For once, it wasn't even (Y/N)'s fault that she arrived late to class, but the result was the same as usual: almost all the seats should be taken, and she'll have to ask people to stand up and give her access to that one free seat in the middle of the row. Like, you know, it was impossible for people to fill the rows correctly. Before entering this hell-hole they call classroom, the blond girl took a deep breath and sighed, already fed up with this day. But her dark mood lightened up when she spotted a empty seat at the end of the last row.
"Thank you," she mouthed towards the sky, as if some divinity of the empty seats could hear her. Just to be polite, she still asked the guy who was sitting next to the coveted place, if the seat was taken. The rather hostile looking boy scarcely offered her a glance and huffed in response.
"Tch," was the only thing (Y/N) got, but he still pushed his stuff aside to make room for her. Taken aback by his rude behavior, the girl awkwardly sat down, muttering a quick thank you before focusing on the teacher. However, five minutes into the class, she was already bored. The Gothic Movement in Literature, wasn't the most entertaining course of this semester. The sound of a pencil vigorously scratching against the paper made her turn her head towards the rude dude sitting next to her. Deciding that he was much more interesting than the lesson going on, (Y/N) continued to listen to the teacher with one ear, but with the rest, she focused on the mysterious boy who was doodling little monsters and tattoos designs in his notebook. Speaking of tattoos, he was pretty much literally covered in them. It started up in his neck, with a gun and a rose peeking out of his black short-sleeved shirt that was not completely buttoned up. From what she could see, there were roman figures on his chest, and a sliver necklace hung loosely around his neck, shimmering as it swung back and forth with every of his movements. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up as far up as possible, giving (Y/N) a great view of the strangers fit arms, covered in ink as well. She recognized an anchor, a skull, a guitar and tribal signs, and on the other arm, a colorful snake was tattooed all around his forearm. It was only when she gulped down that (Y/N) realized it was suddenly really hot in this room.
"Oi, stop staring at me brat!" She was ripped out of her daydreaming by a raspy voice and two gray eyes met hers.
If (Y/F/N) was there, she'd pass out, was the only thought she could process at the moment, for she could feel her face heat up because he just caught her staring. But man, was he gorgeous. Her easily impressionable bestfriend would back away from this kind of trouble-maker but she'd also push her to try and get into his pants, because he was exactly (Y/N)'s type of guy. Kind of rude, hella attractive and also – most of the time – batshit crazy. Her eyes instinctively switched to his wrist and she noticed that he wore mittens and spiked bracelets. When she saw her gaze on him, his other hand immediately covered the one she was staring so intently at.
"Sorry, I-" She started, looking away. But it was too late, she saw the first letters of his tattoo – the only one he didn't chose to get.
"Tch. Never mind, just stop talking to me," the boy flatly cut her off, not showing any emotion apart from a slight annoyance.
"Excuse me?" The girl asked, startled by how rude of him!
"What, are you deaf?" The boredom in his voice and his blank expression was even more rude to her than the actual statement.
"You know what? I'll stop talking when you ask nicely. Until then, what about you sit on your fucking cockiness and stop being an absolute asshole with me? Sounds good, nah?" The sarcasm in her voice almost made her smirk but she was too mad to even twitch the corner of her mouth upwards. That's when the unexpected happened. The boy looked at her – for the first time since the beginning of that 'conversation' – and a faint smile appeared on his face before disappearing again. It was so quick that (Y/N) thought she'd hallucinated it.
"Oi, easy tiger!" He snickered, his indifferent expression once again painted on his face. "Do you have a name?"
"No I just go by 'brat'," (Y/N) fired back at him, earning another 'tch' and then a long, awkward silence.
"(Y/N)," she eventually breathed out, feeling like giving her name first to a stranger was a kind of defeat. "(Surname), for short."
Blank stare. Gray eyes. Huff.
"Rivaille ."
Wow, this one is talkative, my my...
" Rivaille what?" The blond girl asked, hoping she'd get his full name.
"Why would you want to know that? Mind your own business brat," he said, his gray eyes boring holes into (Y/N)'s head.
