#sab x you

[amsgrey]

it will be enough

requested: yes

Grisha power wasn't specified, so I picked a random one. (and by picked I mean I literally added them to a spin-the-wheel thing and went with it).

Spoilers for Season Two of Shadow And Bone

warnings: Not proofread or edited, Nikolai being jealous, fluff at the end, more things that I have forgotten

You met Nikolai when he was still parading as Sturmhond, the witty privateer who was all about money and fun. You had been locked alone in the hull of a slaver's ship for longer than you could remember, wasting away without food, water or the ability to summon. Everything had been a blur, shouting, fighting, and then you were being unchained and helped upstairs. You remembered the first time stepping into the sun after that whole time, it burnt your eyes and you had to shield them with your arm.

You had met Sturmhond on his own boat, someone had laid you in a cot and forced you to drink water. Then, a man in teal had asked you your name, told you you were safe and would have a place on his crew if you wanted it. You had taken him up on it, there was always a space for a Squaller on his crew. Nikolai grew to trust you, and put his faith in you as he did Tamar and Tolya. Since then, you would follow Nikolai anywhere he asked.

That included helping him bring peace back to Ravka with the Sun summoner. You had been hesitant to leave your comfortable life with the crew of the Volkvolny, but you loved Nikolai, you would go with him to the ends of the earth. You and Nikolai had been dancing around feelings for each other for almost as long as you had known each other. Tolya was always teasing you about it, reciting cliché poetry and watching you and Nikolai exchange stolen glances. You were sure they were unrequited feelings, so you never acted on them.

It only got worse after returning to Ravka and meeting with the rest of Nikolai's allies at the Spinning wheel. You saw the way he looked at Alina, the hope that lit up his eyes, she was all he needed now. You tried your best not to be hurt about it, you knew loving a prince would only lead to pain. He would never be able to love you back, a commoner. So you volunteered to join Tolya to travel to Ketterdam. You were born and raised in Kerch, and you had the strongest language skills out of all of the party.

Nikolai hadn't spoken to you since announcing his engagement to the sun summoner, it felt like he was avoiding you. He finally approached you on the Hummingbird the day you agreed to leave.

"Y/N?"

You turned to find him leaning against the railings, watching you prepare the sails for the journey. "Moi Tsar."

Nikolai cringed, "Not yet."

You smiled, walking over to join him, "Does that mean I can still can you Sobachka?" You laughed, playfully shouldering him like you would do on the Volkvolny.

Nikolai rolled his eyes, "What is your obsession with that name?"

You enjoyed watching him squirm, making fun of him was too easy some days, "I like calling you Sobachka, makes me think of you like a little cute pup."

Tolya interrupted you both before Nikolai could answer, "We getting this show on the road?"

Nikolai took an extra look at you and the bright smile you sported, "Be safe," He ordered, returning to his Prince persona.

"We'll bring back Neshyenyer," You promised.

Returning to Kerch and meeting the crows felt like a fever dream. Somehow, you slotted into their ranks easily, quickly becoming fast friends. You grew to enjoy Kaz's company as much as the others, something about spending time with someone else from Kerch, who really understood. Besides, he was serious and unwavering and you kind of enjoyed someone who was as serious as you.

After the events in Shu-Han, you were having second thoughts about staying around in Ravka after the war. Nikolai had everything he needed now and Kaz had offered you a place with the Crows if you wanted it. The only thing that was keeping you in Ravka was Nikolai, but why stick around to love someone who would never love you?

You jogged along with Kaz, Wylan and Jesper, headed towards where Nikolai was rumoured to be. You followed Kaz's lead as he peeked over a wall, watching three Grisha rounded on Nikolai and his forces.

"Wylan," Kaz turned to the boy, "Grenade."

Wylan handed it over to him, everyone watching him light the fuse.

"Y/N?"

You nodded, stretching out your hands to summon wind to propel the grenade to your target. You all watched it make its mark, blowing The Darkling's Inferni back until she lay dead on the battlefield.

Nikolai looked to Tamar, "Where did that come from?"

Kaz stood proudly, declaring, "My Demolitions expert."

You stood to his right, just as proud to be joining the fray.

"Expert?" Wylan mumbled, looking at Kaz. You all looked at him as he corrected himself, "I mean, yes. Expert."

You and Jesper smiled, amused by his fake confidence.

You all took a step forward, sliding down the shingled roof and dropping down the wall. You used your small science to soften everyone's fall, allowing you all to rush towards the gates. Jesper quickly worked on the rust that bound the gates closed, leading Wylan to the barricade Tamar, Nadia and Adrick hiding behind. You and Kaz headed opposite them, where Nikolai was crouched.

As you both rushed over, Kaz muttered, "What nightmare have we gotten ourselves into."

Jesper looked over at your group, "Why's Sturmhond here?"

Tamar frowned at him.

"Round here he goes by Nikolai."

"Nikolai Lantsov," Jesper realized, looking over to the man in question. Nikolai shrugged, you couldn't help the chuckle at Jesper's annoyed expression.

"All this time, close personal friend," He spun his pistols into his hands, preparing for a fight.

Nadia and Tamar looked about as confused as could be, "And you are?" Tamar pressed.

Wylan was tucked behind Jesper, his hand resting on his back, "You must be Tamar." He answered, "We came with your brother."

That didn't seem to make the woman any less confused, but she didn't press it any further.

You all watched the Darklings Squaller and Tide Maker rise to attack again. The tide maker raised her hands, drawing water from the sky to draw her attack. Jesper sprung into action first, followed by Adrick and Nadia who came to his support. Watching Jesper shoot would always entrance you, he was such a great shot, aided by his Durast abilities.

You were about to stand and join the fight when Nikolai stopped you, "Did you get Neshyenyer?"

You nodded, "Zoya, Nina and Inej are finding Alina, they'll get to her."

Nikolai nodded in relief, as you looked him over you realized there was blood staining his jacket.

You pressed your fingers to the blood, "Are you hurt?"

Nikolai followed your gaze to where your hand rested on the stain, "it's- It's not mine."

You looked up at him, seeing the pain in his eyes. You would ask more later, for now, there were more pressing matters than those you'd lost.

Jesper finished his attack on the Tidemaker with the buttons on his waistcoat, lashing out and turning them into their tiny blades. As you looked past Nikolai you watched the Squaler draw lightning to his palms, it crackled and hissed as he tried to amass it.

Kaz nudged you with his crow's head cane, handing it over for you to use as a conductor. You quickly jumped to your feet, rushing to Jesper's side and using Kaz's cane and your powers to channel the electricity. Lightning was notoriously unstable, It didn't react well to being controlled. You threw your hands up, forcing the lighting to connect the two of you through Kaz's cane, then expelling the power back into the storm clouds it came from. The more lightning the Squaller summoned, the harder you worked to draw it away. Eventually, he ceased, knowing he could not lash out with the electricity you too controlled.

"I have Datura Meloxia!" Wylan shouted.

"Wylan! Now."

The boy uncapped the vile, calling for Adrick and Nadia to help him propel the powder, "Air support!"

You and Jesper ducked to avoid the powder being swept into Grisha's face, watching him stumble around in glazed confusion before Tamar sent her axe into his head.

As the Tidemaker tried to fight back one last time, she realized just how effective Jesper's attack had been. Screaming at the realization her fingers were gone. Nikolai was appearing to the side, raising his pistol and firing one last bullet, taking down the final one of the darklings Grisha.

"It's done."

You and Jesper both let out matching sighs of relief. He bent over to retrieve his pistol, then dramatically threw his arm around your shoulders to pull you into a side hug.

"Thanks for that, gorgeous."

You smiled, "My pleasure, Handsome."

You joined Kaz and Nikolai, the two of them eyeing each other. You retrieved Kaz's cane from the mud, handing it over to him with a triumphant smile, "I believe this belongs to you, Brekker."

Kaz took it from you, twisting it in his hand as he admired the crow's head.

Nikolai looked from you to the man who you were grinning at, suddenly less pleased to see Brekker, "I didn't realize you were patriots."

"Well if you die, we don't get paid," Kaz said like it was the most straightforward answer. You couldn't help but laugh, after the stress of the fight and Kaz's arid sense of humour, you needed it.

Nikolai was sure he could listen to you laugh every minute of every day and never get sick of it. He hadn't heard it enough in the last few weeks, and it pained him. He longed for the evenings on the Volkvolny when the crew would laugh and drink without the looming threat of death and destruction.

Everyone smiled when Tolya appeared, pulling his sister in a crushing hug. Nikolai looked around his gathered allies.

"We have to find Alina. If Kirigan brought the fight here, he's gunning for her."

Tolya nodded, "I've cleared us a way into the fort. Come on."

You fell into step with Nikolai at the back of the group, his unofficial bodyguard for the fight you were about to delve back into. Nikolai couldn't help but spare you glances, you looked tired, the lightning summoning had worn you out. He wanted to stop, allow you to rest, and bring back the bright smile you almost always wore. He knew better, though, just plotting along silently beside your group.

You sat next to Tamar as everyone took a much-deserved breather.

"A moment of sun before we deal with out losses," Nikolai sighed, glancing over the wounded and dying that lay on the grass, "Dominik..."

Tamar comforted her friend quickly, "He did exactly what any of us would have done for each other."

"For you," You added, leaning over and grabbing Nikolai's hand. He glanced down at your clasped hands, giving a small squeeze as thanks.

You all looked up as Alina, Inej, Nina and Mal walked over the hill. Nina stayed by the wounded while Inej and Alina exchanged a few quick words. Alina chased after Mal, leaving Inej to inform the group.

Nikolai thanked the crows for their help, he took Tolya's arm and headed away to address the consequences. You were about to join when Kaz called your name.

You turned to the man, a small frown on your face, "Yes?"

"If you ever feel like coming back to Ketterdam," He spoke, "We would welcome a crow with your abilities."

Jesper and Inej both nodded, showing their support.

You couldn't help the smile that grew, "I'll think about it." You promised, taking your leave to follow after Nikolai and the others.

When you met up with Nikolai, he wouldn't meet your gaze. Looking at everyone else but you. He made preparations for the Darkling to be burned on a pyre, leading all of his most trusted allies to join him. It was strange, that it was all over. There was no more fold, no more bickering or fighting between otkazat'sya and Grisha, it was an entirely new beginning.

You wanted to stand by Nikolai as he addressed your small group, but there was something off about him. He still had yet to make eye contact with you, ignoring your small gestures of comfort. Eventually, you gave up, coming to stand next to Nina behind Alina.

As Nikolai finished his speech, Kaz led his crows away. Nina looked at you, knowing you needed the support. She took your hand, leading you away from the flames with the rest of the crows.

The gathered forces were celebrating as you all exited the sand that was once the fold. Offering all of you drinks and food. You couldn't find the energy to join the festivities, brushing off friends and fellow Grisha to find a quieter space.

You found yourself wandering until you reached the roof of the compound, finding a perch on the edge of a wall looking over the land around the compound.

You let out a quiet gasp in fright when Nikolai appeared at your side.

He quickly grabbed your arm, "Don't fall."

You smiled, "I won't. Probably."

Nikolai chuckled, joining you on the ledge. You were struck by how many times you would sit together like this on the Volkvolny.

"Shouldn't you go find a healer?" You asked, gesturing to the bandages wrapped around his leg.

Nikolai shrugged, "I needed to talk to you first."

You looked away, "About?"

Nikolai was staring at the horizon, clearly also struggling to find the courage to talk. Something had changed between you two for sure.

"What did Brekker say," Nikolai finally spoke after a long silence between you.

You glanced at him, the afternoon sun was illuminating his face. His hair was still cleanly combed back, neatly styled to make him look regal. His cheek was still bruised, the only thing that made him look like the Sturmhond you knew.

"He said if I ever wanted to go home, I had a place with the crows."

Nikolai nodded, "Home to Ketterdam?"

Nikolai knew how much you missed Kerch, you grew up in the countryside on a farm with your siblings. You had stopped in Ketterdam once or twice with the Volkvolny crew, but it wasn't the same as going back to live there.

"I know it sounds crazy," You fiddled with your hands, "I never thought it would be possible to go back, maybe now..."

Nikolai could relate to that, he never felt entirely at home in the Grand Palace, and he didn't think it would ever be possible to. Now he would rule there.

"When are you and Alina leaving for Os Alta?"

"Tomorrow," Nikolai replied, "Tamar and Tolya are taking over captainship of the Volkvolny."

You hummed, "I'm sure they're excited about that, Tolya can stop for all the snacks he wants."

Nikolai laughed, a carefree laugh that made you smile too.

You both sat in peaceful silence for a while, listening to the celebrations going on under your feet. You felt like there was something more to say like you both wanted the other to confess the feelings you shared.

You kept coming back to the fact Nikolai and Alina were engaged. You knew that it wasn't a love match, Alina loved Mal. But even so, they would be tied together for as long as it took for Ravka to rebuild. You were being childish if you thought you and Nikolai could be anything other than friends. And so you were thinking more and more about returning to Ketterdam, joining the crows. Leaving Nikolai would hurt, but it would hurt more watching Nikolai with Alina.

You eventually came to the conclusion there was nothing more you could say, Nikolai clearly did not share your feelings. You cleared your throat, stretching casually and then getting to your feet.

"They're probably missing us," You said, trying to hide your disappointment.

Nikolai didn't respond, staring out at the horizon a while longer.

"You should stay."

You almost didn't hear it, already a few steps away from Nikolai. You turned to face him, "What?"

Nikolai got to his feet and stood before you, giving you his full attention for the first time since leaving the Volkvolny.

"I want you to stay."

You struggled to find any words, gaping at the man before you.

Nikolai kept talking, "I know that I can't ask this of you, I know I Shouldn't. But seeing you with Brekker, the thought of you going to Ketterdam with him-"

Nikolai stopped when you giggled. He frowned at you, "What?"

"Nothing," You giggled.

Nikolai grabbed your hand, "What? Why are you laughing?"

You stifled your laugh, "Are you jealous of Kaz?"

Nikolai faked being offended, "Me? Jealous?"

"Oh, you so are," You cackled, getting a lot of amusement out of watching the Tsar squirm, "Nikolai Lantsov with his damnably handsome looks is jealous?"

Nikolai dropped your hand and threw his hands up in exasperation, "You are the worst."

You grinned, then remembered what he had asked. "Do you really want me to stay?"

Nikolai looked serious again, "I do. I want you to stay with me, by my side."

"But you're engaged to Alina."

Nikolai seemed to realize at the same time you did, he nodded solemnly, "We couldn't be anything to each other in public. At least, not until Alina and I end our engagement."

"You'll end your engagement?"

"It was always the plan," Nikolai explained, "She loves Mal. I love you. It's just for political-"

"You love me?" You cried before you could stop yourself.

Nikolai's face flushed, he scratched his neck sheepishly, "Yes."

"Well," You reached out and took his face in your hands, cupping his cheeks gently, "Aren't you lucky I love you too."

Nikolai's face burst into a cocky grin. He grabbed your waist, firmly holding onto you and dragging you closer to him. He reached one hand u to cup your cheek, guiding a thumb over your cheekbone tenderly.

"I can't believe you were jealous of Kaz," You teased, drunk on the feeling of being so close to Nikolai.

"Shut up," Nikolai scoffed, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss. He pulled you even closer until you were flush with his chest. You brought your hands to the back of his neck, twisting your fingers into his hair. You couldn't help but feel relief, the feeling of it washed over you. You had spent the last few days worrying about where you stood. This answered that gnawing fear, Nikolai felt the same.

Nikolai pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. His arms wound around your waist, holding you close while he stared into your eyes.

Your face was flushed and you were breathless, "I have been waiting years for you to do that."

Nikolai smiled, "I've been wanting to do that for years."

You knew this wouldn't be the end of this discussion, about him and Alina. But for now, you were happy to follow him to Os Alta, to know he felt the same way. That would be enough for now.

#sab #sab s2 spoilers #sab s2 #sab spoilers #soc #Nikolai #nikolai lanstov #nikolai duology #nikolai x reader #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai imagines #sab x reader #sab x y/n #sab x you #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #zoya nazyalensky #alina starkov #malyen oretsev #nina zenik #jesper fahey #wylan hendricks #tamar yul bataar #tolya yul bataar #tamar and tolya #nadia zhabin #Volkvolny #shadow and bone s2 x reader #shadow and bone s2 #shadow and bone x reader

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter. 

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up. 

It was him. 

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak. 

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises? 

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers. 

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,” 

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment. 

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,” 

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile. 

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped. 

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,” 

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze. 

Fuck. 

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,” 

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—” 

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked. 

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break. 

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?” 

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?” 

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks. 

“I would,” 

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile. 

Fuck. 

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears. 

But how can you be quiet? 

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck. 

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,” 

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass. 

He’s huge. 

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—” 

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,” 

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?” 

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much. 

He was too much. 

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,” 

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,” 

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?” 

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—” 

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns. 

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart. 

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up. 

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—” 

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt. 

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store. 

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—” 

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care. 

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump. 

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush. 

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,” 

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?” 

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling. 

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.” 

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern. 

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started. 

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin. 

“What are you—” 

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,” 

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type. 

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?” 

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“ 

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,” 

“Mahito—“ 

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money,  “be a doll, won’t you?” 

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?” 

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?” 

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice. 

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?” 

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.” 

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling. 

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger. 

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods. 

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot. 

“I will,” 

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,” 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip. 

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,” 

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.” 

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze. 

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—” 

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—” 

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,” 

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—” 

“Have another lesson?” 

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you. 

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue. 

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt. 

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was. 

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—” 

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,” 

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release. 

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure. 

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you. 

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks. 

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much. 

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light. 

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach. 

Your mouth runs dry. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought. 

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you. 

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it. 

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze. 

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch. 

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away. 

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—” 

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal. 

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod. 

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out. 

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!” 

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you. 

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out,  “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder. 

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him. 

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—” 

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls. 

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt. 

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick. 

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again. 

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour. 

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise. 

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you. 

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.” 

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?” 

You were picking up your boyfriend. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.” 

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

#sab [mlist] #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo fanfiction #choso kamo x you #choso smut #choso x you #choso kamo fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[lixiesbabyhands]

love when jesper asked wylan "shouldn't you be in university" my brother in christ shouldn't YOU be in university

#can you tell im screaming crying throwing up over the show yet #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone season 2 #shadow and bone spoilers #wylan van eck #wylan supremacy #wylan soc #jesper fahey #jesper x wylan #wesper #the crows #jesper soc #six of crows #six of crows duology #s&b s2 #s&b netflix #s&b season 2 #s&b show #sab netflix #sab season two #sab season 2 #sab show

[ggukiepie]

one of your girls (jungkook x reader) (part 1)

we don't gotta be in love, no i don't wanna be the one, no i just wanna be one of your girls tonight ~ i wanna take your light inside dim me down, snuff me out ~ give me tough love leave me with nothin' when i come down

pairing: fwb!jk x oc, brief jimin x oc

tags: smut, angst, a little bit of fluff (like teeny tiny)

warnings: two smut scenes, kissing, marking (hickeys), fingering, brief handjob, protected sex, slight dom!jk, sub!oc, praise, dirty talk, grinding, edging, oral (f. & m. receiving), throat fucking, dacryphilia, spit kink, brief masturbation (m.), squirting, brief anal play, back shots, cum shot, multiple orgasms (you'll see), aftercare

word count: 5.8k

a/n: been in my feels lately i had to write it out lol; wrote this in one sitting my hands actually hurt omg; inspired by the song "one of your girls" (ik don't roast me idk why it's stuck in my head fml); if this gets taken down then bye bye i literally just wrote it here directly lmaooooo; anw enjoy !!!! part 2 / drabble i (flashback)

..••°°°°••..°°••....••°°..••°°°°••..

You knew what you were getting yourself into the night you said yes to Jungkook. You knew you'd fall for him, be under his spell. You knew you'd end up getting hurt. You prepared yourself, you really did, yet you were still surprised when you woke up each morning and he wasn't beside you in bed. You felt your heart break a little bit more when you saw him with another girl, whether she'd be one of your friends or a complete stranger to you.

You tried to guard your heart. Reminded yourself to prepare for the worst. Forced yourself not to fall, not to be blindsided. I'm just having a little fun, you told yourself for the nth time.

jk: u busy tonight?

you: not really! just writing a paper that's due next week

That was sent hours ago and you mentally cringe at your reply. You always find yourself oversharing to Jungkook when you didn't even need to. You wanted to make it seem like your whole situationship was just casual. Like you didn't care. He rarely shared much about his personal life and so should you. But that hardly happened. You didn't want him to think that you cared, that you were clingy or waiting for him to text. You didn't even wait five minutes before replying and he hasn't even texted back.

You know what his text means. He wants to fuck and that's it. But he doesn't say it outright. No, never. He wants to make it seem like he cares, that he wants to know how your night is going. But he just wants to know if you're free to fuck and once you reply, he'll keep that as a reminder in the back of his mind, like he has a mental list of girls he can sort through at the end of the night when he's bored or when he wants to have a little bit of fun.

You know you're just one of his girls on his roster and you're fine with that. You're not his girlfriend and he's not your boyfriend. Though it does seem like that on some days, which is when you get the courage to not reply to his texts. When you try to shut him out and move on. He usually shows up outside your lecture hall with a cup of coffee in hand, bunny smile on his face as he waits for you to walk into the hallway. Like he's waiting for you, picking you up from class like a good and loving boyfriend.

It's all for show and it's only to get himself on your good side again. It works every time. You don't question yourself anymore. Jungkook likes the chase, likes the adrenaline of going after girls and trying to get them to fall for him, or sleep with him, or whatever. It's all the same to him.

You sigh again as you check your phone, hoping for a reply but knowing he won't text back. It's a Friday night and he's probably at some party. You go through your texts and open the conversation with your best friend.

jihyo: see u later! im picking u up so u better be ready >:(

You can't help but laugh at her insistence. Jihyo knows what you're going through since you tell her everything. You tell her you don't care though, that you're not looking for a relationship right now and your "thing" with Jungkook is just casual. But you know she sees right through your lies. It's even more obvious when you ghost all your friends and lock yourself in your apartment every night. She's trying to make you forget and move on and have some actual fun so you indulge her every time.

You get ready in less than an hour and actually put some effort into your appearance. You're not sure which party you're going to but you won't be surprised if Jungkook will be there as well. Maybe if you look hot enough he'll choose you tonight.

You hear a knock on your door and open it immediately, finding Jihyo laughing at something her boyfriend has just said. Most of the time you end up hanging out with her and Mingyu because she's always dragging you with her to keep you from being lonely. You don't mind it though because they're fun people to be with. Even though Mingyu is Jungkook's roommate and best friend. But Mingyu isn't anything like Jungkook. He looks at Jihyo like she's hung up the stars and moon. Loves her with all his heart and doesn't leave her second guessing. You always wonder why him and Jungkook are friends when they're so different.

Jihyo turns to smile at you, but it's still the lovestruck smile she gave Mingyu just seconds ago. You know you have the same kind of smile reserved for Jungkook. You wish you didn't but at the same time you're glad you do, like you have a part of yourself only Jungkook can see. Even though he doesn't do the same.

"You look so hot tonight!" she squeals as she pulls you in a hug. You laugh and roll your eyes, making eye contact with Mingyu as he nods his head in greeting. Jihyo steps back and grabs your hand, dragging you out your apartment so fast you barely have time to lock the door behind you. "Let's go before all the good drinks are gone."

It's a short but fun walk to the house where the party is being held. You find yourself laughing with Jihyo and Mingyu the whole time. They're the type of couple that doesn't make third wheeling a bore.

Loud music blares in your ears the moment you step inside. You feel your heels sticking to the floor. A typical frat house throwing a typical Friday night party. You immediately take shots with Jihyo and Mingyu. You need it to be able to survive the night since you already feel yourself tensing up at the possibility of Jungkook being in the same place as you.

You spot your other friends and hangout with them for the rest of the night. It's when you're playing beer pong with Jimin as your partner do you see Jungkook at the other side of the room. He's talking to some girl which is nothing new. It shouldn't phase you but it does. You thought you were going to be his pick for the night since he texted you a while ago.

