you call a wolf like that, pup? I’m curious...” Though Jackson’s voice is devoid of any irritation, the Omega whimpers and shrinks on himself, frightened.

“A bitch.” Chan barks in his stance, knuckles white on Bambam’s shirt. Jackson hisses through his teeth, apparently appreciative of the slang.

“Clever... How strange, no one ever told me that one before...” The Alpha looks around the room intently. He bursts out laughing when he doesn’t manage to meet anyone’s gaze. Only Chan dares, standing back and releasing the senseless Omega. “Any of you take issue of my personal life?” The large wolf, smiles, bringing his hand to rub the skin of his neck. “Now’s the time, I’m in a lenient mood...” He says it bright and cheerful but none is foolish enough to actually comment.

“Can I go out?” The Beta blurts out, strained. “Or I might just end that cur...” Jackson assesses his second in command for a moment before nodding. Wow. Chan must truly look like shit.

“I’m sure your pup can manage alone for a few hours.”

“Thank you.” The wolf grunts’ immediately shrugging off his clothes as he begins to exit the room. He doesn’t mind the young Epsilon trailing him like a shadow. He craves fresh air, he hasn’t slept in weeks, running until complete exhaustion is exactly what he needs. 

Upstairs, alone in your room, you are mortified. 

The tears you have been crying since your fight with Chan have dried, and you’re shocked by what happened downstairs. You don’t even get why he took your defence at this point, it’s not like you have been anything but horrible to him. You have no idea how you’re supposed to feel or act around the rest of the pack now that you heard all of that.

A bitch.

Lying on your back, you rub your swollen eyelids. Youngjae claimed the mate bond is inevitable. He also said that it’d be even stronger for you because Chan is the one who directly marked you. He’s expected to be the next Alpha and you’re supposed to revere him. You hadn’t realized what this implied before overhearing that fight. Chan has authority, credibility to ensure with the rest of the pack. Youngjae was marked by Jackson, like every other member that wasn’t born from werewolves. You aren’t simply Chan’s mate, you’re also his first. In the future, if you don't act as such they’ll step on him too, you should be careful.

Nocturna Masterlist | HALLOWEEN

[kpopchangedme]

Nocturna: Part II [M]

The fragile peace between undead and lycanth is imperilled your arrival to the Inferorum Castrum. Between the changing power dynamics of the wolf pack and the insatiable urges of the vampire king, you aren’t exactly sure where your loyalty lies.

Protagonists: Im Jaebeom | You | Bang Chan

Word Count: 5k

Genre: NSFW | *SMUT* | Supernatural!au | Vampires | Werewolves | Angst | Romance | Love Triangle

Snippet: Straightening, he gazes down at you, blood-red eyes roaming your exposed chest with a new kind of hunger. Apparently, even creatures of the night are men. “So,” he asks, challenging, “preferable?” Earlier you only feared him killing you, you didn’t even consider he could request something else entirely, crave more than your blood.

Nocturna Masterlist | HALLOWEEN

Stirring in your sleep, you roll on your side. It’s freezing. By instinct, you tug at the satin sheets covering you, still only half-conscious. There’s something abnormally cold and hard close, in a haze, you run your fingers on the mattress to find it. The object is smooth and elongated, you explore it, slowly opening your eyes as you reach its end; long, slim, soft, icy… Fingers.

You don’t own satin sheets.

Awakening in a rush of adrenaline you sit, jumping as far away from the corpse next to you as you can. You hit a stone wall in your haste. You’re in a dark room, you can barely see anything. Your entire body aches dolorously and, remembering the scene in the forbidden forest, you reach for your injured back. The skin that was torn apart is now silky and perfect, smooth as though it was all a bad dream, your face is the same. Cautiously, you rotate your shoulder, and the pain you feel tells otherwise. That, as well as all the holes and the dry blood stiffening your clothes.  

Somehow you were healed and survived.  

Your gaze falls to the inanimate corpse on the other side of the bed, you are beginning to distinguish his features now. Is this his doing? He seems dead and you might believe that to be true if you hadn’t seen him move and talk just fine earlier. His hair is charcoal, one with the darkness, but his skin is drained, so pale it’s translucid and dark veins course under it. He is gorgeous, but also undoubtedly evil. You shiver, staring at the dangerous resting vampire. The sun must still be up if he has brought you into his den. He probably feeds at night; it must be the only reason you are still breathing.

