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onlyswan · 1 year ago

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summary: in which you sacrifice your strawberries and eyelash wishes for the boy knocking at your door.

idol!jungkook x reader, strangers to friends (?) to lovers / fluff and a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: allusions to death and grief / jungkook is a cutie patootie and a blushing hopeless romantic mess / he wants to kiss oc so bad (me too bro) / oc is a sunshine <3 / they do chores and watch movies together :((( / in one scene he was worried oc would think of him as a perv lmao / they’re dorks and i love them / seokjin cameo hehehe

> in which masterlist!

note: to make up for the pain i may have caused and will cause <3 LOL. i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing :D as always reblogs and feedback are appreciated! come chat w me. ily 🌼

—

“it’s so cold,” you mutter through chattering teeth.

the grocery bags sit on the hardwood table with a thud— the careless bringer too hasty. you shove your icy hands in the deep pockets of your jacket, breathing in and out with a sense of relief.

you are not granted the mundane euphoria for much longer, however. the doorbell rings and you are padding across the floor against your will. the cold air hits your face before it enters your apartment.

however, the happy smile that greets you blankets your heart with a type of warmth that is difficult to describe.

if you had to guess who was behind the door, you wouldn’t say the boy you’ve been fiercely pining over for the past month, but it is certainly who you’d be hoping for regardless.

“good morning!”

“oh! wait there for a moment!”

jungkook stands motionless by your open front door as you disappear into your apartment. confusion accompanied by curiosity, he tries poking his head inside, but then decides that he shouldn’t.

upon your return, his face lights up again.

“here you go!”

he accepts the jar of honey faster than he could think.

“w-why are you-?”

you tilt your head, lips forming a small pout. “isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“uh, actually-” he awkwardly pauses, hand that carries the heavy paper bag behind him suddenly feeling weak. “i came here to give you something.”

your eyes animatedly expand in surprise of the size of it, not at all expecting to receive a gift from him today. you do know that he’s fresh from japan, as you converse on the phone almost everyday… why would he come here almost immediately? and didn’t he say they weren’t given the chance to roam the city because of their work schedule?

“i just grabbed things i thought you might like. i hope i got most of them right?” he explains with a nervous chuckle as you take a look inside.

a diverse array of snacks; a beautiful journal painted with cherry blossoms; a hello kitty plushie; stickers, muji pens…

“oh my god, jungkook… these are too much. you didn’t have to.”

oh, curse the hopeless fluttering of your heart.

“wow, gifting your merch- that’s real idol behavior for you.” you tease him, referring to the hooded jacket that has their group logo on its plastic packaging. “thank you!”

“no but it seriously warms you up! i have one too!”

“jungkook, why are you so cute?!”

“ah, shut up! i’m getting embarrassed!” he whines, blushing. “just look at them later after i leave, how about that?”

“let go! it’s mine!” you glare at him, hugging the paper bag to your chest to deny his advances on snatching it away. “are you not leaving? don’t you have work?”

“i told you— it’s my rest day.”

“you did?”

“while we were texting last night.”

“oh,” you blink. “i don’t remember reading that.”

“you? what are you doing today?”

you bite back the smile threatening to give away the thoughts running in your mind a thousand miles per hour. why does he want to know?

“nothing special. just chores the entire day.”

jungkook puts his hand inside the pocket of his coat, an attempt to appear casual as he offers you his valiant effort. “do you want some help? i’m good at doing chores.”

you stare at him, perplexed, as if he just said the most ridiculous sentence you’ve ever heard in your entire life.

“it’s your rest day and you want to do chores?”

“sure,” he grins playfully, not at all seeing how that could be wrong. “why not?”

“you know…” you pause— observing his expression, considering shutting your mouth, but that plan rarely ever works out. “you can just say that you want to spend time with me, right?”

your bluntness sends his heart racing. you’re a danger to his health.

he sinks his perfect teeth on his bottom lip, bringing his dimples into view. to be honest, you didn’t always have a thing about dimples. you didn’t consider them all that special. but why do they make him look cute and sexy at the same time?

his cheeks become tinted with a pale scarlet. you’re wearing that friendly beam again; he doesn’t know how to act. he never knows whether you are joking or not.

“well, now i know.”

—

jungkook sets down the jar of honey on the table as he settles in the living room, fascinated doe eyes darting around every inch of your place. it’s not his first time here, but somehow, it looks different each time. the two frames hanging above the sofa captures his attention all over again, colorful drawings against the plain white wall. gifted to you by your siblings, you said.

a tall castle with a happy family. a little boy slaying a dragon to protect a princess from its savage fire.

he is blissfully unaware of the knowledge that the drawings are the lone survivors of a school bus and a tragedy. you want it to stay that way. you want people to feel the opposite of the sadness you feel when you look at them. that is how you seek your peace.

“are you wearing toe socks?”

“huh?” he makes a sound of confusion, only processing your question upon seeing your gaze trained to his feet. “ah- toe socks- yes.”

“i’m only noticing them now. they look funny.” you scrunch your nose, chuckling.

“don’t laugh! they’re so comfortable!”

“really?” your eyes widen with genuine interest. “i should try them then.”

“yeah, you should!”

he whips his head around as he jokingly voices out an observation.

“but ____, your house kind of looks different today… it’s almost like it’s cleaner than the last time i was here.”

you bury your face in your hands with a high-pitched wine, hiding from him in humiliation. you did not plan on inviting someone over that night, and he had to watch you run around organizing and picking up things— the scattered books all over the table and the floor; the jackets that have created a big heap on the small couch; the jewelry box that ended up on the dining table for some reason.

he laughs in endearment, unable to take his eyes from you. even the way your hair bounces as you furiously shake your head is pretty. wait, does that sound weird?

“that’s right, it should look different! the first thing i did when winter break started was clean up my mess.”

“what’s the first chore on the list then?” he catches the grocery bags in the kitchen from his peripheral. “were you putting away your groceries?”

“you really want to do chores? you don’t want to watch a movie or something?”

“aigoo, it’s fine!” he waves off your reluctance. “stop worrying! i already said i’d help you.”

“but it’s embarrassing…”

it’s either jungkook is denying your advances or he is simply dense. but the fact that he showed up at your door unannounced on his day-off despite complaining about his exhaustion from their hectic work schedule, you want to lean towards the latter and believe that he is… as good at chores like he claims to be.

“you must like fruits a lot.” jungkook comments as he is squatted infront of your fridge, sheltering the freshly bought perishables one by one.

kimchi, lettuce, strawberries, tangerines, shine muscat, apples…

this is an entirely different world through your lens.

it feels strange to watch another person restock your fridge for you.

“they’re easy to eat and i’m lazy to cook.”

he chuckles as he looks back at you, who is sat on the dining table, airy and carefree as you snack on a bag of assorted chocolates from the paper bag he brought. almost all of the white chocolates are gone, he notes.

“not because they’re nutritious?”

“that’s the bonus!”

“what is this?”

“cranberry juice.”

“and this?”

“oyster sauce.”

you energetically hop off the table, an idea lighting up the bulb in your mind.

“i have another recipe for you. french toast with strawberries, then drizzle some of the honey. should i make it for you?”

“ah!” he gasps as if he is in pain, but the truth is his mouth is watering. he hasn’t eaten breakfast, and he wanted to eat more for dinner last night but sleep proved to be much more enticing than food. “that sounds so good! i’m starving!”

“stand up!” you begin pulling at the back of his sweater, forcing him to remove himself from the floor. “i’ll make it! just go relax in the living room, okay?”

“but you just said you’re lazy to cook.” he tilts back his head, meeting your gaze. “i’ll help you.”

“i’m not lazy when it becomes to being a host.”

you bend down with a sweet smile, merely inches away from him, and jungkook swears the earth has stopped spinning on its axis. your face is natural and bare, except for the sheen of lip balm across your lips— and dear heavens, having you this close, you are so breathtakingly beautiful.

“they’re playing christmas movies on channel 36.” you announce, giving him the bag of chocolates. “and the remote is… somewhere on the sofa… or maybe the floor.”

and as he gets practically kicked out of the kitchen, your hands roughly pushing his back, he daydreams of kissing you and tasting sugar on your lips.

—

the sweet, addicting smell of the french toast— strong hints of butter and cinnamon— invades every corner of your apartment. consequently, it also compels jungkook to break your rules and insert himself in the kitchen again.

“you never give up, do you?”

“i don’t,” he agrees, nodding eagerly. he has successfully stolen the task of washing the strawberries, and then slicing them after. he endures the freezing water rendering his hands numb. “it’s a known fact.”

“are you saying i should study harder?” you cross your arms, expression painted with faux vexation.

“yes! exactly!” he humors you, grinning of amusement. “what’s my favorite color?”

you sigh, looking at him from head to toe.

“anyone can guess that from a mile away, jungkook.”

“fuck, okay. that’s fair!”

the sound of his laughter reminds of you reasons to stay through the cycle of the seasons. you don’t understand why, but for some reason, it has finally begun to feel like christmas. the only comfort that comes along with the cruel winter that nips at your skin; the blanket over your heart that provides a type of warmth one can travel to seek but will never be able to find alone.

“what’s my height then?”

“aren’t you six feet?”

the silence that follows is an answer enough for you. the noise of the television emerges now that none of you is talking. he pretends to be too busy to speak, transferring the strawberries over to the chopping board.

“yes, you’re ri-”

“liar!” you point an accusatory finger at him.

and he winces, guilty as charged.

“you hesitated!”

“tsk, i should’ve said yes faster! i wanted to experience what it’s like to be tall!” he regretfully purses his lips, eyebrows knitted as if he just lost the lottery. “but haven’t you read it online? even my shoe size and weight are there.”

“what? why do people even need to know that…?” you exclaim, flabbergasted. “i mean- of course i’ve searched up your name, but it feels like cheating on a test. does that sound silly…? it’s just more fun learning about you from you.”

you briefly walk away to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and jungkook is left at the counter with fondness blossoming in his chest, bleeding into the chopped strawberries staining his hands red.

he calls out your name.

“mhmm?” you hum in question, muffled by the water in your mouth.

“want to hear a fact about me?”

you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, eyes expanding with fueled interest. “what?”

“i’m actually very good in the kitchen.” he boasts his skills with the kitchen knife, quick and precise, the blade against the wood creating the satisfying click you usually only hear from cooking shows. “are you seeing this? huh…? what do you think?”

“so i’ve noticed. i want something new!”

at that, his shoulder sags in disappointment. to his demise, there goes another failed attempt at making you acknowledge that he is boyfriend material.

“what do you want to know? ask me questions.”

“what’s your ideal type?”

being in your presence for the past hour has gotten jungkook re-adjusted to your personality— straight-forward, bold, smart— so vivacious that it’s dizzying. you make him nervous and comfortable at the same time, and he doesn’t quite know how to explain it either. but you’re a breath of fresh air, the change that he has been anticipating to disrupt his routine.

“why do you want to know that?”

you shrug coyly, smiling like the troublesome vixen that you are. you rather enjoy the tension that has hung in the air. if you’ve learned something from the past: men are easy to get, not easy to keep. because they relish in the chase, getting strung along like this. so, shouldn’t you have your fun too? but even if jungkook’s intentions were pure, you can only imagine that seeing someone whose life revolves around their career is… the perfect recipe for disaster.

“i think who you like also says a lot about who you are as a person.”

“i like someone who is kind and funny…” he hums in thought, unconsciously slotting a piece of strawberry in between his lips. “and passionate about the things they love… mhmm, someone who can be honest with me.”

his words form a constellation named after you, unbeknownst to you, and he wants to say more but anticipating what comes next after you connect the dots makes his stomach twist. he doesn’t feel like an adult yet. he’s still just a young boy with a gorgeous crush and high ambitions that coalesce in his dreams.

“i like someone who has a really pretty smile, too.”

and he should probably stop staring, erase the dumb lovesick smile on his face. for fuck’s sake, it would be easier for him if you would just do the same. behind the sparkles of your eyes, there is something he’s been dying to decipher.

“okay, why are you looking at me like that?”

because you are so pretty, especially when you smile.

“nothing,” he replies innocently. “you? what’s your ideal type? who do you like?”

“i don’t know… no one has captured my heart yet. they’re not trying hard enough!”

every romance you’ve had so far has been a letdown.

“but i’m still looking. i’m young, and hot, and the universe is vast.”

“mhm, i see… that’s true, but maybe… you don’t want to be looking too far.” jungkook suggests.

you smirk. “so you agree that i’m hot?”

“you know. you don’t need me to say it.” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“but i want to hear you say it.”

“you’re very beautiful, ____.”

“but that’s not-”

“the food is ready! let’s eat it before it gets cold!”

he runs to the living room without waiting for you, and you seize the opportunity to squeal without a sound, punching the counter without actually punching— releasing the giddiness threatening to spill from the seams of your heart.

you don’t know if this is heading somewhere, nor do you expect it to, but where you are right now is a good place to be.

—

the movie playing on the screen has become more of a white noise to you, a family comedy far less fascinating compared to jungkook drizzling honey over strawberries and bread from a spoon. you wonder if he is aware how often he creates sound effects while he is doing something.

beside you, his body quakes with cackles during the scenes that an editor would definitely insert the classic sound of an audience’s collective laughter and holler. you stumble upon the understanding that his happiness lies in a myriad of things, and you would envy him for it if not for the fact that he is currently sharing that happiness with you. you laugh when he laughs, and being becomes a little less heavier at that moment.

another commercial break rudely interrupts and jungkook turns towards you. the two of you sit cross-legged, knees knocking against each other as you occupy nearly the entire sofa.

“hi!”

“hi.”

“what are your plans for the holidays?”

“my best friend’s family invited me to stay with them for christmas until the new year. it’s kind of been a tradition since…”

the end of your sentence hangs suspended in the air. you still can’t say it out loud.

jungkook knows they’re gone and you’re alone: only the plain and brutal truths.

the reminder that this is the third christmas you will not spend with your family; the thought that this would be the third christmas they would spend without you if the afterlife was real— they bring tears to your eyes at once, but you forcibly blink them away, shoving enthusiasm down your throat.

“how about you?” you take a bite from your toast, attempting to divert your thoughts to… anything else. “are you coming home?”

you hide so well behind a smile. it doesn’t occur to jungkook that his question rubbed salt on an open wound.

“i miss my mom but i can’t go home yet.” he pouts. “i have work on christmas day as usual. we’ve been preparing hard for it.”

“oh, that’s right! gayo daejeon?!”

he nods in confirmation.

the music festival has been an annual event for his group since they debuted, and he never feels the need to complain because not everyone is given this kind of opportunity. what’s extraordinary for most has become his ordinary, and what was once his ordinary like everybody else’s has simply become a thing of the past. nevertheless, he does not have regrets. he is living a good life, one that he believes is his fate. as long as he has a voice and it is being heard, then his existence has meaning.

“your family will surely watch you, so they’re still celebrating it with you in a way. making them proud is the best christmas gift you can give!”

and right now, in his life, you are the cherry on top. you were so cheerful and supportive about the final shows of their tour as well, raving about how amazing it is to perform three nights in a row at gocheok skydome.

“i’ll watch you too!”

he can’t help it— you’re driving him to be better at what he does. childishly, he wants show off and be the one to capture your heart.

“ah!” he groans. “that means i should work harder at practice tomorrow! i can’t mess up infront of you and my family!”

“why not me? you want to make me proud too?” you interrogate him jokingly.

“of course, it’s my job. it’s what i do best. i’ll make you see!”

“use me as motivation then. you can’t mess up, okay? you have to do well, jungkook! you better not make a mistake! my eyes will be focused on you only!”

his face is reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights— the headlights being your wide, threatening eyes.

he releases a shaky sigh in dramatic fashion. “i don’t feel motivated, though? i’m getting pressured?”

you wheeze; the plate over your lap tilts along with its contents.

“this is tough love!”

jungkook nearly staggers to his feet. “…love?”

you roll your eyes, small corners of your lips still cheekily lifted. “was the french toast good?”

jungkook is interrupted before he can form a response.

“but if it tastes like shit, just lie to me!”

“what are you talking about?!”

oh my god, you’re too fucking good at making him laugh.

“you’re eating it too! you know it’s delicious!”

“maybe you got a bad batch!”

—

“i’m going to the laundry shop across the street. i’ll just be a minute.” you announce, hauling a laundry basket to the living room.

your strained grunts prompt jungkook to look up from his phone, and eventually to stand up with urgency and relieve you of your heavy, heavy burden.

“shit, how heavy is this?”

you’re not given a chance to protest as the basket is immediately stolen from your grasp; your lips part open but no words come out.

“i’ll come with you!”

“well, hopefully not more than twelve kilos.”

it’s definitely heavier than usual; mainly comprised of the thick and layered clothes you’ve been wearing to shield yourself from the unforgiving cold.

“let’s go.”

jungkook wraps his hand around your wrist, gently tugging. the butterflies in your stomach wakes up earlier than spring’s arrival.

“this thing is bigger than you.”

an extremely obvious exaggeration.

“i’ll be the one to carry it.“

—

jungkook wears a cap and a face mask underneath his hoodie, eyes barely even visible in his all-black getup for the public to see; and somehow you also find yourself with a scarf around your neck, pulled up over the bridge of your nose.

when the year 2017 rolled in, you predicted that more crazy, life-altering stuff would happen. it has been an on-going theme, a relentless domino effect that has brought you to your knees time and time again. but you never would’ve fucking imagined that this is how you would be wrapping it up. how the hell did you cross paths with a famous idol, and why is he carrying your laundry basket right now?

“wait here for a bit.” you bring both hands to the basket’s handles, coaxing him to let go. “i’ll just bring it inside.”

“are you only dropping it off? that’s expensive!”

“what?” you stare at him in bewilderment, not expecting him to utter such statement at all. “you’re talking like you’re not rich!”

“i’m not! and still,” jungkook becomes flustered underneath his disguise. “it’s good to be practical. anyway, we have a lot of time.”

“you sound more like a mom than my mom did.”

“shhh!” he shushes you, putting a finger over his face mask. “let’s just do your laundry ourselves.”

“why would you do laundry right now? you’re supposed to be resting in the first place!”

a tug of war ensues infront of the laundry shop. strangers doesn’t know better. you look like a married couple bickering over who should take responsibility of the chore.

“____, just let me, mhm? i’m a pro at doing laundry too! we’ll be done before you know it!”

“how are you good at everything? honestly, it sounds like a scam!”

“how dare you doubt me?” he gasps in offense. “i do my own laundry!”

“seriously?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“i’m serious!”

“i don’t think i believe you, though…”

“if you search online, you-” your voice echoes in his mind, and subsequently, jungkook cuts himself off.

‘it feels like cheating on a test. it’s more fun learning about you from you.’

“oh, nevermind. let’s go inside already. i’m freezing!”

“jungkook!” you whine, stomping your feet on the ground as you refuse to let go of the basket despite jungkook beginning to head inside.

“why?” he copies the childishness of your tone, and although you can’t see his face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you enough.

“we can’t…”

the adorable sight of you appearing to be so shy is foreign to him. he can’t help but to chuckle. “why not?”

your lips form a pout.

“my panties…”

you bring a finger to point at the basket.

“they’re in there too… i was only going to drop them off today because you came with me…”

“ah…” jungkook awkwardly freezes, unblinking. “wait, you’re right?”

why didn’t he think of that? he’s a fucking idiot. of fucking course. what if you take things the wrong way and you’re creeped out by him now?!

“fuck, sorry. i’m sorry. i wasn’t- um, i swear i wasn’t trying to…”

his tongue becomes tied, struggling to search for the words that won’t make him sound like a damn pervert.

yeah, way to go, jungkook. you’re not the fucking boyfriend yet and you’re ruining your chances.

“did i make you uncomfortable? i’m sorry. it probably looked li-”

“hey, breathe, calm down. it’s alright, jungkook.”

you giggle in amusement, placing a hand over his chest— his heart. it’s meant to ease him, but the knowledge that you’re feeling his racing heartbeat only causes it to further intensify. he swallows the lump in his throat, dumbfounded by the turn of events. he wants the ground to swallow him whole, but he also wants to stay in this moment a little while longer.

“it’s alright. i’ll go bring this inside then i’ll treat you to lunch at the restaurant over there! don’t run away from me, okay?”

—

“the yukgaejang looks good.” you utter absentmindedly, admiring the spicy beef soup with plentiful vegetables from afar. “i’m jealous of you.”

the other tables are already having a feast while you and jungkook are waiting for your take-out to be prepared.

“then you should’ve ordered it too.” jungkook scolds you lightheartedly. “should i go?”

“no! i’m not good with spicy food. spice makes me cry.”

he smiles softly. once again, you complete the picture from his eyes. “what is there to frown so sadly about?”

“i feel like i’m missing out.” you complain, the pout on your face almost permanent. “spicy food is like one of the trademarks of korea, you know? but i can’t handle it!”

“so cute…” jungkook has decided to give in to his impulses, it seems— the evidence is him pinching your cheek for the very first time, and with the discovery of its delightsome softness, it will definitely not be the last.

“oh, oh, oh! an eyelash!”

his doe eyes glisten with pure wonder and excitement, and the air in your lungs becomes suspended when his hand moves to tenderly cup the side of your face. as he is absorbed in capturing the tiny eyelash that has fallen and glued itself on your cheek, your mind reels with the size of his hand, the sensation of his innocent touch against your neck.

“aaand-” jungkook takes your hand, passing on the eyelash to your index finger. “there you go. make a wish!”

your eyes flicker down, and none of you speaks for a moment or two.

a wish…?

what does one wish for when they have given up on wishing for miracles?

“did you do it?”

you peek at jungkook, nodding. at last, you blow the eyelash away, outside the window, where it becomes one with the snowflakes that came from the same sky where wishes are supposedly granted.

“what did you wish for?”

“i’ll tell you when it comes true.”

—

jungkook eats so well— you feel full just by watching him eat. so when he asked you, eyebrows knitted and legs bouncing, if he could have more rice, you were left with no choice but to plug in the rice cooker for the second time today. you cooked only enough for two meals today: brunch and dinner for one. you’re more than happy to have given him the dinner portion. you like that your apartment is providing warmth for another soul, despite the old times that it housed ones that ended up haunting you.

“are there any more chores to do? while we wait for the rice?”

you gaze switches from him to the living room.

the boy who was knocking at your door is now vacuuming your floors.

you sit on the couch with your legs hugged to your chest, chin propped on your knees. an unexplainable feeling swims in your chest, but your heart calls to welcome it. not to be delusional, but technically, isn’t this a marriage proposal?

it falls on dear ears— the infuriating sound of the cheap vacuum cleaner your landlord lended you and never came back for. underneath it is jungkook’s mellifluous voice, humming and singing, and it’s all you can hear.

the only use you knew of honey is the magic it does with tea for a sore throat. when you learned about his demanding occupation, he is all you can think of in relation to the elixir. since then, you’ve been taking the god awful amount of honey your pesky neighbor provides without any complaints.

this is nice… this is good. you are glad that you opened the door.

—

after a hearty and satisfying meal, you and jungkook retired to your previous spots infront of the television screen. more of the snacks he bought for you ended up being shared. near your stacks of books are colorful food wrappers and half-empty glasses of water. two mediocre yet entertaining movies later, you tell jungkook that you should pick up your laundry before the shop closes in an hour. however, after he has excused himself to the bathroom, he is greeted by the sight of you peacefully asleep on the sofa.

once more, a new side of you is laid bare, and his affection grows. he doesn’t know when he can admire your face this close again without melting from your stare.

heedful of disturbing your much deserved rest, he carefully places a pillow beneath your head, and he pulls down the blanket you’re wrapped in to cover your cold feet.

with one last stolen glimpse, he grabs your key and receipt from the bowl and leaves.

—

“is it time for you to leave?” you delicately rub at your eyes that are still half-closed; voice quiet, barely there.

you were awoken by the front door opening and closing, but nothing has quite registered to your fuzzy brain yet, except for the coat that you neatly kept and is already re-worn by its owner.

and he knows you’re most probably just sleepy, but the way you’re gazing at him as if you’re sad to see him go makes his heart clench.

“no, i picked up your laundry.” he enlightens you, consciously speaking with refined tenderness, as to preserve the serenity that has enveloped the atmosphere. “i can stay until eight. is that okay?”

you release a weary sigh, nodding. “of course… and you’re such a nice friend, thank you.”

he plops down on the sofa, filling the jungkook-shaped space beside you.

tired… you’re so tired… despite the given privilege to finally sleep to your heart’s content, you’re still so tired. your forehead lands softly on his shoulder, and unbeknownst to you due to your stupor, jungkook’s breath hitches— the polar opposite of the steady rise and fall of your chest. you make him swoon. he deliberately ignores the fact that you just called him a friend.

you peer down at the floor, past the curtain of your disheveled hair, slowly blinking. those ridiculous toe socks… you giggle in secret.

“jungkook?”

“yes?”

“are you cold?”

“freezing.”

you lift your head and he knows— you have to be playing games with his heart, bringing the temptation to kiss you so painfully close. “do you want some tea?”

—

the performance has commenced but the passionate screams of the audience still rings in jungkook’s ears as he runs backstage, chased by the staff attempting to wipe the sweat he is practically bathing in. he squeezes one eye shut as beads of sweat threaten to enter it. his chest heaves with exhaustion and his heart pumps with overwhelming adrenaline. most of the time, this job doesn’t feel real. he feels high. this is the textbook definition of a dream.

“where’s my phone? please? does anyone have it?” he yells in the midst of the chaos and clamor as he completely strips off his in-ears.

a hand reaches towards him with the device, and his expression of gratitude gets lost somewhere among the repetitive reminders of the remaining time before they should have returned to their designated seats.

he allows the hair and make-up stylists to do their jobs, him as their doll in need of a retouch. on the other hand, he impatiently waits for his phone to power on.

the tapping of jungkook’s foot ceases, and from his glowing reflection on the vanity mirror, the clueless people surrounding him witnesses love strike.

guess my eyelash wish worked like a charm. your performances went really well

and you looked so cool on stage ☺️

merry christmas jungkook ❤️

“jungkook-ah, what are you smiling at?!”

seokjin cackles. jungkook didn’t even notice him roll his chair so close. he then decides to play dumb to tease their youngest one.

“wow, who is this ____ you’re texting?”

“hyung!” jungkook panics, hissing underneath his breath. “lower your voice!”

“ouch!” seokjin yells, rubbing his arm that was hit as a punishment.

he allows a moment of silence.

his expression goes blank and he avenges himself.

“ah!” jungkook gasps as the slap on his thigh resonates, forced to be ripped away from overthinking a text message. “hyung! you better start running!”

Draft: i know it’s late.. but can i see you later?|

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook smut

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little-miss-fandom-freak · 30 days ago

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Bad Chemistry

Summary: A new inmate has arrived and joins Task Force M on their mission; everythung about this new member confuses, yet intruiges Dr Phosphorus and is determined to find out why

A/N: Idk if I want to make this an X Reader or a Canon X OC so I'm leaving it up to interpretation for now :)

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Flag watched as his new "team" hit the floor from an electric shock, directly admitted from a device Waller held. "Meet Task Force M; 'M' for Monster. Also known as the Creature Commandos. " Waller said as she tossed Flag the device. She walked out of the room with him trailing behind. "There is one more member who will be arriving shortly."

"Arriving? Why aren't they in Belle Reve with the others?" He asked as he pocketed the device.

"Let's just say The Batman and I had a long chat before I had to agreed to keep her in Arkham." Waller and Flag stopped in front of a glass wall; behind the wall was a pair of doors that slid open. An unconscious woman on a dolly was pushed into the room. Flag watched as a doctor with surgical gloves came out from behind her with a large needle in hand. He peeled back her eye light and injected its contents into her eye. Flag cringed as the woman - now conscious - screamed in pain.

Waller spoke over the cries. "Meet Android 10; or as the Joker called her, The Ten of Spades."

"Wait, The Joker?"

Waller nodded. "Joker wanted a group of Androids who would do his dirty work. 20 Androids were created, only 5 made the cut for his "Royal Flush Gang". Each one was built with a different set of abilities. Ten was given super strength, intelligence, and aviation."

"A real triple threat, huh?"

"Indeed." Replied Waller. "It's taken me years to convince Batman to take her to Belle Reve, so use her wisely Flag."

The two watched in silence as Ten regained her composure. As she stood up, her piercing red eyes glared into Flag's. Her eye was red and tear-filled from the shot, and there was nothing but hate and anger behind them.

"Good afternoon, Ten. My name is Amanda Waller. Welcome to Belle Reve."

Ten charged at the glass, slamming her fist against it. "I demand to speak with Batman. I demand to know why I'm here."

"That's a lot of demanding for someone trapped in a cage. Unfortunately for you, he's not here. And you won't get to speak to him again unless you comply." Ten's teeth grinded as she kept her glare on Waller; when she realized the woman wouldn't back down, she sighed.

"What do you want from me?"

"That is on a need to know basis. And all you need to know for now is that you'll be taking orders from General Rick Flag Sr." Waller said, gesturing to the man beside her.

Ten crossed her arms as she examined Flag. Her face read that she was unimpressed when she scoffed. "Emphasis on the 'senior' bit." She mumbled.

Flag let out a sharp chuckle. "Real spit fire, isn't she?"

"Ten, for this mission, I will need you to play nice with your new teammates. We don't want a repeat of the last time." Flag watched as Ten's cocky, confident demeanor shift for a split second. Her eyes flickered down before meeting Waller's once more.