You feel your heart fall at the sight of them, your chest physically hurting that you make Jimin throw the ball twice for the both of you since you can't focus. You feel all the fun and happiness slowly leave your body. You feel your stomach churn at the way he's got her trapped against the wall, tattooed arm placed beside her head, mouth whispering right against her ear. She's smiling and giggling at whatever Jungkook is telling her. You wish that were you.

"Forget about him," Jimin mutters in your ear. He's watching your beer pong opponents take their turn as you're watching Jungkook and the girl.

You shake your head at Jimin, turning your head to smile at him just to make it seem like you're okay. Just like Jihyo, he sees right through you.

Jimin's another close friend of Jungkook. They're not so different. Jimin likes to sleep around but he makes it clear that he doesn't want anything serious. Always nice and gentle with the girls he sleeps with. Jungkook makes it seem like you're his and only his. You wonder again why they're friends.

"Seriously, Y/N," Jimin says, a little bit of urgency in his tone. It's probably the look of longing on your face that raises concern in your friend. Everyone sees how broken you look when you catch Jungkook with another girl.

"I know," you say after a while. You talk just a little bit loud enough to be heard over the music. "Jungkook and I just sleep with each other. It's casual and that's it."

You hear Jimin sigh. He nods his head and it's his turn to throw the dirty ping pong ball. You've had this conversation with him and Jihyo numerous times already, sometimes it's the both of them and sometimes it's on separate occasions. You say the same thing every time. You think your friends are starting to give up on you. Maybe you should as well.

You force yourself to have fun for the rest of the night, always trying to be in a room where Jungkook isn't. You're not sure if he's spotted you. You don't know which hurts more—him not spotting you because he doesn't even bother looking for you in the crowd, or him spotting you but not talking to you because you're not his choice for the night. Either way, he doesn't care. You know he doesn't but you wish you did. You thought you'd catch his attention with the black dress you're wearing. Or with the way your hair is styled. But it doesn't work and you tell yourself that it's okay. You always see him in your peripheral though, either talking to someone or flirting with that girl.

You decide to leave when you see Jungkook leaving as well, fingers tangled with the girl's. She looks like a giggling mess and you can't blame her. Everyone falls for Jungkook's charms. You try not to dwell on the fact that they're going to have sex.

It's Jimin who walks you home. He can tell you're sad so he talks about his day and his classes, avoiding Jungkook's name even though you're positive that they hung out today. Jungkook's intertwined in so many people's lives it's hard to leave him out. But Jimin makes an effort just to distract you. You're grateful for it though and he keeps up the act all the way to your apartment. He asks if he can use your bathroom and you say yes, mindlessly changing into your pajamas once the bathroom door closes behind you. You thought you'd have a little bit more time to finish changing but you suddenly hear Jimin swear behind you. You live in a little studio apartment so there's not much room to hide.

"Oh fuck— Shit," he says. You turn around laughing to see him with his hand over his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbles.

You're in your underwear but you don't mind. "It's not like you haven't seen me like this before," you chuckle.

"Still," he reasons.

Because you're stupid and heartbroken and hurt, you walk up to Jimin and gently grab his wrist, bringing his arm down to his side. You look at him looking at anywhere else but you. Eventually he looks down at your body for a split second and you laugh at him.

"We shouldn't," he whispers.

You shrug your shoulders. "Just a little bit of fun, right?" you ask with a smile on your face. "Like old times?" you giggle.

Jimin lets out a scoff but it's more of a laugh. Like he can't believe you're both doing this again. "You sure you're not drunk?" he asks as he makes eye contact with you. Bingo. You got him.

"Nope," you say sweetly.

"But Jungkook?"

You roll your eyes to mask the hurt. "Don't care."

Jimin looks at you intently to make sure you're not bluffing. While you wait for his answer you unclasp your bra and let it fall down your shoulders, exposing yourself to him. His eyes widen at the sight.

"Okay," he breathes out. He suddenly holds you by the waist to place you on the kitchen counter. It has you giggling at him.

"Eager?" you ask when he starts kissing your neck. You feel him drag his teeth across your skin, like he's thinking if he should mark you up or not. You stretch your neck out even more and feel him biting at your skin, sure to leave a bruise.

"Just excited," he mumbles against your neck. You feel him smile.

You unzip his pants while he's busy sucking your nipples. He's hard already when you start pumping your hand up and down his cock.

"Feels good, baby," he moans in your ear. You're still wearing your underwear but Jimin doesn't mind, just pushes it to the side to insert two of his fingers inside your pussy.

"Oh," you choke out. He finds your spot right away and rubs his fingers against it. He doesn't make you come, just fingers you to make sure you're prepped. It's quick when he takes his fingers out and grabs the condom in the back pocket of his jeans. You watch him tear the packet open and roll the condom down his length.

You both don't say anything else as he pushes his cock past your tight walls. Doesn't give you a moment before he starts pounding, his skin slapping against yours.

It's always like this with Jimin—just quick and easy and no feelings attached. You both don't do it much, it happens at the most random times. Usually when you want to forget or when he's stressed from school. And after this you're both back to being friends. It's never awkward. You wish it were like this with Jungkook instead.

"Jimin," you moan when he starts rubbing your clit. "Gonna come."

"Go ahead, baby," he breathes out, placing a soft kiss on your cheek and leaving his lips there. You push yourself to release and Jimin follows right after. You're both breathing heavily when he pulls out, taking off the condom and throwing it in the bin. He zips up his pants and starts looking for something on your bed. You're still trying to catch your breath when you feel a shirt being put over your head. Jimin's sweet like this—does aftercare in the most platonic way possible.

"There," he says after helping you wear the shirt he found. He doesn't know it belongs to Jungkook. You don't think he minds if he does though.

"Thank you," you say quietly and give him a small smile.

"Anytime. I'll see you around, okay?" He kisses your forehead and you watch him leave your apartment.

The silence engulfs you and you think you should feel disgusted with yourself—that you're pining over a guy but you just had sex with another. With his close friend out of all people. But you push the thought to the back of your mind as you jump down from the kitchen counter and walk into your bathroom. You're just like Jungkook, you tell yourself. Just casually sleeping around and nothing else. He doesn't care and you don't either. You feel a teeny bit better.

You take a warm shower to wash all the remnants from tonight. You actually take your time just to clear your jumbled up mind. It's almost 30 minutes later when you step out and check your phone while you're drying off, heartbeat stopping at a text you've received almost an hour ago.

jk: u up?

jk: hey reply to me :(

jk: coming over

Your eyes widen at the last text. It was sent just 10 minutes ago. You don't know where he's coming from but the campus isn't that big so he'll probably be here soon. You quickly finish drying off and change into comfortable clothes. You hear a knock on the door the moment you finish changing. You take a deep breath before walking to the door and opening it.

You notice Jungkook's wearing the same clothes from the party but his shirt is a bit wrinkled. You think he just came from the girl's place. Probably fucked her and is here now because he's not satisfied. You should feel disgusted and mad but you're not. You're no better. You just slept with his friend.

"Hi," you mutter.

He smiles at you and leans in to kiss you on the lips. "Hey, sweetheart." It has you swooning.

You step to the side to let him in and he walks straight to your bed, sitting down to take off his shoes before lying down comfortably. You follow him and sit down on your bed right by his waist. He stretches out his arm to drape it over your thighs and you start tracing his tattoos absentmindedly. This is your usual routine.

"Did you stay in all night?" he asks. Just a little bit of conversation before he does what he's really here for. At least he has a little bit of decency. You don't mind though, it makes you think that he cares about you when he asks things like this.

You shake your head and smile at him. "Nah, Jihyo and Mingyu dragged me to that frat party." You can tell he's trying to hide his surprise.

"Oh, I didn't see you there," he mumbles.

"It's okay." You shrug. "There were a lot of people."

"We could've played beer pong together, I know you like doing that every time you're out."

Your heart clenches at his remark. You're surprised and hurt every time he remembers little things about you. "I was with Jimin, don't worry." Jungkook doesn't know the double meaning to it.

He nods and runs his fingers across your thighs. "Missed you. Sorry I didn't reply to your text earlier, got caught up in something." You know that's a lie. "Just got back from the party too, that's why I came here late." Another lie.

You nod and smile as if you believe him. And you force yourself to because it's easier than knowing the truth. It's silent for a moment before he mumbles c'mere and brings you on top of his lap.

"Missed this," he says quietly as he squeezes your thighs. His hands trail up your waist till he's squeezing your tits beneath the shirt you're wearing. You start grinding on his cock, getting out of breath too quickly. You missed this too. It's been a week since you last had sex with Jungkook which is a long time for the both of you.

"Kook," you pant. He's pinching your nipples knowing that's where you're most sensitive.

"I know, sweetheart. Take your shirt off for me, hm?"

You nod your head dumbly and do as you're told, watching Jungkook stare at your body. He stops moving beneath you and you're about to ask what's wrong when he brings his hand up to touch the hickey on your neck that Jimin left.

"Who's this from?" he asks. You can't tell if he's mad or just curious. Jungkook isn't showing any emotions on his face and you're starting to get nervous.

"Just..." You think if you should tell him the truth. You look into his eyes and try to see if there's any semblance of care. You don't know. You really can't tell. Then your eyes trails down his body, to his neck and the wrinkly white shirt he's wearing. There's a red stain on the collar and you know it's lipstick. From the girl he slept with earlier. "Someone," you finally mumble.

"Someone?" He continues rubbing the spot gently until he presses down on it with his thumb. He doesn't press down too hard, but it's with enough force to have you hissing slightly.

"It's from Jimin," you finally say. He doesn't say anything but raise an eyebrow at your reply. You don't know if he already knows that you and Jimin have slept together. He doesn't look so surprised, or maybe he is and he's just really good at schooling his expressions.

He makes eye contact with you again and you feel his hand going to the back of your head, grabbing a handful of your hair to press your lips against his. The kiss feels urgent and rushed, his tongue instantly slipping in your mouth and tangling with yours. You're on top of him yet you feel defenseless as he holds you by your hair and kisses you hard. You let Jungkook do as he pleases and forget about the little conversation you just had. You start grinding on his cock again and he reciprocates this time, hips moving against yours.

Before you know it, he rolls you over and pins your arms above your head. You stare at him with wide eyes and he smirks at you in return. He holds your wrists with one hand and takes off your shorts and underwear with the other. He's fully dressed while you're not and you know you're at his mercy. He knows this too as he spreads your thighs apart with his hand.

"Keep your hands there," he whispers. You hold your bed frame for good measure. You just want to please him. He trails kisses down your body, from your neck to your nipples to your tummy. He stops by your thighs and you feel his breath against your skin. You squirm beneath Jungkook to get him to do something, to touch you and pleasure you. He shakes his head, still with that damn smirk on his face. He starts kissing your thighs, close to your pussy just to tease you.

"Didn't know you and Jimin have a thing going on," he says against your skin. You shiver at the vibrations his voice provides.

You feel Jungkook bite down on your inner thighs. "We don't," you choke out. He scoffs and starts kissing your pussy. Just light kisses that start making you crazy because you just want his mouth on you. "We're just friends," you say weakly.

He looks up from where he's laying between your legs. "Like us?"

Us.

You know what he means but at the same time you don't. You're friends with Jimin like you're friends with Jungkook. But you don't long for Jimin like you do for Jungkook. You don't yearn for Jimin the same way, don't look for him in every place you're at, don't pine for his affection or his touches. Jimin isn't like Jungkook and you both know that. You just don't know if you're different from the other girls Jungkook fucks.

"No," you say truthfully. It's said with defeat and desperation because you know he's not going to touch you till you answer him. "Not like us."

You know Jungkook won't pry anymore because he finally starts licking your pussy, starting with your outer lips until his tongue is inside your hole licking every crevice. Then he starts sucking your clit and that's when you truly lose it, legs going around his head to keep him against your cunt.

"Fuck," you almost scream. You're so close already that you should feel embarrassed but you're not. Jungkook knows your body too well. No one holds a candle to how good he eats you out. "Please," you whimper.

"Please what, sweetheart?"

"Please make me come!" you beg. "Need it, need it so much." You starting grinding your hips against his mouth.

"You're so desperate," he chuckles. It's said meanly but the comment flies over your head. You don't care anymore; you just want some sort of release. "But not yet."

You suddenly feel cold because Jungkook removes his mouth from you, standing up and getting out of the bed to remove his clothing. You continue holding the bed frame above you because you want to be good for him. You watch him strip his clothes off till he's naked just like you, tattooed hand wrapping around his cock.

It's long and thick and it splits you open every time he fucks you. You really don't know how you manage to take him every time.

Jungkook is so mean and unfair with the way he's teasing you right now, pleasuring himself while you lay on the bed. You're about to open your mouth to complain when he finally nods his head, motioning you to get up. "Kneel. Hands behind your back, okay?"

You nod your head and get in position on the bed, head tilting up to look at his cock. It's so hard and the tip is already leaking. You just want your mouth around him.

"Open," he says.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, just the way Jungkook likes. As expected, he spits directly into your mouth and you swallow right away.

"Good girl. Now suck."

He brings his cock to your lips and you immediately start sucking. You push your length all the way in till you feel him at the back of your throat.

"Gotta take all of me in, pretty. Or else I won't fuck your little pussy."

You know Jungkook takes his threats seriously so you back up a little to catch your breath before taking him in your mouth again. God, he's so big and thick your jaw is already starting to feel sore. But you power through and keep taking him in your mouth until your nose touches his tummy. You try not to gag around him but it's no use. You also feels your eyes tearing up.

Jungkook doesn't care you're struggling. In fact, he loves it because he's got that stupidly handsome smile on his face. He strokes your cheeks for a while and you try to even out your breathing.

"I wanna fuck your throat, sweetheart. Can you take it?" he asks sweetly.

You know it's a rhetorical question but you nod anyways, as much as you could with a dick down your throat.

"Let me in then."

You close your eyes and relax your throat even more. Jungkook holds your head then and pushes you towards him even deeper. You're helpless since your hands are behind your back. You gag again and start feeling lightheaded.

"There we go," he finally says once his whole length is in your mouth. You feel the tip down your throat. You're struggling so much but you try not to move. You just want to please him. "Gonna move now," he mumbles and starts moving his hips. You let him fuck your throat for God knows how long. You're full on crying when he stops and withdraws his length halfway out your mouth. You take the time to gasp for air and you even cough a little, head bowing down to regain your breathing. You faintly hear Jungkook laugh above you.

"I'm not yet done, love. Was just feeling nice enough to give you a little breather."

You nod your head and look up at him, mouth opening wide to let him know you're ready again.

"You just let me do whatever I want, huh?" he chuckles. You're not sure if he means something else but to you it does. You willingly let Jungkook do anything to you. Even if it results in heartbreak.

He stares at you for a while and spreads the spit and precum that's on your lips. "So messy." Then he's back to inserting his length inside your mouth. The glide is smoother this time since you're already prepped. "There we go," he groans out. He stays still and feels the imprint of his dick on your throat. "Look so pretty for me."

Jungkook starts moving again but thankfully his pace is slow this time. You're sure you'll have a sore throat by tomorrow.

"Keep your eyes open, okay? Wanna see you cry."

You look at him while he's fucking your mouth, looking at the way his cock moves in your throat. You're starting to lose your breath and you think Jungkook could tell as well because he grants you reprieve and steps back. You're coughing more this time, hands catching yourself in front of you. You barely get enough time to regain your breathing before you feel Jungkook grabbing your head and bringing your lips to his.

"Did so good for me," he says against your mouth.

You're trembling in his hold and you grab his arms to steady yourself. "Fuck me please," you try to say but your voice comes out hoarse and ragged.

He kisses your cheek and then your jaw. "I will, don't worry," he coos. "Always gonna give you what you want." Another lie. You know that's not true.

You're putty in his hands as he maneuvers you to the position he wants to fuck you in, which is on your hands and knees with your ass high in the air.

"Just like that," he whispers. He pushes down on your shoulders even more so that you're wide and open for him. He starts rubbing your pussy and you can't help but moan out loud. "You're so wet, sweetheart. All from sucking my cock?"

You nod wordlessly from your position on the bed. "Jungkook!" you scream as he plunges two fingers in your pussy. He's ruthless as he fucks his fingers fast and hard, hitting your g-spot right away. "Please," you cry out. You're so wound up and tense and you just want to come already but he won't let you.

You hear Jungkook chuckle from behind you. "Still so tight, baby. Thought Jimin stretched you out already." You're about to reply but you feel his thumb press against your rim and your senses go haywire, mind going blank because you're so overwhelmed.

"Please, please," you beg quietly. You're crying again and you'd do anything at this point to get Jungkook to fuck you. He withdraws his fingers from your holes and you hear the crinkling of plastic behind you. You turn your head slightly to see him slipping a condom on. Jungkook has never fucked you raw and you never asked why because you already know the answer. You'll get hurt hearing the truth anyway.

He holds your hips to steady you. He rubs the head of his cock up and down your folds. "You want this?" he asks roughly.

"Yes. Please."

Finally, finally, Jungkook pushes his cock in your pussy. It doesn't take long because you're so wet he slides right in to the hilt.

"You feel so good around me." He stills for a moment and you grab your ass to spread your cheeks even more.

"Please move, Kook."

You hear him groan. "God, baby, you're filthy." He starts fucking into you and your mind goes blank. You feel his thick cock slide in and out, the tip already kissing your cervix.

"Feels so good," you mumble incoherently. Jungkook fucks you quick and hard, holding your hips so tightly you know it's going to bruise. You feel his balls slap against your clit which adds even more pleasure. You feel yourself getting close again and arch your back.

"Can I please come?" you ask through your moans. "Please let me come, Jungkook. Please—"

"Come," he finally says. It's the only word you need to hear before you let go, that coil in you snapping and bringing pleasure all over your body. You don't know you're moaning so loudly you're almost screaming. You feel your pussy just gush and it gets so wet and sticky you're surprised Jungkook doesn't slip out. It's so filthy that you hear squelching noises as well. Your orgasm goes on for so long you don't know how you're still holding yourself up.

"You creamed my cock so much, baby," Jungkook says. He slows down his pace but he's still moving so you can ride out your high. "Got me wet and even your sheets."

You barely hear him and there's just a buzzing sound around your head. Your body feels so heavy and you just want to collapse but you arch your back even more for Jungkook.

He laughs. "Think I fucked you stupid." He increases his pace again and you just kneel there and take it. "Gonna make me fucking come," he growls as his hips snap against yours. "Fuck." He fucks you some more and you groan every time he hits your g-spot.

Suddenly, he pulls out so fast. "Don't move," he groans. You stay in place and watch him remove the condom off, hand going to stroke his cock as he brings himself to his release. You feel his come on you, right on your pussy and asshole. "Fuck, baby," he groans. You feel even stickier with his load on you. Then he bends down to kiss your neck, and then your cheek, and then a gentle one on your lips.

"You okay?" he asks quietly. His arm goes to wrap around your waist and you slowly start sinking onto the bed.

"Mhm," you mumble and try to keep your emotions at bay. You always feel so overwhelmed after sex with Jungkook. You let a few tears fall down your cheeks but it's the kind of tears of relief from an intense orgasm.

Jungkook presses his front against your back, not caring that his come is still on you. He starts kissing your face again then rubs his nose up and down your throat. "Just breathe, yeah?" he says quietly. You nod weakly against his hold and do just that. The both of you say nothing as you try to calm your racing heart.

You don't know how many minutes pass by until Jungkook stands up. You don't have the strength in you to move your position on the bed or ask where he's going. A few minutes later you feel a wet rag on your back. You let Jungkook clean you up while the both of you still don't say a thing. Then he's moving you on the bed again so your head is on the pillows and he's right behind you, lying down comfortably to be the big spoon. You feel him kissing your head.

"Sleep," he mumbles against your hair. With Jungkook holding you and with his steady breaths guiding yours, you fall asleep right away.

..••°°°°••..°°••....••°°..••°°°°••..

You don't know what time it is when you wake up but there's still sunlight peeking through your curtains so you suppose it's still morning. You turn to face the other side of the bed only to find it empty. You don't know what time Jungkook left, if he stayed the night or left the moment you fell asleep. You're used to it already but it doesn't mean you're not hurt. Your heart constricts at the empty space beside you. You move again to lay on your back and cover your face with yours hands, letting out shaky breaths while trying not to breakdown. God, maybe Jimin was right. Just forget about him.

But it's hard not to. It's hard to forget about him when you have sex constantly, when his touches are gentle but also rough. When he wants you to reply to his messages and when he wants you against his body. It's hard because he's friends with your friends. It's hard when he takes care of you after every intense orgasm. It's hard when he makes it seem like he wants you just as much as you want him.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook one shot #bts one shot #jjk one shot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #fuckboy!jk #fwb!jk #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #mine #sab writes #jk #fwb!jungkook #fuckboy!jungkook

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Four Crows Investigation" - Kaz Brekker x Reader

[vulgar language]

[Part 2 - Lovebirds' Outfox]

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

SUMMARY: After Nina makes a passing comment about Brekker’s heartbeat, three crows join her in an investigation to uncover the true nature of your relationship with Kaz.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.4k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist&lt;<

Sitting around the table, leaning forward in a secretive manner, the four Crows look nothing short of a conspiracy. Their appearance is in no way deceptive - that’s exactly the reason for their meeting. Nina looks between Jesper’s and Wylan’s shoulders, checking whether you and Kaz are in any way suspicious of their gathering. For now, you look a little too preoccupied with each other. Time for the final conference.

The Heartrender leans even further towards her friends, looking between them with a questioning gaze. She seems to be the most excited about this ‘secretive investigation’, as she called it a week ago, but that should not come as a surprise - all of this has been her idea from start to finish. The moment she noticed Kaz’s heartbeat significantly pick up when you showed up in a ball gown in an attempt to mix in with the immorally wealthy crowd at the banquet, Nina simply had to know more. Her friends, although reluctant at first, joined the scheme out of their own meddling.

“So, what did you manage to find out?” She’s trying to keep her voice quiet but the sheer excitement makes it difficult.

“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this,” Wylan stutters out while shaking his head gently. He may be part of a crime syndicate now but spying on his friends, and his boss, just seems too far.

“Because we care about them?” Jesper asks with fake worry in his voice. Then, a devious smile appears on his face. “And we’re morbidly curious.”

“Can’t we just ask them, then?”

“As if either of them is going to say something,” Inej grunts. Knowing both of you fairly well, she never expected a straightforward question to get anything outside of a snarky comment or a side-eye.

Nina impatiently taps her hand on the table. “Alright, who goes first?”

╚ Jesper’s Evidence  ╝

He knows Kaz is going to get angry the moment he walks through the door but, at the same time, Jesper’s kind of out of options. As much as he hates to admit it to himself and definitely will not do it aloud, he’s facing an impasse.

The moment he pushes the door open, your and Kaz’s eyes snap towards him. He makes a note of your shoulders - brushing against one another as you’re standing over scattered papers, a little too close for practicality or for the closeness to be accredited to accident. You’re definitely giving the impression that he walked in at an inconvenient moment.

But Jesper is good at bluffing, never giving away that he noticed the thought-provoking lack of space between you. “Carliogne won’t talk unless he sees the contract you signed with Bruglione,” he informs. “His reasoning is that we’re probably trying to fuck him over.”

Kaz stares at him for a moment with an unreadable expression. “We are,” he finally answers.

“Well, he doesn’t need to know that for now, does he?”

“It makes sense,” you speak up. Pondering, you nod to yourself. “If he sees the contract, he’ll become less cautious and playing him should be even easier. Just wait a second,” you wave your hand at Jesper, “I think I put it in the bottom drawer.”

The moment you crouch behind the desk, Jesper’s eyes catch movement - Kaz is covering the edge of the table over your head with his hand. Considering that he’s looking at papers in the opposite direction, he might not even be aware of this little habit. The gunslinger stifles a smile. Nina is going to love this.

Soon, you stand back up at the protective hand reaches to flip through a wad of documents as though nothing has happened. Extending your arm towards Jesper, you offer him the folded contract between your two fingers.

“Please, don’t get it stained.”

“Can’t make promises,” he says with a cheeky smile as he snatches the paper from you.

Jesper hears your groan right before he closes the door behind himself.

╚ Wylan’s Evidence  ╝

Wylan rarely got ‘field work’ aside from setting up explosives. The out-of-ordinary occasions were stake-outs, when he’d sit in one place for hours on end waiting for something to happen, having only Jesper’s company to pass the time - not that there’s anything wrong with that. In fact, that’s the only part that makes those ‘patrol duties’ bearable.