Millimetres by millimetres, you slide away on the canopy bed until you reach its edge. You keep your eyes on him, rendered statuesque by his immobility. When you’re toes touch the stone floor, you allow yourself a soft exhale of relief. He still hasn’t moved. This is your chance to escape. Your shoes and hunting gear are nowhere to be found, but you don’t waste time searching. Careful, you tiptoe to the other side of the darkroom. Already unlocked, the door opens on the end of a large stone corridor, sparsely lit by hung torches. You hesitate, having no idea how you got here in the first place, or how to get out. The vaulted ceiling is so high above your head, this place must be gigantic. Heart pounding, you glance one last time at the undisturbed vampire on the bed. Did he really heal your wounds? Still, you should run. It seems that’s all you’ve been doing today; running away. It started like any morning really, you aren’t sure how it turned out this wrong. One moment you’re hiding behind a bush on the outskirts of the forbidden forest, trying to get a clear shot at a deer, the next… You’re being chased by a giant demon wolf. Was it really Chan? It can’t be. You know the young trapper by heart, he’s sweet and funny. Suddenly you flush, remembering his nakedness. It's like a dark secret fantasy you didn't know you had... But what happened in the forest has to be real… Because you are here, but where is this place anyway? You’ve never seen anything like it.  

It all happens in an instant. Your scream of terror doesn’t even leave your throat when you are suddenly yanked backwards. It is muffled by the cold hand gagging your mouth. Cold.

Dead.

The door shuts on the corridor, letting absolute darkness fall on the bedroom again. You didn’t see him coming, didn’t hear a thing, yet he’s caging you. Just like in the Forbidden Forest. The undead’s arm is wrapped around you, and he’s pressed against your back. This time, however, you aren’t dying, not yet anyway, not that easily. You feel way stronger. Struggling to free yourself from his embrace, you hit him a few times with all your might, but he doesn’t falter. When you bite his hand though, you get a reaction. He takes it back as suddenly as it appeared.  

“Biting?” The vampire asks dryly, and you freeze, mortified. Slowly, he turns you in his arms, like a rag doll deprived of any free-will. “Irony isn’t lost on me...” His marble skin seems to glimmer in the darkness, sharp features emphasized by the shadows. “Do not venture out of here alone. Stay with me if you want to live.”  

“P-Please... Don’t eat me...” You plea under your breath, gaze-wide as he stares back unemotionally at you.  

“Eat you?” His lips stretch, uncovering perfectly aligned white teeth. This time, his fangs are nowhere to be found. “I don’t eat little girls...” The creature reaches for your hair, caging a strand between his long fingers. Leisurely, he lets them slide on the silk. “Not unless they want me to...” A shiver travels down your spine. “I healed you, tidbit.”  

“Why?” At your question, the bloodsucker lowers his head into you, smelling your skin.  

“Because,” he whispers, his nose diving way down and brushing your neck, “I don't like seeing sweet blood go to waste… I hate that Beta Dog... And you begged… I love when people beg me.” You’re frozen still as he replies, unable to pay attention. He's going to bite you at any moment, you're going to die. “Now you owe me.” You simply stand in the creature's arms, motionless, more and more unsure of what he wants. Why isn’t he biting you?  

“O-Owe you what?” The words manage to exit your mouth miraculously, and he pulls back to observe your reaction.  

“Your life. I’d like to propose a deal for it...” The vampire pauses, getting distracted, “You’re much prettier unbattered, tidbit.” Bringing two fingers under your chin to observe you, he holds it like it's something frail and precious. “Is there anything else you desire, other than your life?”  

“G-Grandma… I need to return to my gran's h-house.” You seem unable to tear your gaze away from his mesmerizing dead irides. You’d do anything to get back home, return in one piece from this hellish hunt.

“I have been told that story before… The one with the big bad wolf.” He chuckles, barely audible. The elegant undead seems to ponder on something before speaking again; “One night.”

“W-What?”

“My price.” He specifies, sternly. “For your life and safe return. I’m being generous since you are from there.” Your village, so the legends were right. Vampires don’t usually murder people from Ianua.

“You won’t drink my blood?”

“Of course! One night to feed...” His index traces your jugular and your heart accelerates. “I really hate dogs.” He scoffs, clearly disgusted at the memory of the meeting in the woods. “You owe me a drink, tidbit.”

“Don't call me th-” Before you reveal your actual name, your mouth is covered.

“Identities have invaluable power here, walls have ears.” The creature whispers hurriedly, so close that you have chills. “Don’t give more than what I ask, or you’ll lose everything. One bite.”

“Then what?” You’re stunned when his hand disappears, and you’re sure your breath on his ear is the reason he slightly jerks back. “Can bloodsuckers really feed without killing humans?” That’s not what you heard from the legends.

“I’m not some barbarous monster, ignorant little girl.” Prideful, his eyes narrow, becoming two straight bloody cuts on his sallow skin. “I’ll escort you back to the outskirts of the forest before dawn, safely. You have my word, that's all I can offer. Do you take this deal?”  

Like you have a choice, what are your other options really? You need to trust he’ll keep his promise. “Yes...” You agree, worried you’re making a deal with the Devil himself, or its spawn at the very least.  “One bite.”

Instantly, his stone face slices apart, lips stretching on the same gloomy smile he offered earlier. Again, you are spun in his arms in a flash. He takes hold of your shoulders, immobilizing you. The creature's nose plunges into your neck, and you wait anxiously for his fangs to sting. It’s the tip of his tongue that grazes your skin first though. You don’t even try to pull away, too stunned. As if tasting you, the vampire leans closer. He traces a path up to a particular spot in the crook of your neck before pausing there, teeth beginning to dig in.