"So, when do I meet me new team?"

---------------------------------------------------

When the rest of the team emerged from their cells and out to the landing pad, a few of them were puzzled by the woman standing beside Waller and Flag.

Waller greeted the group as they stood in frontof her. "Task Force M, I'd like for you all to meet your new teammate, Android 10."

Ten took notice of their unimpressed looks, but in her opinion, they weren't anything special either.

"Do we really need another member?" The Bride complained. "There's already enough brainless fools on this team.

"I can assure you Bride, this one is anything but brainless." Waller spoke as she walked away from the team. "General Flag will give you the run down before you enter Pokolistan."

---------------------------------------------------

Phosphorus didn't know what to think of the new girl.

Taking subtle glances at the robotic woman beside him (one of the few times he was thankful for not having actual eyeballs), he tried to get a read on her. She kept to herself; avoiding the banter the rest of the team shared and ignored any and all questions or comments directed at her. He tried taking glances at her exposed skin, trying to find the creases in her joints or the screws that would keep her together, but he found nothing.

Phosphorus had let himself get too wrapped up in his thoughts; his head turning half of an inch too much, caused Ten to take notice. She turned her head, making deep eye contact with the skeleton beside her.

"Got something to say, Skelator?" Her voice rumbled in his ears. He was taken back by her sudden question, but like always he doesn't stay shocked for long.

"I was just thinking." He said, keeping her in suspense.

"About?"

He paused for a moment, deciding if he really wanted to known. "What's so special about you that they kept you out of Belle Reve?"

Ten looked away, bringing her attention back to her boots. "That's none of your concern." She said quietly.

"I think it is." He said, leaning back. "We are a team after all; how am I supposed to trust you if I don't know you?"

"The only thing you need to know, is that I won't kill you simply because there's a shock chip in my brain that I'd rather not trigger."

Before Phosphorus could continue to pry, Flag addressed the group.

"Now look team, I know you all aren't exactly enthusiastic about this mission," he started. The Bride and Ten rolled their eyes in unison." But-"

"General I think you've read us wrong." Phosphorus cut in. "We're delighted to be here and delighted to serve our country."

"Are you smiling?" The bride asked quizzically. Phosphorus hummed with acknowledgment. "Sarcastically?" "Yeah." He said with a shrug. Ten scoffed at his childish behavior, but Phosphorus took it as a chuckle, which boosted his ego a tad.

Ten blocked out the rest of the conversations, just wanting this mission to end already so she can get back to her lovely cell back in Arkham. A place that would drive most people insane, acrually brought her a sense of peace. The isolation from people was just what sher needed, especially since her life has been nothing but chaos sinc ethe day she woke up. But her cell wasn't the only thing about Arkham she missed...

The shake of the plane landing ripped Ten from her thoughts. The team was lined up, waiting for the ramp to lower. When ut did, it revealed rows and rows of silver-clad soldiers with their general in front.The general lead them all to the military vans that would take them to the castle. Ten regeted mentally complaining about sitting close to Phosphorus and The Bride; the van was 10x smaller and more compact than the plane had been, with everyone pressed against each other in some way. The close contact with Phosphorus only got worse when Weasel began to piss on the seats.

"Is he pissing?! Oh my God he's pissing!" Phosphorus cried as he tried to scoot as far away from Weasel as possible.

"Ugh! Get off of me, Glow Stick!" Ten grumbled as she tried to push Phosphorus off of her. She could feel The Bride tense behind her as he pressed the three of them together more as he cried. "Oh dear God, it's on my leg! Did no one think to take him out for a walk after a long trip?" He asked the group, his head facing twords Bride. "You better not be looking at me." She gritted.

Phosperpus turned his "gaze" to Ten. His sarcastic words died on his tongue when he realized how close their faces were. 'Were her eyes always that color?' 'Her hair has a nice shine to it, is it real?' 'Is that lotion I smell? Do they just give out scented lotion in Arkham?' While his mind was whirling with questions, Ten grew irritated by his emotionless stare.

"What? You think it's my job to care for that thing?" She spat, snapping him out of his daze. "I'm not a dog trainer."

Before he could think of a witty comeback that would save him from this situation, the van stopped. Phosphorus straightened himself as they filed out one by one. 'What the hell was that?'

Upon entering, the first thing everyone noticed was the... "incestuous-looking" royal family portraits. Phosphorus snickered at each one, Ten couldn't help herself but smirk in disbelief.

"You can really tell they're a close family." Phosphorus joked to no one in particular; but Ten was the only one who heard it, trying hard to suppress a chuckle. Her quiet sounds drew him in. Her began to observe her as by they waited for the Princess to arrive.

This android - this "woman" was a total mystery to him, an enigma of sorts. Belle Reve held the worst criminals in the world, being held there for Waller's twisted Task Forces; team that are expendable, where no one would care if you lived or died. No one outside of Belle Reve was ever added to a Task Force (at least to his knowledge); so why was she here? What can she do? What are her strengths? Her weaknesses? Her limits? Can she feel emotions like a human? Being the man of science he was, Phosphorus was determined to find the answers to his questions.

---------------------------------------------------

Ten watched in disgust as the people around her tore apart their meals like cavemen. She didn't know about the conditions in Belle Reve, but she had too much dignity to engage in the "monster" idea that people held for her. Next to her, Phosphorus was devouring the steak in his hands.

Ten rolled her eyes as she picked at her meal. The final straw was when a piece had ripped off and flew at her, hitting her cheek. She was disgusted. "You know they gave you a fork, right?"

Phosphorus stopped his movements to look at her. Gulping down the food in his mouth he chuckled. "Sorry princess, am I too messy for you?"

Ten groaned in disgust.

"Don't try and sit there like you don't want to tear that chicken of yours to the bone." He said, gesturing to her untouched meal. "I've spent a short time in Arkham, highly doubt they've improved their meal plan. Go on, enjoy yourself! Who gives a shit anymore?"

She scoffed. "Just because I've lived off of prison food doesn't mean I need to act like some barbaric monster."

"Hate to break it to ya sweetheart, but we're all monsters here, even you. You can try and hide behind that synthetic skin and fake hair, but your not human. Your just as much of a monster as me."

A fork was slammed into his plate, splitting the steak and cracking the glass plate beneath. The room went silent at the shake of the table, their attention drawing to the end of the table. Ten leaned in close, his green heat reflecting off of her skin.

"I'm nothing like you. You are nothing more than a murderer and a freak who knows nothing more than bloodlust. Don't ever act like you know shit about me because I can assure you, you will never know anything about me."

She shoved herself off of the table and stormed out of the silent room. Flag cleared his throat, trying to break the alward silence. "Uh, sorry about that, Ilana."

"Will she be okay? I can send someone-"

Flag raused his hand, polierly silencing the princess. "She'll be fine. I think she just needs space from a certain someone." Flag turned to glare at Phosphorus, who wasn't paying attention at all.

His gaze was still on the door Ten had exited from when The Bride began to speak. "The hell did you say?"

"Nothin'. She's just being dramatic." He said with a shrug. Turning back to his food, he couldn't help but be even more curious than before.

---------------------------------------------------

That night, Phosphorus slowly snuck out from behind the door of his room. When the door silently shut, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped with fear; turning around, he slammed his enflammed fist into the face of the person behind him. It took him a second to realize his fist had been caught; behind him stood Ten, casually holding his fist with her bare hands. He jumped back, concerned that the hall wpuld now smell like melting flesh.

"What the hell!? I could've killed you!" He quietly exclaimed.

Ten scoffed as she dropped his fist and crossed her arms. "Yeah, okay." She replied sarcastically.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his "nose". "Look, I don't have time for this. So whatever you have to say just say it so I can go."

"Go where? We're not supposed to leave the grounds. Hell, we're not even supposed to leave our rooms without permission."

"I'm not leaving the grounds I'm-" He stopped himself from sharing too much of his plan. "Just get on with your business!"

Ten sighed, her gaze going from him to her feet. "Sorry about my freak out. Shits been tough since leaving Arkham, it's just stress."

Phosphorus didn't know what to say. Apologizing wasn't a thing he's been accustomed to, with himself or from other people. He just... stood there. Giving her a dumbfounded look. "Are you serious?"

Ten raised her brown. "Excuse me?"

"You don't apologize!" He said, his arms flinging outward. "We are literally war criminals, who the fuck apologizes for possibly hurting someone's feelings?!"

"Look man I could give two shits about your feelings!" Her voice began to rise. "I was just trying to be a mature adult and try to make up with my teamate-"

"Temporary teamate." He corrected.

Ten scoffed. "Ugh! You are so immature!"

As Ten and Phosphorus argued, their voices began to get louder until they weren't even whispering anymore. Phosphorus stopped mid sentence when he saw a light around the corner.

"Shit!" He grabbed Ten's wrist and tugged her into his room and threw her against the wall.

"What the hell are yo-" He slammed his hand over her mouth, though it was a little harder to do since she was taller than him by a good few inches. When she tried to fight him off, Phosphorus pointed at the light shining against the door. That shut her up quickly. The two of them stayed frozen against each other, trying to keep their breathing down as they waited for the light to pass. After a few moments, the two sighed with relief as the guard left. They leaned against the wall, regaining their composure. Ten chewed the inside of her lip as she turned to Phosphorus.

"Let me help you with... well, whatever it is you're planning on doing." She offered.

He raised as non-existent eyebrow. "You wanna help? Why?"

She shrugged. "Can't sleep. I'm bored. And I guess if you won't accept a verbal apology, maybe my actions can speak louder."

Phosphorus chuckled in disbelief as he stood straight. "Alright. Deal."

Phosphorus and Ten crossed the hall to the room Flag resided in. Picking the lock to his room, Phosperpus quietly cracked it open.

"Keep watch out here, make sure no one comes by." Ten nodded as she readied herself.

Phosperus snuck into the room and softly knelt in front of Flag's dresser. He carefully moved things around, searching for the device that activated their chips. When he found it, he had a silent victory before he heard footsteps behind him. Turning his head, he was face-to-crotch with Flag.

"Uh.... hey-" Flag slammed his foot against Phosperpus, sending him back into the wall. Ten heard the thud and went running for the room. When she slammed open the door, she watched as Flag chased after Phosperpus in a room lit with flames.

"What the hell Doc?!" She yelled over the flames.

Flag stopped when he heard her voice. "Ten?! The fuc-" Flag stopped when he was forced to dodge Phosphorus' flaming fist charging at him. He threw Phosperpus to the wall and attempted to punch his face, but was quickly met his the intense flames of the doctor's skull.

"Hey Arkham?! You were supposed to keep watch!" Phosphorus yelled as he dodged several of Flag's swings.

"You told me to keep watch outside, asshoel!" Ten yelled even louder as she danced around the flames. Fly out if Flag's hand, the device caught Ten's eye, but when she went to grab it Phosphorus slammed his fist down to the ground. Flames surrounded the three if them. With one step, Phosphorus froze as he heard a creak beneath them.

Ten groaned with annoyance. "You idiot- AAAHH" The floor caved in and by they went tumbling down. The three of them landed in the kitchen below them. Without any thought, the two men went right back to fighting, the device bouncing back and forth between the two of them. Exhausted from the impact, Ten simply sighed before she made her way to the stove where a bottle of wine stood. She leaned against the wall, drinking it as she watched the men fight.

Flag eventually gained the upper hand, kicking Phosperpus across the floor so he could grab the device. His thumb hovered the red button as Phosperpus tried to attack him once more. Ten's attention was redirected, remembered that she too will be shocked.

"Phosperpus, you idiot!" Flag exclaimed. "You think Waller would give me the only remote? You'd be hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean for days if you escaped. Or, if i told her about all this! I'm not here to torture you- any of you." He said, looking at Ten. "We're supposed to be on the same damn team." Phosphorus looked down in shame. It was stupid to even try but he had to. The feeling of being set free just to be tied down again was taunting him, making him go insane.

Ten sighed, tossing the bottle aside she made her way over to the men. Grabbing Phosperpus by the shoulders and hauling him up, she stopped for a moment and made eye contact with Flag; the two had a silent understanding before she helped Phosperpus limp to the nearest bathroom.

At one point he came to his senses and shoved himself off of her, limping the rest of the way to the bathroom. He set himself down on the toilet seat and held his head in his hands. Cautiously, Ten kneeled infront of him and began to run a scan.

"The hell are you doing?" He asked, feeling uncomfortable under her stare.

"Scanning for any other injuries. I'm going to have fix your-" Ten watched as Phosphorus grabbed the back of his leg and cracked it back into place. She stared at it, a wave of confusion, concern, and pure disgusting rushed over her features all at once.

"Oh.... didn't know you could do... that..."

Phosphorus chuckled at her choked up reaction. "No injuries, babes. Just a bruised ego..."

Ten shrugged. "You gave it a shot. It's not entirely your fault, Waller is just freaky when it comes to being prepared. Guess she was right about doing it though..."

"Yeah..." He trailed off, losing himself in his thoughts.

The two sat in the bathroom in complete silence. Ten leaned her back against thw wall as she picked at the grout. Phosphorus watched her, like he had been, but this time he was actually able to see her.

He didn't mind what he saw, finding a strange sense of peace when watching her mindlessly pick at the floor. Maybe he cpuld get used to this...

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

There is no better feeling than finally being able to write the fanfic you've been thinking about for days. It's not the best, but it's been a long time since I've written anything, so I'm pretty rusty. I realized in the middle of writing the the character I "kinda" came up with is basically just Android 18 from DBZ lmao. Thanks for reading!!!

EDIT: There will be multiple parts!

#creature commandos x reader #dr phosphorus x reader #dc comics #dc comics x reader #fanfic #doctor phosphorus x reader

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mermaidchansons · 2 months ago

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Divine Indeed: Part One

Neighbor!Terry Richmond x Divine Wells (black OC)

Story Summary: Divine Wells, an autistic seamstress, deals with waves of change after she picks up her life and moves to San Diego for a new job. She thought she’d finally found peace in her new normal; until Oshun decided to push her path to collide with her fine ass neighbor, Terry Richmond.

Words: 1400+

Warnings: none

Author’s Note: I guess I’m back like John Wick lmfao. I know this is short but there will be more! My taglist is old so if you would like to be removed, lemmie know. Thanks for reading the beginning of this 5 part series <3 - Ashanti

Pt. 1 Pt.2

“Phone, wallet, journal, where the hell did I put that key?” Divine shivered from the cold as she rummaged through her tote, searching for her mail key. She knew she should have added the key to her ‘Heathers’ lanyard when she moved in two weeks ago. But no, the endless streams of thought tossed that out completely. Here she was, tired from her first day at the new job, freezing from the sudden drop in temperature outside; dragging her bandaged fingers through her belongings and wincing at the pain. The sounds of the busy road and the bustling community echoing in her apartment complex were bouncing against her cat ear headphones. Overstimulation had already begun to creep up her shoulders, causing her to search hurriedly.

“It’s fine, just breathe,” she murmured to herself, before squatting and emptying her bag on the floor.

When the fashion house hired her full-time, she hadn’t expected to be welcomed with such a joyful yet overwhelming welcome. The office was fast-paced, everyone wanted to introduce themselves and compliment her work at last season's fashion week. Divine, as grateful as she could be, was exhausted. The fabric archive was extensive, her desk was flooded with natural light, and the office was close to her new favorite coffee chain. All good things, all great things; but the exhaustion of change was eating away at Divine’s joy. Greedily gobbling it up and leaving nothing but crumbs in her hands. It was enough to make her sick.

Divine took out her phone and turned on its flashlight, illuminating the inside of the black tote. The silver mail key glimmered in the light in the left corner of the bag, causing Divine to sigh in relief. Accommodating change with ever lessening spoons was an easy way to ruin what should have been a good day.

Change was a concept that both pushed and plagued her existence in this world. It was a fickle thing, really. A breakup with her freak of the week or a sudden change in plans could dissolve all ability to function; however, so could a new high paying job, a new apartment, a new city. When Divine was 7 years old, her twin sibling Sera found her crying under the ancestor table with her eyes shut tight. She was praying, begging Oshun and Elegba to stop time altogether and keep the waves of change from lapping at the beach of life that she had been thrust upon, unwillingly. Most of her childhood was spent running away from the throws of time. Her parents brought their twins up in love and the teachings of the Orishas, wanting to grant them spiritual guidance that would prepare them for anything they should face. But it didn’t truly matter whether the change was good or bad, Baby Divine would still have to regulate herself, manipulating and reforming her spirit to adapt to a new mold. Every now and again, the freshly 31-year-old would find herself in her tub with her ears below the water, desperately pleading for Oshun to still time. Only for a moment, just enough time to get her bearings. Divine had made her plans, carefully entwining every new task with just enough time to find balance. However, the Orishas did not take these plans into consideration when they made her. Oshun had her own plans.

Divine shoved the spilled contents of her life back into her tote and walked into the mailroom. She leaned down to unlock what she thought to be her mailbox, eager to get her package and scamper off to her apartment before anyone saw her bent over. The key didn’t work in #71, #74, or #75, and she could never remember. She made a mental note to reread her move-in papers so that she wouldn’t be in here for this long again. There was nothing wrong with sharing a mailroom with other folks, but Divine knew she took up space. She was a dark skin woman with thick thighs, an ass that could stop traffic, and a tummy to match. Today’s pants were put on when Divine was hyping herself up this morning, telling herself that ‘an ass this good deserves to be seen’. But 10 hours later with little to no patience, the less she could be perceived by others, the better. She just needed to get her new stuffy, a pig with wings, and get out as soon as she could. The music in her headphones transitioned into a new song and the slow plucking of a bass guitar steadily built up in her ears before King Woman’s voice floated in.

I don’t have to sell my soul

He’s already in me

I don’t need to sell my soul

He’s already in me

Unlocking door #78, Divine sent a silent thank you to the ancestors before pulling two letters out. There was no package. Why was there no package? Divine reached her arm in as far as she could and felt around the empty space, her shield of annoyance stopping her from noticing a person entering the room.

“The front desk usually leaves a key for bigger packages,” the deep voice boomed out. Divine, scared out of her wits, moved a bit too fast, clanging her wrist against the mail to get out. She looked at the person surprisingly, shaking the pain away from her wrist. He was soaked to the bone like he’d just been caught in a rainstorm; the wet fabric of his shirt clung to his thick, muscle-lined frame. Divine had gotten so lost in drinking in the man’s tall frame, that she had forgotten all about her key and the mailbox. Package be damned.

I wanna be adored

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?” Divine stood up straight, fixing her clothes, and put one side of the headphones behind her ear. The man was practically a giant, so tall that she was sure he had to duck to walk into the room. Her eyes locked with his and she audibly gulped. His eyes were transportive, a stunning grayish blue with flecks of green folded in. They looked like wells filled to the brim with a storm, desperate to escape and wreak havoc on anyone in its path.

“You’re good,” the giant said, offering small bits of reassurance, “if you have a package, they leave a key to the community package box. May I?”

Divine shifted to the side to allow him enough room to sidestep in front of her and grab the key that had lodged itself into the back corner of her mailbox. She watched him intently as he moved to open the community box, making note of how the muscles in his back moved. Her mouth went dry watching him and it was as if all the water in her body was flooding to her middle. She needed to get out of here, as soon as possible.

The kind man handed her her missing package with the key on top, their hands touching and setting off a string of electricity that shot up her arms and down her spine. An unintentional staring match has begun and Divine tore eyes away, intimidated and aroused.

“Thank you. Bye,” Divine curtly turned on her heels and rushed out of the mail room, and made a beeline straight to the stairs; elevator be damned. Who was that god of a man? Was he watching her walk away? God, she hoped that he was. Divine didn’t want to be perceived but if he was watching she’d make it worth the watch. She relaxed her body and amped up the sway of her hips before checking over her shoulder to see that he was turned away. She dragged her hands down her face, groaning in embarrassment. Her sibling would get a kick out of this.

@babybluepeaches @muse-of-mbaku @melaninmarvel @ashanti-notthesinger @naturallyqueenie @howtoshuckatlife @goldieccentric @archivistofwakanda @alexundefined @minyara-kun @destinio1 @siriuslycollinss @raysunshine78 @madamslayyy @notdsg @ghostfacekill-monger @soufcakmistress @greennightspider @bitchacho25 @jordanhelah @puremolasses @ajspencer1892 @monochrome-pineapple @psuedo4 @bubblyqueen @chaneajoyyy @blowmymbackout @tchallasbabymama @megamindsecretlair @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

Thanks For Reading!

#terry richmond #terry richmond x black reader #terry Richmond x black oc #terry richmond fanfiction #terry Richmond x black fem #rebel ridge #rebel ridge fanfiction #terry richmond fic #terry richmond fluff #terry Richmond slowburn #slow burn #slow burn fic #neighbors to lovers

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hyunfilms · 1 year ago

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this time around (lee felix) | one shot.

—summary: life decides it's finally the right time.

—pairing: lee felix x f. reader

—genre: (18+) exes to lovers | fluff, smut

—word count: 3.9k

—content/warnings: blue haired felix 😮‍💨, cussing/mature language, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex - but not super descriptive!!, lots of kisses and intimate/sweet moments, use of pet names: baby/angel/love, oc’s friend also uses ‘baby’ in a platonic way, quickly edited so pls excuse any mistakes!!

—INSPIRED BY: LOVE ME AGAIN - V

It’s funny how life works.

Especially when you’re sitting at this wedding, sipping on another glass of rosé— staring at the one man who, at one point, meant the entire universe to you.

Then, it’s also funny how life works; when life decides that this is your person, just not the right time.

“Girl, can you go and do something? He keeps looking at you. And don’t tell me he isn’t because I can see that blue head from miles away.” One of your bestfriends since college said. He nudges your arm, making you almost choke on the sip you just took.

“No, Reggie!” You almost whine, turning towards him. “It’s been so long, I don’t even know what I’d say to him.”

“Okay, but baby, he looks like he’s dying to talk to you. Poor Felix. Y/N always playing her goddamn games.”

“Quit it.” You nudge him back and he snorts.

“I’m kidding. But seriously, he looks like he wants to talk to you. Who cares if it’s been so long? I’m sure the conversation will flow perfectly. Give it a chance.” He takes a sip of his own cocktail. “Besides, if I remember correctly, you were head over heels for that man just as he was for you.” You sigh, setting your glass down— quickly reminiscing about the past.

You might have been young, and you may not have experienced everything life had to offer yet; but to say Felix was the love of your life would be an understatement.

He was everything to you.

Love, adoration, fun.

Sweetness.

He was also sadness, anger, hurt.

Pain.

Everything that entails love; being so, so in love.

And it’s just unfortunate that it wasn’t the right time because Felix was someone you pictured your life with. Everything about the relationship was right, and equally balanced. He showed you just how much he loved you and how much he adored you. You had more good times than bad with him. He taught you how to communicate better, to express your needs and wants, to enjoy life and live in the present moment.

He taught you so much that he really is part of the reason why you’re the person you are today.

After the three years of dating, Felix was graduating college and you were going into your senior year. Understandably, you felt like you needed to experience your last year by yourself, and you felt like Felix needed to figure out his plans moving forward. As much as you loved the way he factored you into every decision, you felt like it was wrong for him to do so— for him to feel like his life revolved solely around you. And of course, you loved him. This would’ve worked. But, it wouldn’t have felt right.

You needed to find yourself without Felix, and vice versa.

Breaking up with Felix was probably the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, but he understood. And because he loved you, he let you go. There was no bad blood, no hint of hate or anger; Felix had only left with more love and hope, praying that you’ll be okay.

Maybe one day, you’ll find your way back to each other.

It’s funny how life works.

“I’m not going to force it. I’ll let it happen if it happens.” You look at Reggie, taking another big sip of your rosé; eyes quickly glancing over to Felix from over the glass. He’s still conversing with a few mutual friends, eyes meeting yours from a distance. His eyes are soft, facial expression slightly unreadable.

Pressed, crisp black button down with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. Silver watch adorning the left wrist, slacks sitting nicely on his frame.

You’re sure of the butterflies you feel. It’s crazy how Felix still has this effect on you.

You clear your throat and revert your attention back to Reggie with a: “Can we go dance?”

“Now you’re talking.” Reggie laughs, grabbing your hand and leading you to the dance floor for a dance with other friends. The majority of the time you’re on the dance floor, you’ve temporarily pushed your thoughts and feelings away to enjoy being around friends you haven’t been able to hang out with or see in quite some time. You’re enjoying yourself, singing and dancing along to the music blasting in the venue. At one point, you don’t realize that Felix and his friends have joined in, creating one huge crowd in the middle of the dance floor that’s become the life of the party.

“Hey, I’m gonna go to the bathroom and get some air. I’ll be back in a few.” You say in Reggie’s ear. He nods, throwing up the ‘okay’ sign to acknowledge that he understood you through the loud music.

“You need me to come babysit your ass?” He leans near your ear to quickly ask.

“I’ll be fine!” You laugh, rushing off to the bathroom to relieve yourself from all that rosé. You take a couple of moments to freshen up and pat away at your makeup, hoping to keep it together for the remainder of the night. You fluff your hair a bit before giving yourself one last look before walking out and heading towards the back end of the hotel.

It’s a beautiful night tonight— one where the stars are twinkling brightly above, dotted throughout the night sky and circling around the full moon. There’s a faint breeze that feels awfully good on your skin right now, the waves crashing against the surface just right below the hill where the hotel sits.

“Hey.” A familiar, deep voice comes from behind you. You fiddle with your fingers a bit, bottom lip tucked underneath your teeth as you turn and come face to face with Felix— eyes completely fixed on the one man whom you’ve always loved; the one man who, at one point, meant the entire universe to you. “I’m sorry, I just came outside to make sure you were okay. But, I guess I should’ve figured it was since Reggie was still—” Felix shakes his head and lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “Nevermind. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you for checking. I—” You lazily point at the sky. “I just needed some air. Was getting really hot in there.”

“Yeah it was.” He laughs a bit. “You sure you’re doing okay? Do you need me to get you water or anything?” Typical Felix, you think. He’s still the same. Everything about him has remained unchanged.

“I’m okay, Felix. Thank you.” You respond softly. “It’s nice to see you.” He digs his hands into his pockets, head tilting to the side.

“It’s nice to see you, too. It’s been so long.” He smiles. He’s the first to step forward and envelope you in a hug, taking in his scent as you hug him back. Oddly enough, everything feels the same. Felix’s hugs have always been the best, and part of you hates having to part once the moment is over. “You look amazing, Y/N.”

“You do, too.” You point at his hair. “Though, I have to say the blue hair was a surprise?” He laughs and nods.

“Uh yeah, was kinda a bet with some of my friends.”

“It looks good though, you pull it off well.”

“Thank you.” He licks his lips before nodding towards the bench further down the path. “Do you wanna catch up?” He pauses. “I-I mean it’s fine if you wanna get back to the party, totally understand. I just thought we could kill two birds with one stone and–”

“I’d love to.” You cut him off with a sweet smile, letting Felix lead the way to the bench.

And so here you are, sitting side by side with Felix— enjoying the night while the music continues to play in the background. You start by telling Felix what you’ve been up to all these years, how your parents have been, living life in the city. Felix says he’s been in and out of the city, traveling back and forth between Australia to hang out with family in between work. You share lots of laughs when you update each other about family and their whereabouts, reminiscing about the times when your families would have lots of fun together. The both of you also talk about how it’s been awhile since everyone’s been under the same roof, but it’s a nice occasion to be together. Then, somehow, the conversation shifts to love and dating. You awkwardly tell Felix that you haven’t really been in a serious relationship since graduation. You’ve dated around, but nothing felt right.

Nothing felt equally balanced, or like it was meant to be.

But, it’s okay. You reassure him you’ve been okay focusing on you and doing your own thing. In time, you’ll welcome whatever is meant to be in your life. And Felix tells you he’s glad to hear that— that he’s also dated around but things just didn’t feel right, either.

“Y/N.” He calls for you as he looks out, then shifts his attention back to you. “Are you happy?” He looks at you, really looks at you, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Almost like he’s doing his best to read you, to find the answer deep within your orbs, your body language.

“I guess so, yeah.” You softly smile at him before looking at the view. “Are you?” He shrugs a bit.

“Yeah. Think so.” He licks his lips and lets out a small breath. “As long as you’re happy, then that’s all that matters to me.”

“Thanks, Lix.” There’s a comfortable silence that falls between you two after that conversation. But, something shifts in the air; shifts enough to the point where you feel Felix’s eyes rest back on you from your peripherals. The sudden tension could be felt from miles away, but you’re not sure how to act on it. The simplest thing you could do is—

“I’m sorry, is there something on my face?” You break the silence and ask, a bit confused as to why Felix just keeps looking at you, staring; fixed. He lets out a small laugh before shaking his head.

“No, there isn’t. I just—” He pauses. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Always been. I can’t help it.” He says, eyes softening again as he settles on your features. He gently brushes the hair away from your face, thumb trailing down to your cheek to caress the surface. You lean into his touch a little more, having to pull away when you realize the reality of this all.

It’s funny how life works.

“You know.. I think I’m gonna call it a night.” You shyly chuckle and look down at your lap, hands awkwardly rubbing away at the fabric of your dress as you let the excuse linger in the air for a second. “I didn’t realize how exhausted I was after all that dancing and singing.” Felix chuckles. He feels a little embarrassed, but he also dug himself into this one. He shouldn’t have reached out so quickly. He couldn’t help it.

