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arc-misadventures · 6 months ago

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The Sorcerer’s Dark Magic

Bruised, battered, and bloody.

This was the sorry state of, Cinder Fall.

A member of, Salem’s inner circle had been identified whilst she was in, Vale. Beacon sent several of its highly trained, Hunter’s, and Atlas had also sent in members of its elite team of, Specialists to bring her in.

They had found her, and her cronies in the midst of a pack of, White Fang members lead by the murderous zealot, Adam Taurus.

The fight had been long, and bloody, costing the lives of several Hunters, Specialist, and many members of, Cinder’s entourage, along with scores of members of the, White Fang. Even the murderous zealot, Adam Taurus’s life was taken in the fight.

But, they won, and they had taken, Cinder Fall in alive. And, now it was time for her interrogation to begin.

An event that would scar many who whiteness the horrors about to be unleashed.

~~~

The door opened to reveal a trio standing before a one way mirror, they all turned, and nodded their greetings at the duo as they entered the room. Within the room there was the headmaster of, Beacon Academy, Ozpin. The deputy headmistress, Glynda Goodwitch. And, lastly there was a seasoned huntsman, and a drunkard named, Qrow Branwen.

Entering the room was, Headmaster of Atlas Academy, and General of the Atlas Military, James Ironwood, followed closely by his aide, Specialist, Winter Schnee. They joined the trio at the mirror to stare at the bloody, and bruised body of, Cinder Fall.

Ironwood: So, what’s the plan?

Ozpin; Hello to you too, James. Right now the plan is to wait.

Ironwood: Wait, wait for what?

Qrow: The Sorcerer is finishing up his treatment of the wounded.

Ironwood: The Sorcerer? You have a magic user; why didn’t you notify me that you found a maiden?

Ozpin shook his head as he watched, Cinder pull at her aura suppressing restrains that binded her hands in a vain attempt to escape.

Ozpin: I would have if we did, but no. The Sorcerer is just a nickname he picked up.

Ironwood: He? So it’s a male. Hmmm… Who is this, Sorcerer you’re talking about?

Glynda: His name is, Jaune Arc; He is an experienced, Hunter who is a teacher here at, Beacon Academy, and he doubles as an assistant school nurse when the need arises.

Glynda’s brief rundown gave, Ironwood a simple understanding of who he was, and considering how normal he sounded, he understood why, Ozpin never brought him up before. But, why would he need someone so plain to interrogate her?

Winter: Arc…? Does he have blond hair, and blue eyes?

Glynda: Yes.

Winter: I believe I met him. He seems like a kind, and caring individual who cares deeply for the wellbeing of his students. Why are you having him interrogate the prisoner?

Ozpin: We need her to talk; We need to know what, Salem’s plans are, and who is working with her. If we try doing so ourselves we will get nowhere. But, if we let, Mr. Arc do it himself, we will get all the answers, and more that we are looking for.

Ironwood: Are you sure about this, Ozpin?

Ozpin: Honestly, James if I was being ‘interrogated’ by, Mr. Arc. I’m not sure what secrets I wouldn’t spill to get him to stop.

Ozpin shuddered as he remember the last time he sat on, Jaune interrogating someone. It was effective, but disturbing.

Qrow: Wait, you made that sound like he wasn’t going to talk with her, but more like he’s going to ‘talk’ with her.

Ozpin: …

Ozpin: It must be done…

Qrow: Seriously?! You’re gonna make, Tai 2.0 go in there, and torture her?

Ironwood: What?!

James looked to, Ozpin as he held his head in defeat. He had no other options left. And, considering what, Cinder, and her associates were planning, and how they barely caught it, and just managed to stop it. They needed her to talk to prevent anything else from coming.

Ironwood: You can’t possibly have forced him to do this?!

Glynda: Jaune agreed to do it! He lost several of his friends in the raid to get her, this is his own way of avenging them. And, you know how effect his methods are, we both have seen what he can, and will do to someone.

Qrow looked away before taking another drink from his flask. He knew what, Jaune could do, he knew exactly what he could do. That didn’t mean he liked what he saw.

Qrow: Fuck…

Qrow took a swig from his flask as he turned back to look at the girl in cuffs. Ironwood gave the drunk one fleeting glance before turning to face his friend.

Ironwood: How will this, Arc fellow make her talk?

Ozpin: He will no doubt try, and talk to her at first. But, when that inevitably fails, he will use his semblance instead.

Ironwood: And, what is his semblance?

Ozpin: It’s… Oh, he’s here.

~~~

The door opened, and closed with a heavy click of steel. A blond haired man entered the room. Cinder eyes him warningly as he walked over to the table, and took the seat across from her. He put down a notebook, and a pen, before brushing some unseen dust from the desk before he turned to face her.

: Hello, Ms. Cinder Fall. My name is, Jaune Arc. May I call you, Cinder?

Cinder said nothing, and just stared him down. They stared each other down for a while before, Jaune shrugged his shoulders, and opened his notebook to start taking notes.

Jaune: Not much of a talker, eh? No matter, we’ll get you talking soon enough.

Jaune: Now then, Ms. Fall, let’s summarize the past days events: A team of, Beacon students stumbled upon your little operation going on in, Mount Glenn. A team of veteran, Hunters from, Vale, as well as a team of, Atlasian Specialists came in to prevent you from colliding a train into the old train house in downtown, Vale thus releasing a horde of, Grimm into the city. Did I make a mistake in any of that, Ms. Fall?

Cinder: …

Jaune: Still not talking, eh? No matter, I’ll get you talking sooner, or later. So, pray tell what were you planning to do?

Cinder glared daggers at the man who radiated golden retriever energy, but said nothing.

Jaune: Twas a rhetorical question, since you won’t answer me after all. So, let us speculate then shall we?

Jaune: Hmm… you wanted to launch a horde of, Grimm into the city… but, why?

Jaune: Since the White Fang were involved was it to act as a protest against the mistreatment of faunas?

Cinder: …

Jaune: I expect that was the, White Fang’s plan, at least what they thought the plan was. So logically they would do this to kill people, both human, and faunas as a means of retribution for past, and future wrongs.

Cinder continued to glare at him, but within those burning eyes, Jaune could see her asking him a simple question.

Jaune: What the hell am I talking about? That’s what you’re thinking, I can see it in your eyes. But, well, extremists all ways take the simplest things, that often have the simplest solutions to the extreme. Hence the name: extremists. But, what’s your angle in all of this?

Jaune leaned closer, and stared, Cinder down. Their eyes locked on one another in a staring contest that made, Cinder’s blood burn. And, yet this feeling in her blood wasn’t from rage.

Jaune: We asked your associates what you game in all of this was… And, what were their names again…?

Jaune flipped through his notebook, before pulling out two photos, attached to slips of paper.

Jaune: Ahh yes… Mercury Black, and… Emerald Sustrai, that’s their names. The didn’t snitch on you, they never would. But, as they say… ‘Dead man tells no tale~!’

Jaune could see her eyes flash wider for the briefest of moments. She seemed to not care about her associates, at least, she seemingly didn’t care that much.

Jaune: But, your pal, Roman Torchwik. He sung like a song bird, and told me all of your dastardly deeds, after receiving some proper… motivation~!

~~~

Ironwood watched carefully as he listened to, Mr. Arc as he interrogate the prisoner.

Ironwood: Did you also ‘interrogate’ this, Torchwik fellow?

Ozpin: There was no need to, we offered him a plea deal for all the information he had on her, and he was rather forthcoming coming. Although his information as to what, Ms. Fall’s plans are, were rather limited.

Ironwood: I see, hopefully this, Arc fellow can make use of it. Now, I don’t mean to sound… disturbed. But, when is this supposed… ‘interrogation’ meant to begin.

Glynda: It already begun. As soon as, Jaune entered the room the ‘interrogation’ started.

Winter: How can you be sure of that? All they’ve done is talk, nothing that hints towards torture has started.

Glynda: She’s sweating…

Everyone looked over to see a bead if sweat drip down, Cinder’s forehead as cold air escaped her lips.

Ironwood: What? That rooms kept cold to stop her from using her fire semblance, why is she sweating?

Ozpin: Good question…

~~~

Jaune: Now… Roman told us all about your evil plans. Well… that of which he was privy to that is…

Jaune put on a show, Cinder could tell he was trying to put her off guard, and it wasn’t working. The sweat falling down her head was getting on her nerves though, the room was freezing cold, and yet she was sweating. She could help, but wonder why.

Jaune: You hired him to steal large quantities of, Dust. Though he says you threatened him. Now, I am curious as to why you needed that much, Dust? You weren’t selling it, and you did make several bombs on that train, but the quantity of, Dust that was used in those bombs is no where near the amount that was stolen. Are you trying to artificially inflate the price of, Dust?

Cinder glared daggers at the man, hoping to burn a hole through this golden retriever of a human being. But, still refused to answer.

Jaune: That would mean you’re working for, Jacques Schnee! I knew you were a heartless bitch, but I couldn’t believe you were that heartless to work with that Grimm spawn bastard son of a bitch!

Cinder: I don’t work for that, Dust whore… Ahh?!

Jaune relished the sound of her little outburst as a vicious grin crept from the corner of his mouth as he stared down the prisoner as she pulled back from him.

Jaune: You spoke~! Ah-hahahaaa~!

~~~

Winter: Calling my sperm donour a, ‘Dust whore;’ I best remember that.

Qrow: Oh, you’re not upset that people are making fun of daddy?

Winter: The majority of the people of, Atlas, and Mantle despise my father, I among the top three individuals that despise the man. I’ve been using photos of the mans face for target practice for the new recruits.

Ozpin: Really now? And, how is that going, Specialist Schnee?

Winter: Better than I expected; Atlas’s military personnel’s average accuracy when handling firearms has gone up by 27%, and is still climbing.

Ironwood: Oh really? I was wondering how that increased happened. Well done, Specialist Schnee. Start implementing that in, Atlas Academy, I’m curious to see how the students will improve if we implement such a… policy.

Winter: I will see it done, Sir.

Ozpin: Should we implement such a policy here as well, Glynda?

Glynda: We shall discuss that later, Ozpin. The Sorcerer is at work.

~~~

Jaune: So tell me… what was your plan…?

Jaune’s smile sent shivers down, Cinder’s; it was a calculated smile, its intent was to unnerve, and put one’s foe on the backfoot.

Cinder: …

Jaune: …

Cinder: …

Jaune: Hmm?

Jaune: Still no talky?

Cinder: …

Jaune: Okay then… So you don’t work for that dust whore. You obviously don’t work with the, White Fang, you’re obviously not a faunas. Unless…?

Jaune was giving her the once over, as if to find some hidden faunas trait that was hidden behind her clothes.

Cinder: I am not a faunas…

Jaune: No…?

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: I would have guessed you were some sort of snake faunas; Hidden fangs in your mouth, elongated tongue those kind of things. Nothing?

Cinder: No…

Jaune: Well, then you’re obviously working for some sort of hidden secret organization that’s bent on the total, and complete destruction of the world!

Cinder: …

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: Hmm… you’re quite good at hiding your emotions, but your eyes keep giving things away.

Cinder’s eyes flashed for a moment before she looked away. She cursed herself for letting her emotions escape her harsh grasp. She had done plenty of research on the staff at, Beacon Academy, but, Jaune Arc was one she couldn’t find much information on. At most it was common knowledge that if you asked anyone anything about him they would tell you the same thing. Jaune tended to keep his personal life like that, personal. At most it was know that he was single, and the only son if his family.

Well, as secretive as he may be, it was no where near as…?!

Jaune: Why does the witch want to destroy the world?

~~~

Ironwood: Wait, what?! Ozpin, how does he know about, Salem?

Ozpin: One of, Mr. Arc’s greatest skills is his observational awareness. I thought I was being subtle with any information retaining to, Salem, but he picked up on my… unsaid words. And, forced me to talk…

Ironwood: Forced? Did he use his semblance on you?

Ozpin: Possibly…? I am not sure.

Ironwood: Can’t you tell when he’s using his semblance?

Glynda: It depends on how, Jaune’s using it. It can be very subtle, subtle enough that you don’t even realize he’s using it. Subtle enough that even he doesn’t realize he’s using it at times.

Ozpin: But, when it’s obvious he’s using his semblance you become painfully aware that he’s using it. To say it’s blood curdling in its usage is an understatement of the extreme of extremes.

Qrow: Ughh… I remember when I saw him use it to its fullest extent; Can’t say the guy didn’t have it coming, but throwing up my lunch wasn’t what I had in mind that day…

Ironwood: …?

Winter: What the hell is his semblance?

~~~

Cinder: What witch?

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: Oh come on now… I know all about, Salem, and Ozpin’s stupid little shadow war going on behind the scenes. So if you plan on playing dumb well…

(Tap, tap, tap)

Jaune: Let’s just say it won’t work well for you.

Cinder could feel sweat dripping down her head in a freezing cold room, his words caused dread to slowly build up in her heart.

Cinder knew that playing dumb wouldn’t work any longer. At best she could deflect, and feed him bread crumps to cause him to look away from her true objective.

Cinder: I was trying to… trying to cause a, Grimm stampede in the hopes of destroying, Vale.

Jaune: To what end?

Cinder: Spread the seeds of chaos, and show, Ozpin, and his allies that his precious little cities are not as safe as they think they are.

Jaune: To what end?

Cinder: I just told you; To destroy, Vale.

Jaune: Don’t play dumb with me my dear, I’m not an idiot like, Ozpin, or General Ironwood. They would take you words at face value, but I can tell you’re hiding something…

Cinder: What is there to hide; you already know everything I planned to do, you’re just trying to confirm what happened for you reports, aren’t you?

Jaune: Well…

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: You could say that… but, your goal wasn’t to destroy, Vale… No, no, no. Your goal may be quite well thought out, but you don’t care if, Vale fell. No, no, I recon your plan wasn’t to destroy, Vale… A definitive bonus if your plan succeed, but no. Your true goal was to distract, Ozpin… but, to distract him from what tis the question…

Cinder’s heart was beating erratically as this interrogation continued on. She had read, Mercury’s, and Emerald’s reports on the man; they read of a kind, and caring man who would lay his life down for his students without a moment’s hesitation. But, the man currently before her, was not that man.