Now that he was at least speaking – even if it wasn't to say nice stuff – the girl had leisure to detail his face. Tatted and pierced, the guy – Rivaille – was a living-breathing art piece. His face looked paler than it should due to the jet-black hair falling in front of his eyes. He sported an undercut hairstyle and he rocked it. A bunch of piercings she couldn't name decorated his right ear – the only one she could see – starting at the top with an industrial and ending with a stud (with the 'A' of Anarchy on it). Then there was an eyebrow piecing, a lip pin, and dimples piercings and a septum. (Y/N) wondered if he had his tongue pierced as well – and she'd rather discover it empirically.
"Did I fucking stutter?" Rivaille cut short her inner swooning.
"What now?" She asked, slightly upset that she didn't get to do all the exploring this guy made her want to do.
"I told you to stop staring, dumbass."
"Why?" The words tumbled off her lips before she could think twice about it. At least, she didn't recall his constant insults.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he couldn't fathom why he had to tell her why it was rude to stare.
"You really think I don't get enough staring all day long already?" He then snapped at her. (Y/N) understood he might be done with all the attention people were giving him just because of his looks. She didn't want to ruin the mood – if that was even possible – by going all 'I feel you bro' with this guy.
"Fine," she sighed deeply, making it sound as tragic as she could. "It's a shame though."
Bomb dropped, now all she had to do was wait a little. Rivaille was taking notes and doodling occasionally while glancing to the teacher ever now and then, but (Y/N) saw his wriggle slightly on his seat. From corner of her eye she saw him shot her a glance and frowning. The girl had to bite on her pencil to hold in her growing victorious smirk when she heard him 'tch' her and sigh.
"Fine, I'll take the bite, why is it a shame?" The raven haired boy begrudgingly asked her.
The blond girl leaned back on her chair and rubbed her face with both her hands, groaning ungracefully and riffling her hair. Stretching her tired limbs, she stood up, happy that she finally finished that goddamned essay that took her five days to write. She's been hanging around her room, writing, thinking, working and taking ten-minutes naps from time to time, but now she was in great need of a shower and a snack. Hopping out of her sweat pants and hoodie, (Y/N) yawed and headed to her bathroom, taking her phone with her for background music and grabbing clean underwear in her drawer.
The little bathroom was dived in the dark, and that's when the girl noticed how late it was. It was nearly midnight, but as soon as she stepped in her shower and cold water hit her naked body, making her jump in surprise and shriek out of temperature shock, she felt very, very awake. One could not deny that (Y/N) was a lazy-ass who'd rather get eaten by whatever creature was running after her than start running for her life. But spending her entire week-end slouched on her desk chair and only walking from the kitchen to her bed was slightly too lazy for her. She wanted to get her head off of all the work she'd done.
She thought about her options while gently shampooing her long hair and letting the hot water wake her numb limbs. It was far too late to call anyone – (Y/F/N) was asleep, (another friend) probably too and (another friend) must be out already, this girl simply never stopped partying. Bringing her heads down and rubbing the soap all over her body, (Y/N) shrugged. Never mind. She never thought it was a chore to go out on her own, she actually quite liked it. She could go wherever she fucking pleased – meaning that she'd go to random and usually a little weird places. She won't be young forever, she better start having fun now, right? Last time she had a night on her own, she went to a lesbian bar, and the time before that, she tried a all-neon club. And both times she ended up pretty wasted and having a hell of a good time.
After leaving the steaming shower and drying herself, she jumped in her underwear and went back to her room. She let her body fall onto the unmade bed and grabbed her laptop, quickly typing 'punk bar San Francisco'.
13 500 000 results.
She clicked on the first one and nodded, a growing smile making its way on her face as she bit her lip, already mentally choosing her clothes. Tonight will be fun.
Given that the punk style wasn't really her thing, (Y/N) had to improvise.
"I hope I still have those thighs I ripped last week," she muttered to herself as she attempted to find the said item in the unnameable mess that was her bedroom. She got them after five minutes of looking and put them on. Standing before her mirror she turned around, checking out how it looked.
"Could work with a little more holes," she decided and began to rip them savagely, making it look as though a cat attacked her. She improvised a dress with a large black men t-shirt in which she cut holes in different places and put on her waist leather belt to complete the look. It would do.
Within ten minutes, she did her make-up, her hair and quickly grabbed those cheetah boots she bought once and never got to wear. Car keys in hand, the blond girl checked herself out one last time before she stepped out of her front door and headed to her car.
When she walked out, (Y/N) decided that it was better to be safe, so she took out her phone and texted (Y/F/N) a quick 'Hey, this is a safe message, just so you know, I'm heading to this bar the Hemlock Tavern, if I don't show up tomorrow, call the cops!' and she sent it.