“Do you need me to drive you anywhere?”

“No, I rented out a room for the night solely for this reason.” You stand with Felix following suit.

“Let me walk you to your room then?”

“Oh, you really don’t have to Lix. I’ll be okay.” He smiles hearing the nickname roll off your tongue.

“I want to.” You look at him with a small smile and nod.

“Okay. I just need to grab my things.” He follows behind, keeping a safe distance just to keep you comfortable– not knowing that you’d rather have him close than far away.

Inside, everyone is still keeping up the energy except for a few that have either left, or decided to sit down for the remainder of the night. Reggie is drinking water at your table, and he can’t help but throw a certain look your way when he sees you walking in with Felix following right behind you. You catch on though, and you simply shrug while Felix returns to his friends to let them know he’s heading out.

“Okay so.. what exactly is happening here? Miss ‘It’s been so long, I don’t even know what I’d say to him.’” You roll your eyes and grab your things.

“I’m heading up to my room. Felix is just walking me there.”

“Walking you all the way up to the second floor? Goodness me.” You laugh and shake your head.

“You should get to yours soon, too.”

“Mhm, I want a progress report tomorrow morning.” He puckers his lips before eyeing you up and down.

“Stop it.” You glare at him. “I love you, goodnight.” You simply tell him before turning on your heel to bid your other friends goodbye, along with the bride and groom.

“Get it girl, I love you too!” You hear him respond just as you continue your goodbye’s until you’re near the entrance, with Felix waiting right outside the doors in the hallway.

“Hope you’re ready for a good long trip up to the second floor.” Felix laughs.

“Yeah, sounds pretty exhausting, honestly. It’s been a night.”

“It has, but I had lots of fun.”

“I did too.” He steps inside the elevator after you, leaning back against the railing. He eyes your figure, the way the dress hugs your curves nicely, heels strapped around your ankles. You’ve always been so beautiful; everything about you, inside and out. You can see the way Felix is focused on you through his reflection on the elevator doors in front of you, and it makes your heart do flips.

Because he does that thing he always does— when he tilts his head at a certain angle just to see you, read you, perfectly. Knowing you’ll meet his eyes at some point just for him to pull you in closer.

To plant a kiss on your lips,

Down to your jaw,

Collarbone—

“Y/N, is this not your floor?” Felix asks, breaking you out of your thoughts when you realize he’s holding the elevator doors open.

“Oh, right. Yeah, sorry. Just zoned out for a bit.” He lets out a tiny laugh as he watches you walk down the hallway, turning right at the end to get to the second door. You tap your hotel key against the reader, hand twisting the handle to unlock the door. Before you can open it fully, you turn back to Felix— seeing him quietly standing there with his hands dug into his pockets. “This is me. Thanks for walking me to my room, Lix.”

“Course. I guess I’ll let you be.” He smiles toothlessly at you. Your inner dialogue is conflicted right now, wondering if you should just let him be and let this end right where it is—

While the other half is yearning to keep him around, to have his company, to just be with him even after all these years.

“Have a good night, pretty girl.” He continues, hoping that he really doesn’t have to part with you right now. He’s not gonna force it though, and he’s not gonna say anything else— even though he feels like he has a lot more to say to you tonight. Maybe this is how it was meant to be after all, which Felix will have to learn to put to rest if it truly ends this way.

But, before he can turn on his heel to walk away, you follow up with:

“Actually, do you wanna just stay and hang out a bit more?”

“If it’s not a bother.”

“Never. Sorry, I should’ve asked earlier. I just didn’t want to make it awkward or whatever.”

“Could never be that way with you, Y/N.” You chuckle, stepping in and letting Felix follow you in. You set your clutchbag onto the side table at the corner of the room, undoing your heels and setting them aside.

“God, that feels amazing.” Felix laughs as he sits on the edge of your bed, watching as you get comfortable. “I can’t wait to get comfortable. You have a room here, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you wanna change and just come back here? I feel bad that I’ll be the only one getting comfortable.” He laughs a bit and shakes his head.

“I’m good for now. I promise.” He watches as you undo your necklace. “Need help with your dress?” You look at him through the mirror as you set your necklace down onto the drawer and silently nod. “I got you.” He says, getting behind you to help you unzip your dress. It’s something small, but so intimate and sweet.

And with Felix, it feels perfectly right. Even if years have passed. You never feel out of place with him, and he only feels like home to you.

He slowly unzips your dress, eyes trailing down as his hand falls down to the small of your back. You feel his breath tickle the back of your neck, body only inches away from yours as he keeps his position there.

“Felix.” You softly call his name, and he can tell. He just knows. He looks at you through the mirror, hand slowly wrapping around your waist.

“Is it weird to say that I’ve really missed you?” He says lowly as his eyes trail down your neck this time, fixed on the weak spot that he remembers so, so well.

“No. I’ve missed you, too.”

“I mean it.” His fingers are fiddling with the strap of your dress. “When I saw you tonight, you were all I could think about. Not that anything’s changed, but—“ He lazily slips the strap down, letting it fall to the side as his finger traces a line up your arm; to the curve of your shoulder. “I just couldn’t believe that I was finally seeing you again.”

“Lix.” The way you breathily release his name from your lips tells him everything he needs to know. You’ve missed him too, you’ve really, really missed him, too. And of course he feels the same way you do— absolutely. If it wasn’t for shit falling into place at the wrong time, Felix was sure that he’d still be loving you the way he was before.

No question.

Nothing has changed. The love he’s had for you will always mean more to him than anything in this world.

Felix still feels like love, adoration, fun.

Sweetness.

And if you let him, he would also feel like sadness, anger, hurt.

Pain.

Because Felix is love, and everything that love entails.

“Missed everything about you.” He says, planting a feathery kiss on your shoulders. “Missed the way you laugh.” Another kiss on your shoulder. “The way you smile.” Another near the base of your neck. “Just you.” He says near your ear, reading your expression. You bite onto your bottom lip and finally turn to face him, his hand coming back up to rest on your cheek. “Always been you, love.” His thumb is caressing the surface, giving you leverage to plant a kiss on the palm of his hand.

“Always been.” You mutter back, allowing Felix to fully take you—all of you— in this moment.

Sooner or later, your dress is on the floor while you continue to keep your lips pressed against Felix’s in the heat of the moment; afraid to break the kiss and create distance. You don’t ever want Felix away from you again, no. You want him close— with you, for you, by you.

Just you.

He takes his time with you, letting his hands roam across every inch of your body while he takes you in and settles in between your thighs; pressing his pink, plump lips across your body like he’s soothing you, making up for the years that you’ve lost.

You’re tangled up in him, but you find that there’s no other place that you’d rather be than here; giving Felix the freedom to love you, love on you, however he chooses to tonight. You trust him to take care of you because he always has, and he always will.

It’s not long before your hands are gripping the sheets, repeatedly calling Felix’s name like a mantra. He praises you as he picks up the pace, pounding relentlessly to show his need for you. His lips graze the surface of your neck, collarbone, chest, whispering sweet nothings into your skin:

Missed everything about you.

So perfect for me, love.

So beautiful, so pretty.

Always been you.

All about you.

He continues, and continues— holding you close to his body while he tries to go slower, deeper; hitting all the right places that you like so much just to hear you, see you, writhe underneath him.

You.

Let me be yours.

“Fuck, Lix. I’m close—“ Is the only thing that you’re able to say as you feel the coil within you threatening to unravel. And he must feel it too with the way that his hips begin to stutter, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he tries to hold on. He feels your walls completely tighten around him, pulsating as your face contorts in pleasure and a silent moan leaves your lips.

“Baby, where do you want me— fuck— I’m—“ Felix barely lets out. You reassure him that he’s okay to let go inside of you, and not a second passes before he’s painting your walls. His forehead falls onto yours just as the both of you come back down from your highs, focusing on regulating your breathing after the intense pleasure that washed over you. “Are you okay, angel? You’re not hurt, are you?” He asks, close to a whisper. He kisses you lightly on the tip of your nose, before he seals one off on your lips. He holds it there for awhile before pulling back, realizing you still have yet to respond to him.

“I’m okay. Not hurt.” He nods.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Felix takes his time cleaning you up and soothing you, helping you get washed up and ready for bed just before he leaves to do the same.

For a moment, you feel like everything is over. That maybe, that was the closure you needed to finally close off that chapter in your book. That maybe, that was it to Felix and you’d return to being [somewhat] strangers again. It makes you a little scared, a little anxious.

But, it all blows away when Felix comes back, dressed for bed just as he had said. He shuts off your lights and slips into the bed next to you, pulling the sheets up so that you’re comfortable.

“For a second, I didn’t think you were actually going to come back.” He lets out a small, breathy laugh as he wraps his arm around you and pulls you flush to his body.

“What, why not? I’m here to stay, love. Not going anywhere.”

“Even when tomorrow comes?”

“Even when tomorrow comes.” He kisses the back of your head. “Unless, you have other plans already?”

“No. Just you.” He chuckles.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” You snuggle closer to him, allowing his warmth to completely envelope your body. Before you know it, you’ve fallen into a deep sleep in Felix’s arms, and he does too. Even when the morning comes, you still find yourself wrapped around Felix and snuggled against his body, light kisses being pressed against your head when you wiggle in his arms.

It’s funny how life works.

Because this time around, Felix is here, lying beside you; making things feel right, connected. Balanced. You shift in your position to look at him because this time around, you’re staring at the one man who, up until now, still means the entire universe to you.

Then, it’s also funny how life works; when life decides that this is your person, and this is finally the right time.

This time around.

—perm taglist: @ppiri-bahng @jihanlovic @meloncremesoda @sweetlikecherry @asjkdk @hanji-cafe

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trumanbluee · 11 months ago

Text

the only time i feel i might get better - matty healy

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!!

please reblog if you like it! ᡣ𐭩

content: you get sick at matty's and he takes good care of you <3

word count: 4.6k

warnings: mention of vomit, oc is on her period :( , a bad ending, and matty being very very darling.

a/n: hi!! i know i said i wasn't going to post again for a bit but i think this is so cute and its just sitting in my drafts!! enjoy ( and pls reblog if you do! ) :)

She groaned in her sleep, stirring slightly as she felt another cramp tear through her stomach, the ache travelling down into her legs as she tucked them to her chest, brows furrowing at the sudden pain. She hadn’t slept well all night, spending an hour of it with her head in the toilet, Matty holding her hair back and rubbing her back softly, bless his heart.

Her heart dropped at the thought of him having to see her in that position, retching what little food was in her stomach, up. They were a relatively new couple, having been dating for almost 6 months, and, of course, she’d had her period around him, but she’d never gotten it at his place, and never felt as sick as she did right now around him either. She felt horrible, half from the pain in her slightly puffy, bloated, lower belly, and half from the embarrassment of him seeing her like this.

Fluttering her eyes open, she saw that Matty’s side of the bed was empty and, upon further inspection with her outstretched hand, he’d been up for a while, the sheets a crisp cold feeling compared to the warmth of her blanket cocoon. She sighed, wondering if he’d been able to go back to sleep at all after the nights events, before her thoughts of uncertainty were interrupted when he tiptoed into the room, obviously under the impression she was asleep, holding a tray of pancakes, orange juice, a cup of coffee, and a vase of fresh flowers.

He stopped when he turned towards the bed, noticing her eyes peeking out from behind the fluffy duvet, and smiled softly, head tilting to the left as her asked her sweetly, “Morning, baby. Feelin’ any better today?”

This earned him a firm shake of her head as she sat up in the bed, lip pouted slightly to show him her discontent. He cooed, placing the tray of food in front of her on the bed, ensuring the legs of the miniature table were stable before he sat down on the other side of the bed, planting a soft kiss to her temple.

“Don’t have to eat it all if you don’t want, honey, I just wanted to wake you up with something nice after you had such a horrible night.” He said, sitting cross-legged next to her on the bed. He pointed to two little white tablets that lay next to her orange juice. “Brought you some Panadol too, baby. Make sure you eat at least a little before you take it, don’t want you getting sick again, yeah?”

She nodded, “Thank you so much Matty,” She croaked, throat still sensitive from the acidic bile she’d thrown up in the night, “I’m sorry about last night.”

His eyebrows raised, face scrunching in disbelief as he tried to process what she’d just said. He moved closer to her on the bed, hand coming to rest on her knee above the blanket she’d wrapped herself in.

“Sorry?” He tutted, shaking his head, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about baby, what'd you mean ‘sorry’?” His lips turned into a slight frown, disheartened at the fact that she felt the need to be sorry about being sick.

“Ju-Just, you havin’ to stay up with me… I just feel a bit bad that I ruined our night, I guess,” She spoke sheepishly, noticing the disappointed look on his face as she spoke.

“Oh sweetheart,” He cooed, moving to place the breakfast tray on the floor, before scooting close to her on the bed, pulling her into his chest, one hand rubbing her back in a light rhythm, the other combing through her hair. “You don’t have to say sorry, ‘kay? It’s my job to look after you. Don’t ever apologise for being sick, baby. It happens to everyone.”

He felt her nod against his chest, and he stopped his fingers carding through her hair as she looked up at him, thinking twice about leaning up to kiss him as she realised she hadn’t brushed her teeth yet this morning.

Almost as if he was reading her mind, he shook his head, laughing to himself softly.

“Baby, really?” He chuckled, brushing a little bit of sleep from her left eye with the soft pad of his thumb as he did so, “ You wanna kiss me, you can. I think we’re way beyond worrying about morning breath, don’t ya’ think, darlin’?”

She blushed, surprised that he could read her so well, shoving her face into the soft fabric of his white shirt, earning another chuckle from Matty, the sound rumbling in her mind and warming her insides, affecting her probably more than it should have given her in her ill state.

She detached from his chest, fishing the tray of food up off of the floor beside her, and placed it on the bed, before leaning into Matty again, his right arm wrapped around her as she picked at the sweet blueberries that decorated her pancakes.

She sighed contentedly, sipping on her orange juice as she lay, listening to Matty’s steady heartbeat as he sat beside her, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger lazily. She’d be lying if she said that this side of Matty didn’t turn her on, his need to comfort and protect her rising to the surface in a similar way as it did after he’d been particularly rough with her in bed. The idea of him taking care of her a particularly good one in her mind.

She felt a familiar heat pooling between her thighs as she sat beside him, glancing up at him occasionally as he typed on his phone one-handed, most likely making note of lyrics he’d thought of, his brain constantly moving 100km an hour. She watched as his slender thumb glid smoothly across his screen, pressing the keyboard expertly.

‘This shouldn’t turn me on so much.’ She thought, biting her lip lightly as she shamelessly observed him, now sitting up further in the bed to gain a better view.

She blamed it on her period. Sure, Matty was hot, and, God, she’d fuck him 10 times a day if she had the stamina, lord knows he probably did, but getting turned on by typing? That’s pathetic.

Finally, he saw her out of the corner of his eye, lower lip between her teeth and cheeks a light red as she watched him. He raised an eyebrow, turned his head to face her quizzically.

“What are you looking at?” He smiled at her and she blushed, quickly averting her eyes to the half-eaten pancake in front of her, picking at it delicately.

He laughed softly, “Going shy on me, baby?” he asked, bringing the arm that was wrapped around her shoulder up to her hair, ruffling it playfully, before leaning down to press a firm kiss to her cheek.

She tucked herself deeper into his side, having once again discarded the tray of food onto Matty’s bedroom floor. He wrapped his arm around her once more, giving her a tight squeeze.

“You okay, honey?” He asked softly, looking down at her as she lay on his chest, tracing her finger softly on the front of his t-shirt, “Feelin’ a bit clingy today? Is that it, huh?”

She nodded, moving impossibly closer to him, wrapping both her legs around his left, her arms wrapping around his bicep, clinging to him like a koala.

He chuckled softly at her, peering at her from the corner of his eye as he watched her cling to him desperately. His attention turned completely towards her however, when he heard a small whimper sound from next to him, at the same time as she’d fidgeted in her spot, causing her sensitive clit to lightly brush the side seam of his sweatpants through her thin sleep-shorts.

His eyes shot down to her, fearing that she was having the same horrible cramps she experienced in the night.

“You okay, baby? Tummy hurting again?” He asked, concern evident in his tone.

She was embarrassed, not wanting to admit that the sound was out of pleasure, not pain. So, she nodded, eyebrows creasing together as she looked up at him.

It was insane how well he could read her. From the second they met, a couple of months before they’d started going out, it was like he could see into her mind and knew almost everything she thought and could anticipate what she was going to say next.

That’s why looking up at him was a huge mistake on her part. He knew as soon as he looked at her he knew that she was lying, and he thought he knew why.

“We’re not lying now, are we sweetheart?” He asked earnestly, looking into her eyes as he spoke.

“W-what? Why would I lie?” She said, not expecting to be caught out so soon.

He raised his eyebrow at her, expecting her to have admitted her lie, “Oh, okay… so just now, when you wriggled around for a second, and I felt your cunt on my leg, it was just a coincidence that you made that little sound at the same time? Is that right?”

She flushed red, face turning to dig into his arm to hide, embarrassed at being read so easily, once again. She let out a muffled whine, annoyed both his teasing, and her horniness.

He sat up from the bed, unlatching his arm from her grasp to face her.

“Baby,” He cooed, “want you to use your words when you feel like this, ‘kay? Want you to tell me what you want.”

She nodded, still covering her flushed face, now with the duvet in place of his bicep.

“I just wanna make sure you’re feeling better after last night, honey. Don’t wanna hurt you or anything, y’know?”

He looked torn. Torn between his restraint and not wanting to take advantage of her in such a vulnerable state, and his wanting to give her everything she wants on a whim.

An idea popped into his head, and he stood from the bed, reaching down to peck a quick kiss to her forehead, muttering a ‘be right back’ before exiting the room.

She sat in his bed, awaiting his return as she sipped on the now lukewarm coffee he’d brought her. But it wasn’t very long before he came back, having discarded his shirt and sweats for reasons unbeknownst to her - though she wasn’t complaining, she could spend hours tracing the outlines of his tattoos - especially his ‘We Are Kings tattoo - whether that be with her eyes, fingertips, or tongue.

He walked over to her, boxer shorts hanging low on his hips, and flipped the duvet off her, reaching his hand out for her to take.

“C’mon baby,” He pulled her up, “ran us a bath.” He patted her on the bum softly as he walked past her and out into the hall. She followed dumbly, brain foggy from the tooth-rotting sweetness of their morning in bed together.

Stepping into the bathroom, she saw that not only had he drawn them both a bath, with bubbles in it, which she knew he didn’t like, but had meticulously placed candles around the edge of the bath.

She could’ve cried at the gesture, and she almost did, eyes growing blurry before she blinked the tears away quickly.

Matty stepped into the bathroom behind her, kissing her on the side of her cheek, then neck, as he reached for the bottom of her (his) shirt, pulling it over her head softly, before tugging her pyjama shorts down. He helped her step into the warm bath, holding his hand out for her to balance on. Once she was in, and he’d made sure the water wasn’t too hot, he tugged his boxers down his legs before stepping into the bath himself, setting himself behind her so her back rested against his chest.

She sighed in content as he brought his large hands up to her shoulders, massaging her upper back soothingly. She leant her head back against his shoulder, Matty retracting his hands from her shoulders to wrap them around her, rubbing her arms up and down soothingly.

He lent down to kiss her on the cheek, instead meeting her lips as she quickly tilted her head to meet him. Meaning for it to be a quick peck, he was surprised when she deepened it, running her tongue along his bottom lip teasingly.

He pulled back, hand resting on her jaw as he guided her lips away.

He sighed, “Baby… don’t make me be the bad guy,” he frowned, not wanting to tell her a strict no, but also not wanting to hurt her whilst she was in her particularly vulnerable state.

“Please,” she pleaded, un-slotting her legs from between his beneath the bubbles to squeeze her thighs together desperately.

He shook his head, shooting her a pleading look, “Honey, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself or to be sick again… I promise, once your period’s done I’ll do whatever you want me to, baby.”

She furrowed her brows in frustration, annoyed at his refusal. Of course, she couldn’t be that annoyed, he was only trying to ensure her comfort and safety, but this didn’t matter in her mind, not when she was this horny. What was she gonna do if he didn’t give in to her? Finger herself to no avail? They both knew that wouldn’t work, and she knew that Matty was the only one who could satiate the need in the pit of her belly.

She spun around in the bath, being careful not to spill any water out of the bath, before pushing away from him slightly to see him better. She huffed, whining “It’s not gonna hurt, promise.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, only now beginning to grasp just how desperate she was, watching as she crossed her legs, heeling digging against her clit harshly, causing her to hiss, wincing slightly at the sensitivity.

She sighed in frustration, pouting slightly as she looked at him with puppy dog eyes.

“What if– what if I said it would make me feel better? I swear, baby, if it doesn’t feel good I’ll tell you to stop.” She pleaded, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

He eyed her carefully, thinking about it carefully. It couldn’t hurt to try, right?

He sighed, lips tugging into a smirk as he finally nodded, ushering for her to resume her previous position, between his legs, back pressed against him.

He leant down to whisper in her ear, brushing some hair away from her face as he spoke, “Make sure you tell me the second it hurts even a little, okay darlin’?”

She nodded, leaning her head back against his chest, lingering a soft kiss onto his chin.

He traced his hands up and down her thighs beneath the water, her legs automatically widening like muscle memory. He laughed breathily in her ear at her eagerness, before sliding his right hand to her core, pressing light circles to her clit as he planted soft kisses along her neck, her having tilted it to the side to grant him further access.

She moaned softly, bringing a hand up to play with the chocolate curls at the nape of his neck, tugging softly as he began to tease a finger around her entrance, keeping his slow rhythm on her clit.

“Feel good, honey?” He spoke softly into her ear, not slowing his teasing motions, but not speeding up either.

She nodded, brows furrowed as he slipped the tip of his index finger inside her.

“Use your words, baby. Need to hear you say it, ‘kay?”

“F-feels good, Matty, promise.” She stuttered out, his fingers speeding up slightly on her clit for a millisecond, before it returned to its original speed.

“Good girl,” he murmured in her ear, pushing his index finger into her cunt completely, her head slamming back to meet his chest as he curled it expertly.

Her hand that wasn’t occupied with Matty’s hair emerged from the water, where it had been gripping her thigh, and she placed it on her left boob, swiping her thumb over her nipple delicately and squeezing the soft, meaty flesh around it.

She arched her back as Matty prodded a second finger into her, curling it as he had the first. As she arched further into his chest, she felt Matty’s hard cock against her back, and teasingly wriggled against it.

He groaned, fingers speeding up as they fucked in and out of her, his hand that was rubbing her clit now came up to brush her hair out of her face, before he flicked her right nipple playfully, ripping a guttural sound from the back of her throat as he returned his hand to her clit, rubbing fast circles over it with his middle and ring finger.

He felt her cunt tighten around his fingers, thighs slamming together to stop his hands from retracting.

He pressed his plush, pink, lips to her ear, pressing airy kisses along it as he breathed, “Gonna cum for me, baby? Yeah?” He felt her become impossibly right around his fingers, and she moaned loudly as he said, “Gonna feel so much better afterwards, baby. C’mon, give it to me.”

Matty fingers stilled inside her as she came, eyes squeezing closed and toes curling as the water in the bath sloshed around them, her loud moan echoing around the bathroom. He waited for her breathing to settle slightly before slowly pulling his fingers out, the water in the bath cleaning them off.

She flipped herself over carefully, legs wobbling slightly as she straddled his right leg, her boobs planted flat against his chest. She reached up, planting a soft kiss to his lips, whining softly against them as her clit grazed his leg when she pushed herself up.

Pulling away from her lips, Matty tutted in faux annoyance, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Still not done, baby?” He asked, smoothing his hand over her hair and then resting it on her cheek as she looked up at him,

“No,” she confirmed, half-mooned, lidded eyes peering up at him.

He sighed, “What am I gonna do with you, huh?” He asked playfully, “Too horny for your own good.”

She whined as she shifted herself further up his body, his rock hard cock laying flat against her slit as it rested on his stomach. He lay back against the steeper end of the bath, hands on both hips, thumbs drawing shapes on her delicate skin.

She wriggled her hips slightly, his cock bumping over her clit multiple times before she rose to her knees, almost slipping on the slippery bottom of the bath, luckily being caught by Matty’s large hands on her hips again.

She laughed softly, looking up at him as she did so, seeing him biting his lip softly to keep in his laugh, the rumbling of his chest betraying him. She slapped his stomach playfully.

“Hey!” She scolded, “Don’t laugh at me,” She said with a fake pout on her face.

Matty cooed, laughter still rumbling in his chest as he spoke, “Aw, sorry honey, it's just, when I said I didn’t want you to get hurt, I didn’t mean slipping over in the bath and dying.” He giggled as he spoke, and she couldn’t help but grin at him, pouncing onto him to plant a sweet kiss to his lips, before pulling away.

Her brows furrowed and index finger pointed at him as she reprimanded him, trying her best to keep her face straight as she spoke, “Okay! No more laughing,” Her eyes narrowed at him accusingly, “back to sex.”

He nodded stiffly, hand coming up to his head as he saluted her militarily, firmly repeating her previous statement.

She giggled softly, lifting her leg up with help from Matty, before shifting herself on top of him completely, his hard cock trapped between her sticky cunt and his firm belly. She groaned as she rocked back and forth slowly, before pushing herself up slightly, grabbing the base of his cock, tapping it on her clit a few times before she pushed it into herself, sighing in content as she sunk down, the full feeling in her tummy satiating the desire she’d been holding there all day.

He groaned softly, brows knitting together as she sunk all the way down onto his cock, her clit brushing against the groomed pubic hair at the base. His hands rested on her hips, rubbing shapes softly as he helped guide her up and down on his length. She was so tight around him, clamping down hard when he moved a hand from her hip down to rub her tender, puffy clit.

She moaned breathily, back arched and head thrown back as she bounced on his cock rapidly, water splashing around the bath and onto the floor. Her right hand rested on Matty’s ‘We are Kings’ tattoo, providing her with leverage to move quicker, and her left hand wrapped tightly around his wrist, nails digging into his Mortal Kombat tattoo as her orgasm approached her.

Matty felt her hips faltering slightly, and her thighs began to shake, causing him to tighten his grip on her hips, holding her still as he slammed his hips up to meet hers. She whined loudly, his thick cock filling her completely, slamming against her cervix with every unyielding thrust.

“Feelin’ good, baby? He asked breathily, panting slightly, his curls falling in his face, sticking to his slightly damp forehead.

She responded the only way she could through her foggy, fucked-out brain, squeezing his forearm impossibly tight and keening loudly, before her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

He continued his relentless pace, bringing them both closer and closer to cumming. His brows knitted together in concentration as he tried to keep his pace consistent, but he was struggling. She was so fucking tight, squeezing him like she was afraid that if she didn’t, he’d somehow disappear.

Thankfully, he could tell she was close, her lower lip pulled between her teeth and cheeks rosy, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t had to hold his orgasm since the second he’d slipped into her. Something about his cock and her cunt fit so right, he could probably cum just at the thought of it.

Matty looked up at her through the mess of wet curls in front of his eyes, “Need you to rub your clit for me now, ‘kay honey?”.

She immediately obeyed, bringing the hand that was wrapped around his wrist to rub her clit at a harsh pace. She cried out, hand faltering slightly at the intense pressure building in her lower belly.

She was so close, she just needed something, anything, to push her over the edge, and almost as though Matty read her mind, he leaned forward, attaching his mouth to her left breast, swirling his tongue around and biting lightly at her perked up nipple.

The hand rubbing her clit and rapid hip movements halted as she felt Matty, whose head now rested on her shoulder, still inside her, groaning loudly as he came inside her, rope after rope of his sticky cum coating her walls. She wailed, eyes rolling back into her head as the tightness in her stomach finally released. She leaned forward to bite Matty’s shoulder softly, tears streaming down her cheeks at the intensity of both her orgasms.

She slipped her arms out from between their chests, wrapping them tightly around Matty’s neck before pressing her head into his neck, sighing contently.

Matty smiled softly against her, lifting the hand that still rested on her left hip to rub her back gently.

“Water’s gone all cold, sweetheart,” He said, slightly muffled by the delicate skin of her shoulder.

She shrugged lazily in his arms, murmuring back a sweet, “M’cozy.”

“Y’cosy?” He bit back a soft laugh at her lovely voice, “Not gonna be so ‘cosy’ when you get a cold, honey.” He continued rubbing her back, cooing inwardly when he heart a soft sniffle beneath him.

“How ‘bout this, baby, let me get out, and I’ll go get your clothes, get you nice and dry, and then we can go back to this exact position in my bed… That sound good?”

She nodded weakly against his chest, and that's exactly what they did. Quickly pulling on a new pair of sweats, he remembered he’d laid out some boxers and an old sweatshirt of his on the bed before he’d gotten in the bath, and he was particularly grateful for it now, grabbing the pile off the bed, and a towel warmed from the dryer, before speed-walking back to the bathroom. He knocked softly before walking in, wanting to be safer than sorry, and heard a soft hum from behind the door. A sign to enter, he assumed.

Walking in, he saw that she was still in the exact position he’d left her in, knees tucked to her chest, with her chin rested against her knees. He cooed, putting her new clothes on the basin before helping her stand in the bath, opening the warm towel and wrapping it around her body, her hands poking out to keep it wrapped around herself as he scooped her up, setting her down to sit on the lid of the toilet.