He exuded an aura of cold, calculating indifference, and a predatory smile that sent shivers down her spine, the exact same smile he was giving her right now. There was a sparkle in his eyes as he came to a simple conclusion; the an answer to a riddle that answers everything he wanted to know, and more.

Jaune: You’re after the, Fall Maiden, aren’t you…?

~~~

Ozpin: The Fall Maiden…?

The answer to a question unasked escaped, Ozpin’s throat in a ragged whisper. It made sense, too much sense that this was, Cinder’s goal, she was after the, Maiden’s powers, and she was willing to destroy, Vale to get it.

Qrow: So it was her, and her cronies that attacked, Amber! Why didn’t I see that…?

Ironwood: She never did finish off, Amber because, Qrow came to the rescue, this is all an elaborate plot to get the, Fall Maiden’s power… I amazed that, Mr. Arc was able to come to such a conclusion.

Glynda: But, to go to such extents to acquire the, Fall Maidens powers seems a bit over the top.

Winter: Couldn’t she have just killed her when she first had the chance, and acquired her powers that way? Why did she plan to destroy, Vale in the process?

~~~

Jaune: Oh? Now isn’t that an interesting reaction!

An involuntary, sharp gasp escaped, Cinder’s lips as he effortlessly hit the nail on the head. Arc, knew about the, Maiden’s, in the case what else did he know! She looked away from him, daring to hope he would not find anymore clues in her broken mask.

Jaune: Excuse me, we’re talking; tis quite rude to look away from someone while we’re talking.

Cinder couldn’t look at this man, there was something off about him…

(Tap, tap, tap)

Jaune: Excuse me, don’t turn awaywe’re still talking here.

Something that could make the skin crawl…

Jaune: Oi, look at me.

Something that was deemed unnatural…

Jaune: We’re not done speaking, Cinder.

Something that was indescribable to the senses…

Jaune: Cinder… Look at me.

But, it was something completely explainable.

Jaune: Haaa…

Something so obvious, and simple, that it was often overlooked as an item of irrelevance.

Jaune: I said…

A semblance.

Jaune: Look at me.

Cinder could feel her entire body being wrenched forward, her muscles screaming in pain as they were forced to move in what felt like an unnatural, but completely natural manner. Her body was set straight in her chair, her head forced to stare at, Jaune face, making her stare into those calm, uncaring cerulean eyes of his. She tried to turn her body, to squirm in defiance as he stared her down, but she could not move her body by a hairs breath.

Jaune: Now, shall we continue our discussion?

Cinder: A-A semblance…

Jaune: Hmm…?

Cinder: A semblance! Y-You’ve been using your semblance on me this whole time! From the moment you entered this room, you’ve been using a semblance on me to make me talk, haven’t you!

Jaune: CorrrrecT!

~~~

Ironwood: Ahh, telekinesis!

Winter: He’s a telepath? That would most certainly explain how he was able to get, Miss Fall to talk.

Qrow: Nope.

Ironwood: What?

Qrow: The kids not telepathic.

Ironwood: He isn’t?

Winter: But, the way he forced her body to move, that’s clearly a telekinesis based semblance.

Qrow: It may look that way, but his semblance is nothing like that. If it was, I would be better at holding my stomachs contents when he decides to… let loose.

Glynda: I’d doubt that.

Qrow: Well… it wouldn’t be as bad… hopefully?

Ironwood: Then what is it?

Ozpin: It would be best to let, Mr. Arc explain it…

~~~

Cinder: Y-You’ve been using your semblance to extract information from me! Haven’t you!

Jaune: Mmmm… In a manner of speaking… I’ve mostly been connecting dots, and what not from what clues you’ve given me. That, and reading your facial expressions, any little bodily ticks you are showing off. I’ve mostly been using my semblance to make you feel a sense of unease. It’s been quite effective if I do say so.

Cinder: What is it; Telekinesis?! Are you some sort of psychic?! What is your semblance?

Jaune: Oh, nothing so… civilized as those…

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: Nothing like that…

Cinder: That tapping! You’ve been doing that ever since you came here… why?!

Jaune: As I said, ‘To make you feel unease.’

(Tap, tap, tap.)

Jaune: I take it that it has been working.

Cinder: How does tapping your fingers make me feel unease?! Do you have some sort of telekinesis based semblance?! I demand to know!

Jaune: As I said: It may seem liked that, but no. I don’t have a physic, telekinesis, and sort of moving stuff with my mind based semblance.

Cinder: THEN WHAT THE HELL IS IT!!!

Jaune calmly stared at, Cinder as her rugged gasps of breath slowly tapered out. Before he calmly responded to her question.

Jaune: I’ll answer your question: How is that I am making you feel unease, why the tapping, how I forced your body to turn to face me. I’ll explain it all. But, in exchange you have to answer something for me.

Cinder: And, what is that?!

Jaune: What does, Salem want with the keys to the vault, and what does she intend to do with its contents when they are emptied?

Cinder: W-What…? H-How did you figure it out…?

Cinder’s rage, the blazing inferno that burned within her body was suddenly snuffed out as if it was a match struck in the midst of a typhoon. What was replaced was stunned fear. She hadn’t mentioned a single thing, no clues, no hints, but this freak had managed to put together every piece of her plan, and managed to figure out what her true goal really was!

And, all he did was calmly look at her with a cocky smirk forming from the bottom of his lip.

Jaune: Oh I just managed to connect the dots that others leave unseen. Four kingdoms. Four Academies. Four Maidens, and lastly, Four Relics. My educated guess tells me that one of the four relics is hidden in one of the four kingdoms academies. And, that they are kept behind in a secret, hidden vault that requires a key to unlock them. And, that key, is a maiden. Am, I wrong?

Cinder: …

Cinder: You’re correct…

Jaune: Am I know~?

~~~

The group all stood back as, Jaune turned to give them a dark smile as he managed to make, Cinder spill all her information on why she was going to attack, Beacon Academy.

And, it had only been ten minutes.

Glynda: Salem’s after the, Relics? I can only imagine the destruction she could wrought across, Remnant if she had even one of those…

Ironwood: We need to tighten security back in, Atlas. And, in all the other academies at that! In all the kingdoms! We cannot allow her to gain access to any, Relics!

Qrow: What is she even planning to do with those things? They aren’t all that dangerous no are they?

Ozpin: She not after any one, Relic for its individual capabilities… she wants all four of them.

Ironwood: What is the difference is she has one, Relic, or all of them? The destruction she could wreak across, Remnant could be unimaginable!

Ozpin: Not if those two came back…

Ironwood: What?

~~~

Jaune: Excellent! Now that we have all the speculation as to why you are doing this out of the way. Now I must ask who your other accomplices are, and what they are doing, and we can finish everything up once, and for all. Alright?

Cinder: No…

Jaune: No…?

Cinder: You said you would tell me what your semblance was… I answered your question… But, unless you tell me the truth… I won’t tell you anything! It doesn’t matter if you torture me… I will never talk!

Jaune: No, that’s fair… You answered my question, tis only fair that I answer yours in kind. Tell me… I assume you’ve done your research on all of the staff at, Beacon, myself included. So, I can assume you heard about my nickname?

Cinder: Yes… The staff here call you, ‘The Sorcerer.’ But, none of the students know why.

Jaune: That’s because, ‘The Sorcerer,’ isn’t really what my nickname is all about. And, I can assure you, a few students know what the story behind my nickname is, and my semblance is as a result of that. And, the reason why no one knows that start is simply because they just don’t like talking about it.

Jaune: You see… I can use magic…

Cinder: Impossible… Only five people in the world can use magic, and they all happen to be female… which you clearly are not.

Jaune: True… I just like to referring my semblance as magic, helps others… comprehend my semblance, and its abilities.

Cinder: Then what is your semblance…?

Cinder leaned in and scowled at, Jaune as he returned her scowl with a devious and, all knowing smirk as he softly replied.

Jaune: Blood Magic~!

Cinder: What…?

Jaune: Blood Magic! That’s what my semblance is! I can freely manipulate the blood of any living being! Making them my puppet…

Cinder could feel her eyes darting to the right, and lefr, then back to, Jaune, and yet she had no intention in her mind to move her eyes.

Cinder: M-M-My eyes?! You’re moving my eyes?!

Jaune: I can also regulate your heart beat! Why do you think I kept on tapping my finger?

(Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…)

Cinder focused on her body, slowly she started to feel the controlled beating of her heart as, Jaune tapped his finger to a steady beat.

Cinder: You made my heart race at an unnatural beat… causing my body to go into shock because of my blood wasn’t flowing properly, causing me to…

Jaune: Panic. Yes, tis a very effective way at making people nervous. I have to tap the beat though… I could hold out my hand, and flex my fingers inward, like so…

Jaune held his hand before, Cinder, and simply made a closed fist that lasted, but a hairs breath. However…

Cinder: AHHHHHHH?!!?!

It caused, Cinder to collapse in pain as her breath came in hard, and laboured gasps like a drowning man struggling for air as water filled their lunga. Her eyes widened in horror at the stunning realization of what he had just done to her.

Cinder: You… Y-You… haaahaha… you were crushing my heart?!

Jaune: Correct… My semblance is no doubt among the most powerful there is. I can tell precisely where a person is based upon feeling a persons circulatory systems. I can even tell people apart to some extent.

Jaune turned behind him to look at the one way mirror, and pointed at it.

Jaune: Right there is, Qrow Branwen. I can feel the alcohol in his veins, don’t ask me how, I can’t explain it. Next to, Qrow right there should be, Glynda Goodwitch. I can tell it’s her because the blood flows differently in woman than it does in men.

Jaune: I can also tell it’s her because I can sense more blood in the… front.

Jaune turned back to look at, Cinder; his face etched into a look filled with self loathing, and disscontempt.

Jaune: There are many things I despise about my semblance.

He shook his head in disgust as he pointed back at the mirror.

Jaune: Ahem… right next to her is, Ozpin; I can tell because I can feel his body posture that indicates he is resting on a cane, and that he is holding a bug in his hand. And, all the caffeine in his veins. Guy seriously needs to cut back on the joe…

Jaune: Next to, Ozpin is another woman. I have no idea who she is, but I know she’s there.

Jaune: And, right there is, General James Ironwood. I can only sense half a man partly floating in the air… such a perverse feeling… I can feel the blood flowing to his toes on one leg, but on the other it stops when it reaches his hip. The same on his arms; I can feel it reach his finger tips one one hand, and yet on the other I feel it stop at the shoulder joint… Such a ghastly feeling…

~~~

Winter: B-Blood magic?! That’s his semblance: Blood Magic?!

Ozpin: It is as he says… he can sense, and manipulate the blood in a persons body. To say it’s ghastly is a understatement of a lifetime.

Qrow: He can tell it’s me based on my blood alcohol levels? I better cut back a bit…

Glynda: He knew it was me because of my bust…?

Winter: At least he takes no pleasure in knowing that.

Glynda: Haaa… A gentleman to the end…

Ozpin: James? Are you alright?

James Ironwood gaze was dead stead at staring at his right hand, his robotic hand. It was a terrifying thought, that, Mr. Arc could feel precisely where his body ended, and where his cybernetics began without even touching at him. He understood the pains wrought upon his body in ways no others could, not even the victim of such mutilations could feel.

Ironwood: I can… speculate why I haven’t seen, Mr. Arc until now… Such a semblance must bare heavily on its user…

Ozpin: Jaune tends to keep to himself out of necessity, rather than a desire to be left alone. To many people around is like listening to a thousand voices all at once. Simply put; it’s overwhelming to the senses.

Ironwood: I take it then that, Mr. Arc is done with the interrogations? At least…using his semblance?

Ozpin stared at, Cinder as she managed to regain her breathing, and steadied her heart beat as she stared defiantly at, Jaune. Ozpin shook his head at the notion.

Ozpin: I’m afraid, James… the worse is about to begin…

~~~

Cinder: Haa haaa… Hahahaha!

Jaune: What’s so funny?

Cinder: You told me what your semblance is… I now know what you can do with that semblance of yours… it doesn’t matter what you do now! It doesn’t matter what! I will not tell you anything! You’ll crush my heart before I let anything spill! Come on, Arc! Do your worst!

Jaune: Pfff! Haha… hahaha… Aaaahahahahahaha!

Terror filled, Cinder veins as, Jaune let loose a laugh that found everything, down to most minute of details, in, Cinder’s attempt to show her bravado, her arrogant pride absolutely, unequivocally hilarious.

Jaune: Haha-ha-haaaa…

Jaune: My worst? You think me grasping your heart is the worst I can do…? My dear sweet summers child… I can do so much worser things than that, that honestly; I’m not sure what my worst is!

Jaune: I can bend every bone in your body till it shatters, then put them back together! I can stop your heart, kill you, and then bring you back to life! I can cause a brain aneurysm, and kill you on the spot! Cure you, and again I could bring you back to life! I could crush your entire body, turn every muscle in your body in on yourself until your body is nothing more than a meat cube! And, I know I can do this, because I’ve already done it before, and I will do it again!

Jaune: So tell me, Cinder Fall… Do you want to just tell me who else you are working with, and what are your other plans. Or, shall I torment you with pain unimaginable that I may break your mind from the pain?

Cinder could understand that he was just saying this to scare her, that he wouldn’t got that far to break her. But, she knew deep in her heart, that he could do it. But, she knew he couldn’t kill her, he needed her alive, otherwise all her secrets would go with her to her grave. She resolved her, and she would grin, and bare what was to come.

Cinder: Do your worst asshole! Hak-sptoo!

And, with that she spat on, Jaune’s who merely rubbed it off, and shook his head in disappointment.

Jaune: Haa… very well… I did warn you…

Jaune leaned back in his chair, and held his hand up, before he turned to gaze at, Cinder one last time.

Jaune: You know… They say there are different ways one gains their semblance; Personality, or circumstances… I believe the later one is applicable for me. Cause you see… everyone thinks I’m an only child. When in reality, I’m the only son in my family, when I actually have seven sisters. So, I think I developed my semblance, just to shut them up, because I swear…

Jaune leaned forward, and gave, Cinder one more predatory smile.

Jaune: That seemed to happen at least once a week!

Cinder pondered for a moment what he meant by, ‘once a week.’ Until it dawned on her, and a terrifying thought appeared across her mind. If he knew how to deal with that, then he knew how it was cause, and if he knew how it was cause…?!