 Although he feels uneasy creepily watching, he’s supposed to wait for an agreed-on sign to carry out his part in the plan. And with Jesper gone to the bathroom, the responsibility of staying vigilant is his only. Sitting on the carriage bench, he has a good view of the street but most of his attention surrounds a certain table at a boulangerie near the junction. You and Kaz are doing a great job at looking common - just drinking coffee, chatting, completely run-of-the-mill people and definitely not hardened criminals ready to call their companions to action when their prey is in sight.

Wylan suddenly sits up, hardly believing the scene unfolding before his eyes: you offer Kaz your bagel and he just… bites it. No glares, no scowls, he just takes a bite and you continue the conversation. Maybe Nina was right and something is up.

The carriage shakes slightly as Jesper gets back on it. “What did I miss?” he asks in an upbeat voice.

╚ Inej’s Evidence ╝

It’s the middle of the night but Inej rarely works at other times. Only one thing stands between her and the comfort of her bed - Kaz. She’s well-aware that he’s still going to be working at this hour, making her wonder once more: when does he rest?

Kaz seems to be expecting her as he doesn’t even flinch when she barges into his office. He just looks up at her for a moment, only to return to writing something. Inej is about to tell him what Lorenzzo Carliogne had been up to during the day, when her eyes focus on a surprising singularity: the daybed standing in the corner of the office, used as an additional shelf or a desk most of the time, is occupied. First, she realizes that it’s you sleeping on it but then another, a much more interesting detail, catches her eye in the dim candlelight of the room - you’re covered with a coat that undoubtedly looks like it belongs to Kaz.

“I take it there’s a reason you’re here at this hour?” Brekker brings her attention back to himself.

“Yes,” she starts, sparing you one last glance before looking at Kaz, “Carliogne lives with his wife and three children. Staff comes in through a separate pair of doors, only the main chef and butler have keys to it. There’s a rotation in guards during lunch.”

“Good,” he answers. Kaz looks up at Inej but again, it’s just for a moment - his focus is soon directed at the papers in front of him.

A silence falls. The thought to inquire about you, the daybed and his coat passes her thoughts but an instinct dissuades her from doing so. Because realistically, what sort of answer would Kaz give her anyway? It’s better to spare herself the snark and just go to bed.

The four friends look between each other, curious whether all of them came to the same conclusion. Tense excitement hangs in the air. There is a certain aspect of juvenile nosyness that entices them, making this whole over-the-top operation fun and not just a gossip convention.

A pout twists Nina’s face. It would have looked sad if it wasn’t for her raised eyebrows, making her expression more compassionate than woeful. “They’re so in love it’s kind of embarrassing,” she announces.

Three pairs of eyes follow her pitiful gaze to the faraway table where you’re sitting with Kaz, oblivious to the interest the Crows have in you. It looks like you’re retelling him a story, gesturing wildly with one of your hands, while the other is kept on the table, underneath his gloved fingers. Kaz is just nodding along, answering something shortly from time to time. 

“Just look at them,” Jesper says with a sense of misguided pride as though he had some contribution in the makings of the couple. He’s shaking his head with amusement. “How could we ever had any doubts?”

“Do you think they know that we know?” Wylan asks quietly.

Inej shrugs. “I don’t think they care.”

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfiction #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker fanfic #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x you #sab #soc #six of crows fanfic #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagine #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows #six of crows x you

[alicntsdnce]

It’s not what you think. It is what you think.

#shadowandboneedit #sabedit #kanejedit #socedit #inej x kaz #inejghafaedit #kazbrekkeredit #ninazenikedit #shadow and bone #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #kanej #nina zenik #sab spoilers #bysarah #nina: i see you 👀

[inwhichifangirled]

A moment of appreciation for Freddy Carter's acting, please.

This man conveyed every one of Kaz's unspoken thoughts in his expressions. I could almost hear what he was thinking in the church scene. His face just screamed YOU! I WANT YOU! when he looked at Inej and then you can see him swallow the thought and look away so he could sprout some bs about his weight in gold

And don't even start with the scene when he sees her after the battle. Holy shit this man, you can see the guilt and regret in his eyes

#dont you dare tell me they werent true to the books in this scene #holy shit when i saw his face #this is what you call acting #kaz brekker #kaz #inej x kaz #kanej #kaz x inej #sab season 2 #sab #sab spoilers #six of crows #shadow and bone spoilers #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix

[swanimagines]

HC: KAZ IS A PROTECTIVE UNOFFICIAL BIG BROTHER FOR A TRAUMATISED READER

 - Kaz was 18 years old when he first saw you - a shivering child, barely even a teenager, bruises covering your body and just underwear on.

- He knew from the first glance that you were from one of the pleasure houses, judging by how you peered towards the street full of them.

- Kaz didn’t really know what came over him - maybe you reminded him of himself as a child to some extent. A broken child with nowhere to go.

- Or maybe Inej was whispering into his ear across the seas, urging him to save you.

- So with a sigh, Kaz limped towards you, and you backed up into the corner the moment you saw him - Dirtyhands approaching you was probably even more scary than your master finding you - or at least on par with it.

- You had probably been taught he rips hearts out and eats them while they are still beating, like one of the newest rumours said.

- But instead, after Kaz had glanced around, he shed off his coat and held it out for you.

- You stared at him with wide eyes, then at the coat, then again at him.

- So Kaz sighed again, took a careful step towards you and laid the coat around you.

- You let out a breath, furrowing your brows as you looked up at him, carefully pulling the coat tighter around you. You clearly had not expected the turn of events.

- Kaz then nodded towards the Slat before turning away, and you silently followed him - some semblance of trust had been established.

- He was probably the first person to show even some kind of kindness to you in a long time, even if he was the most feared crime boss around, and you knew you had two options - returning to the pleasure house or following Dirtyhands. And only the first option had a certain severe beating, even death, so you chose the latter.

- When you arrived at the Slat, people fell silent. You were dirty and terrified, with Kaz’s coat wrapped around you.

“Jesper,” Kaz had called, and a Zemeni man with two guns on his waist strode towards you.

- You immediately staggered back, hiding behind Kaz - men with guns often meant you’d be threatened next, and then you’d be forced into something horrible.

- The man frowned at your reaction, and talked with Kaz for a moment. You barely heard what they were saying, your eyes too fixated on the guns.

- A boy with messy hair came to you next - his eyes kind, and you found yourself relaxing a little. He extended a hand towards you, and you looked at Kaz, who nodded and you took the boy’s hand, letting him lead you to a bathroom. And you were able to have a bath all by yourself - relax there, taking your sweet time. Your master wasn’t brushing you with a sponge until your skin was red and irritated, you could lay in the warm water, wash away the grime, wash your hair and just… feel you were safe.

- At least for now. You knew from experience you couldn’t trust anyone before they had truly shown you they were to be trusted.

- Even when the Bastard of the Barrel, somehow, made you trust him almost instantly.

- There just was something strange about him - something familiar. You had a feeling he had understood you somehow.

- When you rose from the bath, wrapping a towel around you and changing into way too big clothes - you made your way out from the bathroom and made your way back downstairs.

- Your eyelids had started to feel heavy from relaxing for so long in the bath and when Kaz noticed it, he gestured you to come with him, and you made your way to the attic. 

- There, he made you a bed on his sofa.

“You can sleep here,” he had said, and you swallowed before slowly lying down and pulling the blanket over you.

- You didn’t know if you had ever slept somewhere so comfortable as his sofa was - your “bed” at the pleasure house had been a plank you regularly got splinters from. So it didn't take long for you to fall asleep.

- You had woken up to Kaz coming to sleep as well, but were quickly falling back asleep again after you realised he’s not going to assault you.

- In the coming weeks, Kaz grows to be fiercely protective of you.

- One time, you actually saw one of the men who had spent a night with you as you were at the Club - and Kaz immediately told his goons to throw the guy out.

- He hadn’t even done anything while there, but Kaz wanted to protect you.

- Of course, he didn’t tell anyone the reason why he threw that guy out…

- You both suffer from nightmares, Kaz pushes his own nightmares aside to do his best to comfort you with your own nightmares.

"They fade over time," he had told you one night, as you had woken up screaming and had been rocking yourself back and forth, hugging your knees. Kaz had come running to see what's the matter, and seeing your tear-stained cheeks told him everything he needed to know.

You had looked up to him, huffing. "How are you supposed to know that?"

Kaz didn't reply right away, just held his cane, running his thumb over the crow head as he looked at the floor.

"They do," he then repeated, standing up from beside you and leaving the room. You had sat there for a moment longer, before you had laid down again, attempting to continue sleeping.

- Overtime, Kaz realised he cared for you - he felt like he was your big brother.

- After Inej came back from her sea adventures, she quickly became something between a mother and an aunt to you.

- She grew to love you just as much as her boyfriend did, even when Kaz didn’t show it as much as Inej.

- Inej could offer you peer support, when Kaz protected you from harm.

- And of course, Jesper and Wylan grew close to you too.

- Sometimes, you fell asleep against Kaz’s shoulder, and he let you - you had grown close to him, and he was recovering from his own traumas, touch wasn’t that big of an issue anymore.

- Having you leaning against his shoulder, touching him through his shirt, your hair slightly touching his neck - it didn’t feel that bad. 

- He barely felt water hovering over his toes. Actually he wasn’t even sure if it was water or if it was a draft blowing through the floor.

- He could touch Inej skin to skin too, so you being his unofficial little sibling could rest against him if that were to happen.

- When you were outside, he made sure you wouldn’t drift too far from them, the Barrel was full of dangers. Especially if someone from your old pleasure house would see you.

- Fortunately most knew you were under his protection.

- And as you became older, you were healing a lot faster than Kaz was - and even though he knew he wasn’t actually your brother, he sure felt like one - a proud brother.

- Kaz didn’t believe in Saints, but he still felt like something had brought him up to you, at the right time - something had just clicked.

- And now his family had one more member.

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #sab #sab x reader #sab imagine #six of crows imagine #six of crows fanfic #six of crows #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse imagine #reader insert #gn reader #my works

[jahayla-parker]

Royal Comfort : Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

Description: 2.1k wc sick!reader fic where reader is Nikolai’s wife and becomes sick after not heeding advice to rest her voice.

Warnings: illness/sickness, mentions of eating and drinking/soup and tea, mentions of Nikolai being shirtless (just fluff though, I promise), Nikolai bring a protective!simp for reader. 🖤

Note: full disclosure this wasn’t a WIP but rather to help my little sis @ell0ra-br3kk3r feel better 💜

“I thought you agreed to take it easy today” Nikolai sighed, walking into his office and seeing his wife y/n tidying up.

She turned to him with a guilty smile.

“How’s your throat?” He questioned, stepping to her.

“It’s gr-“ she coughed, “great”.

Nikolai gave her an incredulous look.

“Milaya, I heard you singing to yourself again” He informed her, reaching for her hand.

“Habit” she mumbled, shuffling her feet against the wood floor.

He grinned softly, “I know. And it’s precious, truly. But, you have to rest your voice”.

“Are you telling me to sh-“ She coughed again and groaned, “to shut up?”

Nikolai smirked, “If that’s what gets you to rest your throat, then, yes”.

She gave him a weak glare before spinning around to resume her cleaning.

“My beloved wife, we have people who can do that, you mustn’t fuss over it” He reminded her.

“You want them going through your documents?” She questioned softly, holding up one of his more confidential notes.

Nikolai hummed and took it from her, “Fair point Darling. I’ll handle this, you should see if Genya or someone can aid your throat”.

Y/n shook her head and took the paper back from Nikolai before setting it on the desk.

Nikolai watched her silently as she guided him to the lounge chair across the room.

She popped down and signaled for him to join her.

Once he sat down beside her, he moved to pull her to his chest and placed a tender kiss on the top of her head.

—— Time Skip 1 Day ——

“Darling” Nikolai scolded, arms crossed as he stared down his wife.

She winced slightly and covered her mouth.

He signed and walked to her before lowering her hand with his.

“I’m just worried you’ll make yourself worse” Nikolai explained.

She nodded, “I’m not trying to be difficult, it’s just so routine”.

Nikolai pulled her to him, resting his chin on her head, “perhaps you should stay in bed where you don’t have a reason to sing?”

Y/n looked around the room she’d been painting in and frowned.

As she turned back to Nikolai she shook her head with a pout.

He chuckled softly, “alright, but then the signing has to be put on hold hmm?”

She sighed but nodded reluctantly.

—— Time Skip 1 Day ——

“Your highness?” Sentinel Ivanov whispered, standing behind the King as Nikolai attended yet another boring meeting.

Nikolai nodded in response to his wife’s personal guard member, but respectfully kept his eyes on the meeting’s current speaker.

“It’s the Queen,” Sentinel Ivanov began, stepping back when Nikolai’s head whipped around instantly.

“What is it? Where is she?” Nikolai questioned, diregarding the meeting he was in.

“She’s fallen ill, she hasn’t left your shared chambers but has requested your-“ Sentinel Ivanov explained cautiously.

Nikolai stood from his seat and quickly walked to the exit.

“I have a family matter to attend to. General Nazyalensky will take over” he breathily rushed out before exiting the meeting room.

Nikolai ignored the way his staff in the hall turned to watch him speed down the hallway.

Upon reaching their bedroom door, he impatiently waited for the guards to part from their blocking of the entrance and then dashed inside.

Nikolai frowned so deeply his forehead wrinkled as he saw the state his wife was in.

Y/n lay there wrapped up in the comforter in the middle of their bed, tissues scattered across the sheets, head slightly hung, and sad eyes.

He nearly choked when she glanced over to give him a weak smile.

Her nose was red and stuffy and the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Moya tsaritsa” he whined, rushing to her bedside.

She pointed wordlessly to her neck and frowned.

Nikolai sighed as he took her hand in his, “your sore throat worsened?”

She nodded and then paused as a shiver took over her body.

Nikolai felt her forehead with the back of his hand and let out a sigh of relief.

“No fever, let’s keep it that way, hmm?” He advised, scanning the room.

“It’s just a stuffy nose and re-“ y/N’s voice cracked, “really bad sore throat”.

Nikolai nodded and gently moved the pillows behind her before scooping her up in his arms.

He delicately placed her back down on the bed, closer to the head of it this time.

“Let me change and then we’ll cuddle and get some rest okay?” Nikolai offered.

“You could get sick Kolya” she whined followed by a small coughing fit.

He raised an accusatory eyebrow, “you expect me to care about that?! Especially when you’re ill?”

Y/n smiled softly at him but nodded.

Nikolai chuckled softly as he removed his uniform top.

“Your guard informed me that you requested my presence “ Nikolai grinned, although he was inferring that information as he hadn’t let Sentinel Ivanov finish before he rushed to come to her aid.

Y/n coughed loudly, making Nikolai’s head whip around to look over her.

As she lowered her arm from her mouth she sighed, “I’m okay”.

He shook his head and resumed changing his clothes.

“I didn’t think about it when I asked for you” she mumbled, “but I don’t want you to get-“

“Enough of that y/n,” he warned, “I won’t have it. You are my one true love and I’m not leaving your side until you’re well”.

“Bu-but you don’t have time to-“ she argued weakly.

Nikolai turned to her, his robe hanging open around his torso as he stared at her.

“Y/n/n, I always have time for you. I love you” he cooed as he made his way back to her.

“Even when I’m sick?” Y/n questioned, followed by another cough.

Nikolai pouted and softly pulled her arm away from her face after she finished coughing, “especially when you're sick. Sick people need even more love and time than usual, you know."

Y/n whimpered quietly as she reached to her husband, “…… I love you immensely”.

He smiled and slid into the bed beside her, his arms instantly closing around her frame.

“I love you too moya tsaritsa, now how can I help?” He questioned, kissing her forehead.

She shrugged, desperately clinging onto him, “don’t know. I’m fine”.

Nikolai sighed, moving one hand from her back to her chin and tilting her face upwards, “what’s the matter?”

“This is humiliating” she pouted, eyes darting anywhere but his face.

“There's nothing humiliating about needing help once in a while, my love” he promised, smiling tenderly at her.

She finally made eye contact with him and sniffled, “but you have more important-“.

“No” Nikolai stated, his hand placed over her mouth.

She gasped and then giggled against his hand, making him smile as he pulled his hand back.

“Don’t make me risk you having to cough because I had to cover your mouth. You’re not permitted to finish that sentence” Nikolai alerted her.

“Per-permitted?” She coughed and rose her eyebrow at him.

“You know I’d never restrict you milaya, but this is one exception. I will not stand for you insinuating that there’s anything in this world I would find more important than you” he affirmed, holding her closer to his bare chest.

Y/n laid her head against his torso with a smile on her lips.

“You’re sitting though” she teased quietly.

Nikolai chuckled loudly and tickled her sides.

As her laughter turned into coughs, he abruptly stopped and held her still as his eyes scanned her face.

“I’m terribly sorry love, that was a bad idea” he apologized frantically.

“Moi tsar, Moi Kolya, it isn’t y-your fault” y/n assured him, her voice cracking slightly.

Nikolai bent his head down to place a kiss to her stuffy nose.

“Shhh y/n/n, you don’t need to talk love” he advised, shifting so she could rest on his chest again.

A few calm moments passed before y/n pulled back to glance up at her husband again.

Nikolai smirked at her inability to stay still and nodded for her to explain what was on her mind.

“You’re not mad at me?” She questioned in a breathy whisper.

Nikolai’s eyes nearly crossed as he tried to figure out where she’d get such an idea from.

“Course not, why would I be?” He wondered, staring deeply into her eyes for an answer.

“I..” she sniffled and rubbed the tip of her swollen nose with the side of her palm, “I didn’t listen when you said to stop singing”.

Nikolai let out a gust of air as he broke into a smile, “it’s okay milaya, I love your singing. Just didn’t want you to hurt is all”.

“You love my singing?” She whispered.

He cupped her cheek and guided her head back to his chest, “I am in love with your singing, y/n”.

She hummed softly but stopped as she rubbed her throat in pain.

Nikolai pursed his lips before he began to slowly moving out from behind her so he could set her against the pillows.

“I’m going to get you some tea” he informed her when she frowned at his movement.

She pouted and shook her head as she tightened her grip on the edges of his robe to try and hold him down.

Despite the fact he could very easily escape her grip, he didn’t want to; and she clearly didn’t want him to either.

So, he placed a tender kiss to the top of his wife’s head.

“Sentinel Ivanov” Nikolai called out, his hands placed over y/n’s ears.

There was a firm knock on the doors of their bed chambers as Sentinel Ivanov responded, “Korol Lantsov?”

“You may enter” Nikolai confirmed, lowering his hands from his wife’s ears.

“Korol, Koroleva” Sentinel Ivanov bowed as he reached the end of the couple’s bed.

“Ilya, please rise” Nikolai said at the same time y/n said, “you don’t need to do bow”.

Ilya smiled and nodded at them as he waited to hear why he’d been called.

“Would you please have the kitchen fetch some warm tea, and perhaps honey if there’s any, for my loving wife?” Nikolai requested, rubbing y/n’s shoulder that wasn’t pressed against his chest.

“Of course moi tsar, anything else for Koroleva Lantsov?” Ilya replied with a nod.

Nikolai glanced down lovingly at his wife, “anything else you think will help, darling?”

She shook her head and then pulled her shirt over her nose as she coughed again.

Nikolai frowned, glancing between his wife and Sentinel Ivanov.

Ilya gave Nikolai a sympathetic look, knowing full well how much y/n’s discomfort was impacting the King.

“Has anyone brought her food today?” Nikolai questioned Ilya upon remembering it was nearly noon.

Ilya shook his head, “no one other than yourself has left nor entered these chambers today. Well, and now myself”.

Nikolai nodded, sighing as he looked back at his wife.

Y/n lifted her head to make eye contact with Nikolai as she felt his gaze.

“It hurts too much” she whispered.

Nikolai pressed his lips into a fine line as he thought of how to make sure she still ate.

“Perhaps there’s some soup or broth in the kitchen?” Nikolai asked as his eyes snapped to Ilya.

“I can certainly check sir” Ilya agreed.

Nikolai hummed and nodded, “that’ll be all. Thank you”.

—— Short Time Skip ——

“You must love me a lot” y/n croaked a Nikolai lowered the spoon back to the bowl of soup.

“Obviously, you idiot” Nikolai smirked, bringing up another spoonful of warm broth.

She squinted at him but sipped the broth from the spoon in his hand.

“Now you’re insulting a sick person?” Y/n huffed.

He chuckled, “only when you say such obvious things”.

She smiled and softly pushed his hand back down to the dish has he brought up another spoonful.

“You’re full?” He questioned warily.

She nodded and he grinned as she let out a yawn.

“Fair enough, but you’re going to have some more tea before we go to sleep” he ordered as he set the bowl on the bedside table.

—— Short Time Skip ——

“Don’t” y/n whispered, eyelids blinking slowly.

She yawned and snuggled into Nikolai’s embrace even more, “don’t stop.. your fingers…”

Nikolai hummed tenderly, his fingers still moving through her hair.

“Your fingers” she repeated lowly, “feel so nice in my hair”.

He smirked to himself before lowering his head to press a kiss to her head.

“So cozy Kolya” y/n mumbled, her eyelids closing.

Nikolai watched her closely until he saw the rise and fall of her chest.

Once he noticed her eyelids and facial features relaxed, he let out a satisfied sigh.

“Rest well my dear Koroleva” Nikolai hummed, letting his own eyes close.

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[dramaism]

2x08 ‘No Funerals’ SHADOW AND BONE

Ch. 18 ‘Kaz’ SIX OF CROWS

#shadow and bone #shadowandboneedit #sabedit #sab spoilers #six of crows #kanej #kaz x inej #userbbelcher #userstream #dailynetflix #cinematv #tvcentric #mufaloedit #shadowedit #are you surprised to see this set? because i'm very surprised myself #they just did something to me this season and i couldn't help but gif them #also it's my first set on the new laptop i hope it looks alright #girl giffed on new laptop and everything has changed #shadowandbonecentral

[amsgrey]

Price to Pay

Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Part Two to Useful Skills

I have spent forever trying to come up with a title so settle for this very bad one. I also can't tell if I hate this or not but the plot is so fucking bad.

synposis: Kaz learns what you mean when you say your power is your weakness.

warnings: not proofread or edited, mentions of stalking/following someone, Kaz being an asshole to others but not you bc cute, Injury and talk of Pain, reader passes out, kind of generally angsty crap for a minute and then fluff

There were pros and cons to being a crow and one of the big cons was stakeouts in the freezing cold.

Kaz had ordered you and Jesper to stake out one of his chosen targets, a lawyer who had a mistress in the Lid. Mostly it meant that you and Jesper had followed him from his cushy apartment in the financial sector to a gambling den and then to his mistresses. Keeping Jesper out of the gambling den had been the hardest, but now as you trailed behind him in the barrel's bustling streets, you were cursing the cold and damp Ketterdam weather.

You and Jesper were dressed in Komedie Brute costumes, Jesper had on Mister Crimsons' cape and mask, hiding his well-known face from those in the barrel. You were covered in the Scarab Queens dress, the shimmering green catching the lights of the barrel. Although the costume was meant to keep you hidden in the crowd of faces, you couldn't help but curse it for how cold it was. Jesper didn't look to be faring much better, his hands were tucked tightly in his pockets, trying to keep them warm. You had no pockets, having to rub your hands together occasionally.

Your wrist had healed more since the incident at Hellgate, but the cold brought out a phantom pain that you were sure would never quite go away.

"Look," Jesper stopped on the sidewalk, pulling you along with him to look up at a building. Like most of the other buildings in the barrel and the Lid, the house was leaning suspiciously into its neighbour. You could almost imagine how damp it would be on the inside, with wallpaper flaking and steps creaking dangerously.

You couldn't see exactly where Jesper was pointing, "What am I looking for?"

Jesper rolled his eyes, moving your chin to make you look at the window he had in his sight.

"Oh."

Standing in the light was the lawyer you had been tailing, he was without his hat and coat, smothering a woman in robes.

"Kaz was right," Jesper mumbled, leaning back on the wall while you both watched.

"Kaz is always right," You replied, joining him against the wall. You would have to wait for a while before asking questions. It would be too suspicious to walk straight in after him.

Jesper looked you up and down, "Aren't you cold?"