Grabbing the clothes off the basin, he slipped the soft grey sweater over her head, and pulled his boxers up her legs, pressing a kiss to her forehead once she was dressed.

She murmured a ‘thank you’, to which he responded by kissing her again, this time on her lips, before picking her up again, placing a hand on her left knee, pushing it to wrap around his waist, before doing the same to her right.

Keeping her steady with a hand on her bum, he walked the few steps to his bed as quickly as possible. He held her up with one hand as he used the other to pull back the covers, before carefully crawling into the bed, being sure not to disturbed her comfort in his arms as he did so.

Wrapping the soft duvet around the both of them, he looked down at her to see her smiling up at him. He beamed back at her, dimples visible in his cheeks, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to her puffy lips.

She sighed in content, pulling away from the kiss and resting her head on his shoulder again, nose nuzzling against the soft skin of his neck. He smiled to himself, before picking up his phone from the bedside table, checking his notifications quickly before he opened Instagram, scrolling aimlessly through his reels. He swiped upon a particularly funny minions meme, pushing air out of his nostrils in a half-laugh, before angling his phone down to show her. He looked down to watch her reaction, his favourite thing in the world being to see her laugh - it was automatically a great day for him whenever he was the one to coax a giggle from her - but instead saw she was asleep, lips parted slightly, and eyebrows relaxed.

He smiled fondly down at her, using the arm she was laying on to rub soothingly up and down her arm. He clicked ‘Save’ on the meme, telling himself to remember to show her later, before he opened Safari, logging into Twitter, or ‘X’ now, - ‘so fucking stupid’ he thought - looking to see what fans had to say about their new show, ‘Still… at their very best.’

©trumanbluee - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! but i do not wish for my work to be republished, translated, or copied. thanks!

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sparksinger · 3 months ago

Text

Everything I'm Not

Summary: When a Decepticon attack rocks the base and Cordelia's self-worth, Optimus reminds her that family is a choice. One that he makes every day.

Rating: Teen and up (canon typical violence)

Relationships: Optimus Prime & Cordelia (OC), father-daughter dynamic, not romantic

Content/Trigger warnings: canon-typical violence, no major character death, robot gore, Decepticon attack, depiction of battle

Word Count: 10.1k

(complete fic below cut)

“If I ever were to lose you,

I’d surely lose myself.”

‘Future Days’ – Pearl Jam

The sun was beating down unrelentingly on the Autobot base, situated on Diego Garcia deep within the Indian Ocean. Cordelia’s chestnut-auburn hair was stuck to her face as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, her sneakered feet pounding the running track that seemed to stretch on endlessly before her.

Coach Ros Hogan stood at the finish line, the whistle poised between her pursed lips, her dark brown irises tracing her class’s progress as they continued with their gruelling five kilometre run around the track.

Cordelia’s calves burned more and more with each additional step as sweat trickled from the nape of her neck, down her t-shirt and onto the small of her back. She cursed Coach Hogan inwardly, risking a quick glance over her shoulder as she tried to keep up with the rest of her classmates. She was in the last third of people in the thirty-or-so of them that were running. Sport, or indeed, any manner of physical activity had never been her forte.

Unless she counted running from Decepticons. That she could say she was really good at.

The forty-degree heat did not help matters. It felt like she had swallowed half the sand on the base, and she yearned for the cool, fresh water she knew was waiting for her after the last two laps that she had yet to run. She had a sharp stitch making itself known in her left side and the pain behind her skull seemed to beat in time with her feet, each one worse than the last.

Hannah Reid, a girl of British-Jamaican descent slowed her pace slightly in front of her, adjusting her stride so that she fell into pace easily beside Cordelia. The bright sunlight cast a rich hue over her light-brown skin, accentuated by her dark brown hair. Her hazel eyes found Cordelia’s and a raised brow posed her silent question.

Cordelia had gotten to know Hannah a little better over the last year or so, once she had restarted at the school that was situated on the base at Diego Garcia. Children of both the military and civilian personnel attended the facility, and Hannah was the only one that Cordelia had felt a genuine connection with.

Hannah’s father was a Logistics Officer, and her mother was a medic. Hannah herself was an easy-going, kind-hearted girl who had seemed to be the only one who hadn’t been intimidated by Cordelia’s bond with Optimus. She had treated her like she treated everyone else, and after a year of being whispered about by the other kids, she found the treatment quite refreshing.

“Coach must be in a bad mood, huh? Making us run around in this damned heat. I wonder who pissed in her Cheerios this morning.” Hannah made speaking seem effortless as she loped gracefully along beside Cordelia, her 5’7” frame covering twice as much distance as Cordelia’s own petite five-foot-one inch did.

Cordelia exhaled heavily before she answered Hannah, trying to increase the seemingly limited capacity of her tired lungs.

“This should be…illegal.” Her words were punctuated by deep inhalations and exhalations through clenched teeth. “My calves feel like they’ve been submerged in a vat of acid.”

Hannah snorted and tried to cover it with a strategically timed cough. “Well, to be fair, it’s worse for you.”

Cordelia raised a brow in a silent question, unable to summon any more words while her lungs felt like they were in a concrete vice.

Hannah chortled, placing a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “Well, to be fair, it is worse for you. You’ve technically run twice as much as the rest of us; or at the very least, you’ve done twice as many steps.”

Cordelia regarded her friend with what she hoped was an unimpressed stare, blinking to try and stop the sweat from dripping into her eyes. She chose not to reply, but to spend the remainder of her quickly depleting energy on finishing the assigned distance before she collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

The beating of her feet on the floor became her monotone as the track disappeared beneath her, eaten up by each heavy fall of her trainers. It felt like she was having one of those anxiety dreams where no matter how hard and how fast she kept running, the finish line was always just out of her reach.

At long last, she crossed the painted white line and collapsed into a breathless heap onto the tarmac. Her lungs were working overtime, drawing huge volumes of air in before expelling it quickly, completing her respiratory cycle in record time. She scrunched her eyes shut against the harsh glow of the sun, bright as it was at three o’clock in the afternoon.

Cordelia heard Coach Hogan’s whistle blow, sounding like the hallelujah chorus. Hannah approached her then, holding out a bottle of still water to her. Cordelia took her outstretched hand and was pulled to her feet, slightly dizzy with being right-side-up again. She uncrewed the cap and took a long swig, the cool liquid a nirvana against the dry scratchiness of her throat after the run in the searing heat.

“Feelin’ alright Prime?” Hannah asked, taking a drink from her own bottle before replacing the cap. “You doing okay? I don’t wanna have to get the big guy over here to scrape you off the floor.” Cordelia rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her friend’s gentle teasing and nudged her in the side with an elbow.

“I’m fine. It seems my cross-country talents only kick in when there is a life-threatening situation happening, i.e. getting chased by a bunch of blood-thirsty Decepticons.”

Hannah shook her head in mock disappointment. “And here I was thinking that Coach Hogan’s whistle would get you running like Usain Bolt. Tut tut Miss Prime. And technically, wouldn’t it be Energon-thirsty Decepticons? Unless they’ve become afflicted with vampirism, in which case we’d better tell your dad straight away.”

“Oh my god. I think you are actually insane!” Cordelia laughed, pulling Hannah’s arm to link through her own. They started to amble slowly back towards the changing rooms, their heartrates now back down to a healthier rhythm.

Coach Hogan came up behind them, her ever present whistle swinging around her neck. “Come on ladies, get moving! I don’t particularly want to stand here and watch you two run another five laps of the track because you couldn’t be bothered to get back to the changing rooms before the end of the day.”

Cordelia bit back the retort that rose from the base of her throat, knowing it would be futile to argue with Coach on a Friday afternoon. Everyone was hot, tired and all wanted to go home.

Hannah apparently, did not share this viewpoint.

“With all due respect Coach, you set the times. If you had us running an hour ago instead of a half hour ago, we would have extra time to get changed and you could go and get that Martini that clearly has your name on it in the mess hall.”

For a second or two, Coach seemed to be too incensed with rage to reply. Cordelia watched the figurative tumbleweed roll across Hannah’s face, and she knew that Hannah knew she had messed up. Hannah’s grip tightened on her arm imperceptibly, denoting her friend’s instant regret at her smart remark to the temperamental coach.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you Reid. Another five laps!”

Hannah sighed and took her arm out from Cordelia’s, looking at her with an expression of irritated defeat on her pretty face. Coach Hogan didn’t appreciate the delay and took a step towards them both, her whistle grasped tightly between a thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t make me repeat myself Reid. Your father will hear of this insubordination.”

It took everything Cordelia had not to burst out laughing right there and then as she watched Hannah run back to the track and start to run at a steady pace around it in a clockwise direction. She stood there for a few minutes, her vibrant green eyes tracking Hannah’s long, lithe shadow, graceful and fluid as she ran.

I bet I don’t look like that when I run. More like a foal that hasn’t figured out how to stand up yet.

She felt her lips twitch at her inner monologue and worked hard to keep a neutral facial expression. Coach Hogan did not appreciate humour even when she was in a good mood, and though Cordelia had pity for her friend at having to run an additional five laps around the track, she did not particularly want to join her.

“Are you waiting for Christmas, Miss Prime? Unless you want to join Reid, I would suggest you go to the changing rooms and get changed.”

Cordelia did not need to be told twice. She mumbled a quiet ‘yes ma’am’ and scuttled off to the changing rooms at a brisk walk, throwing one last glance over her shoulder at Hannah who cut a lonely figure as she jogged on the tarmac.

The changing room was deserted when she got in there. She decided against having a shower in the school changing rooms. At their very cleanest they were about as enticing as eating her dinner off the floor in the mess hall. She grabbed her bag from the hook she’d left it on as she made her way past, grateful for the fact that there were toilet cubicles available now that everyone else had left.

Once she was dressed in her old band t-shirt and black cycling shorts, complete with her battered Converse shoes, Cordelia made her way out of the changing rooms and around to the front of the school compound where she had left her bike chained at the beginning of the day.

The Autobot base was huge, easily seventeen square miles, and the quarters that she shared with Optimus were just over a quarter of a mile away. She biked to school most days, it was an easy and efficient way to get there whilst at the same time meaning she didn’t have to rely on Optimus for lifts.

She was grateful for the base’s flat, smoothly surfaced cycle paths as she made her way leisurely back to the quarters she called home. Her backpack was light against her back, filled with only her history assignment and the clothes she had worn for Coach’s impromptu run around the track this afternoon.

A quick glance at her watch told her it was just after four in the afternoon. She knew that Optimus wouldn’t be home until at least seven at the very earliest. His average day consisted of back-to-back meetings with various human officials, appointments with government liaisons, overseeing the day-to-day running of the base and making sure that any and all potential Decepticon threats were closely monitored.

Their shared quarters were in quiet darkness when she got there, punching the access code in that would grant her access. She dismounted from her bike and walked it in through the ‘human’ sized door that hissed slowly open. Everything was just as she had left it this morning, snippets of her own presence dotted about the place.

Their shared space was practical yet homely. Directly opposite the entrance sat Optimus’ enormous desk, built to match the scale of the behemoth twenty-eight-foot tall Autobot leader. It was constructed from various different metals, some of which had been brought by the second wave of Autobots in the Xantium and built using Cybertronian construction methods. The chair that went with it was made from old storage containers that had been reinforced with industrial-strength concrete. It was a sight that always made Cordelia laugh, but she was always grateful when they could work in a companiable silence together.

Her own desk sat atop his, amongst the data pads and other detritus that littered Optimus’ desk. His was a tidy desk, but the last data pad he used was always sat near the front of his desk, away from the others that he had neatly piled up in the corner.

A catwalk platform hugged the far right-hand wall. It housed a small bathroom, kitchenette and an enclosed area where her wardrobe and bed were. It was small but immensely cosy, and it was more of a home than she had ever known before. On the left side of the room was Optimus’ berth, where he recharged once every ten days or so.

Cordelia tucked her bike against the wall and then made her way over to the small kitchenette to grab a can of soda to keep her company while she attempted to make a start on her history assignment. She grabbed a punnet of grapes and then hurried down the stairs of the catwalk before ascending the ladder that was attached to Optimus’ desk so that she could sit at her own and begin her work.

The task that she had to tackle for her history assignment was to analyse the social and economical impact of the advancement of technology during the Industrial Revolution. Cordelia was a well-rounded student and usually enjoyed history, but having to sit through the teacher’s last few lessons on this particular subject had been a difficult undertaking.

Sighing, she settled herself at her desk and began making notes, trying to work out some kind of a structure on which to construct her essay.

The time ticked by slowly, the background noises of the base fading into white noise that kept her company as she worked.

Two soda cans later, she was halfway through a tedious chapter on the invention on the steam engine, and although it proved fruitless in the entertainment department, it had proven itself ripe with little snippets for her essay. She was just in the middle of paraphrasing a particularly useful paragraph when she heard the familiar hiss of the door opening.

She looked up in time to see Optimus walk through the door, his twenty-eight foot high frame just getting enough clearance between his ear finials and the top of the door-frame.

She abandoned her work, springing up from the desk chair and ran over to the edge of the desk, their eyes finding each other at the same time. A wide grin split her face in two, as it always did when she saw him.

She got that same feeling of warmth blooming up within her from the very centre of her chest. It seemed to spread throughout her entire body, causing the fine, baby-like hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck to stand up in accompaniment with the goosepimples that kissed the surface of her ivory skin.

No one else on the planet, not even Leo, made her feel as safe and as loved as this gentle mech did. It was a feeling that she cherished, and she had promised herself that she would never take it for granted, not for one single second.

Optimus’ optics tilted upwards at their inner corners with his own small, signature smile that he seemed to bear only around her. His footfalls sounded heavy and even on the floor, growing louder as he neared the desk.

“Good evening my little one, how was your day today?” he asked, lowering his great bulk until he was sat comfortably before her. He leaned his forearms on the desk, encircling her in a semi-circle of steel.

Cordelia sat down, allowing her legs to dangle freely over the edge of the desk so that she could swing them gently to and fro. Optimus’ optics traced her movements, bathing her in a pool of gentle blue light as his gaze settled upon her.

“It was okay. I managed to get some good notes done for my history assignment, although I might die of boredom before I actually manage to finish it.”

Optimus raised an incredulous brow at her diatribe. “Oh, that is something that I simply cannot allow to happen. I would hate for you to perish due to lack of mental stimulation, and I know Mr Edwards for one would be absolutely devastated to be deprived of your contribution to…” he paused here, leaning forward slightly to read the mess of papers that lay upon her desk. “…the social and economical impacts of the growing advancement of technology during the Industrial Revolution.”

Cordelia eyed him will ill-disguised astonishment. “Why, Optimus, it sounds like you’re being a little…sarcastic. Don’t you know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?” her lips twitched as she spoke, betraying her inner mirth at their exchange of gentle banter.

Optimus canted his head to one side, feigning innocence. “Sarcasm? I would not dream of sinking to such a…deplorable level. I merely speak the truth.” His expression was a perfect poker face, giving nothing away. Not even the covers of his ear finials were spinning.

Cordelia could hold it in no more and burst out laughing, shaking her head in gentle disbelief at her giant guardian. “Do you know something big guy?” she asked, wiping a stray tear from her eye once she had recovered enough from laughing to speak.

“I am sure you will make me aware, little one,” he rumbled, his own lip plates twitching infinitesimally. He nudged her playfully in her ribs with an index finger as he spoke, causing her to yelp out in surprise.

She playfully swatted him away and made a fist at him, waving it backward and forwards in front of his field of vision before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You are the biggest dork on the planet. Literally!” She was rewarded with his low, gentle and rumbling chuckle. It reverberated deep within her ribcage, making her feel like rippling water.

He placed a hand palm up on the desk then, waiting for her to step on. She did so without hesitation, her feet knowing where to step without her having to look where she was going. She assumed her favourite position on his palm; sat down with one leg tucked beneath her and her left arm hooked around the base of his index finger.

“I will accept that, but only from you my little one. Only from you.” His optics softened as he spoke, looking at her with the pure unfiltered and unconditional love that existed in such unlimited bounds between them. “How was the rest of your day, aside from the deep trauma of nearly being bored to death by your history assignment?”

Cordelia leaned back easily into the gentle curve of his fingers, drawing absent-minded circles into the metal of his palm with her nails.

“Oh, it was okay. Nothing major. Coach tried to kill us, and Hannah got five extra laps for being a smart-ass.” She immediately regretted her choice of words when she saw the thin set of Optimus’ mouth and the way his optics had narrowed dangerously, the dull flare of anger glowing behind his cerulean irises.

“Coach tried to kill you?” his voice was quieter than usual, and it sounded like he was working hard to keep control of his tone.

Cordelia sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Ugh, obviously she didn’t actually try to kill us. She just made us run around the track in this heat, and I thought it was a little unfair.” She heard the whirring and hissing of hydraulics as Optimus moved, but she didn’t raise her face from her hands. She felt the cool touch of his index finger, prying her face away from her hands with the incredible gentleness that only he seemed to be capable of.

“How far did she make you run?” his tone brokered no room for argument, and she knew that sidestepping the question or trying to distract him would only make him more determined than ever for a straight answer.

“It wasn’t even that far, and---”

“Cordelia.” Her name, uttered in that no nonsense baritone of his was enough to stop her in her tracks. Stupidly, she felt the biting sting of tears behind her eyes and blinked them away furiously, refusing to show Optimus that she was upset.

As usual, he saw right through her façade and tenderly moved his finger until it was underneath her chin, carefully tilting her face upwards until their eyes met. “Oh Lia, please don’t be upset, I am not angry with you. In fact, I am not angry…merely…displeased at the thought of you needlessly expending physical energy in this heat. I simply wish to know if Coach Hogan put you and your peers at risk; for if she has, this is an oversight that must be rectified immediately.”

His finger moved to stroke her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes against his gentle affection. She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had suddenly taken up residence in her trapezius and deltoid muscles. Optimus watched her with that eternal patience that he seemed to possess in such abundance, waiting for her response as if he had simply asked her what her favourite colour was.

She dropped her eyes from his and placed a hand on his fingertip, patting it in a way that she hoped would show him she was not upset. Or that upset, anyway.

“She made us run five kilometres. It wasn’t that far; I’m just being dramatic.” She felt rather than saw the gentle ex-vent of cool air from his nose, having been cycled through the ventilation systems situated underneath his helm, the ones that helped to keep his CPU at its core temperature.

Optimus’ own shoulders relaxed by a fraction of a degree, evidenced by the quiet hissing of his hydraulics. He was silent for a short time, although the covers of his ear finials did a quarter of a turn counterclockwise, denoting his mild annoyance.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, shutting his optics for a few seconds before responding to her. “Thank you, my little one. While I wholly support the continual development of your physical health and education, I do not condone the needless pursuit of exercise when there is a high chance it will be detrimental due to the high temperatures that we have experienced today.”

Cordelia smiled at him weakly and chewed on the inside of her cheek to buy herself some time. She noticed that his pupils had grown smaller and that his brows were beginning to tilt down in his characteristic frown, forming a loose facsimile of the letter ‘V’.

“Hey, relax big guy. You worry way too much. We had water and she wasn’t y’know…being a total drill sergeant about it. I’m fine, we’re all fine.”

Optimus simulated a sigh and fixed her with that penetrating gaze of his, the one that she felt could see right through to the very depths of her soul, to the very foundations of all that made her, her.

“I trust your judgement, Cordelia. However, it still does not sit well with me. Are Hannah’s parents aware that she endured further physical exercise in the form of punishment?”

Cordelia shrugged. “I guess so. I mean, Coach said that she would make Hannah’s father aware of her ‘insubordination’ as she called it, so yeah, I would imagine they know. If Coach didn’t tell them yet, I know Hannah would have by now. She’s even more dramatic than me you know.”

That caused Optimus’ facial features to loosen, and a small smile moved his lip plates upwards at the corners, giving his face an overall more gentle and softer appearance.

“Is that so?” he asked, clearly meaning it as a rhetorical question.

Cordelia stuck her tongue out at him in response and he ruffled her hair playfully with his index finger.

His face grew serious again. “Would you allow me to speak with Coach Hogan? I merely wish to understand her motivations for assigning the class such a task in this weather.”

Cordelia shut her eyes, puffing out a mouthful of air from puffed up cheeks. “Op…I’d prefer it if you didn’t. She is…unique in her teaching methods, I’ll give you that. But you speaking with her…it will only cause more aggravation.”

Optimus ex-vented air from his nose again, the slightest hint of steam uncurling from his nostrils and into the open air. “I will not apply needless blame, nor make it difficult for you and your classmates in future lessons, but” he paused, lifting a finger to stroke her cheek. “But your safety is one of my most important priorities, Cordelia. The thought of any harm coming to you, even harm that you may perceive as merely…minor, it pains my Spark in a way that I cannot comprehend or put into words.”

“Oh Op, come here.” Cordelia shuffled forwards on his palm, her arms outstretched. He wordlessly closed the gap between them, nuzzling her face carefully with his nose. She smiled against him and rubbed circles into his facial plating with her nails. “I tell you what, would you be open to a compromise?”

Optimus pulled back slightly so that he could look at her properly. “A compromise? I will listen with an open mind little one.”

“How about this time, you let it go, but I promise you that if Coach does anything again that I feel is…untoward or not…safe, I will tell you straight away and then you can speak with her. Is that fair enough?”

He regarded her with a look that could only be described as pure pride, his previously small pupils growing exponentially. “Indeed…that sounds like a fair trade. If you wish that to be the end of the matter, then it shall be.”

Cordelia swallowed, suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion. “Thank you, Optimus…for listening to me. I can’t say how much it means to me that you do.”

“Of course I listen to you Cordelia. I always want you to be able to speak your mind with me. Your viewpoint is incredibly important to me, and I will always listen to you and make sure your voice is heard. Always.”

Cordelia was about to reply when her stomach decided that that would be the appropriate time to emit a thunderous rumble. She placed a hand on her abdomen, embarrassment flushing her cheeks with scarlet colour.

Optimus raised an optic ridge at the sound, a wide smile making its way onto his face. “I think it would be prudent to find a solution to your evident hunger, my little one. Shall we see what you have in the cupboards?”

A dull, rumbling vibration roused Cordelia from the dregs of sleep. She opened her eyes to the dark, murky shapes of her and Optimus’ shared quarters, her vision struggling to adjust for the first few seconds of consciousness.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, the duvet falling from her shoulders and pooling at her waist. Another low concussion rocked the foundations of the base, and she could have sworn she saw the bottle of water on her bedside table ripple slightly.

The noise of the doors hissing open claimed her attention. Optimus hurried through, the faint blue glow of his optics the only source of light in the otherwise dark room. He had something clutched in his left hand and dropped it in front of her on the bed before wordlessly turning and retrieving a few bottles of water, tucking them into the subspace pocked on his forearm.

The item he had dropped on her bed was a large jacket, army issue and one that looked miles too big for her. She was about to ask him why he had given her a random jacket when the alarm began to sound.

It was low and deafening, filling her ears with its low, monotonous drone. She didn’t need to be told twice to get dressed and hurried herself into a pair of leggings that she’d slung over the foot of her bed a day or so previously. Next, she donned the jacket, tucking her arms into the long sleeves and having to roll them back two or three times so that her hands could actually be free. The hem of the jacket easily fell halfway down her thighs, but that didn’t matter now.

The next thing she was aware of was being scooped up into Optimus’ immense palm, his fingers holding her securely. He held her close to his chest, his free hand hovering just above her. He was in full Prime mode, his optics tight and trained on something in the near distance. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, and just as another low explosion rocked the immediate vicinity, his battle mask slid into place across his mouth and nose.

“Optimus, what’s happened? What’s going on?” her voice sounded quiet and vulnerable amidst the muted booms and explosions, and Optimus armed himself with his Energon sword, clearly not wanting to take any chances.

“The base is under attack. I am taking you to the emergency assembly point. It is one of the most fortified shelters on base. You will be safe in there with the other civilians. I am going to appoint Bumblebee to stand guard outside so that no one unauthorised can gain access.”

He broke into a loose jog, his hold on Cordelia growing a little tighter with the increased movement. She held onto his index fingers tightly, her own knuckles blanched white with the effort. The base flowed along effortlessly beneath her, eaten up quickly by Optimus’ long strides. NEST soldiers darted around like ants, gathering weapons and co-ordinating themselves into defence and attack groups.

In what felt like no time at all, Optimus reached the entrance of the emergency shelter and dropped to his knees, a little more heavily than he usually would have done. A tall, thick-set soldier was stationed at the door, taking a register of all who had gone inside so far. Optimus lowered her to the ground and tipped his hand gently, allowing her to slide off his palm and onto her own two feet.

She turned around before he had fully released her, desperate to speak with him before he went off to join the battle. He shifted so that he was only down on one knee, leaning his weight on his forearm, resting on the other knee.

“Go on my little one. I will find you after this situation has been dealt with. You’ll be safe here, I promise.” He tenderly ran the tip of his index finger down her face as he spoke, drawing a path from her temple down to the fine line of her jaw.

“Stay safe, promise me you’ll be safe.” Cordelia looked up at him earnestly, not one ounce of worry for herself present in her mind. All she could think of was that he would soon be running into a barrage of Decepticon fire. Decepticons who did not care and who would stop at nothing until their end goal was achieved. Whatever that end goal was.

His battle mask retracted, and a look of gentle affection transformed his entire face. “I promise you Cordelia, I will come back to you. You have my word. Now, on you go. That’s my girl.”

He nudged her gently towards the entrance of the shelter, anxious to get her inside. The tall soldier reached out for her, taking her left hand in his and marking it with a messy ‘26’ in black sharpie.

“I know who you are kid, but just in case. Always good to have an ID system going in times like this.” He turned to look at Optimus, standing to attention. “Don’t worry sir, she’s in good hands here. We’ll make sure she’s well looked after for you.”

Optimus nodded gratefully and reached into the subspace pocket on his forearm, pinching two two-litre bottles of still water between a thumb and forefinger. He handed them to Cordelia, his mask sliding back into place across his face.

He rose to his full height then and sprinted off to join the fight, his heavy footfalls sending vibrations throughout her whole body. She had no time to lament his absence as the large soldier ushered her inside, a hand on the small of her back as he guided her into the enclosed space.

“I’m Sergeant Grayson ma’am, nothing to worry about. Prime and the Autobots will have this sorted in no time.”

She didn’t reply but smiled at him weakly, watching him as he tipped his beret to her before going to resume his post at the entrance to the bunker. She set the two water bottles down; evidently Optimus had not been the only one to be well prepared. There were at least two dozen water bottles scattered throughout the small and sparsely furnished room.

Well, at least we’re not going to go thirsty, she thought wryly, turning in a slow circle to take stock of her new surroundings. The room itself was basic and clinical in every sense of the word. Grey was the colour of choice for everything in the room, the only variation being different shades of the same colour.

Her eyes scanned the room for Hannah. Hannah’s barracks were in Zone D, the same zone in which she and Optimus’ shared quarters were located. Hannah’s parents would not be in the shelter, her father would be co-ordinating with the other NEST personnel and her mother would be on standby in case of any unexpected casualties.

Cordelia recognised some girls from her class at school and smiled at them with that surface level smile saved for casual acquaintances, but did not go over to speak to them. She was too preoccupied with trying to find Hannah.

The bunker was filling up fast, and though Cordelia recognised a lot of the faces that were pouring in, none of them were Hannah’s. She decided to go and check the single toilet in case Hannah was in there, a growing sense of unease gnawing in the pit of her stomach over the whereabouts of her friend.

Panic grew within her, slowly at first as the minutes ticked by without any sign of Hannah. As time passed, her heart began to hammer more forcefully in her chest, beating a jumpy staccato against her ribcage. Saliva pooled in her mouth as nausea claimed ownership over her stomach, threatening to eject her evening meal. She focused on taking deep breaths in through her nose, and letting them slowly out through her mouth, attempting to replicate the gentle thrumming of Optimus’ Spark in her head.

Dull explosions continued in the distance, muffled by the bunker’s thick, reinforced concrete walls. Cordelia weaved her way through the bodies that were pressed together once more, making sure she hadn’t missed Hannah in all the chaos. After another two laps around the room, Cordelia was certain that Hannah was not anywhere within the compact throng of people.

She positioned herself close to the entrance, waiting for the opportune moment to sneak out. Sergeant Grayson was preoccupied with checking another few people into the building, marking the back of their hands in black sharpie as he had done with her. Bumblebee was standing with his back to her, concentrating on a data pad he had clutched in one hand.

Keeping herself tucked close against the wall, she allowed herself to be moved along with the constant current of flowing bodies, seamlessly blending in with everyone else. The late-night air was mild, yet significantly cooler than the day’s blistering forty-degree heat. Cordelia could smell hints of hibiscus and coconut palm on the sea breeze, a stark contrast to the muted booms that were coming from the south.

Cordelia wasted no time, breaking into a brisk jog, heading straight for the barracks that Hannah shared with her parents. It took her only minutes to get there, the non-descript building looking as it always had done, sitting innocently amongst the other barracks.

The ground vibrated subtly beneath her with yet another explosion as she approached the front door and gave two loud raps with her knuckles. She was met with nothing but eery silence.

A few tense seconds ticked by as Cordelia felt her mouth grow drier as more and more time passed by. She had just raised her hand to knock once more when the door was thrown open, causing her to take an involuntary step backwards.