“Snap~!”

Cinder:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Then she would know what true pain felt like.

~~~

Haaa…

To think I went through all of that just for that last bit…

#rwby #jaune arc #cinder fall #emerald sustrai #mercury black #rwby roman torchwick #winter schnee #james ironwood #qrow branwen #glynda goodwitch #rwby ozpin #rwby salem #rwby amber

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sagesskies · 1 year ago

Note

Milan DAMN girl you have every mental illness in the book, but youre hot and rich tho so wanna be my sugar daddy?

Milan pauses, the cool surface of the teacup brushing against his lips. Grey eyes blank as he processes the words just spoken.

He's heard of the concept, sugar daddies and their... babies. He knows many of his father's friends, the ones who are single and the ones who are still married, are sugar daddies themselves, but has never seen the appeal in it.

Love earned not through warm, affectionate words and actions, but instead, through cold, hard cash and expensive gifts was not something he found himself ever wanting for, no matter how desperate he became for a boyfriend.

It wouldn't be real. Each honeyed word spoken would be a lie that he'd be wasting his money listening to, and each gentle caress would be frigid and forced. Milan was tired of the cold masks that his business partners put on to appease him. To receive the same treatment from a romantic partner? Somebody he was meant to love? To hold? To trust wholeheartedly? No, thank you.

But... he glances at [Name], working within the bakery, singing along to whatever cheesy love song is playing from the speakers, and as radiant as ever.

Milan remembers the file being handed over to him, the papers detailing [Name]'s financial records, anything from his income to what credit cards he had, all in three pages. What caught his eye was the college debt, which he still struggled to pay.

He recalls the time that he saw [Name] behind the till, hair disheveled, clothes a bit wrinkled, eyes surrounded by dark circles. He was zoning out the entire day but at the same time easily spooked and, as agitated as a deer aware that it was being hunted. He could infer what was bothering him, [Name] were struggling to pay rent, his job at the bakery wasn't paying enough but it was the only job he could get, and there was still the debt from college.

Milan tried to get him to say it so he could readily make himself available to [Name] as an option, a savior of sorts. He wants to repay him for all the good he's done him, and it won't cost him more than a couple thousand to pay off his debt. But [Name] was stubborn and kept changing the subject, so he took the hint and played along.

He wouldn't mind being [Name]'s sugar daddy, Milan is sure that the younger man would be too nice to actually fake it. Besides, he likes Milan enough, doesn't he? Anything that [Name] would show will be real, to the point that it'll feel like just two friends hanging out with money as the bonus. Regardless of how much he wishes that the two of them could be more.

Maybe, just maybe, if Milan pays him enough, [Name] would be willing to do just a bit more for him. A bit of skin, a sultry gaze, a mischievous smirk. A warm hand running along Milan's throat, teasingly caressing his adam's apple before wrapping tightly around it and-

Milan clears his throat, hoping that you don't see how the tip of his ears turn red. He takes a sip of his tea, "I... appreciate the sentiment, but I must decline," He glances back at [Name], a dark storm brewing in his grey eyes. There was somebody else he wanted.

Maybe money can't buy him your love, but desperation may just force you right into his grasp.

#yandere oc #yandere male #x reader #yandere male x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #male reader #yandere #Milan Balter #yandere imagines

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arivsxq · 20 days ago

Text

Meddle about chapter 4

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Theme: strangers to lovers, angsty shit

Warnings: smut, hookup, fwb, mdni, maybe slow updates

Word count: 5,9k

Songs: Meddle about-Chase Atlantic

Heartbeat-Childish Gambino

A/N: Sorry if it's bad this was the first time I wrote smut that is a bit more detailed. (ps:don’t drive when you’re drunk. Please stay safe)

A few days had passed since the dinner at the Kim estate, but the tension in my house lingered like an unwelcome guest. My mother was still giving me the silent treatment, except for the occasional passive-aggressive remark about my "priorities" and my father had decided that ignoring my existence entirely was the best approach.

Fine by me.

I had bigger things to deal with, like an upcoming art critique that I wasn't remotely prepared for. My latest piece, an abstract reflection of my mental state was currently spread across my tiny campus studio, half-finished. The paint was drying in uneven strokes, and I was pretty sure my professor would tear it apart, but honestly? I had other distractions.

Like the fact that Jungkook had actually followed through with his ridiculous idea of crashing the gala.

"I'm serious, Y/N. I have a suit and everything," Jungkook said over the phone, his voice laced with amusement.

I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Jungkook, do you even know what kind of event this is? You can't just walk in wearing—"

"A full tux? With a designer label?" he cut in, smug. "Because, surprise, I own one."

I blinked. "You own a tux?"

"Damn right I do. And I clean up nice."

I exhaled sharply, trying to fight the smile threatening to form. "I can't believe you're actually doing this."

"You challenged me," he said simply. "Now I have to."

I flopped back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. "You're going to cause chaos."

"That's the plan, princess."

I should have said no. Should have told him it was a bad idea. But deep down, the thought of him being there, of having someone in my corner while I navigated another exhausting evening, was more comforting than I wanted to admit.

The night of the gala arrived quicker than I would have liked. My mother had chosen a floor-length, sapphire-blue gown for me, the kind that was meant to exude elegance and wealth. I let her dress me up, let her fix my hair into soft waves, let her apply the perfect shade of lipstick—because it was easier than arguing. Easier than explaining that no matter how polished I looked, I would never quite fit into their world the way they wanted me to. Don't get me wrong, I loved dressing up and being privileged but I also loved to be free and not do what others wanted me to.

We arrived at the venue, a grand ballroom with chandeliers that probably cost more than my tuition, and I immediately felt the weight of expectation settle onto my shoulders. My parents drifted into their usual circles, my mother playing the graceful hostess while my father discussed investments. I was left to smile and nod through conversations I had no interest in, sipping on champagne I didn't even like.

And then, twenty minutes in, I spotted him.

Jungkook.

He stood near the entrance, looking completely at ease despite the opulence surrounding him. He had, in fact, worn a tux. A perfectly tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt, no tie but a few buttons open, reminding me of our shared night together a few months ago. His dark hair was styled, and the moment his gaze met mine, he smirked.

I nearly choked on my drink.

He made his way toward me, weaving through the crowd with an ease that should not have been possible for someone who absolutely did not belong here.

"Nice party," he said when he reached me, eyes glinting with mischief.

I stared at him, dumbfounded. "How the hell did you get in?"

"Please," he scoffed. "A well-placed name drop and a little confidence? They practically rolled out the red carpet."

I groaned. "Jungkook."

"What?" he grinned. "I told you I'd crash it."

I looked around, suddenly paranoid. "If my mother sees you, she'll—"

"Love me?" he suggested.

"Absolutely not."

"Too late. She's already looking."

I turned sharply, spotting my mother on the other side of the room, deep in conversation, until she wasn't. Until she saw Jungkook standing beside me, and her expression flickered between curiosity and suspicion.

"Fantastic," I muttered. "You're going to get me disowned."

Jungkook chuckled, offering me his arm. "Then let's make it worth it."

I stared at him, my heart doing something weird and inconvenient in my chest. Against my better judgment, I looped my arm through his and let him lead me further into the ballroom, straight into the lion's den.

The next hour was a delicate dance of strategic avoidance. I introduced Jungkook to people who had no idea he wasn't supposed to be there, and he charmed his way through every interaction effortlessly. Even Namjoon, who had spotted us early on, only raised a knowing eyebrow before shaking his head in amusement.

"You really did it," he murmured as we stood near the dessert table.

Jungkook shrugged. "Told you I would."

Namjoon shook his head, glancing at me. "And you let him."

I sighed. "It was either this or suffer alone."

Jungkook nudged me. "See? I'm a service to humanity."

Before I could retort, a voice interrupted us.

"Y/N."

I stiffened, turning slowly to find my mother standing behind us, her expression unreadable. My father was a few feet away, deep in conversation, oblivious.

"Mother," I greeted carefully.

Her gaze flicked to Jungkook, assessing. "And you must be...?"

"Park Jimin," he said smoothly, extending a hand. "A friend of Y/N's."

My mother hesitated a fraction too long before shaking it, her politeness masking whatever internal disapproval she was undoubtedly feeling. "I don't believe we've met before."

"No," he agreed easily. "But I figured it was time to crash one of these things."

I nearly smacked him.

My mother, to her credit, barely reacted. She merely glanced at me, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Y/N, a word?"

I sighed, shooting Jungkook a look before following her to a quieter corner of the room.

She wasted no time. "What are you doing?"

I folded my arms. "Existing"

"Y/N."

I exhaled sharply. "He's my friend. He wanted to come. That's all."

She studied me for a long moment. "What does his family do?"

What was that kind of a question? Did it even matter? I wanted to argue but instead, I lifted my chin. "If you want to know if he's poor, no he's not"

Something in her expression shifted, something tired, something resigned. "Your father won't like this."

I knew that. But again, I didn't care.

I glanced back at Jungkook, who was currently stuffing a macaron into his mouth like he had all the right in the world to be here, and smiled.

"I'll survive."

"Make sure your father doesn't see him and if he does, make sure your friend doesn't behave like...this..." she gives a disgusted look before she turns around and goes to other guest and potential investors.

I go to Jungkook and give him a slap on his biceps. With a "ough" his whole attention is on me again making me speak up.

"Park Jimin? Really?" I hiss

"He was on the guest list" Jungkook protests.

"How the fuck did you get access to the guest list?"

"I did not. Just overheard Jimin a few days ago saying that he and his family are invited" he tries to defend himself but I slap his biceps again.

"As soon as the Park family arrives the security will notice that you're here without a fucking invitation." Jungkook rubs his arm where I smacked him, looking both amused and slightly wary. "Okay, okay, point taken. But come on, you have to admit, this is kind of fun."

I glare at him. "Oh yes, absolutely thrilling. Sneaking in my very not-invited friend, dodging my disapproving parents, and waiting for security to haul you out by your overpriced tux. Just another Saturday night."

He grins, completely unfazed. "You wound me, princess. I put in a lot of effort for this. Even used actual hair product."

"You used hair product?" I pretend to gasp. "I'm honored."

Jungkook chuckles but then glances toward the entrance, where more guests are filtering in. My stomach twists as I spot Jimin himself stepping inside, his parents beside him. The real Park Jimin. The one whose identity Jungkook just stole.

"Shit," I mutter. "We need to get you out of here before someone figures out you're an imposter."

"Relax," Jungkook says, but even he straightens a little as he follows my gaze. "Okay, maybe we should relocate."

I grab his wrist, yanking him toward the far side of the ballroom. He lets me, laughing under his breath as we weave between guests, dodging my mother's gaze and my father's ever-present business cronies. My grip on him tightens when I see Namjoon watching us, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

"I don't even want to hear it," I snap as we pass him.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Namjoon says, sipping his champagne. "But this is the most entertained I've been at one of these things in years."

We finally reach the terrace, stepping into the cool night air. The sound of the party fades slightly, replaced by the gentle hum of the city below. I release Jungkook, exhaling in frustration.

"This is why I shouldn't let you talk me into things," I say, rubbing my temples.

Jungkook leans against the railing, hands in his pockets. "Admit it. You're glad I'm here."

I cross my arms. "Glad? No. Mildly appreciative that I'm not alone in this hellscape? Maybe."

His smirk softens into something gentler. "That's good enough for me."

I don't know what to say to that, so I look away, staring out over the city. The lights blur slightly, and I realize how exhausted I am. How exhausting all of this is. The constant push and pull between my parents' expectations and what I actually want.

"I don't want this life," I murmur. "Not like this."

Jungkook doesn't respond right away. When he does, his voice is softer than usual. "Then don't take it."

I let out a bitter laugh. "You make it sound so simple."

"Because it is." He turns to face me fully. "I get it, Y/N. It's not easy standing up to them. But at the end of the day, it's your life. Not theirs."

His words settle deep in my chest, in the place where all my doubts and fears sit. It's easy to say, but actually doing it? That's an entirely different thing.

Before I can respond, the terrace doors open, and I freeze.

Jimin.

The real Jimin.

He steps outside, his gaze landing on us instantly. His brow furrows slightly as his eyes flick between me and Jungkook, who has casually turned his back to him, pretending to admire the skyline.

"Y/N?" Jimin says, his voice edged with confusion. "I thought I saw you earlier, but I didn't realize you were out here."

I force a smile. "Hey...enjoying the gala?"

"As much as one can enjoy these things," he says dryly. His gaze slides past me to Jungkook, lingering. "And you are...?"

Jungkook turns around, the picture of casual confidence. "Park Jimin."

I nearly choke on air.

Jimin stares at him for a long, stunned moment. Then he laughs. Hard.

"Oh my God," Jimin wheezes. "You're the idiot who stole my name?"

Jungkook shrugs. "Seemed like a solid plan at the time."

Jimin shakes his head, still laughing. "This is the best thing to happen at one of these events in years. Try to not get caught by the security...or by my parents. They are really angry"

"I'm so sorry about that I didn't know he was going to say that he's you" I say quickly.

Jimin grins, clearly enjoying this. "Relax, I'm not a snitch." He eyes Jungkook. "So, who are you really?"

"Jeon Jungkook," Jungkook says, offering his hand.

Jimin shakes his hand, still smirking. "I know you. One of Namjoon's friends, right?"

"Yup" Jungkook agrees.

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "Can we not bond over this?"

Jimin just laughs again, shaking his head. "Y/N, if you ever get tired of your family's expectations, I think you've found your rebellion."

I glance at Jungkook, who winks at me. The only thing he gets is an eye roll before I look at the guy whose identity was stolen.

"Jimin believe me when I say I'm already tired of them. If it wasn't for the money I would have already cut all ties with them"

Jimin hums in understanding, leaning against the railing beside me. "Well, at least you're self-aware about it. Most people in our position just accept it and pretend they're happy."

"Exactly!" Jungkook chimes in, pointing at Jimin. "See, Y/N? Even Jimin gets it."

I let out a heavy sigh, watching the city lights flicker below us. "It's not that simple, though. Even if I wanted to leave, where would I go? What would I do? I might hate this life, but it's still the only one I know."

Jimin shrugs. "Then figure out what you want before it's too late. You'd be surprised how quickly this world traps you."

The weight of his words settles over me, heavy and suffocating. Because he's right. I've seen it happen, young heirs and heiresses who once had dreams of their own, now reduced to nothing more than extensions of their families' legacies. Empty smiles, hollow ambitions. I don't want that to be me.

Jungkook nudges my side, drawing me out of my thoughts. "Come on, enough existential crisis for one night. We should probably relocate before security gets wind of my very real, very illegal presence."

Jimin snorts. "He's got a point. My parents are not the forgiving type, and they're already in a bad mood."

