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whosjunglejim4322 · 4 years

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SMUT, collegecrush!au, tattooed Johnny agenda, bff Jaehyun! And brief mentions of him being drunk, all the yearning, Johnny is whipped for you but you didn't hear that from me, he's got a big dick, brief dry humping, finger fucking and pussy eating bc....I'm a whore, sensual fucking cause he thinks ur precious teehee ngl I have a crush on this Johnny

A month ago, if someone would have told you that Johnny Seo would be watching The Matrix trilogy with you while sitting on your living room floor under a blanket that he'd brought to the routine occasion - you would have thought them to be crazy. Insane, even.

And not because Johnny is unpleasant to be around, quite the contrary. Despite his popularity he's one of the most levelheaded, endearing frat boys - for lack of better term - you've ever met, and you also happen to think of him as a superhero of sorts, always there the moment you need him.

It had been a party, where the two of you met - sort of. Not shocking, in the least bit, but also not the first place you would have planned to be on a Saturday night. Jaehyun, being the stubborn and puppy dog eyed best friend that he is, insisted that you come along with him - that he'd keep you glued to his side all night long.

Of course, in proper Jaehyun fashion, three tequila shots in and a game of beer pong had him barely cognitive and passed out on some ones bathroom floor within two hours. The house was big, but filled with people and between trying to lift him up while he giggled about your hair smelling so good and sweet - you also feared anyone seeing him like this. Even if it weren't the first time.

His presence spooked you, at first, a light tap on your shoulder from somewhere behind you just as you attempted to lift your aforementioned best friend for what felt like the hundredth time that night. You nearly dropped him back on his head, if it weren't for quick hands and a sturdy grip on the drunk boys slumped shoulders.

He looked like sunshine, honey skin and dyed blonde hair with the dark roots growing out - a soft, comforting smile across the smooth planes of his face. Dark ink peaked out from where the collar of his shirt had drooped, appearing to be spilling from his shoulder. Your arms felt weaker than before, and embarrassment regarding the situation began to make your skin hot.

"I got him, don't worry," he'd assured with a gentle grin, lifting your bestfriend with an ease you almost wanted to scowl at. His height had been startling too, and not just because you were sitting on someone's bathroom floor. "did you guys drive here?"

You shook your head, a sigh of frustration leaving your lips and slumping your posture as you remembered that you both had walked here. Johnny slung Jaehyuns arm over his broad pair of shoulders, and jerked his chin towards the door, which you opened warily.

"I'll drive you home, it's no problem," his voice was soft, reassuring and you were taken aback. He obviously knew Jaehyun, and you'd never met any of his friends that were so...pleasant. "let's get him to my car first."

It wasn't nearly as painful and humiliating to push past crowds of intoxicated people with Johnny leading the way, as it would have been if it were just you. No one even batted an eye at the way he was dragging Jaehyun like a ragdoll, while the boy grumbled under his breath like a child.

People looked at him, of course. Oh, they looked at him. But not because of his human luggage, and it felt odd to see so many eyes on one person, to realize that his presence has the same effect on everyone else as it did you.

He kept looking back, making sure you were still close behind him, and it wasn't until you were outside in the open that you realized he'd been clinging on to the fabric of your jacket, making sure you didn't stray. Your heart felt like it was bursting open. Focus. You'd thought to yourself.

"That's my car over there, can you open the door for me?"

You jogged towards the sleek, onyx colored SUV that looked like a shadow against the dark bushes, and in just a split second Johnny was behind you, maneuvering Jaehyun into the backseat.

"Mmm...leather." Your best friend's giggle made you all the more grateful for the fact that you hadn't had to do this alone, his cheeks bright red and eyes crescent moons from the way he gleefully grinned. Still, you love him nonetheless.

You pulled your jacket off and prepared to drape it over his body before Johnny stopped you with a gentle hand, shaking his head. "I've got two on, let me."

His jacket probably sufficed more anyways, a heavy denim that would actually cover most of Jaehyuns body. You thanked him with a shy smile while he closed the door, and headed towards the passengers seat.

This experience had been the beginning, the car ride home that night being one full of conversations - genuine conversations, and he didn't leave once you both arrived at your apartments. Jaehyun snored in the background while the two of you talked, laughed. It was hard to look him in the eyes, to not make it so obvious - it's hard now, too.

Neo and Trinity kiss on the screen in front of you, and you wonder how Johnny sees you. Sure, he's flirty, overtly sometimes, but there's never been a definitive line to mark where the both of you really are on the friendship spectrum. If you even want to call it that.

Every time he touches your cheek or catches you staring, even when you're walking to your classes and his hand graces the small of your waist just before he waves you goodbye - you have to assume that he knows what he's doing - that the tension hasn't ever just been one sided.

His hair is a light chestnut brown now, longer than usual and flopping into his eyes from the sides. It's unfair, how he doesn't even have to try. The sharp slope of his nose, the bow of his lips, even the elegance of his neck and jaw. That awe from when you first saw him, has never left.

Not to mention that you often times forget he has so many tattoos whenever he decides to wear short sleeves, the art inky and stark against his olive skin - riveting down from his biceps like silk, cascading over his thick forearms and ending at his knuckles.

You turn your attention back to the laptop upon realizing that you've gotten caught up, heart still rattling underneath your ribcage. It makes it worse, the fact that the heat of his body is so close, that you can smell the scent of dryer sheets clinging onto the fabric of his shirt along with the natural allure of his skin.

"Why were you staring at me?" His breath is warm against the shell of your ear and you shudder, surprised by his sudden closeness and the timbre of his voice. You turn to face him with an incredulous expression, feigning innocence - but he makes it damn near impossible with the way he's looking at you - a dark eyebrow raised and a sly smile playing on his heart shaped lips.

"I was looking at your tattoos, cause - uhm, I forget they're underneath your clothes sometimes." You confess, and his knee knocks against yours underneath the blanket.

"Mmhm, so you think about what's under my clothes?" He teases, and takes pride in the way your eyes glower at him, a scoff leaving your mouth. It's hard to be annoyed when he's so vibrant, right here in front of you.

"Just the art, this one's my favorite." Eager to not have the pressure on you anymore, you reach out to grasp his wrist - not realizing how deeply of a need you've had all this time to do so, until you're tracing the flower that's decorating the top of his hand.

In hindsight, it's a bold move - but you can't go back now, not when he's staring down at you so fondly, scooting closer and placing his hand in your lap while you admire his body art.

"Yeah? Why's it your favorite?" He asks, genuinely curious. He nudges your shoulder with his when he sees the shy smile spreading across your lips, your skin hot to the touch. His comfort level has you less nervous than you were before, and the whole thing feels oddly natural, being so close together.

"I don't know, it just suits you. Your hands are so big, and the little vines looping around your knuckles really makes them look...delicate."

You don't dare look up, not when you realize his chest is rising and falling faster than it was before, just like yours is as you spread his fingers out and play with the digits, his face just inches above yours, voice warm in your ear.

"Second favorite." It's not a demand but it's not exactly a request either, and there's a safety in the energy pulsating around you both - mutual, rippling like a current through your bones.

Your eyes deliberately trail up the length of his long arm, scanning, and your fingertips press against the belly of the dragon that wraps around his bicep, sinewy tail tapering off just below his elbow. You've secretly admired this one for a long time, sneaking glances whenever you can. He turns more towards you just the slightest bit, and the closeness begins to make you feel dizzy.

"Your hands are soft."

This time, you can't not look at him, belly filled with a need to see his face, to save the memory of his features so up close in the back of your mind. However, once you do, look up at him - you almost wonder how you'll be able to handle it at all, his amber eyes boring into you as if he's trying to read your thoughts.

"So is your skin." Is what you manage to reply, willing yourself not to look at his soft, inviting mouth - afraid you'll give yourself away. You feel something stroke the side of your cheek and it takes you a second before realizing he's touching you, apparently giving yourself away isn't an issue. You feel like you're being set ablaze.

"Is it really just the tattoos, you think of?" You're not imagining things, he's definitely moving closer - you can smell the starbursts that he ate earlier still sweet on his breath, the wrappers crumpled on the coffee table next to the laptop.

It's all settling in, the realization that this hasn't been just you, fantasizing and daydreaming about someone who hasn't even realized how his natural charm has made you feel.

You're afraid to speak, so you shake your head as a response to his question, the atmosphere thickening impossibly now that he's cupping your chin between his fingers, the tips of your noses almost touching. You've placed your palm against his knee without even realizing it, steadying yourself.

"I've wanted to kiss you since the day we met," he confesses, dark eyebrows furrowed as if he's restraining himself, waiting. "is this...is this okay?" Your lower belly flutters, and you're almost afraid to move, to change anything about this moment and the way it is right now.

"Me too. I've wanted to kiss you, I mean." You breathe out, and now your lips are ghosting against each other, a moment of hesitation that feels both infinitesimal and fleeting. "It's more than okay." A heartbeat passes and he presses his mouth against yours, so pillowy soft that you gasp, surprised.

It's just a second, that he pulls away to look down at you, and your expression is so heavenly - so hazy and delicate. He kisses you again and this time your lips begin to overlap, from top to bottom, suckling and getting used to the feel of each other. He's still holding your face, but with both hands now, thumbs on your cheeks and fingers wrapping around to the nape of your neck.

You cling onto him like you've no other choice, desperate to have him underneath your fingertips, reminding you that this is really happening and that your mind isn't just creating very vivid daydreams. He pulls you closer and you grip onto his broad shoulders.

"Mm, you're so sweet," he lilts between his kisses, tone somewhere between bliss and desire. You're not expecting to be so worked up already. "even better than I imagined." His tongue slips past yours, wet and warm and it's like your body is being put on vibrate.

He senses this too, with the way you're almost in his lap, breath unsteady. His arms are around your waist before you can move any further, pulling you on top of him and locking you to his torso.

"Johnny." You strain, as the feeling within you becomes overwhelming, craving his touch, his mouth. It doesn't help that he's being so vocal, as well - the sounds sweeter, and more desperate than you'd expect from him. It has something feral igniting within you.

What shocks you the most is that he's already hard underneath you, and the thought alone is enough to have you keening further against his chest, tightening your thighs' grip around his trim waist- not to mention you can feel him snug against your ass, material of your shorts so thin it's palpable when he twitches.

So, naturally, your whine is petulant when his mouth departs from yours, his plush lips a deep blush, matching his cheeks in their hue. He's just as worked up as you if his erratic breathing and the way that he grasps onto your sides is anything to go by, and you shouldn't be as surprised as you are about it.

"You...have no idea," he pants, smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip. "how badly I've wanted you. In so many ways."

Your heart feels like it's attempting to burst through your chest in an effort to be closer to him, his sharp eyes lowly lidded but fierce in their honesty. You take this brief moment to touch his face, his soft cheeks and the smooth, taut ridge of his jaw. It all feels too real to be a dream. This must be reality.

"I'm only stopping because, well I like you," it's hard to pinpoint if the trembling of his hands is fueled from his desire or his nerves, but either way he's got your rapt attention. You doubt anyone could look away from those eyes.

"I like you a lot and...fuck, I don't want to do anything you aren't comfortable with or...sure about. Because I'm sure about you." He finishes, sincere and stoic while holding you against him. You feel like you're floating.

"I have a really big crush on you, Johnny," you kiss his mouth and he smiles against it, humming in contentment. Suddenly, your nerves are replaced by pure adrenaline. "and I like you a lot, too." When you pull back from his lips with a soft smack, his expression causes your skin to burn hot.

"So it'd be okay if I did..." he tilts your head to the side, and a flurry of goosebumps descend across your skin, his breath warm against your throat. "this?" A kiss, soft but purposeful, is placed there, and you shudder.

All you can do is nod in affirmation, heartbeat in your ears among other places. Your fingers run through the hair at the nape of his neck while his mouth begins placing warm, wet pecks against yours, and his body lurches when your thighs tighten around his torso.

It only manages to work you up further, of course, brain already high off of the fact that Johnny likes you back...in fact...he truly is as good as you've always thought, sweet and kind and nasty, groaning when you rut your hips against him.

"Baby, you're shaking." He mouths against your jaw, wondrously and laced with an undertone of hunger. His strong arms hold you tight, eyes softening when he looks down at you and realizes just how worked up you really are.

"I just want you really bad, Johnny." Your body emphasizes your point, chest pressed against the firmness of his, nipples hard behind your shirt. He can practically feel you throbbing.

It's a little fucked up, honestly.

No ones ever had him this head over heels, he feels himself melting against you, your voice sweet and syrupy, dripping with this ache just for him and he's losing it.

"Yeah?" He muses, the wide palm of his hands sliding down the curve of your back, and over the swell of your ass where it's planted so firmly atop of him - massaging you there. "Where do you want me, honey?"

The pet names have you too worked up, you really could get off of anything right now and he's tracing the back of your thighs now, swirling his soft fingertips around, leaving a wake of searing heat in their path.

"Want you everywhere, just - mmph." This kiss interrupts you, bruising in it's intensity and he cups your face softly as a silent apology despite the fact that you're letting out small coos of satisfaction, tugging at the ends of his messy hair.

For a second you feel like you're being lifted, not realizing he's just moved you both to the couch until your head is resting against the cushions, inky arms caging your body against the length of his. He groans when you palm at his stomach, touching and rubbing his sides and then the broad of his back.

All the while his free hand, the one that's not attached to the arm holding himself up, does some exploring of its own, palming your breasts through your shirt and squeezing with just enough pressure to have you arching into his touch.

Automatically, your legs wrap around his middle and your heels dig into the dimples of his back, and his hips pivot downwards to nestle right in between yours. You're both instantaneously struck by the sensation of your centers meeting, his length jerking inside of his pants, your clit throbbing in yours.

"Gonna touch you..." nimble fingertips dance over the skin of your inner thighs. "...here, is that okay?" The warmth of his hand cups your sex and now you're positive that wetness has begun to soak through your underwear, senses gone haywire from the way he's rubbing you, up and down.

"Mhm that's - yes, that's okay." You pant, desperate to feel him as well and reaching in between your bodies in an attempt to grasp at him - his height doesn't make this as easy as you thought and your pliant hands meet just his navel, the faintest of happy trails soft against the skin here.

He switches to his thumb now, instead of the heel of his palm to rub you through your shorts. He searches, for a short moment, finding what he's looking for and pressing the pad of his finger against your bud.

He kisses your whimper, shifting his hips and shuffling upwards just a smidge so that your hands can reach his hard cock. You have to maneuver your arm underneath his but it's working out fine so far, your eyes widening once you feel the twitch of his length.

"Oh." You gasp, expecting to have felt it all while you were on his lap, but missing by a longshot. He's big, bigger than anticipated and you're a bit too flustered as you follow it's bulge through his sweats. He groans your name, and you might be short circuiting.

"You're so hard...and b-big, Johnny you're really big." The incredulity of your voice only has his hunger growing, threatening to swallow him whole. In one breath your hands are pulled from him, pinned above your head with his gentle fingers barring your wrists.

"You're so fuckin' cute," he professes with an awed lilt, moving his hips in circles between yours - his shaft, heavy and thick, nudged against your lips. "wanna make you feel good...mm, wanna make you cum."

Butterflies threaten to flutter into your throat and suffocate you, his breath warm and sweet against your cheek before he's nipping at your earlobe. You feel like you're high, spinning yet completely grounded by his weight above you, against you.

"I want you Johnny, want you to fuck me." You try to turn your head, bashful of the way you're being so shameless but he's not having it, keeping his gaze on your every expression, trying not to lose his sanity when you grind yourself against him. Your voice, petulant and needy, is enough to have him at his wits end alone.

"I will baby, I will," he promises sweetly, accentuating his point by letting go of your wrists, and using one of his hands to pry your thighs open. He rolls his agile hips against you and the friction has you reaching out to grasp at his waist - trim and firm underneath your fingertips. "just gotta get you ready first."

He sits back on his haunches and you pout about the lack of content, his pleased grin a beacon as he hooks his fingers into your waistband, pulling your shorts off your hips and past your thighs - till they're at your ankles, and it feels surreal when he throws them somewhere behind the couch, too eager for his own good.

You're brought back to current reality when his big hands caress the tops of your thighs, before creeping down into the soft crease where they're shut closed in embarrassment, and pulling them apart.

He outwardly marvels and you wonder if he can see you clench, the moment overwhelmingly intimate with the way he's staring directly at the wet spot that’s soaked through the crotch of your panties. He takes only a moment to reach out and press his thumb against the dampness, balls tightening with the need to release each time you whimper or gasp.

With his cock leaking in his pants, he wastes no time, taking the flimsy piece of fabric off so fast you don't even have time to by shy about him seeing you naked and glistening in front of him. Furthermore, you don't think anyone could feel even the least but bad about themselves if he looked at them like this - slack jawed, and starved.

"Fuck...you're so beautiful," two long, inky fingers formed into the shape of a V, spread your lips open and then he's moving further away - no, scooting down onto his stomach, and suddenly his breath is a warm puff against your most sensitive parts. "so wet for me, hmm?"

You're not sure you can look away, too enraptured by the visual stimuli that's correlating with the circling of your swollen clit. You want to cry, a little bit. Scream, maybe. He's so beautiful you can't help but to reach out, running your fingers through the front of his chestnut hair and then his eyes are piercing through you like the shock of ice water.

Your body seems to register the feeling before you can process the sight by itself, back bowing off the couch, hips bucking. His hot, wet tongue licks at the hood of your clit, starting slow and picking up pace when you start to squirm. The blossoms painted across his skin decorate the arms that hold you down while his pillowy lips envelop the bud, suckling lewdly.

"O-oh, oh fu-mmm." You're already blubbering, lost and falling into the sensation of everything all at once. You've no doubt that he's had years of experience but this, you're not sure you've felt pleasure like this before.

"Feels good?" He mumbles between the flick of his tongue, hands traveling up the length of your body to grip your waist, kneading your skin. You almost laugh at the question, assuming your trembling body and the way you're involuntarily bucking against his mouth would suffice as an answer. Still, you humour him.

"Mmhm, feels- ohh, mhm feels good." Your voice is barely there, strained and whiny but he feeds off of your every utterance as if it's something he so desperately needs. The smacking between your legs becomes louder and like a magnet, you're drawn to the sight again, coil in your belly tightening impossibly.

He's a muss of hair, the dark strands tickling your thighs when his head moves from side to side. Your thighs attempt to clamp shut but then he's looking up at you again - purposeful in the way he maintains eye contact while he dives down and licks a stripe over your entrance.

You're not going to last long, and he knows this, from every twitch and squirm and whimper - he's preparing for your demise, humming in contentment while the lewd sounds of slickness continue.

He slips a finger inside of you, and then another once he realizes how soaked you are, and this proves to be the beginning of the end. You grip onto his forearms, needing to be grounded to something while he buries the digits inside of you, curling in a come hither motion.

It's all beyond what you thought pleasure could be, it's violet and red and all things euphoric behind your eyelids and the sound of his pleased groans are what finally have you giving out, melting against the couch cushions.

You're not sure if you're making any sound at all, honestly. It comes so quick, violent in it's force and you're hazy headed - tears welling in your eyes from the way he's still massaging you, licking you while your walls squeeze and contract around his fingers.

"That's it baby, mmm, let go."

The velvet voice is warm against your sensitive sex and you're still twitching as you peel your eyes open to peer down between your legs and see him there, staring up at you like you're the sun, slowing his movements while the aftershock of your orgasm seeps through you.

His knuckles are buried to the hilt inside of you and he pulls them out slowly, petal pink lips kissing your clit gently, adoringly. With your brain still foggy and embarrassment no longer present, you grab his wrist, bringing his slick soaked fingers to your mouth and wrapping your lips around them.

He moans an expletive and then he's hovering over you again, watching with a soaring heart as you suckle your juices clean from his digits, lashes fluttering when you open your eyes.

For once in his life, he's speechless. You have to pull him down to kiss you in order to breaks him from his reverie and it's now that he's realizing how excruciatingly hard he is. He doesn't remember the last time he's ever been this worked up without his dick even being touched for more than five minutes.

It's safe to say he's taken by surprise when your hand slips into his bottoms and briefs to palm him this time, and his body lurches against you while a desperate sound bellows in his throat.

"Baby." he coos, relishing in the softness of your palm, the difference in size of his own. He wants to protest when the intense bliss of it is gone, momentarily, only to feel your fingers attempting to pull his sweats down.

You're still buzzing from your orgasm but you've never been more positive about something; about someone. Your whole body feels as though it can't be satiated, not until you have all of him after having such a sweet taste.

"Please, now, want you now." You nibble on his bottom lip and he has to pull himself away or else he'll get too caught up in your mouth by itself, but he's on a mission - searching for his wallet and scrambling for it when he sees the leather square sitting on the floor.

The tips of your fingers and toes tingle with a mixture of unbearable anticipation, and nerves for what's about to come when he pulls the condom from his wallet and tears the corner of the foil.

It's just a second but it's enough to admire him silently, the twitch of his mouth, the elegance of his fingers even when they're eager and uncoordinated. A part of you feels overcome by the need to be encapsulated by his presence, for his skin to be a permanent silkiness against your lips.

He catches you in the midst of staring and it's like he's glowing from the inside out, pulling his pants down his thick thighs along with his black briefs, kicking them to the floor.

Without thinking your arms are reaching forward, gripping the small of his waist as if to still him, and he pauses at your will. He's cupping your chin with one hand while your fingertips explore underneath the hem of his shirt, and you're grateful that he's allowing you to soak this in, that he's not rushing despite the fact that both of you are like exposed lit wires.

"Here, let me take it off." His arms are reaching behind him before you can blink, biceps curling as he pulls his shirt off of his broad shoulders before discarding it with the rest of his clothing.

Your breath is audible, pupils blown wide while you examine the length of his torso and the permanent shapes that are marked there. Only patches of his honey skin peek through the array of tattoos he's got climbing his sides, over his chest, and you swear you've never seen someone so beautiful.

"Take mine off too." You barely manage to get out, and he's kissing your lips again with a soft sort of fondness, while his knuckles graze your skin and your shirt is being stripped from your body. He's back to kissing you and your naked chests meet for the first time, a fierceness gripping you by the throat when when when the shaft of his cock nudges your clit.

"You're sure about this?" He asks, gentle in the way he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, pecking your mouth between glances at your nipples where they rub against him. His touch travels to your jaw and down your neck, before he's tweaking the buds between his fingers, and your legs wrap around his middle in an effort to solidify your answer.

"Yes, I'm sure," you run your fingers through his hair. "very sure."

Lips press against your cheek and then you're presented with the sight of him again, bare in front of you, just a few inches away. It's now that you really find the courage to look at him, not expecting to be out of breath and shock stricken once you lay your eyes upon his dick.

It's pretty, as pretty as you knew it had to be; curved just slightly, the tip swollen with arousal and a shade deeper than that of his lips that you've come to have photographically memorized.

You watch with probably more fascination than most while his slim fingers roll the condom onto his length, down the shaft that protrudes with a small vein right in the middle, until it's snug and securing the fact that you and Johnny Seo are about to have sex.

As always, here there right when you need him most, aiding you in forgetting about anything that isn't crucial to right now. His arms are wrapping around your thighs and pulling you closer - your small gasp doesn't go unnoticed.

And then, there's also the way he's looking at you, again. It's like he's compacted every emotion you could feel in a moment like this, and somehow managed to reflect it's opacity back at you through the glimmer of his irises.

You jerk your hips against him and he grins at your urgency, diverting his attention to the space between your legs and holding you steady by the hips with one hand while the other goes to grip his cock.

He levels his pelvis with yours and brings the pink head down to your entrance where it leaks for him, gathering the slickness and smearing it through your folds, around your clit.

His fingers search for yours and suddenly he's interlocking them while you feel the initial stretch of his dick finally entering you, a soft expletive leaving his mouth while he pushes himself into you halfway, peering down with half lidded eyes as a silent affirmation.

Your expression must be as expressive as the soft mewls that involuntarily fall from your lips, and he bottoms out while leaning down to kiss you as he's come to realize that this action is single handedly way more addictive than it should be.

You feel so full it's impossible not whine, and within seconds he's pulling himself out of you nearly all the way - mouth hovering over yours so he can watch your features contort when he sheathes himself back in with a snap of his hips.

With the need to hold on to something becoming incessant, he allows you to throw your arms around his neck while your thighs tremble around him, his hips creating a slow but steady pace that draws lewd sounds from between your bodies with every slow drag of his thick cock.

It's strange, how you provoke such tenderness within him when you shudder and pant beneath him despite the fact that he's barely done anything yet- a juxtaposition to the feral, nagging type of ache that brews in the center of his belly to have you even more a mess.

It's not that he's fairing any better, though. Even you can see that, feel it in the way he keeps his lips on your skin, trying and failing miserably to hold back his groans while your nails create crescent moons on the broad of his back.

"You - f-fuck you feel s-so good." He stutters, and if you could find your words maybe you'd even have the confidence to tease him, but right now all you can comprehend is the feeling in which he's providing, the nudge of his tip so deep inside of you.

"Faster, can you - oh yes, yes." It's like he knows what you want before you get it out all the way, and his tongue is warm against your throat while he obliges your request, furthering your haziness.

You're quick to realize that Johnny is a generous lover. Despite the fact that he's holding himself together on the edge of his coherency, he's already atuned to each tense of your muscles, the strain of sweet sounds you coo in his ear. He uses this as a guide, working his hips skillfully, circling when he pushes himself back in.

The fact that you're sopping wet helps as well, audibly soaked and your walls are taking him in so generously he doesn't know what to do with himself. Your hands are in his hair and tug at the dark strands without thinking, drawing a sweet, serene moan from the back of his throat.

"Mm, feels good?" He asks despite knowing the answer, your countenance painted with the colors of bliss. He peers down in between your bodies and almost regrets it due to the pulse it sends through his groin - threatening to send him over the edge too soon.

But it's a sight too mesmerizing, his entire length disappearing inside of you with an easy glide, his hips colliding with the back of your thighs and your clit waiting to be played with. You're just as taken by the sight, surrounded by only him, inside of you and around you like a life force. Your hands travel over anywhere and everywhere, down to his belly where the muscles flex underneath the painted skin with every thrust.