Hannah half fell out of the door, her dark wavy hair dishevelled and pointing in all directions. She looked up then, her eyes meeting Cordelia’s.

“Hey! What are you doing here? Come on, we need to get going! My dad’s just rung me and told me that the ‘cons have attacked the main emergency shelter! He told me to go straight to the command centre!”

She gave Cordelia no chance to reply but grabbed her by the right wrist and started pulling her along in the direction of the command centre. The command centre sat in the very centre of the base itself, the main hub of activity and communication for all who lived and worked on Diego Garcia. Optimus spent most of his time there and when Cordelia had caught up on her schoolwork, she often spent the evenings there keeping him company while he finished up the fiddlier parts of his day.

Cordelia struggled to keep up with Hannah’s longer stride, pumping her legs to make up for the lack of distance that she covered compared to her friend. Hannah’s grip on her wrist was hard, and despite the relative mildness of the late night, her skin was cold to the touch.

A low, whistling sound distracted Cordelia from her second sprint in less than twenty-four hours and she lifted her head to find the source of the sound. A projectile was heading straight for them. Whether it was a bullet or a missile, Cordelia could not tell. All she was aware of was the sound growing louder and louder, reminiscent of a low growl as it got closer and closer to the two girls.

Cordelia tried to pull Hannah out of the way of the incoming danger, but it was like trying to pull a brick wall down with her bare hands. Hannah did not yield to her by one single inch. Time seemed to slow as the projectile dropped in altitude, looking to make landfall right in their path.

Then, just at the very last minute, a huge slab of concrete was thrown over their heads and into the trajectory of the ballistic. The force of the following explosion knocked both Cordelia and Hannah off their feet, the world temporarily turning upside down as they flew through the air before falling back to earth with a sickening crunch.

In the back of her mind, where rational thought still resided, Cordelia was mildly impressed that Hannah had managed to keep a hold of her wrist, fingers biting into her skin in a manner that bordered on painful.

As she landed, her left arm bent underneath her at an unnatural angle and she felt a tangible crack before a jolt of severe pain shot down through her entire arm. She barely had time to register what had happened before an enormous black, metallic foot slammed down mere inches from where she and Hannah were laying.

Her eyes traced up the leg to which the foot was attached, and she felt her heart leap into her mouth as her eyes locked onto the scarlet optics of Barricade. His mouth turned upwards in a cruel smirk as he bent down, a hand outstretched.

Again, Cordelia tried to roll out of the way and pull Hannah with her, but Hannah didn’t budge. She appeared to be completely immobile, seemingly rendered into shock by what was going on around them. She pulled once more, wincing through clenched teeth as another jolt of pain shot up through her arm.

Barricade’s outstretched hand was drawing ever nearer, and Cordelia scrunched her eyes tightly shut, sending a fervent prayer of love to Optimus, hoping that on some visceral level, he would be aware of it before her life was snuffed out by the encroaching Decepticon.

At the last possible minute, another hulking black mass, this time flecked through with bits of gunmetal grey, hurtled through the air and straight into Barricade.

The two titans’ bodies met in an explosion of sparks and metal screeching against metal, the sound almost painful. Ironhide rolled to absorb the impact of his leap and before Barricade could get to his feet, swung his right arm and delivered a swift uppercut to the Decepticon’s jaw that sent him flying once more. In a move so fast she couldn’t follow it with her eyes, Ironhide armed himself and unleashed a storm of bullets down on Barricade, pinning him to the ground.

Chunks of concrete littered the air, falling like rain. Hannah suddenly found herself again and pulled Cordelia easily to her feet and once more in the direction of the command centre. Barricade was starting to retaliate against Ironhide’s relentless attack, but not before the Weapons Specialist turned his head in the girls’ direction.

“What the frag are you doing out here?! Get to the shelter – NOW!”

In any other situation, Cordelia would have found Ironhide’s tone of voice terrifying, however, it was not his tone of voice that terrified her, rather than the fact that he himself sounded terrified.

Hannah forced her legs into motion once more, pulling her along with a renewed sense of urgency and strength. Cordelia had no choice but to be towed along by the stronger girl, her own feet pounding on the floor twice as much as Hannah’s to make up for the difference in their strides.

Cordelia could smell the acrid scent of gunfire and scorched metal in the air, the night sky lighting up intermittently with explosions that rocked the world all around her. She tried to concentrate on nothing except her own footfalls, trying to count along to a beat in her head.

Behind them, Ironhide was still going toe-to-toe with Barricade, the vibrations from the force of their clash travelling through the ground and up into her body. Her eyes widened when she saw Optimus directly in front of them, locked in a fierce brawl with no other than Soundwave.

Fear clenched around Cordelia’s heart, her vision tunnelling until Optimus and Soundwave were the only things that she was aware of. Her eyes tracked every iota of Optimus’ movements. The way he lifted his left arm to block a blow from Soundwave and the way that he countered with a swift kick to the Decepticon’s chest before unleashing a powerful blast from his Ion Blaster, sending Soundwave flying through the air.

Before Soundwave could get up, Optimus transformed into his vehicle mode and covered ground faster than Cordelia had ever seen him move before, crashing into Soundwave with a force that she felt in her bones. Optimus executed a swift handbrake turn, halting Soundwave’s progress in getting back to his feet with his back fender, putting the Decepticon on his back once more.

Metal screeched against the floor with a ferocity that set Cordelia’s teeth on edge, her legs momentarily slowing to follow the progress of the battle. Optimus transformed back to his bipedal mode, his foot slamming down onto Soundwave’s chest.

Even from this distance, Cordelia could hear the groaning of Soundwave’s frame under Optimus’ immense weight as the larger and heavier Autobot leader bore down on the smaller Decepticon. Soundwave lifted his head from the floor then, his crimson optics locked on the two girls running straight for them.

Cordelia snapped back into reality then, digging her heels into the ground in an effort to slow Hannah down, pulling back at the same time. This time, Hannah responded to the resistance and turned to look at Cordelia, a confused frown creasing her face.

“We’re going the wrong way!” Cordelia shouted, pulling Hannah in the direction of the command centre. Once again, Hannah was unyielding, seemingly totally unaffected by Cordelia’s attempts to get her to change direction.

“No, you’re wrong! Massster says I must bring you this way.” Hannah’s voice was toneless and devoid of any discernible emotion.

Ice shot through Cordelia’s veins, paralysing her to the spot. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, in perfect time with the beat of blood in her eardrums that momentarily deafened her.

“What-what do you mean? The command centre is this way!” Cordelia could hardly hear her own voice over the cacophony of gunfire and metallic scraping.

A horrific grin split Hannah’s face, metamorphosing it into someone that Cordelia did not recognise. Bile rose up into her throat as she watched Hannah’s skin bubble and recede to reveal a purplish metallic surface, its plates shifting and rearranging until all traces of Hannah had been erased. In her place stood a Decepticon at a height of around six feet, eerily similar to the Decepticon Frenzy.

His face still bore that sinister grin, an evil laugh bubbling up from somewhere within him. Now completely rid of his human disguise, he coiled his spindly limbs around her, ignoring her shouts of pain when he pinned her broken arm to her side with ease.

He lifted her as if she was nothing more than a bag of shopping, slinging her roughly over his shoulder in a loose approximation of a fireman’s carry. He sprinted toward Optimus and Soundwave, intent on delivering her to the superior Decepticon Commander.

Optimus’ head snapped up then, his optics dilating with pure, undiluted fear as his gaze locked onto Cordelia. Time seemed to slow between them as he launched himself off Soundwave, simultaneously transforming into his vehicle mode as he did so.

He landed roughly on the ground, his suspension taking the brunt of the impact. There was about 150 metres between them and his 425-horsepower engine ate up the distance as if it were nothing at all. In less time than it took for her to draw another panicked breath into her lungs, Optimus was upon them, transforming back to his robot mode with a graceful flourish.

He skidded forward on one knee, his left hand outstretched. His fingers wrapped around the pair of them, lifting them from the ground with ease. The fingers of his right-hand sought purchase on Rumble’s body, easily prising him away from Cordelia. Rumble thrashed furiously in Optimus’ grasp, but it was futile. Cordelia watched wide-eyed as Optimus’ fingers closed around the mini-con, effortlessly crushing him until he was nothing but a twisted mass of bent metal and sparking circuits.

Optimus dropped him and cradled Cordelia protectively to his chest, lifting his head just in time to see Soundwave and Barricade hobble through the dying light of a groundbridge, disappearing into a swirling vortex of blue-green light.

His optics fixed her in his steady gaze, still at their widest aperture despite the Decepticons’ retreat. She felt the light tickle of a scan before his fingers palpated her body with the utmost gentleness, doubtless checking her for injuries. He stopped abruptly when he got to her left arm, feeling the injury that she had sustained there.

“You’re hurt,” he muttered, rising to his full height and moving toward the med bay decisively. “I’m taking you to Ratchet.”

Cordelia suddenly found her words as she was carried over the remnants of the brief but intense battle, NEST personnel outing out stray fires here and there that dotted the immediate vicinity.

“Optimus, wait, wait! We need to find Hannah, she’s in trouble!”

That pulled him up short. A confused look crossed his features, moving the mosaic of his facial plating into a serious frown. “Cordelia, Hannah is safe with her mother in the triage centre. She’s helping with first aid.”

Multiple feelings of simultaneous relief and disbelief flooded Cordelia’s psyche at the same time. Immense gratitude for the knowledge that her friend was safe and away from danger, closely followed by the embarrassment realising she had fallen for the guise of a Decepticon Pretender.

“Shh, it’s alright. Come on, let’s get you patched up.” No further words were exchanged between them as Optimus ducked to go through the doors of the med-bay.

Ratchet treated her arm quickly and efficiently, informing her and Optimus that it was a clean break and that she’d need to be in a cast for the next six weeks. Other than that, he said, it should heal without complications and function as it had before, albeit with an added weakness.

He’d shaken his head good naturedly at her as his nimble fingers wrapping the plaster of Paris around her arm with ease, saying “always the left arm with you!”

She’d sat silently on the berth in the med-bay, Optimus sitting wordlessly beside her as Ratchet worked. Once he was finished, Ratchet had gone to assist the other Autobots with repairs, setting up his own triage system in the neighbouring hangar.

After Ratchet left, the silence was unbearable. Neither Optimus nor Cordelia said anything, both too shell-shocked by what had just happened to form any coherent sentences. Cordelia wasn’t aware of how many minutes ticked by, but she could not find it within herself to look at Optimus. She did not want to see the weight of the disappointment in his gaze or feel the sense of shame anymore than she already was.

She fiddled with the edge of her cast, tapping her nails on the fresh plaster. Her blood beat furiously in her ears, audible evidence of time’s unwelcome passage. She was aware of Optimus sitting next to her on the berth, her gaze fixed pointedly on his feet. There was a good ten feet between the berth and the floor below, and Cordelia debated how likely it was that she would sustain another injury if she attempted to jump off the berth. She was sitting on the edge, her legs dangling over from the knee.

She shifted forward a few inches, mentally psyching herself up to make the jump. It wasn’t that high, not really. She’d fallen from higher places and not had injuries that had been too serious.

However, before she could move forward another centimetre, she felt a gentle pressure around her waist and looked down to see Optimus’ digits there, wrapping around her middle and lifting her carefully into the air, mindful to avoid her broken arm.

Her hands instinctively held onto his index finger as she was raised higher into the air. Still, she did not look him in the eye as he transferred her onto the palm of his left hand and dominant hand of choice, raising her up to his eye level.

The atmosphere between them was thick with unexpressed tension, weighing down heavily on the pair of them. Cordelia could hear the increased volume of air being taken in through the vents on the back of Optimus’ head, cycling through his intakes quicker than usual and being ex-vented as a lukewarm steam that she could feel on her face and the nape of her neck.

Her chin dropped to her chest, her heart beating a furious tattoo behind her ribs. Her hands shook slightly, and she clenched them into tight fists in an effort to stop it, her nails biting into her palm painfully. Too late, she realised that was the wrong thing to do as a fierce pain travelled up her left arm, reminding her of the break Ratchet had just treated.

“Shit!”

She shot up into a standing position on Optimus’ palm, cradling her injured arm against her chest. Optimus did not reprimand her for swearing, or indeed say anything at all, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her. She could hear the quiet click of his optics as he blinked and the whir of their housings as he tracked her frenzied movement across his palm.

She peeked over the edge of his hand to see how high she was, her heart sinking when she realised, she would not simply be able to slide off. A louder intake of air finally made her look up, the sight that met her eyes making her wish immediately that she hadn’t.

Optimus’ face was a mask of inscrutable emotion, save for the set of his optic ridges. They were tilted upwards by a fraction of an inch, denoting only a hint of the feeling swirling within him. He regarded her for a long time, his blue optics unblinking. She could not hold his gaze and dropped her eyes back down, tears threatening.

“By the AllSpark Cordelia…what could have possibly been going through your head to make you think that running into the middle of a battle was a good idea?” his voice rose slightly at the end, betraying the effort he was going to to keep his emotions in check.

Cordelia could find no words to answer him at first, the confirmation of his disappointment in her too heavy to bear. Her bottom lip quivered as treacherous tears fell, dropping soundlessly onto Optimus’ metallic palm. She worked hard to control her breathing, not wanting it to run away from her.

God, at least let me keep control over one damned thing!

“Cordelia?” he pressed her gently, evidently not taking the silent treatment for an answer.

She took a deep breath, trying to arrange her thoughts into something legible so that she could understand them, not at least to convey them to Optimus.

“I…I thought Hannah was in trouble, so I went looking for her. I snuck out of the shelter, and I went to her barracks. She was there and she said that the emergency shelter had been attacked and that her dad had said to go to the command centre. I didn’t see any reason as to why it wouldn’t be true…there was nothing.” More tears fell, punctuating her answer with the sad burden of Optimus’ evident frustration.

“Cordelia, the base is filled with experienced and trained personnel who would have located Hannah if she was in any sort of trouble. It is not your job to go looking for people who might be in danger! Do you realise what could have happened today?”

A sudden flame of anger ignited within her, burning through any shame she had previously felt.

“Of course I realise what could have happened!” she hissed, taken aback by the venom in her own voice, but it was not enough to stop her. “Don’t you think I know what could happen every single, solitary day?! A Decepticon could drop a rocket on my head, a new liaison could order me away or put me into federal custody at any moment because of my connection to all of this!” she threw her hands up into the air, her anger snowballing.

“I have to watch you throw yourself into danger nearly every other day, not knowing if you’re going to come back! So yeah, even if I am on a base with ‘experienced and trained personnel’, I will get involved if I think it is going to make a difference to a friend of mine!”

Optimus showed no outward signs of responding to her outburst, his face infuriatingly calm.

“Cordelia, when I adopted you three years ago, I took on a responsibility for your safety and well-being.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air between them. She felt the solemnity of his words in the deep cadence of his sonorous baritone.

She said nothing in response, motioning with a small nod of her head for him to continue.

“You are not yet eighteen, and as such, I have a legal, moral and ethical responsibility to you. That includes but is not limited to your physical, mental and emotional health. That was an oath I made to you and an oath I intend to keep until you send me away or I am no longer physically capable of doing so.

“You are a choice that I make every single day, Cordelia. I make this choice partly out of a sense of duty, but above all, because I love you, so so much. And by law, you are my responsibility.”

Despite the outpouring of love she felt coming from him, her temper flared again, pushed over the edge by his leaning on legalities to enforce his protectiveness. Blood filled her cheeks as her heart rate soared, fuelling the fire that had already been stoked deep within her belly.

“For god’s sake Optimus!!” she shouted, her voice full of indignant anger. “I am not one of your soldiers!”

He held her in his steady gaze, nothing but pure love emanating from his optics. He was silent for a short time, the only sound between them her panting breaths as she tried to regain some sense of control over her wayward emotions.

“Exactly.” He said softly, a quiet reverence present in his gentle tone. “You are my daughter, and infinitely more precious than a mere soldier.”

His words pulled her up short, her anger extinguished as suddenly as it had been ignited. She struggled to process his words, understanding the meaning behind them but not fully taking them in. She had spent so much of her life hiding from pain and terror that accepting love, even though she had been with Optimus for three years now, still did not come naturally to her.

“You are my daughter, Cordelia,” he repeated, bringing her closer to his face. “And because of that, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

Those words broke through the last of Cordelia’s feeble defences, and she crumbled into a heap on his palm, quiet sobs erupting out of her, as raw and unstoppable as a broken dam.

“Optimus, what can I give you in return? You are everything I’m not! You are selfless, loyal, brave and the kindest soul I have ever met! I can’t hold a candle to you. I don’t know why you chose me, because you chose wrong. You should have just let me fall and saved yourself all of this regret!”

Her head dropped to her chest again, heavy with the weight of shame that had abruptly resurfaced.

She felt the cool metal of his fingertip underneath her chin, tilting her face upwards to meet his gaze.

“I must respectfully disagree with you, my little one. I chose you because I love you. I protect you because I love you. More than you can possibly comprehend. And as for what you give me in return; you give it to me every day. You give it to me with the beat of your heart, with your infectious smile. With the faith and trust you choose to place in me, day after day.”

He dipped his head forward so that they were leaning forehead to forehead, despite their size difference. She could feel the subtle vibrations of his inner workings and the deliciously cool sensation of his metal skin against her own flushed face helped her to ground herself.

“And most of all, you have awarded me with the intimate trust of someone who I can simply be ‘Optimus’ with, as opposed to ‘Optimus Prime.’ You have shown me a part of myself I had long thought dead; the Optimus who remembers without regret. The Optimus who leads without shame. The Optimus who hopes for the future that we can build together. Cordelia – there is no greater gift to be given among Sparks than that of hope – for hope can light even the darkest hour. And where there is life, there is always, always hope. I do not, for one, single astro-second regret saving you, and I never will.”

He pulled back from her slightly, only to press his metallic lip plates tenderly to her forehead and press a paternal kiss there, one that spoke of the reverence and love which he held in such abundance for her.

She looked up at him tearfully, wiping her eyes with the back of her right hand. “I’m sorry Optimus, I didn’t mean to get angry with you. Thank you…for always being there for me. It means more to me than I know how to say.”

He held her close, bringing his free hand up to support the one he held her in. “Oh my little one. You never need thank me. Losing you is simply not an option. It is something that I absolutely cannot allow to happen. Not now or at any point in the future.”

She allowed herself to be wrapped in the safety of his love, content just to enjoy the moment in the here and now with him, her heart happy in the knowledge that she was perfectly safe with the Autobot leader who had given her everything she had long thought lost to her.

#transformers #optimus x reader #optimus prime x reader #transformers bayverse #transformers fanfiction #optimus prime fanfiction #my fanfiction #cordelia #blu's fanfiction #found family #hurt/comfort

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dragonnarrative-writes · 3 months ago

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Happy Birthday Charlie!

It's @sentientcave's birthday, and I wanted to F I N A L L Y do an author rec for him!

Name: Charlie (He/They) Links!: Twitter - AO3 - Ko-fi

My Favorite: Retirement Party Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You. (Dark fic! Read the content warnings)

Runner Up: Heavy Weighs the Crown Fantasy AU - A princess in self-imposed exile is forced to come home to face the man who took her father's crown and the life she left behind. 141 x Reader.

Runner Up to the Runner Up: Hit Me With Your Best Shot When Rory "Scout" Price moves in with her dad after a rough break-up, she's looking forward to reconnecting while she gets her feet back under her. But unfortunately, a post-divorce Kyle Garrick is moving in too, and he seems determined to be a pain in the ass. But then again, he is kind of hot.

Favorite Not Yet Posted Story:

EVERYTHING

WITH

RIPPER

AKA The Rugby AU (I'm working on a Kinktober Prompt with Ripper in it and I know I'm overthinking it but I want Charlie to like it so so so bad it makes me stupid.)

Why I recommend: It's long, so it'll go under the cut.

Where do I even start?

Every reader character and OC invites you to explore what makes them tick. They're flawed, and because they're flawed, they're good. They're real. And they're diverse, lovingly and intentionally. It's clear that Charlie does the research to intentionally write about experiences outside of his own. (Y'all... he researched Philippine Spanish for Retirement Party. For a conversation with a side character. The stars in my eyes...)

Charlie loves the complexities of these characters. Their ups, their downs, their triumphs and their failures. I don't think I've ever rooted for and hated and loved and wanted to strangle Captain John Price like I do when Charlie writes him. There's no glossing over the fact that Price is an asshole with Charlie. But there's no mistaking that he cares, either (in his awful, terrible, patented John Price ways).

I've grown so much as a writer for the conversations I've been able to have with Charlie. My understanding of the 141 is deeper, not just when it comes to cannon, but also what makes them tick in my stories. I'm so excited to explore the world of Being Gaz's Ex, which was directly inspired by the way Charlie writes Price in Nobody Does it Better. It's the way Price loves and it isn't enough and how sometimes it's okay that that's not okay.

Every time Charlie shares a bit of writing with me, I lose a little bit of my mind. And I hope that you all will appreciate Charlie with me, today!

#sentientcave #author recs #please go read some of these fics #comment your favorite line!#reblog so more people can see those awesome stories #sprinkle a little sugar in the kofi link if you're so inclined!#i hope you love these characters as much as i do #i want to do more of these author recs but i feel like i never have time #but if you click the author name tag on anything i reblog you'll find other works i've reblogged

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foxymoxynoona · 9 days ago

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To Kill A King (Chapter 16)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+ Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f & m receiving), public sex, I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

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NOTE: check out the Character & Setting Cheat Sheet for a refresher on who’s who

No one was getting close to the prince’s room. Dulce couldn’t even get to the hall; guards formed an impenetrable wall across the path and she had no reason to push her way through. She tried the back hallway instead, the one that ran around his courtyard, thinking she might be able to catch a glimpse from there of what was happening. Doctors must be in with him now, attempting to remove the blade and stop the bleeding of whatever organs it had penetrated. If it hit the heart, there was no hope; he’d slowly bleed out around the knife or quickly once they removed it. Even if the heart was just nicked, the pressure would cause it to rupture, perhaps after he thought he was perfectly healed, just out of the blue. His lung would be bad too. Yes he had two of them, but if blood or oxygen built up in his chest cavity, his lungs wouldn’t be able to expand and he’d suffocate or drown on his own blood. Dulce had heard it was possible to survive with a good surgeon but did not believe that was true, based on what she had seen in life.

She knew too much about all of it, that was the problem. She knew how to make a clean, quick kill and that doing so was a mercy. She also knew how to drag it out, make someone suffer, though that was not her style. There had been a few times when the kill had not been clean, or in the early days when she was open to working alongside someone else and learned from their shoddy work. A bad kill meant a slow, painful death. Sometimes that’s what the person calling the shots wanted but Dulce didn’t take those jobs. There was no joy or glory in death to her. Even death of truly detestable, irredeemable people left her hollow. Suffering didn’t undo the pain they had caused others, it only stopped it. There was no justice in death, just an end.

Where had the knife penetrated? Were the doctors competent? Was he alert and suffering or was he still unconscious from the pain? Was he losing blood and would never wake up?

The hallway around the courtyard was blocked off too, no way to get through and spy. She could try to scale the roof and gave it a great deal of thought, but likely they’d be on high alert for any movement up there at the moment. She’d get caught and probably not learn anything. She needed to be in the room, and there was no way or reason for her to be in the room, because why did the maid of his fiance need to be in the room?

Nasimiyu ought to be here, though it was better for her own safety that she was shut up elsewhere. Dulce felt her blood boiling into her ears. If you loved someone, wasn’t your place beside them no matter what? Seokjin might die and Nasimiyu wouldn’t know until someone came to tell her. Dulce knew Nasimiyu didn’t love Seokjin but she’d seemed to grow more fond of him, and at least she was concerned about appearances, and anyway didn’t her crown hang in the balance of whether Seokjin lived? Wasn’t that enough to bring her around despite the risk? How could she be anywhere, doing anything else, if she was supposed to love him? Just because her maid had sent her to her room? She had obeyed, Nasimiyu who was never obedient, which meant it was what she had wanted to do anyway. But she didn’t love him.

Dulce pressed against the wall and tried to slow her breathing in the middle of the churning chaos. At least he wasn’t alone. Seokjin was surrounded by his closest friends right now, surely –at least Jimin and Jungkook must be in there with him, maybe Taehyung too. His friends the servants, the only friends he really seemed to have. Was the king there? At least if Seokjin was conscious, he’d have someone there to hold his hand if he wanted it. Dulce knew how frightening those final moments could be. She’d seen so many of them, and she tried not to stick around, but sometimes… sometimes it was impossible not to notice the fear and loneliness, as people called out for a wife or a mother or a husband, as they begged for death to pass them by today, as they tried to barter with any gods listening for more time. But there were no gods, only Dulce. And she didn’t have time to give, only to take. This time, it was the prince. Maybe hers had not been the hand to plunge the knife but she knew about the plots to kill him and the king. She had done nothing to stop them –had in fact been helping one of those plots. It might as well have been her hand. What if the letter she had delivered was a set up for this?

That was entirely likely, she realized. Her hands were stained after all.

She hadn’t been close enough to see his face but she could imagine it based on his body language, how calm he’d been, as though the knife was nothing but a hand pressed against him for balance. He’d been conscious in the wagon, trying to make jokes and put those around him at ease even as he shuddered in pain. She’d never unsee it. It couldn’t be the last thing she saw of him, the prince in profound but masked pain, and yet it might be.

A hand grabbing her arm made her exhale and spin, reaching instinctively for a blade she’d never get from her pocket in time. Taehyung’s face staring down into hers, wide eyes, hair wild and shirt crumbled, brought the hum of the hall back into hearing.

“The Queen’s room! The Queen’s room too!” The cry rippled up and down the hall, another armload of kindling on the fires of panic.

Taehyung leaned in close, his lips pressed to her ear as he murmured, “The rooms have been noticed.”

“How’s the prince?”

“Damned if I know,” Taehyung breathed, and bodied her closer to the wall in an effort to stop the jostling. “Where did you stash?”

Dulce leaned away with a shock and demanded, “Onto that already? Aren’t you worried–”

“Yah, what can I do? You think they’ll let a stablehand in there?” he quickly corrected. “You think I can do the stitches or anything at all? Focus on what we can do.”

It was practical. Usually she’d be the one pointing that out, and it shook some sense back into her. Right.

“They saw the rooms,” she repeated, trying to latch onto something concrete and focus. It didn’t need to be asked; she could hear the alarm about it, but she felt frazzled in a way that was not familiar. “They’ll think it’s related…”

“Yes, so we’d better make sure it isn’t!” Taehyung hissed.

She gave a sharp shake of her head and argued, “No, it is. That’s good. Cover. But not to us.”

“Yeah, you think? Then the whole thing gets tied to–”

“You need to move the things,” she whispered.

“Did anyone see you? Anything get left behind–”

“One of those masters saw me– or didn’t see me, but knew someone was down there and told me the way out.”

“Fuck,” Taehyung said.

“Just move the stuff and that’ll be the end. If they saw me at all, they’ll be looking for a woman in the caves, not you.”

“Where you said?”

“Yes, it’s–”

Taehyung was gone before she could finish the reminder. She hoped he was certain, hoped he knew where he was going, and hoped he had a good plan for where he was moving things. She especially hoped no one saw him or missed him while he was there.

She stayed backed against the wall as the hallway began to clear, folks off to find whatever shelter they thought would help them right now against these invisible forces. She had nowhere to go, nowhere to be. Probably Nasimiyu was waiting for her but Dulce couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be less. If Nasimiyu wanted to be a leader it was time to figure out her own way during a crisis, it wasn’t Dulce’s job, certainly not anymore. Her job was–

She was still a maid, damnit! She took off down the hall to the nearest linen closet and piled her arms high with towels, and a bowl for good measure, then circled back at an urgent clip.

“Towels,” she shouted at the guards blocking the hallway to the Prince’s rooms. “They called for towels.”

“No one in or out,” a guard told her.

“Then you take them in, they said there’s blood everywhere,” she snapped and tried to shove the armful at the guards. “You think I want to deal with that and being out of a job because they don’t have the supplies they called for?”

“No one called,” another one said.

“The other hall, but you’re faster– nevermind then, take the towels in and clean! You think the King and Prince want to shelter in a room filthy with blood–”

“Just go,” the guard huffed and stepped aside to shove her through. Over her shoulder she heard him insist, “You know that brat belongs to the princess, she checks out.”

Fools, every one of you.

But she didn’t stop because she was through, miraculously through! She kicked the door frantically until a guard on the inside opened it, then bustled through with her towels and promptly froze.

Seokjin lay on a board resting across the parlor table, his shirt open and bright smears of blood drying across his stomach and arms. His face was pale and unmoving, eyes closed and lips parted like a mask of death. She couldn’t see the wound itself because two men hunched over it, working. Her stomach churned. A dozen people stood around the room besides, half watching with rapt attention, the other half intentionally diverted. The King was nowhere to be seen.

“Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?” an older man shouted at her –that older bodyguard of Seokjin’s, the one who’d been with Seokjin on the wall the other day. He recognized her in a second and scowled, “You can’t be here.”

“I brought towels… they were sent for…?” It did not take effort to look dazed by the scene before her.

It was different. A body was different when you’d known the person in it.

“Nobody sent for towels! They shouldn’t be letting anyone through!” The man flung open the door and began shouting down the hall.