I exhale sharply, nodding. "Fine. But let's at least make our escape subtle. I don't need my mother adding 'scandalous embarrassment' to my ever-growing list of disappointments."

Jimin smirks. "Subtlety, huh? You might want to rethink your choice in accomplices."

Jungkook places a hand on his chest in mock offense. "Hey, I'll have you know I'm the very definition of subtle."

Jimin and I exchange a look before turning back to Jungkook with identical deadpanned expressions.

"Okay, fine," Jungkook concedes, raising his hands. "Subtle isn't exactly my thing, but I'll do my best."

With that, we make our way back inside, slipping through the ballroom with careful precision. My heart hammers in my chest as I scan the crowd for any sign of my parents. My mother is deep in conversation with a group of women, her expression carefully schooled into polite indifference. My father is nowhere to be seen, which is both a blessing and a curse. It means he's either occupied or searching for me.

***

Jungkook pulls out of the gala's driveway, the engine purring as we speed down the darkened streets. The city lights flicker past us in streaks of neon and gold, but my mind is still stuck back in that ballroom, in my mother's sharp gaze and my father's inevitable disappointment.

"My parents are going to kill me," I groan, sinking into the passenger seat and covering my face with my hands. "Like, full-on funeral arrangements. Closed casket."

Jungkook chuckles, keeping his eyes on the road. "Nah, they'll just lecture you for hours about family honor or whatever rich people care about."

"That's exactly why I'm considering faking my own death." I peek at him between my fingers. "Know any good ways to disappear?"

He hums, pretending to think. "We could fake a scandal, make them want to disown you instead. I'd be happy to assist."

I scoff. "As if my mother didn't already look at you like you were the human embodiment of poor decision-making."

He grins. "She's not entirely wrong."

The tension in my chest loosens, just a little. Jungkook has a way of doing that, turning even the worst situations into something ridiculous enough to laugh about. I let out a breath and lean my head back against the seat, watching the city stretch out before us.

"Where are we even going?" I ask after a few moments.

He glances at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Where do you wanna go?"

I think about it. I could go home and face the inevitable fallout. Or, I could do something incredibly irresponsible and disappear for the night.

I turn to him, a slow smile forming. "Take me somewhere fun."

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, then nods. "Alright, princess. Hold on."

He presses down on the gas, and the car surges forward, the city blurring past us. I don't ask where we're going. I don't care. All I know is that, for the first time in a long time, I feel something close to free.

We end up at a dimly lit bar tucked into a side street, the kind of place my parents wouldn't even acknowledge if they passed it. It's crowded but not overwhelming, filled with the low hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter, and the rich scent of alcohol.

Jungkook weaves through the crowd effortlessly, like he belongs anywhere he decides to be. I follow close behind, my pulse still thrumming from the night's chaos. When we settle into a booth in the back, he leans forward on his elbows, smirking.

"One night of rebellion, coming right up," he says. "What's your poison?"

I pretend to consider the menu before sighing. "Something strong. I need to drown out my mother's disappointed voice playing on repeat in my head."

He grins. "Whiskey it is."

I wrinkle my nose. "Absolutely not."

"Come on," he teases, waving the waitress over. "Whiskey's a rite of passage."

I groan but don't fight him when he orders two glasses. The drinks arrive, and I eye mine suspiciously before taking a cautious sip. The burn is immediate, curling down my throat and settling hot in my stomach.

Jungkook laughs at my grimace. "See? Not so bad."

"It's like drinking fire," I choke out.

"Exactly." He clinks his glass against mine. "Welcome to bad decisions."

I exhale, already feeling the first traces of warmth buzzing under my skin. "So, what now?"

"Now," he says, leaning back, "you tell me something you've never told anyone."

I raise an eyebrow. "What is this? Drunk therapy?"

"Think of it as a game," he says, swirling his whiskey. "You share something, I share something."

I hesitate, then, without letting myself overthink, I say, "I smoke weed sometimes."

Jungkook's eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn't look surprised. Just amused. "You? Miss Chanel?"

I scoff. "Trust me, my coping mechanisms aren't nearly as classy as my wardrobe suggests."

He chuckles. "Fair enough."

There's a pause before he exhales and says, "Sometimes, I think about the first night we met."

The words land between us like a dropped match, small, but capable of starting something bigger.

I blink. "What?"

He tilts his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before continuing. "I mean, not in a weird way. It just crosses my mind sometimes. How random it was."

I don't respond. Not because I don't have anything to say, but because I have too much to say.

The memory of that night is a dangerous thing. The heat, the recklessness, the way he looked at me like I was something worth ruining a perfectly good evening for. I haven't let myself think about it too much. Not really.

Jungkook watches me for a second, then shakes his head. "Forget it. I'm drunk."

I force a laugh. "We're barely drunk yet."

"Then we should fix that." He waves the waitress over again, ordering another round.

I don't stop him.

Three drinks later, the bar is hazy, and the edges of the world are softer. I'm comfortably slumped in the booth, my legs curled up beside me, and Jungkook is sitting in the most relaxed sprawl I've ever seen, one arm draped along the back of the seat, the other nursing his glass.

I giggle at something, probably nothing. He's been making me laugh all night, but I can't even remember what started it.

"You're drunk," Jungkook accuses, pointing at me lazily.

I point right back. "You're drunk."

He grins. "Damn right, I am."

We sit in that happy, drunken silence for a second before he suddenly leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze is different now. Heavier.

"You ever think about it?" he asks.

I blink at him, my brain slightly slow on the uptake. "Think about what?"

"The night we met."

My stomach flips.

It's the second time he's mentioned it, and this time, I can't pretend not to understand what he means.

Jungkook watches me closely, his expression unreadable. I should laugh it off, make a joke, steer us back into safe, familiar waters. But the alcohol has loosened something in me.

"Yeah," I admit, my voice quieter than before.

His lips part slightly, as if he wasn't expecting me to say it. As if he was bracing for the deflection that never came.

He leans back against the seat, exhaling through his nose. "Huh."

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing." He looks away, but there's something about the way his fingers tighten slightly around his glass.

I shift in my seat, my pulse hammering in my throat. "It's not a big deal, Jungkook."

He lets out a dry laugh. "Sure."

We both know it's a lie.

The air between us changes, thickens. I can feel the weight of his gaze, the way it drags over me like a touch. The bar is still loud around us—laughter, conversation, music, but in our little booth, it's like everything has narrowed down to this. Just us.

Jungkook exhales, running a hand through his hair. "We should probably—"

"Yeah," I interrupt, not even knowing what he was going to say.

Neither of us move.

I should. I should grab my bag, slide out of the booth, call a cab, anything to end whatever the hell this is before it turns into something we can't take back. But my body betrays me.

Or maybe it's my heart.

"Y/N." His voice is lower now, quieter.

I swallow hard. "What?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "Nothing."

Liar.

He doesn't have to say it. I can see it all over him.

And maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the late hour, maybe it's the weight of expectations I've been trying to outrun all night, but I don't think. I just act.

I reach across the table, fingers brushing over his knuckles. It's barely a touch, but it's enough.

Jungkook goes still.

His eyes lift to mine, dark and searching.

And then, slowly, carefully, he turns his hand over, palm up. An invitation.

I take it.

The contact sends a jolt through me, stronger than any whiskey burn. His thumb traces the inside of my wrist, a feather-light touch that makes my breath hitch.

For a long moment, we just sit there, our hands tangled together on the sticky bar table, the weight of something unspoken pressing against my ribs.

"Bad idea," Jungkook murmurs.

"Yeah," I whisper.

Neither of us let go.

Jungkook's fingers tighten around mine, the rough callouses on his fingertips a stark contrast against the smooth skin of my wrist. The bar's neon lights cast shifting colors across his face, red, then blue, then gold, like the universe can't decide what kind of temptation he's supposed to be tonight.

I should pull away. I don't.

His thumb traces small, slow circles against my pulse point, a barely-there touch that makes my breath hitch. The whiskey isn't the only thing burning me from the inside out.

Jungkook leans forward just slightly, closing the space between us. The background noise of the bar, laughter, the clink of glasses, and the low hum of music, fade into nothing. All I can hear is the quiet thrum of anticipation between us, thick and unrelenting.

"I probably shouldn't be touching you like this," he murmurs, voice low, intimate.

I swallow hard. "Then why are you?"

His lips curve into a smirk, but there's something darker in his gaze, something unreadable. "Because you haven't stopped me."

He's right. I haven't. I don't want to.

The tension coils tighter, a live wire humming between us. I wonder if he feels it too, this dizzying, reckless gravity pulling us closer. I wonder if he's as lost in it as I am.

"Y/N," he says, my name a quiet warning on his tongue.

"Jungkook," I answer, daring him, inviting him.

His hand shifts, fingers skimming up my wrist, tracing the inside of my arm. The touch is light but deliberate, sending shivers up my spine. I exhale shakily, tilting my head just slightly, waiting, wanting-

A sudden crash from the bar snaps the moment in half. A glass shatters, followed by a chorus of drunken laughter. I flinch, blinking as the world rushes back in around us. The noise, the lights, the heat of too many bodies in a too-small space.

Jungkook pulls back, just an inch, but it feels like a mile.

For a beat, we just sit there, our hands still touching, but the spell is broken. The air between us is thick with something unfinished, something unspoken.

Jungkook exhales a laugh, shaking his head like he's trying to clear it. "We need another drink."

I let out a breathy laugh, trying to pretend my heart isn't still racing. "Terrible idea."

"Perfect idea," he counters, grinning as he flags down the waitress.

Another round arrives, something stronger. I take a sip, the burn grounding me, reminding me that I'm still here, still in control. Barely. Jungkook watches me over the rim of his glass, eyes hooded, unreadable. The tension hasn't gone anywhere. If anything, it's settled into something even heavier, something more dangerous.

"You keep looking at me like that," I murmur, "and I might start thinking you actually want to kiss me."

His grip on his glass tightens, knuckles turning white. "And what if I do?"

I don't answer. I don't need to. The challenge hangs in the air between us, electric and undeniable.

Jungkook leans in again, slow, deliberate, his breath warm against my skin. "Tell me to stop," he murmurs.

I should. I don't.

His fingers ghost along my jaw, tilting my chin up slightly. My pulse hammers against my throat. He's so close now, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.

My breath catches. "Jungkook..."

He pauses, waiting, giving me one last chance to pull away.

I don't take it.

Instead, I close the distance myself, my lips brushing against his, tentative, testing. He inhales sharply as if he wasn't expecting me to actually do it. But then his hand tightens against my jaw, and he kisses me back. It's not slow. It's not hesitant. It's heat, whiskey, and lust snapping all at once.

Jungkook tastes like danger, like bad decisions and things I shouldn't want but do anyway. His lips move against mine, coaxing, demanding, pulling me under. My hands wander to his chest, fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like he's the only solid thing in this entire bar. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is a mistake. A spectacular, irreversible mistake. But right now, I don't care.

Right now, I just want more.

Jungkook's hand tightens in my hair as he deepens the kiss, his lips pressing insistently against mine, like he's been waiting for this moment just as much as I have. The world around us blurs, the bar noise fading into the background, replaced by the rapid pounding of my heart.

His tongue brushes against mine, tasting like whiskey and something darker, something undeniably him. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything. His other hand slides to my waist, fingers pressing into the curve of my hip, possessive and sure. I exhale sharply, heat pooling low in my stomach.

"We should go," I murmur against his lips, though I make no effort to pull away.

Jungkook lets out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against my skin. "Yeah," he agrees, but he kisses me again anyway like he can't help himself.

When we finally break apart, my head is spinning, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol. Jungkook's eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and I know mine look the same. This is reckless, impulsive, stupid and I don't care.

He takes my hand without hesitation, fingers lacing through mine as he tugs me out of the booth. The bar is still buzzing with noise and movement, but it feels like we exist in our own space, separate from everything else. We weave through the crowd, bodies brushing against us, the heat between us only intensifying.

Outside, the air is cool against my flushed skin. Jungkook glances at me, his jaw tight, like he's barely holding himself together. "Your place or mine?"

A laugh bubbles up in my throat, breathless and sharp. "Like you even have to ask."

His grip on my hand tightens, and then we're moving. The walk to his car is a blur, and the drive is even hazier. My body is humming with anticipation, fingers tapping against my thigh, nerves, and excitement tangled together. Jungkook keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my leg, his thumb tracing slow, teasing circles against my bare skin. It's maddening.

When we pull up to his apartment, I don't wait. The second the car is in park, I'm unbuckling my seatbelt, shoving the door open. Jungkook is right behind me, his presence a solid weight on my back as we hurry up the stairs.

As soon as the door swings shut behind us, it's chaos.

Jungkook is on me before I can take another breath, his hands sliding into my hair, his lips claiming mine in a bruising, desperate kiss. I gasp against his mouth, stumbling slightly as he backs me against the wall. His body presses flush against mine, solid and warm, every inch of him screaming want.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice rough like he's barely keeping himself together. His hands roam, sliding down my waist, gripping my hips like he's trying to memorize the shape of me.

I arch against him, my own fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. The sound shoots straight through me, heat curling in my stomach.

"Bedroom," I manage to say between kisses.

Jungkook doesn't answer, just grips my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around his waist, letting him carry me down the hall. I barely register the moment we cross the threshold before we fall onto the bed, his weight pressing me into the mattress in the best possible way.

Clothes come off in a messy, frenzied blur. His shirt is the first to go. I almost rip his shirt open, making him let out a sloppy laugh because of my neediness. His lips land on mine again while he throws his shirt somewhere on the floor. A moan escapes my mouth, making him grin proudly. Our kiss stops so we can breathe for a moment before he looks at me asking for permission to take off my dress. I only give him a nod and the next thing I remember is him tossing the piece of fabric carelessly to the floor, his eyes raking over me like he wants to devour every inch.

"Jesus," he murmurs, his fingers trailing along my exposed skin, sending shivers in their wake.

I don't give him time to think, to hesitate. I pull him back down to me, kissing him hard, pouring every bit of want into it. He responds immediately, his hands sliding down my body, exploring, teasing, and driving me absolutely insane. His fingers play with the hem of my underwear while his other hand lays on my waist.