“Does it hurt?” You blurt out before your skin rips, and he stops.

“Not me.” The undead snickers, evidently finding your question particularly futile. “Don’t worry. The pain won’t last, your heart is beating too fast...” Shaking your head in a daze, you don’t notice the way his hand creeps up to cover your chest and feel its pulse. “You are lucky I am the one who raised and came to you. I am way more considerate than most...” He says the last sentence like he’s a benevolent saviour, not the leech parasite who is about to drain you. Hesitant, his mouth hovers above your skin before he sighs, straightening up. “There’s a way humans enjoy the bite.” He admits half-heartedly, fully letting go of you the first time.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Letting out a breath of relief you turn to find him already sitting back on the edge of the bed, on the other side of the room. He quirks a brow at your astonishment. Inhuman speed, right.

“Because... I didn’t think suffering would matter that much to you if I made it brief. You went through a lot worse in the forest. You seemed to be a fighter.” Of course, it does, perhaps vampires don’t know pain. They are dead after all. Glancing at the door, you make a silent choice; you’ve made a deal, so you won’t run. Although, you doubt you could make it far anyway.

“Do you not like it... That agreeable way?”

“Oh, I would.” The undead’s red eyes crease in amusement, aware of something you aren’t. “I just haven’t shared that with a mortal in a very long time. I hear the bite stings then, but in a very pleasing way.”   “Is that possible?”

“It would warm you up for my feeding, but I doubt you’d enjoy it much... Not with a bloodsucker like me.” He sounds spiteful, making you regret your earlier choice of words. You didn’t even think the creature had pride to damage.

“I’ve been hurt enough today already...” You pause, but he doesn’t move one iota, a beautiful alabaster figure on the mattress. “Let’s do it… The agreeable way.”

“Are you sure?” He counters, way softer, mood shifting. If this back and forth goes on, the night will be over before any actual biting happens.  

“Yes.” You insist, a lot less anxious since he almost seems concerned. The right corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk.

“As you wish, tidbit.” In a blur, the undead is standing before you again. “Close your eyes,” he commands and you hesitantly obey, still a bit wary.

He acts much faster once you do, starting at the brim of your jaw. You fidget when his mouth grazes your sensitive skin at first, not knowing what he’s expecting of you. His hands aren’t even holding you back this time, still, you try to remain in place. His cold lips explore your neck anew, leisurely trailing down. It’s different than before, now he presses them strategically along the way, tickling, almost like kisses. Goosebumps spread over your whole body as you stand there, unsure why you are not entirely hating this.  

“Is that it?” You ask, surprised even though his mouth hasn’t come anywhere special yet. He laughs hollowly against your clavicle. Without warning, the vampire reaches for the hem of your torn shirt, pulling it over your head in one go. You yelp, attempting to cover your unexpected nudity with your arms, but he grabs your wrists. Oh... You are getting the idea now, but you aren’t sure how that is supposed to help with the pain. Straightening, he gazes down at you, blood-red eyes roaming your exposed chest with a new kind of hunger. Apparently, even creatures of the night are men.

“So,” he asks, challenging, “preferable?”

Earlier you only feared him killing you, you didn’t even consider he could ever request something else entirely, want more than blood. At your clear understanding, he smirks, tilting his head as if daring you to prove him right by changing your mind. Part of you is worried, but it isn’t the one you want to listen to right now. The curious one is louder, buzzing in your brain, alive under your skin, craving. He is a predator and an amazing one because the fascination he inspires you at the moment is way stronger than any survival instinct. When he releases your wrists, you don’t move to cover yourself. Instead, you reach for his own shirt, lifting it until he’s also bare. The rest of him is as chiselled as his forearms and features, perfected simply to taunt mortals. Observing your reaction, the vampire purses his lips, very pleased.  

“I guess I was wrong, tidbit.” His voice is huskier than before. Guardedly, his right palm raises to find your cheek, cupping it to pull you into him. Your bodies meet, fitting against one another almost like you’re the same. “You aren’t scared of what I might do anymore.” He states, mere millimetres away from your lips. “How ill-advised.”

“I have your word,” you retort, unable to keep from tilting your head upwards for more. You are possessed.  

“Yes.” Something glimmers in his ruby irides as his thumb stokes your lips.

His mouth covers yours shortly after, firmer than when it was on your neck. The kiss is unlike any you’ve received from men, but that’s to be expected since he is none. What is more surprising though, is how good it feels when his dead tongue finds yours. Despite yourself, you immediately pant, lips parting to grant him better access. The vampire remains calm, guiding you cautiously towards the bed without breaking the kiss. Seemingly unaffected by your physical contact. He lays you on the mattress, brushing your hair with his fingers. Instinctively, you tug at his shoulders for him to follow and he does, climbing over you swiftly. It is your mouth that is exploring his now, and he lets you do whatever you want with it. His right hand cups one of your breasts and your nipple erects instantly at the icy touch.