"So good, you feel s-so good Johnny." You're becoming even more petulant but he doesn't mind, not when you're clinging onto his biceps and mewling his name. He slips his tongue into your mouth while his hands cup the back of your knees, hiking your thighs up higher around his middle.

Your skin burns where he touches, his pace increasing and now you wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors knew exactly what it is that the two of you are doing, skin against skin and coos of pleasure echoing through your small apartment. You have a hard time forming thoughts that make sense.

"M' all the way up there baby," his voice is deceivingly sweet, hips dangerous and borderline ruthless now that you two are drenched in the essence of lust and desire, driven by your need to come undone. "such a sweet pussy."

He means it, too. Maybe that's what makes this all so much more enthralling. From the clench of his taut jaw, to the way his dark eyebrows are furrowed, even the crimson of his lips from the way he's been biting down on them - Johnny is nothing but honest. It's somehow stripped you of the shyness you'd normally be harboring, compelling your mouth to speak without a filter.

"It's all yours, I'm yours."

This seems to spur him on, more than you thought because now he's all but cradling you in his arms, mouthing his words against your lips, not allowing even a centimeter of space to reside between the two of your bodies. It feels whole, complete.

"Mm, yeah sweetheart? Mine. Fuck, you're all mine."

It's a growled statement and you quiver against his solid form, warmed from the inside out like a furnace and set ablaze. You're still sensitive from his mouth but that doesn't change the orb of pressure within your belly, or the waves of pleasure that spread through your thighs and up your spine from the way your clit is rubbing against his pelvis while his cock reaches new depths.

You should've known his mouth would be filthy, and it's really ticking every box you've literally ever needed to be ticked and you're sort of embarrassed by how far gone you are already, properly mewling with your fingers gripping onto his bulged biceps where he uses them to hold himself up.

His face is a sight to behold in itself, as well - plush lips parted, cheeks hot and a shade of deep, ravishing plum. If he weren't steadily hitting that sweet spot inside of you maybe you'd actually be able to keep your eyes open long enough to admire it more - but it's obvious it won't be long until you're unraveling.

He's thankful, in a way. Because you're sighing out sweet words that profess how good he's doing, and he swears that he's never felt anything as good as this. Through and through. You're made for him, wrapped around his being, tight like cellophane and it's silly but this is all he's dreamed of for months.

"Open your eyes sweetheart," his hips stutter at the same time you involuntarily squeeze around the tip of his cock as he goes to seep back into you and you're drawn to the plead of his voice. "let me - fuck, let me be yours, please?"

His voice is honey, coating you in it's sweetness and you're teetering on the edge of your release. It beckons you soothingly, like a siren in the wake of a wave and it doesn't calm when you pull him down to your mouth by the nape of his neck, your shared groans being swallowed by the other. Your thighs are a vice around his waist, keeping him locked against you as he grinds his cock into you.

"You're mine, J-John- oh, oh please." His fingers have reached down in the limited space between your shared skin to rub your clit in circles and you know this is it - mind and body completely encircled by everything he's made of, the scent of his skin and the heat of his body and even the way he says your name.

"Want you to cum for me, please, please cum for me baby." His breath is warm against your ear, a vibration that wracks through all of your senses and your body knows it's coming before you do - instantly under the influence of his begs and pleas.

You're descending, voice nothing but a gasp and an echo of an expletive when the dam inside of you finally bursts - leaving you to tremble like a leaf beneath him while the feeling threatens to consume you inch by inch, nerve by nerve.

You've all but gone limp, bright dots of light flitting through your vision and you feel his mouth everywhere, like a soft, warm reassurance that he's not going anywhere while you spasm around him.

"Just like that, oh fuck, yeah just like that."

In this place of completeness, you bask in the rise in octave of his usually low timbred voice, in the way he's holding you so firmly in his arms, as if scared to let go and put even an inch of separation between the two of you.

You're still twitching when you feel him throb inside of you, your name a warm whisper against the side of your neck while he pumps himself into you with no real rhythm; filling the condom with spurts of his cum while your fingers gently scratch the back of his scalp, through his hair.

Your breaths are ragged and have only that in common, his weight comforting despite the fact that both of you are in such a fragile state. It all feels surreal, like maybe you’ll wake up soon even with his cock still buried inside of you, half hard. More than anything, it feels right. Apprehension nor guilt nor worry brews underneath your skin, instead overshadowed by pure elation.

Wet pecks travel across your throat like marks of gratitude and your smile is automatic, involuntary.

"I meant it, you know," he's out of breath but concise, palm cupping the side of your face as he makes his way to your mouth and kisses you there, afraid to look you in the eyes. "about...about what I want. About wanting you."

You actually do laugh this time, suddenly outrageously giddy at the words leaving his pretty mouth, mildly entertained by the fact that someone could be almost as oblivious as you are. Almost.

He looks worried for only a split second until you're kissing his face, over his nose and fuchsia cheeks, a feather against the soft autumn ground.

"I meant it too," your voice is light, airy and he swears he'd believe anything you told him, even if it weren't as absolutely resolute as it is right now; your smile against his lips like a seal of promise. He meets your gaze, and everything within him calms, settles.

"I'm yours. And you're mine."

This, he thinks to himself, is all he's wanted to hear since the day you looked up at him with all the stars in your eyes.

Completely worth Jaehyun stealing his Armani denim jacket, honestly.

734 notes · View notes

sariahsue · 4 years

Text

Of Secrets and Snowflakes

What am I doing? What am I doing? What on earth am I doing? The obvious answer—stalking a celebrity in broad daylight—didn't seem to cover the magnitude of her stupidity. Ladybug knew she shouldn't be out here, in the cold, sitting in a barren, snow-glazed tree, staring at her breath and Adrien's front door. She was sure to be caught, and the worst of it was that she couldn't even see his window from here. All of the dangers, with none of the benefits.

It had been twenty-four hours since Chat Noir's accidental identity reveal and Ladybug just wanted to 'check on' her partner. Not talk to him exactly, but just see him. Make sure he was okay. Without him seeing her. But she couldn't really do that from here, so she'd have to loop around to his window.

Not giving herself the chance to change her mind, she unhooked her yoyo and jumped. Each swing closer gave her another ten reasons to turn back. It was too soon. Neither of them were ready. She shouldn't be putting him in danger like this.

But Ladybug was suddenly on his fence, balancing dangerously between making one last leap to his window ledge and retreating. The quiet of his yard made her stop. A breeze skimmed the tops off of snow drifts. Sunlight reflected off the icicles hanging from the roof.

She really should check on him. It hadn't been right to dump him and run like she had yesterday.

She took a breath. It was probably best to leave. Neither of them would be able to act professionally now that his identity was out in the open. If they didn't put up boundaries now, they wouldn't be able to protect Paris. And if they couldn't protect Paris, then Hawk Moth would win. But boundaries could easily become walls, and then they'd drift farther and farther apart and then—

Ladybug heard the wet smack before she felt the cold of the snowball exploding across her cheek.

"HEADSHOT! WOO!" Adrien jumped out from behind a very tall, thin snowman as chunks of snow dripped off Ladybug's cheek.

"Go on, tell me how impressed you are with that throw," he said, pulling off his woolen beanie and flourishing it as he bowed in her direction. "And I'm not even in my suit right now!"

"Shh!" Ladybug hissed, snapping her head around to make sure no one was close enough to listen.

"Who's going to hear me?" Adrien asked, putting his hat back on. The bright red pom pom flopped into his face. "My father?" He waved a mittened glove (again black and red, she was sensing a theme) at the snowman. With its pointed hair and narrow frame, it looked suspiciously familiar. Adrien ducked behind the snowman, raising one of its tree branch arms in a wave.

The snowman was much more a pile of snow if anything, shaped tall and thin into a pointed tip that resembled the twirl of an ice cream cone. It was all angles, even its thin tree branch arms stood from its frigid form and perched above its long carrot nose were a pair of oddly familiar thick-rimmed glasses. Ladybug bit down on her lip to stifle her laughter as she easily recognized the ill-fashioned, candy-cane-striped ascot tied around its neck.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he spoke with an exaggerated deep voice. "'Tis I! Gabriel Snowgreste!"

"Did you steal those glasses it's wearing?" she asked, barely managing to hold back her giggles.

"They're a spare pair," Adrien said. "He won't even notice. I want to show you something." He held up a hand to her, ready to help her down, if she chose.

Ladybug chewed her lip as she hesitated. This was dangerous. The lines between them were already starting to fuzz and disappear, and if she couldn't maintain distance—no, she could. This wasn't any different than the other rare occasions she'd been to his house.

Ignoring his hand, Ladybug jumped down to land beside him. Snow crunched under her feet. "I can't stay for long," she said, looking from her hands, to the icicles hanging from his roof, and then to his lips—ahem, back to her feet. "I'm on patrol and I don't have much time to chat up random civilians."

"Aha, 'patrol.' Gotcha," Adrien said. He took a step closer, and she started to wonder if the pink on his cheeks was only from the frigid air. "Well, thank you, M'Ladybug, for stopping by to see me, someone you've never met before, when you were obviously so busy. Tell me, what's your favorite part of being a superhero? The powers? The fans? Or is it the amazing company you keep?"

She couldn't help a small giggle. Adrien, your Chat is showing. She wasn't fast enough to convincingly cover it with a cough and saw his eyes sparkle and the color on his cheeks deepen, and realized she'd made a mistake already. Professional. Distant.

Dang it.

"Since you're here, want to stay and see what I made?" He took her silence for assent and reached for her hand, leading her across the yard.

Brisk air blew at her back, creeping across the exposed skin of her neck and ears, but Ladybug's brain was overheating. Stay here? With Adrien? Forever? Her steps were halting and uneven. When he turned to see what the matter was, he dropped her wrist immediately.

"Sorry!" he said, putting up his hands. "I didn't mean—I shouldn't have grabbed—s-sorry, I mean, we can hang out if you want? I've got hot chocolate inside. We could talk about—"

Wind whistled through the empty branches above them, carrying snowflakes and another dozen reasons to say yes, that sounded wonderful. Adrien—her partner—was warm and inviting.

"O-or," he continued, looking around the yard for inspiration. "We could watch something? Or I could read something to you? Not that I think you can't read, but …" His voice stuttered and died away under her continued silence. "Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

It had only been a day, and their sync, their perfect harmony was already ruined, she could tell. How many times had Chat Noir simply looked at her and known what she was thinking? And now he was reading her all wrong.

"I really shouldn't be here," she said. "It's not safe."

"No one's going to see us," Adrien promised, a little desperately. "And we're friends, aren't we? We can hang out, right?"

"Well …" Another gust of wind, and movement caught her eye: the stick arms of Gabriel Snowgreste. Adrien had been out here all alone, ignored by everyone he cared about, and she couldn't have that. Ladybug was a woman of many plans, so from the ashes of 'pretend she had never met Adrien' another one was quickly born. It was called 'pretend everything was under control.' For his sake, and for the sake of the team, she'd set her emotions aside.

"Of course we're friends," she said, before firmly reminding herself, and nothing more. "Lead the way."

In three short skips, Adrien led her around the corner of the mansion, straight toward a mound of snow that went up to his shoulders. "Tada!"

"Oh," Ladybug said. She took in the patches of dead grass peeking out around the edges of the mound, and the shovel leaning against the side. What was it? He'd obviously worked hard, and she didn't want to say the wrong thing. "L-looks impressive?" She swallowed hard, trying to force her stutter down.

"You're admiring the wrong side, LB." He crouched and twisted out of sight. On the correct side of the small dome was a stubby tunnel opening, with a hole just wide enough to crawl through. An igloo. How had he found enough time to build an entire igloo? Shaking her head, she followed him inside.

The interior was small. Even with her height disadvantage, she wouldn't have been able to lie down without her feet sticking out the door, but that only added to the igloo's coziness factor and—she swallowed hard—sense of intimacy. Dim sunlight filtered through the thinner areas of the dome, creating a soft glow. And Adrien smiled sweetly at her as she sat down. She needed to make this quick.

"Thank you," he said, scooting closer to her.

"F-f-for?" There was no reason to stutter. There was no reason to shiver in anticipation as he lined his body up next to hers.

"Coming to see me. It's not a patrol day, so—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I miss you when I don't get to see you."

It was an odd time to realize that igloos had no windows. No one could see them, no one would witness whatever happened next. And she really needed some air, because Adrien was right there, his face illuminating the small space. How many times had Chat Noir—Adrien—told her that he loved her? The heat on her face was going to melt the igloo he worked so hard on.

"Glad I could make you beel fetter—I mean f-feel better!" Ladybug scrambled for the tunnel entrance and for safety. The biting chill brought her clarity. She'd thought she needed more time to adjust to her two favorite boys being one person, but that wasn't the real reason she was running away. She couldn't be trusted around him. Distance and control and careful plans were no match for Adrien Agreste.

"I bet you'd make a good snow angel." Adrien lay in the igloo's entrance, face in his hands and staring at her, freezing her on the spot. "Because you're so angelic."

Ladybug kind of, sort of, maybe, gaped at him for several seconds before hitching her heart back into place and closing her mouth.

"Sorry, was that too much?" he asked.

She managed to squeak out a small, "No!" before she dropped to her knees and kissed his forehead, letting her mouth rest against his skin just a fraction of a second longer than she thought she should. "Maybe next time, Chaton."

And then she bolted.

Ignoring the voice that said to stay, to see where this path led, Ladybug finally achieved her distance. She didn't turn around until her feet landed on the hard sidewalk, and they were separated by the mansion's iron fence. Adrien was still visible through the bars, crouching behind the igloo to watch what she should do, expression obscured by his creation.

Even when she was trying to protect him, she hurt him.

He wasn't just Chat Noir anymore. And not just Adrien. He was her … he was so many things to her that she wasn't even sure what to call him. He was her partner. Her best friend. The person she always wanted to run to …

And was now running away from to protect.

***

That night, darkness fell on an uncertain Ladybug. Shadows stretched beneath her dangling feet as it started to snow lightly. Marinette had known all day that she needed to apologize, that much had been obvious. She'd even prepared a thermos of hot cocoa for a peace offering.

But now what? How could she go on without hurting or endangering Adrien further? The cleanest way to keep him and the city safe was to tell him they needed to only see each other during akuma attacks, to maintain the dynamic that had always worked so well. Would either of them be able to stand that?

The only clear answer was that running away from him had solved nothing. She sighed, scooped up the thermos, and pushed off to find him. She would think of something. She had to.

Ladybug was greeted with the dark, empty windows of Adrien's room. It was too early for him to be in bed, but too late for him to be at a photoshoot. If she knew Chat Noir, and if Chat Noir was Adrien, then she was sure he'd be out and about somewhere. As she raced to all his favorite hangout spots, doubt started to set in. This was another sign of their weakening bond. He had read her wrong before, and now she couldn't anticipate where he would go.

A few minutes later and getting desperate, she swung back toward his house, hoping that maybe he'd already gone home. In between street lamps, hundreds of string lights covered buildings and fences and trees. Icy puddles and piles of snow seemed to blur together as she pushed herself faster. She arced over the park and spotted a lone figure on a bench staring up the Ladybug and Chat Noir statue. Lights hung off her stone counterpart like necklaces and scarves. The person on the bench looked like marshmallow in a puffy white coat that was several sizes too big. But she recognized the red pom pom.

Landing silently next to him, she asked, "Hey, on the prowl?"

Adrien sat up a little straighter at the sound of her voice. "Ladybug! You're here! I mean, you don't have to stay if you don't want to." He slid to make room for her on the bench, ever hopeful.

"Do you know how long I've been looking for you?" She took the offered seat and uncapped the thermos for him.

"I'm guessing you were dying to see me and have been calling my name for hours."

"You haven't been here out for hours, have you?" she asked in alarm.

"No, no," he assured her. "I was just—never mind." He took a sip of the thermos to avoid her questioning look.

They passed thermos back and forth several times before Ladybug said, "Sorry for freaking out at you earlier. I'm here because I want to spend time with you, but …" The words caught in her throat. What should have followed was, but we can't right now. She couldn't say it. She was here because she wanted to be with him. Another sip hid her struggle, as she tried to buy herself time, so he wouldn't have to see her confusion, to delay the words that would hurt him.

The wind blew, and she shivered, though she resisted the urge to lean into him for warmth.

He noticed her shudder anyway. "Maybe this isn't the best time for this conversation," he said.

Ladybug pressed her fingers into the side of the thermos, trying to draw in its heat. "I'm fine." Her teeth chattered. "Not cold." They needed to have this conversation. She needed to get a hold of herself for his sake, though she wasn't sure if she meant her shivers or her emotions.

As lightly as another breeze, Adrien's arm snaked around her shoulder, bringing with it half of the coat. She tried to protest, but he just leaned over to grab the thermos from her and pulled her deeper into his side in the process. "Sorry, but you're freezing. Don't try to hide it," was the only apology he gave.

Now she'd done it. Given him the wrong impression. He thought she was stopping because of the weather and not because she was choking on her words. He'd misread the situation again. They were out of sync. All of her efforts to fix it had failed. What was she supposed to do now?

"You probably think we shouldn't be sitting out here like this," he said. "I get it."

Ladybug frowned. Did he really? Could he tell how badly they were messed up?

"It's been pretty crazy for me. I can't imagine what it's been like for you. You're always the one with the plan, and there's no way to plan our way out of this. It'll just take some time."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Maybe … she started to hope. Maybe he did get it.

"But I trust you, Ladybug. And I'm glad we're in it together," he said. "Right?"

"Always," she said. They couldn't turn back to where they had been. And they couldn't stop their partnership from developing. But as she laid her head on his shoulder and stared up at the sparkling lights illuminating their statues, she thought maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing after all.

For now, she had a new plan …

Trust her partner.

***

Author's note: This was written for the Miraculous Writer Zine: Once Upon a Season. Together, we raised $2,385 for the Organization of Transformative Works. The zine is no longer on sale, so all the authors have been given permission to post their works!

#ml #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ladrien #fanfiction #incorrect quotes

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fandom-space-princess · 3 years

Text

The Game of Us

Rating: T (gen, no warnings)

Chapter 4: Lucifer

“You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here? It’s over. I’d say you won, but I get the feeling we both lost, after all. Isn’t that enough? Can’t you leave me in peace?”

“Is this peace?” Michael asks quietly. “What you have here?”

Lucifer bends a leg up to curl arms around it, rests his chin on his knee. “I am very good at being alone, Michael.” Michael winces, but that curious flatness is back in Lucifer’s voice; the words, for all that they should be an accusation, hold only stale resignation. “Better than you know.”

Read below the cut, or on AO3

************************************

“Why are we here? Who are you, that you would ask this of us?”

The man—and he is a man, now, for all that his form remains indistinct at the edges—regards him critically. “You continue to plead ignorance on each of those points, but come now. We both know better.”

Michael says nothing, but his shoulders slump in resignation.

“I had hoped... well. It doesn’t matter.”

“Denial can protect you in some circumstances, spur you to action in others. It will do neither in this case, and you know that. Your Maker will not return for you, Mikha’el, not now and not ever. He was never the being you believed Him to be, but that is hardly your fault. Come to terms with it, and move forward. You have responsibilities to attend to.”

The man strides off, unwilling to slow his pace, and Michael plods after him. Each step is a challenge; the mass of disquiet and unease he carries feels more of a burden the farther he goes. He studies his feet as he walks. There is one thing he cannot deny now, at least: he is certain that he no longer looks like Chuck. Whatever image he does currently project, his benefactor has no commentary to make on the subject. His thoughts lie decidedly elsewhere.

“I am here to restore balance to reality,” he continues. “Nothing more, and nothing less. It is my sole and solemn role in this universe, and it is one I take quite seriously. Whatever your Father intended for His creation, your presence is required for that balance to hold—all four of you. Recent events have threatened irreversible catastrophe. I refuse to let this come to pass.”

He thinks of Raphael, immovable and still in their mourning. “All of us?”

The man waves his hand, dismissive. “Save your worrying for where it’s needful. The healer will come along in due time. We have—reached an accord.” He pauses. “Talking of needs, you still have one brother left to convince. Bit of a hard sell, I’m afraid you’ll find.”

His grace roils within him, but he feels the shape he wears begin to solidify. The space around him begins to brighten, bit by bit. “If I fail to convince him... what becomes of us? What will you do?”

The man fixes him with a stony look.

“What I always do. To wit: clean up the mess of those around me. Believe me, reinstating the four of you is by far my preferred option; a good deal more pleasant for all of us, all things considered. But if that option is unavailable to me, I will do what I must.”

The man smiles. He thinks the expression might be intended as gentleness. “I have the utmost faith in you. Appreciate what you are being given, First of Heaven. Take advantage of it to the fullest, while the opportunity is still available to you.” He shrugs, and motions for Michael to walk ahead without him.

“Not everyone is offered a second chance.”

************************************

The path under his feet may be constant, but around him reality ebbs and flows like the tide, hills and forest eddying away on the greater currents of night. He focuses only on the path, on keeping his feet under him; ignores the pull of psychic undertow that threatens to drag him down.

I am not like my Father, he thinks as he walks. It stings. He feels carefully around the edges of the thought, tries to grasp it again. I am not my Father’s creature. That one hurts too. I am not the son He wanted me to be.

The light surrounding Michael continues to brighten, a dim but insistent glow.

He was not the Father I thought I had .

That one hurts worst of all.

What am I, if not the son to the Father I thought I knew? What is my purpose, if I do not serve?

Without noticing, he has begun to climb. The path winds slowly up, toward the peak of a hillside overlooking the expanse of the sea. It is only when he crests the hill and comes face-to-face with a low stone wall that he realizes what this place is meant to be.

It has been millennia since he last gave thought to the Oracle of the Dead.

He runs his hands across the memory of stone, worn smooth by time in some places, pitted in others by the salt-sea air. Twenty paces along the perimeter of the wall, and a gap in the earth yawns open before him. Rough-hewn steps lead downward to a shadowed door. He thinks of the gate to the Cage, and shudders.

He has come this far. For his brothers, for himself—he can do this.

Michael descends, and the ground closes in around him.

************************************

Though he has never set foot in this place corporeally, knowledge is a map etched into his grace. An antechamber, high and vaulted, stands between himself and the temple’s ceremonial gates. Through these, human mourners and congregants would have passed to seek communion with their dead. A labyrinthine warren of lesser tunnels spreads out from this point as well. Passages to more intimate chambers in which those same seekers would have made preparation: catechesis from holy priests and cleansing by water and by more esoteric means. They would have walked their own paths to this destination, he thinks. They would have made sacrifices.

His own path will have to serve as purification enough. Inhaling deeply, he passes under the first gate. As he does so, the light surrounding him brightens.

There is no denying the source of that light, now.

Beyond the first gate, the way descends again, switchback tunnels with secrets hovering just beyond his grasp around each corner. And yet, he feels as though he’s gaining ground: for every step nearer his destination, his will is becoming more focused, achieving something like surety. He can feel it in the settling of his grace, in the resolution of the image he is now all but certain he projects.

At the second gate, he hears the distant rumble of water. The way beyond is flat, and straight. Five hundred feet on, the third gate looms.

Shadows flicker around him, though the torches set into the dusty walls have long since forgotten flame.

As he draws near the final threshold, he sees them, out of the corners of his eyes. He’d had few enough occasions to manifest them during his brief time on Earth, but now he cannot seem to do anything else.

The trailing edges of his wings, pulled tight to his shoulders, brush the walls of the tunnel. They’re glowing, what of them he is able to see, casting light in this darkest of places.

The light is like...

Michael shivers.

Like the dawn.

************************************

The final gate opens, not onto any chamber carved by the hands of man, but a natural grotto, rock worn away over the span of centuries. The river pours through a crack in the ground far above. Its name whispers in his mind, hallowed and ancient: Acheron. It spills forty feet through open air before spending its energy in a churning subterranean pool. Light from his wings refracts through the waterfall, dancing and shimmering across the walls.

Then again... not solely from his wings.

The figure seated at the foot of the waterfall stares into it, and does not look up as he approaches.

“Why are you here?” Lucifer asks. The words come out flat, oddly empty. As though it were not truly a question he cared to hear the answer for. “What could possibly bring our Father’s favorite son to the edge of the river of woe?”

Michael walks past him, circling the edge of his field of vision. He feels the moment Lucifer turns to lay eyes on him for the first time. Senses the hard edge of immediacy his focus gains.

At least he has his attention. He sighs. For all that he knows what to do with it.

He seats himself at the edge of the pool, extending one unshod foot out to dangle over the water. Studies his reflection, looking back up at him. Everything about the face he wears is sharp: high carved cheekbones and ice-chip eyes, blond curls smooth as cut diamond. He glows brightly, now, as though he has swallowed the sun; a luminescence that overflows, spilling out across skin and wings and pulsing a song of home holy bright pure home home home.

The Lightbringer’s first form had always been radiant.

His reflection is abruptly joined by its double in the water. Lucifer settles next to him, staring openly.

“You mock me.”

Michael grimaces. “I don’t. This place... if there is any mocking to be done, I’m a far worthier target than you are.” Lucifer reaches out to him, caution and curiosity warring across his face. With the tips of his fingers at Michael’s jaw, he turns his head. Examines his duplicate with narrowed eyes. After a moment, he draws back, and his gaze returns to the waterfall.

A glint of metal catches his eye, and Michael flinches. Thick golden manacles encircle Lucifer’s wrists. He can’t believe he has failed to noticed them until now. Though his brother seems undisturbed by them, Michael knows how heavy they must be.

“Is this peace?” Michael asks quietly. “What you have here?”

For several long moments, the only sound is the crash of the water.

“I was told to come to you,” he ventures finally. Lucifer’s gaze snaps to him, and Michael fights a sudden impulse to squirm under it.

“By whom?”

Michael shakes his head sadly. “Not... not Him.”

The spark in Lucifer’s eyes fades as rapidly as it had appeared. He tilts his head and squints, as though listening to a conversation just at the edge of hearing. A blink, then he scowls. “Ah. Him, then. What does he want? I’m dead. So far as he should be concerned, his job is complete. Can’t get much deader.”