It's all heat and urgency, hands, mouths, and breathless gasps. Every touch, every kiss, is a silent admission of something we've both been pretending didn't exist. Jungkook's name slips past my lips like a prayer, and he answers with a groan, his body pressing even closer. My hands wander to his pants and I desperately try to unbuckle his belt but unfortunately fail. Jungkook stops kissing me and does the work of taking his pants off himself.

The whole room is spinning around and I don't even remember how we got into his bed but I don't care. We're both in nothing but our undergarments and again he attaks me with another kiss. I feel his bulge growing harder, my heart pounds faster and the air in the room grows heavier. His kisses wander down to my cleavage leaving a trail of marks. Thank god it is winter.

I don't even notice when he got both of us naked but after making sure I want to coninue he finally pushes into me, it's slow, deliberate. A sharp inhale, a moment of stillness, and then he moves.

"Fuck," he breathes against my neck, his grip on my hips tightening.

I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on. The rhythm is steady at first, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body, making it impossible to think, impossible to do anything but feel. Jungkook watches me through half-lidded eyes, his expression wrecked, his jaw clenched like he's trying to hold back. "You feel so fucking good," he mutters, voice rough and ragged.

I can't speak, only moan, arching into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. He starts picking up the pace, making me forget how reckless this is of us. I try to listen to his unholy words but I can't. With every thrust the pleasure builds, winding tighter and tighter until I'm right on the edge, gasping his name like it's the only word I know.

"Come for me," he says, his voice nothing but gravel and heat.

And I do.

The pleasure crashes over me in waves, stealing the breath from my lungs, leaving me shaking and spent beneath him. Jungkook follows soon after, groaning my name as he buries himself deep, his body tensing before he finally collapses against me. For a long moment, neither of us move. Our breathing is uneven, the room thick with the aftermath. Jungkook's weight is solid and grounding, his heartbeat hammering against my own.

Eventually, he shifts, rolling onto his side, pulling me with him. An arm drapes lazily over my waist, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against my skin. Silence stretches between us, but it's not uncomfortable. It's heavy with something unspoken, something neither of us are ready to name.

I exhale, closing my eyes for a moment. "I should go to the toilet" I murmur, breaking the silence.

Jungkook chuckles, low and warm. "Yeah. You should."

I stand up trying to walk but instead I almost lose balance because of the alcohol in my system.

He shakes his head. "Need help."

"nope"

I do...

But I don't say it out loud.

#jungkook #smut #bts #fwb #fanfic #kim namjoo #park jimin #jungkook fanfic

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valyrfia · 9 months ago

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I mean this the nicest way possible but have you considered the fact that you just .. hate RPF? Wich is fine, like you said it's a gray area. It's not everyone's cup of tea, actually! It's not even mine because I actually came across those trailers you said! And I instantly went "ew wtf" and I clicked not interested, and then I another showed up, and clicked not interested, and then the algorithm went ok got it, and it's been a while thankfully, that hasn't showed up. So, what I mean is, there is content in the internet that is weird, that's for sure, but there's like... Ways to avoid it? And the way that this has been a persistent subject in your blog in such a deep way makes me think that you suffer it more than anyone, wich is fine but just, don't look at it anymore? I don't know what to say honestly because, again no to be rude but youre making the MOST out of it. And it's like you're treating fandom culture like this deep dark secret when its as public as it can be and I promise you the most a person can do is feel weirded out and mute that content, and hope it doesn't show up.! But for example, I hate povs content, and that has to be the most persistent content I've seen so far on F1, full of "you're the wife/girl/sister" blah blah and I'm a lesbian, I've clicked not interested so many times I lost count and IT KEPT showing up (until i figured muting y/n, driver x reader helps) so if it keeps you more calm there are ways to avoid content you dont like!

I get where you’re going with this but also, nah. I’ve always loved RPF and will keep consuming it whenever I can. I just make a big stink out of seeing it outside of tumblr and ao3 because of algorithms and the way I was taught to interact with RPF about fifteen years ago in which….these things have to stay within their intended circles at all costs. This is back when fandom content was not cool and mainstream and unless you kept your fandom life and your actual life very separate you get bullied to hell for it. Now, I often feel like the pendulum has swung a little too far the other way and there’s such a massive influx of new people because fandom culture is trendy that fandom etiquette is starting to collapse. The treatment of RPF being one of them.

RPF differs from POV content in two ways. The first is that POV content is a little more accepted than RPF in the general consciousness, usually because it’s het but also because it’s very obvious this is a self insert fantasy which while I imagine is awkward for drivers to see, can be easily laughed off as being so obviously just a fantasy. RPF on the other hand builds off of pre-existing relationships and lore and is usually slash, which already introduces an awkward element (and you can say the men shouldn’t have toxic masculinity all you like, it’s not just them that’s the issue it’s everyone who perceives them and the content), also it’s more difficult because people DO talk about these pairings platonically. In order to not experience Lestappen on my tiktok FYP, I can’t interact with any video that mentions those two in the same breath ever because the algorithm will eventually push me ship content even if I don’t want to see it and I click not interested. This happens over and over again.

I love RPF which am just on super high alert about RPF safe spaces being breached because I know from lived experience that it doesn’t bode well. This is also just personally not the way I was taught to interact with fandom, and again I’ve seen enough shit in my time to understand why that etiquette had to be enforced.

#anon #asks #keep RPF on tumblr discourse #there’s generally a breakdown of fandom etiquette and RPF popping up everywhere is a symptom of that I could talk for hours but

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luneengene2 · 9 months ago

Text

His Little Doll

• badboy!nicholas x fem!reader

• Warnings : Big fights, knives, violence, kissing, blood, the reader is an orphan, RIIZE's Wonbin and Shotaro appears, Grammar error

He seems to hate you and only uses you as his bully doll, but because of one incident, none of that is true. You are his little doll...

Loving Nicholas is stupid. Especially when you have confessed your feelings to him. Because you were brave enough to confess your feelings to him, you immediately became one of the targets of his bullying. You often get hurtful words, unpleasant treatment from him, his fans, and his circle. Moreover, he often drags your status as just a poor, orphaned girl living in an orphanage, but dares to hope for a guy like him who is very rich. Pressing on you that you and him are like heaven and earth. Oh of course he emphasized that. He has a popular status at school, although he is a bad boy, he is intelligent, the son of a wealthy family. Of course he wants a girl who is his equal.

However, sometimes love blinds some people. Including you. Even though Nicholas always gives you unpleasant treatment, your feelings of love for him have not changed. You even still have hope that one day he can accept you and return your love even though it's only a one percent possibility.

You even believe that, behind Nicholas' sharp badboy status, he is a good kid. Because you once saw him helping a grandmother and her young grandson who lived on the streets.

/////////////

Home time has come. You can't take the bus back to the orphanage, because the head of the orphanage hasn't been able to give you money to take the bus. He said that the orphanage's expenses were running low, especially since there were no donors who had made donations.

You are lucky to be able to attend an elite school because of the scholarship route which frees up one hundred percent of your education costs up to university level. You just need to get good grades to keep your scholarship.

To take a faster path, you decide to go through a quiet tunnel under an overpass. It was the closest road to the orphanage. Although it is very tiring, because it takes about fifteen minutes. But at least it saves your energy, if you go along the main road it will take you thirty minutes on foot.

The tunnel you pass through is quite long, quiet and dark. Not many vehicles pass through here, because the area is a bit scary. But you are used to areas like this if you don't take the bus.

You stopped your steps suddenly because you heard a commotion not far from you. Precisely still in the tunnel area. You slowly walked forward to check what kind of commotion it was.

When you turned to follow the direction of the tunnel, you stared in shock to see a group of school children brawling. You were even more shocked when you saw who was involved in the brawl. Nicholas' circle together with high school kids were quite famous too. You know them because they are the 'eternal' enemies of Nicholas' circle.

Your body shakes with fear, especially when you see the guy you have a crush on hurts people mercilessly. Nicholas' fighting skills are really impressive. He is good at taekwondo and can use sharp weapons such as knives or katanas.

As you froze, one of them who had a name tag that read 'Wonbin' looked at you, noticing your presence. Wonbin is the leader of the group who is currently having a big fight with Nicholas. He saw the uniform you were wearing, exactly the same as the uniform Nicholas wore, and of course he immediately knew that you were a student from the same school as Nicholas. The stupid anger within him surged. For some reason, he immediately lusted after seeing you in front of him, as if you were his main prey.

Shotaro, one of his friends, who noticed your presence, even said a word which provoked him even more. "Wonbin, that's Nicholas' weakness! Finish that girl!" Shotaro's provocative sentence were heard by Nicholas. He immediately looked at Wonbin who was looking at you with lust, lust to finish you off. Nicholas was shocked when he saw you here.

Wonbin ran fast towards you, you who were already panicking immediately ran fast to avoid him with fear and loud screams. "Wonbin bastard, don't go near her you dog!" Nicholas shouted angrily and immediately chased Wonbin with no less explosive anger.

You ran fast with tears starting to flow, you didn't want to stop. Moreover, the one chasing you is carrying a knife which will definitely stab your body if you are caught by him. But unfortunately, you fell quite hard because you tripped over your untied shoelaces. You hit the asphalt quite hard, you can be sure that your knee will bleed, because you will feel a very painful scratch.

And right at that moment, Wonbin stood in front of you. He grinned with satisfaction as if he had found his prey. You looked at him with a scared look, dragging your body to get away from him, but it was useless. "Lucky day for my group, we found Nicholas' weak spot. It's okay, miss. We just wanted to hurt you a little to make Nicholas kneel before us," He said in a sweet tone but sounded scary. You shook your head, trying to beg him not to hurt you, but of course it fell on deaf ears.

The knife was raised and was about to be plunged into your stomach. You screamed hysterically and covered your face with both hands when the knife was aimed at your stomach.

BUGH!

Before the knife stuck in your body, Wonbin was kicked forward by someone. He fell right next to you. His knife was also thrown from his grip. Your breath catches in shock because you were pushed away from your untimely death.

"Stupid bastard, how dare you want to hurt my doll!” You looked at the person who kicked Wonbin and said those words. Nicholas. What did he just say? His doll?

Nicholas looked at Wonbin with a look full of hatred and hurt. His veins were tense, you could see his jaw was also tightened with passionate anger.

Nicholas' gaze turned towards you, who still looked shocked and afraid. He also saw that your left knee was bleeding from the fall earlier. He made you get up into a sitting position. His large hand reached for your face and gently stroked your hair. "Are you okay, Doll? Hey," He looked at you as if you were his most precious and holy pearl. You were of course shocked by this, he was being sweet to you. For the first time.

Nicholas kissed your forehead for a long time, squeezing your shoulder gently. And of course you were even more shocked by that, your body stiffened.

BUGH!

You screamed in shock when Nicholas, who was still attached to you, was suddenly kicked by Wonbin, who had now gotten up and was holding the knife in his hand again. "Giving me free drama, eh? But I'm not interested at all," Nicholas gave Wonbin a cynical look, he got up and counterattacked the guy.

You screamed several times seeing Wonbin's knife which was always almost stuck in Nicholas' body. Wonbin and Nicholas are both agile, but Wonbin couldn't give Nicholas the jab which of course made him frustrated.

But there was a time when Nicholas was weak, Wonbin managed to make him fall by giving a strong punch to the jaw area, making Nicholas vomit a little blood. Nicholas fell onto the asphalt, enduring the pain in the area where his jaw almost broke. Wonbin also kicked Nicholas in the stomach, making Nicholas lie on his back. "Ready to die, Nicholas?" Wonbin smiled with satisfaction as if he had completely won.

Wonbin raised the knife high, preparing to stab Nicholas in the stomach. You glared, maybe because of the shock and impulse you ran towards Nicholas with a hysterical scream. "NO, NOT NICHOLAS!"

You were right on time, you held firmly the blade of the knife that was about to be thrust into Nicholas. Squeeze it hard. Fresh blood began to ooze from the palm of your hand because you were holding the knife tightly as hard as you could. And it hurts. You cried, the pain in your palm was really hot, you didn't have the strength to throw it. You could only hold the knife, while Wonbin grinned. Instead, he twisted the knife hard as if he wanted to cut a hole in your palm. Making the blood flow even more profusely, your screams become more hysterical.

Due to the urge of deep anger and the pain of hearing your heartbreaking hysterical screams, Nicholas got up and kicked Wonbin hard in the sternum, Wonbin was thrown quite far because of Nicholas's great strength. The knife was thrown again, and this time with a trace of your blood.

You also fell backwards after the sharp knife slipped from your grasp. Nicholas ripped off the shirt he was wearing, he got you into a sitting position and immediately bandaged your hand to stop the bleeding from your palm. Nicholas' face turned red. Panic and anger mixed into one. You feel like your fingers are about to break off because the pain is truly unbearable. Your cries echoed in the tunnel.

"Doll it's okay, you're okay, pretty. Hey, look at me, don't keep looking at your hands," Nicholas calmed you down, you immediately looked at his face. Look directly into his eyes.

Finishing bandaging your hand, he pulled you back into his arms. He couldn't stop thanking God that you were okay.

Wonbin, who didn't give up, wanted to attack you and Nicholas again. He really has the ambition to finish off Nicholas and you. But...

"HEYYYY!" Eight men in black suits stopped Wonbin from attacking Nicholas again. They brought two jeeps. Wonbin cursed, he thought the eight people were the police. He ran towards the scene of the brawl, informing his friends that the police were there.

"Young master, are you okay?" The person Wonbin thought was a police officer turned out to be the Nicholas family's security staff who had the expertise of the authorities. Nicholas gave them a location to 'resolve' what his circle was currently experiencing.

"Take care of my friends there, I'm fine," The four of them nodded then immediately went towards the brawl which was at the bend in the tunnel.

Nicholas helped you to your feet, ordering his family's security staff to open the front door of the jeep. He sat you in the front seat (not the driver's seat) with your feet facing out. Nicholas took the first aid kit to treat your injured knee.

Four other security staff stood guard nearby, fearing that another child might carry out the attack.

While your leg was being treated, you looked deeply at Nicholas. Still can't believe what you see. He acts this gentle towards you. Treating you with care. Even though at school he acted rudely and impolitely towards you. He seems to hate you because of the difference in status stated.