“Your heart,” he muses, obviously the only one fully in control, “I can make it last.”  

You’re unsure what he means; your heart is about to explode. His hand keeps stroking you delicately, fingers caressing your body and spreading weird tingles on your bare skin. Your mouth is numbed as well as your mind, caution is completely thrown out the window. You’re hazy. You wouldn’t be surprised if this was due to some sort of entrancing toxins he's emanating, you wouldn’t mind. Your nails are digging his stone back, silently begging for more. Landing on your lower stomach, his hand slips inside your hunting leather pants without any shame. It’s something none other ever dared to do before. When he finds your sex, both of you seem to catch a breath, but that could be your imagination.

“You’re burning.” He states, as though it’s unexpected or abnormal. Opening your eyes, you hadn’t realized you closed, you meet his heavy gaze.    

“You’re freezing.” You return, making him laugh mutely. Apparently, some things can still confound him.

“It’s because I’m starving, I haven’t fed in a while...” His hand traces your slit, distracting you. “Now I remember the appeal of human girls,” he murmurs this almost to himself, gently sucking on your collarbone, “so warm, and wet.” His fingers move and automatically, you curve on your back, stretching your neck. “Absolutely no survival instinct,” he adds, kissing your exposed throat.  

“Please,” you beg again and he strokes up and down, purposefully, “J-Jeonha...”

The night creature stops everything at the word, eyes empty for a second as he figures things out. At the moment, the dismay on his face is the most human he’s ever seemed. “That’s…” He struggles to conceal his amusement. “You’re uniquely charming.”  

“What?” You raise on your elbows, confused. You’re pretty sure that’s what Chan – or that man-wolf – called him in the forbidden forest. So, the joke is lost on you.  

“That’s my title, it's not for earthlings.”  

“You have a title?”

Frowning, the vampire takes his hand back and snaps, attitude shifting abruptly. “Must you ask about everything?!”

“I-I just thought…” Winded, you ponder, regretting saying it. “Since you can’t tell me your name.”

“Jaebeom,” he reveals, laconic, “Although its knowledge won’t do you any good. You didn’t ask and called me bloodsucker. My birth name was Jaebeom.”

“But you said-”

“Everyone at Inferorum Castrum already knows my identity.” He snickers, like you have done something silly again. His mood lightens as abruptly as it went sour. “I just meant to protect yours.”

Protect. Feed. Considerate. Blood. Safe. Deal. The words coming out of his dead mouth hold no logic to you whatsoever. Jaebeom. The night creature has a name now. He doesn't feel as strange and foreign. Weirdly enough, you don’t hate that.

Jaebeom smirks, gaze dropping to your quasi-nudity, evidently ready to move on and back in the mood again. When you reach to cover yourself, his mouth presses onto yours, rougher than before. He doesn’t seem to want to discuss formalities any longer. He frees you off your pants almost too easily. In no time, you are fully naked under him, skin ablaze at his contrasting chilly touch. You arch when his hand goes back between your legs, fingers rubbing circles skillfully. Craving more friction, your press closer.

“Jae-beom…” You moan, unable to refrain from it. He doesn’t seem to regret allowing you this little knowledge in the end. At the call he grunts, burying his face in your hair as if struggling with something of his very own. “Again.” You demand, holding to his back for dear life as his thumb does its thing one more time. You don’t even protest when his finger pushes inside your core, shallow at first. He adds another one, daring to go deeper when you rock your hips forward.

“I take back what I said earlier…” He groans suddenly. Sinister as Death, Jaebeom raises above you. “You smell delicious, I want to eat you right now…”

“B-blood?” You ask, slightly shaken. You were just starting to forget how inhuman he is. 

“Not that, tidbit...” He smiles widely, amused beyond your grasp by your innocence. The vampire lowers himself for an umpteenth kiss, lingering on your lips a tad longer before moving down on your body. He kisses his way from your breasts to your stomach and belly button, only stopping his descent when he has reached between your thighs. Oh. Your eyes round in awe when his tongue slides over your sex, mouth opening on a cry that doesn’t come out. “That.” Jaebeom points out, vainly, doing it again. Oh. Your thighs shake at the second stroke and his hands grab them to ease his effort. His grip is strong, final, and he widens you, licking your slit. It’s even better than what his thumb was doing earlier and you fight back a moan with all your might. From what he hinted at earlier, you guess there are others like him near, able to hear your embarrassing sounds.  

“Is… This really…” You pant, overwhelmed as he sucks and circles your mound. “Warming up… To it?” Never in your life did you consider you’d face an actual vampire, even less sleep with him, and want it.

“Yes... To many things.” Jaebeom pulls back, charmed yet again by your evident lack of experience.