You fixed him with a glare, "What do you think, Fahey?"

The sharpshooter chuckled.

"Why in Saint's name did Kaz have to give me a disguise without a coat," you grumbled, crossing your arms so you could tuck your fingers against your side for more warmth.

Jesper gave you a smirk, you knew what he was going to say before he did, "Because you look gorgeous, love."

You huffed, "I'll look less gorgeous when I'm frozen solid."

You and Jesper stayed until the crowds thinned and the lawyer made his way home for the night. You had snuck into the foyer of the building and learnt the woman's name from the mail, pinching one of the envelopes to give to Kaz. After that, there was nothing more to learn. You and Jesper had made the trek back through the barrel to the Slat. Jesper wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you wandered past the pleasure houses and dens. At this time of the night, men were drunk with pleasure and wine, boldened in their crude behaviour. They would stumble out of brothels with sickly grins and harass any woman who dared to walk alone. You quietly thanked Jesper as he held you close.

Entering the Slat, you made your way through the Dregs to where the crows were sitting. You fell into a chair next to Nina, tossing the mask onto the table and stealing a piece of her food.

Jesper joined Wylan in the booth, secretly leaching his heat off him.

"Well?"

You pulled the envelope you had stolen from your dress, ignoring the surprised looks from the rest of the Crows.

"That's where you hid it?" Jesper said as he watched you hand it over to Kaz.

You shrugged, "I didn't have pockets."

Nina grinned, knowing the struggle herself, "I do it all the time."

Matthias tried to hide how he choked on his drink, coughing dramatically. His face was turning bright red as everyone stared at him.

Kaz ignored the Fjerdan, focusing on the paper in his hand. "Did you have any trouble?"

"No," Jesper answered for you.

"Although next time I would like a disguise with a coat," You added, "My hands have never been so cold."

Kaz glanced from the paper to you for the first time, silently taking in how you were flexing your freezing fingers. He nodded once, then disappeared towards the stairwell.

The next morning you were surprised to find the Bastard of the Barrel at your door. He held a brown paper package in one hand, leaning on his cane with the other.

He handed the package to you, "For the job tonight."

"Thank you," You replied, staring down at the package slightly confused. Kaz let out a quiet hum in acknowledgement, then turned and walked away, his cane clicking as he made his way down the stairs.

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you closed the door and sat on your cot gently opening the paper. Neatly folded in the package was a pair of gloves, completely black like Kaz's. You were shocked, gently unfolding them to reveal the cuff's black embroidery.

Like your shadows.

You couldn't help the grin, slipping your fingers into the gloves and stretching your hands to feel how they reacted. They were almost perfectly fitted, just tight enough where they kept you warm but not so tight that you lost movement. You tried to keep the butterflies in you at bay; he brought me gloves.

Saints, if you couldn't keep your schoolgirl feelings at bay you'd be useless on the job.

When you climbed down the stairs to meet with the other crows, they all noticed your new gloves. It was impossible to hide anything from them.

Wylan grabbed your hand, looking at the small details, "These are new."

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hand back, "Can a girl not get new things?"

Wylan grinned, "Did you get them? Or were they a gift?"

"From a certain Mr Brekker?" Nina pressed, joining in on Wylans teasing.

"I have no idea what you idiots are talking about."

Kaz had decisively paired you with him on the upcoming job. You had frowned and asked if you were better suited to help Matthias and Nina lay the trap, but he had simply ignored the suggestion.

You tried not to be frustrated, Kaz hardly ever explained himself to anyone, why would he do so for you?

So you followed along with him willingly. He was dressed in his usual sharp clothing. The tidy waistcoat and dress pants with his usual black coat. He ordered you to dress similarly, like a wealthy woman. So you put on the nicest skirt you owned, borrowing a white blouse from Nina and pulling your coat over it all. You wore the gloves Kaz had given you, trying not to overthink about what was probably a harmless gesture.

You stood to Kaz's right, watching the shadows around the square as you waited patiently for the lawyer to fall into Kaz's well-laid trap.

Wylan and Jesper would be somewhere beyond the square, watching your back in case anything went wrong.

"Do you like the gloves?" Kaz broke the silence.

It took you off guard, "Oh, uh, yes." You flexed your hands, "Thank you."

Kaz nodded, "I had them made by a fabrikator so they would not hinder your summoning."

So that's where he had slinked off to last night.

You had to compose yourself, biting your tongue to ground yourself. Kaz Brekker was not some crushing boy giving you his favour through a gift, it was no doubt a strategic move as part of his plan. Then why did the butterflies in your stomach refuse to cease?

Get a hold of yourself.

You brushed down your skirt, pretending to be distracted by making yourself look presentable rather than looking at the boy next to you.

Another few minutes passed and the lawyer came stomping around the corner into the square. He was joined by two other men, no doubt enforcers he had paid to protect him.

"Mister Herling."

The lawyer looked torn between being afraid and irritated, "Brekker."

When you first found work in the Barrel, you were surprised that everyone seemed to know who Kaz Brekker was. After a week in the pub, you heard almost every rumour that the barrel had spun about the bastard of the barrel. The whispers that barmaids told, Dirtyhands doesn't need a reason.

Herling looked the two of you up and down, "Your muscle, Dirtyhands?"

You smiled sweetly, "Is that so hard to believe?"

The man on Herlings left chucked, his eyes lingered on your body. You shuffled your feet, trying to hold back your disgust at the man. You spared a glance at Kaz, who had noticed but chosen to ignore the man. Instead, he lifted his cane and flexed his fingers, like a silent challenge.

The lawyer waved his hand, "What business?"

"You work for Geels," Kaz stated, "I need to get a message to him."

Herling's face morphed from passive annoyance to one of outrage, "What makes you think I would do that for a barrel rat like you?"

Kaz lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug, "Everyone has a price."

"You think you can bribe me?" Herling cried, clearly insulted and angered by Kaz's comment. "Respectable men do not take bribes."

"Good thing there are no respectable men here."

You held back a laugh, this was not the time to appreciate Kaz's dry humour.

Herling let out a noise, halfway between a growl and a huff. "You are a special kind of messed up, boy."

Kaz didn't seem at all phased, he calmly explained what he meant by 'price'. The women you and Jesper had learnt about last night, proof that Herling was not a respectable man and had something to offer unless he wanted his wife to know.

"I don't know who that is," Herling hissed, but he couldn't hide his panic.

Kaz stretched his fingers that held his cane, the leather of his gloves flexing with his fingers.

"The thing about the Lid," Kaz spoke, "Is that no one cares if people disappear. This is Ketterdam, after all, space is valuable."

Herling put it together, he stepped forward and raised his fist, "If you lay a hand-"

Kaz smacked his hand away with his cane, Herling recoiled, stepping back and cradling his hand like a child.

"Stop making empty threats, Herling, and start making deals."

Kaz struck a deal with the man and you both waited for him and his men to leave before turning and walking out of the square. As you both exited under the arch, Wylan and Jesper fell into step beside you.

"You think he'll follow through?" Wylan asked, his hands clutching the straps on his satchel.

Kaz didn't have to explain himself, "Yes."

As the four of you picked your way through the streets back towards the slat, you started to become aware of something moving in the shadows. You were so focused on the movements, you didn't even realize Nina and Matthias had joined your group.

Finally, you couldn't stand the feeling of being watched anymore. You stopped, turning around to search the street for the two figures you knew were around.

"Y/N?" Nina asked, standing next to you.

The others stopped a few steps ahead, frowning at you.

"Someone's out there," You said quietly to Nina. The heartrender reached out, searching for heartbeats to verify your feeling.

She frowned, turning back to the others, "Y/N's right."

Kaz joined you both, looking out over the silent streets. Kaz didn't have to say anything, two men came slinking out of the shadows to face him.

They were the same two men the lawyer had at his side, but now their sleeves were rolled up, guns in hand. You realized they weren't just paid goons, they were black tips.

"You don't know when to back off, Brekker," One of them hissed.

Kaz looked indifferent, "I could say the same for your boss."

One of the men cocked his pistol, pointing it at Nina, "Move your hands and you die, witch."

Nina rolled her eyes, holding her hands up dramatically.

Two more men drew out of the shadows to join the other Black Tips. They too held up guns.

One of them held his gun trained on Jesper and for good reason. Jesper would be able to get you all out of this with a spin of his pistols, with a gun trained on him he couldn't help anyone.

"No getting out of this."

You spared a glance at Nina, who stared back at you with a silent response. Don't do it.

You knew you shouldn't, Kaz would be able to get you out of this. He was at your side, so you turned to him. He had his scheming face, trying to put together a plan.

"Stadwatch?" You whispered.

"Probably paid off," Kaz replied.

You looked back to the four men, who were arguing over who would get to drag Kaz to the boss.

"Y/N," Kaz saw straight through you, "Don't."

You didn't have a choice, Kaz knew that.

Without dwelling on it too much, you reached out. You could feel the shadows bending to your will, they pulled towards you, amassing around your feet and climbing towards your hands. You drew your hands up in a loose arc when your hands were almost touching, and the shadows formed a loose line. The four men looked up, shocked silent at the view in front of them.

You raised one of your hands, then threw it down in a fast slash. Your shadows formed into a shape blade, reaching out and cutting all four men down. Although not the first time using the cut, it felt the same. A rush of exhilarating power, like nothing could stand in your way. Then there was the crushing pain like your body was trying to repel your powers. The feeling was always there after summoning, but it was mostly bearable, a sharp pain behind your eyes or a dull ache between your shoulders. The cut always took the most out of you, your mother had called it unnatural, merzost. No Grisha was supposed to have such power.

You watched the men's bodies fall, split cleanly in two. Then the pain was too much, you fell to your knees, gasping for breath.

Nina and Wylan were at your side instantly, Nina quietly reminding you to breathe as she held your hand tightly. She was paying close attention to your heart rate, it was beating so fast she could only wait for you to pass out. She pulled you close when you lost consciousness, your body going limp on the damp cobblestones.

You were in and out of consciousness the whole walk back to the slat. Jesper and Matthias were holding you up, trying to make it look less suspicious than it would if they had you strawn over their shoulder. You could hardly keep your feet moving, Jesper and Matthias were mostly holding you up.

When you finally got back to the slat, Jesper dragged you to your room, a tiny sliver of space on the third floor. He lowered you to the bed, dropping you less than gently.

You were still consumed with pain, not sure of what was going on, "Thanks, babe." You muttered.

Jesper laughed, "You are very welcome, love."

Jesper left the room, letting Nina take his place at your side.

"Tell me what I can do to help," She pleaded, pained by seeing you in such a state.

"Nothing, Nina," You replied, letting out a sigh.

"Are you sure?" She tried again, gently brushing the hair off your feverish forehead.

"I'll be fine, Nina," You replied, "I just need to sleep it off."

Nina nodded, knowing she wouldn't be able to get much more from you. She stood and quietly left the room, passing Kaz in the hall.

Kaz lingered for a moment before stepping into the room. You could feel his presence, not bothering to open your eyes to see him.

"Boss."

When Kaz didn't reply you opened your eyes, looking at his face. He looked almost concerned, you wondered if you had imagined it in your state because as soon as you made eye contact the look was gone.

"You said that your abilities were your weakness," Kaz said after a long pause.

"And now you see why."

Another long pause.

Kaz nodded once, "Thank you."

You might have appreciated those words more if you hadn't been half asleep. Kaz never said thank you.

"Don't thank me," You said, "I need to be gone by this time tomorrow."

It didn't take a genius to see four bodies cut in half and know what it meant. Only one summoner could use the cut and by exposing yourself tonight you had no chance but to run.

"You don't have to," Kaz spoke so quietly you almost didn't hear him, "You could stay."

"If I stay," You replied, closing your eyes and covering your face with your arm, "I will be hunted, killed."

You could hear Kaz move, the click on his cane. He had stepped closer. "I won't let that happen."

The rational part of you knew that Kaz would be powerless to stop however came after you. But you were exhausted and slightly delirious, so the only thought that passed through your mind was, he wants to protect me.

"I guess I can stay," You drawled, finally losing the fight to unconsciousness.

The next morning when you woke up you were tucked under a blanket, your boots by the end of your bed and the gloves Kaz had given you folded neatly on the bedside table. You had the same butterflies, but this time it felt more real. You weren't imagining things, at least you had hoped you weren't. Surely that hadn't been some kind of terrible dream.

You needed to be sure, forcing your tired body to rise from the bed and slip on your shoes. You hesitated at the door, knowing climbing upstairs to Kaz's room in the attic would be gruelling. You forced yourself to do so anyway, taking the stairs slowly. When you reached the top, you felt lightheaded, your body betraying you after last night's show of power.

You knocked once on Kaz's door, entering after he allowed it. When you stepped in you had to reach for something to hold on to, your head swimming.

"You should be resting," Kaz spoke, watching you hold yourself up on the metal bedframe. He could see how pale you looked, your face was full of colour not long ago. He thought briefly about how he wished to see you back to yourself again. Then he was shutting that thought out of his mind.

"What you said last night-" You ignored Kaz's order, trying to stand a little taller and feign strength. Kaz could see through the cracks easily.

"Was the truth." Kaz stood, leaning on his cane as he got a little closer to you, worried that you might just keel over, "I won't let anyone hurt you."

Relief crashed over you, washing away some of the panic that had clouded your mind.

You and Kaz held each other's gaze for a while longer, content in the silent company of one another.

You knew you should rest, your body was screaming to sit or lie down. It would only follow your orders for so long. But you weren't sure you would make it down the stairs without falling, which would definitely make the pain in your head worse.

Kaz seemed to come to the same realization. He gently grabbed your arm, holding tight to your bicep to lead you to the side of his bed. He helped you sit, then returned to his spot at his desk. There was something unspoken, Kaz didn't have to tell you to stay because you could see the question in his eyes. You let out a small sigh, nodding and deciding to lie on Kaz's bed.

Kaz clearly didn't mind, his attention returning to his papers. You watched him work, taking in how his eyebrows furrowed as he read over reports and expenses. You hadn't realized until now that he wasn't wearing his gloves. His slender fingers flipped through the paper like a dealer would cards.

His hands are stained with blood.

What a ridiculous rumour to believe, you thought. Sitting at his desk before the morning light, he looked like any other businessman. An honest man with no worries about the harshness of this world. You didn't much care for honest men, because there were hardly any. You had done terrible things in your lifetime, last night had not been the first time you had killed and without a doubt, it would not be your last. You did not deserve an honest man. With the powers you held, no one could be fully trusted. You had known that your whole life.

But lying on Kaz's bed, watching him work, you were struck by something much scarier than starting to trust him. You were starting to feel safe.

taglist

@unicornfairytail @winstonthecow22 @mxtokko @lonelywitchv2 @kazbrekkers-gloves @intoanothermind @dontstopxx @beautifulbows924 @lu123sworld @slutforcoffein @u-wakatoshii @yujyujj @swhispererr @khaleesihavilliard @nyctophiliiiiaaa @thedelusionreaderbitch @adorawritesalot

#kaz brekker x you #kaz and jesper #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #soc #six of crows #six of crows x reader #jesper x wylan #jesper #six of crows jesper #jesper fahey #nina x matthias #nina zenik #six of crows nina #six of crows wylan #the crows #sab s2 spoilers #sab s2 #sab spoilers #sab #wylan hendriks #wylan van eck #wylan #soc wylan #soc kaz #matthias helvar #matthias #soc matthias #soc duology #shadow and bone x reader

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞

❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part one of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you were a 4.0, straight A student, until professor geto's class, the same far too hot ethics professor fawned over by faculty and students alike. you didn't understand what was so special about him...until you start having dreams about him.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, masturbation (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), getting off to his voice in recorded lectures, arousal from reading his writing, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @/jatinsohanvi, google scholar graphic by platonic loml @laneysmusings

✧ wc: 10,149 (i have a problem) | part two

“You’re late,” 

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto’s class was that you could never be late again, unless you would like to be chided in front of all your peers for your tardiness. 

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto himself was that he was truly the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid your eyes on. His inky black locks tied into a neat bun, his deep royal purple vest buttoned over a crisp white button up with pressed gray slacks, his pretty lips pressed in a small frown, as his dark gaze pierced through you. And you don’t know what stirs in your chest — a fleeting moment that is tucked away under a bite of your bottom lip and burning cheeks. 

And now you knew why when you had walked into class, the amount of unfamiliar faces in this course had far outnumbered the ones in your usual course load — the same reason why this man undoubtedly had three chili peppers next to his professor rating on some website out there. 

And now you were faced with him staring you down as you stumbled down the stairs of the all too full lecture hall. 

As you muttered apologies, and took your seat far too close to the front of the class, smack dab in the very front of the very same professor whose eyes still were concentrated on you, before sliding back to the class at large. 

“Now, where were we?” he says, continuing the lecture. 

Ethics was not your major — you were a philosophy grad student, and although the two went hand in hand — no, they were not the same thing. Ethics are the moral principles — like rules to follow to live a moral life — people can follow, while philosophy is the study of knowledge, reality, and existence. And this class encompassed both — an ethics and moral philosophy class. Your eyes slid around the room — and compared to all the random majors stuffed into this classroom, you had no doubt you’d do well. Your eyes met Professor Geto’s — maybe one slight doubt. 

And when you get your first essay back, you eagerly flip to the last page of the paper, wondering what accolades and compliments you’d receive this time. Your eyes find the grade, and your stomach drops, a gaping maw that consumes you from the inside out. 

You got a B. 

A B+ — an 88 on your paper in this course, and you stared at the grade on the very last page of the paper you had collected from his desk — Professor Geto had insisted everyone submit their papers both physically and electronically — his scrawl in red pen littered each page of what you thought was a thoughtful and even clever paper on the existence free will and the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround it. And he had given it an 88. 

You had a 4.0 point average — you had gotten the highest scores in some of the most difficult courses required by your major, and now you were going to be derailed by a class you took on a whim? That’s not happening. No, you were going to get him to change your grade. You were seeing as red as the ink that tore your paper to shreds. 

“Come in,” your knuckles had rapped against Professor Geto’s door, your heart in your throat, as you heard his reply, entering his office. His office was as pretentious as he was. A much larger office than you had seen before (poor Professor Ijichi had a shoebox of an office), while Professor Geto’s was three times the size, outfitted with large, beautiful windows, distinct bookshelves, and even a lovely deep mahogany colored couch with decorative cushions. And you knew why that was the case — Professor Geto was an expert in his field, revered, even at his relatively young age. And the university had coveted him, and managed to lure him to work behind these ivy covered walls. While other professors who have been here longer are stuck with offices that don’t begin to compare. 

Academia was truly hell. 

And yet, Professor Geto seemed to rule over it with an iron fist. Even now, you found your professor looking as annoyingly perfect as ever — his elbow resting against his desk, pen in his other hand, as he flipped through more papers on his desk, his hair in a messy bun, a few black strands falling across his furrowed brow, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and his dark gaze flicks up from his work to you, and his lips curl, your name leaving his lips, “good to see you, please sit,” 

You had planned to attend these office hours in victory, to apologize for your misstep in the first class, and let your professor praise your paper to no end — but instead you were going to see why your paper was graded so harshly. 

Your speech was ready, you were going to lay it out, you had the perfect explanation and the excellent reasoning “Professor Geto—” 

“I know why you’re here,” he cuts you off, lips forming in an utterly condescending smile, “you want to discuss your paper, correct?” 

“I am, I wanted to—” 

He sits forward in his chair, setting down his pen, “I’m going to save us some time by explaining my comments on your paper, do you have it?” and you close your mouth, pulling the paper out of your folder and handing it to him, “Your paper was one of the best in the class — it was thought provoking, grounded in research, persuasive, even made me consider some points I hadn’t before—” 

You blink, his praise catching you off guard, your thoughts twisting in on themselves, “Then why did you give me B?” 

“You didn’t allow me to finish,” he sighs, as he flips through your paper, looking up to meet your gaze,  “your paper was excellent when it came to philosophical concepts, but your ethical conclusions on the other hand, could use some work,” 

You gaped at him, “What did I possibly—” 

“To put it simply, you were trying to use your knowledge of philosophy to cover up your lack of knowledge in the field of ethics,” 

“I wasn’t—” 

“And that’s okay, because that means I have something to teach you don’t I? That’s why you’re in this course, to learn,” he gives a tight lipped smile, tilting his head. Oh you’d like to learn a lot more from him — like the ethical dilemma of wanting to murder your professor, “and I’m here to teach — and this paper is a teaching moment — and from your expression, I assume you didn’t read the comments I left in detail,” 

And your cheeks burn, as your eyes fall away from him, “Not fully in detail,” you still swallow your shame, and meet his gaze, “I don’t mean to be a bother, Professor, but how can my paper still receive a B — I’ve never received that low of a score on any single paper—” 

“There’s a first time for everything,” and you have to bite back your retort, “yeah first time having an annoying prick for a professor,” and he rises from his desk to hand you back your paper, “the bottom line is, I know you’re capable of better, this class isn’t going to be easy — I’m not going to hand you accolades for no reason. You have to earn them — if you aren’t up for the challenge, you can drop the class.” 

The option was there — you could simply drop the course, rid yourself of Professor Geto and his ridiculous criticism forever. You could take a class with one of the many professors who delighted in your papers (even the ones you’d written at 3 AM and submitted not proofread), and go on with your life and preserve your 4.0 GPA with ease. 

But then you looked at him again. He was unfairly hot, even when he was fucking putting you down, he stood in front of you, offering your paper, his fingers long and thick brushing yours by mistake as you took back your paper, a watch on his wrist gleamed in the low light of his office. You glanced around his office, saw the awards on his walls, pictures of him giving lectures or receiving honors, and the books that lined his shelves weren’t dissimilar to your own academic shelf at home. And your eyes fell back to his, as he stared at you curiously, lips pursed, as your paper slightly crumples in your fist. 

“Next paper is due in two weeks?” and he pauses, before his lips curl in that same grin. 

“Yes it is,” and a smile graces your lips, lightning quick.

Like hell you were going to let him win. You were going to get him to praise your papers (and maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing he praised) — if it was the last thing you do. You’d get an A in his class, hell, you’d get him to beg you to be his teaching assistant (he’d look very nice on his knees for you, wouldn’t he?). 

You rise from your seat, and grab your bag, “I’ll see you at your next office hours then, to discuss my paper topic,” and he watches you leave, his eyes piercing into your back as you do. 

“See you soon.” 

Oh, he would. 

“Right on time,” Professor Geto barely looks up now when you knock on his door, his door now always ajar for office hours. 

Now you had made a habit of showing up for his office hours, you’d bring your paper topic all picked out, along with your handpicked sources you had chosen for your paper, all typed up in a neat bibliography. And he’d kindly rip it apart with that same damn smile on his lips. It had been a few weeks, a few papers later — and you finally had worked your grade up to an A-, not quite an A+, but you’d get there. You had to. 

Because it wasn’t just about your GPA now — you were going to get Professor Geto to praise you — through any means necessary. The man was stubborn, even when you’d come back with an improved draft, he’d only hand it back to you with a smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, with no compliment to be had — only small check marks scribbled in the margins in your papers, with the occasional “good” written next to it. 

“Well, we all know what happens when I’m late,” he laughs, a noise that makes the ice dagger clutched behind your back ever so slightly melt, “I made you laugh, extra credit?” 

And he rolls his eyes, and you notice that his dark eyes are hidden behind glasses today — and god, why does it only make him even more gorgeous? He’s already brilliant, it’s unfair for him to look as if he was sculpted by the gods as well, “It takes a lot more than a chuckle to earn extra credit,” and you can’t help but bite your lip. 

No, no, he’s the worst. It didn’t matter he was the epitome of every academic’s wet dream, you were above that. You had a goal. 

“So, can we discuss my next paper?” you hand him your bibliography, and he takes it, delicate fingers flipping through, your mind notes the absence of a ring on either hand, before brushing the thought aside. 

“You’re writing on the morality of good or bad actions,” he hums, as he looks over the sources you had chosen, “Scanlon, good — have you read—” 

“‘What We Owe to Each Other?’ Only about a million times — well more like six,” and he nods appreciatively, “of course you’ve read it,” 

“I didn’t just read it, I wrote a paper on it, similar to yours, actually,” and your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s leaning forward in his chair, red pen in hand, as he scribbles notes in the margins, as well as on the back of your bibliography, “of course I don’t have your penchant for rambling,” 

You pout, “I don’t ramble — I like to make my point—” 

“Many times, and the same one,” and your mouth opens, only to find a wry smirk on his lips, “I’m teasing, another one of my very tedious qualities, and how you stand it during class astonishes me,” 

You cross your arms, unable to meet his eyes, as you choose to stare at your bibliography instead, “You’re not completely tedious, more like irritating,” and he huffs a chuckle. 