“We’ve been tasked to return to the world. Our Father no longer orders the universe. Without us, reality stands to fall to ruin. I was commanded to bring you back with me.”

Lucifer stares at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. Then he tips his head back, a bark of laughter tearing free from his throat.

“You—you honestly think I’ll come with you. Why, exactly? An overabundance of goodwill? A sense of camaraderie? Family? You took a few too many blows to the head in life, O Best-Beloved Son. What has reality been for me but pain?”

His grin is serene, beautiful, and all the more vicious for it.

”The world can burn.”

He turns away. Glides languidly to the lip of the pool, and extends an arm to let the mist from the waterfall dance across his fingers.

“I don’t think it is peace I have here.” Water runs down his hand, collects over the metal at his wrist. He watches it bead and fall, a slow and steady drip. “But at least I have certainty. You know, I never really let myself believe that it would play out like this? I should have understood you better, but I always...” He glances back at Michael, then shakes his head. “... you were always His, at the expense of everything else. Everyone else. That’s all He made you to be.”

The air between them is stretched taut, tense and fraying. Michael feels it in his bones, the ease with which he could snap it.

Instead, he stands, and paces to Lucifer’s side. Lays a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry."

Lucifer tenses under his touch.

“You aren’t,” he spits. “You’re desperate, and you’re serving a master. Just like you’ve always done.” He turns abruptly to face Michael, all cold and sudden fury, and grasps his wrist.

“I am,” Michael says. He lets the remorse resonate in his voice, and knows Lucifer hears it when he snarls in return.

“Too little, too late, Mike. All I’ve ever been is the means to someone else’s end.” He shoves Michael back a step. “The universe needs me so much? Well, good riddance to the universe. Nothing Dad made is worth saving. Nothing.”

His wrath is incandescent, a blaze of grace through the air around them. He advances on Michael; poised to do what, Michael isn’t sure. Lucifer raises a hand, as though to strike him, or push him away again? And—

Michael sinks to his knees before him, and bows his head. It startles Lucifer into stillness.

“You are.”

"What? "

“You are,” Michael repeats, barely a whisper. “Worth saving. Gabriel is, and Raphael is, and you are. And if you don’t agree...” His breath hitches, and his eyes clench shut. “Then I won’t fight you. I haven’t earned the right, and I know that. But I’m not leaving here, either. If everything ends, then it ends.” He inhales deeply. “But I won’t let you stay here and burn out of existence alone.”

In the space between heartbeats that follows, the silence is absolute. Even the sound of the water vanishes. Michael opens his eyes, and dares to peer up at Lucifer.

His face is blank with shock.

“You don’t mean that,” he grits out, but the conviction has gone out of it.

“I do.”

He drops to the ground beside Michael, head falling into his hands. Cautiously, a millimeter at a time, Michael extends a wing. Until, at last, it drapes across Lucifer’s shoulders.

“Come with me,” Michael asks. “Please. Gabriel and Raphael are already waiting. We can move forward. Become something new, something beyond Him. Together.”

From behind his hands Lucifer chokes on a laugh that transforms partway through into something more closely resembling a sob. “How?” he asks. Michael hears the rest of the thought, unspoken but weighty: how can we leave this behind? How do I move forward?

Gently, he tugs Lucifer’s hands from his face. Takes them in his own.

“Drink from the river.”

Lucifer’s gaze flashes to the waterfall, and the corner of his mouth quirks in what might be amusement, voice thick with emotion. “Cleanse myself like the humans did, huh? ‘Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.’ I have to admit it has... style.” He chuckles.

Michael smiles back at him. “Nothing about this is what I expected it to be. Least of all our benefactor’s sense of humor.”

They pull each other to their feet, and Lucifer turns to face the river.

“Better than the last time I interacted with him. Guess that’s an apology I owe. Though I suppose I’ll be seeing him soon enough.” He steps forward, then looks back at Michael. “Hey, Mike?”

“Yes?”

“Not that this isn’t a good look on you—” A broad, sweeping gesture indicates Michael’s still-radiant form, identical to his own. “But I hope you can find something that suits you better. He can’t define you any more, no more than He can define me. Even by virtue of opposition.” He extends both hands out into the waterfall, water trickling down his arms as before. This time, when it makes contact with the golden metal at his wrists, the manacles dissolve away, mist into mist.

He watches them go, an unreadable expression on his face.

“We both deserve to be more than that.”

He dips his head to his cupped hands, and drinks.

************************************

(Chapter notes:

- Latin from the Aeneid. “If I cannot bend the will of Heaven, I shall move Hell.” Acheronta in the case of the original quote being Virgil’s colloquialism for the underworld as a whole, in addition to the name of the river.

- The setting here is very, very loosely based on descriptions of the Nekromanteion of Acheron. The original purpose of the temple was the practice of necromancy, and to pay tribute to Hades and Persephone. People would come to the temple to cleanse themselves before seeking to speak with the dead. As a place to reinvent yourself so completely that you end up literally reincarnated, it seemed fitting :) )

#spnarchangelweek #day 3 lucifer #michael spn #gabriel spn #raphael spn #lucifer spn #my fanfic #spn #supernatural

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xlovelyyoongix · 4 years

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something new | myg

Summary: yoongi wants to try a new position but the insecurities you have about your weight has you questioning if you should even try. (nsfw 18+)

Pairing: yoongi x curvy f. reader

Genre: fluff, smut, and a bit of angst

Word Count: 2,974 (one-shot)

Warnings: weight insecurities, french kissing, fingering, face riding (female receiving.), yoongi being the sweetest, loving, supportive boyfriend ever, and cheesy jokes.

Date Posted: 6/24/2020 est

A/N: special thanks to my friend @fuckyeahkpopandanime ! Her fic, Sit On My Face, inspired me to write this!

Enjoy!

"I wanna try that."

The moment Yoongi's words slice through the awkward air of the living room, your lashes fluster in shock, heat pooling the rounds of your cheeks and mouth hanging ajar as you arch an appalled brow. Your head turns, slowly gazing in your boyfriend's direction, hoping to discover any signs of humor behind his words. However, astonished by your findings, Yoongi wasn't the least bit joking.

His jet eyes fixated on the pornographic scene display across the flatscreen. His thick brow cocked temptingly, as his tongue drags lecherously across the smirk of his lip. You had witnessed that lustrous expression on Yoongi before. A face that only meant he was to fulfill the sexual desires spewing within his mind.

Still silent and slightly embarrassed by the adult content displayed before you, somehow, your eyes couldn't move away. You watch as the female lead, moans out her lover's name in a needy whimper, her fingers toying with her hardened nipples, creamy thighs saddling her lover's face as she rode out her pleasure on his tongue. "D-don't stop." She whines, promptly bouncing on the man's mouth as though her life depended on it.

Your mind riddles, undecided. Wondering if it was best to simply pretend you didn't hear a word, Yoongi said or indulge into his tempting curiosity. Nevertheless, the longer the erotic scene played, the more your body sizzled like an animal in heat. Now curious in wonder what it would feel like to have your boyfriend's soft lips latch onto the hood of your clit, face to ride his plush mouth.

Realizing you were allowing your hormones to get the better of you, you hastily clap your thighs closed, hoping it would ease the desperate tension dancing within your core. Anxious, you swallow down the dryness of your throat, nervous fingers fiddling with your sundress's fabric. Your ears burn at the lewd sounds of moist pussy and needy moans rippling throughout the room. You want to speak up and admit to your boyfriend that you'd like to try the obscene sex position as well; however, something was halting you in your tracks.

The actress's perfectly crafted body held no match to your own. Her creamy mounds flawlessly perked, toned abdomen molded into an impeccable hourglass, and a set of slender ivory thighs. Looking as though she weighed next to nothing compared to your curvy physique.

True, you were slightly considered to be overweight. With a pair of thick thighs attached to your abdomen and an ass you had to wiggle to squeeze into your favorite jeans, you were far from the ideal shape of the woman on screen. Even though you wanted to try, you would hate for your weight to put Yoongi in a predicament where your curvaceousness would suffocate him to death. You can imagine the headlines now, 'Cause of man's death due to his girlfriend's oversized thighs.' You grossly shiver at the tragic image playing throughout your mind.

"Y/N..." Yoongi drags out the rhythm of your name curiously as his fingers trace up the skin of your thigh, leaving behind a trail of heat and goosebumps. "Did you hear what I said?" The tone of your boyfriend's husk voice, curious with a hint of fervor.

Your teeth sink into the flesh of your lip because, in fact, you most certainly heard his coveted request. With his veiny palm tempting so dangerously up your inner thigh, it was getting harder to convince your body to pretend as if nothing were the matter. You cough awkwardly, clearing the drought from your throat. "I-I ah...I heard you." Your stiff body, not daring to look into the direction of your boyfriend.

"So then..." Yoongi slips his body closer to yours on the couch. His lips finding a place on your jaw, placing small kisses along the line. "I want you...". His digits craftly slip under the fabric of your dress, mint breath casting over the sensitive spot of your ear as his husk voice whispers, "to sit on my face while I eat you for dinner, love."

Yoongi's carnal words cause your breath to catch in your throat, along with throbbing walls of erotic muscle to clenching around nothing. Holy hell, your boyfriend had a way with words that always seemed to rev you up like a Japanese sports car. With a lustrous shiver racing up your spine, you knew you couldn't hide your desires much longer.

His finger reaches the area of his truest desire, index sliding up the moist cloth of your panties, applying minor pressure to the areas he knew you'd want most. "You can't play hard to get when your sweet pussy is already wet for me, y/n" Yoongi pulls your panties to the side, carefully slipping a finger between your wet folds.

Your body betrays you, lashes fluttering, irises rolling, and head, knocking back as Yoongi slowly worked between your flesh, sending an electric wave of heat throughout your body. "I-...I'm just scared, is all." With your voice shaky and in a whimper, you're surprised you were even able to confess your emotion.

Yoongi's greedy actions between your thighs come to an abrupt stop the second you voice a concern. He's quick to remove his finger from inside you, fearful of proceeding in an action you wanted no part in. "W-what are you scared of?" Yoongi rakes his fingers through his raven-hair anxiously, shaking his head in disbelief of himself. "Did I do something wrong to you? D..did I make you uncomfortable?... Fuck!" He slaps his palm across his forehead, disgusted with his perverted actions. "I shouldn't have touched you, I..."

"No, no, no!" Hushing Yoongi's apology, you aid your distressed boyfriend by placing soft hands over his. "Yoongi, it's not that." You correct. "It's just..." Sighing heavily, your lashes flutter shut, preparing yourself for the wave of embarrassment that would soon be endured. "It's just... I'm too heavy!" You blurt out, hoping the faster you speak, the quicker the conversation would end.

Yoongi bats his eyes in disbelief, arching a baffled brow as the corner of his mouth tilts oddly. "What...?" He questions, however, the man indeed comprehended what you had said. Merely a matter of him unbelieving, you would exclaim such a thing. "You don't want to sit on my face because you think you're too heavy?" His hooded, jet eyes piercing puzzledly into yours.

Your lips clamp tightly into a line, head held low in shame of yourself. "I don't think." You mutter matter-factly. "I know that I'm too heavy." Gazing down, you stair at the blobs of flesh you call thighs, observing how they expand in size every time you partake in a seat. You hate to admit it, but you've seen the girls Yoongi dated in the past in which none of them shaped like you. Still baffled at how the handsome, Min Yoongi even found you attractive enough to date.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, releasing a disappointed sigh. "First of all," He starts, grabbing your soft hands to hold. "You're not as heavy as you think." He says, placing a kiss on the back of your wrist. "Secondly, how dare you assume I'm not strong enough to support my woman." He jokes cutely with his signature pout. "I have you know, I can bench 250." He takes a moment to humorously boast.

Even with your mind clustered with insecurities, you can't help but giggle at Yoongi's comedic, prideful words. "Yeah, but..."

"No, buts!" He exclaims with a playful attitude, silencing your uncertainties. "I love you and every single thing about you." Yoongi leans in, puckering a kiss atop of your forehead. "I love your soft skin." A kiss was placed on your cheek. "I love your lips." Another on your lips only to maneuver his knees to the ground, body parked between your legs with adoring eyes. "Your stomach." Yoongi leans in slow, pressing his plush lips against the fabric of your torso. "Every single curve." He settles his hands on the waves of your hourglass, tracing down the trail of dips leading out to your hips. "Especially your thighs." His warm palms sway up the plush of your thighs, giving them a soft squeeze before settling a kiss across the skin.

Your heart tugs as a warmth of tenderness blossoms throughout your body. The man kneeling before you was made up of the purest perfection. With lips that kissed away all of your insecurities, hands that showed you what it means to be loved, and large twinkling eyes of infatuation. You wonder what good deed you could have possibly done in your past life to deserve a man like Min Yoongi. "I love you too, Yoongi." A joyous tear swelling at the corner of your eye but never daring to fall.

"I understand if this is something you don't want to try." His soft hands take hold of yours once again, gazing with affectionate understanding. "I just wanted to try a new way of pleasuring you, and it's perfectly fine that you don't want to t-"

"Yoongi." You say his name, halting the rest of his apology. For a moment, his lost eyes stutter with confusion; however, you smile, tightening your hold on his hands in assurance. "I would love to try that position with you." You bashfully announce.

Stunned, Yoongi's brows arch, ears burning, and eyes shining like a child on Christmas morning. "Really?" He questions, unbelievingly.

You nod with a giggle, dimples piercing through your cheeks. "Yes."

"Oh, fuck yeah!" Still settled between your legs, Yoongi stiffens up, latching his plush lips onto yours for a passionate kiss.

Your lashes flutter as your boyfriend his magic across your lips, fingers threading through the backs of his undercut hair. "Yoongi," You whine, reminding yourself that you were fully aroused with no need for pre-game. "Just take off my dress." You word in a hush.

Yoongi groans at your response, breaking for a breath. "Shit. Okay." Needy hands grasping the hem of your dress, yanking the fabric over your head just as he had done many times before. "Your ass looks fuckin' great in that sundress, by the way. Whoever said Covid ruined sundress season was a fuckin' lie." His breathy tone confessing out.

Your mouth blurts out a laugh. Yoongi always seemed to be quite the comedic before intercourse. "Shuddup, and take off my bra." You humorously badger.

Yoongi sinks his teeth into his lips with a smirk. "Don't have to tell me twice." Voice, playful with a hint of desire as he snakes his fingers to the strap of your bra, unsnapping the troublesome piece of fabric.

Your breast bounce free, perked nipples hardened by the exposure of the cool air of the living room. Yoongi had witnessed your bare chest what felt like a million times by now, though somehow, he still managed to fixate upon them as if your breast were God's greatest gift known to man. Well, to Yoongi, they most certainly were. "S-so..." Even with your boyfriend’s hungry eyes feasting your naked view, you felt nervous at the idea of venturing into unchartered territory. "Ah. How do we do this?"

Your shaken question snaps Yoongi from his daze. "Oh, um." Slightly flustered himself, Yoongi gestures your attention back to the television. "I guess like that." The actress is displayed across the screen. Her panting moans echoing through the speakers, pink lips dropped in the shape of an -o-, bouncing on her partner's face.

A red burn of embarrassment bursts across your face, quickly grabbing the remote, turning off the movie. You inhale a heavy breath before slowly releasing it, reminding yourself that there was no need for worries or insecurities as long as you were with Yoongi. "Alright, let's do this."

Eager to get things started, Yoongi drops himself in a lying position across the couch, a gummy grin plastered across his cheeks. "Come to daddy." He demands in a joking manner though somehow, you felt he was serious.

"I'm coming, gosh." You stand from the couch, stepping out of your panties, feeling the coldness of being fully nude. "Let me know if I hurt you, or if you can't breathe."

Yoongi's eyes roll because, how many times were you going to be concerned about him when today was supposed to be about you. "I'll be fine." Dragging out the sentence in an exhausted huff. "Now, come sit on my face so I can give you this tongue technology."

You chuckle at your boyfriend's play on words. No one ever believes that the stoic, passive, Min Yoongi is this talkative behind closed doors. "Alright, I'm coming. Gosh." You say, waddle your knees across the couch, hovering your pussy above Yoongi's face. You watch as your boyfriend eyes down your glistening core with a wicked smirk. "S-so do I just sit down, or..."

“Just come here already.” Inpatient, Yoongi takes a handful of your thighs, snatching your frame down on his eager face.

The nervous system in your body awakes from a pulse of electric pleasure. Yoongi's talented tongue, working slowly between the folds of your sensitive flesh, getting you used to the newly found position. "S-shit." Your hands grip onto the couch, nails digging into the fabric for support. "F-feels good~."

You could feel the vibration of Yoongi groaning into your wet pussy. His wet tongue slapping across unchartered territory he wasn't able to venture before, taking advantage of the opportunity to please his girlfriend.

“Fuck, Yoongi~...” A wave of heat zipped throughout your body, causing your head to knock back in pleasure. “How the fuck are you so good at this?” His crafty skills being unmatched to any other man in your past.“Shit~”

Yoongi latches his lips to the hood of your clitoris, harshly sucking the sensitive flesh, sending your spirit into a blissful overdrive. “Mhmmm, so good~” Without your knowledge, your hips start to rock, hands slip up your torso to the rounds of your hardened nipples, teasing, and playing with the flesh to increase stimulation.

If you didn’t know any better, Yoongi was smirking between your pussy lips. Always so cocky when it came to fucking or pleasing you. “Y-you’re enjoying this, too, huh?” You glance down at his jet eyes laced with lust.

You could feel Yoongi nod joyously, in reply.

Using what breath you had left, you manage a chuckle. “W-well then, keep it up, I’m about to.....” Catching you mid-sentence, your abdomen's muscles begin to tighten, throbbing walls clenching around nothing as your thighs start to tremble. "Cum." You finish your sentence with a throaty breath, bouncing on Yoongi's tongue, hoping to soon reach your euphoric goal.

Taking notice of your approaching orgasm, Yoongi's strong palms capture you in place, tongue slurping at devilish speeds to proceed with your delightful pleasure.

"A-almost!" You can feel the familiar tingle slip up your spine as your back arches, lips prying open as you whimper Yoongi's name, sweat trickling across the skin of your hairline and thick arouses glisten down your thighs. "Yoongi, Fuck!" With one final cry escaping your voice, your climax released into your lover's mouth. Bursts of color fog your sight as your vibrating body snatches you for a trip to utopia. "mmm." You hum in an exhausting delight, tired body collapsing on the couch. "That was fun."

"I agree." Yoongi nods, pulling himself up while wiping your dripping arousal from his lips and chin. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

Gazing up at the ceiling, you take a moment to maintain your breathing. "I'm glad we tried it." Your cum streaming down your thighs, but your weary body, too fatigued to move.

Before you could notice your boyfriend had left, Yoongi walks back into the room, damp washcloth in hand. He takes a seat between your parted legs, onyx eyes tender as he diligently tended to the mess between your thighs.

You raise on your elbows, examining the attentive man before you, chest exploding with warmth. "Thank you, Yoongi." Your gratitude, as soft as a cloud.

Your words rip Yoongi from his concentration, jet eyes blinking curiously. “You don’t have to thank me, y/n, I always take care of you after sex.” His lips curve in his signature pout.

You shake your head. “No, not that.” You pull yourself up, crossing your legs as you prompted directly in front of Yoongi. “Thank you for loving me. All of me.”

The corners of Yoongi’s eyes crinkle as his lips pull into a gummy smile. He shakes his head because there wasn’t even a need for you to thank him. “No, thank you for loving me.” His arms pull your naked frame into his embrace. Your head resting on his shoulder as he places a kiss on the top of your head. “Now, as much as I love having you naked. Let’s get you showered and dressed.”

As you attempt to move from Yoongi’s lap, your sensitive core brushes against the hard erection, protruding from your boyfriend's sweatpants. So wrapped up in your own desires, you forgot to tend to your boyfriend's needs. "Or..." You temptingly drag your finger across the outline of his length. "I can take care of you instead." Tongue dancing seductively across your lip, digit circling around the tip of his fathead.

Yoongi swallows hard. "Fuck~" His head knocking back, a shiver of temptation slithering up his spin from your touch. Yoongi was perfectly fine with keeping things about you tonight: however, if you were offering, he was never one to deny you. "I think I like that idea." He murmurs, eyes in a hypnotizing daze.

A twinkle of dominance sparkles within your eyes as your fingers untie the strings of his gray sweatpants. “Good, because I’d love to eat you for dinner too.”

#min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi smut #min yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut fic #yoongi oneshot #bts one shot #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts xyou #bts x you #bts smut #bts fluff

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hexmione · 4 years

Text

The Quidditch World Cup and The Dark Mark - Fred Weasley Series Part 2

A/N: I really should be doing my school work but I was struck with inspiration and I decided to write part 2 to this Fred Weasley series! This might be a little dramatic but I hope you enjoy. This part is also quite long... Nevertheless, I still hope you enjoy.

This is Part 2 of my Fred Weasley x Reader series! Here is the link to the FIRST chapter “Journey to the Quidditch World Cup - Fred Weasley Series Part 1”

Description: (Y/N) Potter experiences rising anger levels at the Quidditch World Cup, but nothing would prepare her for how she would feel after.

Warnings: A tiny curse word!

Word Count: 2,708

Date Posted: September 10th, 2020

---

You, Harry and Hermione, worked out where the pegs and poles of the tents would go. Once you finished, you were sure that these looked like regular muggle tents.

There was no doubt that once Bill, Charlie, and Percy arrived, there would be no room for all eleven of you. You noticed that Hermione and Harry were having the same thought process.

The three of you shared a quizzical look as Mr. Weasley crawled into the tent, “We’ll be a bit cramped,” he called, “but I think we’ll all squeeze in. Come and have a look.”

You and Harry ducked down and made your way into the tent - you shared a look of astonishment. You had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen. You scrunched your nose, oddly enough, there was a strong smell of cats.

You left Harry with the rest of the Weasleys and joined Hermione and Ginny in the tent you three would be staying in.

"Hey! How come your tent doesn't smell like cats?" Ron complained as he entered your tent.

You, Hermione, and Ginny let out a laugh at his misfortune. Ron rolled his eyes, "Hermione, (Y/N), Dad wants us to go find some water while he the others are going to find firewood"

"Firewood? Why can't Dad just light the oven?" Ginny asked.

"That's what I said!" Ron exclaimed, "He said something about anti-Muggle security."

---

You, Harry, Hermione, and Ron set off across the campsite with kettles and saucepans. You were amazed at how many witches and wizards there were in the world.

The four of you began to walk in pairs, Hermione and Ron in the front, you and Harry in the back.

"Harry," you said.

"Hm?" Harry hummed, turning to you.

"What were you and the boys talking about?" You asked, "Right after Cedric left."

Harry flushed, "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

You rolled your eyes, "You're lying."

"No! I'm not!" Harry exclaimed.

"Harry, you seemed upset," you said softly. You made sure to give him the best puppy-dog eyes you could manage. Over the years, you had been able to get anything out of Harry by using that one look.

You smirked as Harry groaned, "You know I hate it when you do that, (Y/N)."

"Are you going to tell me now?" You asked.

"It was nothing, (Y/N)! It was just something George said about Fred."

Your smirk instantly fell, "What about Fred? Are you upset with Fred? Is everything okay?" you asked, wringing your hands.

"I know that you're close to Fred and George, but why are you so concerned?" Harry asked with his brows furrowed.

"I'm not! I just-"

"Do you fancy him?" Harry asked abruptly, cutting you off.

"No!" You said, waving your hands. You felt your face flush.

"Yes, you do!" Harry exclaimed, "I know when you're lying, (Y/N)."

"Harry!" You hissed, "I don't fancy Fred!"

Once you said that, you watched as Harry's face drained of color, "You and Fred. Fred and you."

"What? Harry, what are you on about?" You asked, your face still feeling hot.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," Harry said, sounding stern.

Before you could respond, green clouded your vision, "Er — is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?” said Ron. You had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. From behind the four of you, you heard your names.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione! (Y/N)!"

It was Seamus Finnigan, your fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.

Before the four of you went to join them, Harry pulled you back, "We'll talk about this later."

You rolled your eyes, you knew your brother could be dramatic at times, but this was completely unnecessary, "I thought you said it was nothing!"

"It is," Harry said as he walked ahead to join Dean and Seamus.

Hermione gave you a look, you rolled your eyes and mouthed, "I'll tell you later."

She nodded in understanding as you all joined Seamus and Dean.

---

“You won’t be getting anything for Christmas,” Harry told Ron, thrusting Omnioculars into Ron and Hermione’s hands. “For about ten years, mind.”

You laughed, "I hope you both know that he's lying."

Your money bags considerably lighter, you went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.

You made your way to Fred and George, "What in Merlin's name possessed you to give ALL of your gold to Bagman?" you asked in a hushed whisper.

"That, my sweet (Y/N), is for us to know, and for you to find out," George replied with a cheeky grin.

You looked at Fred for a moment and wrung your hands together. You hadn't spoken to Fred since Cedric left, "Fred, can we - can I-"

A deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, cutting you off. At once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field. “It’s time!” said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. “Come on, let’s go!”

---

"Here’s Lucius!” Fudge called. You weren't paying attention to his schpeel about you and Harry to the Bulgarian minister.

You, Harry, Ron, and Hermione quickly turned around. Right behind you and the Weasleys were no doubt the Malfoy family. You almost laughed at Draco's mother, as she was wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

There was a tense moment between Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy. You remembered the fight they had in Flourish and Blott's right before you and Harry's second year.

“Good lord, Arthur,” Mr. Malfoy said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?”

You scowled, "And who did you have to threaten, Mr. Malfoy?" You replied in a harsh whisper.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry turned to you quickly. Hermione gripped your wrist as a warning. Mr. Malfoy's cold gray eyes looked you up and down, "Ah, the Potter twin. Draco has told me a lot about you," he said as his lip curled.

Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.”

Mr. Malfoy shot you a smug grin as he turned and stared Hermione. Hermione, who had turned pink, stared right back at him. You knew what he was thinking. You knew what people like the Malfoy family thought of witches and wizards of Muggle descent.