Despite what he said earlier, about not having done this in a long time, he has a lot of practice. Then again, vampires don’t age as humans do. Surely, he’s way older than he looks.

He takes his time to observe you like this, spread under him. When you become too ashamed of his gaze and try to close your legs, he doesn’t allow it. “I am going to have you now.” Jaebeom informs casually, not the least flustered by the obscenity of his words. He stands, reaching to undo the buttons of his pants. You watch, abashed when he strips from them, standing naked with his cock erected before you. He tilts his head, trying to read your odd reaction for a while before finally giving up and asking what you’re thinking.  

“About C-… The w-wolf, in the forest,” you admit, and his face twists in distaste. Chan has been at the back of your mind ever since you woke up. There’s no way that wolf was really your friend, one of the persons you trust the most in the entire world. Apparently, that’s a very wrong thing to say at the moment.

“Don’t dare mention that werewolf boy in front of me again,” Jaebeom warns in a growl, climbing back on the bed. Werewolf. “I barely tolerate those savage hybrid freaks as it is.”

“You are not the same.” You state as he lowers himself over you. How have you never heard of beasts like that before? You heard legends of bloodsuckers.

“Obviously.”  

You want to ask him more. If a wolf can masquerade as human, can it make itself look like anyone? Can it know who you care about? But the timing isn't good and the vampire looks very displeased you brought this up. You’re not sure what to say to make it better, so you go in for a kiss. Deep, good, and he hums. You don’t even notice when he positions himself at your entrance, already taken by all that’s going up here. He understands right away when you still under him, too stunned to say anything.  

“Sorry,” Jaebeom mutters, calmly stopping, “we said no pain...” He resumes his kisses as you remain breathless, unsure if this knot is simple nervousness. You knew this was what it meant earlier when he undressed you.

You’ve been with men before, just not like that. You always thought it would be… Never mind. “Again.” You request after a moment, trying to clear your mind. Jaebeom doesn’t hesitate, pushing the tip of his length inside your warm wetness.

Feeling you cramp at the intrusion; he removes it slowly. The emptiness is short however and he inserts himself again, each time pecking along your lips, neck, ear, waiting for you to relax before doing it once more. His hips push forward, pressing your ass down into the mattress. You concentrate, trying to ease the throbbing in your lower stomach. There’s a particularly deeper thrust, and you gasp, troubled. Jaebeom stops everything, a weird shudder shaking his shoulders before he turns to stone. Then he exhales, burying his head in the crook of your neck. One of his hands finds your thigh to part your legs slightly, giving him a bit more of you.  

“You’re bleeding...” He whispers, voice hoarse.

“Is…” You aren’t sure what to reply, given the circumstances and what he is. It doesn’t exactly hurt, it’s a discomfort, a slight burn. “Is it a b-bad thing?”

Jaebeom grunts, rolling his hips, and your nails harshly dig his back. “It’s so good, tidbit...” He exhales shakily, “it’s all I can think about...”  

Trembling, you reach for his black hair, guiding his mouth to your neck. That’s the deal; your blood... And if you’re being honest, in the moment, you don’t feel like it was made to your disadvantage at all. He was right, he’s quite generous. Jaebeom doesn’t bite you though. Instead, he kisses your skin, tongue grazing your jugular. He traces it up until he finds the spot he seems to favour. It’s where he feels your pulse the most, but you have no idea. It is deafening, listening to the sweet melody of your heart beating. He pulls away only to slide back inside your core roughly. Although you’re still tight around him, this time it’s a lot more comfortable. Your legs open to ease his back and forth. You raise your hips, already craving more of this smooth friction you’re discovering.  

“That.” In a trance, Jaebeom sucks on your vein every time it bulges on his mouth. The sensation is far from unpleasant for you. “That is a lovely warm-up.”

He pulls you even closer, breathing you in, and missing your smile. This way sure feels better than the first frightening one, he was right. Jaebeom rhythm doesn’t falter, only getting rougher and messier the more it goes, and you’re far from complaining. You let out small cries, not even minding anymore, as he thrusts harder. His hands pull at your thighs, raising them so he hits a new angle inside you. It’s even more pleasurable, making you lose any sane train of thoughts. You curve on your back, a series of praises and begs uncontrollably falling out of your mouth.

Jaebeom feels your walls clench even tighter than before around his cock, tastes the salty sweat from your skin, hears the subtle change in your breathing. He knows that it’s his moment, his window. He doesn’t wait any longer. His fangs pierce your jugular making you gasp from the thrill. Your blood spurts in his mouth, and it’s even better than what he tasted in the forest. Richer and sweeter than ever. His pupils dilate, world outside the bedroom completely fading as you fill his mouth. Jolting from the pleasure, you cling closer to him, not fully realizing your blood is squirting out of your neck. He knows you’re coming even before you do. It must be your first time for that too because you’re out of it as the waves of shuddering ecstasy hit. You moan, arching into him deliciously, and he forgets why he has been denying himself this for years. He sucks unsparingly, despite himself, unable to control his own pleasure and desires. His hips begin to slow down and he pulls out, overwhelmed, but his lips remain glued to your wound.