She shoved her phone back into her little bag. She'll probably only get it tomorrow, but at least, she won't scold her like she would've if (Y/N) didn't warn her that she was going to such places at ungodly hours on her own.
To her surprise, her phone buzzed and she checked her messages.
From (Y/F/N); at 0:27
Don't worry, I won't rest 'til we find your body! Be safe!
It made her smile.
She reached the bar far quickly that she thought and before entering, the blond girl glanced at her wrist and pulled up her bracelets to make sure her tattoo was safely hidden.
"Won't tell," (Y/N) replied, witnessing Rivaille's face flush in anger as she denied him the answer to his question.
"That was a bitchy move," he stated after recomposing himself. He went back to his doodles, as if it didn't upset him at all.
"I'm pretty sure it's been a while nobody dared to poke your nerves, it won't hurt you," the girl shrugged. Pay attention to me you asshat!
But the punk boy remained focused on his blank page and none of them said anything until the end of the course. Yet when they both stood up, (Y/N) had to refrain the urge to laugh by biting the inside of her cheeks. He was the exact same height as her – meaning: short.
"Tch. Outta my way stupid," he cringed, his blank expression fading slightly. He eventually noticed her smiling eyes and the way she held her lips closed as if she was afraid of what could come out. "If you say one thing, I swear I'll kill you, girl or not."
After a second or so, the girl managed to swallow down her laughter and stop grinning like a sick fuck.
"Fine," she squealed out, still at the edge of the fit of laughter. "Wasn't going to say anything anyway."
And she turned around, walking away from the short punk boy.
Maybe that's why he's got such a rotten attitude, short people are closer to hell.
Sometimes, she doubted. Mainly about herself, that is. (Y/N)'s heart and mind tore her apart most of the time – especially when she tried to decide whether or not to do what she was about to do in that bar. The reasonable side – her brain – told her that it was late and that she had class tomorrow, that she should just back off, stay out of trouble and enjoy a good night of sleep.
But her fast beating vital organ told her otherwise. It jumped in her chest when after forty minutes of sitting at the bar and drinking while telling some drunk dudes to back off, Rivaille walked in – in all his punkish glory.
It was inconsiderate of her to think that at least now she wouldn't have to wait 'til the next day to see him again, but it was the only thing she could think of at the moment. In his trail were two other guys covered in metal and ink, but she never saw any of them before. One of them had his arm slammed across the shoulder of a girl who didn't seem like she was used to this kind of places.
Looked like it wasn't their first bar of the night – they denied the bar and went directly to the other room – where some random band played their screamo and people danced.
Okay, that's my call, (Y/N) finished her glass and paid for her drinks before making her way through the crowd of people and ending up in the dark room, pushed around by all the dancing persons. She began to look for him – though it as difficult for her since she was too small to look over the heads of the people and he was just about the same height.
"What are you doing here, brat?" An already all too familiar voice called her from behind. She smirked an turned around.
"Oh you know, just stalking you, the usual," (Y/N) snickered, crossing her arms on her chest.
"Tch, whatever." Rivaille suddenly grabbed her by the arm and dragged her through the thick crowd of headbanging people. Finally reaching the front of the stage, he stopped and began to dance. The first second of shock soon disappeared as he grabbed her hips and enjoined her to move along to the beat. The music changed slightly and you could actually dance to this song. When (Y/N) looked up to his stormy eyes, there was a fiery spark in them and before she knew it he pressed himself against her, so close that not even a speck of dust would've a chance to get in between them. His wandering hands went from the small of her back to her front, and then made their way up to her chest – faintly caressing her through her dress and if it wasn't for the music he would've heard her moan under his daring touch. She never did that in public, but hell did it feel exciting. The flow of her thought was interrupted by the feeling of a pair of lips sucking harshly at her neck, her first instinct was the throw her head back to give him easier access and she felt him smile against her hot skin. She was so turned on and so quickly that she almost felt guilty for it. Yet (Y/N)'s mind clouded enough to let him do when one of his hands traveled down to her midsection.
"Don't you have a more private place to take this?" She uttered the question when leaning to his ear.
A small laughter greeted her question.
"What?" (Y/N) snapped, a little bothered that her being flustered amused him.