You felt the strong urge to spit on him right then and there, but Mr. Malfoy wouldn't dare say anything in the presence of the Minister of Magic.

Draco gave you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione a scornful look before settling himself between his mother and father.

"I could feel the anger coming off of you," Harry whispered.

"What?" You replied.

"It felt like you wanted to spit on him," Harry answered with a grin.

"I did," you said, "How did you know?"

Harry shrugged, "I just knew."

---

"He was about to jump from the box!" Hermione told you as you were all back in the tent, "I had to pull him back into his seat!"

"What are you guys talking about?" Harry said as he and Ron entered the girls' tent.

"How bloody stupid you two are!" Ginny exclaimed.

"You almost killed yourselves over some Veelas!" you added on. You weren't as upset as you made yourself out to be, but you enjoyed watching the boys squirm.

"It wasn't our fault!" Ron complained, "They're just so..." Ron trailed off with a dreamy look on his face.

"Ugh!" Hermione said with disgust, "Get out! Go to bed!" Hermione stood up from her bed and pushed the boys out. She groaned as she fell back on to her bed.

You and Ginny shared a knowing look as Hermione sat back up, "Anything you would like to tell us, 'Mione?" you said with a smirk.

"Hush!" Hermione said, "And don't act like you weren't upset when Fred was acting the same way!"

"Hey!" you said in protest, your face already feeling warm.

Ginny, who found this exchange absolutely hilarious, was rolling around her bed, laughing, and clutching her stomach.

"Oi! And you!" you said, staring pointedly at Ginny, "you looked as red as your hair when Hermione had to pull Harry down from the ledge of the box."

Ginny suddenly stopped laughing, and all three of you stared at each other in silence, all with red faces.

It only took a moment before you all began to laugh at your foolishness. The three of you were extremely close, seeing as you were surrounded by boys all the time. You loved your brother and the Weasley boys, but you, Hermione, and Ginny understood each other in a way the boys couldn't.

"Shall we go to bed?" Hermione asked.

You and Ginny nodded, suddenly feeling very tired.

Three "goodnight's" rang out through your tent. Hermione turned off the light, and you succumbed to the sensual temptation of sleep.

---

"Get up! (Y/N), Hermione, Ginny, wake up!" Mr. Weasley's frantic yells quickly roused you out of your sleep.

" ’S’ matter?" Ginny mumbled.

"No time! Grab your coats and shoes and meet the boys outside!"

You, Hermione, and Ginny quickly did as you were told. You knew something was wrong from the way Mr. Weasley sounded.

You rushed out of the tent, pulling a coat over your nightdress. You placed a hand over your mouth in horror as you saw a small Muggle child, who was spinning like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side.

Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the tent, fully dressed with their wands out, "We’re going to help the Ministry!” Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. “You lot — get into the woods, and stick together. I’ll come and fetch you when we’ve sorted this out!"

They sprinted off, Mr. Weasley quickly on their heels.

"C’mon," said Fred, grabbing Ginny’s hand and starting to pull her toward the woods. You, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed. You all looked back as you reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; you could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

As you walked in a tight group, Ron yelled in pain.

"What happened?" said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that you and Harry walked into her. "Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid — lumos!"

"I tripped over a tree root," Ron mumbled angrily.

"With those big oaf feet you have, it'll be hard not to."

You, Harry, Hermione, and Ron turned. Next to you was Draco Malfoy, leaning smugly on a tree.

"Fuck off," Ron snapped.

“Language, Weasley,” said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. “Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spotted, would you?”

His attention was directed at Hermione, "What’s that supposed to mean?" said Hermione defiantly.

You were gripping your wand so tight, you were sure that your knuckles were turning white.

"Granger, they’re after Muggles," said Malfoy. "D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around... they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" you snarled.

"Hermione is a witch," your brother snapped. Just as he could feel the anger radiating off of you before, you could feel it radiating off of him now.

You decided to leave Hermione, Ron, and Harry and catch up with Fred, George, and Ginny. Hopefully, the trio would follow as you left.

When you reached the twins and Ginny, Ginny was the first to notice you.

"Oh, (Y/N)!" She cried in relief. She flung herself on you and gave you a tight hug, her face was red and splotchy as if she had been crying.

"We thought we lost you!" George said as he joined you and Ginny, "Fred was just about to go out of his mind."

Fred silently joined you and looked around, "Where are Harry, Ron, and Hermione?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" you said, "They're right here..." you turned around, and all you saw was the path you came. You assumed that once you left, the other three would follow you.

It was like your world had come crashing down. Harry and Hermione would be targeted, Ron being a pureblood would only do so much. Ron, Hermione, and Harry were practically defenseless.

You detangled yourself from Ginny, "I-I have to go," you managed to stutter.

"What? Are you mad?" Fred snapped.

"I have to find them! They're not safe!" you cried. Ginny took a step back next to George.

Fred moved forward, "You won't be safe if you leave! If you haven't noticed, you're (Y/N) bloody Potter! You're a target too!"

"Oh, so now that I'm in danger you want to speak to me! Fred Weasley, you have been cold to me this entire trip! I don't know what has gotten your wand in a knot, and I don't care! You are not the boss of me, and I will leave and find my brother if I please!" You yelled. You were furious.

"Well, I need to keep you safe!" Fred exclaimed. His face was flushed with anger, and you were sure your face looked the same way.

"You aren't a bloody hero! And I don't need protection!" You shot back. You turned to walk back into the woods but you felt Fred's arm snake around your waist.

"What are you doing! Let go of me!" You yelled. You were on the verge of tears at this point. Your brother and best friends were in unimaginable danger, and you couldn't help them. Harry was the only family you had left. Of course, you had your godfather, Remus, and you had your uncle, Sirius, but Harry was different. Harry was your brother.

"(Y/N), please, darling," Fred whispered in your ear. You had started to cry, heartbreaking cries that left bystanders cold and aching for loved ones they had been separated from. George and Ginny watched. Ginny, with tears, slowly running down her face, and George, with his face stoic, gripping on to his sister's hand tightly.

You and Fred sunk down to the ground, your face still hot and sticky with sweat and tears. You couldn't accept defeat, you needed to find your brother and the rest of your friends.

You pried Fred's arms off your waist and quickly stood up, "I'm sorry, Freddie. I have to go."

Fred looked up at you in shock from the floor. You didn't give a second thought as you quickly took off through the woods, leaving the three Weasleys in the clearing.

Fred stood up silently. He was still in shock. He watched the path in the woods, waiting to see if you would come back.

When you didn't, Fred turned around and kicked the tree Ginny and George decided to sit against. He slumped next to Ginny.

"Fred," Ginny sniffled.

"What?" Fred snapped harshly.

"Why do you have two wands?" Ginny asked timidly. She already knew the answer, but she hoped it wasn't true.

George turned to face his twin, "Oh, Fred. You didn't."

A cold wave of fear and regret washed over Fred, "I took her wand so she wouldn't hex any of us," he said slowly.

"But-" George started.

"Dammit!" Fred yelled, "She's out there with no wand!"

---

Quotes from the book used:

“We’ll be a bit cramped,” he called, “but I think we’ll all squeeze in. Come and have a look.”

“[He] had walked into what looked like an old-fashioned, three-room flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen.”

“Er — is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?” said Ron.”

“[They] had walked into a patch of tents that were all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks, so that it looked as though small, oddly shaped hillocks had sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces could be seen under those that had their flaps open. Then, from behind them, they heard their names”

“It was Seamus Finnigan, [their] fellow Gryffindor fourth year. He was sitting in front of his own shamrock-covered tent, with a sandy-haired woman who had to be his mother, and his best friend, Dean Thomas, also of Gryffindor.”

“You won’t be getting anything for Christmas,” Harry told [him], thrusting Omnioculars into Ron and Hermione’s hands. “For about ten years, mind.”

“[Their] money bags considerably lighter, they went back to the tents. Bill, Charlie, and Ginny were all sporting green rosettes too, and Mr. Weasley was carrying an Irish flag. Fred and George had no souvenirs as they had given Bagman all their gold.”

“And then a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the field. “

“It’s time!” said Mr. Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. “Come on, let’s go!”

“[...] here’s Lucius!”

“Good lord, Arthur,” he said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?”

Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.”

“smallest Muggle child, who was spinning like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side.”

“Bill, Charlie, and Percy emerged from the boys’ tent, fully dressed, with their sleeves rolled up and their wands out. “We’re going to help the Ministry!” Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. “You lot — get into the woods, and stick together. I’ll come and fetch you when we’ve sorted this out!”

“C’mon,” said Fred, grabbing Ginny’s hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.”

“What happened?” said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry walked into her. “Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid — lumos!”

“Language, Weasley,” said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. “Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spotted, would you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Hermione defiantly.

“Granger, they’re after Muggles,” said Malfoy. “D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around . . . they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.”

“Hermione’s a witch,” Harry snarled.

---

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #ginny weasley #hermione granger #ron weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley series #harry potter fic #fred weasley oneshot

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binniedeactivated · 4 years

Text

mentality. || yeongyu 💦

╰─▸🖤❝ @[𝒃𝒖𝒈𝒔𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈.. ] ✎𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝒚𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒋𝒖𝒏 𝒙 𝒃𝒆𝒐𝒎𝒈𝒚𝒖 ✎ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆¡ ✎ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕; 1.5𝒌 [@𝒃𝒖𝒈𝒔𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆] 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇𝒇...

┌ in which the priest’s son is ordered to give private religious lessons in exchange for the neighborhood boy’s salvation. ┘

→ tw:// mockery of religion, offensive language, smut - read at your own risk

“what’s with the pink shirt?”. yeonjun’s father immediately asks, his eye snagging onto the bright fabric like glue. yeonjun toyed with the hem of his sweater, “what? it’s just a sweater”. he replies thinking nothing of it. he grasped his backpack off of the hang rack. his father stares at the dainty color in discontent.

“you look gay. go put on another sweater”.

“dad are you serious? I’m going to be late for the tutoring session. I can assure you that I’m not gay. pink is just a color”.

“you know you aren’t gay but what about everyone else? some man is going to look at you and surely think the opposite”.

“and why should I care about what they think?”.

“because you’re my son and I’d rather not raise a bunch of homosexuals”. he blankly responds. he glares at his second born son who jogs down the stares behind yeonjun tiredly rubbing his eyes and shifting his disheveled hair.

“take your brother soobin for example. see? even in the house he’s wearing something manly. a good ole t shirt and sweatpants”.

“what are you guys on about?”. soobin questions underneath his breath. yeonjun rolls his eyes while watching soobin stumble into the kitchen and raid the cabinets to satisfy his growling stomach.

“dad thinks I’m gay because I’m wearing a pink sweater”.

“soobin won’t you tell your brother there are more colors to wear other than this girly color he has on?”.

soobin sighs. conversations like this was almost second nature at this point, especially being the priest’s son. he was well aware that his father was not only strictly religious but he was also strictly a homophobe. soobin stuffs a cookie in his mouth too tired and hungry to pick a side in their argument. he just repeated his father’s words.

“yeonjun hyung there are more colors to wear other than the girly color you have on”.

he grumbles before exiting to the living room. his father folds his arms and gives yeonjun a look as if to say, ‘i told you so’. yeonjun stared at him and huffed his breath. he knew there was now way around it so he just marched himself back up the stairs and changed into a black sweater instead. he stopped by the bathroom mirror to fix his hair up a bit after seeing how messed up it gotten from his quick change. he made sure his blonde strands were parted perfectly to the left.

“and who the hell are you trying to look so good for?”. taehyun smirks before walking into the bathroom behind him. taehyun was the youngest. the baby of them all. also the most misbehaved one of them all, but you didn’t hear that from yeonjun.

“shut up and take your piss”. yeonjun replies with a quick smack upside his brother’s head before he shuts the door behind himself. he rushed down the staircase and announced that he was leaving. he quickly grabs his backpack again and close the front door in one swift movement in hopes of avoiding another interrogation by his father.

yeonjun wasn’t a stranger to beomgyu’s home. in fact he’s already been there a few times and his parents knew him very well, which is why it almost took nothing for them to open the door for him each time. being the priest’s son made them think that he was the best kid ever and that beomgyu needed to take notes from such an example.

like always, yeonjun took his shoes off beside beomgyu’s bedroom door and knocked promptly.

“who is it?”.

“yeonjun”. he responds, rolling his eyes. who else would be coming at this time of day?

with a few quick shuffles beomgyu opens the door to his room inviting yeonjun in. it reeked of this tropical scented perfume. it actually smelled nice to yeonjun, but it would smell even nicer if beomgyu was a girl of course.

I mean seriously, what kind of teenaged boy wore perfume?

yeonjun shrugs off the scent and sits on beomgyu’s bed. his dad made it his mission to redeem anyone and everyone from their sins and he ordered his sons to do the same. only--the sin they were being redeemed from were never specified.

yeonjun draws out his pencils and notebooks from the last time they met. he clicked his pen a few times and then scribbles on his paper making sure it worked perfectly. beomgyu watches intently from the corner of the room, his hands folded behind his back. he adored yeonjun.

yes, adored.

he thought the older was so gorgeous. he was so witty and funny and he was so smart. his voice was smooth and low when he talked and god his smile was to die for. he most importantly loved how small he was in comparison to yeonjun.

meaning that yeonjun could crush or throw him whenever he wanted and that idea alone made beomgyu’s dick twitch in his pants.

“hyung before we start is it okay if I show you something?”.

yeonjun rolls his eyes and exhales annoyingly. “beomgyu if you think you’re about to get a kiss out of me you’ve lost your damn mind. that shit is gay I already told you”.

beomgyu bites the inside of his cheek and frowns, “no it’s something different this time”.

“beomgyu--”.

“please hyung?”. beomgyu whines sweetly. yeonjun shakes his head in frustration, “whatever-fine. make it quick because you’re running behind on these lessons”.

“you have to close your eyes”. beomgyu orders. yeonjun covers his eyes with his hand. “fine. they’re closed”.

unbeknownst to jun, beomgyu strips himself of his trousers and slips on his pretty pink pleated skirt with his white high knee socks to match. he straps and pink heart shaped choker onto his neck and pulls his baby blue v-neck sweater over his head and tuck the edges in carefully. he fixes his crinkled chestnut colored hair. he nervously folds his hands, he hoped yeonjun liked it.

“you can look now hyung”. he orders once more. yeonjun’s eyes flutter open at the sight of beomgyu’s skirt steadily spilling over his slim milky thighs. his sweater hung gorgeously to the side displaying his collarbone and choker. it didn’t help that the sun’s rays slipped through his window, glowing his frame that much more. he looked like an angel almost.

wait--what the fuck is yeonjun saying?

“beomgyu what the hell is that?”. he says instead.

“I want to show you my new outfit. my parents would kill me if they ever saw me in this”. beomgyu states while looking down fiddling with the pleats.

“you know that gay scale I was telling you about? yeah. this is at like 100% right now”.

beomgyu sat himself on the bed across from yeonjun. “I’m happy when I dress like this. you don’t think it’s pretty?”.

“you can’t call yourself pretty. you’re a boy. that word is an adjective for girls and women”.

beomgyu bit his upper lip shamefully. his eyes dart down. he sighs and makes another move. he climbs onto yeonjun’s lap with his thighs on either side of yeonjun’s legs. he wraps his arms around his neck and sits his face only inches apart from the older’s.

oddly enough, yeonjun could feel his heart began to pound.

“what can I do to be pretty to you, hyung?”. beomgyu questions with his whole heart. his coffee colored eyes bore in his with desire, need, and lust. yeonjun took a couple of swift glances at the boy’s plush pink lips.

no--look away yeonjun. what are you doing?

“you can start by getting off my lap”. yeonjun hisses, but beomgyu knew he didn’t mean it. he adjusted himself, letting his cock get good rub on yeonjun’s thigh. feeling this, yeonjun’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets.

“kiss me hyung”. beomgyu begs, ghosting his lips over the older male’s. yeonjun’s breathing hitched while beomgyu leans in and kisses him anyway. the both of their lips danced in perfect sync and parted whenever their lungs begged for air.

beomgyu takes yeonjun’s wrists and slides them up his thighs and yeonjun mindlessly allows his hands to roam gyu’s inner thighs. he could feel gyu’s lengthy thick cock twitch against his hand. beomgyu pushes yeonjun’s chest down onto the mattress, now on top of him and relishing the way he could easily grind his hips against yeonjun’s clothed cock for more friction.

yeonjun felt more than ashamed of himself when he felt his dick grow beneath him. he couldn’t believe how turned on he was from this. he wasn’t gay--no this didn’t make him gay. beomgyu was dressed like a girl after all.

“beomgyu get off of me we have to stop”. yeonjun breathes. beomgyu slides his tongue along yeonjun’s lips and give them a chaste kiss. “mmm. but I want to suck your dick. it’s so hard beneath me”. beomgyu smirks and reaches back to palm it. yeonjun winces at his touch.

beomgyu glides down planting sloppy kisses along yeonjun’s happy trail before sliding his pants down. his dick sprung free and slapped against his stomach. bright red and oozing precum. gyu teasingly gave the boy a couple of cat licks towards his tip. the feeling of gyu’s wet tongue against his needy cock was exactly what yeonjun wanted.

it isn’t what he wanted--hell no--because he wasn’t gay.

he wasn’t gay.

right?

“you should see the way your dick jumps when I do this”.

yeonjun glares down and sits on his elbows, “beomgyu I don’t think we should be doing this. just get up I promise I won’t tell anyone about it”. he utters in distress.

beomgyu takes his lips and kiss the tip before letting his disappear between his lips. his teeth lightly grazed it but gyu was sure to tuck them away, refusing to let yeonjun see the animalistic side of him when it was there first time doing anything sexual.

his tight warm mouth coddled yeonjun’s cock in the most delicious way. even as he worked his way down yeonjun relished the way it filled his cheeks until he choked. and when he did, he came back up with teary eyes and puckered drooling lips full of precum and saliva. the squelching noises of beomgyu’s mouth made yeonjun’s heart pound. he drops his head back between his shoulders and closes his eyes in bliss.

“fuck beomgyu”. he groans and it made beomgyu excited. he’d been waiting for this moment. waiting for the time he could touch and suck yeonjun as much as he wanted. waiting for when he could make yeonjun moan for him and him only.

beomgyu elicits soft dainty moans while his mouth was filled with yeonjun’s cock. he uses a hand to stroke the remaining portions of his dick and repeatedly slobs over the throbbing tip. not to mention his back was arched perfectly in the air, displaying the skirt that didn’t look as ugly as yeonjun portrayed it to be.

yeonjun hips began to twitch into the younger’s mouth. he reaches down to grab beomgyu’s soft locks as his eyes rolled to the back of his head once more. “ffuck is it supposed to feel this good?”. he asks honestly.

beomgyu grasps the base with one hand and covers his tips with another, he lets his mouth wrap around the shaft of his dick and hungrily licks and sucks up and down continuously. the sensation felt like a punch in the stomach to jun who wasn’t used to it. he doubles over and bites his lips, tugging at beomgyu’s roots harder.

the wet sounds of beomgyu’s mouth and tongue bounced off his bedroom walls and yeonjun thought he was going to lose his mind if beomgyu didn’t stop. his dick throbbed harshly between the younger’s lips. “o-okay beomgyu you can stop now”. yeonjun exhales with breathing becoming shaky. an overwhelming feeling was washing over him euphorically. beomgyu continues bobbing his head against his dick making sure he captured every spot.

“b-beomgyu I said you can stop”. yeonjun warns again with his hips stuttering into his mouth. “I want to see you cum”. beomgyu muses, stroking his dick one last time with his hand before yeonjun’s hot liquids were darting everywhere.

he can’t believe he just did that. what the fuck?

he panicked, “beomgyu if you tell anyone I’ll kill you”.

#yeongyu smut #yeonjun smut #beomgyu smut #txt smut #txt #yeonjun #beomgyu

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angloie · 3 years

Text

Charms.

(1/?)

> Percy likes to deceive. Lie, manipulate, more lies; it was a part of his job, after all. Annabeth has been deceived. Lied to. Manipulated. She's an woman of many secrets- secrets she'd rather not let anyone know.

> Assassin! Percy x CEO! Annabeth.

> Warnings: Mostly angst + fluff, character death and some violence. Nothing too explicit. Mentions of blood/mild injuries as well as alcohol. (characters are aged up!)

pt. 2 || pt. 3 || pt. 4 || pt. 5

Percy's thumb rule was never do anything he didn't want.

To live a happy and healthy life, that was completely normal; especially for such a laid back guy like him.

Choosing this... rather wild career was something he wanted to do, willingly. Life was short, so why not make the most of it? It was getting awfully bleak with the normal civilian life. After all, no one would believe the nice young man who helped the old man carry the groceries to his car would be someone who killed for a living. A smile so bright that it could give the sun a run for its money and warm sea green eyes could hide so much more than just innocence.

The ceiling to floor windows of his penthouse showed a breathtaking view of the New York skyline, sun moving behind the tall buildings and moon replacing the orange hue. Being an assassin had its perks- despite endangering his life on multiple occasions. The pay was just out of this world. All that cash just to kill off some sleazy politician, or that one corrupt buisness man? Sign him up. Zero hesitation.

Percy frowned at the dried blood on his once pure white gloves. He was quick to peel them off. He shuddered at the unsightly view of a small stain of blood on his onyx-colored suit.

He would just buy a new one later. Small things like that didn't matter. Sure, that might've been a gift from one of his clients, but it wasn't anything he couldn't replace.

Hanging his coat on the rack beside the wide entrance, he sighed with clear tiredness. One night of forced politeness and smiles took a toll on him- Also due to the fact that he had just done his job as an assassin. It wasn't what you could call easy.

His muscles were aching and sore in all the worst places, every move throbbing with full pain. The shallow slash on his lower abdomen had soaked his shirt in a dark crimson red, most likely going to leave a bad stain. He would have to clean that later.

The penthouse was big and rather spacious. White Walls and abstract paintings lined them, reflecting off the almost pristine marble floors. It took a while for Percy to get settled in, it being a huge place and all that. But he soon made it feel like home with the help of old picture frames that held memories and the Nemo stuffed animals resting on the leather couch.

“WOOF!”

And Mrs. O'leary.

Mrs.O’leary- a huge, slobbering dog with thick black fur- bounded towards him in a frenzied greeting. She hopped up on her hind legs to lick his face, tail wagging at a unmatched speed. She barked again, this time more quieter.

“Yeah, yeah. It's nice to see you too.” Percy laughed as he tried to pull away. Once he went to the kitchen to grab a bone-shaped treat. “Who’s a good girl?” He cooed, tossing the snack in the air. Mrs.O’leary jumped up to snatch it before barking and padding away. Her tail still wagged with elation.

When Percy first moved here, it was quite nerve-racking. He'd heard that this place was an especially good spot for people like him- meaning people who did some illegal activity. Well, that was what he assumed. Percy was 99% sure that his neighbor just in the penthouse below him, (Leo was it?) had to be involved in some sketchy stuff. That creepy smile of his with a mysterious staining his shirt never meant any good. Or maybe when his other neighbor, had a odd looking duffel bag slung across his shoulder. Oddly human shaped, maybe. With a horrible smell of something rotting. Percy recalled introducing himself a Nico DiAngelo. A pretty reserved and quiet guy, usually having a frown of his face. Well, other than that time when he had his boyfriend over, a sunshiney guy with sun-kissed hair. He never got the chance to catch his name.

Wrapping a white cloth around his wound, Percy's met with a sense of familiarity. Fixing his own injuries by himself. It would bee nice to have some help once in a while, but that would mean exposing him. He's definitely not ready to risk that.

Other than his boss and a couple of really close friends, no one knows about this. Percy nearly slipped up once- when a old companion from high school came over to visit, and his small arsenal of weapons were revealed. The little compartment hidden behind a painting. Not another word wasmsaid about it. Percy made up some half-assed excuse about auditioning for a movie so they were fakes.

It didn't take much of a expert, but the were far from fakes.

His phone rang from beside Percy, making him jolt in surprise. The contact name made him smile just the tiniest bit.

"Hey, mom," Percy began. "Why'd you call?"

"Can't your mom check up on you once in a while? How are you?" Sally beamed, cheerful voice on speaker mode.

He walked over to the bathroom where he stood in the full length mirror. A hint of blood seeped through the white bandage; now full wrapped. "Good. How's Paul and Estelle doing?" He asked.

"They're doing great! Me and your step dad went out with Estelle yesterday to see the movies." Sally smiled. "Estelle is growing into such a energetic ball of energy." She joked. "Just like you."

"Is that so?" Percy laughed, splashing his face with water. It felt cool on his skin, causing tiny pricks of coldness to pop up all over.

For a while, him and Sally conversed. She told him about her day (mostly gushing about Paul and Estelle) while Percy smiled and listened. He did his best to hide the fact that he'd been fixing up his wounds in silence. He cursed silently in pain when he touched an sensitive spot on the slash.

"Percy? Are you alright?" Sally asked in concern.

"Yeah! I just... hit my elbow. Its nothing. " He hastily replied.

"Okay," Sally exclaimed in relief. "By the way, when are you going to visit your old woman? Estelle misses you, you know."

"Yeah, well tell her I miss her too." A sense of gloom over took the conversation. "Look, I'm busy now but..." Percy looked over to the mirror again. "I'll call you later. Maybe I can visit you guys over there soon." He exhaled.

"We're looking forward to it! Isn't that right, Estelle?" Sally gave the phone to the little girl who was jumping with excitement.

"Come over soon Perce!" She garbled. It sounded like she was eating something halfway.

"I will. Talk to you later, 'Kay?"

"'Kay!"

A wave of guilt overwashed Percy as soon as he ended the call. It was killing him inside, to not be honest with them about his real job. They just thought he was a simple marine biologist who got one hell of a promotion. Yeah, he wished. That seemed easier than killing for a living. He was going to tell them sooner or later. He just had to. Not today- not anytime soon, that is.

Jolting himself out of his thoughts, Percy's phone rang. He was quick to answer it. Was it Sally calling again? Percy put down the metal spoon he was holding, letting it rest in the pot of soup bubbling on the flat stove.