But he hadn’t thrown Dulce out so she dove forward and dropped the armload of towels onto the sofa. Seokjin’s skin was parted like curled flower petals, instruments sticking out as they did whatever was necessary to save his life. How odd that she and these men stood on opposite sides of the table, dragging a toy back and forth across the veil of death –a tug-of-war that ultimately could only end one way, though they might hold the line for years, if they were any good.

I didn’t do this.

I did do this.

Who had actually done it, though? She looked around for anyone who might have answers they would give her, but the only familiar faces were Jimin and Jungkook, both staring blankly at their prince on the table.

She approached them anyway, bumping Jimin’s arm before whispering, “Do they know anything yet?”

“No whispering!” one of the doctors shouted, and before Jimin could say a word Jungkook grabbed Dulce’s arm and dragged her to the door the older bodyguard opened.

“Hey!”

“Get out of here. You shouldn’t be here,” Jungkook repeated the line.

“Let go of me–”

“Go hide with your princess,” he said and promptly bodied her out and slammed the door.

Her whole body shook. She had not seen signs of life and to be pushed out like that stung –not her ego, but because of the absolute terror on Jungkook’s face. She wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly evicted her other than needing something to do when there was nothing he, nor anyone else in that room save the doctors, could do. Likely not even the doctors.

She would not go hide with Nasimiyu, not when there was a guilty party to find here, not when they might be bumbling the investigation right this very moment. They must be, if they believed the queen’s rooms being ransacked was related to the death of Seokjin’s bodyguard and the stabbing of the prince. They would believe the obvious thing in front of them, but what would they miss?

She moved quickly through the halls, trying not to blink to avoid the image of the Prince’s blank face. How close had Nasimiyu been? Should she have been able to stop it? Why hadn’t the bodyguards stopped it? Things were avoidable if you paid attention, unless someone was as good as Dulce, but Dulce would never have done this out in the open.

Someone wanted to be caught. They wanted the attention.

She paused, right in the middle of the hall, just as another quartet of guards ran in front of her in the direction of the queen’s rooms. Probably every guard and inspector in the city was being called out. Her mind had caught a fragment of a moment, the moment he’d been stabbed– he had been with his father, and twisted his father or himself. Had the Prince not been the target? The prince was much easier to access than the king. Maybe a commoner, maybe someone taking advantage of the king being among the people and loosely guarded when otherwise it was not so easy to gain access to the ruler of the country…

They must at least have the man in custody. Surely they had managed at least that. They would get answers from him, whether truthful or not. Who was investigating the dead bodyguard? Namjoon? That seemed like a potential conflict of interests, for vaguely political reasons Dulce didn’t understand other than that he and Seokjin were not friends.

She deliberated, standing in the center of the path, which direction to go? Where to start: to find the King, to find the assassin, to find the dead bodyguard? How exhausting, inspecting was much more complicated than assassinating.

Well she couldn’t just stand here and wait for the shout of the Prince’s death to echo down the hallways. If she moved quickly, maybe she could figure out who was behind this before that surrender was given. Maybe she could pinch out those wicks before the investigators had a chance to fumble justice. Just in case the ransacking of the queen’s rooms did get tied to her, and idiot investigators lumped the whole thing on her, she better move quickly with her vengeance.

She picked a path and set off.

Seokjin’s head throbbed. He felt his heartbeat in his temples and in the ankle he’d sprained as a boy and in his shoulder. There was something odd about it, his heartbeat, but he couldn’t figure out what; it seemed steady and strong, as far as he could remember. That was it, he wasn’t used to noticing his heartbeat.

A buzzing in his ears turned into the hum of voices and then time began to move more quickly. He blinked crusty eyes open and tried to make sense of the crowd, especially as background details of his own bedroom sharpened into focus. Why were all these people in his bedroom?!

“Jimin,” he croaked out, then coughed at the effort, then flinched at the sharp pain in his chest. That was all it took for events to rapidly fall into place: a man with a knife aimed at his father, a knife in his own chest, a bumpy ride in the back of a wagon.

“What do you need?” Hoseok asked, crouched instantly by his side. The voices had all hushed and Seokjin felt like a fish in a tank now, all these faces blinking at him like hungry birds. Lying down was suddenly oppressive but as soon as he tried to move, the pain burned in his chest and shoulder. Hands reached for him, which he hated more than lying down, so he batted them away and just tried again, putting weight on his right side only this time until Hoseok shuffled the pillows behind him to prop him up.

No Jimin, but Jungkook and Alonzo and Marks were close, Hoseok, the doctors, a nurse whose name he did not know. For the briefest moment he thought it was Dulce with her dark hair but as soon as the woman began to move he saw at once it was not her, even before she turned a very different face. Her movements were all wrong; she carried a cup of water differently.

“Do you know where you are?” Hoseok asked, gentler than Seokjin had ever heard him. That’s how he knew it was serious, that Hoseok wasn’t thinking a whit about appearances or decorum but let the concern show openly on his face.

“I know what happened,” Seokjin said. His voice was gravelly from disuse. Instinctively he reached for the cup the nurse held out only to flinch and pull back. Hoseok gave her a scathing look and took the cup, then clearly deliberated whether to hold it for him. “I can take it,” Seokjin said, willing it to be true. “But what happened?”

“You were stabbed,” Jungkook answered.

“You’ve suffered an injury to the chest, a narrow margin to the right of your heart–” one of the doctors began as the other spoke over him, something about narrowly avoided anything critical alongside but significant blood loss and risk of clots or empyema, which meant nothing to Seokjin.

“Am I dying?” he asked, not interested in trying to parse their medical jargon.

“No,” the first doctor said. “However you should remain in bed and resting for at least a week as we watch for infection or–”

“How long have I been in bed already?” he asked Hoseok, agog at the subsequent answer the festival was day before yesterday.

“Two days,” Jungkook clarified. “Less than two days but more than a day.”

Could no one give him straight answers? He carefully lifted the cup to his lips, not appreciating the way it trembled. His stomach grumbled, a sharp cramp of hunger that was hopefully a good sign. Really, almost two days he’d been asleep? He craned his neck to see the injury but taped gauze obscured whatever grotesque stitching job they’d done. He’d made it this far in life with few scars but this would likely be a gnarly one.

The memory of that cut on Dulce’s throat intruded and he frowned.

“I’ll help,” Jungkook offered, trying to reach for the cup of water.

“I want food and answers,” Seokjin clarified, handing the cup to Hoseok instead. “Where’s my father?”

“Uninjured,” Hoseok quickly assured him. “But…”

“Not visiting,” Jungkook added when no one else did. Seokjin wasn’t surprised. Nothing kept his father away like illness or injury. He’d have gone to the funeral, but anything short of that and he’d keep a wide berth until Seokjin was well enough to go to him –which he would probably need to do soon for any real answers. He doubted anyone in this room was privy to valuable information. The doctors were talking about his condition again and he didn’t really care to hear it. He lived, time to move forward.

“Anyone else injured?”

Alonzo cleared his throat before answering, “We found Edmund.”

“Wha?”

“Strung up in the courtyard when we brought you here–”

Marks scoffed, “Don’t act like you were bringing him in. You were off–”

“Not working! Maybe if I had been, we wouldn’t be in here right now–”

Seokjin waved his hand, which quieted no one, so he ignored their bickering and demanded of Hoseok and Jungkook, “What about Edmund?”

“Hanging in the courtyard but dead before that,” Jungkook said. “Had a paper on his chest but no one’s saying what it said.”

“Dead before that as in–”

“Someone killed him before and put him there.”

Seokjin heard this but couldn’t make sense of it. This was all such substance to wake up to from a dreamless sleep. He was pretty sure there had been no dreams. He didn’t feel rested at all, just brittle and empty. His heartbeat still felt too loud, like it should rattle his teeth.

“Who someone?”

“Nobody’s telling us,” Hoseok pointed out. Seokjin looked around the room. It felt too quiet without any of his animals in here.

“Has someone been feeding–”

“Yeah I did it and Jimin,” Jungkook said. “They don’t like all the people coming through so they’re all shut up in your study.”

“It’s not hygienic to have all those animals around someone healing,” one of the doctors scoffed, disdain on full display.

“Ok,” Seokjin said. He began to twist on the bed, tugging the blankets away from his legs. The shouts of protest were immediate but he ignored them and said, “Bring me a robe or something.”

“Your Highness, you should remain in bed–”

“Yah, I’m sure I will come right back after I talk to my father.”

“There’s nothing you need from him right now,” Hoseok too tried to argue.

Jungkook, though, brought the robe and then Hoseok snatched it from him to help Seokjin from the bed and slide the robe on himself, clearly realizing he wasn’t going to be able to dissuade the prince.

Standing was more exhausting than he’d expected, but between Hoseok and Jungkook he got to his feet and began the shuffle towards the door.

“Wait wait, you need slippers at least,” the nurse said.

“This is absurd, he should remain in bed! He is not well enough to go strolling through the palace!”

“I will avoid strolling, understood.”

“Walking though is good for him,” the second doctor mused, tapping his chin in thought. “When he feels up for it. Get the blood pumping through his body again.”

“Unless his heart ruptures!”

“Was my heart damaged?” Seokjin asked. It would be just perfect if it was, if now his body was a ticking time bomb. He had so much still to do in life, right? Something something. That’s what people always said. Technically it was true, he had a kingdom to rule someday and all that, but it seemed very far beyond him right now. Just walking to the door with Hoseok and Jungkook holding his arms was challenging enough.

“We don’t think so but the injury was close, it’s impossible to say for sure! You need to rest and recover for at least a month–”

“Didn’t he say a week before?” Seokjin asked Hoseok. He was trying to be funny and saw on their faces that they knew it too and didn’t appreciate it, but jokes were preferable to admitting that this hurt quite a lot and he was beginning to wonder why he felt so strongly about getting out of bed right now. He needed answers, sure, but it wasn’t like he could do anything with those answers. Maybe he needed to see the palace and that it was still standing, or needed to see the limits of his own body, or just needed to see his father, nothing more than a little boy once again. No mother anymore for him to run and clutch the skirts of, sadly, so father would have to do.

Walking made him dizzy so he went slow, and limped a little not because his legs hurt but because the rhythm helped him keep moving. Hoseok and Jungkook pressed by his side until Jimin saw them in the hallway and sprinted over with a gasp to usurp Hoseok’s place and try to convince Seokjin back to bed.

“Once I see my father, you won’t have to convince me,” he promised.

“No one expects you to be up yet! You’re supposed to be resting! Why did the doctors allow this?”

“He’s the… prince…” Jungkook argued, looking perplexed.

“Damn right I am and I want answers about who did this!” Seokjin shouted. “It’s annoying! I’m going to have a tragic scar right over my heart and I want answers!” It was for the benefit of the huddle of maids nearby who gave him wide-eyed stares before scurrying away. He hoped he looked more strong than crazy, sashaying through the palace in his robe and slippers, but the performance had winded him and he had to pause for a moment, leaning heavily against Jungkook to catch his breath. Breathing hurt more than being stabbed had; this was what he thought being stabbed should feel like. At the time it hadn’t hurt, he’d just felt like… butter. The knife had just carved into him like he was nothing, nothing at all.

“Can we at least find a rolling chair for him?” Jimin asked Hoseok and Marks.

“I’ll be there before you find one!” Seokjin called after Hoseok’s retreating back. Eager for it to be true because he knew his father would never let him live it down if he was wheeled in, he pushed further, harder, until finally the door of his father’s study loomed in the distance.

He couldn’t make out the words this far, but the raised voices could not be missed.

“Well?” King Donggun asked as Seokjin opened the door, so sharply that at first Seokjin thought it was aimed at him. Instead the barbed question glanced off his uncle, sitting comfortably on the sofa, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

Instead of answering, Dongsuk looked at Seokjin and greeted cooly, “You’ve awoken, have you?”

“Seokjin.”

“All’s well,” Seokjin assured them both and shuffled heavily into the room before sinking into the chair. With a gesture Donggun sent Jimin and Jungkook from the room. A pitcher of water sat on the table beside him and Seokjin wanted it but did not have confidence he could pour and then hold the glass without trembling.

“I didn’t expect to see you up and about so soon,” his father said, drawing closer, as if the tense scene Seokjin interrupted was nothing at all. “Are you well?”

“He said so.”

“I’m all right,” Seokjin told him. “A bit hassled but more interested in what the whole point of this was. They were after you, weren’t they?”

A great breath rushed from the king and for a brief moment he looked ancient.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown, eh?” Dongsuk asked, a derisive sneer curling around the cigarette as he lifted it to his lips to light. “The people grow bold when that head slumps with lazy entitlement–”

“The people grow bold when they are desperate,” King Donggun argued. “Why are they desperate, brother?”

“Because they do not understand to be grateful.”

“What should they be grateful for?” Donggun asked, settling back in his own overstuffed chair. He lifted a skull from the table beside him and rolled it between his fingers, exploring the cracks and crevices with detachment, as if he’d memorized them years ago in similar fits of musing. “Life isn’t about gratitude. There’s nothing I can do to make them grateful. People will always think they could be better off ruling themselves and it is the burden of those above to protect them from the horrors of what that would truly be like.”

Dongsuk took a long drag and puffed it out; Seokjin thought it was intended in his direction but perhaps his uncle simply forgot to notice him further. Seokjin was no more than the chair now, there to soak up the scent of cigarettes and cradle the ass of men with allegedly great minds and a blessed birthright.

“Gratitude that you allow them still to live it,” Dongsuk corrected. “Do you think this will be the last attempt? There will be more until they succeed. You ought to have nipped this when it was still a bud.”

“Destin was behind this?” Seokjin dared to clarify.

“Did you get anything else out of the man?” the king asked his brother.

“‘Freedom for Destin!’” Dongsuk mocked, his voice suddenly a low, bellowing shout. “Nothing but those words. Obstinate, I’ll give him that. He said nothing else and now he will say no more.”

Donggun’s glare narrowed as he gritted through his teeth, “You were not to kill him.”

“It wasn’t done to annoy you.”

“There are other methods beside the brutal, we might have learned more–”

Dongsuk shook his head and huffed, “You are weak, brother. That dagger would have sliced through your soft body, hand and arm to follow because you’re made of custard. You see the core of a man when you bring him to the brink, and he had nothing more to say. You would not have coaxed something different from him with cookies and wine.”

“Now we will never know,” Donggun mused, gaze still trained on Dongsuk. Seokjin watched them back and forth, waiting for the next volley. It was good to catch his breath for a moment anyway, and he found they were answering the questions he hadn’t thought of yet anyway. Destin behind the attempted murder of the king, was it? Not surprising given their growing unrest. Dongsuk had tried to torture anything further out of the man who was now dead and had given them nothing except the obvious, but apparently Donggun thought there might have been more to be got.

“Do you think there was more to it?” he asked his father. “Not Destin, as the man claimed?”

Dongsuk interrupted whatever response might follow, “Your father listens to the gossip of scullery maids. What do the rumors say, brother? That I tried to have my brother killed to frame Destin and so set the stage for my war?”

Seokjin felt a cold shiver rush through his body. The room was very cold, wasn’t it?

“I don’t need to frame Destin for a war,” Dongsuk scoffed. “They’re so stupid, they’re begging for a war and you’re running out of reasons not to give it to them, unless you’re twice the coward I think you are. I have no reason to murder my own brother. I do not want your crown.”

Donggun shrugged and let the skull fall with a heavy thud back to the table.

“Your motives have always been beyond my understanding,” Donggun admitted. “Why crave the battlefield instead of a life of peace and prosperity?”

“The battlefield is merely the path.”

“I think the path is a velvet couch and fine horses and a ball with good music–”

“The starving people to the east disagree.”

“So feed them,” Donggun countered. “Have your soldiers distribute bread while they’re marching through the streets flashing their overpolished swords.”

“Is that your order? They nearly killed your son in an attempt to kill you and you want us to make them cakes?”

Seokjin felt like a boy again and the adults were talking over his head. Was there not a straight-forward solution? The Destin people wanted independence, so why not grant it? If it led to their misery, at least they chose it themselves. Ah, but where would they get the steaks he and his father enjoyed so much? Where the chicken for their stews and the dairy for their cheeses and the leather for their armor and boots? Was it not possible to establish proper trade with an independent Destin? He knew the counter-arguments though, he’d heard them the one time he dared ask such a “stupid” question at council: they would pay triple or more for the things they now took for free, or very close to it. An independent Destin might be unwilling to trade at all, and then what? Paloma and Minsk would have to supply these things, they would be crushed by the demand and claim independence next, and who after them? The quality of life, the wealth of the kingdom, the strength of the kingdom would fall. They would be left a small, humbled palace, open once again to invasion. Everything his family had built for themselves would crumble. Wouldn’t that be tragic?

“That is not my command,” Donggun said, again with that ancient sigh.

“Then what is? Already you are too slow to act.”

“What, will Desitin grow more bold?” Donggun demanded. “They are in my city driving a knife into my chest. They are in my palace plucking off my son’s guards and dangling them in front of my nose. They’re in my wife’s rooms, desecrating– to hell with them all–”

“Mother’s rooms?” Seokjin interrupted.

“They were ransacked while we were at the festival,” Donggun said, sinking back into his chair. “Don’t ask me more, I can’t talk about it.”

“Yes you’ve made that dramatically clear,” Dongsuk scoffed. “Perhaps your enfeebled son can face the rooms in your stead and make a catalog of what’s missing, since it’s beyond your ability?” The disdain for the king’s grief was clear in his voice, but it missed Donggun; he nodded and mumbled, “Yes, perhaps so…”

For a moment Seokjin sat with this. It was too much to make sense of. It felt like something should be more dramatically changed around the palace for all of this to have taken place: he’d been nearly killed, his father had been the target, his bodyguard was found dead after an absence, and his late mother the beloved queen’s rooms had been robbed? Should the whole palace be in shambles? Or deserted? Or absolutely overrun with guards at the very least?

There was something beyond it all that felt unsettling to him but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps that was silly, it was plenty to feel unsettled about. An assassination attempt on a monarch, yes, all right that made sense. Killing a bodyguard to weaken security, sure, although why was the body held for so long and revealed at just this moment? And then to destroy the Queen’s rooms, the queen who was no longer alive to care, it had to be to send a message but it was just… so personal. It felt different. There was something strange here when so far Destin’s demands were very direct –though Seokjin didn’t expect he’d be the one to figure it out. His head felt a little swimmy and fluffy now and he began to wonder if maybe he really ought to have stayed in bed a bit longer.

“What did the note on Edmund say?” Seokjin asked, trying to ignore the horror of his own words. He couldn’t stop to think about what those words meant, about what that young, inoffensive, dumb but kind-hearted youth had gone through for only the crime of guarding the Prince. A life snuffed out and for why? It wasn’t fair. If they wanted to kill Seokjin, have at it, but Edmund hadn’t deserved death.

The king gestured to the table in between the men, near the water Seokjin still longed for. He hadn’t noticed anything else on the table, ignoring what he had assumed were the familiar macabre trinkets his father kept scattered there. Now on closer look he saw a crinkled, torn paper, a folded note, a pile of bloody cloths, two knives, and a silver ring.

He picked up the papers first. The folded note was worn as if it had been folded and unfolded a dozen times. The message inside was simple, written in a shaky poor hand: FREE DESTIN.

“In the pocket of the man who tried to kill us,” Donggun said, watching Seokjin’s study while Dongsuk watched the curl of smoke from his cigarette glide up to the ceiling.

Seokjin folded it closed and tossed it back to the table. The second note was crinkled and torn but not folded; a giant rip at the top muddled a few of the letters but the message was not lost:

We are here. We know everything. We will take everything from you until we get what we want. Each cut will hurt more. FREE DESTIN.

Seokjin dropped the paper quickly back onto the table to mask the shiver.

“Well they sure know how to write a threat,” he muttered. “Brutal and to the point, but there’s a sort of poetry to it, isn’t there?”

“There’s only one way to answer a threat and come out victorious,” Dongsuk said, reaching forward to tap his cigarette into an upturned skull that was certainly not intended for that purpose –but then a skull really only had one and it had stopped protecting a living person’s mind a long time ago. “With decisive action. They took your home, so take theirs. They tried to take your son, so take theirs.”

“Yes, crush them so there’s no spirit left, only a spark of hatred to simmer for the next generation or so until it catches again and burns our kingdom to the ground,” Donggun sneered.

“Is that your command?”

“No it’s not my command! What is my command! I haven’t decided what my command is yet! These things require thought!”

“If your son had waited to think, you would be dead now,” Dongsuk pointed out and pushed to his feet. It was the closest to praise Seokjin had ever received from him and made him feel instantly like he had done something wrong. He was not here to side with his uncle; he agreed the situation required time to think. He was glad this didn’t rest on his shoulders and yet… if the assassination had been successful, it would. He would be the one sitting in front of this table, looking over these items that had brought about the death of his father, trying to decide the fate of a nation and the people within it. How, how was anyone supposed to know what to do with a situation like this?

“Seokjin?”

He had missed whatever they asked him but answered anyway, “We’ve already been stabbed. If we react too quickly we’re more likely to expose some new place for them to sink a knife…” He trailed off, head tilting and gaze narrowing as he surveyed the knives on the table, one of them in particular which was actually a dagger, sharp on both sides. Gingerly he picked up the blade, certain he was mistaken. His thumb brushed across the bumps of rubies lodged in the golden handle, flecks of dried blood falling to his lap. The same swirls etched into the blade dipped in and out of view behind streaks of dried blood. The weight felt the same in his hand.

“Seem familiar?” Dongsuk asked. Seokjin startled that his mind was so easily read --it had to be, otherwise his uncle had no way of knowing he had held this exact dagger when it fell from Dulce’s boot the night of the masquerade ball. “A wound knows its maker,” his uncle continued. “Did you feel a twinge in your chest when you touched it?”

He had indeed felt a twinge in his chest.

How the fuck had Dulce’s dagger wound up lodged next to his heart after an attempt on the king’s life?

But it wasn’t Dulce, it couldn’t be. She wasn’t not the one who had stabbed him. She hadn’t even been at the festival until, possibly, the moment it all happened… had she? Now he doubted his mind because he felt sure he had seen her face and just as sure she had not accompanied Nasimiyu that day. He might have hallucinated her.

He threw the dagger down on the table, convinced he was mistaken. Somehow that united his father and uncle in a laugh at his expense. He didn’t care. Likely the blade was mass produced, a common souvenir in some stall where anyone might get an identical weapon. He sure didn’t know how to tell if the rubies were real; he’d never seen a fake as far as he knew.

“He realized it’s his own blood,” Donggun chuckled, like Seokjin was a toddler confused by his reflection in the mirror instead of a grown man feeling a panic of confusion as to why Dulce’s dagger had nearly ended his life.

“It’s a nice piece of metal. Someone should clean it,” he mused, pushing up from the chair onto unsteady feet.

“We’ll give it to you as a keepsake,” Dongsuk suggested. “It will be your reminder that you’re resilient after all.”

“Once we figure out who it belongs to,” Donggun corrected.

“Destin, right?” Seokjin reminded. That didn’t make sense, Dulce had no connection to Destin. Paloma and Marvono were different, and her mentions of Paloma were too casual, too sincere feeling to be a mask for a true Destin origin.

… Right?

“Unfortunately, Destin is more than a single person,” Dongsuk scoffed and then strode from the room. End of discussion. Seokjin regretted that, because he wanted to stride from the room, but now it would look like he was following his uncle. Instead he looked at his father, afraid of being trapped alone with him.

He ought to have known better. Donggun seemed to be looking anywhere except at him. He lifted the skull again, then set it down. For a moment they both stared at the knives on the table, and Seokjin braced himself for a question he was not prepared to answer: have you ever seen either of those knives before? Do you have any idea who could be behind this? But Dulce couldn’t be involved, it just didn’t make any sense! What, she was skulking about plotting treason in between beating towels in the laundry and lacing up Nasimiyu’s dresses? She was, what, luring his bodyguards away to torture and murder? Jimin and Taehyung and Yoongi, all of them escaped the murderous intentions of this ridiculous handmaid assassin but Edmund, he was the target that made sense? At the very least she would have sliced up Namjoon by now, hm? Overpowered men much larger than herself, then gone home and rebraided her hair?

“Well I think I’ll–”

“About time for me to take a turn,” the King interrupted, standing briskly from his chair. “Mind you, don’t sit for too long, it’ll let the blood pool in your ass and you might never get up again.”

“Wha??” But then, what had Seokjin expected? His father didn’t cast a second look at him, just left him alone in his own parlor and went off to do who knew what. Not even a good to see you up after Seokjin had nearly died saving his life –an impulse, and arguably a bad one, unappreciated as it were. But then if he hadn’t, he’d be king now, and Seokjin supposed that was even worse than being the wrong son.

For a brief moment he relished sitting alone in a room. Unfortunately, it left him at the mercy of his thoughts, which then drifted back to the dagger on the table in front of him. No, it wasn’t right. Dulce. There was some other obvious explanation. Nasimiyu would be able to tell him that the blade wasn’t Dulce’s.

Since there was no one to stop him, he wrapped the dagger up in the bloody cloth beside it and tucked it into the deep pocket of his dressing gown.

Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook all waited for him just outside, two of them springing from the wall as he opened the door and Jungkook leaping back like he’d been about to break it down.

“It got quiet suddenly,” Jungkook explained.

“I had a moment to myself. Let’s go, to Mother’s room.”

All three men looked at him confused; Jimin clarified, “To… the Queen’s rooms?”

“Yes, let’s go. No one mentioned they were ransacked while I was out.”

“We were dealing with bigger concerns,” Hoseok defended. “You.”

“How bad is it?”

Jimin’s expression mirrored Hoseok’s as he answered, “We don’t know, we don’t go in there.”

“Where’s Taehyung?”

None had any idea where he might be off to, though Jungkook said that Taehyung had come by multiple times until Jimin chased him off because it was going to look suspicious. Seokjin didn’t need appeasement about whether Taehyung had worried about him dying. For a brief moment he found himself wondering if, should he have died, his father would have legitimized Taehyung. He’d need an heir quickly unless he wanted to risk everything falling to uncle Dongsuk, next of kin. Then Destin would be lucky to have a single survivor…

The guard had been increased outside of his mother’s rooms but they moved quickly aside to let him through. They would only have ever allowed he or his father through, and no one had mentioned dead guards, so how had anyone got inside? But Taehyung regularly got in, so there must be a way to sneak past, or distract. Probably the guards were already looking into it on threat of job loss or death, without the bodies of overpowered guards to show for their dedication.

He thought his father might have already put everything back into place, but that was not the case –or if it had been worse than this, he had not got very far. Seokjin couldn’t remember the last time he had been in here, but the damage was obvious. Easels overturned, clothing crinkled on the floor, jewels scattered like someone had been in a rush and not sure what they wanted. The bedding was ripped from the bed, all the drawers tumbled on the mattress. He picked his way through the mess, feeling a stone settle in his stomach –not from the destruction itself, per se, but because his mother wasn’t here to put everything back and he didn’t know the way she would have done.

He stooped to lift a broken hair comb from the ground, fitting the floral decoration back into place but the twine was snapped and it didn’t stay.

“Who the fuck would do something like this?” Jimin muttered, equally as horrified.

“Yes, murder is one thing, but this is just rude,” Seokjin joked with no heart in it. Behind Jimin, he noticed the empty spaces on the walls and found himself wondering which paintings had been taken. Maybe he could figure it out, if he sat and tried to remember all of them, and struck out the ones he could still see, but he thought it unlikely. As a boy he was always a blur running through the rooms in search of his mother, taking for granted she would always materialize from behind an easel.

The painting Taehyung loved so much was gone, he grew certain of that as he looked over the walls. There were so many missing, without knowing what they were, he couldn’t have said whether that was the target or was simply grabbed alongside the others. Taehyung would be devastated. He couldn’t think why the thieves would have taken it, since he didn’t think it was any more or less valuable than the others, but maybe they didn’t have a reason. Just grabbing whatever they could to sell, to fund their rebellion. He supposed he should be grateful they hadn’t simply put a torch to the whole thing. Maybe some of the missing things would turn up in the black market over time and he could get them back. He’d recognize something of hers if he saw it, he had a good eye for that sort of thing. Once he’d recognized a necklace of his mother’s on another woman at dinner and innocently pointed it out, accidentally fueling rumors that the king was sleeping with Lady Aukem. Later he’d seen a ring he gave Delphine in the window of a pawn shop while traveling through Sartia and despite Zselyke saying he was paranoid because no self-respecting noble would pawn their jewelry in a shop, it had turned out he was right.

He’d bought the ring a second time and given it to a random beggar on the street so at least some good would come from it.

Once he recognized a piece of jewelry or an item of clothing, once his mind had made an impression of it, he was always right. Always.

The dagger couldn’t be Dulce’s, it couldn’t.

“Can you tell what’s missing?” Jungkook asked.

“I don’t come in here,” Seokjin reminded him. “Paintings, jewelry.”

“Should we clean this up?” Jimin asked, and it was so kindly offered that Seokjin felt a tear sneak past the blinking.