You had to admit, begrudgingly, Professor Geto was a…good teacher. And you had your fair share of awful teachers — many of them were brilliant, accomplished people in their fields, but didn’t know how to translate and convey that in their lectures to students who simply knew less than them. But Geto…he knew how to break down complex concepts and theories of moral philosophy and ethics to a science, he knows how to make students understand these complicated topics that you had seen other professors fail to, and he does it while being an intellectual dreamboat to most of his students — the ones that swarm his desk after class, still there even as you slowly make your way out of the lecture hall. 

“A rare compliment from you,” he raises an eyebrow, “I’m touched,” 

“You’re one to talk,” you furrow your brow, and a smile pulls at his lips. 

“Didn’t know you wanted my approval,” he tilts his head, leaning forward to lean on his elbow on the desk, “well, you have improved remarkably in the class so far, and if you keep going like this, I may have no choice but to praise you,” 

“You will,”

“Someone is very sure of themselves,” a pause and then he adds with a quirk of his lips, “as you should be,” and he’s sliding your bibliography across the table again, and passes it back, “read the sources I recommended, and see about adding them to your paper — you may have some overlap in the other papers you chose so use your discretion on which ones you use,” 

“So don’t repeat myself?” You raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. 

“You learn fast.” 

And you do — returning to your apartment to work on your paper, as you flip through his notes — as much as you hate to admit it, his notes and criticism did help — annoyingly so. He was far more detailed and perceptive than any other professor you had. Most had let you skate by without a second thought, and you wrote papers like you deleted your internet history after a scandalous romp through elicit websites — tools, clear history — and then onto the next paper or exam. But Professor Geto forced you to face your shortcomings, face the things that you didn’t like to give a second glance to, lest your rejection sensitive self feel the agony of having to deal with criticism. 

Each time you did it, you got a little better, and he had a little less to say — time and time again. 

You leaned back on your bed, scrolling through the papers he recommended, but so what? So what if he was a good teacher? Doesn’t mean he has to be as infuriating as he is — he knew exactly what to do to get under your skin, and he didn’t prod at it, he scratched it. 

And you found yourself typing his name (“suguru geto”) and T.M. Scanlon’s name into the search bar of your university’s library collection, and his paper pops up right on top. 

You stare at the paper for a good minute, before you click on it — and you start reading. And reading. And reading — and fuck— 

It was good. It was more than that — it gave you so much insight on this topic, it made you rediscover T.M. Scanlon’s work in a new light — and you bite your lip. And it wasn’t just the research — the way it organized, the way it was presented, the way it was written — it was eloquent, but it wasn’t unreadable or incomprehensible. It was…really good. 

You imagined him, pouring over Scanlon’s work as he wrote notes in the margins of his copy, pages dogeared and passages highlighted, as he sat in his office typing away at this paper. His sleeves rolled up, his hair let out of his usual bun, his glasses perched on his nose as he read, only his desk lamp and computer illuminating his office. The keys of his computer clacking under his touch, lengthy fingers pitter pattering as he wrote his thoughts and analysis of Scanlon’s work — his brow furrowed in thought. 

And you felt yourself flush, swallowing the lump in your throat, as you kicked off your blanket — it was so warm all of a sudden, pressing your thighs together. You shook the thoughts from your mind — what the hell were you doing? You glanced at the time, 2:39 AM it read back at you mockingly. You sigh, shutting your laptop down, and putting it aside — you need to do your skincare and brush your teeth. You glance back at your laptop—the familiar of your flush clung to your skin like a forbidden kiss— 

And you clearly needed sleep. 

“Can you read this passage to me?” Professor Geto’s voice said, as he stood in front of you in the lecture hall — as you stood behind the podium that faced the entire class — hands in his pockets, in an olive henley, his hair tied in the usual neat bun, his black bangs falling in his eyes as always, glasses on, instead of the usual contacts. The class sat all around you — his exercise in getting the class to participate and get comfortable speaking in front of others, just as philosophers had done in the past (his very own “literary salon” he called it). 

You swallow, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in front of you, “‘When I ask myself what reason the fact that an action would be wrong provides me with not to do it, my answer is that such an action would be one that I could not justify to others on ground I could expect them to accept—’” 

“What do you think Scanlon meant by this?” he asks you, but his gaze was different this time, it held the amusement it always did when it came to you, but it was warm — no — it was burning. His lips were pursed, as he crossed his arms, the henley’s fabric seemingly straining under the action. 

“He meant that an action that is wrong in his eyes when he couldn’t expect others to accept the ground on which he could justify it,” and his lips curve into that damned smile, as he takes a few steps closer, rounding the podium, as he brushes past you, the brief touch of temptation incarnate — the dangling apple of Tantalus personified before you. 

“And can you give me some examples of what kinds of actions would be wrong?” and he’s standing behind you now, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him — but you can feel his gaze on you. 

“Senseless murder,” and he hums in approval, his breath felt like it was warming your skin, “wanton violence, reckless assault—” 

“What other everyday wrongdoings could fall under this category?” and suddenly the class before you is gone, and it’s just the two of you in an empty lecture hall, “theft, lying, student-teacher relationships?” 

And your breath catches in your throat, his cologne strangling any sense left in your mind, as his body heat nearly radiates off him, “Professor Geto—” 

“Suguru,” he corrects you, and he’s reaching for you, but he pauses, “can I—” and you only can nod, and his fingers brush your hair aside, ever so gently, “would this be considered a moral wrongness, sweetheart?” his lips press a chaste kiss to your shoulder, and you shiver at the softness of his touch. 

“Well, I am a student in your class, and even though I’m of age, it presents a power dynamic and a favoritism that might be—” and your sentence cuts off as his arms wind their way around your waist, pressing himself to your back, “I—” 

“Go on,” he’s murmuring his words against the nape of your neck now, as he pulls his glasses off to place them on the podium, “might be what?” 

“Might be viewed as morally wrong—” and he’s chuckling, the vibration sending a delicious shiver down your spine, as he presses more butterfly kisses to your neck. 

“How can something be wrong when it feels so right?” he asks, and his hand is sliding down your side, “feels so good, does it even matter what society views as right or wrong? Do their rules pertain to what we’re doing here?” and his fingers toy with the hem of your pants, teasing and pulling, as he pauses, waiting for your answer, “what do you think—” 

“Please,” you swallow, as you turn to look at him, seeing his lips in that same smile that haunted you, “touch me,” 

And his smile only grows wider, “Good girl.” 

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. 

Your eyes flutter open, your breath caught in your throat, as you stare at your ceiling, your hand reaching for your phone to silence the alarm. And you squeeze your thighs together, a distinct ache between your legs, your skin all too warm. 

What the fuck was that? 

You skip office hours the next week. You couldn’t bear it — you could barely tolerate going to class now, as the dream invades your nights, with filthy variations that leave you perturbed and horny (mostly horny). The common theme only being that each time you get close to anything remotely that’s anything (a kiss, a touch that’s more than a caress, anything at all), you wake up. 

It’s as if your dreams are edging you — you groan into your pillow — and it was working. 

You’re so wound up, you’ve even resorted to using your vibrator before bed, wondering if that would make a difference — it did, but only with you having a dream of Professor Geto using a vibrator on you during class — the vibrations growing even faster when you were speaking as he watched you— 

You needed to stop thinking about this. But how can you? 

God, it’s even worse when you’re in class. You sit in your usual seat, front and center — and why does it feel like his eyes are on you far too often? Even as he lectures Professor Geto attempts to catch your eye during his lecture, trying to make a point, you all but glue your gaze down to the textbook and your laptop, typing away his words, trying to drown out the whispered words and groans from your dream that ring in your ears. You can’t stop seeing him — unless you want to skip class, which you really couldn’t when attendance and participation counted for a good chunk of your grade. 

Class ended and you were packing up your things. You had to weather the storm — avoid being alone with him until the dreams were just a distant memory— 

And then you heard him say your name— 

Your eyes flick up to meet Professor Geto — who had his usual swarm of students waiting by his desk, but he parted the crowd, he approached your own seat, hands in your pockets, “Do you have a class after this?” 

“No, I don’t—” the words slip out before your sleep deprived mind can put the pieces together. 

“Then can you please stay after class? I’d like to talk to you,” he says, and before you can say anything, he turns to speak to the students waiting for him. 

And now you wait — your anxious energy singing at the frayed ends of your nerves, as you tried to hold yourself together — wondering what he could possibly want to speak to you about. His students dissipated one by one, until it was just you and him left in the lecture hall. 

Just. Like. Your. Fucking. Dream. 

You round the row you sat in, before walking down to speak to him, “Is there something wrong? The next paper isn’t due until the end of next week—” 

“It isn’t about the paper,” and your heart squeezes, as you try to keep your breathing even, as he steps closer — and why, why did he have to opt to only wear a button up today —  and a deep royal purple one no less,  “I wanted to check in with you,” and he begins to undo the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up — exposing his forearms and the pretty veins that ran along them — the same arms that he had used in one of your dreams to bend you over that desk, the whispers of heated kisses along your neck—

You needed to get out of here. 

You blink, “I’m fine,” and he tilts his head. 

“I only ask because you’ve looked tired the last two classes, and you didn’t show up for office hours this week,” he crosses his arms, unhelpfully, as he purses his lips, the lines of his brow furrowed. 

“I’m fine, Professor, I appreciate your concern — I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit — it was the truth, “and that’s why I didn’t come to office hours. I was trying to catch up on sleep,” 

He nods, sighing, fingers raking through his hair — those same fingers that would feel so pretty around your neck— “I know I’m hard on you,” oh he would be, “but it’s because I know you’re capable of more — most of these students are taking the class for an elective, but I know it’s more than that for you,” yes, it’s so you can finally earn his praise, “but I’m also here for your benefit, so if you need an extension or anything else, please let me know,” 

God, all you wanted was for him to maybe wrap you in his arms and kiss you, or bend you over, pull your clothes off and fuck you, or just to leave you alone all together. 

You weren’t sure which one you wanted the most at this moment. 

“I will, Professor Geto, I appreciate it,” you murmur, biting your lip, as you try to focus on the task at hand — getting out of here, “I don’t think I need an extension, I’ve made good progress so far. I just need to finish it, so I can revise,”

“Well, let me know if anything changes,” his lips curl, “ok?” And you nod, and if you weren’t so hyperaware, you swore you would have imagined it — but you didn’t, “good girl,” 

And you pause a moment — his lips did move, you pinch yourself discreetly — and you know it isn’t a fucking dream. You only smile in return, giving a curt nod and goodbye, before beelining out of the classroom. 

But you didn’t stick around long enough to see the slight flush on Professor Geto’s cheeks — nor did you know that you two were thinking the same thing about yourselves— 

What the fuck were you doing? 

But to your relief, the dreams do subside, and you’re finally able to rest — but the thing that doesn’t subside is your awareness of your professor. 

You sit in class, watching him teach — and you knew he was attractive, hell, it was one of the things that made you all the more embarrassed to have him ream you out — having your super hot professor rail at you for your mistakes wasn’t on your list of shining achievements (lest it was him actually railing you—). 

You needed to stop doing that. 

But it felt as if you weren’t the only one who was hyper aware. You felt as if his eyes skimmed over you during class this week, his replies to your weekly discussion board were less biting than usual, and his office hours were surprisingly canceled this week. First time all semester, but you weren’t so full of yourself that you thought it had anything to do with you — right? 

Either way, you had submitted your paper and now you were done with this week—and as class finishes, you slowly pack up, looking forward to the week being over with and for a personal rendezvous with your bed. But as the usual gaggle of students make their way to chat with Professor Geto, your eyes flicker up to meet his, as he stares back a moment. 

And you can’t make yourself look away, and for a moment, neither can he. 

But then a student calls for his attention, so his eyes flicker away, a smile on his lips as he spoke — and you turn to leave, grabbing your bag, as you look back— 

But why did his smile look so strained? 

There must be something wrong with him. 

Professor Suguru Geto drummed his fingers against his desk, but he felt more like shoving his things off his desk — if only to distract him for a moment. He pulls his glasses off, and runs a hand down his face—god, he hadn’t been sleeping well. No, his nights were plagued, plagued by you — you had slipped into his dreams ever since that day he stopped you. 

Why had he stopped you? 

It wasn’t the first time he had personally stopped a student who seemed to be struggling, he could count the times he had on both his hands. 

But this, this felt different. 

You were different. 

But why were you different to him? He rubs his temples, from the moment you had stepped into his office he thought he had read you — an overachieving student used to getting their way, As handed out to them, and an inability to take criticism. 

He knew, because he used to be one of them. But he knew you needed to be challenged to grow — but it was a matter if you would accept it. And from the moment you asked him when the next paper was due, he couldn’t help but smile. 

And his time spent in office hours with you grew more enjoyable each time you came. And when you hadn’t last week, he couldn’t sit still, checking the time, checking his email, and even checking if his office hours had been accidentally listed wrong in his weekly email to the class (they weren’t). And the hour and half passed with many students hungry for his time and his charm  — but not the  one he was looking for. 

Then those words had slipped from his tongue when he had stopped you, left his mouth like he was possessed, and now he had found himself here. Found himself thinking about how your lips parted when he said it, thinking about how you were feeling, thinking about you, you, you— 

There’s a knock at the door, “Professor Geto?” 

And it was you. 

“I apologize, I know you canceled office hours, but I just had a few questions I didn’t get to ask you in class,” your fingers toy with the ring you wore, a folder in hand, a soft smile on your lips. 

“Of course, come in,” and you did, your dress was painfully short, the fabric riding up as you sat, the folder in your lap, “is this about your paper?” 

“It is, I was reading a few papers, and after our conversation, I couldn’t help but find your paper,” and he tilts his head, “and I want to include it as a source in my paper, but I had a few points you made that I wanted clarified,” 

He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t help but tease,  “Clarified or criticized? Are you planning on turning the tables on me?” 

“Well I do have a red pen,” you click your pen, lips curved in a smile, and there’s a hint of heat that he wishes to unearth, pluck from the earth and possess himself, “but I promise I’ll be civil,”

 “I have no doubt,” he had a million when it came to you — but that wasn’t one of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “of course, let’s discuss it,” 

“You discuss Scanlon’s idea of a social contract, everyone within this moral society agrees on what’s right and what’s wrong — the basic principle is that if there is a rule no one can reasonably reject as a basis, but is there such a rule that can exist?” 

He tilts his head, “Scanlon’s theory relies on this premise — are you questioning me or the premise?” 

“Both, actually,” you shrug, crossing your legs, “is there a magic switch that changes every person to be rational? Because I think only rational people can agree on what rules cannot be reasonably rejected — what about people who are cruel, inconsiderate, self-absorbed? Do those traits go away when operating under Scanlon’s social contract? You propose in your paper that moral reasons are not subjective — nothing is uncolored by human opinion,” 

“No, but—” 

“How can we agree on what is truly right or wrong? How can one hundred people agree on that when everyone views these actions in different ways? Right and wrong? Black, white, or gray?” you rise from your chair to hand him his paper printed out, the paper more red than white with the amount of writing you’ve done, “like for example,” you lean forward, your hand braced against the edge of his desk, “can one hundred people agree that student-teacher relationships are wrong? Because one veto,” your hand trails ever closer to his, toeing that dangerous line either of you had even yet to approach to cross. But here you were, seemingly barreling toward it. 

And he didn’t want to pull away. 

He swallows, whispering your name, “This can’t—” and you were so close — too close, your perfume hypnotized him, your fingers brush against his and he can’t help but hold them, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, “they can agree that it’s wrong — the power imbalance from the authority of the professor and the age difference—” 

“I disagree, so the rule isn’t legitimate, right? Even if one disagrees, the rule cannot be make valid,” and his breath catches as your fingers slide up his arm now, resting on his shoulder, as you lean over his chair now, as your other hand toys with the loose strands of his hair, “if the two of us can’t even agree, then how could a hundred, or a thousand, or a million?” 

“But—” 

“But what?” you pout, your fingers dragging down his chest, toying with the top button of his button down, “I don’t see you pulling away, do you want me to stop, Professor? Because I will,” 

And he swallows thickly, but he can’t stop you — he doesn’t want to, “But, we shouldn’t — it isn’t a reasonable objection—” he tries his hardest to stand firm, but he only crumbles when your fingers brush his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw. And it feels like flames tickling at his skin, begging him to thrust his hand into the fire. 

“Like I said, people are not reasonable,” your lips draw closer, and he can feel your breath warm his own, and god, why are you so tempting? And your lips stop short, barely an inch between your faces, “and besides, would you rather be reasonable or satisfied?” 

And there’s only one answer — you. 

He leans forward, lips nearly brushing yours— 

RING. RING. RING.

He jerks awake from his desk, papers sliding as he does, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wander — and finds no one else there. 

A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair again, crumpling the paper he had oh so lovingly drooled during his nap. He needed to get his shit together. 

But his current predicament wasn’t making that easy — his cock strained against the fabric of his pants — was he a grown adult or a horny teenager? 

Fuck. It wasn’t going away — no matter what he thought, his mind kept circling back to you. 

And his eyes slide to the time: 1:40 AM. 

Far past the time any soul would be here, even cleaning staff would have been long gone. It was just him—

And you. 

“So good for me, baby,” he’s panting, palming his erection, an embarrassing amount of precum drips from his cock for a barely wet dream. He ignores the gnawing guilt in the back of his mind — but he can’t help but imagine the image of you, spread out on his desk, hiking that oh so teasing sundress up, only to find your underwear drenched — just for him. 

His fingers would slide up your plush thighs, squeezing to draw a gasp from your pretty lips, “Professor—“ you’d say, unable to form a sentence, all those brilliant falling away under his touch, until it was just him occupying every crevice of your mind. 

“Where’s that mouth now? So needy f’me,” he’d murmur, “but such a good girl,” and you were, his thumb tracing his slit, smearing his pre-cum, as he imagined you spread on his desk, your puffy folds nearly showing through your far too translucent panties, “my best student’s so pliant for me now,”

And his hand moves faster, and he can imagine your fingers reaching for him too, your smaller fingers wouldn’t be able to even touch as much as he can — but god it would feel so much better. 

But he’d want you to feel even better than he did.  

He’d tug your underwear down, stuffing it in his pocket (his fee for all of additional office hours), and he would prep you right — fuck you open with his fingers, two or three, before he tasted you. Your fingers would dig into his scalp as you moaned his name again and again, before you came all over his face. 

He’d lick his lips clean of your release, before dragging his cock down your sweet cunt, watching his precum mix with your cum, as your walls flutter around nothing, craving to have him sink into you. 

“Professor, please,” you’d beg with pretty, kiss bitten lips between pants, “please,” 

“Where’s all those quips now, sweetheart?” he’d tease, as he would let his tip tease your clit, pulling a moan from your lips, “all those words fall away when you want this cock, don’t they? Been thinking about you like this, wondering what you’d look like spread out under me,” and he would lean down to kiss you, “it’s even better than I expected,”

He’s jerking himself off in earnest now, the lewd noises of his hand around his cock filling most of the silence, his low groans filling the rest. And he’d finally sink into you, inch by inch, until he’d kiss your cervix with his weeping tip. 

And, god, he wishes his fingers fisted around his cock would be as good as your cunt would feel around him. He would fuck you slow at first, “I know those boys can’t fuck you as good as I can, as well as I can,” he’d tell you, as he would pick up the pace when you’d tell him to, making you cum again and again with his cock, thumb rubbing at your clit, until he was finally close. He’d either cum all over your stomach, marking you with his release, or if you’d let him, he’d cum inside you, filling you with his seed—and then he’d watch it drip out when he would pull out. He groans your name lowly, shuddering as he comes all over his hand, hard. 

Fuck. 

That’s the hardest he’d cum in a long time. He’s a mess — panting and flushed, as he leans back, head against the back of his  chair, too spent to even clean up. And then he finally does, cleaning himself up well, and collecting his things to leave the office. 

But he only treated the symptoms, not the problem itself. His hard-on is gone, but his mind is still filled with thoughts of you. How he’d kiss you sweetly after, how he’d clean you up, care for you gently, make you rest because you never seem to do enough of that, and he’d let you relax — finally relax, as you slept the night in his arms. 

As he heads to his car, he knows that he’s utterly fucked (without even being fucked) because he has feelings for you. And he didn’t know if they were going to go away as easily as he hoped. 

But he hoped they would. He owed it to you, your education, and your future career not to act on these feelings. 

And he sighs as he sits in his car, starting it, but why did it hurt not to? 

It was that time again. 

Your next paper had come around again, and you needed to prepare a topic before you went to speak to Professor Geto. You had put it off, something you had never done with his class, but you wanted to limit the amount of time you spent with him, if only for the sake of your heart. 

Watching him in lectures was bad enough, your thighs pressing together as you watched him speak, his impeccable looks and intelligence a deadly combination for your heart (and your body). You could barely focus, your eyes too fixed on the way he wrote on the board —  his fingers too lithe and too thick, his voice all too alluring when discussing Kant and Aristotle and you can’t help but think what he’d sound moaning your name. 

God. Fuck.  

Either way, you needed to listen to the lectures again since you weren’t able to pay attention. Maybe without watching the video would be better, you settle on your bed, notebook and pen in hand, as you place your headphones on. His voice filled your ears, and you’re scrawling notes. 

But your mind begins to wander. He’s lecturing on the deontological ethics, and all you can think about is how he could make you cum with just that voice of his.  

Shit, you shifted your thighs again, feeling that familiar ache again. What would he sound like when he moaned? How would it sound to have him touch you, run those long fingers down your thighs, and whisper filthy things in your ear? 

As you listened to the lecture, his voice became white noise as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts, and you shut your eyes. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, spread your legs for me,” he’d murmur in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and he’s urge your thighs wider, and his fingers would press against the wet patch on your panties, and he’d hum, “so wet f’me and I haven’t touched you yet, Princess,” his lips would kiss your pulse, “you like my voice that much?” 

“Professor,” you gasp, as his fingers would tease you through your underwear, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, “please—“ and his thumb would ghost around your clit, teasing you, as his long fingers would piston in and out — they would reach so much fucking deeper “I need to—“ 

“Already begging? I knew you learned fast, but not this fast,” and his fingers would tug the crotch of your panties aside, his fingertips tracing around your outer lips, before a finger pushes past your sweet cunt, “fuck, my favorite student’s pussy is so fucking tight. These boys are not fucking you right,” and you whimper, his finger would be so much thicker than yours, as you glide another finger inside you, the two dragging against your walls, “listen to your pretty cunt,” he’d grin against your skin, “and the wet squelch of your pussy, “so pliant for me, takes my fingers so well,” he’d murmur with a chuckle, “practically swallowing me up,” 

And you’re bucking your hips against him, wanting, needing him deeper, because your fingers don’t reach as far as his does, moans leaving your lips. 

“I’m so—” you’re moving faster and faster, his lecture still filling your ears, your pre-cum soaking your shorts and onto the bed sheets, “I can’t—” 

“Come on, Princess, use those big words of yours, you have no problem usually,” his hot words would whisper in your ear, and you’d hear him rub his erection against your ass, trying to get himself off, and you’d grind against him, wanting any friction, “tell me,” 

“Let me cum, please,” and he would smile, running his fingers through your hair, before he bore his thumb down on your clit and sunk a third finger into your needy cunt, just as you did now. And it’s too much for you, your toes curl, your messy walls fluttering around your fingers, as you cum all over your shorts and sheets with a groan of his name. Your fingers were soaked, as you pant, trying to gather yourself, as you came down from your high. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, tugging off your headphones, so your cunt doesn’t have to twitch listening to his dulcet words again. And you’re pulling your fingers out, your cum dripped down your fingers, as you shifted, far too wet underneath you, as you tried to slip off your bed to take a shower and clean yourself up. 

And then you realized, you didn’t even hear any of the lecture. 

Double fuck. 

Why was this so difficult? 