“Hey, Percy!” The horribly familiar voice rang from the other side of the line. Percy grimaced.

“What is it?” He groaned.

“Is that any way to talk to your boss?” He tsked. “But I have news for you!”

“Do tell,” Percy muttered and went back to his soup.

“I have a mission.” Apollo grinned widely. “You up for it?”

“Again? Didn't I just do one yesterday?” Percy rolled his eyes. He was tired; completely tired. Usually the missions weren't this close together- sometimes they could be even months apart.

“Yeah, but this one won't happen for a week or so. And it ain't just the typical mission.”

“Yeah? And what's that?”

“Its a info operation. Meaning-”

“I know what that means!” Percy interjected. “Just tell me the details already. I’m hungry.”

“Jeez, okay mr. grump. Annabeth Chase. You know her?” Apollo said, scoffing at Percy's tone.

“You mean the owner of that one architecture company? What about her?” He asked.

“She’s connected with Thalia Grace and Luke Castellan.” Appolo explained. “Apparently people have been talking about their new heist that they're planning. By what I've heard, it's going to be huge.”

Those three names- Thalia Grace, Luke Castellan, Annabeth Chase. Annabeth especially, was the most well known in the regular world. Her being the stoic founder of Athchase as well as being a crazy rich and famous person, that's a no brainer. Luke and Thalia, on the other hand, their heists were well known anywhere. Annabeth didn't have a criminal record of any sorts. That's a big reason she can keep up her reputation. It's not like the woman did anything wrong, its just that... the fact that she is connected with the two is enough to ensure suspicion. Growing rumors of her planning some of their crimes were spreading fast. Percy's heard of things like that, her being the mastermind of killing and stealing.

“Alright," He nodded. "Im interested. Go on."

“New York. That's where the three plan to meet up. Get information, maybe use your charms into getting her to trust you."

"N-new york..!?" Percy was left shocked at that.

"I've booked a flight there. 5 in the morning sharp tomorrow. I reccomend you arrive on time." Apollo chuckled.

"Yeah, whatever."

"And Percy?" He called out.

"Hm?"

"You have my full permission to kill Annabeth when you're done." Apollo darkly said, hanging up without another word. Percy rolled his eyes for the tenth time on the call.

Well, all right.

Next destination: New York.

"So, New York, huh." Annabeth swirled some of her cocktail in the glass, circling her wrist in a rotation. The blue liquid swirled together in a repetitive motion. Sapphire Martini tasted rather bitter on her tounge, but decent nonetheless. She enjoyed the slight orange twist.

"Why here of all places?" She asked.

"Its a golden opportunity, dear Annie. The Olympians only gather once in a blue moon, so we're going to make the most out of this!" Thalia sipped from her own glass, some regular red wine. She'd never had such a taste for 'Those fancy rich drinks'. Whatever that meant.

The Olympians, as Thalia said before, were a group of 12 of some of the wealthiest and prestigious people from across the world. Only a few select people could be a part- it was exclusive as to anybody who was just normal as a couple million rich. New York would be holding a auction quite soon on a famous opera house; and surprise, they would be there.

"Don't call me that." Annabeth winced at the name. "And who exactly is we?"

"Don't go all acting like you didn't agree, alright? Plus, you can gain a thing or two from all this." She grinned.

"I have a company to run, Thals, You know very well that I dropped that type of business years ago." Annabeth shook her head. "This is seriously risky."

"But you love that. Don't you?" Thalia pressed, standing up.

She truly did. The thrill, the rush of energy you couldn't get anywhere else. Thats what had driven her to join Thalia and Luke in the first place. That feeling alone made her eyes sparkle with desire.

"Yeah." Annabeth places her drinkdown back on the glass table. "I do."

Okay I'm back with some more hot garbage!!! here's my latest thing-- a assassin au. I need to do a ship other than percabeth tho 😔😔

#percabeth fanfic #percabeth oneshot #percy x annabeth #percabeth #percy jackson #percy and annabeth #pjo oneshot #annabeth pjo #pjo fluff #percabeth angst #percabeth fluff #annabeth chase #pjo thalia #thalia grace #jason grace #grover underwood #percy and grover

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eivorsjawline · 4 years

Text

tw: the usual blood and cuts visuals

Chapter 7: Turn Back Time

Reader’s POV

A crescent moon lit up the night sky and the grass remained damp from the recent storm, crickets and frogs sang nearby. The wet, muddy terrain on the hill worked my calves as well as ruined my shoes. My escort finally dropped me off at the stones. Though I know it's odd dropping a strange woman off at a landmark in the middle of the night, he never asked any questions. The atmosphere was dark and cold, part of me felt scared to go back. There is always the chance that the stones could send me to the wrong time period, or even further back. I found love here, and even friends of my own. At least what I thought was love, even if the feelings were not mutual. How could someone so sweet and loving towards me flip within an instant. I questioned if I truly knew Eivor at all in the time I spent here.

Everything changed through the years, but the stones remained the same. Unchanged by any shape or form of mankind. People have come and have gone as they have sat and watched patiently. I wonder whether people have even noticed my absence and how I would explain where I was. It's difficult bearing the truth but having no one to tell it to otherwise I’d be deemed insane. I was back where my journey started, in the same spot engulfed by the tall rocks around me. The standing stone I had touched previously stood directly in front of me. However, I couldn’t bring myself to touch it as if a magnetic force was pulling me away. My name echoed in the distance from a voice I could recognize no matter how far.

Eivor stepped down from her horse with caution and let out a groan. Her knees appeared weak as she stumbled towards me and her voice dry and tired. I still felt anger towards her and wondered why she didn't just apologize earlier.

“Y/n, wait!”

“Why, Eivor?”

“Im sorry, I’m drunk and I can't think right now. Please, forgive my harsh words… You deserve more than what I can offer you. So I…”

She paused and placed her hand on her stomach before dropping to her knees. I quickly moved her hand and lifted her undershirt to reveal she had been wounded. Though I’m not an expert, It was clear to see the wound was deadly. Eivor reached her hand outwards towards me for support. I screamed out her name whilst the anger in my body was now replaced with fear.

“Eivor, get up!”

She could hardly keep her eyes open and her body refused to stand up. For once, I had no time to think of what to do next. Running on pure adrenaline, I reached behind her and grabbed underneath her arms in an attempt to drag her but she was too heavy. My panicking only worsened from that point forward.

“Eivor, I need you to help me please… Just for a moment.”

Her eyes flickered with what little fight she had left in her body. I placed her arms around my neck, holding her wrist. This allowed her to place less of her body weight on me as I led her to the stone. She groaned in pain and could barely support herself. I quickly pulled her free hand onto the stone alone with mine.

This is the only way…

Eivor’s POV

Consciousness started to return to me as a bright light shined in my eye, I could make out the voices of other people around me. Everything was colorless, only white. For a moment, I truly thought I had died. I looked up to strange sounds coming from a machine that had cords hooked up to various parts of my body. Men and women wearing white coats surrounded me and they seemed to somehow know my name. I sat up to get a better view of my surroundings and my jaw dropped, unable to fix the frown on my face. I began to tug and pull out the lines connected to me and a woman advised me to stop.

“Where am I? Who are you people?”

“This is a hospital and we’re trying to help you. I need you to lay back down.”

The lights around me were so bright and everything so foreign, I felt genuine fear forming in my body. They mumbled towards one another, words I could not make any sense of. The woman in front of me started to fidget with a set of tools near my bed until I grabbed onto her wrist and she flinched. She squirmed and tried to pull my hand off before I finally released her.

“Tell me where y/n is… Please.”

“She's waiting for you outside… Doctor, she's moving too much she needs to be put back to sleep.”

What does she mean put back to sleep?

Before any further thoughts could form I felt a pinch in my arm and my eyes started to grow heavy. I could not fight my drowsiness so I succumbed to it.

Readers POV

I waited outside Eivor’s room anxiously. Thankfully, I had been placed in the exact same time period I had left. Nothing changed and I knew no questions would be plastered onto me by anyone I know. The door to Eivor’s room opened and a doctor greeted me, papers in his hands of x-rays and tests. He was a tall freckled man with thick brown hair and his glasses kept falling from the bridge of his nose. I stood up to shake his hand and waited for him to tell me any news of her.

“So, the wound has been disinfected and is ready for proper healing. We’ve done a few tests on her brain activity and everything is functioning normal. However, she has multiple scars all over her body. They look to be battle scars, oddly enough. I understand you tell me she’s a new friend of yours but do you know anything else about her life?”

“All I know is that her life has been a rough one… Now, when can she be released?”

“Soon. She’s very confused right now, unaware of her surroundings. Perhaps, once she's awake you can help jog her memory.”

“Could I at least see her now?”

“I’m assuming you’re not family therefore, I can't allow that. Leave your number and we’ll let you know when she’s ready to be brought home.”

I jotted down my number with the black-ink pen the doctor gave me. He told me she needs to be aware of her surroundings before any further stimulation. Even if the doctor seemed suspicious, they know only so little. I felt bad on the walk to my car, I didn’t wanna leave her all alone there but there was nothing I could do about It. I feared she would be angry with me once I picked her up. I started up my car and pulled out of the driveway, the rain trickled onto the front of my window and I turned on my windshield wipers. The drive back home was somewhat rejuvenating, being back relaxed me, I didn’t have to witness war and blood every second of the day.

I neared the driveway of my parking lot and pulled in. On the passenger seat my keys laid, I grabbed them and shut the car door. When I unlocked the front door to my apartment everything remained just as It was before, like nothing changed. My cat greeted me with a meow and I replied back with a scratch on her neck before making sure her food bowl was filled. I missed my life entirely, though I hadn’t been gone terribly long, a feeling of deja vu still resonated within me. The night would be long as I waited for my phone to go off. I turned the television on in my living room and kicked back, my cat laying next to me.

Just like old times...

Traveling through time seems to tire me, so I laid back and let my mind drift away.

Eivor’s POV

I awoke from my practically forced sleep. I knew my journey to her would bring me here, to her strange world. Some more clothes would have brought me more comfort rather than this sheet they have me in. My wound was healing nicely, the pain of it wearing away though still sore. Some good ale would help me endure this. The nurses treated me well, making me regret how aggressive I had been in the beginning. My knowledge of the world around me made them suspicious but they knew I was fully responsive. We discussed my release, and they gave me news that I should get ready to go home. One of the nurses placed a bag on the chair next to my bed.

“Your friend left some clothes for you to change into when she left.”

A simple shirt and pants, strange material though. Surely, for such an advanced time I would have thought the clothing would be more complex instead, It was rather minimalist. The shirt fit rather snug but the pants were fine and felt comfortable. No one bared any weapons or armor, I felt nude without anything to defend myself with. Everyone seemed content and relaxed, I envied the people around me and the sheltered lives they had always lived. They walked around completely oblivious, and so did I. The concept was foreign but trying to fit in with the people around me was easy, just act like everything is okay. I heard a knock on the door once I finished dressing and the doctor came in to consult with me. He shook my hand and smiled.

“Hello, Eivor. Your wound is healing wonderfully. How are you feeling?”

“Better than I was.”

“The severity of your wound was extreme, even I’m surprised you made it… Your scars, how did you get them? If you don't mind me asking.”

I threw my hands up in the air trying to spare some time, my voice became soft.

“Oh, you know. Used to be a troublemaker, got into some bad fights.”

“I assume you're still troublemaking since that wound is fresh.”

“This one was an.... accident.”

Reader’s POV

The familiar sound of my phone started to ring. I knocked out so hard, I’m not even sure what time it is. I wiped the corners of my mouth before clearing my throat, the hospital was calling me. Anxiously, I answered the call and It was the doctor I had spoken to prior. Finally, I can pick her up from the hospital. I never got up quicker, throwing on some clean clothes and grabbing my keys on the way out the door. I whipped out of the driveway and headed towards Eivor, I think I may have even been speeding. Upon arrival I made my way to the desk to check into Eivor’s room. I took the elevator and pressed the floor number I needed to go to. Ugh, I hate the smell of hospitals. Disinfectants and chemicals everywhere, yet the taste of nothingness in the air at the same time. I found myself at her room door, and knocked to make sure she was ready for my entrance. The door handle twisted and opened swiftly, my heart began to beat faster when I saw the way she looked at me. I wrapped my arms around her neck and gave her a warm embrace.

“I’m so sorry It happened this way. We’ll get you back, I promise.”

“There’s no need for apologies, you saved my life. These people saved my life, there would be no going back home if it wasn’t for your quick thinking. I will admit for the first time there is true fear in my body for what lies out there.”

I chuckled, sure enough she had the look of fear in her eyes.

“Eivor, there’s nothing to be scared of. Come on, let me show you my home. Oh, I just picked the shirt and pants out real quick, sorry if the fit is wrong. We’re going shopping as soon as possible...”

Eivor looked overwhelmed, perhaps the bright lighting and a bustling hospital was a lot to handle for her. We stepped in the elevator and made our way down, the buttons and how we dropped seemed to fascinate her. When we got outside to the parking lot she was surprised to see all the cars moving fast, faster than any horse could go. When we got to my car I made a short, “ta-da!” movement with my hands.

“This is my humble stallion, she takes me wherever I like.”

Behold, my silver car. A few years dated but in almost pristine condition, I seemed quite proud of myself somehow. I opened the door for her and had to remind her to tilt her head down when entering.

“More of those…”

She pointed at the numbers in my car.

“They're called buttons, love.”

I turned the volume dial on my car and played some tunes. The surprised expression on her face when she heard what we consider music, we shared a look before smiling and laughing at each other. The moment was short when she ran her fingers over the functions, the radio station changing repeatedly and the heater kicking on and off… Like a child in a candy shop, touching everything in sight. Though I was trying to contain my laughter, her face remained serious and extremely focused. I got on the road to go back home, making sure to play some of my favorite songs for her entertainment.

#female eivor #fem!eivor #eivor #eivor x reader #assasins creed valhalla #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #time travel #assasins creed #ac valhalla

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cakelanguage · 3 years

Text

This took much longer than I thought it would, but work has been absolutely exhausting lately. I'm honestly just excited that I get to share this with you all because I really wanted to participate in Hurt!Noct Week. This is a combination of day 1 prompts: buried alive and captured by Nifleheim (at least sort of?). This is just the 1st chapter, but I figured I’d share at least this bit for now. I hope you enjoy this!

You can also read this on AO3

He should’ve called Ignis. Or texted Gladio that he was going to be ten minutes late to their training session. Or Astrals, accepted Prompto’s offer to walk home with him even though his house was in the opposite direction.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he’d strolled down the bustling streets, thinking about the planned King’s Knight session later that night. He scrolled idly through the mission details, trying to formulate a plan of attack. The last time Noctis had attempted this mission he’d been severely outclassed and had to abandon the mission lest he lose what little loot he’d been able to pilfer from the dungeon. With Gladio’s character acting as their tank, he could have Ignis on range attacks and healing. Prompto had the best stealth stats so they could have Prompto looting the place while the rest of them took care of the bigger monsters. Noctis fancied himself an all-around player so he could assist wherever needed the most help.

Caught up in his mini strategy session, he didn’t realize he was on a collision course with someone until he ran right into them. He stumbled, juggling his phone between his hands in an attempt to save it from meeting its demise on the pavement below.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man he ran into grumbled, brushing imaginary dirt off his jacket.

The man was dressed lavishly in a wide variety of patterns and textures. His coat looked sturdy and thick like it would keep out even the harshest of cold winds. The scarf around his neck was the brightest piece of clothing he wore—the reddish-orange silk oddly complementing the man's red-violet hair. Not a sliver of the man’s skin was visible besides the tip of the man’s fingers and his face under the shade of his fedora.

He had a right to be upset even if half of him wanted to insist that the man could have moved too. He shoved that thought down and instead nodded his head, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry about that,” Noctis apologized. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“Yes, I figured as much.” The man squinted at him, his head cocking to the side. “Hold on a moment, don’t I know you?”

Not for the first time, he was thankful for his privacy. His father had done a remarkable job at keeping him much out of the public eye. People knew who he was, but because he wasn’t in any of the newspapers or rag magazines that most celebrities appeared in he could go through life like normal. He didn’t have to think about paparazzi waiting outside his school or people approaching him asking for something or other.

“Probably not,” Noctis said, “maybe you’ve seen me walking home before? I go to the high school three blocks away.”

Shaking his head, the man inspected his face more thoroughly. “No that’s not it. I’ve definitely seen you before.” He felt as if the man could count his pores, and Noctis shuffled backward away from the man’s heavy stare. “Have you got an uncle that works at the palace? I used to work there.”

The man gave Noctis a private quirk of his lips like he was privy to some hidden joke that only he knew.

“Oh that’s… nice?”

The man nodded absentmindedly gaze still heavy on Noctis. “Hm, you really do look familiar,” he commented. “Quite handsome too.”

“Thanks?” Noctis looked down at his uniform and his loosened tie and wondered if there was a polite way to excuse himself from the conversation. He didn’t want to be rude by walking away from the man but he really did need to get going or he was going to be later than he thought to Gladio’s training session. “Well, I’m sorry for walking into you like that, but I gotta get going.”

“Right, right, of course.” The man swept a hand through his hair sheepishly. “It’s not like I can keep the prince from his important tasks just to talk with me.”

Ice filled Noctis’ veins as his title was casually thrown out by the man who claimed he couldn’t place his face. He stared at the man, uncomprehendingly. This was starting to look like the beginning of one of Ignis’ crime drama shows. Why did the man lie? What was his angle? What was going on?

“Who are you?” Noctis asked, channeling his calm façade to the max.

“A man of no consequence, I assure you.” The man waved him off with a few shooing gestures. “Off you go, your highness.”

Noctis gave him a wary look and an awkward bob of his head. He needed to get out of here. Ready to put this whole interaction behind him, he stepped to the side of the man to continue his route. Except he didn’t get very far before a hand latched onto his wrist with surprising force.

A violent tug had him wrenching himself back around, his shoulder twinging at the sudden jerk. Face-to-face with the man once more, Noctis saw how the man’s expression was colder, harsh in the afternoon sun. His teeth were bared in a sneer—looking for all the world like a coeurl.

“Let go,” Noctis ordered, now glaring at the man who wouldn’t leave him alone. “Didn’t you just tell me to go?”

A taunting smile peaked through the man’s sneer. “Now why would I do that?” He asked.

Noctis clenched his fists and bit out another order. “Let go of me, now.” He grabbed his phone with his free hand and quickly dialed the palace’s emergency numbers. It would be mildly embarrassing if Gladio found out he’d called the Crownsguard on a regular citizen, but his SAS kidnap training was blaring in his ears. “I’m warning you, I can have you arrested.”

A soft tsk came from the man who shook his head at Noctis’ threat. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

He opened his mouth to demand his release again, but all that came out was a choked-off yelp as something heavy struck his head. His knees refused to hold up his body and he collapsed to the concrete. The skin of his palms was torn in his attempt to catch himself, but he couldn’t feel it; the sharp pain by his temple shadowed the pain in his palms.

He turned his gaze back to the blurry figure of the man, who had been joined by another figure. His brain felt sluggish, his thoughts thick in his mouth as he tried to string a sentence together. “W-what—“

“Shh,” The man shushed, ignoring Noctis’ flinch as he tenderly ran a hand through Noctis’ hair. “Good night, sweet prince.”

The last thing he saw was a fist coming at his face.

Then nothing.

He regained consciousness with a choked-off groan. He felt like he’d gone through one of Gladio’s marathon training sessions and lost miserably.

Laying still, he took stock of his body. His lip was swollen and tender as he wet his dry, split lips. The right side of his face throbbed in-tune with his heartbeat and Noctis could barely get that eye to open more than a crack. What was he supposed to do? He’d been trained on how to handle a kidnapping situation; Cor had made it abundantly clear the variations in which people would try to snatch him up. But this wasn’t just a ‘what if.’ He’d been kidnapped not even four blocks away from his school.

It was a matter of figuring out what he could do to get out of here. He still had his magic though admittedly his connection to the Crystal felt like he was trying to pull at the energy through a strainer. Like sifting through a pile of hay for the needle—all of his abilities being the needle and the presence of his magic being the hay.

But that didn’t mean he was helpless. He just needed to approach the situation the right way and he could escape. He tried to remain calm, limiting his breathing to shallow breaths to keep up his ruse. This became a fruitless act when he heard someone or something step up behind him.

A familiar voice came from behind him. “It appears our guest of honor is awake,” the man cooed. Some of the man’s nonchalance had vanished, replaced by cruel giddiness. “And how are you, your majesty?”

Like hell he was going to go along with this guy’s fake care. His pride wouldn’t let him bite out a pleasantry, instead choosing to press his steely gaze on the eccentric man. His stare didn’t deter the man’s delight in his situation which only served to make his blood simmer in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to punch the smug look off that face.

“I think you’ll find, Noctis,” the man loomed over him, nudging him lightly in the ribs with his boots, “that I have the upper hand.”

He didn’t. Noctis refused to believe it. He may not have had any weapons on him, but Noctis had dialed the emergency response number for the palace. By dialing the number he had ensured back-up would be on their way to his location in less than five minutes. Well, the location of where the call took place. He couldn’t feel the shape of his phone in his pockets, but the Crownsguard would be able to pick up on any trail his kidnapper had left behind.

All he needed to do was wait.

“What do you want?” Noctis asked, shifting his position on the floor to try and alleviate the pressure on his lower back. He could already feel the scar tissue there begin to burn and ache.

“Already wanting me to reveal my dastardly plan?” The man questioned. “How cliché.” Noctis’ face must’ve given away his annoyance because the guy clucked his tongue at his expression.

“I realize this isn’t one of your silver-spoon soirees, but it’ll serve as a good setting for the video.” He straightened and made his way over to the small set-up of… camera equipment? “We need you to put on your best performance, your highness.” He looked up with a cold smile that sent a shiver running down Noctis’ spine. “Though do save some for the main event.”

“So you’re gonna, what? Ransom me or something?” Noctis squirmed in his binds. “Is that your plan?”

Humming noncommittally, the man continued setting up his equipment. “Or something.”

“Not much of a talker huh?” He was banking on being able to get some info out of the guy so he could shout it over what was sure to be his ransom video.

The waiting was bizarre. Despite the discomfort, he didn’t feel like he was all there—though the main contributor to this was the head injury—the quiet sounds of rustling cables and footsteps gave him peace of mind amongst the simmering unrest and anxiety as the experience faded into less immediate danger. If only he could concentrate on his armiger and summon the knife he stored there—then he’d be able to warp out of his binds and escape.

A quiet huff of laughter broke through the silence; it took him a few moments to realize the laugh came from him . It wasn’t funny, not by a long-shot. He was being stupidly optimistic, especially since his vision still wavered between doubled and covered in black splotches. He probably had one hell of a shiner too.

He wished he’d called someone to get him.

The derelict state of his mind was brushed away as a triumphant cry echoed slightly around him. He squinted at the man who looked at him expectantly.

“What?” Noctis asked, tiredly. He had no desire to give the man the reactions he was hoping for. Actually, the other being put off by his apathy made him feel better. “Did you finally get your whole… set-up ready?”

The man had the audacity to pout at him. “Now you’re just no fun,” he complained. “Aren’t you curious as to why I’ve brought you here?”

Noctis shrugged. “Not really?” The motion caused his chains to rattle in the tight space. “Most of the guys I’ve been kidnapped by all want the same thing: revenge or money.”

“I can assure you that my reason is definitely not for any monetary reason.” The man took a step towards him. “I suppose you could call it revenge, though I admit you are simply unlucky—to be chosen by the gods.” He cupped Noctis’ cheek with surprising tenderness, brushing his thumb along his cheekbones. “You do bear a striking resemblance to him.”

A nail dug it the flesh underneath his eye and Noctis hissed, attempting to turn his face out of the man’s grip. “What a pity,” the man said, releasing his hold on Noctis. “Before we begin, I think it’s only fair that you finally be able to put a name to your captor.”

“Oh now you want to introduce yourself?” Noctis grumbled—because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life apparently.

Fortunately, the man seemed amused by his comment. “Do forgive me for my rudeness, your highness .” The mocking emphasis he placed on the title was not lost to Noctis, but he didn’t dignify him with an answer. “I’ve been reduced to the moniker ‘Adagium,’ by the royal line of Lucis.”

It sounded familiar, but Noctis couldn’t place where he’d heard it. Had the name come up in his studies? Was it a political thing?

Adagium sighed and shook his head. “I’m not surprised you don’t know of me. Your dear father is desperately trying to keep you in the dark.”

Noctis furrowed his brow. “What do you mean he’s keeping me in the dark?”

With a shake of his head, Adagium stepped back over to his equipment. “I’ve talked enough for now, it’s time we get the show started lest the party be stopped before it’s even begun.” Adagium grinned at him. “The stage is yours, prince Noctis.”

A red light blinked to life on the camera as Noctis stared into the lens. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Did Adagium want him to beg? To show whoever was watching the video that he was scared? He wasn’t. Scared that it is. Unnerved? Yes, how could he not be when he was kidnapped and tied up in some unknown location.

His captor sighed tilting his hat to cover his face and—

Adagium changed. No longer was he wearing the extravagant, pattern-clashing, textile collage of an outfit. He was in a set of armor, his face masked and hair tucked away under the rigid helmet. Noctis had only seen the armor in person once before on that fateful escape from Tenebrae as he reached desperately for Luna’s hand.

Magitek armor.

To see the man stripped of his individualism did more to bother Noctis than he expected. Something about the metal, placid expression staring at him had his stomach clenching nervously. How had Adagium done it? An illusion? But how? To his knowledge, illusion magic was typically only used by the messengers of the gods; he figured he’d already met all of them at this point with his connection to Luna.

With four jerky steps, Adagium stood beside him, a hand painfully clasping his shoulder. Noctis side-eyed the man as if he could glean some sort of direction for what he wanted Noctis to do.

Once again, Adadgium broke the silence. “Salutations, Your Majesty, Regis Lucis Caelum,” Adagium said, “113th monarch in the long line of Lucis.”

He’d somehow managed to project his voice to see like he was behind the camera again. Another impossibility Noctis didn’t know how to find an answer to.