Why did someone have to come in here? They were just rooms, the Queen was gone, but it felt so personal, to attack the memory of his mother like this. She’d never done anything wrong. She was a champion for the poor and the frustrated, she would have been an ally for the angry Destin –was that why they’d done this? Whoever it was? Had they felt no guilt or shame, knocking over a dead woman’s things, dumping her gowns on the ground like they’d never been worn by the living, breathing queen? He did not usually care so much about inanimate objects like this but standing in the rooms was messing with his head, it was all starting to spin together: his mother’s smile in the mirror as the maids styled her hair, his mother’s real smile as she playfully scolded Seokjin to hold the puppy still as she painted their likeness, the broken floral comb he thought now might have been a gift from his brother when they were children, a cascade of rubies and emeralds and sapphires tumbling from a vanity because a stranger had entered these rooms and– no, because careless children were running through, a broken blue vase another victim, a little boy knocked to the ground because he’d touched a dead queen’s throne –which little boy, was it himself, or Taehyung? Or Yori, his secret nephew? Kanna had reached out because she was afraid and wise to be so –he’d only met her and his nephews because of the letter Dulce delivered to him.

Dulce knew about his nephews and Kanna. She’d read the letter and resealed it, he was certain.

But that was ok, Dulce was not a threat. Dulce was… was warm sparkling eyes over a cup of the best hot chocolate to be found in Yeonhalbi, and raspberry filling smeared on a red lip, and the pink hues of the sunset painted across her cheeks and–

So what if Dulce had known he was meeting Kanna where and at what time? It didn’t tell her anything that would have implicated her in assassinating the king. She hadn’t been holding the dagger, she hadn’t even been there, the events were unrelated. Being a nosy maid did not make someone an accomplice to murder.

“Was Nasimiyu’s maid at the festival?” he asked quite suddenly, not trusting his own thoughts. Jungkook and Jimin could clear it up for him straight away. “Dulce, I mean.”

“She was there when you got st– attacked,” Jungkook answered. “She wasn’t with us before that, I think she just got there.”

“She was here in the palace most of the day. I saw her carrying laundry around,” Hoseok added. After a pause, he added, “Taking her time, like she’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Yeah, probably at the festival,” Jimin snorted. “You know she’s got the worst tasks since she fell out of favor with the Princess.”

“So she was here… and then she went to the festival…” Seokjin’s head was still swimming but he tried to make sense of a timeline. “Hoseok, you never saw whoever it was that placed Edmund’s body?”

Hoseok’s eyes went wide and he gasped, “You don’t think–”

“No I don’t think Dulce placed his body,” Seokjin immediately snapped, more sharply than he’d meant to. “I’m just asking because no one even told me where it was.”

“You’re tired. We told you it was hanging in the courtyard,” Jungkook reminded him.

“And no, I didn’t see anyone. It wasn’t there one minute and then suddenly it was, while we were all distracted by you all roaring into the courtyard.”

Jungkook glanced at Seokjin and suggested, “She’s pretty small to hang a heavy dead body over a railing– and she was back at the festival, there’s no way she beat us here–”

“No no, I don’t think that,” Seokjin insisted. “She didn’t stab me, she didn’t– I only asked because I’m trying to make sense of my own memories and I didn’t think she was with Nasimiyu but then I thought I saw her when I was injured.”

“Yeah, she stopped someone right before they yanked the dagger out of you,” Jungkook told him. “You would have died if they did. Idiots, everyone knows you don’t take the knife out.”

“Lovely. I’ll have to thank her.”

“Not everyone knows that,” Hoseok argued. “I didn’t know that.”

“Who was it tried to take the knife out?” Jimin asked.

“Don’t know, I didn’t see.”

Seokjin nodded, only half listening. It was too much for him to understand except that Jungkook was right, he was tired, and his brain was doing something very strange and trying to convince him that Dulce was somehow involved in all of this when he knew very well she was not. That made no sense. That a farm girl knew not to yank out a knife and had hurried to the festival as soon as her duties were done all made perfect sense. Besides, if it was her knife, she would yanked it out and run away to hide the evidence!

There, irrefutable proof. He let out a sigh of relief that caused immediate and immense pain. All his efforts to ignore his pain were catching up with him and he could feel it hitting his body at once now that adrenaline was not propelling him through the pursuit of answers. His chest hurt, but his shoulder was worse. His arms and legs hurt. His head hurt most of all. How was he supposed to stumble back to his room and rest when all of this made so little sense and another strike might come at any moment? But how was he supposed to do anything else?

Each cut will hurt worse.

Seokjin pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and admitted, “I think I will rest in bed for a bit longer.” Jungkook and Hoseok had his arms before he could even think about overbalancing, and he grimaced as the pain of shifting rippled through his chest. Slowly he opened his eyes as it passed, and took a single step forward, careful not to step on any of the scattered items.

He froze, gaze caught by the aged flatness of cheap silver among all the fine jewels and polished gold tossed about.

“Hand me that,” he said, unable to gesture with his arms held. The rock settled in his stomach again, heavy, dragging him down in such a physical way that he felt Jungkook’s and Hoseok’s fingers tighten on his arms.

“Um… this?” Jimin asked, following his gaze and lifting a diamond bracelet.

“No,” Seokjin corrected. “That locket.”

Lady Zselyke was leaving Seokjin’s room, one hand to her mouth, one hand to her heart, tears shimmering in her eyes. It gave Nasimiyu pause, not sure she wanted to visit in the wake of whatever had set the royal cousin off. Was Seokjin really in such bad shape? Was that why he had called for her, to say his goodbyes?! She’d been told he was stable but badly injured and sleeping the last two days, not that he was taking a turn for the worst!

Not that she’d been told much at all. For two days now she’d been coddled and brushed off each time she tried to get information about what had actually happened and why. “We’re working on it, you’re perfectly safe,” she was told by every council member serving as a gatekeeper for her access to the king, in the same tone of voice one might say don’t worry your pretty little head over man-stuff like death and danger.

Dulce had shared nothing, claimed to know nothing, even when Nasimiyu had snapped at her that she wasn’t a very good informant then, was she? Nasimiyu didn’t believe her anyway; Dulce was missing for long periods of time in which she said only that she wasn’t supposed to be “on shift” –as if being close to Nasimiyu at a time like this was really a matter of scheduling! As if she was just a maid who ought to adhere to a schedule in the first place! She wouldn’t even tell Nasimiyu where she was and Nasimiyu was too angry to degrade herself asking a second time.

Nasimiyu had never felt so alone in her life, and so the summons from Seokjin to his room was a shocking comfort. Here at least was someone who actually cared about her and would answer her questions and thankfully was not dead when Nasimiyu still needed him. The certainty of some respect at last steeled her resolve to enter the room in the wake of Zselyke’s tearful departure.

She’d expected him to be in bed but instead Seokjin sat on the couch in his parlor, a fluffy red rat on his shoulder and a bundle of fluff in his lap –not the rabbit she’d kidnapped before, something else without big floppy ears. She almost thought it was a pillow at first but it made a chirpy-purry sound and twitched as he pet it.

“Nasimiyu,” Seokjin greeted with a broad grin that caught Nasimiyu off guard.

“Yes… you asked for me,” she reminded him, then added, “How are you? No one will tell me anything.”

“Yes ah, well… a little heartsick,” he joked, lifting a hand to his heart. “Cured now that you’re here.” The shoulder rat immediately reached for his hand and he lifted it, palm up for the thing to inspect before it turned away from the empty hand. It was a squirrel. He had a pet squirrel.

Belatedly she prickled and insisted, “I tried to visit before.”

“Oh… you did?”

“Yes and I was chased away. Honestly, it was insulting, as if I’m not your fiance!”

“Who denied you?” he asked.

Before she could respond, his valet cleared his throat –Jimin, that one– and admitted, “The doctors said you needed peace and quiet… we did let her know you were stable and resting…”

Seokjin cut him off with a wave of his hand but he was smiling, so obviously not angry. Nasimiyu thought that a bit unfair.

“Exactly the right time to have his fiance by his side,” she scolded.

“My apologies, Princess. If you had asked again, I would have given in. I won’t be so rigid next time.”

Nasimiyu’s eyebrows shot up at the gall and she stared Jimin down, certain he could not possibly have meant to give her that much cheek. Her blood began to boil and she opened her mouth, fully prepared to give him the tongue lashing such impropriety deserved.

But Seokjin once again flapped his hand at Jimin and at the two guards and the doctor who’d just come from washing vials in the bathroom and ordered, “All right, everyone may leave now. Except you, Nasimiyu.”

“Ser, it’s time for–”

“For me to spend some time with my concerned fiance, now go,” he said, more sternly this time. Nasimiyu watched this with fascination, drawn by the serious look he gave everyone present until they all shuffled from the room. Seokjin so rarely looked serious, it was rather becoming on him. Jimin looked more hesitant than even the guards, but when Seokjin narrowed his eyes and grinned it both broke the spell and compelled Jimin out the door.

“I’m sorry for that,” he told her. “For them keeping you out, I mean. I would have liked you here. They’ve been… coddling, to say the least.”

“You didn’t even wake up for two days,” she pointed out. “They were right to be frightened.”

He patted the couch next to him to invite her closer and asked, “And you? Were you frightened on my behalf?”

“I was worried,” she said, perfectly true. She took a step closer, then looked warily at the animals. As if to punctuate her uncertainty, two more balls of fur went running past her, under and through her skirt hem as if she wasn’t even there. She gasped and leaned against the couch.

Seokjin’s laugh quickly turned to a grimace that he seemed just as eager to brush past, gesturing, “Those were Daffodil and Nutmeg. This squirming worm who’s tired of my pats is Petunia.” He set Petunia on the floor and she tore off on legs Nasimiyu couldn’t see. “And this distinguished gentleman is Lord Sciurus.”

“He’s a… squirrel.”

“He is.”

“I didn’t think you could keep those as pets.”

“Well normally you shouldn’t, no, but I found him when he was an abandoned baby. His mother had just been killed and I didn’t want to leave him to die as well so I brought him home, raised him up, and he’s repaid the kindness with endless amusement.” Lord Sciurus scurried from his shoulder down to the ground to briefly touch the back of a slow moving tortoise, then raced over to a tree in the corner. “He’s very fond of Tuga, I think because they came from the same place.”

Nasimiyu nodded, not sure what else to say.

“Are you fond of animals? Did you have any pets growing up?” he asked her.

“No. Animals are all right,” she quickly corrected herself. “I like horses.”

“I already know that.”

“I like dogs,” she admitted.

“More than cats?”

“My father is allergic, we weren’t allowed,” she admitted.

“I’d say you could have cats here but they might eat my children… maybe we can find a very well behaved one…”

“I don’t need a cat,” she assured him, then sat because he’d glanced at the couch again. This was in fact the first time she’d spent time in his room, a fact which only now dawned on her. His rooms were not as extravagant as she would have expected for the royal prince, though certainly eccentric. The wall of cages –for animals, not even for anything sexual– were… notable.

Well, it didn’t quite matter what his rooms were like. They would have separate rooms still while married, and she could insist he just always came to hers.

Belatedly she realized he was watching her, and quickly asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got stabbed. But it’s not that bad, you don’t need to worry about it. They said I’m healing very well and will be back to my usual behavior in no time.”

“Then what was Zselyke crying about as she left here?”

“Ah…” He grimaced again and scratched his neck and admitted, “She’s just… excitable. Too many deaths in the family before this so she gets all worked up when there’s almost another.”

“You’re very casual for having almost just died.”

His hand stretched out and across hers, resting in her lap, and he insisted, “I’m fine. Really. How are you? They told me you’re doing all right and haven’t had any trouble but I’d rather hear it from you.”

“No, no trouble unless you count my fiance getting stabbed in the middle of a festival and then coming home to find his bodyguard hanging in the courtyard–” His hand squeezed hers and she wished he’d let go, she did not appreciate the coddling even if she understood she ought to play the role of soft, worried fiance right now. She was afraid, secretly, but not in a way she wanted to admit to him.

Who had done this?

Did her father have someone else acting without telling her?

Or was it someone else, and she, as another royal and the future queen, was on the list?

“I’m sorry you had to see it,” he told her, coddling, patronizing, and for a brief moment she warred with whether to shove it away. Didn’t he know she was too strong to be bothered by something like that? But she’d never seen something like that so close before. She’d never seen blood run so freely. It had been everywhere by the time they got back to the palace, his body coated in it, him unresponsive and –well, in the moment, her concern for him had not been faked.

“I’m not falling to pieces,” she insisted.

“I know but I can pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

“I’m just glad you are safe and I’ll make sure everyone understands that my door is never closed to you,” he told her. “I’m sorry that you were left in the dark, it won’t happen again.”

“Do you know who did it then? It’s over?”

“Ah…” He stalled, nudging a rabbit with his foot as she came over to inspect, then hopped away. “I don’t want to worry you…”

“I’m already worried. You just said, no secrets between us.”

“I know, I did. I don’t… I don’t think we can be happy in our marriage if we keep secrets from each other. I never want to,” he said. His gaze met hers, brown eyes so earnest it almost made her squirm, like if he looked too long he would realize just how many secrets she had. Honestly, she didn’t think you could be a very good ruler if you didn’t understand the value of secrets, but there was certainly something romantic and ridiculous about the idea that you and your spouse would have none between you. She’d never stopped to question whether her parents did, but she didn’t think so.

“Yes, I agree. Your worries are mine as well, so just tell me.”

“Destin insurgents,” he answered. “I wasn’t the target, my father was. The man who did it has already been… dispatched, after saying nothing other than a call for Destin independence.”

Nasimiyu frowned and pointed out, “The restlessness is getting worse.”

“I’d say it’s far beyond restlessness now,” he chuckled, then let out the quietest grunt and grimaced.

“Stop laughing if it hurts you. Not everything calls for jokes, you know. I’d say this moment in particular is a very serious one!”

“It’s how I cope.”

“Yes I know but maybe find a better way.”

“Like what? How do you cope?”

“By learning everything I can. You said your father was the target but then why in the world was your guard murdered?”

“That…” His face scrunched up and she braced herself for another stupid joke, but instead he admitted, “There was a note with Edmund clearly meant to threaten and intimidate, saying how they’re here among us. I don’t want to frighten you–”

“I’d say I am a healthy amount of frightened. Anyone who isn’t worried hasn’t got a brain in their skull.”

“I don’t think you’re a target but of course this is why… why we have increased the guard. No more lone guards. Shifting rosters. Background checks. I want to protect you but we both know the reality of our positions.”

Not once I’ve taken over, she bit back. This sort of thing didn’t happen in Marvono because her father didn’t allow it, and it wouldn’t happen once her reign was in place either. If Donggun was a better, stronger king, the unrest would never have even started, much less reached this boiling point.

“Well what are you going to do about it?”

“About which part?”

“Destin,” she said. “It’s your father who’s got us to this state but you’re the one who’s hurt from it. Tomorrow it will be our problem so we shouldn’t let things get even worse.”

“I… I’m not sure yet what to do about Destin,” he admitted. “It’s… complicated.”

“Everything about being a king is complicated, but you can’t drag your feet about it.”

“First we need to get our palace safe again and then we can think about–”

“Treat the symptom, ignore the cause?” she interrupted, incredulous. “That’s not–”

“It’s not my decision right now,” he argued. “There’s only so much I can do. My father is the king, not me.”

Nasimiyu felt her face heating up with frustration. Didn’t Seokjin see that was exactly why it would be so useful to step forward now as a brave, better leader? If Donggun stepped aside –or was pushed aside– then they could change Yeonhalbi’s future even sooner, no need to wait years for her father’s plan with all its steps.

“For now,” she huffed. “But you can’t let him give us a broken kingdom to fix. We can’t wait to get involved. Get your head out of the sand, Seokjin. You almost died for him!”

Despite her outburst, Seokjin remained wholly calm. He nodded, as if he’d expected all this and was not bothered.

“We’ll know more tomorrow,” he told her. “I’ve only been awake a few hours, Nasimiyu. The doctors keep squawking at me about being out of bed this long. I went straight to my father and uncle to get involved with what we do now. I’m not hiding but I don’t know enough to fight for anything yet. I hear what my father says, I hear what my uncle says, and I know that Destin is a province of people who are struggling. Not everyone there is an assassin, they’re just… people. We can’t make a rushed decision about their future without knowing more.”

“Does your uncle want to declare war?”

“Yes,” Seokjin confirmed. Of course he did.

“And your father wants…”

“Undecided.”

“I don’t like your uncle, but you’re being too much like your father. Too cautious.”

“You agree with my uncle then?”

“I…” Nasimiyu quailed as the question turned back on her. “I don’t know the same things you do yet about Destin. Obviously the insurgents have to be found out so they can’t try again–”

“But it’s treating the symptoms while ignoring the cause of it all,” Seokjin countered, tossing her own words back at her. “But if we focus on humanitarian efforts, does it send the message to everyone that they ought to assassinate their king to get what they want? Is it even possible to placate them, and how, or will nothing short of independence work? Then the kingdom crumbles… these are big, difficult questions, Nasimiyu. I’m glad you want to be involved in solving them because I sure don’t fucking know…” He sighed and shook his head. “But you don’t either, so work with me here. You’re right, this is our future.”

“So then where do you think we should start?”

“Well we both need to learn more about Destin,” he pointed out.

She avoided his gaze, annoyed by a very practical answer. She had studied up on everything she could before coming to the palace but nothing about Destin or the splitting off of provinces that seemed useful now. Her father would never consider such a thing and so her schooling hadn’t either.

“Speaking of,” he mused. “Is Dulce connected to Destin somehow?”

“Dulce?” The name was so out of nowhere that for a moment Nasimiyu couldn’t even place it. “My… handmaid, Dulce?”

“I don’t know any others,” he pointed out, grinning, but at least not chuckling.

“She’s from Paloma.”

“Yes… hm… how do I put this…”

“Plainly, I hope.” Nasimiyu felt her mood darken even further. Why was he bringing up Dulce at a time like this? Ought she bring up Namjoon? Here they were having what was arguably a good, weight conversation for the future king and queen and he suddenly changed the subject to someone she didn’t want to think about?

“Do you know she’s from Paloma, or is that something she told you?”

“What exactly are you asking me? I have no reason to doubt where she’s from. It’s not exactly information she’s forthcoming about anyway so I’m not sure how you know–”

“How well do you know her?” Seokjin asked. “For how long?”

“I… well enough. What is your point, Seokjin?”

He hesitated, blinked at her, and Nasimiyu felt nervous flutter in her stomach.

Oh. Fuck.

A rush of cold through her body was chased by a flush.

What had he found?

She tried to hold herself steady because if he was asking her, it meant he hadn’t connected Nasimiyu to anything yet. It could all be a mistake because certainly neither of them had anything to do with Destin!

Seokjin reached for his robe, discarded over the arm of the couch, and fished out a bundle of fabric. Once undone, it unveiled a knife, crusted with dried blood. Dulce’s knife.

She wasn’t sure she’d succeeded in keeping her face neutral, but asked as carefully as she could, “What is this?”

“The dagger that stabbed me,” he said. “Have you ever seen it before?”

“No. No, I haven’t.”

Dulce, what have you done?

“I saw it once, among Dulce’s things, or one that looked very much like it.”

“Dulce didn’t stab you,” Nasimiyu pointed out. “It was a man I’ve never seen before.”

“Yes, I know. I’m not accusing her of stabbing me, I’m just trying to understand… I wanted to know if you had any… any doubts or suspicions…”

“That my handmaid is part of a Destin plot to overthrow the royal family? I am absolutely certain that’s not the case,” Nasimiyu assured him. She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt in the moment. Obviously Dulce wasn’t part of a plot with Destin, but she was part of a different plot, and that was absolutely her dagger. It had to be. There were only two of them in the world; Nasimiyu had the pair made especially for the two of them, with that exact etching in the blades that showed a very abstract version of the constellation in the sky the night they’d met. Nasimiyu hadn’t even told Dulce that’s what it was, abashed by her own streak of romantic grandeur after having them made. It was a mortifying gesture, but Dulce had liked the sharpness and the weight and the rubies.

“The thing is…” Seokjin looked loath to say this next part. “Isn’t this hers too?” He pulled another something out of the pocket of that cursed robe, and let it fall into Nasimiyu’s outstretched hand.

“A… necklace?” Nasimiyu choked out. Not just any necklace. Dulce’s locket, that one she picked at with her nail sometimes.

“I don’t know if you’d heard about someone ransacking my mother’s rooms at the same time as all of this.”

“Yes, I heard though I don’t really understand it. They stole valuable things?”

“Paintings, jewelry, who knows what else. I went to look for myself and I found that,” he explained. “That definitely did not belong to my mother.”

Dulce, what have you done?!

Nasimiyu didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t think quickly enough. The dagger was bad enough but the locket too, it absolutely meant Dulce had to be involved somehow –but then why was Destin getting credit? Had her father gone ahead with an assassination plot so soon? Was he intentionally framing Destin? Did he have Dulce acting without Nasimiyu being informed? Or had Dulce gone rogue? Had Dulce been playing them all along?

All Dulce’s skulking the last few days came immediately to mind. No, even further back than that. Dulce had been cagey for a while. And angry, she’d be a fool not to have noticed that Dulce was angry, and volatile, and pushing back. Distancing herself from Nasimiyu. Distracted with someone –or something– else.

What if it wasn’t Nasimiyu’s father who was acting, but something else? It would be just like Dulce to double-cross, wouldn’t it? Maybe she was playing two sides right now. Maybe… maybe she and Namjoon?! Speaking of mysterious people…

But it was just a hunch. If her first guess was right that Dulce was involved in this at Prince Hamisi’s command, Nasimiyu needed to know right fucking now so she didn’t accidentally bring the house down on herself by saying something wrong that led it all back to herself.

“That’s not Dulce’s,” Nasimiyu said, popping it open with her nail. Seokjin leaned forward, as if he hadn’t thought to do that earlier, but there was nothing inside to prove Nasimiyu a liar –no images, no lock of hair, no engravings. “This looks like some cheap trinket you’d buy at a pawn shop.”

“She has a locket just like this, I’ve seen it before.”

Nasimiyu gave him a curious look and mused, “You seem to notice an awful lot of my maid’s possessions.”

“I have an eye for jewelry,” he said, and had the humility to at least look shamefaced.

“She keeps it tucked inside her dress,” Nasimiyu countered.

“It fell off once, when she was in the kitchen fetching food. I picked it up and it looked just like this.”

Nasimiyu did not like being questioned and insisted, “I can promise you I know much more about Dulce’s possessions and this isn’t the right locket. I give all my handmaids a locket with a photo of me inside so they can remember their duty to me as first above anyone else. I would never give them something as cheap as this.”

“Your other handmaids have them too?” he asked, outright skeptical of her admittedly insipid lie.

“Only Dulce wears it,” she scoffed. “So you can see why she’s my favorite.”

“I know she’s your favorite and I’m sorry to be asking questions like this, it just seems odd, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t. For all I know those things belong to Jimin.”

“They… don’t.”

“Well they don’t belong to Dulce, either, I know her much better than you do. She has no ties to Destin but she is tied to me, so if you’re accusing her of something, you’re accusing me!”

“I’m not, Nasimiyu, I’m not,” he insisted, immediately placating. “I’m sorry, I knew it would be uncomfortable but I had to ask. I really thought… but I’m relieved, truth be told. I had to ask but I was hoping you would call me crazy.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Nasimiyu agreed, eager to lean into that very suggestion. “I know it’s been frightening, Seokjin, but Dulce is one of the most trusted people in my life. I vouch for her completely.” For at least a little longer.

Seokjin nodded and sank back against the pillows, looking absolutely spent now, somehow both flushed and pale at the same time.

“Ah. I’m relieved,” he said again. “Thank you. You see why I wanted to talk to you in private. The last thing I’d want to do is hurt either one of you.”

She patted his hand this time, shocked by how cold it felt, and assured him, “I know. You’re just tired. Have you looked at your own staff though? There’s that stablehand who’s always stepping out of his place, or… or I’ve heard kitchen staff tend to be shifty and think they can sneak around unnoticed.”

“We’re looking into everyone,” Seokjin promised, but the strength was gone from his voice in a way that genuinely alarmed Nasimiyu. He looked sickly now. Fading.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m just tired. I’m all right.”

“You look like you’re going to faint,” Nasimiyu realized. “Here, lie down, I’ll get the doctor–”

“I’m not going to faint, definitely not in front of you. Maybe just– I’ll get some rest. Today has been… but will you come back later? We can talk about happier things. We still have a wedding to plan.”

Alarmed by his compliance as she nudged him to stretch out, Nasimiyu found herself joking, “If Zselyke can stop crying long enough to help.”

“Be kind, she’s not made of the stern stuff you are.”

“I’m calling for the doctor.”

“I’m fine.”

Nasimiyu was worried he had pushed himself too hard and might not be out of danger yet, and she was also not much interested in catching her fiance in a dead faint, so she spared them both and hurried to the door to trade places with the doctor.

She needed to talk to Dulce. She needed an explanation immediately as to how Dulce’s dagger and locket were involved with this assassination attempt –one in which Seokjin had almost been killed, completely ruining the plans to get Nasimiyu on the throne. Was that Dulce’s plan? Was she trying to sabotage Nasimiyu? Which was more likely, that, or that Prince Hamisi had changed the plan and not told Nasimiyu, maybe told Dulce not to tell her? Would Dulce keep a secret like that from her?

Nasimiyu’s own guards and attendant fell into step around her as she strode down the hall. Where would that woman be right now? Nasimiyu had no interest in chasing her all over the palace, not only because she felt very tired now but also it would leave her looking rattled if she was running all over, and this was not a time to look out of control of herself.

Realizing she didn’t need to do the work herself, she snapped at the maid trailing her, “Find Dulce and send her to my room immediately.”

The maid’s eyes were wide as she nodded and scurried away to do so, leaving only the guards to flank Nasimiyu back to her room where she promptly shut them outside so she could calm herself. She was absolutely sweating now. What was going on? Why was Dulce’s locket in the queen’s ransacked rooms? Stupid locket was empty anyway. She’d always wondered what Dulce kept locked inside but it really said something, didn’t it, that she had nothing precious to carry within.

Nasimiyu sat heavily on the sofa and clenched her head in her hands. If she couldn’t trust Dulce, she wasn’t sure she could trust anyone. Who else could she be certain had her best interest at heart? The shocking thought that it was only Seokjin was most unwelcome. She had more people in her life than that. Obviously she needed to send a note to her parents –she realized with a start that she hadn’t done that yet, which made no sense. She could have them send a quick note by bird and follow with a longer letter. Obviously her parents should return to Priva at once and not leave again until the marriage was complete. No one in this royal family knew what they were doing; they needed Prince Hamisi’s firm hand to get this place in order.

Unless that firm hand had betrayed her using her own handmaid.

She moved to her desk and dashed out the simplest note she could think of and stepped out into the hall to call for someone to have it sent immediately to her parents, then returned to work on the longer letter, only to find herself at a loss for words. How was she supposed to explain these things in a way that sounded neither too revealing nor as frightened as a little girl? She wasn’t confident her parents could read between the lines; she’d never been much of a letter writer to begin with, certainly not with an embedded message. She couldn’t strike the right tone, coming across with each attempt as accusatory or frail.

She paused her efforts, mind wandering for a moment back to the actual assassination attempt. Dulce had come out of nowhere. She was supposed to be at the palace doing chores and tasks and anything other than enjoying herself, so Nasimiyu didn’t know why she was suddenly at the festival in the first place. There to watch the success of her efforts? Maybe the assassin was someone Dulce had hired, in order to put a space between herself and the act for security. The target was the king, after all, not Seokjin. But to use her own dagger was too careless, Nasimiyu would never have thought Dulce was so stupid. It wasn’t like her at all. Dulce’s expression of horror when she’d reached Seokjin had looked so sincere, as if she too fully understood the potential consequences of what had just happened… or was it just guilt from botching the assassination of the king?

Oh where the fuck was that woman to answer for herself already?!

Nasimiyu ripped up the papers and tossed them into the wastebasket, then reached for a new sheet but the surface was empty. She yanked open the desk drawer to dig for more and froze.

The drawer was empty. Completely empty. No paper, no ink, but more importantly, no dagger.

Nasimiyu pushed back from her desk as if it had burned her. The entire time Seokjin had been talking about the dagger, she’d been thinking only of Dulce’s. He’d asked if it was Dulce’s. Of course that was Dulce’s dagger; Nasimiyu knew exactly what it looked like; she’d had it custom made; she carried its twin under her clothes –but in a fit of anger after finding out about Dulce fucking Namjoon she’d shoved it in this very drawer, refusing to carry that token of their bond.

No, maybe she’d moved it and only couldn’t recall. Things had been so crazy since then, probably she’d put it somewhere else. She checked the other two drawers in the desk but it wasn’t there because yes, she must have moved it. Or a maid had. Just because she didn’t think they’d have any reason to poke around her desk drawers, didn’t mean they wouldn’t; maybe one of them was nosy and needed to be promptly let go.

Nasimiyu left her desk and instead tore through her jewelry boxes and shoe boxes but found only two ornate knives from Marvono, undecorated practice blades Dulce had used to train her with. She checked the shelves with her hair pieces and perfumes all the way to the back of the wardrobe. She felt around the bottom of the wardrobe, then began ripping gowns from their hangers and digging through any pockets or bundles in the fabric. When she still didn’t find anything, she crawled around looking under the tables and couches, under the bed. She swiped her things around the bathroom to clear drawers and shelves. Her room looked like it had been ransacked after the queen’s but still no ruby dagger had been found.

Did Dulce still have hers after all? Was it Nasimiyu’s dagger that had been used to stab the prince?!