"I knew you wanted this just as bad as I do," he commented, a smug smirk plastered on his ever blank face. "Move your little ass, I know just the place."
Making it out of the crowd took a couple minutes but then everything went in flash-forwards and (Y/N) only remembered leaving the bar and walking a bit before climbing the stairs of buildings and entering in a very neat and clean apartment. She didn't have the time to comment on it thought because that's when Rivaille hooked his hands under her thighs to lift her up and carry her to his bedroom, legs wrapped around him so that she could grin against his growing bulge.
When she tried to kiss his though, he turned his head.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He snapped.
"Finding out if you have a tongue piercing, obviously," (Y/N) answered and shot him a lustful glance and the boy only offered her a fain smirk.
"There's only one way to find this out," he uttered, brushing his lips on the skin below her ear and trailing down her jaw and neck a few wet kisses. His hands sneaked under the hem of her dress and tucked it over her head, throwing it on the spotless floor of his bedroom and soon, it was joined by her boots and ripped thighs. (Y/N) attempted to undress him as well, but he shook his head and simply pinned her against the mattress, ordering her not to move. His head slowly disappeared from her view field and his hands spread her legs open. (Y/N) wanted to say something but the words will forever be stuck in her throat because he didn't give her to time to even start to speak. Burying his head between her open thighs, he gave a flat lick to her dripping core, setting her afire. A loud moan escaped her lips as she arched her back. It felt too good to finally feel him. Not giving her any second to breath, Rivaille attached his mouth to her and began to suck and bite and stroke her with his tongue while (Y/N) turned into a moaning mess.
And damn... he had a tongue piercing, that's for sure.
The next day, (Y/N) woke up alone. For a second there, she wondered where the hell she ended up, before realization hit her. The blond girl lifted the sheets, only to see her naked body, causing a slight blush to appear on her cheeks. She looked around her, taking in everything she saw. The room was luminous and modern, not a single sock was on the floor and everything looked like it had been polished. (Y/N) sat up, the sheets tightly pressed against her and winced slightly.
"A little sore?" A voice cut off her thoughts, causing her to look up. There he was standing, in the door frame, his hair still wet from the shower but already fully dressed in black.
"Just the right amount of sore," she grinned mischievously. A quick smile turned the corner of his mouth up, before coming back to his usual poker face.
"Here," he said, throwing her something. "I washed your underwear and I figured you'd like normal clothes."
(Y/N) caught the flying pile of clothes and looked at it closer. There were a pair of black jeans and a white tank top – basic. She glanced at him over the shirt she held at arm length.
"Tell me those are not yours."
"Tch. My sister left this here. Never came back to claim it." He really had a thing for short sentences. The blond girl waited a moment but he stayed there, standing next to the door and watching her while casually leaning against the wall.
"Are you not going to let me get dressed?" She asked after a while.
"I've already seen everything you've got to show, you moron. Just put the damn clothes on already," he sighed as if he was talking to a child. It didn't bother her to be honest, she just thought he'd find that vulgar if she began to dress up in front of him. She let go of the sheet and grabbed the freshly cleaned underwear while he made his way to the bed, sitting down on the edge.
"Can I ask you a question?" She bit her lip, hesitating a bit.
"If you're going to ask some stupid-ass question you can shut your mouth," Rivaille growled, his foul mouth returning in anticipation of all the dumb questions girls usual ask after sex.
"Haha," the girl laughed. "No, I just wanted to know your age."
He turned around to watch her. She was standing there in underwear and the white tank top, one hand on her hip, glancing at him intently.
"So?" She insisted.
"Twenty-seven." (Y/N) obviously looked surprised because he asked, "What? Is that too old for you?"
"No, I just imagined you were younger, 'is all," she shrugged before grabbing the jeans neatly folded on the bed. An awkward silences followed, that was only broken when the boy spoke up.
"Levi ."
"Huh?" (Y/N) raised an eyebrow.
"People tend to call me Rivaille, but it's kind of impersonal. You can call me Levi if you want."
Somehow it felt like it was a big deal for him to tell her this, and (Y/N) acknowledged that.
"What's that even?" Levi asked, lifting her ripped dress and thighs with his fingertips to change the subject, obviously embarrassed with the current topic.
"Improvisation", she answered, buttoning up the jeans.
"Thighs are fucking awful, so damn useless. Next time wear stockings."
That was all he said before exiting the room.
Next time.