Jaebeom doesn’t stop sucking until you’re softening, entire body’s violent convulsions losing steam. Your grip in his hair weakens, sliding on his nape until it falls off entirely. You’re gradually slipping out of consciousness. He promised. Getting a hold on his urges, Jaebeom tears away from your neck with a sinister gurgle noise, his favourite sonata. Your blood gushes out, staining his satin sheets in fascinating intricate patterns but he doesn’t allow himself to revel in them now. Putting his palm over the lacerations to control the bleeding, he brings his right thumb to his mouth, biting down until black blood pearls. You’re aghast between his legs, dying, eyes wide as they slowly seem to mist. He knows how death looks, it’s enough. If you didn��t remember how you were miraculously healed in the forest earlier, you certainly seem to at the brink of oblivion now. As soon as he offers his thumb, your mouth opens and you cling to his hand. You suck out his blood, panicky panting calming down.

It’s a give and take.

Jaebeom smiles, enjoying the wet heat of your tongue lapping at his finger. Your wound has already started to suture itself, but he lets you drink him a bit longer, awestruck at your eagerness. When he finally removes his hand, you stare up in wonder, winded and quiet, for once.  

You’re the most beautiful thing ever, vibrant, torrid, so fragile and alive in his bed.  

Oh… Now, Jaebeom remembers why he hasn’t taken a human woman like that in forever… Dispassionate, he drops down on the bed next to you, letting the iron smell of the still lukewarm blood numb his uneasiness. You don’t notice at all and you automatically roll closer.  

“You’re almost cool now.”

“Yes,” he mutters, turning to gaze down at you, “thanks to you.”

Your left hand heavily raises to stoke his arm, and Jaebeom relaxes. “I’m so dead…”

His mouth quivers. Close, but not quite. You’re amusing. “Barely.” When he leans in for a kiss you shrink back and Jaebeom stiffens, brought down to reality. Right, that’s more like it. Your survival instincts are back on, you’ve seen the not-so-glorious side of him now.

“Blood…” You mutter weakly, like justifications are in order, like him being a bloodsucking monster to you isn’t enough.

“It’s yours.” He deadpans, taken aback it’s a problem at this point. It wasn’t what he was expecting. Nonetheless, he licks his lips clean from the red thickness and wipes his face.

“It’s…” You’re inarticulate and your eyes shut, overcame by the blood loss. “Disgusting..." The corner of Jaebeom’s lips lifts into a real smirk this time, cute. You are also covered in it but he doesn’t mind... He pecks your forehead as you’re drifting out of consciousness, like earlier when he brought you from the forest and tucked you in. Maybe his feeding was a bit much, he has pushed it. You were already wounded by Jackson's stupid Beta earlier. As you fall asleep, Jaebeom wonders what’s that like, he can’t remember at all. He watches over you as your breathing slows down, heart rate decreasing until it’s a faint beat, peaceful. You’ll recover, humans always do after drinking from a vampire.

The real part of his deal begins now; your safe return. Bringing a mortal into Inferorum Castrum is a lot easier than sneaking out. Things could go wrong in many ways from now on.  

Thinking this, awake, all senses on alert, the night creature has no idea he’s missing the most crucial piece of information about you.

He hasn’t messed up like this in centuries.

Nocturna Masterlist | HALLOWEEN

[kpopchangedme]

It’s the beginning of spring and Youngjae is trying really hard to keep you from having a productive day…

Lyly’s note: This man is my Ultimate Bias. With capital letters. STAN B.A.P, join the dark side and read my sickening feelings for Jae. Warning: This is so fluffy, I’m sorry. 😘

Protagonists: Yoo Youngjae & you

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: Romance - Smut - Boyfriend

M A S T E R L I S T

The early morning sun is shining, warming the sheets of the bed and slowly waking Youngjae from his dream. Keeping his eyelids shut, he stretches his arm, expecting his fingers to meet your soft skin but reaching the edge of the bed instead.  His eyes lazily open and scan your small studio apartment. Rays of light are drawing bright patterns on the walls and he can hear the birds outside the window. Just by that, he can tell it feels like early spring outside.

The birds are probably happily singing and going around, collecting their little tools in the hope of building the comfiest nest to breed. No doubt some of them are on the hunt for the best twigs to impress their lover, even if the ground isn’t completely thawed out. That thought makes him smile and he turns on his side to rest his head in his hand and observe you.  

You’re standing in the kitchen, going through the cabinets and refrigerator grabbing stuff in the quietest way possible. His eyes are following your movements from the bed, a couple of meters away, only separated by the tiny living room of the open studio. Your long thighs are disappearing under the hem of the oversize t-shirt you threw on and your hair is spread messily all over your shoulders. He’s lucky enough to get a glimpse at the curve of your ass, when you tiptoe to the highest cabinet and grab a glass bowl. Youngjae can’t help but chuckle at the sight and you glance at the bed.