You stood near his office, trying to work up the urge to approach his door for office hours? Since it’s almost the end of the semester, there had been an influx of students attending office hours, and with everything, you had found excuses in your head to avoid office hours. But you couldn’t avoid him anymore. 

For your final paper in the class, you had to have a meeting with him during office hours to discuss your topic, complete with bibliography and outline. And it was almost time for your meeting. 

But you didn’t know how to go in. 

The last few weeks in class have made things worse. You couldn’t help but watch the other students fawn over Professor Geto, his lips curled as he spoke to them. And you’d leave class without a word. You had to stick through the semester and your feelings would disappear with time. You wouldn’t have to see him, you wouldn’t have class anymore, and you couldn’t talk to him. 

Or wouldn’t. 

But now you had to. And you didn’t know how— otherwise than just to do it. 

You knock at his door, “Come in,” and you open the door to see an empty desk, blinking, “I’m over here,”

And your head snaps to your right, and Professor Geto is sitting on his couch, his legs crossed with a stack of papers in hand. His jacket is slung over the side of the couch, his deep maroon button up sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. 

“I thought you lived at your desk,” you raise an eyebrow, “decided to change it up for the end of the semester?” 

“Everyone needs a change of scenery,” he leans forward, placing the stack of papers on the table in front of him, “do you want to sit here or move to the desk?” 

You shift in place, before moving to the couch beside him, “This is fine,” he stares, “what?” 

“Just surprised, you always have something to say,” he leans on his elbow, “no smart remarks today?” 

“Fresh out, can I offer you my proposal for the final paper instead?” You say dryly, and he cracks a smile, holding out your proposal. He clicks his red pen, readying his sword. 

He takes it, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he reads, his brow furrowed in concentration — and you can’t help but want to reach out and smooth his brow for him, tease him that he’ll get wrinkles. But you can’t. Can’t because that would cross a line that neither of you should cross. 

“You’ve come a long way,” he says, as he flips it back the front, writing only a few notes here and there. 

“But?” You wait for it. 

His gaze flickers up, a tilt of his head, “That was the end of my sentence,” 

You pause a moment, “Really?” 

“Really,” he scribbles a few more notes, “I look forward to reading the paper, it will be excellent I’m sure, maybe you’ll even get higher than a B+,” 

“Oh, ha, ha,” sarcasm dripping from your tongue, but you can’t help but smile, “you’ll miss me and my endless need for academic validation,” but was it really academic validation you were after now — your eyes gazed at him sitting with the tip of his pen pressed to his lips — or was it his? 

And it’s his turn to pause, and his lips curl into a soft smile, “I will,” 

Your breath catches, “Really?” 

He chuckles, “Really,” he licks his lips, his eyes glancing downward at your proposal than at your face, “I’ve enjoyed our chats this semester,” 

“Have you? Even when I argued with you,” a half nervous half serious laugh dies on your lips when his gaze meets yours, far too serious for your heart to take. 

“Especially then,” his fingers run through his hair a moment, before he speaks again, “I can’t say you could say the same,” 

“And why couldn’t you?” his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t grasp fast enough, before it slips away into the depths of his dark irises. 

“Because you stopped coming,” his voice is soft, his tone barely even, and this gives you a real pause, heat flushing your body, as if his words had set every nerve ending alight, your mouth growing dry along with it, and it gives him a reprieve he needs to brush it aside, “you don’t have to, of course, these office hours are not relevant to your—” 

“I didn’t stop coming because I didn’t enjoy it,” you cut him off, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I stopped coming because I did,” 

He stares, “What do you—” 

“I don’t want academic validation anymore, I don’t care about my GPA,” you consider it a moment, “ok I do,” and he snorts, “but I care more about validation from you,” 

“From me?” he says, and his gaze tries to meet yours and it can’t — but his fingers brush against your skin, making your breath catch, your eyes finding his, “and what kind of validation do you want?” 

And you can’t find the words, and you hesitation makes him shake his head, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—” 

“Will you have a drink with me?” and he’s speechless for once, “after the semester is over, of course — I know it wouldn’t be ethical before,” 

And his eyes find yours again, “Some would say it would be unethical after too,” 

“I would say it depends,” 

“On what basis?” and you can’t help but smirk. 

“Am I being graded, Professor?” and you delight in a small crack in his smiling veneer as a light flush dusts the tops of his ears, “and if I’m good, will you call me a good girl again?” 

He swallows, “I don’t want to cost you your education or your—” 

“I understand the risks, but we aren’t contemplating shifting a trolley to hit one person or five, or murdering one healthy person to save five sick ones,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it’s a drink to celebrate the end of the semester,” 

“And if it's something more?” he nearly whispers, the softness of his voice reflected in his features, as his fingers that rested on the couch twitched beside yours. 

“Then we’ll cross that bridge then,” and then you add with a small smile, “Or hit the metaphorical person with the trolley,” and it pulls at the corners of his lips. 

“You make a fair point,” and you gasp in mock surprise.

“The first time all semester you agree with me,” and he chuckles, a noise you wished you could hear him make innumerable times more. 

“Not the first,” he replies, before leaning forward, pressing your outline back into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, “we both agree you’re a good girl, don’t we?” 

And your breath catches, his words warm your skin, turning your blood to lava, “Professor,” and he smiles again. 