"Why are you doing this?" Finally you spoke up. Ask him. Nicholas looked up at you. "Doing what?" He asked back.

"You want to help me, you even seem like you don't want me to be hurt by that guy. You kissed my forehead, hugged me, called me pretty and doll," Nicholas looked away when you answered his question.

"Nicholas, why are you silent?" You asked again, daring to take his hand gently. You have hope, that he has more feelings for you. Hopefully so.

Your hand played with his fingers which were filled with several expensive rings, he was silent. Don't refuse or remove your hand from his hand. "Nicholas, answer me," you asked him for another answer, shaking his shoulder gently.

You wanted to make a sound again, but your mouth was immediately silenced by Nicholas' sudden kiss. He kissed you quite aggressively, his security staff immediately pretended not to see anything.

You were of course surprised by the kiss, Nicholas gently pulled the nape of your neck to deepen the kiss. You squeezed the shirt he was wearing tightly to channel your passionate emotions.

When he felt you were out of breath, Nicholas broke his kiss from you. Your breath comes in gasps with swollen lips, your chest rises and falls. He pressed his forehead against yours, occasionally giving your cheek a small kiss. "You're mine," he whispered softly. "Since the first time we met, you were mine. I've loved you since I was fifteen. I pretend, pretend to hate you because I don't want you to be in danger, I have many enemies. I consider you my pretty little doll, not the object of my bullying. I love you more than anything the universe has, doll. I fell in love with you first," said softly. Stroking your jaw area.

Hearing this, you actually shed tears, your hands squeezed the shirt he was wearing tightly, letting out your overflowing emotions. "Doll, don't cry," He kissed your tears as they rolled down. "You are safe with me now, nothing will hurt you anymore, you will not lack anything anymore now, you have me. I will try to give you the love that you couldn't get from your late parents," He kissed your lips briefly, pulling you back into his warm embrace that you never got.

The man you have always loved but thought was toxic turns out to have had great feelings of love for you from the start. The man you thought always thought you were just trash turns out to think you are his pretty little doll.

In the end, God gives you the love you have always wanted...

#&team #&team imagines #&team nicholas #&team angst #&team x reader #&team fluff #&team scenarios

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rebornclinic · 5 months ago

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Proven Methods to Treat Melasma on the Face Safely

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#best treatment for melasma on face #carbon peel treatment cost in pune #Best Solutions for Melasma on the Face That Last #facial skin rejuvenation treatments in Pune #hifu treatment #dark circle treatment

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bunnygirlwhore · 2 months ago

Text

The doctor and her experiment

The following piece of smut has puppygirls, somewhat dubious consent, heat, musk, and knotting. If you are not interested in that, do not read it and have a good day.

it can also be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61384990

Dr.Iveila looked over the files for experiment GMD-... Oh fuck it these experiment designations keep changing anyways, updating based on what sort of things they’d done to them, how much it cost, how many days it would take to reproduce them quickly. The doctor looked over Sunshine’s file. The experiment hadn’t been named Sunshine when she signed up for all this, but Dr.Iveila had given her this nickname later on due to just how friendly she was. The other doctors believed the nickname to be ironic, but they all treated her far too clinically, just a bit of socializing with the sweet thing and she’d be the nicest person in the facility.... Dr.Iveila blushed as she realized she wasn’t sure the last time she got to cuddle with someone other than Sunshine. She swiped her ID card to get into the containment chamber, the damn thing was well out of date, the picture having been taken when she first was assigned to this damn facility. Her natural waves had now once again appeared in her hair, the dye had mostly faded, only hints of blue in her now otherwise black hair, and it went down to her chest instead of just to her shoulders. Her brown eyes now also had very dark circles under them, and her glasses had that damn scratch across the left lens.

Today she was just checking in and doing routine data gathering on Sunshine, it would be another month or so before the recent changes they had made would be deemed stable and Sunshine would be subjected to some other injection of who knows what. Dr.Iveila wasn’t privy to the end goal of the experiments happening in this place, sometimes she wondered if there even was any one person who knew the objective of ALL of them, there were so damn many. All she knew was information on the experiments she’d been tasked with gathering data on every now and then, mostly just what the intended effect of certain treatments were, what data they were gathering on those subjects to measure those effects, and some of the past treatments they had been given and what those had done. Sunshine was the experiment she knew the most about of course, it was rare anyone else was tasked with doing anything with her. In a way, the doctor liked to think that made Sunshine hers.

She walked into the containment room and was surprised to see Sunshine wasn’t waiting for her in her usual spot. Cautiously, she called out, “Sunshine? You there, sweet pup?” For a moment there was no response, and then Sunshine peeked her head from behind one of the rocks in the enclosure, the poor pup was panting and had a bit of a dazed look in her eyes. The doctor rushed over to tend to her and once rounding the corner the cause became apparent. Sunshine was in heat. The doctor was ashamed to admit she’d had wet dreams about Sunshine, but how could she not? She’d seen some documentation of what she’d looked like before all this, a cute enough girl and all that but.... Now she was, in a sense, on constant display. The smoothness of the white fur coat covering her body seemed to highlight her every curve, her only visible skin on the insides of her cute triangular ears and her nipples... Every now and then the doctor had been tasked with making sure Sunshine wasn’t developing breast cancer as her boobs grew, and as her second and then third set of teats came in. Each time she could swear she felt a tension between herself and Sunshine, as if maybe there was some remnant of her once human mind buried deep down that only came out to taunt the doctor for wanting so badly to grope and knead the boobs in her hands for reasons other than the purely medical. And once, after a very long day, she ended up dozing off with Sunshine in her lap and... That warmth. The comforting warmth of her presence was so intoxicating that she almost didn’t get up and go to her quarters once she had awoken. Normally, the doctor found herself unable to decide which feature she found more erotic between Sunshine’s sheath and her sharp pearly canine teeth... But right now, between Sunshine’s legs, was a proud, stiff, 9-inch red rocket.

Before the doctor could fully process what she was seeing, Sunshine was nuzzling into her crotch, clearly sniffing at the growing scent of her arousal “W-we can’t....” The doctor didn’t put much effort into pushing Sunshine away, yet still the experiment relented, even if she did so with a soft whine. The doctor noted the heat state Sunshine was in, and then went to record her normal data, how much had the experiment been eating? Drinking? Both more than normal, and the room had.... A scent to it, something about that scent was almost pheromonal, something about that rich smell caused the doctor almost to feel as though this space truly belonged to Sunshine... And since she was in Sunshine's space well... Perhaps she belonged to Sunshine too? N-no, that’s just her lusts talking, surely. She watched back the video of last night to see how Sunshine had slept and found that Sunshine had clearly struggled to sleep, if having slept at all, due this heat starting shortly before the time the poor pup settled down.... At some point in the night Sunshine gave up on the endeavor and... O-oh my... Started scent marking the room with her massive throbbing... B-breeding instrument. Why did she have such a hard time being professional around this experiment? Why in this specific way? Why couldn’t she help but wonder how much more intense the smell would be if- The doctor moaned as she felt a body press against her back. It was very rare anymore Sunshine stood on her hind legs; with the way her brain had been altered it shouldn’t feel natural to the pup. She really only did it when it was absolutely necessary. The doctor was about to speak up when Sunshine growled softly and placed her paws on the tits of the mate she’d chosen to claim. With another moan the doctor went slack in the possessive embrace of her Sunshine.

The doctor’s glasses fell off as she was hoisted into a princess carry. There was a moment of hesitation, where Sunshine was waiting to see if her mate would choose her, and the doctor was trying to muster the will to do what she knew she should do instead of what she wanted. Andrea knew that she would be kicked out of the facility for this, that she would regret it, but she couldn’t stop herself from clinging to her Sunshine and softly kissing at her neck “I need you...” That was all Sunshine needed. Soon, Andrea found herself in the small cave Sunshine considered her den, laid down on a pile of blankets that were heady with the scent of the heat addled pup. Spread legs, torn cloth, a throbbing leaking tip pressed against a tight wet hole. A final moment of hesitation. Andrea wraps her legs around Sunshine’s hips and leans in, moaning softly as what had just been burning desire melts into gentle intimacy. Sunshine can smell that her mate is a virgin, and wouldn’t dare to hurt her. Andrea’s tongue slips into Sunshine’s mouth as Sunshine’s red rocket slips into her cunt. Andrea surprises herself by letting out a small “W-wuff~” Sunshine responds “Aroo?” her hips stop. Andrea whines and looks up at her with pleading eyes. Sated, Sunshine resumes and gives her mates face an affectionate lick. Andrea moans and starts to pant, finding herself only wishing she had done this sooner. She can feel how good this is, how right this is, her mind feels numb and at ease, she feels a soft tingling sensation all over, she feels the aches leaving her bones, there’s a... Strange tingling in her ears? That’s... Probably not right? A-and why do her hands feel so funny? She’s about to protest when Sunshine slams in the last inch before the knot all at once, causing her to let out a whorish moan as her cuntlips are kissed by the true centerpiece of Sunshine’s bitchbreaker.

Andrea’s legs lock around Sunshine’s hips, fueled by a breeding instinct she wasn’t aware that she had. Sunshine’s thrusts are rapid, rough, and shallow, but despite appearances suggesting she was using her mate as a breed hole just to get herself off, she was making sure to keep a very consistent angle. An angle that allowed her to give the most pleasure to her mate that she could. An angle that was perfect for occasionally pausing and rubbing the bulb of her knot against the sensitive clit of her mate whenever her mate needed to be reminded of just how good submission felt. Needed to be reminded of the way her body seemed to know what it needed so badly. Sunshine’s tail wagged faster and faster as she watched it happen between desperate sloppy kisses. That gorgeous coat of black fur, her ears becoming cute wolf-like ears to match those of the mate that was claiming her, the hands clutching to Sunshine’s back becoming just a little more like paws. All these things made Sunshine so happy, so desperate, that she’d start thrusting harder and faster. She needed to knot her mate. To finalize her claim. To make sure that she wouldn’t be so lonely anymore. That neither of them would.

Sunshine howls in triumph as her knot forces its way into her mate, quickly inflating as her cock throbs and starts to pump rope after rope of her virile seed into the womb she had laid claim to. Her mate howls soon after, hers much less clear as her body shudders with the strength of her orgasm, it ripping through her body as her cunt milks the cock of her mate for every drop that it can. After a few minutes, the two pups are collapsed into bed and cozied up together. Each of them protectively holding their mate in their paws. Each of them feeling safe and happy in the embrace of their beloved mate.

Doctor Sivarrah carefully read over the file of subjects GMDB-787M-2Y-A and GMDB-787M-2Y-B. Or, as they had been named by the other doctors, Sunshine and Moonlinght. There was a rumor going around the facility that one of the two pups had once been an employee here, but she considered this to be a truly ridiculous rumor. She gave each of them lots of pets when she first came in, as much as the two were bonded to each other, they were still very affectionate with anyone who came by! Today all she needed to do was a few routine check-ins to see if the litter of pups that Moonlight was carrying were coming along as expected. Although, she certainly wasn’t going to pass up some snuggle time that the pups always seemed to demand, after all, time with them really was a beam of light in this dreadful facility.

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animereaderinsertwriter · 7 months ago

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Previous - Chapter 4 - Next - Masterlist - Playlist - Art - Ao3

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: princess bride!AU, pirate!izuku, reader is in an arranged marriage with someone else, angst, smut, brief mentions of alcoholism and drinking too much, izuku spends some time as a prisoner of war, specifically as a galley slave, implied SA but not to yn or Izuku

a/n: i am doing my best. it aint much, but it is my best. please enjoy this centuries-late update (:

Stain was right. Izuku would and did beat men to death with his bare hands. Some days, he even enjoyed it.

It was all a matter of getting there.

There was a red stain on the planks of the deck. It lay perfectly within the borders of a painted circle near the helm. Izuku paced, unchained, around the perimeter of that circle. This was what he did with the precious few moments of pseudo-freedom he was afforded each week; he paced the circle— his bleeding ground— and he remembered.

I swear to you, I will come back.

At first, Izuku had resisted indulging Chisaki Kai’s desire for bloodsport. The chain and the oar, he’d borne with dignity; he was no stranger to work or harsh treatment, and though his muscles ached and the whip stung, it was bearable enough if he did not think overmuch. Like a good slave, he did all that was asked of him without complaint, even eating the gruel they passed off as food without so much as a murmur— but when he was asked to endure the animal indignity of being forced to fight an innocent human being for sport, something within him rose, righteous, rebellious. The demand had been wormwood in his mouth, and his first time in the ring, Izuku had let the other man beat him bloody, preferring to let his opponent take their rage out on his flesh rather than give their spectators the satisfaction of retaliation.

There was some pride in that, his resistance. Even when one of the guardsmen stepped forward, whip in hand, pride shielded him, bearing in part the pain he felt strike after strike— but soon even that was stripped from him when he heard Ochako scream out above the jeering crowd.

“Izuku!” she’d screamed, as if the words had been ripped from her by force. “Fight back! Fight him, or they’ll kill you!”

Izuku thought of home, then.

He thought of (Y/N), wondered if she was worried for him.

He thought of death, eternal rest beyond this world of whips and chains.

He thought of breaking his promise.

I swear to you, I will come back.

Izuku— battered and bloody, but not beaten— had grabbed the whip as it lashed out to strike him, allowing it to wrap around his hand before closing his fist over it. For better or for worse, that was the moment that he decided his fate. He would come back to her, no matter the cost.

That night, he'd killed the guardsman who'd beaten him, then, unstoppable, had crushed his opponent beneath his boot heel. There had been no contest. That night, dark and bloody, had marked the first of many such nights— and tonight would be no different. Even his body seemed to know it as it trembled in anticipation. Though it was seldom indeed that Izuku remembered his fights, his body never, ever forgot. It kept the score in the aching kiss of bruised knuckles, in the taste of blood on a busted lip, in the throbbing headache from an overhead blow that never seemed to go away.

It was only a matter of getting there.