“Morning!” You’re turning your back to him but he can hear your smile.

“Mornin’… Now comeback here…” He mumbles.

“I’m making you pancakes!” You laugh and turn around to point a wooden spoon his way.

The sheets are only partially covering him up to his hip bone and his torso is fully exposed. Dark black strays of his hair are pointing in all directions and even standing straight on top of his head. You always liked when he looks like a mess in the mornings. “You better keep telling the guys I’m the best girlfriend in the whole wide world.”

“… You’re okay, I guess” He teases. “You’d be the greatest if you’d just lay in bed with me all day.”

You let out a hiss through your teeth and go back to your cooking, trying to fight the urge to join him. You two have been dating for a while now and he is always boasting about how awesome you are to his friends. So much, it’s embarrassing. You have never been one to express much your feelings, but he is always loud and clear. He never shies away from expressing himself, usually with disarming honesty.

While you’re deep in thoughts, Youngjae walks over without a noise and encloses your waist in his arms. The impromptu back hug stops you in the middle of measuring the flour. He’s keeping you close, pressing your body against his in silence for almost a minute. You can feel his heartbeat through your shirt and yours quickens when he pulls your hair over your shoulders to rest his head. His fingertips graze the skin of your neck sending shivers down your spine.

“Come give me cuddles…” His voice is nothing but a murmur in your ear and just like that you know you can’t resist. Even if he has already won, you want to make him at least work a little harder for it.

“Cuddles, unh? Isn’t that what you are doing anyway?” Your voice is slightly fading at the end, giving your desire away but you still try to bluff by grabbing the flour. His hand wraps around your right wrist and you feel his tongue slowly climb up the side of your neck until he’s gently sucking and nipping your earlobe. Concealing the moans that want to escape by biting your lips, you try to divert his attention.

“Y-Youngjae?”. A deep hum is the only response you get. “What do you want to do today?”

“You.” His answer makes you scoff and wiggle your way out of his embrace.

“Do me?! Oh, how romantic!” He protests when you slip free and turn around to face him. Youngjae’s standing in front of you in only his briefs, a tension builds in your stomach. You gulp but arm yourself with a fake disapproving look, one he answers with a more puzzled one.

“Are you asking me for romance?” He playfully smiles. “’Because I’ll romance you…” His left-hand fingers start to massage your thigh and his lips are on your neck again nipping on your sweet spot.

You sigh and your breathing instantly gets heavier. You can’t help but wrap your arms around him and slide your fingertips in the waistband of his boxers, closing the gap between your bodies. Youngjae immediately responds by pressing his growing bulge against your hips and you moan, getting wetter as seconds go by.

“Jae, I’m not complaining, but how is this romancing me?” You’re just trying to annoy him a bit more, make him work for it. You feel his quiet laugh tickles your skin. His breath is hot on the wet spot his saliva left.

“Hummm… you smell so good jagiya…” He tried to use his most serious tone to sound romantic, but you laugh at his cheesy attempt. He pulls back semi-offended.

“Come here!” He orders, and walks you towards the bed. Without further ceremony, he pushes you on it and climbs over. You were expecting him to lower to kiss you, but instead he just starts to move all the sheets and pillows. He’s working in silence, stripping your mattress and gathering everything he can near your bodies.  When he wraps your duvet around you two, you put your hand on his chest and raise on one elbow.

“Stop. W-what are you doing?” You are confused but he pushes you back down and slowly leans in, until the tip of his nose is brushing yours. Then he gently kisses you, it’s so soft it barely tickles your lips but still leaves you breathless. When he backs off, his eyes are half-opened and filled with love. Youngjae’s just hovering over your body, his chest rising and falling peacefully. It takes a minute before he speaks but you stay silent, strangely caught up in the moment.

“Can’t you tell?” He pauses and gestures the duvet, sheets and pillows all around, circling you like a loving cocoon. “It’s spring, so I built our nest.” He uses his serious tone again, but this time, you don’t laugh.

“Our what?” You hesitate in disbelief. “Like a bird’s nest?” The idea seems silly, but it somehow makes your heart flutter.

“Yes, I built us a love nest.” Facing your silence, he hesitantly continues. “Well, it’s not the best nest and I know I’m away a lot, but it’ll keep you safe and war-” He’s interrupted when you crash your lips on his. Your fingers get wild in his hair; you had been wanting to play with it since earlier. Youngjae pushes his tongue in, deepening the kiss and exploring your mouth relentlessly. For a moment, you both forget you need air and when he ends the passionate kiss, he rests his forehead on yours while you catch your breaths.

“I have to admit that was kinda cute.” His eyes are close and he barely reacts when you peck his lips.

“Mmmm… I’m always cute, what’s new?” He brushes your noses together making you giggle.

“I Love you, Youngjae.” His eyes shoot open and he stands on his elbow to look at you in awe.