“When we go for drinks, call me Suguru.” 

~~~~ 

The semester wears on and finally draws to an end, but finals induced hibernation begins for you. A mix of papers and exams, you finish everything — including your paper for Professor Geto’s class. As always, he has you submit a paper and electronic copy, the paper copy to be dropped off at his office mailbox. And you do just that, the mailboxes being only around the corner from his office, and your heart squeezes at the thought of him. After this, the class was over, it was done. You weren’t his student anymore. 

And you place the paper into the mailbox and sigh, chewing your lip as you pass by his office, but find the door closed (and locked, as you quickly turned the doorknob to test it). Where was he? This was the time he was usually in his office, but maybe he had left campus for the semester — had he forgotten about your drinks? 

Fuck. You hadn’t even discussed a time or place, you had left it vague — “after finals.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, you were far too flustered to elaborate. And you had spent far too many nights imagining him calling you a ‘good girl’ in many other situations. 

And then you heard a call of your name, your gaze snapping up, your heart leaping, but only to see the department head. 

“Hi Professor, how are you?” and the two of you make polite chit-chat, until he asks you. 

“Have you applied to be a T.A. for the department?” and you blink, “applications just opened and I think from what I’ve heard about you around the department, I think you would be an excellent candidate.” 

“I’d love to be — how does the application process work?” and he explains that it’s a double blind process where applications are viewed without personal information of the candidates, and then matched with a professor based only on resume and writing samples. 

You can barely listen to the department head, still far too distracted with thoughts of Professor Geto — so you agree to apply, if only to placate the department head, and make an excuse to leave. 

It had been a week or so, as you lay in bed in your apartment, staring at your ceiling — you hadn’t even bothered to get Professor Geto’s personal number. You couldn’t even reach out to him if you tried, as the only way you could was through his university email, which was out of the question — the university had rules against a professor and student dating, and if anyone found that email — you sighed — it wouldn’t be good. 

Maybe it was for the best. 

The only communication you had gotten from him was an email from Professor Geto’s mailing list to the class from a few days ago, stating that he was out of state in a conference, and he would return soon, but your grades would be emailed to you. But the paper copies would be available to pick up in his office from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM on Tuesday. It was almost time to pick up your paper, and your nerves bit at you as you thought about the possibility of seeing him. Who knows if he would even be there to begin with. 

Would it be anything? Would it be nothing? Was there not any point to this at all? 

Oh, great, you were becoming existential. 

You sat up, the only thing you could do was go. So you do, taking your time to get dressed. If you were going to see him, you might as well look your best. 

Fuck. You couldn’t go in. It had taken you longer to get back to campus than you thought, and now there were only a few minutes of his office hours left.

And you’re about to knock when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man who has consumed every thought of yours for the last few months — good and bad alike. 

“Late again?” and you can’t help but smile. 

“I prefer fashionably late,” and his eyes rake over your outfit, making your cheeks burn. 

“You certainly are,” and he steps aside to allow you into his office, and you glance between the couch and the desk, but he makes the choice and sits at his desk, “I have your paper right here,” and he’s rifling through his file of papers, “how did your finals go?” 

“If I have an A on this paper, perfectly,” and a smile tugs at his lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “what? Something funny?” 

“Not at all,” and he pulls your paper out, ha “I just recall you saying you wanted something more than, what was it? ‘My academic validation?’” 

And your cheeks flush, “I did, but I also didn’t hear from you,” and your fingers reach for the paper, and he holds onto it, “Professor,” 

“I couldn’t reach out to you because I was still your professor, but once you get this grade, I’m not anymore,” and his gaze is sharper without his glasses today, his dark blue Henley doing nothing to help the flush on your cheeks — memories of your dreams flooding your mind, “and once you get this grade back, I’m not anymore,” 

“And what does that mean?” you can’t pull your eyes away from his, but his fingers let go of your graded paper, “how about you look at the last page of your paper and see?” 

You pull the paper into your hands, flipping to the last page: 

99 — I was impressed by this paper not only by the content but by its comprehension and use of both ethics and philosophy. But I was also impressed by the person who wrote the paper. You’ve shown determination and growth throughout the semester — and you have reminded me what we owe to each other. And I think we owe each other a drink, and a chance for this. 

You feel his eyes watch you as you read, your eyes finally meeting his — his brow knit together, his lips pursed, concentrated gaze trying to decipher your reaction. 

“Why a 99?” And his eyebrows raise, as if to ask, “that’s your question?” 

“You had some spelling and grammar errors,” 

“Really? You couldn’t let it slide?” And he tilts his head, before he sees your lips curling into a grin. 

“So you think it’s funny to mess with your professor?” And his voice drops, a playful tone that makes you nearly shiver, as he leans forward, resting his chin against his elbow. 

“You’re not my professor anymore, are you, Suguru?” he likes that by the way his teeth bite his bottom lip briefly, his eyes flitting to your lips for a moment and back to your eyes, “so I guess we’re using that trolley after all,” 

“If you want to,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t blame you if you change your mind, it’s a risk,” 

It was. It was a risk to your reputations, your careers, your futures — especially to yours. But, your eyes met his again. 

“Contractualism is about avoiding risk,” and he nods, as his gaze falls away, “but some risk is necessary in life, and I think this is one that’s worth taking,” 

“We will have to be careful,” he murmurs, but already his fingers are twitching, far too eager to touch you, “we can’t make any mistakes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds softly. 

“I know, I don’t want to hurt you either,” and you rise before slowly rounding his desk, “but I want to know what it’s like,” 

And he can’t stop himself — he gets to his feet, his fingers finding your cheeks and he kisses you. You can taste the black coffee on his lips, his kiss is gentle at first, so chaste and fleeting that you’d swear he didn’t kiss you at all — and so it’s not a second before your lips find his again, in a deeper kiss that steals every ounce of breath from your lungs, and leaves only heat behind. This was dangerous. The very risk you were both trying to avoid, but as he’s pressing you into the edge of his desk, you can’t find the logic you misplaced when those goddamn fingers you’ve been dreaming about squeeze your hips. 

“Fuck,” he’s panting — god that word sounded more sinful on his lips than it should — as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “we shouldn’t be doing this here,” 

“Not very ethical,” you chuckle breathlessly, as your fingers rake through his now disheveled bun, “but I can’t find the sense to care,” your noses brush, as you can’t help but smile, “what would Scanlon or Kant say about this?” 

And his arms lift you onto his desk, several papers crumpling underneath, “Who the fuck cares?” he’s hissing, his lips find yours in a searing kiss, as his thighs press yours apart, as he settles himself between your legs, his knee grazing your core, drawing a delightful gasp from your lips, “I know what I want,” and his eyes soften, his fingers tracing the length of your cheek, “do you?” 

Before you can answer, two pings catch your attention — your phone and his computer lighting up with a notification, and you both pause a moment, as your eyes glance at the banner notification on your phone, skimming over the words. The T.A. positions have been assigned. 

“Fuck,” you hear him mutter, and you gaze snaps up to his on his computer, the email now opened on his screen, “this can’t be right—” 

“What is it—” and the question dies on your lips as your eyes find where his rested — 

You — you were his T.A. for next semester — for the very class that you met in. 

Fuck, indeed. 

✧ read part 2 now

✧ a/n: lets all remember that student and teacher relationships are bad in real life. it's ok to live vicariously through reader but unfortunately no professor will be as hot as professor geto or gojo T_T. s/o to @/laneymusings and @bucky-of-the-opera for beta reading this for me and being just absolutely wonderful!!

✧ tag list: @sokkasmoon, @unoriginalideas, @waytootiredforthisss, @sinnerstardoll, @secret-pages-of-my-heart, @drthymby, @hanlay, @catsgomurp, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @esuz, @difficultdomains, @poopyface222, @iwassentfromhell, @diogodxlot, @totallynotcc, @llovekami, @deadmarygolds, @teatreeoilll, @carcarcraziiv2, @forest-hashira, @aliyalala, @esuz, @that-goth-bisexual, @hehehehesthings, @imjustmememe, @j1jay, @iwassentfromhell,

#sab [mlist] #sab series [prof suguru] #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru imagines #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto suguru fanfiction #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #dividers by @/saradika

[auroravictorium]

still in love and half alive (k.b.)

can't say we didn't try. baby, we're a bad idea. - bad idea by dove cameron

Summary: kaz and reader have a job: take out the leader of one of the newest up-and-coming gangs in the barrel that hope to fill the vacuum left by pekka rollins's departure. said job requires reader to utilize her skills from her days as a showgirl; despite the unpleasant reminders of her past, she completes the job and helps other showgirls and the low grunts of the new gang in the process.

Pairing(s): kaz x former showgirl!reader (established relationship) Word Count: 4.6k Warnings: alcohol consumption, men being creepy, poor treatment of women (nothing explicit, just allusions to men treating them like crap), allusions to past exploitation, kaz having non-explicit thoughts about reader, reader playing up the seduction factor, violence [cutting someone with a dagger, kaz choking someone, kaz hitting someone with his cane], mentions of past trauma, very quick mention of kaz's haphephobia Genre: action-ish, a little angst, fluff near the end Request? Yes! (@futurecorps3)

Author's Note: hello hello! so this is an absolute BEAST of a one-shot, but i couldn't figure out where to split it. i hope you all enjoy <3

Kaz sat in the far corner of the entertainment hall, nursing his drink and trying to keep his jealousy at bay. Patrons and dancers milled about, amusing themselves with conversation, cards, or propositions. A few disappeared up the rickety stairs to amuse themselves, laughing and stumbling with drinks in one hand and cigarettes in the other. The room reeked of smoke, liquor, and sweat. 

He was only here for your sake. If he were smart, he would be anywhere else, certainly not in some up-and-coming gang's crumbling entertainment hall. If he could, he would leave you to play your part. You could hold your own just fine, no protection from Kaz needed; but jealousy had him rooted to his teetering stool in the corner, with his watered-down liquor in a gloved hand and a scowl on his face. He couldn't bring himself to leave. Not when three dozen men were staring at you in a tiny dress that hugged your waist.

You'd paid a hefty sum for the chance to dance on the stage; from your position, you could survey the bar for the man calling himself the leader of such an establishment. Armed with a description of the wannabe gang leader and three knives hidden under your sparkling red dress, you circled the shimmering pole in the center of the stage and traced your gaze over the people watching you. 

There was no sign of the target, Pieter Gabel. It took every ounce of your self-control to resist a sigh, and you decided to do a lazy spin around the pole to amuse your audience. A few men whistled as you hooked your arm around the pole and spun, letting the light catch in the faux diamonds threaded in your hair. You settled on the ground again and tossed your hair over your shoulder, scanning the crowd for the only set of eyes that mattered.

You didn't find Kaz in the crowd. Not that you expected to. Instead, you caught his gaze from across the room, his icy blue eyes illuminated by a near-snuffed candle on his table. To anyone else, he looked as indifferent as ever, maybe vaguely interested in the spectacle on stage. But you saw the slant of his mouth, the clench of his jaw, how something dark glimmered in his eyes, perhaps a promise of violence. He didn't like all the attention on you.

So you offered a small smile, a look reserved for him and him alone. You'd apologize later, but he'd understand. You were doing what needed to be done. The stage gave you the best vantage point in the building, and Gabel had to be found and driven out of the city. The Barrel was tense enough while the remnants of the Dime Lions attempted to regroup; the Dregs needed to eliminate any rising threats as soon as possible.

You and Kaz both knew that. He'd forgive you once you were off that damn stage and by his side, helping him rule the Barrel. 

For years, crowds of tourists and too-rich men waited at your feet, leering at you like you were nothing more than a pretty face and a body to buy, bed, or watch with predatory glints in their eyes. They didn't bother to see past the costume and see how sharp and dangerous you could be. To them, you were nothing more than a piece of entertainment. 

But Kaz saw right through the ruse and saw every jagged scar your past had left. He saw how Ketterdam had sharpened you into a dangerous weapon, ready to wreak revenge on a city that had hurt you deeply. 

Like called to like. Your similar tastes for vengeance pulled Kaz toward you, despite all attempts on his end to ignore the summons. For years after you joined the Dregs, he settled for admiring you from afar until you got sick of his shit and told him to either do something about his feelings or quit scaring off everyone who looked your way.

You didn't say it so kindly, of course, and Kaz reluctantly admitted you had a point, though he knew it was a bad idea to indulge his feelings and yours. But he had, and he couldn't bring himself to regret it. The year since had passed in stolen moments after jobs, in the shadowed corners of the Crow Club during the slow hours, and peaceful mornings and evenings in either of your rooms. 

Your set was coming to an end, and there was still no sign of the target. After one final circle around the stage, one last attempt to entice more kruge to fall at your feet, you slipped through the moth-eaten curtains behind the poles and left the cheering audience behind you. 

As soon as their eyes left your body, you shuddered, clasping your hands over your forearms and making a beeline for the back hallway leading to the dark, rotting dressing rooms. As soon as you could, you pulled on the coat Kaz had given you, an exact match to the one he usually wore but tailored to your size. It was fur-lined, and it covered you up. Exactly what you needed to battle the cold shame beginning to cling to your skin after your performance.

No matter how often you put on the ruse and brought your old life back from the dead for a night, it was a feeling you could never shake. Being with Kaz, knowing he was out there and he would never judge you for your past, helped. More often than not, he was the one telling you that you didn't have to do this; there were other ways to spot your targets, to bring them down. He made sure you knew you didn't need to be exploited anymore. All you needed to do was have your weapons and wit ready.

But using the sins and vices of Ketterdam against itself was the easiest way to do this. It gave you power, something you didn't have during your days as a showgirl. Before, you were a puppet. Now, you were the puppetmaster, fueled and encouraged by someone equally as dangerous as you. He would never allow Ketterdam to suck you back into that life again. You would never let yourself.

As you slipped back into the crowd, you were pleased by the anonymity of wearing a coat and removing your elaborate makeup. You crossed the entertainment hall to Kaz's shadowy table and settled on the stool across from Kaz.

His eyes turned toward you, landing on your freshly-bound hair and the grim expression on your face. "Are you alright?" he said quietly. Though his face didn't change, you knew he was concerned. He always was after you came off the stage. 

Kaz passed you his drink, and you lifted it to your lips and took a sip. The liquid stung on its way down, and you wrinkled your nose. "I'm fine. But I understand why you look so miserable." You pushed the glass back toward him. "That's disgusting."

"But an excellent business tactic," Kaz muttered. "People buy more drinks." He knocked back the rest without flinching and set the glass down with a thump. 

"Any sign of him?" you murmured, lowering your voice and leaning across the table so Kaz could hear. The hair on the back of your neck was prickling uncomfortably, and you felt the weight of unfamiliar eyes on you. "Someone's watching us." You tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear and made a show of placing your chin in your palm and peeking through your eyelashes up at Kaz. You needed to look as unbothered as possible by your audience's attention, which meant putting on your facade again.

For a moment, Kaz didn't realize that you had hinted for him to look around for Gabel. He was distracted by the dancing of the fading candlelight in your eyes, how it cast the shadow of your eyelashes upward, how it illuminated the curve of your lips. They looked soft and tinted red from the lipstick you wore on stage, and he imagined how warm they felt against his when he dared to kiss you.

There was nothing else in the hall but you and your lips and his thoughts spinning in a million directions.

He blinked, breaking from his trance. He blamed the sweltering heat of the building for the heat rising in his cheeks as he looked around for the eyes he could now feel on him. Nobody caught his attention at first, and then he saw a figure across the hall. The man was leaning against a dented, grimy wall and watching you too closely for your comfort.

You followed Kaz's icy, suddenly furious gaze to the man in a poorly-tailored suit that didn't match and was most likely stolen. His watch was clearly fake, and his jewelry had an artificial glimmer. His gang, if you could call it that, was barely above water; you could tell from his poor attempt at looking flashy and put together, as Per Haskell or Pekka Rollins had before being ousted.

"I'll get him alone," you whispered. You moved to slide from your seat, but Kaz's cane pressed against the top of your shoe to keep you still. Your eyes flicked to him, and you raised a brow. "Kaz?"

"No," Kaz said firmly. "You've done enough."

The mere thought of you being alone with him, even long enough for Kaz to trail the two of you and land a strike on Gabel, infuriated him. He knew why the man was looking at you and could guess what was running through his mind. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the man hoped he had a chance with you. Kaz didn't want to put you at risk.

"If you approach him, he'll bolt," you argued. You nudged Kaz's cane off your foot and turned to face him again. You plastered on a sweet smile like you weren't disagreeing with him about how best to neutralize the man practically salivating across the room. With luck, it would only appear that you were trying to convince him to pass over enough kruge for you to pay for another set of dances on stage. You hoped it was convincing.

"If you approach, he'll think it's his lucky night," Kaz ground out between his teeth. His fingers twitched around the top of his cane. What he would give to hit him hard enough to see stars. Or the Saints above. "You've done enough," he repeated, softer this time. He could see you itching to shed your act of seductive showgirl as soon as possible. He refused to ask for any more of it from you.

You sighed deeply. There was no arguing with Kaz. "What's your plan to approach him without scaring him off? Would you like to borrow my dress?"

Kaz glared at you. "Funny."

"Red's not your color anyway." Your lips twitched with a smile, and you turned your gaze to the stage. You thought back to your view of the entire building, a cramped, dilapidated theatre. The first floor was where the musicians used to sit and play; the second contained a semicircle of private boxes where the rich would sit, smoke, and indulge in their vices during the plays happening below.

It was the perfect place to go unnoticed or gather attention.

You leaned forward again, and Kaz raised a brow at your invasion of his space. "I have an idea," you murmured. You slipped your fingers into your hair and retrieved a sparkling pin. Leaning forward until your face was mere inches from Kaz's, you dropped it into his gloved palm. Shimmering, obvious bait you hoped the target would take. "There's an empty box upstairs," you whispered. Keenly aware of the unwelcome eyes on you, you looked up through your eyelashes again at Kaz. "Fourth door."

Kaz had to remind himself to keep breathing as you stood up and walked toward the stairs to the second floor. He could still smell your perfume and the product Nina had helped put in your hair before you left for the job; beneath that, something intoxicatingly you. His head spun, and he forced himself to stand and follow, closing his fingers around the hairpin you'd deposited in his palm.

Saints, this was a bad idea. He was too distracted to figure out what plan you were concocting. All he could think about was you. Your lips, your eyes, how you were thinking so quickly on your feet about how to eliminate Gabel. You were his match sculpted by some divine presence: his intellectual equal, a beautiful drug that appealed to every instinct he thought had drowned with Kaz Rietveld in the harbor.

Ketterdam had underestimated you, but it brought you to him. For once, he couldn't curse the city for something.

He followed you up the stairs and into the private box, his heart pounding in his chest and his mind muddled by the burning hairpin in his hand. Distantly, he sensed that the two of you were being followed. Your plan, no doubt.

Right, yes. The plan you had.

The private box was small, with a row of two seats in the front and a row of three on a step just above that. The upholstery was covered in grime and dirt from lack of maintenance since the theatre's abandonment, and the wooden arms of the chairs were rotten and crumbling. 

You were perched on the step between the two rows of seats, tugging on a pair of boots you'd stashed earlier. You'd also pulled on trousers and tucked the short dress into them, making your outfit more comfortable and functional.

"Are we killing him or just scaring him?" you asked, pulling a knife from the hidden inner pocket of your coat as you tugged it back on over your new outfit. "I think roughing him up would get the point across nicely. I'd hate to get too much blood on this coat." 

"That would be a shame," Kaz managed to answer. He handed you your pin and watched you slip it back into your hair. He took a position by the door, hoping the distance would help him focus. "Scare him first."

You nodded and settled in the least grimy seat. Slow footsteps creaked up the stairs, followed by long pauses between each step. The man hoped to go unnoticed and unheard, likely to ambush the two of you as you supposedly indulged in each other.

You twirled your knife across your knuckles, listening to the footsteps approach down the carpeted hall. Kaz gripped his cane tighter and pressed himself flat against the wall, using the shadows to his advantage. He adjusted his grip and raised it, ready to bring it down.

The footsteps stopped outside the door, and you plastered on your sweetest smile. But your fingers were curled around the hilt of your blade, and it glittered with the promise of violence. Such a contrast from the sparkling, luxurious diamonds in your hair earlier, which promised only pleasure.

The door creaked open, and Pieter Gabel stepped into the trap. His lips curled into a smug smirk as he saw you all alone, and an oily strand of hair dropped onto his forehead. He reeked of alcohol and pride, but you maintained your facade as he leaned against the doorway. "Didn't take you up on your offer for a dance, did he?"

Kaz stiffened behind the door, his muscles coiled to strike. 

You looked Gabel up and down as if seriously considering his presence as an alternative. Really, you were searching his form for weapons. But he was arrogant and unchallenged thus far; he didn't think the Dregs would come for him so soon. 

He was making this too easy.

"He got a better offer from someone else," you said, lifting your shoulders in a delicate shrug. Behind the door, Kaz wrinkled his nose. There wasn't an offer in the world that could tempt him away from you.

You pretended not to notice Kaz's disgust and inspected your nails instead. "Hoping to take his place?" You felt as though you were about to vomit. On stage, it was easy enough to focus only on Kaz and pretend he was the only one watching. But with only this man's gaze crawling over your face, you felt like you were back to your showgirl days: exploited and barely scraping by.

Breathe.

"Perhaps." Pieter shrugged off his ill-fitting topcoat and tossed it to the floor. You nearly gagged on the smell of alcohol wafting off of it, and it took most of your self-control to stay unaffected as he prowled closer. "I'll pay for your next set." He nudged the door shut behind him.

In his inebriated state, he was unaware of the dangerous presence behind him, whose eyes lit up with fury as the target moved toward you. He was only a foot away.

I am not a puppet, you thought. I am in control. With one flick of your wrist, your dagger could be buried beneath his ribs. His blood would seep out, and he'd be nothing more than a man who failed to make Ketterdam know his name. In hours, the city would move on; the dancers would leave, and his followers would scatter and be absorbed into other gangs.

You held this man's fate in your palms, and he didn't even know it. The thought morbidly reassured you. 

Kaz saw the decision flicker through your eyes and took a silent step forward. But he didn't strike, watching as you slipped out of your seat and rounded it, revealing the dangerous glimmer of your dagger.

"I have a better offer," you said, twirling the blade in your hand. 

Gabel paled, and some semblance of understanding and fear passed through his bloodshot eyes. He stumbled back to put some distance between you, and Kaz was ready. He brought his cane down on the back of one of his knees, making the man grunt and fall forward.

You brought your foot down on his hand as he caught himself, and a wicked rush of satisfaction ran through you as the bones snapped beneath your weight. He cried out and went to grab your ankle with his unbroken hand, but you kicked it aside as Kaz swung the crow's head of his cane downward. 

Gabel roared in pain and hunched forward, covering the gash in his temple with his crooked, bruising fingers. Blood seeped between them and down the side of his pale face, and it started to drip onto the carpeted floor.

A heartbeat later, Kaz shoved Gabel's hands away from his face and hooked his cane horizontally across the man's throat. Kaz hauled the man back so he was forced to look up at you. He choked on the wood pressing against his windpipe and fought against the gloved hands holding him in place, and Kaz pulled his cane back to cut off the rest of his air. Gabel's eyes bulged, and he tried to pull the weapon away from his throat; it was no use, and Kaz nodded for you to speak.

"It's my understanding that you think you have a chance at filling the power vacuum left by Pekka Rollins," you said. Gabel's eyes darted away from you as you advanced, and you positioned the tip of your blade against the corner of his eye. It nicked the skin, and blood dripped down his cheek like a gruesome red tear. His gaze turned back to you. "Unfortunately, you treaded too closely into the Dregs' territory and threatened our business. Kaz Brekker is willing to forgive it on three conditions. Wheeze if you're listening."

Gabel let out a barely audible noise of confirmation.

"Good," you said. You held up a finger. "One, you leave the Barrel. Two, you liquidate your possessions here before you leave. And three, you give that money to your dancers and your grunts." The last point was solely your idea; you hadn't discussed it with Kaz, but it was important enough that you would risk his anger at not being informed first. 

You wanted to give the dancers and grunts the choice to get out. It would give them power over their fate you didn't have when you were on that stage.

You pressed the edge of your dagger against the underside of Gabel's chin, watching his lips turn blue. "Do we have a deal?

Kaz loosened his grip on his cane, and Gabel gasped for air. "Speak," he said quietly. There was no shortage of danger in his voice, and Kaz kept his cane braced just tight enough against the man's throat that he couldn't get out of this. There was only one answer available to Gabel if he wanted to live.

"Fuck you," Gabel wheezed.

It was a poor choice.

"I'm going to let you try that again," you hissed. Kaz tightened his grip on the cane again as your blade parted skin. Blood oozed down the metal, and you stopped when the cut was just deep enough for him to understand you were serious. Gabel writhed, trying to fight free. But you hadn't pulled your dagger away, and he only succeeded in cutting himself deeper. "Do. We. Have. A. Deal?"

Gabel finally nodded as best he could with the wooden cane in his way.

You pulled back. "Wonderful." You sheathed your knife inside your coat and met Kaz's gaze. "He's all yours."

Kaz released Gabel, who slumped to the side and clutched his throat. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, but it contracted sharply when Kaz brought the blunt end down on his ribcage. Gabel howled in pain and curled his legs to his chest. "You close today, and the dancers get their money by the end of the week," Kaz growled. "If my Dregs see your face on this side of the East Stave, she," he jerked his chin toward you, "will not be so kind again. And when she's finished with you, I'll ensure nobody finds your body."

He lifted his cane from Gabel's chest and held his hand out to you. You took it, and Kaz led you out of the trap you'd set, down the stairs, and out of the theatre, leaving the sultry music and spluttering excuse of a gang leader behind you.

The two of you moved quickly back into Dregs territory, and Kaz kept his hand around yours the whole time. You waited to speak until you were sure nobody was following, and your shoulders remained tense until your surroundings looked familiar again.

Once the Slat was in view, you glanced up at Kaz. "Do you think he'll actually do it?" you asked. You squinted in the early dawn light. Between the buildings, the sun was beginning to rise; you'd been gone longer than you thought.

"If he has any sense of self-preservation, he will," Kaz answered. He looked down at you, and he evaluated your face. He recognized the worried set of your lips, how you seemed to be waiting for something. "You didn't think I'd follow through on the conditions you set."

"I knew you'd follow through, but I thought you'd be upset I didn't discuss it first." You knew Kaz would never deny anyone their freedom. You just knew he didn't like being left in the dark.

You followed Kaz into the sleepy, abandoned Slat and up the long flights of stairs to his room. Along the way, you shed your coat and threw it over your arm, itching to get out of your dress as soon as possible. Now that you were out of the theatre and back in your domain, you were reminded that you were free. You had control. There was no reason you had to stay in the costume or wear one ever again.

Once in his attic room, you tossed your coat over the rickety chair in the corner and helped yourself to one of his spare undershirts while he sat on the edge of his bed and removed his gloves. You could feel his eyes on you as you untucked the short dress from your pants and pulled it over your head, revealing the skin of your back. Kaz saw the physical scars of years past, visible now in the yellow-orange of the sunrise. He wanted to trace them and kiss the ones along your spine.

He wanted to remind you that you were free and apologize for you playing this role, even though those days should be behind you.

Unaware of his thoughts, you pulled the shirt over your head to conceal most of your scars and turned to face Kaz. He dropped his gaze to his shoes, starting to loosen the laces.

You crossed the room and sat beside Kaz. For a moment, you were silent, figuring out what to say. How to tell him how much his support meant. "Thank you," you finally whispered. It felt as if your scars were floating to the surface of your skin for only him to see. Some bubbled up your throat and past your lips, making you flush as you spoke. "For a long time, I wished I had a choice. I hope that the money gives them a choice. I hope that the ones who want to get out can, and I hope the ones who stay use the money however they want. I don't want them to end up like how I was until I joined the Dregs."

A puppet controlled at the whims of others.

"Don't thank me," Kaz said quietly. "You helped them. You gave them what you didn't have in their position and finished the job. As long as the job is over and you're unharmed." He took your hand in his again and laced your fingers together. His gaze met yours, and you saw an unexpected seriousness in his eyes. "You're alright?"

"I'm alright," you said softly. There was residual coldness from being on stage, from having to step into those shoes for even one set of songs, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. You had given the dancers and grunts of the former gang the means to escape the Barrel if they chose, and you secured the Dregs for now. 

Protecting the Dregs was a violent cycle of blood, ambushes, fighting, and temporary security. But if some good came out of it and the past you couldn't erase, maybe it wasn't the worst thing in the world. You had some security. You had control over your future.

And you had Kaz, who would be damned if he let Ketterdam take either of those things from you. He'd reduce the city to rubble if it meant keeping the fire in your eyes that he had seen when you first joined the Dregs; then, it was a spark, a hint of what could be. Now, it was an inferno that Kaz would gladly let consume him.

Kaz leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Nausea twisted in his stomach, and Kaz had to pull his hand out of yours to bear the feeling of his lips on your skin. Still, you smiled and let your eyes slip shut as he somehow said exactly what you needed to hear, what soothed the aching in your chest as the painful memories of a few years ago threatened to make themselves at home.

"Get some rest," he murmured. "I'll get rid of the costume."

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3, @statsvitenskap, @sapphiccloud, @casualladyinternet, @d34drapunzel, @noctemys, @whitejxsmine, @so6, @franzelt

#kaz brekker #crooked kingdom #six of crows #six of crows duology #kaz brekker x reader #kazzle dazzle #soc kaz #soc fanfic #shadow and bone #the grishaverse #shadow and bone season 2 #sab season 2 #grishaverse fanfic #freddy carter #the crows #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x you #sab season two #kaz brekker x y/n #hurt/comfort #my writing #slightly angsty #slightly fluffy #lots of action

[kasagia]

Today marks ONE year of my writing on Tumblr!

And I didn't manage to finish the oneshot for our Aleksander (I'm so sorry :c ), so I wanted to at least share with you a fragment of what I will publish soon.

And thank you for all the comments, hearts and follows (THERE ARE OVER 1111 OF YOU!!!!! I can't believe it!!!!) THANK YOU VERY MUCH! I love you all! 🩵🖤🖤🩵🩵🖤🖤🩵🩵🖤🖤🩵🩵🖤🖤🩵🩵🖤🖤🩵🩵🖤🖤🩵🩵🖤🖤🩵🩵🖤🖤🩵

A fragment from: "His mortal saviour" - coming soon...

The first thing he felt was warmth. The warmth, which wasn't at all in the fold. He shuddered and remembered how the cold had penetrated his body even more the moment the volcra's claws had dug into his face.

Then he felt the softness of the mattress beneath his back instead of the hardness of the sandy, packed soil. Further evidence proving that he was entirely somewhere else was the sound of soft footsteps and humming a few feet away from him.

He opened his eyes hesitantly and hissed, unaccustomed to the light after being unconscious for so long.

He freezes as he feels a hand on his eyes, keeping the sunlight from reaching them. Little. Soft. Alina... a thought comes to him, and he quickly laughs it off. His little sun summoner would probably rather blind him completely with her sun than protect him from more pain.

"Take it easy. You've been badly harmed." A soft female voice breaks the silence and pulls him from his thoughts about the woman who betrayed him and their kind.

He feels a strange rush of fear as he hears a female voice. Aleksander unwillingly recalls the memory of the time when he and his mother were captured by the Drüskelle. He felt like he did now. Helpless.

He was unable to move even a small distance on his own. The only difference was that no one was hanging over him with scalpels and other blades or hurling insults. But he suspected that could change very quickly...

He had to do something. He needed to get out of here somehow, but every slight movement of his muscles was accompanied by a huge wave of searing pain throughout his whole body. And for a brief moment, it occurred to him that maybe destroying the fold wasn't such a bad idea.

"Don't worry. I am not a psychopath, mad, serial killer, or anything. I'm a nurse. I saw you near the fold and took you to my house to heal you. It's a miracle you survived your encounter with the volcra. Usually, no one gets out of the fold. Certainly not on their own." The woman says, slowly removing her hand from his eyes.

He's too dazed by the light, busy taking in his surroundings and seeing her face for the first time, to notice that she's adjusting the bandages on his face and checking his wounds.

But he hisses, feeling the burning pain on his forehead as she rubs some thick, gooey liquid onto him.

"I'm sorry, but I have to. It's an ointment against infection. This should also numb you enough so that you don't feel any pain in your face. How's your back?"

He is too shocked to respond. As he takes a breath, he has a sudden coughing fit. She moves away from him. He hears her quick footsteps as she returns a moment later with a cup of water and a tissue. He spits something black out of his mouth, desperately trying to get some air. She strokes his back gently and leans him more forward, making him spit out all the black goo mixed with his saliva from his throat.

He frowns, staring at the tissue soaked in black liquid.

"Don't worry, it's absolutely normal. Every time they bring a survivor from the fold to the infirmary, something like this happens. The air is different there, and volcra tend to infect their victims. Let's just say it's some kind of poison that comes out of you. That's a good sign. As well as the fact that you woke up. Here." The woman says, taking the tissue from him and throwing it into a nearby trash can. He glances there, seeing that it is half full of black dressings and bandages. He looks back at her as she hands him a glass of water.

"What do you want?" He asks, his voice hoarse from disuse (or screaming in the fold), not taking a sip from the cup you gave him. It could be poisoned or worse.

"I... I don't understand." You say, confused by his hostile attitude.

"What do you want from me?" He repeats it again, and the commanding, demanding tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

"Nothing. I'm just helping." You reply with a shrug, which annoys him even more. He laughs mockingly, making you frown.

"Selflessly? To a stranger? Don't make me look like a naive idiot. Tell me right now who you are, what you want, and where we are, and you won't get hurt."

"With all due respect, I doubt you'd be able to raise your hand right now, let alone hold a gun or sword, or hit me, even if you were a soldier of the First Army." He stares at you in surprise, realising that you have no idea who he is, and maybe you really just helped him.