“As you can see, I have an auspicious guest with me, one I know you’re well-acquainted with. Won’t you say hello to your dear father, Noct?” Adagium asked.

Gritting his teeth, Noctis glared at a spot on the wall. He wasn’t going to give the other what he wanted, not when he could still deny him of his game. If he could weaponize his silence, he would.

With an angry tut from Adagium, Noctis’ hair was yanked with a merciless tug, pulling his head backward and exposing his throat. He could feel the handful of hair desperately trying to cling to his scalp as he let out a small whimper at the rough treatment.

“What a difficult boy,” Adagium commented, “he must’ve been quite the child to raise. To think he’d forget his manners at a time like this.”

“Shut up,” Noctis growled.

“Oh he speaks! Splendid! Now while I’ve broken through that stony exterior, we can commence the show.”

Suddenly, a knife was pressed against Noctis’ neck. He flinched back into Adagium’s hold on his hair, but the knife followed, the edge of the blade making a small, shallow cut on the delicate skin of his neck. He was helpless, tied up, and at the mercy of his captor. And it didn’t seem like Adagium had any qualms against hurting him.

The blood that lazily oozed from the wound dripped down his neck and settled into his jugular notch like a morbid jewel. Noctis heard Adagium’s hum of approval and could feel the pressure of the knife increase slightly as if Adagium had lapsed in his awareness that he was the one holding the knife and thus in control of how far the blade entered Noctis’ flesh.

“Now, I understand why Lucis values black as a special color—it goes amazingly with blood red, wouldn’t you agree?”

He said it so off-handedly that Noctis wasn’t sure who he was talking to: Noctis, Regis, or himself. What was clear, was that Adagium had a deep-seated grudge against Lucis—the royal line in particular. But why? Was he from one of the outer nations that had been left behind when his father had to pull back the wall to just the city of Lucis?

Adagium broke out of his musings, finally pulling the knife back enough that it was just resting against the cut. “Never mind that,” he said. “I expect you’re waiting for some kind of demand from me. Money? Some impossible wish for power? Recognition?” Noctis could hear the smirk in his voice, that deceptively playful quirk of his lips. “No, I don’t want any of those, not explicitly at least.”

What do you want? Noctis didn’t voice no matter how much he wanted to. This little video of Adagium’s seemed to be going nowhere which could be good if this was a live broadcast, build the tension maybe.

“My reason for kidnapping Noct is very simple: because I could.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that Noctis’ brain stumbled to a halt. That’s it? Because he could? That didn’t make any sense, not when Adagium had brought up some kind of revenge. “What happened to your revenge?” Noctis asked. “You mentioned your reasons could be considered revenge and the gods.” He remembered the forlorn look in Adagium’s eyes before the rage had trickled back in. “You said I resembled someone, Adagium.”

He knew he was being bold, foolhardy more accurately, but his captor hadn’t revealed his name and Noctis was hoping if he brought up his aforementioned desire for revenge on film he’d reveal more of his reasoning. If the heroes in movies could get a villain to reveal their schemes, Noctis should be able to do it to Adagium.

Adagium’s grip on his hair tightened, Noctis crying out as several strands were tugged out of his scalp. “Oh Noct,” he purred, “I see you’ve decided to join the conversation.”

Noctis felt his skin crawl at the contemptuous pride in Adagium’s voice. He’d overstepped with his nosy questions.

“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” Adagium said. “You remember Adagium, do you not Your Majesty? The mythical monster locked away in the dark depths of Angelgard for ages, lost to time amongst the words of false kings and fraudulent nations.”

Who was Adagium? Noctis wondered, a stray tear slipping down the side of his face towards his hairline. “Why?” Noctis whispered, afraid of the answer he’d receive but unwilling to let his question lie.

The magitek disguise rippled ominously, a black miasma seeping through the gaps of armor. Quickly, the figure of Adagium was being overshadowed by the mist. The tiny glints of gold light within the consuming shadows was what gave away the nature of the mist: Starscourge.

Eyes wide, Noctis struggled in the man’s grip. He remembered when the Starscourge had infected him as a child when the Marilith had sliced his back open and nearly severed his spinal cord. The burning agony of the scourge ravaging his body, when not even his coma brought him relief from its infection. The hushed cries of similarly infected at the edges of his mind like a web of anguish, ever-growing with each infected. Get away getawaygetaway.

His struggling was for naught as the black mirage leaned closer to him. “Why?” Adagium asked the hand that held the knife lazily dragged to the center of his chest. “Because I was saving people. Because that first false king was jealous and power-hungry, over-eager to be the one to wear the crown. And the rest,” he spat the word, “never bothered to question any of their forebears, convinced that they had always done what was best for the kingdom of Lucis.”

Noctis shook his head as best he could. “But why would they—“

“Because the gods didn’t stop them.” The knife in his hand pressed harder against Noctis’ chest and hissed at the sting of the blade. “But the time of reckoning is steadily approaching!”

With a flourish of his hand, the knife was sent away. Noctis thought it was eerily similar to accessing the armiger. “While all the pieces aren’t in their proper place just yet, a bit of ‘divine retribution’ soothes the soul.”

“What do you mean by divine retribution?” Noctis asked, his voice far quieter than he expected.

The miasma cloud seemed to grin impossibly wide, though he couldn’t discern an actual face. “I thought it would be perfect for you to atone on behalf of your forebears, Noct. And to have your father helplessly watch as he struggles to find you.”

Adagium stood behind him once more and wrapped his arms loosely around Noctis’ shoulders. “Let’s have the chosen, King of Light spend some time in the dark,” he purred, black ichor dripping onto his shirt. Onto his head. Onto his face. It was everywhere and Noctis couldn’t focus on anything else.

And then there was nothing.

#HurtNoctWeek2021 #hurt/comfort #Noctis Lucis Caelum #ardyn izunia #ffxv #ffxv fic #fanfic #final fantasy xv #noctis I'm sorry baby but I like seeing my fav characters getting hurt?#ardyn being well himself #we can all just blame somnus tbh #that's what i like doing

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sanders-sides-rebloger · 4 years

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Cabin in the Woods

Tis the season to be frightening! Fa la la la la, la la la la!

Here’s a fanfic for your liking! La la la la la, la la la la!

A/N: As it is the spooky season I’ve decided make a Vampire Virgil fic. Because we deserve it and he’s amazing.

Thank you so much @ironwoman359 for beta editing for me! This could've turned out so much worst without your help XD

Word Count: 3,252

Summary: Roman stays in a fairly big Cabin in the woods for vacation that was owned by his Aunt Patty. He's aloud to stay as long as he wants. She figured he needed it after being in a slump from being rejected by one of the most awarding movie studios.

Not only that’s, It’s isolated with nothing but trees and woods surrounding the building and a narrow dirt path that’s an hour away from civilization. What could possibly go wrong?

Tw: drug mention, slight swearing (If there's anything i should add feel free to let me know!)

Roman stays in a fairly big Cabin in the woods for vacation that was owned by his Aunt Patty. He's aloud to stay as long as he wants. She figured he needed it after being in a slump from being rejected by one of the most awarding movie studios.

It’s even isolated with nothing but trees and woods surrounding the building and a narrow dirt path that’s an hour away from civilization.

There’s already plenty of food and water prepared for him already but it’s annoying at times to have to get groceries where the nearest store is an hour and half away but he got used to it. An experience like this is a challenge on Romans part.

Living somewhere that’s completely out of his comfort zone is new and exciting. The place even miraculously has internet and cable so that's a plus for him.

One day he decided to go out for a walk at sunset, enjoying the quietness of nature. The sun seemed to almost set.

Its been about fifteen minutes of walking when Roman hears hushed voices and the sounds of other men talking. He grew confused, close to no one should be around here. The area was secluded.

It turned out to be a drug trade going on, and Romans just stupidly walked in the middle of it.

Every inch of his body filled with regret. He should’ve known what he was getting himself into.

They see him and immediately jumped him. Roman was able to put up a good fight for a while until more of them showed up. For a hopeful second he was able to run away. He fled to the direction of his car so that none of them could know where he lives and try to get the hell away from them as soon as possible.

It was short lived as one guy grabbed him by the back collar of his letterman jacket and pulled him back. He threatens him and tells Roman other nonsense he could care less about.

The tears were pouring down before he realizes it. Tired, beaten, and defeated he could only struggle against the attackers arm around Romans neck and shoulders and beg for mercy.

As soon as he believes this could be the end, the thug’s grip was surprisingly pulled away and he was violently dragged far away from Roman. His screams of bloody murder echo behind him the further away he was.

The prince like man stumbles forward and turns around in fright mixed with confusion, and his eyes widen in terror, the thug disappeared as soon as it happened like no one was ever there. Romans eyes widen.

Who in the hell just did that? There’s no way the bandit possibly fled on his own. Someone else has to be here. Romans eyes quickly land on the three suspicious men, from before, coming into view.

They look at Roman like he was crazy, believing he was the one who possibly killed their friend. The three looked like they were about to attack him when suddenly something came flying into view. A blur of a human shape came knocking the attackers out within seconds, as if he was flying.

Roman stood frozen. Paralyzed with confusion.

Soon he realizes how odd the newcomers clothing is. It was hard to see but his clothing looked like it could’ve been from the Victorian era and his skin is completely pale white. It was all Roman could see since the man was moving too fast, he had the hood of his cape covering his eyes.

Before he realizes what’s happening, he feels something cotton grab his wrist that quickly takes Romans hand and drags them far away to the safety of his Cabin.

Romans mind is reeling at this point. He sighed to himself in relief.

Then it got worse, his heart dropped at the sight of what looked like long sharp fangs curving out of this guy's head. It made Roman want to run inside, lock his doors and windows, and get as far away from this thing as possible.

He was only able to incoherently mumble questions and frightened gasps. With its fangs still out and hissed towards Roman whenever he struggled against his grip. The stranger then grasps Roman and whispers in his ear in a low growl.

“I don’t know who you are, but the only reason I saved your sorry ass was so I didn’t have to deal with a dead body in my territory. Tell anyone about this, my fangs will be digging so deep in your neck, you’ll be completely deflated.”

It made goose bumps grow all over Romans neck. His heart felt like it was beating out of his ribcage. What made this action ten times worse was how the hooded man's voice had a deep dark echo to it.

And with that, the stranger shoved the man in front of him to the ground and disappeared into the night. Roman laid there for several minutes trying to control his breathing as his growing fear in his mind replayed everything that happened in one night.

He went away back to his apartment for a while. The poor guy couldn’t sleep properly for days and left immediately after. He told no one of his experience, he knew they would think he’s crazy for believing in something that sounded so made up.

The Princely character had time to think about his situation over and over. He wasn’t sure whether it was the fight he had been in or the meeting with the pale stranger that terrified him the most. A shiver went down Romans spine from just thinking of him.

He remembers the way the man's breath grazed his earlobe as he talked in that chilling low tone of his. His grip on the man's arms below his shoulders felt overwhelmingly too tight for a normal person.

The creature wasn’t exactly hiding who he was either. Even the very act of saving Roman in the first place to later on threaten him afterwards was beyond him. He could’ve just left him to die by those thugs, and it wouldn’t have been the man's problem either. He could’ve just carried on with his life without Roman in it.

But he didn’t. Instead he knocked every single one there was and dragged them away in the blink of an eye. Roman hoped the creature at least had some morals to not want to mess with him again.

A good few weeks went by for Roman to gain some courage to go back and retrieve his essentials. He was currently finishing with the last of carrying his boxes to the trunk of his car with no issue until he heard a very loud sudden cry.

It was a deep cry, like someone was in pain. It happened only for a second before Roman did his best to brush it off.

He soon heard it again, but this time it was much louder and echoed effectively through the trees around him. From what Roman had heard so far, it didn’t sound familiar and he started to genuinely worry. Someone could be out there who could be hurt or worse. It wouldn’t be noble at all to walk away from any injured human being.

He wasn’t stupid of course, he remembered his last incident in these woods. He brought his samurai sword out with him that he kept inside the cabin as decoration and wished himself luck. He had a lot of spare time on his hands when he was younger.

Little Roman practically begged his Uncle to teach him, saying he wanted to fight like a real prince. His Uncle eventually agreed and helped train him on how to attack with a sword, little by little until the young man today was an expert.

The deeper into the woods Roman was, the more he heard pants and groans of desperation. He was walking for a good five minutes until he finally reached the mysterious injured being.

Roman became stunned in place to see the unworldly stranger from before, back against a thick oak tree, breathing heavily and barely moving. Only the deep rise and fall of his chest indicating any signs of life. He could recognize that clothing anywhere, his most recognizable clothing being his deep purple gloves and darkly stitched black and silk red embedded hood. Yeah, it was definitely him.

He lowered his sword but still held it tightly in his hands. Roman slowly went in front of the stranger and knelt down on one knee, putting distance between them, and examined him more closely. His eyes were closed and he looked to be unconscious. His mouth was slightly agape, showing his impressively sharp fangs.

Oddly enough Roman can’t deny that the man is surprisingly attractive looking from physical appearance alone. His pale skin brought out the dark circles around his eyes as well as his red lips.

A sudden chill went down the back of his neck at the thought of the color being as red as blood. Roman didn’t know and chose to keep it that way.

Without touching him, Roman inspected what he could and found no injuries on the man. There’s no one else in sight except them, so that loud groan had to have been from the now silent man in front of him.

Thinking about it now, he doesn’t know why he’s still here after what this person did! He’s the same one who bared his teeth at him and threatened Roman with his life. The stranger even somehow knows where he lives and could easily kill him if he wanted to. Could he have been stalking him as his prey for the two weeks Roman’s been here?

Romans grip tightened on the handle of his sword he forgot he was holding. His eyes traveled towards the blade.

He could kill this thing. He could do so with no witnesses. The hooded figure isn’t even human, who knows what he’s capable of. It would be so easy...

Roman stood weakly and lifted the end of his sword above his knees and pointed it to the creature's neck.

However this was also the same person who saved him from those dealers. Someone who entered the picture right when Roman needed help most. There was no way this person couldn’t have seen what was happening except from watching afar.

And right now, the closer he inspected the faded purple haired figure he could see how torn he looked. He was currently immobile, his cries were loud just a moment ago and...he looked much skinnier than he previously did? Romans eyes could be tricking him, since there’s excess clothing covering the creature from head to toe, so he couldn’t tell.

Even though the thought of more of them being out there terrified him to death, throughout the miles and miles of woods beyond Romans cabin, who knows, he could have a family somewhere out there.

And Roman was just going to kill him with the only excuse being his fear, even though it’s completely reasonable fear right? And when was the last time Romans seen his own family?

Nevertheless, no matter what circumstances there were, he is grateful for what it did. He wouldn’t be standing here today without the creature's help.

Roman tossed the sword aside and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He slumped his body to the ground, feeling stupid for not doing the only rational thing a person should do. He doesn’t want to hurt it though. Not after seeing more closely how it pathetically slumped against the tree trunk like dead weight.

The being didn’t even touch him, well- harass him in any way.

The only time he’d touched him was after he dragged Roman straight to his cabin. Also being what he is, he couldn’t have seen another human in years, so it sort of makes sense as to why the stranger threatened him the way he did. It still begs the question to why he helped Roman in the first place.

Instead, he sits on his knees and hesitantly shakes the others shoulder gently to wake him. He doesn’t move, but he’s now taking shallow breaths in contrast to his previous heavy breathing.

Roman moves his hand to the strangers chest. Are creatures like this even alive? The one in front of him surely doesn’t look like it. Not only is he as pale as a corpse, but he’s ice cold to the touch. To confirm himself that if the figure was indeed alive, Roman moves his hand to its wrist, neck or anywhere to indicate any sort of pulse.

From what the man could tell he was beginning to lose hope. Nothing about the scene in front of him was indicating any source of life.

Roman slowly drew his hand back, going over his options for what to do in a situation like this. Roman moves his hand to the strangers skin at his bare neck for good measure.

However he was pulled from his thoughts when Roman yelped loudly in terror at two hands tightly grabbing his shoulders and pinned him, sitting, against the thick tree trunk with the stranger on top of his lap. The weight on him felt like a ton of bricks.

Romans wrists were tightly grasped together over his head with one of the stranger's hands. He winced loudly in pain. The strong grip around his wrists squeezed, barely not cutting off circulation. The other arm pushed horizontally across Romans chest, trapping him even more.

He's almost nose to nose with the stranger in front of him, he stares straight into the eyes of the one who put him in his now captive state, frozen in place.

Roman could widely see the creatures distinct facial features. How it formed a wicked smirk, with its claw-like fangs poking out of its mouth, how the pools of brown looked into Roman with dark unknown intentions.

Roman could feel his heart drop to his stomach at that moment, eyes tightly shut and body trembling as his mind conjured different scenarios of his ultimate demise.

It all made sense now. How the creature defeated the dealers to stop them from getting to Roman. The way he knew the exact route to get to his cabin. He knew where Roman would be in due time and just waited for the right moment to strike in his vulnerable state.

Romans mind drew a blank, and he could barely function at that moment.

He kicked, screamed, and pushed away with all his might but nobody came. The stranger's incredible power which held him down did nothing for him. It only leaned back only a little and watched with a calm expression of pity on the prey's pathetic attempt of escape.

Roman panted heavily, out of breath and worn out. He needs to kill this thing. He should’ve done so when he had the chance.

That's when Romans eyes slowly drifted to his sharp sword in front of him, glinting in the moonlight. He longed for it to magically appear in his hand to help him attack this creature.

His breath hitched as the figure moved forward and toward Romans ear.

“I wouldn’t think about it if I were you~” The creature warned. He said lowly, sniffing Romans neck a little and smiling brightly.

Roman turns his head away the best he can as he whimpers, feeling vulnerable it's touch. He felt completely and utterly violated.

Soon though, Romans face pales and his dread grew when he saw those familiar sharp fangs at the corner of his eye and they were pointed right at his neck.

“Tell anyone about this, my fangs will dig so deep in your neck, you’ll be completely deflated.”

Roman could feel his tears pricking in his eyes, on the verge of streaming down his cheeks. He’s going to die here. He’s never going to live to meet his dreams of becoming a professional actor. He’s never gonna see any of his friends again.

The creature wanted him all to itself, and he was gonna be eaten alive. Roman hoped it would be a fast death at least.

“Please...” Roman whimpers again, his voice quivering as he pushed the back of his head against the tree in an attempt to further himself from the creature. Which only caused him a strong stinging pain in his head against the bark. He prepared himself for the sharp pang to dig painfully deep into his neck.

...

Except, nothing happened.

After what felt like forever, nothing was done to Romans body. He was still pinned against the bark like a prisoner, but no actual damage was done to him. He was confused and afraid to open his eyes, yet he was wondering what the hold up was after the creature stated exactly what he wanted to do to him.

Roman opens his eyes painfully slow. He regains his vision and he could see how the pale man perked up and leaned further away from him. In a flow of emotions its face went from confused to shocked to sympathetic in mere seconds. Roman didn’t understand.

That’s when the figure throws the pinned man aside to the dirt and backs away with almost a tremble in his step. He looks down at his hands with wide eyes, pondering his actions.

He stands up with distance between himself and his victim, running a gloved hand through his hair.

“Did I just...“ The man mumbles to himself.

He grew silent, looking to be in deep thought. He continued to speak softly to himself but it was incoherent from where Roman sat. The silent ring of crickets can be heard with the rustling of the trees.

Roman can see the man from his side view, standing there. It was like he completely forgot that he was there in the first place. Right now, Roman had no idea what to do.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s still pretty damn terrified. But just now, he thinks, the man looked so... scared. Like he didn’t know what he was doing.

Should he say something? Do something to break the ice?

That’s when the man finally noticed Romans presence. His gaze slowly drifts to the man's tense filled body on the ground, looking up at him with a wide stare. His eyes once looked so menacingly. A type of stare that would make anyone regret they were born. Now though the man looks at him with lidded eyes, a light in them that’s shown full of regret. It was astounding. Roman didn’t know what to think.

Roman gets up on his own. He decided it’d be better to say something rather than nothing at all.

“I don’t know what’s going on, what or who you are, but I need an explanation for what happened just now.“ He continued to ramble on about everything else, wanting an explanation, pacing as he spoke.

Roman didn’t notice but the pale man rubs the bridge of his nose in a somewhat annoyed manner. He couldn’t blame him though.

Roman turns again, this time facing him this time.

The man being interrogated slowly walks towards Roman. He sees this and his words slowly die out in this throat, staring at him questionably.

His breath was quite literally stolen from him when the man places a gloved hand over Romans mouth, effectively shutting him up.

“Listen, I know you don’t exactly trust me right now. But my name is Virgil, and I need your help.”

#sanders sides #vampire virgil #fanfiction #reblogger posts #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #slowburn prinxiety #roman x virgil #Cabin in the Woods #slight angst #ts roman #ts virgil #i may continue this #I may not #depends on how much time and willpower I have lol

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gypsydanger01 · 4 years

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THE STORM - Part thirteen

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

A/N: So here’s a short chap with Sarah and Martha hanging out. I want this series to slowly build up to what I have planned, since it’s highly unrealistic for either of them (BN and OC) to immediately and blindly trust each other. BN might be taken by her, but he’s not stupid. Next chapter will have more BN!!

Black coffee and light reading

It had been a couple of days since he’d last seen her, and Noir was growing restless. He’d left for an energy drink commercial he was supposed to star in and was very close to beheading the film director who had him endlessly repeating his scenes. He was disgusted by their superficial ways, this façade they all hid behind. He was no movie star or celebrity. He was a killer.

Kevin, the scrawny man directing the scenes called out, “And cut.”

Noir immediately stepped back into his usual strict posture as the smaller man moved towards him.

“I really liked this one,” he praised excitedly, “but why don’t we try this again? We want it to be intense,” he emphasized, “—keep viewers on the edge of their seats.”

The large, masked man stared down at him for a few seconds, enjoying the way Kevin grew visibly uncomfortable. As the director began trying to convince him, Noir simply moved past him and walked off. You don’t want to see intense, he thought.

Making his way through rows of props and sets, he reached his trailer and decided he didn’t feel like holing up in the cramped space for the rest of the day. Instead, he kept walking until he’d left the film set behind.

Soon, he reached a wooded area and delved inside, exploring the small dusty path curling through the tall trees. He imagined that Sarah was there with him, her small hand curled in his. Who was she? Was her name Sarah, or rather Marianna? Was she spying on Vought? He thought back to the night he followed her to the club, and he’d seen her burn the shape of her fingers into the man’s wrist. Noir was left stunned, and slightly impressed, but he couldn’t shake the doubt clouding his mind. He was meant to keep Vought’s enemies at bay, by picking them off one by one if they got too close. Was she the next threat they’d point out?

His mind drifted back to their evening in her backyard, soaking in the moonlight that filtered through the passing clouds. When he’d first seen her at the gala, he’d found her spectacular. She moved with grace and purpose, and her bright smile had immediately caught his attention. But now he’d gotten a glance behind the curtain and realized there was so much more. She was enigmatic, magnetic. He saw the heaviness of her shoulders, the maturity in her dark eyes. She was an observer, taking in her surroundings in a meticulous and rather calculating manner—just like him. There was a fatigue that lingered in her eyes, and her constantly being cold concerned him. But he could see the fire behind it all. She was hiding away under a façade of innocence and presented herself as small, vulnerable. He had a feeling she was anything but.

She intrigued him, and it was the first time he found himself so involved in another individual’s life and well-being. That night under the stars, he’d seen her on edge, lost at sea.

He hoped she was doing well.

It had been a few days since Sarah had seen Noir, and she wondered if something had happened. She wished she didn’t mind but was surprised when she found herself missing his presence. He was quiet, and yet reassuring. If only they could communicate more directly.

That morning, Sarah and Martha had taken a day off for the quirky blonde’s birthday. They’d decided to go to a local bookstore and coffee shop for a warm drink and pastry before heading off to visit her parents. The two women visited the petite shop every chance they got, always pleased with the homey and warm atmosphere oozing from the book-covered walls.

Once they’d settled down at a small table near the large windows, they ordered and chatted about anything and everything under the sun.

“How did your date with Dave go?” Sarah asked while taking small sips off her coffee.

Martha shook her head, “I was trying to avoid it.”

“Oh, come on, it couldn’t have been that bad—"

“—Worse”

Sarah caught the mischief in Martha’s eyes and knew she was messing with her.

“So, what happened?”

“Well, you see what happened was—” Martha began recounting the tale, “we were sat at dinner, and he moved in really close. His hand came over to mine, and he was flirting while talking about movies…”

Sarah watched her, entirely unconvinced.

“…and then you see, he said the wrong thing,” she took a deep breath, “he said he hates transformers.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “Oh for the love of God.”

Martha immediately dove into an explanation, “No, we love that movie, you and I. We used to watch it religiously every weekend—” she grew louder, while Sarah tried to quiet her down, “—and I will not take this kind of disrespect from some pretty boy.”

Sarah could do nothing but laugh at this point, her friend joining her.

After they’d grown serious, Martha attempted to draw information on the mysterious man who’d sent her, and was probably still sending her, all those gifts.

“What about your mystery man?” she began, “Are you still seeing him?”

Sarah waved it off, “Not really, it’s been a few days—”

“—a few days” Martha exclaimed.

Sarah drew herself into a professional posture.

“Oh, don’t go all Mallory on me now, just give me some details,” she asked, “please?”

Sarah thought on it, and ultimately decided that feeding her friend some details would do no harm, as long as she kept the man’s identity out of the picture.

“Well, we watched Die Hard together—”

“—like Netflix and chill?”

“No,” Sarah grew flustered, “just let me finish, you can run through your list of questions when I’m done.”

Martha smiled and nodded, deciding to not torture her until the end of the story.

“He’s a fan of Die Hard so we decided to do a movie night…” she trailed off. “And it was nice. Unexpected, but nice,” she continued, her mind straying to his uncovered hands, him pulling her into his chest for a chaste kiss on her head.

“Hey, you there,” Martha asked with a knowing look.

“And a couple nights ago he showed up and we watched the moon from the backyard,” she recounted, avoiding as much detail as possible.