“God, what took you so long. I was dying over here!” A dumb smile is plastered on his face.

“Shut up!” You playfully slap his side to hide your embarrassment.

“Ouch! O.K, I can do tough love…” Instantly, your hips are pressed in the mattress and his lips are on yours again, fighting for dominance.

You grab onto his shoulders and slide your right hand down his back to his ass, his naked skin is burning hot under your fingers. He grunts and abandons your lips to pursue his earlier misdemeanors on your earlobe. He knows how much it turns you on. You raise your hips to grind yourself on his erection and his hand is immediately on one of your thighs. He wraps it on his waist and travels his fingers on your skin, deliberately taking forever to roll up your t-shirt. Youngjae lets out a lustful moan when he realizes you aren’t even wearing panties.

“Really? The things you do to me…” He finally gets rid of your only piece of clothing and shoves it across the room. He stops to observe your fully naked body under him and must grab your hands when you try to cover up by modesty.

“Don’t.” Then his hands are roaming your body, exploring every inch even though he knows it by heart. He drops his head to take one of your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it until it’s erect and throbbing, then he attacks the other one. You’re still pressing your wetness against his constricted member, hoping to make him feel your arousal.

It must be working because it seems to capture his attention. His right-hand fingers dance smoothly down on the skin of your stomach. When he reaches your dampness, you instantly curve on your back, begging for his touch. You pull on his hair for him to kiss you and he happily obliges. Your needy sounds are covered by his mouth as he moves fingers up and down your slit.

He backs off slightly to study your reaction when he inserts a finger inside you. Your back curves again by reflex and you press yourself on him wanting more. Youngjae drops his forehead on your chest, breathing you in while he moves his finger, adding another one and curving them to pleasure you. His thumb repeatedly brush your bud of nerves sending waves of pure delight through your body.

Panting more and more, you dig your nails in his shoulders to hold unto reality longer. Tension is building in your stomach, but you don’t want release right now. No, just not yet.

“Jae…”  You push him until you gain access to his briefs, languidly lowering them while looking straight in his eyes. They are already stained by your juices and his pre-cum. When his length springs free, you gently rub his tip with your thumb. His hips jerk forward and you run your hand up and down his shaft at a deliberately slow pace. Youngjae’s trying to maintain a controlled expression, but he’s breathing heavily and letting out frustrated short grunts.

“W-what are yo-” The question dies in his throat when you begin to pump a little faster making his hips reflexively jerk. After only a few seconds, you stop everything. His jaw drops and he’s about to protest, but you bring your thumb to your mouth and lick his pre-cum. His brows furrows and his gaze gets darker.

“Okay, that’s it. I want you now.” You giggle and lay down in your nest under his scrutinizing stare. “Why do you always tease me like that?” Youngjae kisses you, tasting himself in your mouth, while he positions between your legs. He enters in one go and immediately starts to move. Your legs wrap around his waist and he raises your hips to reach deeper. Building speed with each of his thrust, he sucks on his usual spot on your neck again. To mark you as his.

Both of your voices fill the apartment: his saying nonsense and yours loudly moaning his name every time his hips hit yours. The friction between your bodies is making you crazy and your fingers are scratching his shoulders relentlessly, earning approving groans.

After a moment, Youngjae flips you over to watch you come in that position. As if nothing happened, you naturally ride him. You raise and drop mercilessly on his length, knowing both of your highs are approaching. He positions his right hand between your boobs, watching as they bounce in rhythms.  Your orgasm hits you and your walls clench around him. He instantly follows and comes inside you. You ride off your high by grinding a few more times before collapsing on his chest.

Still catching his breath, he brings a sheet over your shoulders and hugs you tightly against him. You feel his heart beating fast, following the rhythm of yours. After they both naturally slow down, you slip out of his embrace to go clean yourself. When you come out of the bathroom, Youngjae is dozing off, laying on his back and cutely hugging a pillow. You sit on the bed to look at him

“Are you sleeping again?” He grunts, still somehow responsive and you laugh. “Looks like we destroyed our nest.” The hint of sadness in your voice makes him smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll build it again while you go and make me those pancakes.” Triggered, you hit him hard with the closest pillow.

“OUCH!” He opens one eye to gauge your reaction and smiles to try to ease you. ���I’m just saying, we can go again if I eat something.” You sigh and uncross your arms on your chest.

“Fine, but this is special treatment. Not all my boyfriends get to have breakfast in bed.” You walk to the tiny kitchen, but his eyes shoot open and he turns on his side.

“What Boyfriends?” His voice is full of fake cockiness.

“Don’t worry, you’re the only one getting pancakes. Because I love you.”

“YAH! Stop saying that, I might start to take it for granted!” He half-yells in the small studio and rests his chin in his hand to observe you with a bright smile. “I love you too.”

You smirk when you finally measure the right amount of flour. Looks like you might spend the whole day in bed after all.

M A S T E R L I S T