The evening’s entertainment was light work for Izuku. On the latest run ashore, the captain had procured some fodder for the bloodsport— tribal natives who spoke no language in common with anyone aboard, and whose bodies, however lean and strong, were no match for Izuku’s cursed, wretched speed and power. In an effort to create an actual challenge for him, they'd set two of the poor wretches on him at once. After a few minutes of toying with them, Izuku had slammed their heads together so hard at the temples that they'd all but cracked like eggs.

The victory wine rolled down his chin, the taste of it like vinegar and rot.

“Come,” he distantly heard Chisaki say. Without looking, he knew that the captain spoke to Todoroki Shoto. Without so much as turning his head, he could feel the horrible, hair-raising weight of the captain's hand on Todoroki’s shoulder. It was always so after the fighting. Today, Izuku could not bring himself to bear witness once more, not even for the sake of his friend. Not when he knew what he would see, and what would come later.

Selfish, a little voice cried inside his head. Selfish, selfish.

That voice cracked harder than any whip, and Izuku looked to the endless stretch of ocean, bleeding, wondering.

Wondering if the waves were easier.

Something— someone— pinched the tender skin of his inner arm. He turned to find Ochako, small and sad, but no less pretty than she'd always been, staring up at him with big, dark, reflective eyes.

“You look tired,” she said, though he did not feel it. “Come below with me.”

Ochako held out her arm, and Izuku let himself be led. A look passed between Ochako and Bakugou along the way, and his childhood friend passed his mop and bucket to a put-upon Iida— something that he'd never have gotten away with any other night of the week, but there it was— and in three long strides, was at his other side.

“Idiot,” Bakugou grumbled under his breath, alongside a thousand curses, but he linked his arm through Izuku's as though he were helping him stumble drunkenly down the stairs. Kacchan always was at his meanest when he was worried about something.

Belowdecks, in the slave quarters, the three of them waited in utter darkness. What they were waiting for, Izuku couldn't have said. It was a long time that they stayed awake, touching one another lightly as if to remind each other that they were alive. Eventually, though, those touches became fewer and fewer until Ochako’s snores and Bakugou’s soft exhalations were the only sound. Izuku envied them. He wished he could sleep.

Sometime during the night, after even Iida had been brought belowdecks and was sound asleep, the oaken door creaked and a sliver of lamplight sliced through the darkness. In that brief light— just a flicker before the door was shut against it— Izuku could see Todoroki’s face. It was bruised on one side— his good side— and tears had made shining tracks down his face. That horrible image burned behind Izuku’s eyes long after the door had been shut and Todoroki had shuffled blindly over to him, knocking his knee against Izuku's foot in a fumbling crawl.

Out of the damp, heavy silence, Todoroki spoke.

“I want you to kill me.”

His voice was raw and broken, likely from screaming. He was close, now, Izuku knew— not just from the proximity of his voice, but also from the smell of copulation.

“I can’t do it again,” he continued. “He threatened— he said—”

His voice broke. A hand fumbled blindly for Izuku, grabbed him, and squeezed him so tightly that he feared his bones would break beneath that grip.

“If you are any friend of mine— if you have any mercy— you will kill me. I know you can. I've seen you do it. Please, Izuku.”

“Shoto…”

A queasy feeling roiled within Izuku. The boat rocked hard to the left, and he thought he might be sick.

“If you knew what he does to me,” Todoroki choked out, “You would kill me. There is yet enough kindness in you for it.”

A cold hand yanked Izuku's arm until his hand was resting on Todoroki's throat. Those frigid fingers pressed against his own, contracting his grip.

“Please.”

Izuku shook his head— then promptly felt foolish, because of course Todoroki could not see that he had, not in the utter dark.

“I can't.”

Todoroki's hand trembled against his own.

“You must, Izuku. I am not above begging.”

“No, Shoto.”

Todoroki took a shuddering breath, and Izuku realized with shock that his friend had begun to cry.

“Please.” His voice was high and tremulous, like the weakened warble of a child. “I can’t bear it. I can’t. I can’t bear it another night. He hurts me, Izuku. I can't bear it.”

A pang of sorrow wracked Izuku. How many times had he thought those selfsame words? How many times had he looked at those waves, so dark and perilous, and thought of casting his lot with them rather than the wicked men who held his life and squeezed the pulp from it?

But Todoroki was leaving nothing to chance. He did not want to fight the waves, or risk recapture. He wanted to be sure of the deed. What right had Izuku to refuse him?

And yet there was a force unseen, unknown, that stopped him— a mere hint of a quiet whisper rumbled in the depths of his soul.

Not yet.

“We must live.” He squeezed Todoroki’s hand with the words. “We must. We must live, and we must escape.”

“Escape?” Todoroki hissed the word as though it were a curse. “Have you gone mad?”

The words were out of him before he realized it. Had he even thought of escape before this moment? No, he hadn’t, and yet there it was— the obvious solution. He and his friends were few, yes, but the number of galley slaves aboard the ship far outnumbered the crew. Chisaki Kai and his men were only human. They were bound to slip sometime.

“Perhaps,” Izuku admitted to the darkness. “Perhaps.”

Madness or no, though, a million plans flashed through his mind— some plausible, but most impossible, impossible. Still, they persisted, even in his dreams, and they did not leave— he would not let them leave— until the day he tasted freedom, or death one.

It was all just a matter of getting there.

***

At times, it seemed as though (Y/N) could see the whole of the realm from her chamber window.

She had never been so high up in her life, before she moved to the castle. From where she sat, pulling needle and thread through thick linen fabric, she could see miles and miles of rolling hills and their verdant valleys, stretching out like ocean waves beneath her high tower. Tall, untouched grass lay in a thick coat over the land, and like so many rebellious coat-tails flapping in the breeze, the blades of grass waved cheerfully to and fro as if in greeting.

As beautiful as the scene before her might have been, it was not this image which (Y/N) sought to capture with white linen and colorful thread. Instead of brilliant green, the color of her thread was coal-black, and the shape of her stitches were not gentle, sloping hills, but that of a young man's profile. It was not a perfect rendition of the image she held in her mind, and indeed she would say that it was not even a very good one— but there was some comfort in tracing the curve of the familiar young man's graceful, upturned nose, his rounded, ever-shaven jaw. Tiny french knots littered the space of his cheek next to slightly-curved lashes, and all that was left for her to finish was the difficult twists and turns of his wild mane of curly hair.

Tears stained the fabric, making it damp and heavy in her once-calloused hands.

He was a year and a half gone, and yet the wound of his absence felt as raw as ever it had. Izuku Midoriya, her first and only love, haunted her in the daytime and loved her still in the darkest hours of the night; there were times she could swear she could hear him sighing next to her, or feel his lips, chapped and chaste, against her cheek. She loved, loved, loved him— but he was dead, doubtless at the bottom of the ocean, his flesh turned to food for fish and his bones indistinguishable from the countless others who had died aboard the same ship.

He was dead, and it was her fault.

Now, she supposed the gods were punishing her. Trapped in this gilded cage, she felt like a nightingale brought to a temple as a sacrifice, waiting for the bitter bite of a knife against her throat.

Her curse?

(Y/N) was to be the next princess— the next queen— of all of Florin.

It had all happened so fast (Y/N) even wondered if she was present for the whole affair. Prince Humperdinck had begun a tour of the countryside shortly after Izuku’s death, purportedly holding feasts and dances with all the country folk. How the crown could afford that while at war with Gildur, (Y/N) didn’t know and didn’t care to ask, even when the prince’s party visited the neighboring village. Numbly, she’d let her friends lace her tightly into her finest dress on the night Prince Humperdinck hosted a ball; with all the presence of a woman still sleeping, she’d sat at the table closest the prince, eyes on her lap. What right had she to dance and make merry when her lover was dead? What right had any of them to celebrate?

Then, the next day, Humperdinck had approached her father with an offer, and that was that. From that moment on, (Y/N) had been stuffed into the most beautiful clothes she’d ever seen and paraded through town after town, all through the country until they reached Humperdinck’s castle. The people loved her, and there were as many whispers of her beauty as her low birth— a rarity, in Florin. She was living the life any girl of her standing would kill to have… and yet, it was a life that she would be willing to die to escape

Often, she thought of how better it would have been if Izuku had only been a lesser man. If he had only heeded her pleas for him and married her despite her father, or if he had made love to her when she asked, perhaps she could have saved herself from this fate. Maybe if she'd told the prince of her sullied virginity, or perhaps had even been carrying a farm boy's bastard, she would have been less appealing to him— but as it was, the memory of that night and Izuku's rejection of her advances was firmly fixed in her mind, reminding her always of his honor and virtue and kindness to her.

I want to do this the right way, he'd told her, squeezing her hand. I love you, (Y/N), and I won't do wrong by you just because you want it. True love, our love, cannot be stopped by time, by distance, or even by death. Have patience, darling. All things will happen in their time.

And so he'd set off in search of gold and glory, with only a sword at his hip and a cap on his head. (Y/N) should have known that she would never see him again, but she had hoped… she had hoped.

How cruel it was that he was taken and she yet remained. Often, (Y/N) thought of how much better it would have been to meet Izuku's fate and not her own— to have died rather than been the one who was left behind. In death, at least Izuku was at rest. He could feel no pain, no regret. He could not remember those last days they had together, or mourn that they were now gone.

It felt like all she ever did was remember. It was as if she had left herself in the past, her present self merely a shell.

There was a soft knock at her door.

"My lady?"

Upon hearing the small, timid voice of her chambermaid at her door, (Y/N) quickly pressed her embroidery against her torso, concealing its design. She turned to find Liliana— for that was the chambermaid's name— poking her head in with a hesitant smile, and she returned one of her own, or as close as she could manage with such sorrows resting heavily on her heart.

"What is it, Lily-dear?" she asked, welcoming the maid in with a beckoning hand.

"His Majesty wishes to see you now," said Liliana, blushing girlishly, as though the master of the castle didn't make the exact same call at least thrice daily. "He's waiting in his chambers."

(Y/N) had learned long ago how to keep the disgusted scowl off of her face, concealing her true feelings, but there were times when doing so was more challenging than others.

"Tell my dear prince that I am busy at present," she said, standing from her seat at the window. "Tell him— tell him I was just about to go riding, if he would like to join me."

Riding, (Y/N) had found, was an excellent compromise between her desire and that of her fiance. Prince Humperdinck loved to ride, loved the chase, and loved her; (Y/N) loved to ride, loved to be free to roam the grassy hills, and loved to escape him. She was the best rider within a hundred miles, the Hump (as she unaffectionately thought of him) included; she loved nothing more than to challenge the prince to a race he would not win, not on any steed or on any day. Admittedly, she took a sick sort of pleasure in defeating the Hump in just this one thing, as though her triumph over him could win back some measure of her dignity, her agency, her happiness.

Alas, such a thing could never be— not with what he'd taken from her.

"But my lady!" Liliana protested, "You aren't dressed for such!"

"Then dress me."

The command came swiftly and easily, as if from the mouth of a born princess. Sometimes, (Y/N) shocked herself with how much like true royalty she had become, how far removed she was from the woman Izuku Midoriya had fallen in love with. Sometimes, she wondered if he could still love the woman she had become.

“Of course, my lady,” Liliana curtsied, oblivious to (Y/N)’s inner conflict, and (Y/N) fought back a sigh as Liliana walked forward, cheerful and ready to follow her lady’s every command.

As strong, working hands brushed close to her body, divesting her of first her corset, then her dress, (Y/N) wondered just how far away she was from the sea. She wondered, while her legs were freed from her stockings, if she could ride away and away, urging her horse onwards until she reached the cold, rocky shores that had borne her love away from her. Most of all, though, she wondered if perchance she rode her horse into the waves how far she must go until rider and steed both drowned, the story finally ending with one last gasp full of stinging salt-water— so very like that of her tears.

Though, I must not die, (Y/N) thought idly to herself, stepping into little leather riding boots. I must live. He would not want me to die, after all— he would want me to live, and be happy.

To live and be happy— what laborious pursuits! And yet (Y/N) could do no less to honor her lover’s memory.

And so it was with a smile that she thanked Liliana for dressing her and dismissed the maid to deliver her message.

Moments later, (Y/N) would walk to the stables where she would meet the man that she would marry with that same smile, seeming to the world to be the perfect princess, a fine match in looks and in heart to Prince Humperdinck. She would meet him, greet him, and let him kiss the soft leather covering her hand, and he would never know the depth of the sorrow that she carried with her from day to day, week to week, month to month like a condemned man might be forced to carry his noose to the hanging tree. He would never know how much she hated him, despised him for who he was and what he had done to her; he would never know how she longed to be free, to live her life in misery of her own choosing rather than of his.

He would never know, never even ask— and she would never tell.

#deku #izuku midoriya #mha x reader #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #intothemovieverse #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #smut #angst #ao3

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draguta · 1 year ago

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.a court of fate and fortune | thirty-six.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: canon level violence

chapter word count: 3480

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City Under Siege

The music and rowdy laughter seemed to seep through the very stone bricks of that castle. Lucien’s heart was in his throat as he walked down the winding hallways toward the source, the labyrinth-like layout of the King of Hybern’s home making it almost impossible for him to find his way around. He’d had a swirling nausea in his stomach in the days since they had arrived in Hybern, and had done his best to keep to himself, locked away in the chambers he had been given - even the rooms here were cold and void of any comfort. There were no personal touches, nothing to suggest that this was, in fact, a home and not just a castle, only the blank walls and stone floors and cruel residents. But he couldn’t, not that night, not when the King of Hybern himself had requested his presence alongside the High Lord of Spring.

A party, the messenger had informed him, in honour of their new alliance.

But Hybern was so much like another court he had once been forced to endure living in. A court under a mountain, ruled by a ruthless self-titled High Queen, one who had stolen his eye from him. Who had nearly taken his life. Who had broken the female he loved over and over again.

Of course, Amarantha had been from here, he had to remind himself. She had grown up in Hybern, had been trained by the King himself, had been his greatest General. It made sense that their courts would be so terrifyingly similar, even if the comparison made him sick to his stomach.

The King’s throne room was packed full of people, music wafted from a small minstrel band in the corner, bodies pressed together, dancing without a care in the world. Barbaric laughter echoed from the walls, barked by males who held no respect for the social expectations of a King or High Lord’s court. As he pushed his way through the crowd, he saw those same brutes of men - large with pale skin and dark, hollow eyes - grabbing at the maids that served them, touching them in places that made him grimace. So similar to the treatment of Y/N Under the Mountain. So similar that he had to force himself forward, stop himself from turning around and making those males pay for their depravities.