Martha looked at her unimpressed, “Is that seriously the best you can do? Come on, tell me about him,” she pressed, “I want to know how you feel about him.”

“I honestly don’t know yet,” she sighed. “And he’s just…” she searched for the right word, “Unexpected.”

Martha rolled her eyes, “Okay unexpected—got it. Describe him.”

“He’s very tall, and strong. A bit dark and brooding," she almost snorted at the understatement. "And he’s quiet you know—doesn’t speak much. But he’s a reassuring presence, good-mannered and,” she faltered thinking back to him pulling her chair out for her, or insisting he wash their cups. “Kind, I guess.”

“So, he’s not stalkerish?”

Definitely. “No, not at all. Nothing worth worrying about,” Sarah reassured her.

Martha watched her carefully, “Okay. I guess that’s enough to keep me satisfied for a couple days, but I want the deets, girl.”

Sarah laughed, relieved they were closing the subject, “Of course.”

She looked down at the black coffee in her cup, her thoughts wondering off to their quiet encounter under an equally pitch-black sky.

Martha snapped her fingers, “I want to stop by Sephora before we leave, so drink up,” she winked, “I’ll get the check.”

And with that the blonde smoothly stood from her chair and headed towards the cute guy at the counter.

Sarah couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s antics. She quickly downed her coffee ready to leave the table, when the spine of a book beside her caught her attention. “Sign language for beginners.”

Conflicted, she stared at it. He might not even come back. Maybe he thought she was weird after that night in her awful backyard. Still, she let her hand move forward and pull it from the neat rows of thick volumes. It looked worn, as if it had been used extensively. She found it oddly comforting.

Finally reaching the front counter, she cut into Martha and the man’s flirtatious conversation holding up the book in her hand. She payed, and the two women finally left.

Once outside, Martha eyed her friend questioningly.

“What?”

“Why are you learning sign language," she asked. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it, I was just wondering—is there any particular reason?”

Sarah kept her expression light and unreadable, “Just interested.”

I’m so stupid, Sarah thought to herself as she found herself hoping he’d return. So stupid.

Martha accepted her friend’s answer, and they hurried off ready for the rest of their day.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx

#the boys #the boys tv #the boys amazon #black noir #the boys season 2 #fanfiction #oc story #black noir x oc #romance

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greyswritingagain-ohhell · 4 years

Text

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔫 ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰

*yeets this at you and runs* PRINXIETY FAIRYTAIL SOULMATE AU-

The compass… What a beautiful creation. Burned into one’s little arms at birth, the red pin always pointing at destiny. Destiny one must travel to, a type of destiny named love.

Roman Sanders X Virgil Sanders

Word count: 2,393

TW: Blood mention, vague mention of sex (i guess?), threats, mentions of an unhappy father-son relationship. Msg if there is more.

★-----☾-----❍-----☽-----★

The compass… What a beautiful creation. Burned into one’s little arms at birth, the red pin always pointing at destiny. Destiny one must travel to, a type of destiny named love. The blissful romance of twirling skirts and melodic laughing from a young story of either woe or contentment. Though destiny is not entirely glitter and kisses, it is and will never be the work of fiction we all wish it be. It is also a raging storm against a raft in violent gunmetal waters, smashed plates and wine glasses once filled stained with tears and tragedy as cries and whimpers fill the lonely grey room that withheld an untold tale of sorrow.

Destiny, as mystifying as it is, can be merciless.

Though… maybe not in this case. Maybe not in the case of the poor little prince in his depressing creamy marble balcony. His glimmering jade eyes were devoid of the usual passion and joy they once shined with. Passion and joy were replaced with longing and unfulfilled urge. Urge to find his soulmate. His soulmate. He has built a reputation for himself for finding his citizen’s one and only, why couldn’t he find his? Why not a quest for the brave prince with a promise of a fairytail ending?

Simple. His father. The man who insisted he stay locked up inside, only seen when needed, only for the fair young maidens to coo and swoon at upon sight. All his services had been classified, hidden away within the palace walls, never to be dug up. But of course, that was only dust on his shoulder that he will eventually brush off. Because the one thing in his mind was them. His rare focus was on what he had considered will be his best achievement. His missing piece. The one he will treat like royalty then proceed to make them royalty.

His soulmate.

Though their meet was delayed many times, today, he was finally going to find them, see their sparkling eyes twinkle in the natural warm sunlight, witness their face contort from confused to… hopefully something positive. Today he will set off to the depths of the unknown and finally, finally, without any form of hesitation or restraint, be free from the chains of the limelight of their watchful gazes on him. Because as much as he loved his kingdom, he didn’t mind the morning breeze flowing through a woodland cottage as his love lied next to him, breathing softly and peacefully like an angel sent from the heavens. He didn’t mind the playful ribbons of the sunset reflecting on the diamond windows, endearing touches slowly becoming a burning sensation that lasts midnight when the stars bless their love.

But alas, father dearest must foil his plans once more when Roman Kingsley heard the familiar thudding of leather boots on the porcelain tiles, not even an attempt to sneak up.

“Father?”

At the unceremonious acknowledgement, his father came closer, crossing his arms as his eyebrows furrowed, “Roman.”

Roman only heaved a heavy sigh, his brown hair teasing his forehead as he ran a hand through them to tame the flying strands. They seemed to shine in the sun, glowing a divine gold over the hues of brown, a halo of a prince. A prince fit for the role of a protagonist, a hero in fiction. Too good to be true, too perfect for such an icy hell called Earth, a forgery for the monsters and myths. A place of fire and ice, uniting to let their twisted gift see the light, the most merciless craft of the gods all creation feared as their result of boredom wrecked havoc over the paradise they so generously provided. And yet there he was, gleaming gold and red, a divinity in the midst of the madness.

Gold in the sand dunes, he'd say.

“What do you need from me, father?” He pondered, raising an eyebrow. There was no denying the slight hurt bubbling in his chest. The weight that rivalled Earth itself was pressing down harshly on his tired shoulders, a warning like defying gravity to never let go. Handling pain had always been his forte, a duel of clashing bronze and gold in the air. But dealing with muffled, inconveniencing pain from someone he had once considered his own father? He'd rather be thrown to the wolves.

“Morgana's at it again. This time worse than usual.”

Contrary to popular belief, he was rather fond of the treacherous shape shifter. Sure, they both had their moments of malice and graceful of fiction-worthy battles, but nonetheless, she was one of good company. Maybe even a friend. Though Roman was positive she'd never admit it. She always struck up a conversation, even the first time they met. Throwing blasts of flames and questions about him and then proceeding to vent to him about the stupidity his father must’ve had to send a 15 year old to “slay” a dragon. His agreement and addition to the topic had unknowingly blossomed a purple and red friendship, flourishing in the snow while dripping vicious, warm blood on the contrasting temperature. If anything, he was thankful his father had sent him on those missions.

But one thing stuck out from his father's sentence.

Worse than usual?

“Will you take care of her?” He deadpanned, placing a large, heavy hand on his shoulder. It was of the most brief displays of what his father called “affection”. Please. Even the stalactites in the dark of the caves nearby loved him better. That is, if constantly falling and almost gifting him a concussion is loving in one's words. Which apparently was to the stalactites. But what did he expect? Kisses on foreheads and ‘we love you's?

“You know I will.”

Its not like he had anything better to do.

Well, there was one mystery at hand. Er, wrist. Because no matter where he turned, the compass pointed the tip of the silver dagger north. It didn’t, not once, change direction. A cliché, yes, but one can only assume his soulmate takes solitude in the brutally icy snowy mountains, freezing for their own life. Or maybe thriving. Who knows, this fair lass or lad may be a hunter, shooting silvery bits of moonlight to puncture any stags nearby. A life they see worth living over their humanity. It was grave, yes. But Understandable. It was ironic, really. Because north was where Morgana set camp that day. Just his lucky day.

The trot of the thoroughbred echoed widely in the evergreen willow forests, tiny little warm white stars shining and illuminating the strip of a path towards his usual Sunday evening. Towards the steep, rocky mountains of Ragana. Could’ve done a better job at naming the damn thing but hey, it's her mountain after all. He had no jurisdiction to interfere with her property.

But the peak of the mountain showed way, standing in all its shimmering glory in the afternoon sun.

“Morgana? My dear, I appreciate the need to see me, but I am on a quest! I must find my soulmate! Can this please wait?-“

“What do you want with my mother?”

He froze, his begging paused. His hands grow stiff as a tree in the air, his hair brushing his forehead teasingly against the cold wind the white snow tinted. The voice had slightly shocked him, foreign and quite… mystifying. He says foreign, through there was a silver lever snapping in his mind, saying it is a familiar melody in his ears. Dark, surely a male's, unwavering, and very, very attractive. How does one tell if another is attractive through their voice?

Another detail caught his attention. His compass, rock solid. Normally a compass' pin will vibrate, jitter, yet still keep its direction clear. The silver end was ice, now burning his arm once more ever since the day of his birth, the tip of the pin now locked on the engraved N. He never recalled any but one knowledge of the compass freezing mid-encounter.

The compass speaks.

Was this young lad his bound? The end of the red string…? His.. Destiny…?

“Hey! Prince guy! I was talking to you-“ the voice died, now silent. The only thing that passed his ears were the slapping of the drooping Willow trees nearby that served him a dreamy backdrop and the blowing winds, gentle and smelling of the oddly comforting breeze of winter.

His body regained its motioning state, his hand dropping to his side, brushing his white blazer. His eyes scanned the scene, remembering the direction the voice came from. It came from under the dark overhang of stone, untouched by the snowflakes. Morgana's humble abode, he'd say. And since when did she have a son? Assuming it’s a man.

“I-She's been wrecking havoc amongst Acelina. We cannot afford any more wreckage, we cannot spend money so carelessly to clean up her messes. She must be stopped.” He said, his head held high. One could take one look at his poised form and think that he was actually confident, brave as he faced the man. But no. His head was screaming. His legs felt like stiff jelly. He was weak for just a dark and mysterious voice. Sue him.

“And? Must you kill her? What proposes that need?”

He squawked in surprise and offend, “I never said she must perish! I simply need to talk-“

“Oh? Then why a sword? Why the need to bring a rash weapon when all you need to do is talk?”

If this was his soulmate, his guards better prim his deathbed soon for this hiding man will be the cause of his delicate demise.

Everything evaporated into the wind, a heavy silence falling and pressing on their slouched shoulders, a force like defying physics. And as every second ticks by in the hourglass, the weight started to gain, pound by pound as they helplessly watch themselves almost get wordlessly sink into a rabbit hole of deep tension.

Almost all else was lost into the marine depths of the Pacific till Roman heard footfalls against the 2inch thick snow. Till the small clouds of breaths from the other brushed softly against his flushed cheeks. Till he felt something cold and sharp press against his chest.

Oh no.

“Listen, prince, I don’t care who you are, what you want, or what your intentions are, all I want you to do is to not—touch—my—mother.”

Though the icy silence was the only solace he could’ve confided in, he had to reply. And he had to do it carefully. One wrong spin, one wrong puff of air, one wrong gesture, and the dagger drives violently through his panicking heart and he will be left to die in the clutches of the dark, mysterious lad without even a glimpse of his face.

“I have no intention or need to hurt your mother. She and I are… acquaintances. And I wish to speak to her.”

The lad lifted his head, his purple velvet hood now falling off as Roman was sure his heart had stopped and screamed at the sight…

His eyes. Those wretched, silver and coffee eyes will be the death of him. Sunlight flooded in them, the numerous similar shades of iron and dirt violently popping against porcelain skin. His hair was a tint of purple, blending in with midnight spikes flopping on his head. His lips were tight and sealed, a menacing scowl stretching his sharp features.

“Acquaintances, huh?-“

“Virgil!” a new voice broke through the sharp silence, stern and feminine. They both recognized it immediately.

“Mom?”

“Morgana!”

The woman was insanely beautiful, he had to say, what with the curled umber hair and the piercing gold eyes against equally pale skin as her son. The threaded hem of her slim burgundy dress was damp against the snow, her black velvet cloak waving against the wind.

“Virgil Anxolia Black, what on earth were you about to do?” she loudly proclaimed, pulling him by the arm and releasing the tight pressure ‘Virgil' so graciously put him under. He released a breath, swallowing lightly. Virgil, however, looked outraged, a cold, hard determination in his eyes. His gloved hand seemed to tighten around the knife the second Roman began to speak.

“Fret not, Morgana, he was simply-“

The knife was raised, another step falling onto the snow as he heard the crunch of it under Virgil's boot, “what’d I say about my mother?!”

Perhaps it was the strong tone of his voice or the alluring gleam of his wide, steely eyes, but Roman had just felt his heart skip a sobbing beat. His beauty was radiant, a rose against the crowded leaves, a lit candle amidst a hurricane, a stray shadow in the room of light. And with a knife pointed and a lethal scream of his heart, Virgil Black was truly an unmistakable Adonis in his jade eyes.

The scene went still, a brush of the wind setting tiny movements for the three. A chill ran down Roman's spine at it. Silence was never an area of expertise of his. Silence turns into tension, tension into impulsiveness, impulsiveness into absentminded decisions that lead to blood being drawn and late night regrets to weep for. He was not a fan.

But alas, before tension turned into a form of impulsiveness, the woman in the cloak stepped forward, gently taking her son's wrist, “your compass…”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, taking his wrist down, therefor lowering the knife and allowing Roman a few seconds of oxygen, “what’s wrong with it…?”

His mother huffed in gleeful disbelief, her golden eyes glimmering, “its still! Your soulmate must be in your presence!”

Contrasting the unusual cheery expression of the shape shifter, Virgil stilled, his hand once again a lethal grip on the bronze dagger, his eyes flat with no emotion, “someone's here.”

This only made Roman's skipping heart seemingly beat faster in lovesick adrenaline as he slowly connected the dots.

Mine doesn’t work either…

And it was clear that Morgana thought the same as she dragged Virgil's wrist forwards closer to him, careful not to impale the flinching prince, and took his own wrist, lining both their compasses up until both North and South are parallel points.

Everything seemed to click in the two men's minds, mismatched eyes meeting jade.

Oh boy, this will be a ride.

★-----☾-----❍-----☽-----★

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decendingfromgrace · 4 years

Text

Comforter Conversations

Bakugou x Fem!Reader 18+

Warnings: assplay, 69, mutual oral, multi positions, fingering, smut

Words: 3K

I let myself be more flowy with this one and just let myself type what I felt was right to type, so hopefully you like it! Also, sorry if the format is weird, Tumblir kept deleting the story when I tried to fix it.

Part One

The cool night air carried moon lit illumination through the room, and it cast downward into two individuals sitting on a bed, one of them was amused and secretly flattered while the other was silently fuming with pure embarrassment.

“So, yeah that's why I did, uh what I did” Baugou made no attempt to look at you,the embarrassment flooding his system was causing his face to flush rose and his heart to beat in a sporadic tempo. You stifled another giggle once more as you looked at the infamous hard ass of UA now blushing and shuffling nervously from one leg to another.

Your admiration for Bakugou had been pushed aside through your years at UA, there was simply no rhyme or reason for why he would feel any similar way and you didn’t dare threaten the unspoken friendship you shared with him. Though that friendship was the same as all the other members of the bakusquad, you wanted something more. Significantly more. Each time you saw that look in his eyes, the one that appeared more soft when he saw you made your heart skip a beat. His smirk, his attitude, tenacity, everything that made Bakugou himself you noticed and you fell in love with each one. Yet, you never acted on any feeling out of fear of rejection which was absolutely possible since Bakugou was never known for his soft accepting side, but you knew it was there.

This compilation of unrequited feelings, ones pushed so deep down for so long, finally seemed to burst from your chest once you returned from your trip. The moment you stepped into your UA dorm you instantly noticed the way your room had changed. Someone had been in here and attempted to cover their tracks. The dresser had clothes missing, your shirt and, much to your utter horror, a pair of panties, but then you moved to your bed. The intense scent of caramel and spices almost knocked you over, but once you sank into the warm, and surprisingly freshly washed sheets you began to piece together what had happened. That familiar spicy caramel scent floated around you and made you feel comforted and safe, just as you knew you would always feel in Bakugou’s arms. You examplined your pillows, they all seemed oddly washed, except one which seems ruffled and messy that practically was coated in Bakugou’s scent. You took the pillow case off and placed it off to the side, knowing you’d have to examine it further to confirm your suspicions, but your fatigue was driving you forward.

‘Looks like i’ll need to have a talk with Bakugou about his infatuation with my pillows”

The welcoming warmth of the sheets and pillows broke once you heard a subtle hit of something against the thin drywall of one of the rooms from the hallway, the accompanied sound was muffled and hard to make out, but you swore they were groans and pants. Immediately your face flushed with the realization that someone was exceptionally lucky tonight, you began to go through who could possibly be up at this hour and with who.

‘Let’s see, there's Kiri, Mineta, Shoji.. Katsuki’

Your mind blanked at the idea that Bakugou could be with someone right now, a flare of green jealousy crackled your chest as you found yourself pressing up against your door to try and catch the sound of a name, but once you heard your name your heart leaped in a shocked embarrassment. It was soft, muffled by something, but you most certainly heard the pleasurable moan of your name and a powerful blush came over your cheeks and a coil of heat settled in your lower stomach.

Suddenly all the outlying pieces connected and an idea popped into your skull, a sly smirk came over your countenance as you scampered to grab one of your “special pillows” , as you had newly dubbed them, and went to slip into the hallway to finally confront the explosive blond.

And so came to this moment, Bakugou had just admitted to you his emotions and his, admittedly invasive, solution to his unrequited feelings. You finished your giggling fit and looked at Bakugou, his wheat colored hair had turned silver in the moonlight, his eyes held an embarrassment but also a more subtle emotion, one barely veiled behind his anger.

“Go ahead and laugh then! It’s not my fault, it’s your fault shitty women! I-“ You quickly leaned in, two hands cupped his jaw as your soft lips connected to his, effectively silencing him. Those feelings, those damn feelings of want and love, came crashing over you in the shape of a raging fire, and from the way Bakugou eagerly returned the kiss gave you the notion that he felt the same.

“Guess that means you like me back huh, Princess?” You smiled at the nickname and the way his voice deepened and draped your arms over his neck as his arms came to wrap around the dip of your lower back, you shared another kiss.

“I suppose it does, the question is: what are you gonna do about it?” Bakugou smirked and a small growl passed over his lips, cherry eyes bore into you as his lips went from your lips in a slow and sultry rhythm to the side of your neck, soft sighs escaped you.

“Is this ok? You do want this, right?” You gave a chaste kiss to his temple, the tips of his ears burning red like his cheekbones as his lips found the point of where your neck met your shoulder and you shuddered.

“Katsuki, I want you. I’ve wanted you for a while now, so please, take me.” Bakugou gave a deep growl, one that made your thighs tense around the sudden knee Bakugou put between them as he loomed over you, his mouth hungrily kissing each portion of skin he could, singing your praises with each searing touch of his lips against your already heated skin. Once his hungry kisses along your neck and shoulders became shockingly harsh bites did you begin to gasp and pant. His name reached his ears in a needy whine as he dipped his chilled hands under your thin shirt to run along your sides and a shudder, violent and inviting, scurried up your spine.

You whined again as his knee came to press snuggly against your clothed core as his hands slide over your breast to massage and pinch your nipples, the fact that no bra was present to impede his hand’s wandering path made Bakugou smirk against the space between your breasts, his teeth skimmed over the sensitive area before moving to roll his tongue against one of your harden buds while his other hand tentatively went down to your soiled panties, when the calloused pads of his fingers felt your wet slit and went to circle your clit, a practically feral snarl broke his demeanor and the sucking on your nipple turned into a harsh bite. Your first true shriek cut through the air, but Bakugou quickly pulled away from your breast to place a hand over your mouth, a smirk came over his face.

“Your voice is addicting Princess, but you gotta keep it down...Unless, you want them to hear you.” His smirk aided to the intensity his now dilated eyes held while his lazy stroking of your clit turned into two wide digits entering you. A sharp gasp cut your breath off as your heavy breathing became moans and groans of his name as each point when his fingers became knuckle deep did his thumb come up to swipe against your clit.

“That’s it baby, let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.” That coil, hot and toe curling, began to tighten but in a way unlike any other. You felt put electricity course through you and become infused in a circuit connecting you to Bakugou, it felt other worldly. Above you, Bakugou was easing himself out of his sweatpants while his free hand scooped up your leg to place it over his shoulder, his bare shoulder was scorching but it only added to the heat flooding your buzzing system. Your eyes, hazy and lust filled, looked away from Bakugou kissing the inside of your thigh and down to his weeping cock. The precum was shining in the silvery light as it trailed down his shaft to pool on your thigh, his legs straddled your thigh as he rocked his hips against your plump skin, his soft breaths against your inner thigh made you mewl, but you wanted more. On the cusp of your climax, you moved a shaky hand to grip his wrist, his fingers stilled and his cherry eyes moved to your face.

“I wanna make you feel good, Katsu. Let me-“ Your eyes landed on his cock, the leaking tip a deep rose color as the pearly precum chilled your skin, your tongue subconsciously came out to wet your lips. Bakugou pulled away, he pumped himself slowly to alleviate the almost painful ache as his eyes gazed into yours. You rose up to your knees and shuffled to be laying on your stomach in front of his cock, your tongue coming out to lick a wet stripe along the thick veins on the underside. A sigh passed his lips as he rolled his head back, but before you could take him into your mouth, Bakugou gently positioned you to be on your back, your confusion clear in your gaze.

“It’s only fair Princess, besides I’ve been wanting to eat you out for years.” Not a moment later Bakugou dropped between your legs to begin feasting on your cunt. You cried out, head thrown back in bliss and his burning hand gripped your plush thighs for dear life, his mouth alternated between encircling your clit and his tongue dipping between your folds. Your breath fanned his aching cock which brushed against your cheek from your position below him. You felt his growl against you, the following heated slap to your ass caused you to jolt.

“Use your mouth more, dumbass.” You shuddered at his sudden commanding tone, his eyes glaring at you as he shuffled his hips to gently hit his cock against your cheek. You reached up to kiss his cock before hollowing your cheeks to suck harshly on the tip, the precum dribbling down your throat. His loud groans spurred you on but the angle prevented you from completely taking him in as you wanted. You groaned in pleasure as Bakugou added two fingers, he quickly found that special spot that made your eyes roll back as you bobbed your head upwards on his length, your hand stroking what you couldn’t reach, still an unsatisfied feeling hit you and you had enough. Your ankles locked over his neck, pressing him deeper into your cunt and you used the leverage to roll you and Bakugou onto your sides. The shift made him gasp against your cunt but it also allowed you to take Bakugou’s cock deeper and your hand which stroked him went to squeeze his balls gently. He moaned fully as his tongue moved faster against your clit, his fingers driving harder. Gathering the spilt dribbling from the corner of your mouth, you lubricated your digits and slowly eased them into the tight hole of Bakugou’s ass. The blond eating you out hissed in slight discomfort, but your skilled mouth applied ample pleasure as your free hand fondled his balls, all factors combined made it easier for Bakugou to adjust to the sudden stretch.

“Yeah baby, didn’t know you were so into playing with my ass-“ A sharp gasp cut him off once you pressed into a certain place within him that made his entire body tense. - but I guess I didn’t expect you to be so hungry for my cock either.”

You wanted to retort, but the way his hips began to thrust his cock into your mouth and buck back onto your two fingers made you whine for more. That similar heat was rising fast as Bakugou licked long stripes over your clit as he added a third finger, his free hand came to spread you open while your thighs clenched around his head. Suddenly, a dam broke and you arched towards his touch while his short thrusts became sporadic. In the blinding seconds of your climax you hadn’t noticed Bakugou’s hand, the one that had been spreading you, race down to press your lips down to take him completely as he buried his cock deep into your hot throat. His moans were muffled by your cunt, but the vibrations of his voice were clearly felt. The hot sticky trails of white cum slipped down your tongue, igniting your taste buds and making you pull him deeper in. You swallowed and Bakugou groaned.

You both pulled away, panting like animals but still in one another’s embrace. The air was hot, your bodies on fire as Bakugou kissed you with a fiery need for more. His hand created burning trails down your sides as he pulled you into his lap, his back falling against the headboard as you fell onto his chest. Your eyes barely opened wide enough to see the other’s blissful face, your skin felt on fire as his hand came to squeeze your ass, you jumped when he pinched the skin and in retaliation you bit the side of his neck, he grunted.

“God you’re perfect and oh so mine. No one else will have you, got that Princess.” His mouth crashed against yours as your hand tangled in his ash blond locks, his hand trailed down your back and over your ass to position his cock to your entrance. You eagerly let him slip inside you, and your vision exploded like fireworks. The stretch felt heavenly, the aching pit in your core quelled as you became adjusted, and Bakugou was none the more composed.

“Shit, you’re tight. Probably never had such a big cock before huh? Oh, but you take me so well. I wanna fill you so badly.” You could only whimper and nod as he guided your hips to move in a quick rhythm, his grunts and groans drowning out your own high pitched gasps and moans, but he heard your enchanting voice clearly.

“You’re mine Princess, I won’t let anyone else have you. You're my woman, and mine alone, now say it.” He moves you to begin bouncing on his cock and when your ass landed on his thighs, the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. You both became louder, but being so lost in each other’s presence and lust makes you lose all other cares. His demand didn’t register fast enough for him, so to punish you he flipped you over, face down and ass up. His pace was a constant pounding of his hips, the sound of his balls slapping your clit made you cry out for more.

“Say it, baby. Tell me your mine.” You arched your back more to allow a deeper angle, and Bakugou took full advantage. He gripped your round ass and pulled you back into his fast and rough thrusts, his cock buried so deep only to be barly inside filled and emptied you in rapid succession, the sensation took your breath away. You couldn’t summon your voice to give him an answer, his irritation evident as he turned to be straddling one leg and holding the other close to his chest, his pace resumed but became sloppy. Your own tightening coil was close to snapping and judging by the way his eyes glowed with love and lust towards you and how his grip tightened said just how close he was to cumming as well.