Could a normal person dare to speak back to the Darkling with such courage and anger in her eyes? He didn't think so. But one name comes to his mind... even though he's too hurt to think about her.

"What?" You ask him as he stares at you for a little too long.

"Nothing." He clears his throat and stares warily at the offered water. "Not many people surprise me." He explains, still not believing in your good intentions. You couldn't be so altruistic as to help a strange man who got spat out by the fold. People weren't kind or helpful to the weak, at least never towards him. That's why he always had to be stronger than others. To never become prey again.

"I see that you don't trust many either. If I pour for myself and you water from one jug and drink it first, will you consider doing the same? You need to rehydrate." You say it calmly, completely unfazed by his distrust.

For some reason, this makes him more surly towards you. Maybe this whole act on your part was just to keep his guard down until someone came for him, for example, Shu, Drüskelle, or even Alina's group of heroes. He had to get away from here. As soon as he regained full control over his aching body.

“Try to deceive me, and I will make sure to wipe out your family lineage to the last living generation.” He growls hoarsely, trying to regain at least some semblance of control in this situation.

"It's good that I'm an orphan then." You say, pouring him and yourself a glass of water and showing him that both are empty.

Another orphan... he thinks as you reach both glasses so he can choose which one he wants.

[...]

"You will leave me alone?" He ask. He can't believe that you would really leave him—a strange man you didn't know at all—in your house all alone.

"Do you need a company?" You ask mockingly, using the exact same cold tone of voice he used before. Aleksander decides he liked you much more when you were soft towards him.

"Aren't you afraid I'll rob you and run away?"

"There are only herbs, medicines, and a few books here. I have nothing so valuable that I couldn't get it on the market if you decided to take it. You can look around if you want. Although I wouldn't advise you to get up, your wounds are still fresh and barely sealed, so they don't bleed."

"Are you insane?" He can't help but ask, as you really are going out.

"All the best people are. Try not to die. It would be a waste of medicines and bandages." You say this and smile amusedly as you close the door behind you.

Aleksander blinks, surprised, as he lays in your bed. He tries to understand what has happened here, but he still has a headache and needs to get out of here.

He didn't trust you at all.

So before anyone could come and get him from you, he stood up. His legs are shaky at the beginning, but as he walks around your (tiny) cottage, he regains the ability to walk… maybe not as well as he did, but enough to move.

He looks around, just as you suggested, but he didn't find any proff that would confirm his suspicion. But it doesn't stop him from taking some pills and herbs before he leaves your house. He makes sure to take only a little—enough to get to the village or somewhere where he could find his people.

You were too kind to be robbed.

#oneshot #darkling #general kirigan #the darkling #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova x y/n #shadow and bone #the darkling x reader #darkling x reader #the darkling x you #the darkling x y/n #darkling x you #darkling x y/n #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan x you #romance #sab fanfiction #aleksander morovoza #kasagia #darkling shadow and bone #one year anniversary #thank you

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Espionage" - Kaz Brekker x Reader

SUMMARY: Lord de Witt is throwing an exclusive banquet for socialites - just the perfect opportunity for Kaz to put his hands on whatever the aristocrat has in his safe. Fortunately, being an ambassador's daughter, you can easily smuggle him in but the two of you must pretend you're engaged to avoid suspicion.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 3.7k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist&lt;<

If Jesper didn’t know Kaz, he’d think he was having a laugh.

“When you said you know someone, I was expecting everything but the daughter of an ambassador.” Then, in a slightly anxious manner, he turns to look at you apologetically. “No offence.”

There is something quite amusing in his uneasiness as though Jesper is expecting to be decapitated for as much as giving you a sour grimace. You’re probably the closest thing to nobility he’s ever been around.

“Worry not, sir,” you reassure him with a polite smile on your face, “I will try my best not to spoil your criminal quality.”

His eyebrows furrow and he leans towards Inej. “Did… did she just call me ‘sir’?” he asks quietly.

“Don’t get used to it,” she answers half-heartedly, busy pondering something else.

“How do you even know each other?” Jesper points between you and Kaz but the moment his index finger is directed towards you, he quickly puts his hand down. “I doubt you’ve been to the Barrel before.”

To any passerby, the sight of you and the Crows standing next to each other must look like a skit. With your expensive, light-coloured dress and back about as straight as a broomstick, you really do stand out like a sore thumb. Are those lowlifes bothering a proper lady or is she perhaps noble enough to offer them a few coins?

“That’s quite right. When my father was fraudulently accused of conspiring against the crown, mister Brekker,” out of pure habit you vaguely gesture towards him, “had been so kind as to solve this perplexing hoax. It is only fair that I agree to help him when he asks.”

Kaz checks his watch. Then, his expression suddenly becomes stern, focused, and you know exactly what it means.

“We should go,” he states. His eyes have a strange glint of both coldness and concealed worry to them. “There’s no backing out now.”

Your polite smile doesn’t falter. “I wasn’t considering such a thing.”

The dearth path around the lawn in front of the manor is blocked with countless carriages - horses of one freight have their nostrils pushed against the rolling stock of another cart. It seems as though Lord de Witt has invited half of the continent to his exclusive banquet. Half of them, one might assume, came out of courtesy or simply because of the other guests sure to attend.

Mixing into the crowd of rich men and aristocracy, choking on the powder and perfume, you tell Kaz the basics of banquets like this:

“Let me do the talking. You’re accompanying me, which among socialites makes you akin to a show horse. Of course, someone might ask you a question but it will be pure courtesy. They don’t actually care, because they don’t know you. Answer shortly and politely.”

“Will it not raise suspicion that the ambassador’s daughter is engaged to a no-one?”

“Not if he’s a First Army veteran, wounded on the front lines by a Fjerdan savage,” you say in a theatrical manner. His perpetual frown elicits a chuckle from you. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m sure you can sell it. Besides, if you seem grim enough, which shouldn’t be a problem honestly, the guests won’t dare ask any more questions.”

The porter nods knowingly in your direction. Despite his old age, he’s quick to recognize the little lady you once were. You offer him the invitation but he waves his hand in dismissal. His fingers tremble slightly, making you wonder in all of your melancholy whether he’d still be able to do all those small magic tricks he used to entertain you with.

Following the mob of guests, you end up in a spacious ballroom. Crystal chandeliers reflect candlelight, causing ethereal rainbows to dance across the frescoes painted on the ceiling. Some of the artwork presented landscapes, other battles and even Saints - all of them equally breathtaking. The hall is filled with a plethora of scents: vertigo-inducing perfume, imported fruits, freshly-cut flowers, braised meats. To Kaz, this is the smell of wealth but to you, the ballroom only smells of home.

Appearance-wise, Kaz falls a bit behind compared to the three-piece suits and cylinders but the difference is not stark enough for people to give him contemptuous glances. In all honesty, this will help you sell the yarn you’re spinning. After all, what veteran has enough money to buy a whole suit for just one evening?

“Come on, we should say our greetings to the host,” you say quietly while gently nudging his arm.

As though you are something of a Grisha yourself, the middle-aged man in question suddenly appears in front of you. His face has gained a few deep wrinkles since the last time you saw him but still, his prominent laughter lines are the first thing people notice about him. Considering what kind of person Lord de Witt is, it’s a reliable first impression - a rare occurrence among thieves and noblemen alike.

The man’s face beams with happiness when he recognizes you, his eyes nearly disappearing in a genuine smile. “Ah, принцесса!” he exclaims, opening his arms. “You’re more beautiful every time I see you.” Holding your hand, he meaningfully leans down but never presses a polite kiss against your skin. Instead, he curtly nods while maintaining eye contact, uneasy at the thought of such a gesture.

“I thank you for the kind words, Lord de Witt,” you answer. “It is a pleasure to be your guest.”

He furrows his eyebrows and dismissively waves his hand. “Nonsense, you’re not just an ordinary guest. Tell me, how’s your father? Is our ambassador in good health?”

“The weather is terrible on his knees, I’m afraid. Only laudanum and nettle curb his pain enough to let him work. If I may inquire as to where Lady de Witt is? I haven’t seen her among the guests.”

Lord’s face grows brighter once again but this time there’s a sense of longing in his tired, grey eyes. “My dear Betty left for Novyi Zem just a few days ago. Ever since Lady de Serre expressed interest in her antique collection, she’s been eager to go back.”

Kaz, so far unnoticed by the aristocrat, glances between you and the man. You’re exchanging mere greetings and courtesies, yet he’s learned quite a few interesting things in just those few sentences. Nobility, as it seems, will say everything and anything as long as they think they’re talking to an equal.

His inquisitive thoughts must have pushed some Saint’s hand because Lord de Witt suddenly turns his attention to him, although continues talking to you. “The dapper young man is your husband, I presume?”

“Not yet, unfortunately,” you say with a bashful giggle - very ladylike, even if forced. “Igor Dreesen,” you introduce him. Kaz shakes the Lord’s hand without ever giving away that he’s never heard that name before. “He has fought in the First Army, on the front lines.”

“You have my eternal gratitude, gentleman.” Lord de Witt has an iron grip on Kaz’s hand, holding it significantly longer than Brekker is comfortable with. “May we all have your bravery and loyalty. Please, enjoy the evening.”

Kaz waits for the Lord to be out of earshot before turning to you. “He seems to know you well.” Maybe you’re reading too much into it or maybe there is a hint of suspicion in his tone.

“When I was younger, I used to come here every week. Valeriya de Witt, Lord’s eldest daughter, taught me embroidery. I know this manor like my own home.”

“Then you surely know where the safe is.”

“It could be in his bedroom or in his office.”

Kaz cocks his head. “So you don’t actually know.”

“I’ve met quite a few noblemen and state officials, Kaz. The older the money, the less we’re careful. De Witt’s office is next door,” you motion your head to the side.

Strolling through the ballroom towards the office door, weaving your way between gold-threaded gowns and made-to-order suits, you can’t help but wonder about the master thief by your side or rather what the world looks like through his eyes. You can recall so many gossip exchanges where a group of complete strangers would discuss their wealth and business, believing that their secrets are safe among socialites similarly to unaffiliated thugs discussing their commissions over a pint of watered-down beer. In a thief’s world, you’re something of an encyclopedia on fast enrichment. Maybe telling a secret or two could be treacherous of you but in the grand scheme of things, you think it’s not nearly enough to cover your debt.

You lean towards Kaz, speaking in a low voice. “See that lady with a scandalously huge hat? That’s lady Maria de Bouvier, harbors so much contempt towards her stepmother, she’d probably be elevated if some of the jewelry was to disappear.”

Brekker spares you a questioning glance but doesn’t say anything. 

“Or that retired soldier by the pillar? Next to the girl dressed in all-white?” you ask him. His keen eye quickly finds the dark green jacket with an obnoxious amount of medals attached. “Captain Geoffrey van der Greiss, earned most of his fortune from smuggling. Open any crate with fish at the Eastern harbors and the sides of the box will be filled with cash. Yours to take if you can bear the smell.”

Kaz suddenly steps in your way, stopping you. His usual frown appears more like a scowl now. “Why are you telling me all of this?” he spits out. “You’re so eager to point me towards easy wealth. It’s not just about returning a favor, is it?”

You look away for a moment - you should have expected that if someone was to notice your motive, it would be Kaz Brekker himself. His face is still contorted into an expression of contempt or anger when your stare returns to him.

“Have you ever, even for a single second, considered what would have happened to me had my father been found guilty?” you ask in a hushed tone.

“I can’t say I have.”

“I often do. He would have been locked up in Hellgate or simply killed. The family fortune would dwindle rather quickly as my mother and I would live off of it. Then one day the money would run out, we’d have to sell our house and live modestly if not on the streets. No one would employ us because of the scandal and soon we’d find our place in a brothel. All of that did not happen because of you, Kaz.” His expression visibly softens, even if he’s doing his best not to show it. “I owe you my life.”

“I don’t want it.” 

Without waiting for you to continue, he resumes walking towards the office door. Although off-limits to the guests, the manor staff is simply too busy to pay attention to anything else other than restocking drinks and food. On the other hand, the guards employed by Lord de Witt are so convinced drunk aristocracy doesn’t need nannies that they’re playing cards in some dark, isolated corner and drawing lots when someone has to go swipe some alcohol and lamb from the kitchen. Perhaps they are paid to complete much different tasks but if someone is familiar with de Witt’s banquets, they wouldn’t be exactly surprised - a scandal is yet to happen inside his manor.

You meet Kaz’s gaze but immediately regret it. There’s something both chilling with determination and burning hot with focus, making you feel rather flustered at the intensity of it all. 

“Make sure no one comes in here,” he says quickly before swiftly crossing the remaining meters and sliding inside the room. For a man with a limp, he’s exceptionally agile.

Minutes go by while Kaz is absent and you begin to worry. What if someone caught him? Or if he got injured somehow? He may be something of an atelier of theft but he’s still a man, after all.

Debating whether to go after Kaz or trust his expertise, you don’t notice a young man approaching you:

“Excuse me, my lady, but you are the ambassador’s daughter, are you not?”

Torn out of your spiraling thoughts, you look up at him with wide eyes. He has a kind face with strong features. His tanned skin is in contrast with his creme-coloured suit, creating a quite enticing sight. Warm, brown eyes study you with interest.

“I am, master…” you make a meaningful pause.

The man immediately picks up on your cue. “Tolkov Ilya Romanovich. My father is the legat of Ketterdam’s Merchants’ Guild.” Contrary to Lord de Witt, Ilya doesn’t hesitate to plant a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Oh, I have heard about you. Horse racing enthusiast, is it not?”

He gives you a flustered chuckle. “My vices precede me, I see. As does your beauty, if I may say so.”

You feel your cheeks warm up. There’s something about Western men’s charm that really gnaws at a lady’s heart. “That’s very kind, master Tolkov.”

“Lord de Witt spoke of you with exceptional fondness. I thought it only appropriate to witness your marvel myself.”

At the same time, Kaz is slipping back through the office door into the ballroom. Judging by the lack of interest he attracts, none of the guests even noticed his disappearance. He is making his way back to you, when he catches the sight of a rather dignified man politely kissing your hand. Although you don’t look swept off your feet, there’s nothing akin to discomfort on your face either. Kaz feels sudden uneasiness in his chest like he’s watching something he shouldn’t be, while being unable to place his gaze elsewhere. He doesn’t even know his face has turned into a grimace of distaste.

“You’re finally back, my love!” you dramatically exclaim when Kaz reaches you and the stranger. His expression is rid of anything pleasant but you decide to play along for now. “Master Tolkov, this is my fiance, Igor Dreesen. Darling, this is the son of the legat of the Merchants’ Guild, Ilya Romanovich.”

Legat of the Merchants’ Guild? Finally someone worth knowing of.

Kaz shakes Ilya’s hand but that marks the extent of his politeness. “I do not take kindly to anyone descending on my lady,” he says in a stern voice.

“But of course, sir.” Tolkov nods curtly. Annoyed or not, he’s proficient at keeping his face blandly kind. “My sincere apologies.”

Ilya gently bows his head towards you before leaving the two of you alone. Your gaze follows him until the man disappears among coiffures and cylinders. Then, you look at Kaz with hardly hidden amusement:

“You play your part better than I was expecting.”

Kaz, however, completely ignores your comment. “The safe isn't here. It must be in the bedroom. Where is it?”

“Upper floor. There’s the grand staircase in the vestibule but we can take the kitchen stairs, there won't be many people in that part of the mansion.”

The presence of ground floor guards is revealed only by loud laughter from behind the door leading to the staff rooms. All of the guests could just leave at once and none of them would notice. Still, you’re exceptionally careful when sneaking between the tables that are bending under the weight of food - even a small misstep, nudging one of the silver platters, could cause a cacophony loud enough that someone might hear it, even if not the guards in question.

You’re leaning against the wall when walking up the spiral stairs. Cocking your head to the side, you’re trying to look into the hall on the first floor but there’s not much you can actually see. As it appears, theft takes a lot more faith than you had previously thought.

The upper floor guards are out of sight but you don’t let yourself give in to the sudden feel of relief - this is only the first step into this little big scheme. There’s still a safe to find and an exit to make.

There’s a long, red carpet covering most of the floor. Although it muffles Kaz’s cane, it also makes the steps of the guards hardly audible. If you do see one, you’ll have to rely on quick thinking and a certain level of stupidity accredited to aristocracy.

Left turn. Pair of doors. Two right turns. Another left and another right. And then - footsteps.

“Someone’s coming,” Kaz whispers. His keen eyes are scanning the long corridor to find anything remotely close to a hiding spot. Decorative cabinets could well work but only if the unwanted passerby doesn’t walk past them.

The idea, a true testimony of quick thinking and aristocratic carelessness, hits you like a bolt out of the blue:

“Push me against the wall,” you order him.

His head snaps towards you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen. “What?” he stutters out.

“No one likes clingy couples.”

There isn’t any time to discuss and ponder as the footsteps grow louder. Visibly displeased, he puts his arm against the wall next to your head. At first you’re wondering just how enraged your father would be had he heard about this but then you smell Brekker’s cologne and suddenly one nervousness is changed for another, a more bashful one.

The footsteps, as one might expect, belong to a lonely guard patrolling the manor. His face is grim even before he notices the misplaced lovers. When his eyes do glance at you and Kaz, the soldier’s cheeks visibly raise and the frown quickly becomes more of an expression of disgust. Passing by the two of you, he grunts in distaste or irritation and continues walking farther down the corridor.

Kaz, to your surprising displeasure, wastes no time in putting more space between the two of you when the guard is out of sight. No words are exchanged like a collective agreement to pretend this little embarrassment had never taken place. But, it can’t really hurt him if he doesn’t know you’re thinking about it, can it?

With a confident push, you open the ivory-coloured door, their golden decorations glistening in dim lighting.

Lord de Witt’s bedroom is strangely dark compared to the rest of the house. At first glance, there is nothing that stands out as a possible hiding spot for a safe: a bed that could easily fit five people, a vanity with boxes of jewelry and cosmetics, a small desk with private correspondence, a cold fireplace, a folding screen. The artisan taxidermy hanging on the walls only adds a touch of grim macabre.

But a master thief is not so easily dissuaded. You watch Kaz in a slight confusion and interest as he walks through the room, gently knocking against solid wood or carefully. brushing his hand along some surfaces. More than once he tapped different parts of the floor with his cane, only to let out a short sigh as if the strange rite gave him some kind of information but not necessarily the one he was hoping for.

Then, as though he had known all along or played a secret magic trick, he pulls the base of a taxidermied boar’s head. The decoration, for a lack of better word, moves on hinges, revealing a strongbox - one of those that will survive explosives as the manufacturer promises. The safe has a dial and a handle, rendering any kind of traditional lockpicking useless. But Kaz Brekker, as you’re about to witness, is not much of a traditional thief either:

He puts his ear against the iron box, turning the dial a few times in one direction and the other. Then, he lays his other hand on the safe’s door, his whole body leaning against it. Kaz begins slowly turning the dial in one direction. A silence falls between the two of you.

You can’t be sure whether the tension you’re feeling is because of the hallway perplexity or because he’s so determined to open this strongbox but either way, you’re completely uncomfortable with that. “To be honest, I used to be intimidated by you,” you throw at him in hopes of some kind of conversation, no matter how pointless.

“What changed?” he asks in an absent voice. His hand stops turning the dial only to start rotating it in the opposite direction - whatever he’s doing, it seems to be working.

“You have turned out to make a rather lovely spouse.”

A loud click resounds in the room and Kaz immediately pushes down on the handle, opening the strongbox. He reaches inside, pulls out some documents and quickly reads through them. Some he puts back, others he stuffs between his waistcoat and shirt.

“Such nimble fingers you have. I know a market for that,” you joke partially expecting the thief to say something sultry enough to get you to be quiet for the rest of the night.

He spares you a glance and goes back to rummaging through the contents of the safe. In an unexpected act of goodwill, he takes only some of the cash. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Even a lady of my sort has her weaknesses.”

You wait for his answer but Kaz doesn’t as much as look over his shoulder at you as though he hasn’t even heard your words. Although awkwardly, you patiently wait for him to be finished with whatever selective theft he’s committing. That tense silence again.

After a longer while, he closes the safe and locks it again. When he turns around to face you, something glistens between his fingers - a string of pinkish pearls. They flow along the shape of his hand as he offers you the necklace.

A quiet sigh escapes your lips. “I don’t want a payback, Kaz,” you shake your head to accentuate the refusal. “You have helped my family tremendously, this,” you make a vague gesture with your hand, “is the least I could do for you.”

“This isn’t payment,” he states.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Whatever do you mean?”

His intense gaze bores into you for a minute or two before he slowly answers. “It’s a bastard’s inclination.”

With a flustered ‘oh’, you take the string of pearls from him, feeling blood rushing to your cheeks. Still feeling his passionate gaze gliding along your face, you’re a little too abashed to meet his eye. Who would have thought - a thief with a heart!

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker fanfiction #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone x you #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fanfic #sab #soc #six of crows imagine #shadow and bone #six of crows #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows x reader #six of crows x you #six of crows fanfic #Spotify

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Tonight, Forever, Then, Here And Now - Nikolai Lantsov

Summary: Nikolai Lantsov x Reader circa King Of Scars, at a party, pretending their feelings for each other can be ignored.

Content Warnings: Not Beta/Proof Read.

So like, I stopped writing fanfic content and imagines and stuff a few years back because Wattpad wasn't serving me well and Quotev had drained my morale. The last two years I've been posting fanfic on A03, and that's really just been for me and bestie, and this account was really just so I could post Tolya content for bestie. But I'm like very glad you are enjoying my nonsense the same was she does, and I shall continue to take requests and post my random bs because who knew there was such an audience for it xx

Genya smiles looking you up and down. "You clean up nice," Genya says. You give her a look, and she pretends not to see it. "Please try to look like you're happy to be here."

"I did not ask to be here," you remind her. She gently leans closer, bringing her drink to her lips, to try and hide her whispers.

"We both know there is at least one reason you would like to be here," she whispers.

"Don't," you warn her.

"I haven't seen him yet," she continues, "but from what Zoya said-,"

"I do not want to know what Zoya said about Nikolai," you say a little too quickly. Genya smiles, that knowing smile. "I will tell David that you don't like the new hinges, that you preferred the other ones despite the fact they were less functional, because they were prettier."

"No, you wouldn't," Genya says, but she thinks about it. "Oh you might."

"Yes," you tell her, "I might."

You love Genya, she keeps you sane during such fancy and often long functions, but today she wants to talk about Nikolai, and you cannot talk about Nikolai. You're not sure your heart can take it. You've never been able to hide your feelings for him, not from her at least. But today your feelings feel like they could boil over.

"I hoped you'd look my way eventually," comes a voice you don't know. You realise that in your absentmindedness you must have been looking at someone, and rather than admit you were somewhere else entirely, thinking about Nikolai, you try to conjure a smile.

"Have we met?" You ask, you hate small talk, especially with men like these, the type that will ask you to dance. You really do not feel like dancing.

"May I have this dance," you go to say no, but you realise when the confusion crosses the strangers face it isn't he who asked. You play the question back in your mind, and you know the voice, you'd know it anywhere, you'd know it in a crowded room, you'd know it tired, to quiet or pretending to be someone else, and you know it now.

"Your Highness," you give a curtsey, it's a little joke that no one but Nikolai and Genya seem to understand. Nikolai tries to make his smile look more humble, but the smugness lingers. He offers you his hand.

"Shall we?" he asks. You stare at him, like waiting would make it make more sense. He takes your hand with a smile and throws the stranger a gentle shrug. "I have a tendency to make them short of words." You follow him as he pulls you along, trying to ignore the smirk Genya has. "Dance with me."

"We shouldn't be seen together," is the first sentence you manage to put together. Nikolai just gives an indignant sigh.

"Just, take my arm, and don't look so stiff," he says, pulling you in. You let him, having him hold you close takes away some of the attention from the fact you do not wish to be dancing, for understandable reasons. You don't even want to be here at all.

"I should warn you that I am a terrible dancer," you tell him. He chuckles and you can feel his breath against your skin, and you try not to let your thoughts linger on it.

"It's okay love, no one's going to be watching you," he teases.

"By all means, don't waste your pleasantries on me," you respond. He places a hand on your hip and you try not to jolt from the shock. You'd intended on avoiding him, you'd hoped you could spend the whole night, not having to share a word with him, and now his hands are against you and it's like he has filled up all your senses.

"My eyes are up here," Nikolai whispers, bringing himself close to your ear. You step on his foot and he bites his tongue pretending to not notice. "Ouch," he whispers. "Put your hand on my-,"

"No," you say quickly.

"Can you at least pretend you like spending time with me?" he asks.

"I like spending time with you," you say, looking up to meet his gaze. "But I hate parties, I hate... all of this and people are looking at me, I don't want them looking at me, and we know why they're looking at me, because I am dancing with you. Something else I did not intend to do."

You see one of the court members leaning into whisper to someone you don't recognise and you fight off the groan. Nikolai follows your gaze. "Ah, the rumour mill's already started," he observes.

"Sound less pleased with yourself," you tell him. His grin turns mischievous, and he looks more like the Nikolai you know, underneath all the royal attire and façade. You wish you could smile and just be happy in his company, you wish it was that easy. But it's anything from that easy, and as each day passes it gets more and more complicated. "I've heard the rumours about you."

"Who hasn't?" he asks, tone still filled with good-humour, in spite of how quickly he could have misinterpreted that comment.

"I mean... the other rumours, about you and Zoya," you're teasing him and he knows it.

"Yes, that's why she is so set on finding me a wife," he lets slip the tiredness in his tone.

"Oh, that's why you're insisting on dancing with me," you say, letting him pull you closer. "Not because you couldn't find a date in time."

"You think I couldn't find a date in time?" he asks, mock offended.

"No, I know you could have dates lined up out the door," you say, "so it made me wonder, why you wanted to bother me."

"I'm bothering you, am I?"

"Shut up Nikolai," you look away trying to stop yourself from blushing. He always acts like this, and you always react like this, you should know better.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," he admits. It sounds like a confession, but you've got not a single clue what he is confessing to.

"You weren't supposed to find me here," you admit, equally honest, equally confessional, but at least you know what you're confessing to, even if he doesn't. You feel your throat drying up as Nikolai pulls you in even closer. "Strong grip," you whisper. He laughs and you can feel the breath moving in his chest as he does. "Anyway, how is the whole wife thing going?"

"Oh please, I had hoped I would be free of that, at least with you," he says.

"Why would I free you from conversing clearly the most important decision you're yet to make as royalty and ruler?" you tease.

"I knew you'd turn on me one day," he whispers, "but this betrayal, this stings."

"Well, Your Majesty, I am just concerned for the royal line," you say, dipping your head in a subtle bow.

"Mind if I cut in?" Zoya asks, approaching the two of you.

"Yes," Nikolai groans but keeps a smile on his face.

"A word," Zoya says, eyeing you.

"When I have a moment?" you ask.

"After your dance?" Nikolai inquires.

"I am not cutting in for you," Zoya tells Nikolai directly, "and no," she looks to you, "not when you have a moment, now."

Zoya pulls you aside. "Now I don't know what I've done to incur the wrath of General Nazyalensky, but I assume I am about to find out," You say, not liking quite how hard the grip on your arm is.

"He needs to find a wife," Zoya states flatly.

"I know," you reply.

"He will not find a wife, with you around taking up his time," Zoya points out. If Zoya were someone else, you'd think this was coming from a place of jealousy, possessiveness, or her own interest in Nikolai. But anyone who knows Zoya enough, knows her one true loyalty, the thing she loves above all else, is Ravka. That is where her intentions lie. She wants what is best for her country, it isn't personal and you know it.

"He sought me out," you tell Zoya.

"And he will do that," she tells you, "over and over, and it gets him no where, he will chase you and it will mean nothing except act as a distraction from what he must do."

"Please, Sobachka or not, Nikolai isn't some... love sick puppy, he is a romantic, and these proposed arrangements do not interest him, but even if there was a deeper reason for that, it would not be me," you state.

Zoya's laugh is tired, and in its own way, cruel. "You exhaust me," Zoya admits. Zoya was all kinds of beautiful, and you know her to be beautiful even in her cruelty, in her viciousness. Zoya was so beautiful in her anger, even in her war, that even as the Storm Witch her beauty is what people remember most about her. You assumed she looked right through you, but she was staring at you now, right at you. And that was the most terrifying. "I suggest, you put aside your naivety and take a walk. Let me do what is necessary, what is best."

"For Ravka?" You ask, tone bleak.

"And for Nikolai," she states, "your own feelings aside, that is what you want, isn't it?"

"You know nothing of my feelings Zoya," you say, more venomous than you'd originally planned.

"I think it is you that knows nothing of your feelings," Zoya says, "now you need some air, don't you?"

"I need some air?" you ask. Zoya looks to the archway leading out of the festivities and into the gardens.

"You need some air," Zoya says again, "or do I need to physically remind you."

Zoya would not use her small science here, not like this, but the threat was filled with a level of sincerity. "I need some air," you reply and take your leave. 'What I really need is a drink,' you think to yourself as you make it past most of the crowd.

"Quick, while no one is looking," comes Nikolai's voice as he pulls you into the shadows.

"What... are you doing?" you ask, biting back any sounds of shock.

"You help me, I help you, isn't this how this goes?" he is being himself again, that Nikolai you know so well, all mischief and planning. You knew Nikolai could escape almost any situation if he wanted to, and if he put his mind to it. Clever as a fox. Sly like one too, you'd often thought.

"I need some air," you say, trying your best to oblige Zoya and her better intentions.

"Mind joining me for a walk in the gardens?" Nikolai asks.

"Would I mind you joining me," you correct him. He smirks.

"You wouldn't mind," he places an arm around you, resting a hand on the lower of your back, "I am such a delight to be around."

He is uncharacteristically quiet as you walk down the path and around the garden. "I am sorry for Zoya," he says finally.

"It's futile to apologise over her," you say, "no one could control her if they tried."

"Perhaps not, but... I do not like the way she talks to you," he says.

"She talks to everyone that way."

"But she shouldn't talk to you like that," he says. You want to ask about why you deserve special treatment, about why he is seeking you out knowing there are things he needs to be doing. But something else catches your thoughts before you can ask either of those questions.

"Were you eavesdropping?" you ask.

"Can royalty really eavesdrop?" he asks, trying to pull that charm he has to cover his tracks.

"Nikolai," you say, sighing.

"Call me Kolya," he says, "like you used to."

You think your heart might just stop in your chest. "I... there is a lot of things I used to say, that it's best if I don't say anymore," you manage, looking up at the sky instead of at him. It's cloudy and dark, the stars barely managing to shine through all the fog.

"Why not?" he asks, genuine, needing to know.

"Because things can't be how they were Nikolai, not anymore, not now," you say, "and you know that better than I do."

"I don't believe that," he says, leaning on the wall. You look at his waistcoat, wondering how it would look if he were to return to the party with the dirt of the garden on his good clothes.

"You need to," you say, stepping to stand beside him, resting your arms on the wall, hands just out of subtle reach of his. He would have to reach for you, intentionally, knowingly, noticeably to take your hand in his. Part of you wants him to, part of you knows he really shouldn't.

"You're really trying to sound convincing aren't you?" he asks.

"I am allowed my fantasies, you cannot afford them," you admit. He smiles, but you can feel the sadness thinly veiled by the smugness.

"So you have fantasies about me?" He cocks his head to give you a look.

"You shouldn't keep them waiting," you say, not giving in to him, as much as you want to.

"I'm royalty, I never keep anyone waiting, they're just too eager," he says. He moves his hand over, just a small amount, considering it as he edges across the stone of the wall. You remind yourself not to hold your breath.

"Nikolai..." you whisper. "You can't do this." You want to tell him that it is not fair, to have loved him all this time, and always known he could never be yours. With him this close the idea that he could, even for a moment is filling your brain with desires and thoughts you've tried hard to bury.

"But what if we did anyway," he asks. "Tell me like I am not what I am, but just who I am, forget the titles and the obligations. If it was not about the rules and Zoya and the parade of princesses and diplomats that I am expected to smile at and charm. If it was just you and I, tell me like it was that."

"Why?" you ask. "What is the point?"

"So I know," he says, "I need to know if I am truly going mad, or if maybe, my dashing charms have won over even you."

"My feelings for you have nothing to do with your charms Nikolai," you smile to yourself, "I fell for you long before you became so boyishly handsome."

"And my heart belonged to you long before I ever thought I could be king," he admits.

"But you did get handsome, and you are King," you say.

"What if," he takes your hand now and the warmth of his hand engulfing yours makes your breath hitch, "we just didn't care about it. What if I told Zoya that she needn't worry with her matchmaking because there is no one I would be willing to rule with that isn't you?"

"I'd say you're a fool, and that only Kings in bed time stories marry for love," you say.

"And I would remind you once said every prince in every fairy tale made you think of me."

"Saints I really used to say things didn't I?"

"I always loved that about you."

"You still say things."

"Say you'll have me," he says, "if you will have me, I will sort the rest."

"And have to dance with you in front of people, I don't think I could do that, you misstep," you tease.

"You stepped on my foot," he chuckles. You look at him, and those eyes are staring right back at you, into you, like he could see exactly who you are at a glance, like he has always known. Like every breath, ever step, has always been leading here, to this moment. "You're leaving me without an answer."

"Nikolai," you whisper, "you're not supposed to make this choice."

"But I want to make it anyway," he says, "I am King, no one will argue with me."

"Zoya will," you say as his hand brushes your cheek.

"Let her try," he says. "So... is that a yes? All I ask is that you say yes if you want to, not because you should or shouldn't but because you want to, and you speak to me as you always have, and call me like you once did."

"Kolya," you whisper, and the softness in your voice is answer enough, but you tell him anyway, "yes."

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