Tamlin was already hovering at the side of the King’s throne, and the King himself lounged back in that throne of bones, watching the revelry with an almost neutral boredom written across his face. His eyes lit up for just a moment as Lucien approached, but he ignored the King, eyes settling on Tamlin who offered him a low nod as he took a place on the dais beside the High Lord. His eyes fell on Ianthe, flirting and batting her eyelashes at what seemed to be a Commander in Hybern’s army, close to the edge of the dais; he didn’t miss the way her eyes flickered up to the King every so often, as if waiting for him to notice her and extend to her the same invitation to stand by him as he had to Lucien and Tamlin.

But it was a loud clap that sounded through the throne room, silencing the talking and laughter and music in a second as all eyes fell to Hybern. He didn’t even bother to rise from his throne - didn’t even sit up and straighten his spine as he addressed the Fae of his court.

“Today is a day to remember!” The King called in an unmodulated tone. “Today we embark on an alliance with the Spring Court, who will help steer us to the victory that is rightfully ours!”

A sneering cheer came from the crowd, and Lucien tensed at Tamlin’s side as the King rounded on them, his grin snake-like and foul.

“A gift for you,” he crooned, extending a hand to the door to his right. It opened, and a moment later two of Hybern’s guards appeared, a female gripped between them. She thrashed and fought, but the guards were stronger than she was tenfold, pushing her to her knees before the King, who smirked in what Lucien could only assume was glee.

Lucien was thrown back to that day Y/N was taken Under the Mountain, thrust in front of Amarantha for the first time, when she had just been mortal. The day that he had lost his eye, and lost Y/N in one fell swoop.

“Perhaps you don’t know Merida,” the King snarled. “She only works in the kitchens after all.” Lucien tried not to snarl at the insinuation, his mind immediately flashing to Alis, insulted by the insinuation that she was any less because of her occupation. “Well, Merida here has been selling information to the enemy, haven’t you?”

“W-What?” The female Fae before him stuttered, glancing from the King, to Tamlin, to Lucien, and back again. She was pretty, Lucien thought, young with porcelain-like skin. “I-I never, Your Highness!”

“Don’t even try lying,” the King hissed, taking a step down the dais, closer to her. She looked so frail before him, so fragile and feeble. “My guards have told me that they caught you trying to flee, with a notebook filled with detailed outlines of our plans in your bag. How did you get that information? Did you eavesdrop?”

“N-No!” The female blanched. “I didn’t, I swear! I was going to the market to collect an order of venison for the kitchens. P-Please, Your Highness! I never did anything wrong!”

“Enough!” The King’s outburst rippled in waves of malice throughout the room. Every person there was silent, not a single word uttered, barely a breath exhaled. “You are a traitor to your people, to your Kingdom, and you will pay the price for it.”

One flick of his wrist had the female screeching - screaming in a way that made Lucien’s blood run cold. He wanted to run to her, to help her, to stop the King’s barbaric torture…but he couldn’t. Not now they’d made their alliance, not when the safety - the very life - of Y/N hung in the balance.

“P-Please!” The female screeched, her voice cracking and breaking from the pressure of whatever unholy pain was embedding itself into her body. She hunched over, her bound hands still tied behind her back, making it impossible for her to hold herself up as she crashed to the floor, writhing and thrashing on the floor in a futile attempt to fight off the pain. But it was internal, Lucien knew, and there was no fighting it, no getting rid of it. Not unless the King made the decision to stop. “Please!”

Her face turned a startling shade of red as the pressure within her grew too much. It was then that Lucien did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that he could do that wouldn’t jeopardise their alliance, or put his life at risk. He prayed.

“Cauldron save her,” he uttered under his breath, quiet enough that no one would hear him besides Tamlin. The High Lord shot him a glare from the side of his eye, but after a moment, Lucien was sure he heard the whispers of his friend mingle with his own. “Mother hold her, guide her to you. Let her pass through the gates; let her smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Let her fear no evil. Let her feel no pain. Let her enter eternity.”

And then the female drew her last breath, the veins in her forehead and neck bulging, her eyes an alarming purple, and her body fell limp to the floor.

The crowd, much to Lucien’s disgust, cheered. His lips curled up in anger, but he kept it inside. He didn’t want to end up like that female - Merida. Her name had been Merida.

The King swung back to them in a flamboyant flip, a poisonous smile on his conniving face. “And one more gift for our new allies.” He spoke with a low voice, one that didn’t carry over the raucous cheers of the crowd. And when the King uttered his next words, his eyes turning to Lucien with a harsh smile, he realised it was because these words were meant only for the two of them. “My forces are already on the way to the Night Court. That city of theirs will be dust before sunset.”

Two days passed since the meeting with the Mortal Queens - since receiving the second half of the Book of Breathings. Rhysand had disappeared to Hewn City in accompaniment of his cousin to return the Veritas Orb and ensure Keir was preparing his forces for the upcoming war almost immediately after, and had left you with little explanation of what was happening. Feyre had simply muttered something about how you, “should’ve been more present”, before Azriel had returned you to the House of Wind.

That night had been spent sitting before the fire, tea filling your cup rather than wine, as Azriel debriefed you on everything you had missed. On the trip that Rhysand and Feyre had made to the Summer Court, and Feyre’s training, how they had honed the powers that she possessed from all seven courts. He explained about Keir and Hewn City, as well as the Darkbringers, which Rhysand hoped to utilise in the war. The Illyrians in the mountains who would form an aerial force against your enemies. How Hybern reportedly had his hands on the fated Cauldron - the one that so many had thought simply legend - and planned to use it against you.

His face had been taut with concentration as he had explained - as he had gone through every detail that he thought might be salient for you to know. And the Book of Breathings, the key to destroying the Cauldron, was in Amren’s hands, the code that would decipher the spell to hinder the Cauldron useless entirely still not cracked. Yet still, you and Azriel hypothesised, theorised, about what was to come. He talked you through battle strategies that he was planning to discuss with Cassian, spoke so fervently about how exactly they intended to win the upcoming battles. Discussed with you intel that he hoped to gather to help in the plan.

“And where exactly will I be placed during these battles?” You asked one afternoon. The pair of you were sitting in the slithering sunrays that trickled along the cobblestones like liquid gold, reminiscent of the Sidra that flowed only a few streets away. When Azriel had suggested that morning that you head into the city and experience a taster of one of the tea rooms in the Palace of Salt and Bone, you’d been hard-pressed to think of any reason not to. The walk along the Sidra had been a glorious moment of peace amongst the chaos that you had grown so accustomed to, and he’d even allowed you a moment to ponder a dress in the window of a seamstress’ - one of Autumn Court gold.

He paused as he poured himself yet another cup of lemon tea - one of his favourites, he had informed you just before ordering it. His head cocked to the side in confusion, as if he thought the answer should have been plain.

“You’ll be in the camp with Feyre,” he said slowly, hazel eyes scanning your face, gauging your reaction. You blinked once, and then pursed your lips, your brows dropping to a low frown.

“I won’t be on the battlefield?” You asked. Azriel swallowed and shook his head. “I had thought…I thought there would be a place for me within Rhysand’s ranks, if I had wanted it.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Well, that’s something you would have to bring up with Rhys,” he countered, resuming the pouring of his tea, although his eyes never left you. “And I’m sure he’ll make the choice your own, but I doubt he’ll be pleased about it, and if Cassian finds out he’s more likely to make sure you stay off the battlefield, rather than on it.”

Your jaw dropped slightly in protest. “So even if Rhys agrees to let me fight, Cassian will still prevent it?” You asked, tone laced with incredulity. “I thought Rhys was the one who made the orders round here.”

“He is,” Azriel said, slightly dejected. “But Cassian is the General of Rhysand’s armies. When it comes to you, Rhysand would never order Cassian to do something he’s uncomfortable with, and having you on the battlefield - someone that we all care about - would definitely make Cassian uncomfortable.”

“Why?” You countered, your confusion palpable. Azriel shrugged, hazel eyes boring into yours as he placed down the teapot and leaned ever-so-slightly closer to you.

“Because he’d be worried about you,” he explained matter-of-factly. “We’d all be worried about you, and we can’t fight to the best of our abilities if we’re too focused keeping an eye on you and making sure you’re not getting yourself killed out there. It’s the same with Feyre, although I don’t think Feyre has any intention of fighting in battle anytime soon.”

You let out a deflated sigh. “Then what the hell have I been doing all this training for if not to fight?”

He fiddled with the signet ring on his left pinky finger, the one that housed the insignia of the Night Court, twirling it round and round just below his knuckle. “To protect yourself,” he stated, face suddenly stern. “We can’t always be there to protect you.”

You bit your lip, your mind suddenly replaying everything the Suriel had told you. ‘In order for the High King’s destiny to come to fruition, you must sacrifice your life on the battlefield in place of his. And his destiny must happen, for the sake of all Prythian.’

You had to find a way onto that battlefield, regardless of if the Illyrian males agreed with it or not. It was your destiny, the reason, you presumed, that you had found your way to Prythian in the first place. There was nothing in this life that would stop you from making that sacrifice - that decision had been made already, whether you felt that you were ready for it or not.

You opened your mouth, ready to find some way of convincing Azriel that you had to fight, that you had to stand on that battlefield, staring down the enemy, no matter what. But it was then that a shiver ran up your spine, silencing your arguments before they had even left your tongue when the wind turned harsh, and the air colder. An alteration in the city around you, a tremor shifting down the river, leaving ripples in its wake.

Your eyes snapped to Azriel, but he was already on his feet, black scaled armour overlapping across his arms and chest, blue Siphons gleaming. “Get back to the House,” was his only command before he was shooting into the air, hovering above the rooftops, scanning the perimeter, seeking out a threat that had not yet come to light.

Your feet pushed you upward out of your seat and toward the river edge, careening over the railing. Your eyes scanned that river, the point where the glistening water met the seamless horizon - there was nothing there. The sky was clear and cloudless, the streets lively and vivid as ever, the residents of Rhysand’s hidden city cheerfully going about their day as always. Azriel remained hovering above, and in the near distance you were sure you saw Cassian doing the same, swooping low over the streets.

Heart beating rapidly, you swallowed down your dry throat, and that was when you saw them. A smudge in the sky straight ahead, coming from the ocean, wings flapping sleekly, cutting through the air with ease as the smudge split into multiples, and continued directly toward the city.

People began shouting then, pointing at those things in the sky, figures that grew and grew, wider and wider, more threatening with every inch they came closer. Pushing yourself from the railing, you dragged your feet across the cobblestones toward the nearest group of onlookers.

“Get inside!” You snapped frantically at them. “Get inside now, and take as many people as you can. Spread the word. Get to safety.”

“What is it?” One female said, dark midnight blue eyes widening at your panicked demeanour. Your eyes flashed back to the oncoming threat, breathing in a calming breath through your nose.

“Nothing good.” You hiked up your skirt, turning from them, shouting over your shoulder, “Go, now!”

The restaurants and cafés of the Palace of Salt and Bone whizzed past as you ran; the patrons and customers there seemed to sense the danger, perhaps from your frantic run, or those behind you who shouted to hide. To get to safety.

Safety. That wasn’t where you were going. You wouldn’t cower and hide, not this time. You circled through the streets, warning as many people as you could, until you reached that little tea room once again. The pot of lemon tea sat cold on the outside table, the chocolate torte that Azriel had bought for you untouched. But it was neither of these that caught your eye, but rather the glint of the meat knives on the next table, abandoned by the customer who had ordered venison for their lunch and scrambled to find sanctuary before even having their first bite. Two knives, sharp enough to cause some damage if used properly, but small. They would have to do, with no signs of any swords in any of the shops nearby.

A feral shriek sounded from somewhere further to the heart of the labyrinth of city streets. The arrows - they were shooting arrows from those flying creatures above down into the streets. The sky shone in bright bursts of red and blue as Azriel and Cassian’s Siphons bounced arrows back and away from the streets. But it wasn’t enough, you knew, to shield everyone.

A wall of red encased the city border where the streets met the ocean - Cassian on the far side, near the Rainbow of Velaris, guarding his home with everything he had. But those flying creatures - reminiscent of that nightmarish creature named the Attor that you had encountered Under the Mountain - lunged for it, pushing and reaching through it, battling with their every might to reach this city. Another wall of red, pushing some of those forces back, but the majority remained even as those that peeled away from the shield rained hell upon the city outskirts, the screams of those left outside of Cassian’s shields echoing even to your own ears from so far away.

You began running, not back to the safety of the city, nor the mountain that housed the House of Wind where you would no doubt be safe. Not even in the direction of Rhysand’s townhouse that would provide some semblance of safety. Rather, your feet began running directly toward that shield, down the path that paralleled the river. Azriel’s bellow of your name could be heard above the chaos, but you ignored it. You kept running, faster and faster, breaths coming out in pants, just as a gaping hole ripped open at the centre of the shield of red and Hybern’s legions leached through.

A swarm passed through that hole, like ants bursting from their nest, and each one carried with them a soldier of Hybern, each of them wielding a weapon that promised imminent death to whomever came into contact with it. Each street turned to a blur as you hurtled past them, one by one, and caught glimpses of Hybern Soldiers dropping to the cobblestones, weapons at the ready. The thuds of their heavy boots ricocheted down the spiralling streets. I tried to ignore the blood that splattered up my legs with every step, the trickles running between each stone. Even the air smelt of death and decay.

I reached the end of the street and hurtled around the corner - there was no intention in my mind of where exactly I was going, I simply had to be there, to defend this place as Cassian and Azriel were doing. Defend these people against the anguish that the enemy had brought upon them.

It was a few moments before you realised where you had found myself; the alley that homed Rita’s. But it wasn’t that little bar where you had spent so many days wallowing in your own misery that your eyes landed on, but rather the landlord of that establishment. Rita was stood on the front step of her bar, a fire poker in her hand raised up in front of her, the pointed end jabbed in the direction of four Hybern soldiers, their eyes gleaming with greed and hunger.

One deep breath, and you lunged.

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