“Dammit (y/l), fucking say it.” His fingers came to dance over your clit, his palm heated with his quirk as it quickly circled your clit. You moaned out his name, whomever was sleeping in the next room surely wouldn’t be anymore. Bakugou called your name like a mantra as he scooped your legs to be over his shoulder and he leaned forward to press your knees to your chest, the last moments of his thrusting ended with the duel release of your climaxes.

“I’m yours, Katsuki. I’m yours fuck-!” You cried out as you came hard, your body shook and your arms encircled Bakugou who had his teeth over the junction of your neck, the muffled yell of your name against your shoulder buzzed your skin. Heat spread throughout your body as Bakugou’s cum painted your pulsing walls white, the blond’s body trembled from the sheer force of his climax.

You both took a moment to catch your lost breath, your hold on him and his hold on you never wavered until his breathing evened out and he pulled away. His eyes took in every detail. Your sweaty body, messy hair, the bruises and bites all along your thighs and up to your neck, your eyes which look to him with such longing. You looked beautiful to him, and he couldn’t resist kissing you with all the love he could muster, the mix of his taste and yours mingled in the kiss, his forehead pressed against yours in a silent touch of his body. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your legs locked over his hips which allowed him an easy way to move you to the head of the bed. He got up, his body heat missed, but he came back with a bottle of water from his dresser and baby wipes. He handed you the cool water and began kissing and cleaning your skin as you drank. The sight of Katsuki Bakugou kissing your thighs as he cleaned his cum off your cunt was a memory you wanted to singe into your brain. Once he was done, he cleaned himself off and wrapped you in his embrace, the covers completely smelling of him as you snuggled into his side.

His arms caged around you as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, his nose buried into your hair and a content sigh came over you but before you could fully sink into a sleepy slumber, Bakugou spoke.

“So does this mean I get to keep one of your pillows?”

#bakugou x reader #smut #my work #katsuki bakugou x reader #fluff #bakugou #pillow talk part two #comforter conversations

145 notes · View notes

vulturhythm · 4 years

Text

let us waltz for the dead - two

part one

- - - - -

They say that the devil is in the details.

Things can change with an instant's notice - there one second, gone the next.

They say that to lay with the devil is to sell your soul.

A fitting end.

- - -

The lower floor of the tavern is largely darkened when Geralt descends the stairs, only the fireplace lit. It's bewildering at first - after all, it isn't terribly early in the morning. The dull light of the tavern, combined with the stormclouds and rain outside, lend a gloomy atmosphere to everything, one that has unease twisting low in Geralt's stomach.

"Out of luck if you're looking to head out," comes a gruff voice, and Geralt looks to the bar, only partially surprised to see Nivellen there, wiping it clean.

Funny thing, cleaning something that hasn't been used.

"Come again?" Geralt asks as he crosses the room, settling onto a barstool and watching the damp rag move across the smooth wooden counter with passive interest.

Nivellen hooks a thumb at the windows, but doesn't look away from his task. "Storm washed out all the roads for miles around. Doesn't look as though it'll clear up any time soon, neither. Your horse would get bogged down, sure as anything."

Geralt heaves a sigh, frustrated by the confirmation, though not exactly surprised. "It came on fast," he remarks, gaze straying to the window nearest him. He could barely see the trees for the pouring rain, falling from the clouds in thick curtains that turned the world a murky gray and black. "Won't bother you if I wait it out here, will it?"

Nivellen merely shrugs, saying in a tone that, while not unkind, is nonetheless indifferent, "Long as you've got the money, you can stay for a week, for all I care. Breakfast served half-past nine, lunch at one, dinner at eight. Gonna cost you."

Of course it will.

Shaking his head, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his purse again. "Get a lot of traffic here, then?" he asks idly, counting out the notes for another night's rest.

"Decent amount," Nivellen grunts, disinterested. "Why?"

Geralt shrugs, setting the money down and pocketing his purse once more. "There was a man last night, said he spends plenty of time here. Thought it was interesting."

The barkeep falters, looking at him with a gaze that's not quite critical, not quite concerned. "Second thought, you might better not stick around."

That gives Geralt pause. "Pardon?"

"Nothing but trouble, that kid. If he's taken a fancy to you, well... more's the shame."

Frowning, Geralt looks up once more, uncertain as to how he's meant to take that.

Nivellen cocks a brow. "Just telling you how it is," he says, oddly curt now. "Plan on wantin' breakfast?"

Taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor, Geralt shakes his head. "I'll eat at one," he replies. "I should... I should go check on my mare."

The bartender seems satisfied with this, merely nodding and redoubling his efforts to clean what must be an immensely stubborn spot that Geralt simply cannot see. "Remember the stallion," he warns dismissively. "He's - "

"A biter, I remember," Geralt finishes, sighing as he stands. "I know."

As he turns to leave, reaching for the front doorknob, he realizes that the strange glint he'd seen in Nivellen's eye is not unfamiliar at all - no, it was pity.

- - -

When Geralt steps outside, he realizes immediately that this is not a storm that intends to show any mercy to whatever happens to be in its path. The wind is fierce in and of itself, driving the rain into his skin with force that stings. He grits his jaw, grateful that there are barely three yards between himself and the stable awning. Still, he does not look forward to crossing that scant distance.

Biting back a sigh, he makes a break for it, dashing toward the awning and having just the presence of mind to marvel at just how fucking wet he gets in the span of maybe five, six seconds. He stops short once he's under cover, sucking in a gasp for air and shaking his now-drenched hair from his eyes.

If the roads weren't washed out by midnight, they sure as hell are now.

Geralt shakes himself to dislodge some of the excess rain clinging to his skin and coat, heading inside. He's greeted by the warm glow of a lantern above, somehow just as bright as it was last night when he came to put Roach away. The stable is split in half by a wide, cobblestone corridor; there are places in the floor where the stones have crumbled away, and he can see the wood and dirt beneath. Three wide stalls line each side. To his left, Roach whinnies in greeting, and he approaches with a soft croon.

She sticks her head out over the door to butt against his shoulder, and Geralt softens, smiling to himself as he brushes her forelock smooth. "Hope your night was less eventful than mine," he tells her, resting his brow on her own when she settles. Roach merely snorts, and he hears her pawing on the other side of the door.

He rests there for a beat, enjoying this moment of peace - this moment of warmth, when the world outside is so strange and harsh. A louder, deeper snort and accompanying nicker draws him from his reverie a few moments later, and he looks up.

The stallion Nivellen warned him against is in the stall to Roach's left. Funny. Geralt is certain he was across the corridor the night before...

As he straightens up, the stallion snorts once more, tossing his head. He's a draft of some sort, a big, beastly black thing, but there's enough fleetness evident in his frame that Geralt suspects he's a foxhunter of some type or another.

Lord knows he's got the spirit for it; you'd have to be deaf not to hear the way he's pacing in his stall, tail lashing and head reared back.

Geralt watches him with no small degree of wariness, wondering who thought it a good idea to move the stallion across beside his mare.

"Watch yourself," he says in quiet warning, leaving Roach for the saddle racks in the corner of the stable. He grabs Roach's brush from the saddlebag, heading for her stall and undoing the latch to slip inside. It pleases him to see that the hay net and water trough are freshly filled; evidently somebody here is in charge of the stables. The evening before, he had found the stall in pristine shape, as well - fully stocked, clean, ready for use. Patting Roach's flank, he sets to work, brushing away the night's worth of straw bits stuck to her coat.

Roach, for all that she enjoys a good bit of fun now and then, is always docile when Geralt needs her to be, and now is no exception. She stands with her head low, nibbling thoughtfully at the hay. Geralt hums a mindless tune to her as he works, though he knows better than to turn his back entirely on the stallion in the other stall; he keeps his body turned, one eye on the black beast.

At last, he moves to Roach's opposite side, the red mare now between him and the stallion. The larger horse seems to calm some, and Geralt permits himself to relax, focusing the majority of his attention on Roach once more.

This proves to be a mistake barely five minutes later.

A clamor of hooves and a blur of movement is all the warning he gets before the stallion is lurching against the stall divider, before the stallion's head is snaking for Roach. Geralt hears his mare squeal, steps back when she kicks, soothes her with as much calm in his tone as he can when she's sidestepping into him.

Geralt curses under his breath as he rounds Roach once more, letting the mare back off to the opposite side of the stall and putting himself between the horses once more. The stallion is nearly screaming now, blood on his teeth and head tossing as he paces in place. "Never taught manners, were you?" Geralt asks irritably, watching those wild eyes roll.

He glances back over his shoulder, seeing the bite wound on Roach's neck. Sighing, he backs toward her, sets a hand on her quivering side and speaks low until she begins to calm. All the while, his eyes are on the stallion, that black coat glistening with sweat as though it had been pushed hard after a fox for miles. "No manners at all."

The stallion merely snorts again, and Geralt can practically feel the disdain in the sound. He shakes his head, trusting Roach to stay out of reach as he leaves the stall, heading once more for the saddle racks. He carries salve in the saddlebags at all times, although he has to admit, this is the first time Roach has been attacked by something apart from mosquitoes or horseflies.

It's as he returns to the stall that the stallion strikes again. Geralt is reaching to open the door when the bastard lunges, slamming into his own door with a loud thud and lashing out. Harsh teeth close over the wrist of his extended arm, and Geralt nearly doubles over with pain.

He strikes the stallion between the eyes, hating himself for an instant, but drawing back in relief when the black beast lets go, recoiling with a squeal that hurts Geralt's ears. "Try it again, and I'll hit you harder," he mutters, mostly to himself, backing off a couple of steps to survey the damage.

The skin is torn, blood dripping steadily, but he guesses he's fortunate that the bite isn't any deeper than it is already. Geralt sighs, eyeing the stallion warily as he slips back into the stall to tend to Roach. The beast is eyeing him much the same, retreating back into the corner of his own stall with a frustrated switch of his tail.

Good riddance.

- - -

The rain has shown no signs of easing up when Geralt leaves the stable; if anything, it's pouring just as hard as it was the evening before, rain tumbling from the rooftops and beating its way down through wind-bowed limbs and leaves. Geralt sighs as he stands beneath the stable's awning, bracing himself to run. He hadn't planned on rain when he'd set out for Cintra - his coat lacks a hood or cowl, something he would have truly appreciated at about this time.

Steeling himself against the cold onslaught, he rushes for the door of the Black Dog, relieved when it opens easily under his own weight. By the time he's crossed those scant three yards, he's virtually drenched once more, and he knows it'll be a welcome relief to be able to sit down before the fire. He lets the door swing shut behind him as he stalls on the rug just beyond, letting the worst of the water drip off him here as he gives the tavern floor a cursory glance, halfway expecting to see Jaskier lounging by the hearth, or, at the very least, Nivellen behind the bar, preparing to offer up a dish.

He sees neither.

In fact, he sees an entirely unfamiliar face behind the bar - a young woman with hair that's so deep a shade Geralt isn't sure if it's red or brown, chopped short and curly and uneven. She's leaning on the countertop and nursing a tankard of what Geralt can plainly smell is ale; there's a platter of food in front of her, much too large for one person.

Geralt blames surprise on the way he falters, more than anything, staring for a good half-minute.

The woman cocks a brow at him when she lowers her tankard, and lets the silence go on for another moment before she says, with a laugh that's short and sudden, "You act as if you've never seen a girl before."

Called out, he clears his throat, shaking his head to clear it as he heads for the bar. "I was expecting Nivellen," he replies, a little gruffly, and the woman shrugs, giving him a cursory once-over as he sits down across from her. "Your name...?"

"Renfri," she replies, doing a flourish-y gesture with one hand, then gesturing to the platter in front of her. "Hope you don't mind sharing."

Geralt glances down at it - cheeses, meats, pastries, a loaf of bread, all laid out in an aesthetic pattern Geralt knows better than to give Nivellen credit for. It's obvious that Renfri has already sampled the former, mostly because she reaches for another little cube of aged cheddar as Geralt watches. "Not at all," he says, and he finds he means it; Renfri seems a curious sort, certainly a better conversationalist than Nivellen. "Is it customary to dine with your guests?"

Renfri snorts, shaking her head as she pops the cube into her mouth and turns toward the wall behind her. "When there's only one guest in the entire tavern, yes," she says over her shoulder, voice slightly muffled. "What're you drinking?"

He hesitates a moment as he reaches for a pastry first. Maybe Jaskier is part of the staff, then. "Water is alright for now," he says. "Never was much for day drinking."

Nodding, she turns away from the selection of spirits and reaches instead for a simple pitcher, filling up a tankard with practiced ease. "I see the fucker bit you," she says, jerking her chin toward the wound on Geralt's wrist. "Nasty old thing, isn't he?"

Geralt glances automatically to the torn skin of his arm. "Yes," he sighs, taking the tankard from her with a grateful nod. "Looked hungry, so I figured I'd feed him while I tended to Roach, and, well - "

" - and he whipped around and bit you," Renfri says; she speaks with the sort of firm authority that makes it plain she's dealt with the stallion before. She leans her weight onto the counter once more, cocking a playful brow as Geralt reaches for the knife resting beside the platter, slicing into the bread. "Lucky he didn't take off more of your arm than he did."

He gives a weary hum, close enough to laughter, taking one of the slices and making a rather awkward little sandwich with the meat and cheese. "Have you worked here long?" he asks her, taking a bite. "Building looks like it's pretty old."

Renfri shrugs then. "Long enough," she says; the vagueness of her reply doesn't escape Geralt, but he chooses not to comment. "Longer than the grouchy old bastard usually up here."

Geralt lets the corner of his mouth tip upward in a half-smile; the description is apt enough, he has to admit. "So, ah... you know the staff well?"

A sort of veil comes down across her eyes, but she nods regardless, cocking her head to the side. "What makes you ask?"

"Well, the, uh..." He pauses there, unsure if there's any less crass way to explain things than there was a boy who very enthusiastically seduced me last night. "The younger man who works here? He's an... interesting sort."

Renfri hums then, low and amused, and Geralt falters, recognizing the glint in her eye as the same spark of pity that Nivellen's had held before. "Ah," she says, her tone suddenly flat in the instant before she seems to pick back up her smile. "Jaskier."

Geralt nods, oddly relieved, and finishes off his makeshift little sandwich. "Does he, ah... make a habit of associating with the guests?"

"Unfortunately," she sighs, although there's something different about her now, something... off. "A habit he won't be broken of, let's call it that."

"A habit," he repeats dryly. "You sound as if this is a constant issue."

Renfri scoffs, and the shake of her head is almost resigned. "To put it lightly," she replies. "If he bothers you again, I suggest at least pretending to have some degree of decorum and leaving him behind."

Geralt feels a flush rise to his cheeks, and he clears his throat. "I'll make an effort," he replies, deciding he can guarantee at least that much.

The woman nods, though she doesn't seem entirely convinced; to be fair, Geralt himself isn't the most confident in his ability to reject the boy, should he approach him again. "See that you do," she replies simply. "I trust you'll be leaving once the storm passes?"

A response is on the tip of his tongue, but as if eager to join the conversation, a peal of thunder comes from overhead, deep enough that it rattles the tankards and glasses hanging upon the racks at the back of the bar. Geralt pauses, brows cocked in a mirror of Renfri's expression as they watch the vessels, then meet eachother's gazes.

"If the storm passes," Renfri amends with a weary sigh. "Well... I've got to go tend to things in the back, but by all means, eat what you will. I'll clean up later."

Geralt nods, the softest huff of laughter escaping him as he watches the irritated way Renfri adjusts the vessels that had slipped from their previous positions. It's easy enough to tell that Renfri is the one responsible for much of the order in this place - Nivellen likely wouldn't have given the skewed things a second glance. "I suppose I'll see you around?"

Renfri offers little more than a shrug as she grabs her drink, already walking out from behind the bar. She rounds the corner to clap Geralt on the shoulder with surprising force, and he turns his head to watch her, seeing her gaze on the rain-battered windows. "We'll see," she says, and that's that. She turns to leave, disappearing down the other hallway by the hearth.

Geralt watches her retreat until he hears a door open and close. With a thoughtful exhale, he looks up to the tankards and glasses hanging from the racks.

One glass is cracked.

- - -

Geralt retreats to his room once he's finished off the platter, pleasantly full and ready to spend the afternoon in peace and quiet. Were it a nicer day, he would have taken joy out of exploring the property, or even just the halls, but as is, he finds he wants few things more than a chance at rest - and a chance to bandage his wrist, for another thing.

The sense of something being off is the first thing to hit him as he unlocks his door. He pauses there, with it halfway open, frowning to himself. From here, he can see little more than the bed, which looks just the same as always. The window is shivering under the force of the rain and wind, but he doubts it will give.

At last, he shakes his head and pushes the door open, stepping into the room.

It takes only a glance for him to realize that, indeed, he was right - something is off.

Geralt's gaze darts immediately to the mirror.

The crack is gone, and so is the blood.

He has no words for the strange feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach.

Swallowing bewildered nerves, he pushes the door closed behind him - slowly, as if to move too quickly is to alert whatever strange imp breaks and replaces mirrors - and approaches the dresser, holding his reflection's gaze.

Surely he imagines the way his eyes look brighter, the rest of him darker, in the newly-mended glass.

Geralt stands there, evaluating the glass, listening to the wind and rain beat against the window. He stands there, holding his gaze, until the room seems to darken at his back, until his mind begins to play its little tricks - until his face begins to morph, twisting into a facsimile of itself -

- and then, just as his eyes become the brightest spot in the shadows, he blinks, and the trance is broken.

A worker must have come to check the room, he decides, turning away, and replaced the mirror.

The only explanation.

He heads for the washroom, glancing down to the bite in his wrist. It's ceased to bleed, something for which he's grateful, but he realizes the pain has only barely abated.

With a weary sigh, he holds it beneath running water, watching with a strange sort of fascination as the flow turns first crimson, then pink with time.

He loses track of the minutes that pass, jarred back into reality by the sound of footsteps in the outer room.

Geralt pauses, lifts his head, meets his eyes in the washroom mirror for an instant - sees movement in the reflection, in the doorway.

He turns in a rush, uncertain as to what he expects.

He sees nothing.

The unease in his stomach is something nearer to fear now.

Shutting off the water, he turns to face the doorway, wounded wrist hanging at his side.

It came for the scent of blood.

The thought enters his head unbidden, and Geralt blinks, shaking it away. There's nothing there.

Nothing there, either, when he walks into the main room, when he glances around.

Nothing except that mirror, a hairline crack spiderwebbing its way across the glass.

- - -

He spends the rest of the afternoon in quiet, sitting in bed and watching the rain fall.

He gives no thought to the quiet sounds coming from the washroom.

Just a rat, most likely.

- - -

Eight o' clock arrives at last, and Geralt has never been more eager to flee his lodgings than he is when he goes downstairs to see if, by chance, dinner is any more or less eventful than lunch had been.

The fire within the hearth has been lit once again, and Geralt cannot help but be relieved; it really is amazing, the difference a fire can make, in making a place feel more like a home. Nivellen is once again behind the bar, and there's a plate of what looks to be roast chicken and vegetables in front of him. He looks up when Geralt approaches, motioning toward the plate with an awkward half-smile.

"Kept it warm for you," is his simple, weary greeting.

Geralt decides not to take too much offense from the way Nivellen seems less than interested in conversation now, ever since this morning. "Thank you," he says, heaving a sigh as he sits down on what's quickly become his usual barstool. "Are you - "

But before he can finish his inquiry, Nivellen is setting a glass of madeira in front of him and turning to leave, heading for the same door through which Renfri had disappeared earlier in the day.

For a good few seconds, Geralt simply stares after him, trying to decide what, exactly, he did to offend the grizzled bartender so profoundly.

He shakes his head to clear it, picking up a fork and tending to his dinner.

- - -

It's just as Geralt becomes aware of how eerie this room is, completely empty and all but abandoned, that he feels a new presence, one that's slipping onto the barstool just to his right. Startled, he looks over, nearly choking on his latest mouthful when he recognizes Jaskier, leaning an elbow on the counter and regarding him with a cunning little smile.

"Do you make a habit of terrifying guests?" Geralt asks, once he's gotten past the risk of asphyxiation. He clears his throat, reaching for his drink and swallowing a generous dose to ease the new pain. "Where did you come from?"

Jaskier ignores both of these questions, gaze fixated on Geralt's lips as he drinks. "You're still here," he says, and there's a strange little note of glee in his tone.

Geralt hides his frown, remembering the way Nivellen and Renfri had reacted at the mention of this strange little thing. "The roads are likely washed out," he replies, setting his fork down. He wonders, absurdly, if tonight will end the same way as the last. "I'm waiting out the storm."

Jaskier hums in reply, tilting his head to the side; Geralt glances down, watches as the young man's hand comes to rest on his knee. The slow brush of his thumb sends a tremor up Geralt's spine against his own will. "Drinking alone again, I see."

"Not very many others in this tavern," he points out, and Jaskier laughs.

It's the prettiest sound Geralt has ever heard.

"I would join you," the little thing replies, and as he drops his gaze to where he's running his hand up higher, Geralt feels a spike of need drive itself through his frame, "but I've already sampled the finest brandy, and I don't imagine I should drink any more."

Geralt gives him a cautious glance, biting his lip against that strange desire. He doesn't understand how Jaskier caused it so damn easily, when Geralt can surround himself with the finest company and still encourage a bit of a chase before he beds anyone, or allowed them to bed him. "Sounds like a wise decision," he says, and clears his throat.

Jaskier's hand is nearly upon his groin now, resting high on the juncture of his thigh. Geralt is tense, willing his body to remain unaffected - but he's fighting a losing battle. The moment Jaskier's fingertips brush along the bulge of his cock through his trousers, his breath catches, and he says, in a voice that sounds half-strangled, "Are you always this forward?"

The younger man shrugs.

That's all the answer he offers before he's leaning up and in, capturing Geralt's lips in a kiss that feels of searing heat.

- - -

Tonight, it's Jaskier who has Geralt pinned to the door of his room, and it's Jaskier whose thigh finds a place between Geralt's own.

Geralt chokes on a moan of the younger man's name when Jaskier deepens the kiss that already threatens to devour Geralt alive, digs his nails into Jaskier's arms to keep himself steady as he rolls his hips down onto that slim thigh. "W - wait - bed - "

Jaskier makes a noise of discontent, tangling both hands in Geralt's hair and drawing him in deeper, deeper, licking into his mouth and rocking his hips until Geralt is moaning against his lips, rutting onto his thigh like he's in heat, goddamn him. At last, all of a sudden, Jaskier breaks away, leaving Geralt bereft when he steps away and says, "I want to fuck you tonight."

Geralt is still as good as fucking reeling, his world spinning around him in a cloud of lust and confusion; he pauses to catch his breath, steadying himself against the door at his back as he stares at Jaskier.

The little thing is wearing the same clothes as the night before - an undone chemise and trousers that hug his frame so damn perfectly they have Geralt's mouth watering. He remembers the shape and size of Jaskier's cock from their romp, feels a tremor go through his frame when he imagines that cock inside him. Swallowing, he nods, and Jaskier brightens.

There's something to be said for the firmness of Jaskier's grasp when he guides Geralt to his hands and knees on the foot of the bed, those slender hands planted firmly on his hips once they make quick work of his pants. Geralt breathes out shakily, tips himself forward to rest his head on folded arms, braces himself against the initial sting when Jaskier slips a finger inside him.

There's plenty to be said of the skill of those goddamn hands. Jaskier has him panting before long, pushing back onto his hand with ragged sounds he doesn't know if he's ever made before - has him moaning aloud when he crooks his fingers up to brush over the nerves deep inside his core. Geralt's hips buck, and he lifts his head for just an instant, meaning to look back over his shoulder, but he catches a golden gaze, and falters.

Positioned like this, he's facing the dresser - he's facing that goddamn mirror - he's holding his own gaze, and kneeling just behind him, Jaskier is watching him with predatory eyes, a half-cruel smile twisting his once-soft face.

Geralt feels fear rush through him when Jaskier winks, those cornflower eyes flashing too bright, but before he can take in anything more than the absence of the cracks across the glass, Jaskier is twisting his hand once more, and Geralt is moaning aloud, eyes falling shut.

"D - darling," he fumbles out, his voice ragged with need, and the next crook of Jaskier's fingers is harsh, digging into his spot with enough force that Geralt fucking sobs.

"Don't," Jaskier says, his voice low and firm, "call me that."

As quick as the moment passes, it's gone, and so are Jaskier's fingers.

Geralt scarcely has the time to mourn their passing before Jaskier is gripping him by the hips and pushing in slow, slow, rocking in so damn deep that Geralt feels it in his throat.

He falls apart holding his own gaze in the mirror, spilling across the sheets beneath him as Jaskier's face twists into a bloody mockery of a smile.

- - -

As they lay together afterward, spent and satisfied, it's Geralt whose head is upon Jaskier's chest this time. He can't deny the comfort of Jaskier's fingers combing through his hair, nor of Jaskier's embrace, holding him steady after the younger man took him apart so entirely.

"You left before I did this morning," Geralt remarks at last, his voice hoarse from begging. The shapes in the mirror are but a fever dream, replaced by the welcome ache in his hips, in his thighs. "Had somewhere to be?"

Jaskier pauses, his fingers stilling for an instant. "Yes," he says at length, resuming his motions. "Had to go bed your mother."

The comment is so out of place, so unexpected, that Geralt laughs, lifting his head. Jaskier meets his gaze, cornflower eyes sparkling, lips quirked in a smile. "I can't imagine she's a good partner," Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier merely shrugs.

"Her son certainly is," he replies.

That's all the urging Geralt needs to lean up, stealing another kiss that gradually turns deliberate.

Jaskier moans so prettily when Geralt's cock is down his throat, he discovers.

When he tangles his fingers in sex-rumpled hair to hold him firm, they come away wet and red.

He blinks, and the blood is gone.

- - -

Jaskier is gone in the morning.

Geralt expected as much.

The storm is still raging on.

Geralt expected that, too.

What he did not expect is for the mirror to be once again shattered apart, its surface splashed with blood.

He sits up still in bed, looking at his reflection through a transparent red haze.

Out in the hallway, someone screams.

#black dog verse #geraskier #gerlion #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #my fics #tw blood #cw blood

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