Nobody knew that though. Only she and Dulce knew about the knives and Dulce wouldn’t frame her or blame her. No one else knew about the knives, right? She racked her brain, trying to recall if anyone else of her household would ever have seen the dagger. What if the king released a drawing, asking for anyone who recognized it, would someone point to her? Or to Dulce? But nobody dug through Dulce’s things daily to clean and organize the way they did Nasimiyu’s.

A knock at the door made Nasimiyu’s heart leap that it was Dulce, but only crochety old Mirte walked through.

The head maid gasped, “Princess! What has happened?”

“I’m looking for something,” she said, darting forward. If she was careful, she could test it out here.

“My goodness! What are you looking for? We can find whatever it is for you, there’s no need to… to worry yourself.”

“I’m looking for my dagger,” Nasimiyu explained.

“Your dagger? Which one?”

It was not the answer she had hoped for. She had not been sure any of her maids even knew she ever carried one. The whole point of a concealed weapon was for it to be concealed.

“Well I don’t have many of them,” Nasimiyu snapped.

“Of course not, my lady. I suppose it’s all relative… tell me which one and we will find it for you. There’s the silver one with the turquoise in the handle, or the plain silver pair –oh I see them there.” She watched Mirte go to where the silver training daggers were tossed to the floor. “There’s the one with the rubies in the handle, and–”

“No, that one doesn’t belong to me,” Nasimiyu interrupted. Quickly she added, “I’m looking for the one with the black leather handle.” Such a dagger didn’t exist.

“Doesn’t belong to you?” Mirte repeated, obviously convinced it did.

“It’s Dulce’s,” Nasimiyu corrected.

“She has a gold and ruby dagger?!” Mirte asked, incredulous.

Nasimiyu glared, “Yes, and so? It belonged to her father or something, I don’t know, she’s very careless with it, it’s always falling off her when she’s working, I’ve given it back a dozen times.”

“I haven’t seen one with a black leather handle…” At Nasimiyu’s glare, Mirte amended, “I’ll get the girls in here right away and we won’t stop looking until we’ve found it!”

“See that you do!”

Nasimiyu strode from the room with no destination in mind but afraid she’d crumble if she kept up the lies. Where the fuck was Dulce? They were really in it now. Nasimiyu’s dagger gone missing was too much of a coincidence. Someone knew it was Nasimiyu’s and wanted to frame her for trying to kill the king, though she didn’t understand how Destin played into that kind of a plot. No one would be able to tie Nasimiyu to anything to do with Destin. If they tried, she would just say her dagger been stolen. After all, someone had hidden a body, why not also take a dagger she didn’t notice was missing until later?

But dammit, she’d just admitted to her own maids that she recognized a dagger by that description and it belonged to Dulce, minutes after telling Seokjin she’d never seen a dagger like that in her life. Her own staff would identify the blade if they went asking, and point to Dulce, and Nasimiyu would obviously say her staff was lying or misquoting her, but if it cast doubts on her… doubts might be enough rope to hang her by.

What if she admitted to Seokjin the dagger was hers but that someone had stolen it from her room? There was already the dead body in her closet, surely that gave a foundation for someone entering her room again to steal a blade to frame her. Would he believe her? He would. He must!

But would King Donggun? Would General Dongsuk? She shuddered at the thought of questioning under them, if they thought she was involved in any way. The fact was that Dulce was a far better liar than she was, and if those heartless men did the interrogation, Dulce would have the more convincing answers. Nasimiyu’s title ought to protect her but what if it didn’t? The whole problem in Destin right now was exactly why they needed new leadership in this country, and that couldn’t happen if Nasimiyu went down for trying to assassinate the king! No matter what, no matter what sacrifices had to be made, that couldn’t happen. It wasn’t just about saving her own skin, this was for the greater good.

Probably the king’s men were already interrogating the household staff. It was a miracle that hadn’t already happened, and someone in her household was going to betray her and say the dagger was hers, she was certain of it. You couldn’t get loyalty anywhere these days.

Nasimiyu turned and ran to Seokjin’s room. At first the door only cracked at her knocking and one of his bodyguards said,

“Mind you, the prince is sleeping!”

“How dare you use that tone with me!”

The man practically gasped, “My apologies, Princess, I didn’t see it was you! I–”

“Let me in right this moment.”

“He is resting though–”

“He said his door is never closed to me, now stand aside, I will not say it again.”

The guard shuffled aside and let her enter. Jimin and another guard both looked up and Jimin repeated what the guard had said, that Seokjin was sleeping.

“This cannot wait and he wouldn’t want me to,” she snapped and strode past them down the hall where his bedroom must be. She had only a passing glimpse that actually his chambers were more rooms than she had expected, much bigger in fact and with a perfect view of the sea if one liked that sort of thing. She didn’t bother to notice anything else, just pushed the curtain open for light and sat on the side of his bed to shake him awake.

“Nasimiyu?” he stammered, bleary-eyed and confused. “What’s wrong? Why are you here? Is everything all right?”

“I lied to you earlier,” she confessed. “Not on purpose, I was just in shock… I panicked… I wasn’t sure what you might think but you’re right, there shouldn’t be secrets between us, and especially not a secret like this–”

“Nasimiyu, wait, wait.” He pushed himself up to sitting, stiff and grimacing, before reaching for her arm. “Slow down. What is it?”

“Oh Seokjin,” she cried and threw her arms around his shoulders. “The dagger and locket are Dulce’s!”

Dulce walked toward the kitchen with purpose, annoyed beyond measure.

Rumor had it that the Prince had been walking the halls for the first time, that he was seen heading towards the king’s sitting room and then back to his room, and people had been coming and going from his room all afternoon.

The state of his health was less agreed-upon, with some whispering he’d shuffled like an elderly man, and others saying he’d stumbled like a drunk, and still others saying he’d practically skipped, as if he was in a full state of health so that they wondered if he’d even been stabbed at all.

Dulce believed no one. She wanted to see with her own eyes but sneakily wandering past the prince’s room did her no good; he was clearly tucked away inside with an increased guard she had no way of striding confidently past this time. The next best thing to seeing with her own eyes was to hear it straight from a reliable source. Taehyung wasn’t in the stable or yard, Jimin wasn't in the servants’ wing, so the only place she knew to hope for that encounter was the kitchens.

This close to dinner time, the kitchen bustled with the clang of trays and spoons against pots and inevitably a dropped glass or dish. She realized her mistake almost immediately; none of the prince’s inner circle would be casually lolling about here. The best she could hope for a quick update from Yoongi, or maybe she would luck out and Jimin or Jungkook would be there.

Was it really true, that the prince was awake? Not only awake, but moving about the palace? Stable but sleeping –as the report had been for the last two days– was no comfort. Stable just meant the likely incompetent doctors couldn’t necessarily see any battles raging beneath the surface of his skin. Infection could be entering his blood, or blood quietly seeping throughout his chest cavity, entering his lungs or compressing his heart until symptoms showed too late. She also knew his “stable” health could all be lies spread to keep people from panicking until the prince’s fate was known. Just because it came from Jimin didn’t mean anything; he’d looked pale and worried, and might have told Dulce what he too wanted to believe was true. She’d have felt better with just a glimpse with her own eyes –not that she could have done a single fucking thing to help in any way, but at least… at least she’d know.

Staff bumped into her, chasing her to the wall with annoyed glares. She opened her mouth to tell them she needed food for the Princess but no words came out and the staff ignored her anyway. Maybe taking food to Nasimiyu would be a good thing, give her some purpose amidst all this waiting, but probably Nasimiyu was dressing for supper anyway. With no information to give, she’d been avoiding her.

No, that wasn’t true. Dulce avoided her because she didn’t want to be bothered with petty tasks right now until she knew whether the Prince was going to die or not. She couldn’t deal with Nasimiyu’s fretting about the plan or danger or whatever other ridiculous things were making the princess snappish and sharp, according to the other maids. She was a fucking princess, being in danger came with the territory, dead people came with the title, Nasimiyu needed to steal her spine and learn how to carry on in a crisis. It made Dulce so angry that Nasimiyu was utterly useless right now. The one time Dulce had been by her room and asked her for updates, Nasimiyu had none, refused to force her way into the room, and seemed insulted that someone hadn’t come to cater and coddle her, that in fact they were all far more concerned with the targeted king and dying prince and captured assassin and dead bodyguard.

It’s not her fault, Dulce tried to remind herself. It wasn’t Nasimiyu’s fault that wealthy people were born into privilege and made useless for it. It wasn’t Nasimiyu’s fault she had no power or standing in the palace and no actual idea how to get things that weren’t given to her. It wasn’t Nasimiyu’s fault that the prince had apparently thrown himself on the blade instead of letting his father suffer the consequences of his own policies –fool man!

Dulce’s neck itched. It was all the noise and bustle of the kitchen, she hated being here. She picked her way around the edge of the kitchen, craning her neck to find Yoongi through the throng while also knowing full well that Yoongi probably didn’t know anything that she didn’t. In fact she probably knew more because she’d done her damndest the last two days to find out anything she could about what had happened –but had learned only that the lousy assassin and the note on Edmund both gave credit to Destin, that whispers suggested it might be Dongsuk framing Destin to instigate a war, that there might be no way to find out the truth because he’d conveniently tortured the assassin to death. Of course.

Dulce didn’t have an opinion yet. Dongsuk was capable, certainly. Destin might be angry enough too though. It wasn’t like there were any shortage of assassination plots bubbling around the king, take your pick. For all she knew Prince Hamisi was impatient and sent another man after the king, told him to frame Destin, and now here they were because the stupid Prince had a self sacrificing nature, damn him! What a stupid way to be. Absolutely stupid.

There, she saw him at the far corner. Yoongi hunched over a pot, glaring at whatever was inside and not up to his standards. He scolded the lower servant beside him and turned to the next dish for review as Dulce dodged the people around her to get within view. Once there, she waved her hand, both wanting and wanting to avoid his attention. If he could just tell her that the Prince had sent for something to eat, she’d finally be able to rest. Focus on whatever she needed to do next. Which was, honestly, to talk to the prince and tell him everything she knew. It had almost been too late. What if she’d talked to him sooner and it could have prevented any of this…

“Yoongi!” she called. She felt like she’d shouted so loudly but the bustle of the kitchen swallowed it up. It was embarrassing to shout. She wasn’t someone who shouted ever and it felt ridiculous. She cupped her hands around her mouth for volume and tried again, “Yoongi!” This was stupid, she realized that, she should just come back later once the supper service was done. But she needed to know right now, was it true? Was the prince finally awake? Was he going to be all right? Somebody had to know!

“Yoongi!” she shouted, loudest of all, and this time he turned to her, startled by her shout. No, not by her shout. A strong hand grabbed her arm, pinched it like a crab right below the shoulder and lifted to get her off balance.

“Hey, wait!” Yoongi called in the background. It cut through the noise as a second guard grabbing her other arm. Her feet barely touched the ground now, her body twisting at the discomfort of how tightly they gripped, how high, her shoulders aching as they wrenched this way and that because the guards both tried to turn opposite directions.

“Found you,” one said, on top of the other saying, “You’re under arrest.”

“For what?” she asked, going wide eyed with genuine surprise. Not that there wasn’t plenty to arrest her for, but she hadn’t actually done anything illegal this time. Recently. Well, except for the queen’s chambers and stolen paintings but surely they hadn’t connected that to her. Unless that gamemaster in the caves had seen her after all….

“You’ll get your answers when they want you to get your answers,” the burlier of the two told her and managed with his own strength to haul her his direction.

Yoongi reached them and tried to grab at her, demanding, “What are you doing? Where are you taking her?”

“I need to speak to my lady, the princess,” Dulce told them. She tried to sound calm and confident since it was immediately apparent a wilting damsel approach wouldn’t work.

“No.”

“What’s she done? Let her go, there’s some misunderstanding,” Yoongi said. Behind him the kitchen had gone eerily quiet and still, everyone frozen, watching this. Dulce realized there were in fact at least six guards here to grab her. She’d been so lost in her own worried thoughts, she hadn’t realized they were approaching. She’d been so overwhelmed by the kitchen but blind in her impatience that she’d lost her mind and now–

“I need to speak to the Prince then,” she said. “Tell him. Tell him I have important information he needs to–”

“Yeah I’m sure you do,” one chuckled. They were rough with her arms, careless of her small size between them. She thought they were going to rip her in half when they reached that door due to their poor coordination.

“I will talk to the Prince,” Yoongi insisted, valiant in his efforts. “There’s some misunderstanding–”

“The prince is the one what ordered her arrest!” the second snapped. “For attempt to murder the king, so unless you want to join her in the cell, shut your mouth and get back to your little pots!”

Dulce went silent and stopped all resistance as they hauled her out of the kitchens and through the halls, the noise of their armor and boots making up for the absolute silence of everyone who froze to watch.

Prince Seokjin had ordered her arrest? For attempting to kill the king?! The one thing she hadn’t yet done?

The palace dungeons were far down twisting black stone corridors, shiny and reeking with the stench of stale sea water. Dulce’s toes barely scraped the ground as they dragged her this way and that, careless of the strain on her shoulders and back, or the way her head glazed the stone wall as they thrust her through the cell door and slammed it shut behind her. They’d thrown her hard but she landed on her feet and sprang back to the small barred window in the heavy metal door.

“I need to talk to the Prince!” she said again. “It’s important! It’s a matter of life or death!”

“Sure it is,” the guard sneered. “Yours! Think the Prince will be sending his regards through the General so don’t worry, you’ll have someone to talk to soon. So long as you’re saying what he wants to hear.”

With that they slammed a small door shut over the opening. Dulce was left in total and complete darkness, not even a sliver of light from a non-existent window to let her see the outline of herself.

It had all happened so fast.

Well, apparently the prince was indeed awake.

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kaybreezy3000 · 1 year ago

Text

The Devil Within

A Five Hargreeve / Reader insert

Five Hargreeves has not lived an easy life and no matter where he ends up, things never seem to get much better for him.

Stuck inside a body that's his but not, Five is having a hard time moving on, but sometimes all it takes to totally flip a person's view of things is one very special dark and mysterious night.

-note: female OC will remain unnamed and mostly non-descript to give this one a sort of reader insert-ish vibe.

Warnings and extra tags: sexually explicit content, mind games, a little bit of Klaus and Dolores in this one, dubious consent, violent behavior, rough sexual behavior, Dominance and Submission, dirty talking Five, daddy kink, biting, blood, mild body dysmorphia, public sex, Five has many lovey issues but he's still our sweet boy so hang tight-he's going to pull you through all sorts of emotions with this smutty story😏

(23,127 words 4 chapters total)

(Chapter 1 and 2 post)

Chapter One: Bad Boy; Good Man

It was October thirty-first. Just twenty-nine days after Five Hargreeves had the pleasure of turning what he’d estimated was the equivalent of the age of eighteen. He was stomping down a dark alleyway, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders hunched, with his eyes staring blankly at the wet cement in front of him.

Like normal, Five wasn’t in a good mood, though there was no denying that he was doing much better than during the first October when he’d turned eighteen.

That time, he’d been thin as a rail and freezing his ass off in an early apocalyptic winter. Huddling in his improvised shelter, he had tried to get as much comfort as he could by way of cuddling up to Dolores, but her painted plastic skin was as cold and unyielding as the air around him.

All Five had wanted was to feel something good to help him through his pain, but he couldn’t even have that when faced with the grim reality around him, so he did the next best thing.

He let go and lost his mind, so he didn’t have to be alone.

Almost right away when he’d found he couldn’t get back to his family, Five had found Dolores and he’d made her his companion. He started having two-sided conversations with her to keep himself from going insane, but it wasn’t until that sad night of his eighteenth birthday that Five started to feel Dolores’s warmth for the first time, and he did after that for the next fifty-three years.

He did what he had to. He survived so he could get back.

He was sure that if he did, he could fix everything.

Turned out, he did make it home to his family but not until almost a lifetime later, and fixing things isn’t exactly what Five would call what he did. Fucking it up royal was a better way of summing up what he and his siblings did, both in their own original timeline, then again in the past when they were in Dallas, and then when they were trapped in a hell of their own making in the Sparrow’s timeline.

Now, in a new world made by Reginald, dumped with almost nothing and with no powers to help them, Five was feeling just about as desperate as he was when he was that lost little thirteen-year-old boy, alone in a burning world of death and ashes. Here he was stripped of all scars and even the tattoo he’d had since he was a child. Everything was normal; it was fixed.

But mentally he was far from fixed.

Having to move in with Klaus since he wasn’t old enough to rent on his own was Five’s best option considering he had no others, but it was a huge slap in the face for the fifty-eight-year-old, once infamous temporal assassin.

As much as Five was happy that they were alive and the world didn’t seem to be on the verge of falling apart, sometimes this new existence felt like just another punishment for all his many wrongs and this night was just another bad one that he'd rather not be having.

It was lightly misting out. As he walked along in the dark, Five’s chocolate-colored strands of hair were beading up with tiny drops of moisture.

It was damp and cold and well past ten on Halloween night, so of course that’s the night Five was forced out of his own apartment unless he wanted to continue to listen to his brother’s latest boy toy loudly moaning and groaning to the rhythm of Klaus’s headboard banging into the wall that divided their bedrooms.

As Five trudged along, dead set on finding the closest bar to drown his sorrows in, he unexpectedly heard what he thought was someone crying for help.

He looked down the alley to his right just in time to see a huge man dressed like a gorilla raising his hand at a cowering female that he’d backed up against the wall of the building.

Five watched as he dropped his furry black mask on the ground and pressed himself against the girl, crushing her with his body as he violently groped her. She closed her eyes, her mouth opening wide in a silent scream as she waited for the blow from the hand he'd raised, but luckily for her, the crack of knuckle to bone wasn’t attached to any sort of pain involving her.

When she opened her eyes, it was to a young stranger in a dark suit, standing between her and the man, his head turned to one side, forced there by the creep’s large fist.

“Get out of here!” Five yelled at her, his face turned downwards as he held a hand to it.

Then like a scene from a movie, he slowly righted his head, his green eyes flashing with anger.

“Is that all you got? Used to hitting little girls?” he seethed.

The man looked totally pissed that Five had just gotten in his way. He puffed up and retaliated by tackling him. With a good seventy pounds on the teen, he hit him like a freight train. The girl scrambled out of the way as they barreled toward her.

Five grunted as his back slammed into the building.

The guy’s fist came flying at Five’s face at about one hundred miles per hour. At the last second, he ducked, and the dipshit’s fist crashed into the brick. “Fuck!” Spit erupted from his mouth just as blood erupted from his knuckles.

While he shook his hand out, Five spun from his grasp, grabbing the man’s free arm, hitching it high behind his back. The man launched his head backward, hitting Five on the top of the head but not as hard as he would have liked being Five was shorter than him.

Releasing the girl’s attacker, Five staggered back, his eyes unfocused but still managing to see a blunt object laying a few yards away.

Sprinting for it, Five picked up the pipe, swinging it upwards just as the guy was about to throttle him from behind.

The ring of metal to skull stopped the girl’s assailant dead in his tracks.

The big creep crumbled to the wet pavement.

With his blood boiling and his body filled with adrenaline fueled rage, Five turned and started to stalk away, moving right past her, still clutching the pipe in his shaking hand.

He didn’t say a word, and the girl just stood there as if in shock wth her glittery halo crooked in her hair and the white feathers of her angel costume fluttering in the slight breeze that was moving between the buildings.

She reached out and grabbed Five’s arm, but he kept going and because of that her hand slipped down the sleeve of his suit jacket until her fingers brushed across his palm.

Five was not at all expecting her to touch him, and he was not ready for it when she latched on to him, not letting go.

Wound up like he could explode, Five spun around, verbally lashing out on her. “I’d think you’d have run off by now." The girl said nothing, so he yelled at her. "Go. Home!”

Still, she said nothing.

Her eyes seared into him.

She had the strangest look on her face; one Five couldn’t interpret and didn’t get the chance to because suddenly he was filled with extreme disorientation.

All at once, it was as if he was looking back at himself in a mirror but doing so while standing just as he was in that dimly lit alleyway.

As if that wasn’t weird enough, the man looking back at him was the real him.

Five was old again.

His face was dull looking and tired, with soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his hair was short and white, only peppered with dark shadows of what remained of his traumatic youth.

Five could even see his usual gray suit of choice and his favorite hat perched on top of his head, all paired perfectly with his neatly trimmed mustache bending with confusion as he tried to form the right words to express what he was feeling, but there was nothing that could explain it.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, looking like he was AJ Carmichael in his plastic baggie, gasping for air that was quickly running out.

"I... I-"

His stammering wasn't going to cut it, and he needed to get out of there, so Five yanked his hand back, the feel of his skin as cold as ice.

A few seconds later, stepping back onto the sidewalk on to the much brighter street, Five’s hand came up, rubbing his face, his trembling fingers lingering on his smooth upper lip.

He looked back the other way and saw the young girl dressed as an angel had disappeared. It was as if she took flight on her silly nylon coated wings, and poof, she was gone.

Weirder yet, the guy he’d just nailed on the head with the pipe was gone too.

A dizzying sensation ran through him. The damage caused by the gorilla man had left Five’s left eye starting to swell.

He needed ice and he needed to get out of there, but Five was stuck like he’d stepped in glue. He touched his fingers to the side of his face, grimacing when they brushed across the swollen socket.

Looking at the smudge of blood on his fingers that had gotten there from his split lip, Five’s mind spun. He couldn’t figure out what had just happened. Then, a rush of chilly air blowing out of the ominously dark alley swirled a tornado of leaves across the fresh spray of blood on his new dress shoes and the sight of that reminded him this wasn’t the best place to linger.

He’d just bashed a man’s skull in. That man was nowhere in sight, meaning Five hadn’t killed him, but still, he needed to go.

A couple dressed as ghosts passed by, the woman looking at Five worriedly and that helped snap him out of his bizarre state of confusion. Chalking up his moment of insanity back there to his concussed brain, Five took off again, grumbling to himself. “God, I fucking hate Halloween.”

A few blocks away and several minutes later, Five walked into a bar. Fortunately for him, since he was already sporting a nasty bruise around his left eye, most of the areas inside of the establishment were darker than it was outside. It was so dark that if not for the flicker of medieval-looking lanterns hanging about and all the strobing lights pulsing to the beat of the music, it would be nearly impossible to navigate his way through the crowd.

The place was packed with people in costumes, all crammed on the dance floor and areas around it. A couple of girls with hardly anything on were grinding on each other in raised cages, looking like some kind of goth version of beach barbies. Five gave them a dismissive glance as he made his way to the back.

This was not his idea of a good time, and it was not his preferred method of getting drunk but going home meant he’d have to deal with Klaus, so this was the next best option.

Away from the more aggressive chaos, Five sat down on a barstool that had just been vacated. Here he could see the action but not necessarily be an active part in it, and better yet, this is where the drinks were.

Even before intervening to help the girl in the alley, Five needed something hard and strong to take the edge off, but since getting hit in the face by that girl's attacker, the urge to purge his woes had increased ten-fold.

“What the fuck was I thinking,” he said under his breath.

He asked it but the reality was, Five knew very well what he’d been thinking.

He had questionable ethics. Sure… But he also had a long history of being used and abused by others. When it came to defending people that were at a disadvantage and being taken down a bad road because of it, when Five saw that happening to that young girl, it reminded him of himself, and he had to step in to stop it.

It’s not like he hadn’t hurt people before, but not like that guy looked like he was going to hurt that girl. Five had killed plenty of women for no reason other than he was ordered to by his superiors at The Commission, but he had no choice. To Five, what it looked like that guy was trying to do once he knocked that girl out was truly sick.

Five knew he was one of the bad guys, but he was better than that. At least that’s what he always tried to tell himself when it came to his propensity to overlook his many transgressions.

Just as Five’s mind was wandering back to his weird outer body experience in the alley, another young girl who shouldn’t be out on a night like this, sauntered past him, dressed as a naughty nurse.

The idea of asking her to bandage him up had Five pulling a smirk but instead of calling her over and trying to hit on her, he pulled his eyes off the tight uniform that was hardly covering her ass, he heavily sighed, then he stuffed a hand in his pant pocket and turned back to the bar.

On Halloween night, all women, young and old, got to play their slutty card with zero judgment and the men that were out got to enjoy the free show. The problem with that for Five was, he hardly felt he could do more than take advantage of the look but don't touch policy.

Even though they’d been in Reginald’s new world for over a year and upon arrival Five had been so thoughtfully given a slightly older looking body, he still looked at best the age of sixteen, hence his fuzzy math on figuring his current physical age somewhere around eighteen. When it came to pursuing relationships of the sexual kind that weren’t with inanimate objects, he was mentally closer to sixty, so add all that together and that made him the youngest old dirty perv out there, and even for him, that was a hard pill to swallow.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried to hit on women before while looking younger than this, but that never resulted in anything, and Five knew it wouldn’t. He was only doing it because he enjoyed getting a rise out of them.

Hooking up was obviously one benefit of these kinds of places and nights like this when the tramps and vamps were abundant. If Five could get past his troublesome age hangups, he was physically legal now and he would definitely not be opposed to some meaningless sex that a one-night stand would provide him, but tonight, all he wanted to do was escape Klaus and escape life by way of good old-fashioned intoxication.

Eyes on the lit-up shelves of liquor behind the bar, Five called out his order to the man in front of him who had been giving him the side eye since he’d sat down. “Give me a shot of Jack and keep them coming.”

The bartender gave him a look. “Seriously?”

“I’m not joking," he curtly responded, then added, "You can really do me a favor and put it on ice if you really want to make it special. Then make the next one poured straight."

The tall man with black eyeliner and a mesh shirt that was draped in chains eyed Five up and down a few times, but despite his lack of ID and his beaten-up appearance, clearly the hundred-dollar bill he'd just laid down and his pricy looking tailored suit were enough to satisfy him that he was close enough to legal drinking age to be there.

“Don’t bleed all over my bar or puke on my floor, little man,” he warned before pouring Five his drink and his next shot, then setting them down in front of him.

Just as Five had drained his ice filled cup and placed the cool glass against his aching eye socket, he felt something skate across the top of his head and then a pair of hands travel up his back.

Reactively jerking his shoulders as his hand moved up to inspect his hair, Five turned to see a very pretty blonde smiling at him as she stood next to Klaus.

Five’s grumpy looking pout turned downright sour.

“Great,” he groaned. “And here I thought you were staying home tonight.”

Holding what looked like their kitchen broom topped with tin foil to make it look like a shepherd’s hook, Klaus’s glittery blue painted lips spread from ear to ear. “Yeah, well… I changed my mind. It's Halloween and staying home on Halloween is for losers.”

Klaus’s smile faltered the longer he looked at his younger-looking brother.

“Did you get in a fight?”

Five’s fingers continued to feel around on his head, finally poking at the pointed horns Klaus had slipped into his ruffled mane. “Yes, I got in a fight and to answer your next question, I won. And to end this lovely conversation, you can take these back,” he said, starting to pull the devil headband off.

Klaus sprung forward, pushing the shimmering black horns back into place. “I can’t let you be the only one here who is not in costume,” he argued.

Swatting Klaus’s hand away, Five knocked back his next shot then dryly retorted, “I am in costume. I am a retired homicidal maniac.”

“I know you are, Fivey, and that is why you make the perfect little devil boy.”

That comment about his age and small stature only made Five feel even less friendly. Putting on an overly sweet smile, making himself look even more the part of the fiend who was dressed to kill in his fancy new psycho suit, he sniggered then said. “I left tonight to get away from you and your boyfriend, so do me a favor and please leave me alone. I am trying to get shit faced in this fine establishment just like the responsible adult I am, and I don’t give two shits about Halloween, and I never have.”

Klaus frowned. “Hey, man. Jake is not my boyfriend, he’s my fuck friend and he had to go to work, so I got bored,” he corrected.

“Whatever.”

“Not whatever…” Klaus defended. “Maybe I wouldn’t need to have people over all the time if you hung out with me more. It gets lonely there with you hiding out in your room, reading your nerdy stuff or playing hanky-panky, hide your wanky with Dolores.”

Five lowered his chin, glowering at his brother. “I only moved in with you because I had too. Since I am legally an adult now, I think our cohabitation arrangement has ceased to serve any valid purpose other than giving you someone to annoy.”

Five perked up, his eyes widening as his head dropped to the side.

“Oh, and what I do in my bedroom is my business,” he hissed, “-and furthermore, by the sounds I heard coming from your bedroom, you are hardly lonely, so don’t give me that let’s go find the next big ball of string shit.”

After chewing Klaus out, Five finally took in the full glory of what his brother was wearing. Totally blown away by the sight of it, his head cocked to the side even more, and he scrunched his face at him.

“Klaus, what the hell are you supposed to be?”

Loving that Five seemed to forget that he was still wearing the devil’s horns he’d adorned him with, Klaus further distracted him by playfully bonking his shoulder with his shepherd’s hook.

Again, Five swatted him off, which was entirely Klaus’s intention to begin with, then totally disregarding Five’s increasing state of twitchy itchiness, he proudly twirled around in his frilly blue dress and even added little curtsy to top it off.

“I am Little Bo Peep. Isn’t it obvious?” he explained, his tone clear that his pretty ensemble should require no explanation.

Five’s bewildered expression melted back into his customary dry smirk. “Uh-huh…” he muttered just before he threw back his next round of Jack.

Even though Five had hardly bat an eye at Klaus’s friend, as he tried to turn back around to dismiss them, she proceeded to snake up to him, sliding a finger through one of his belt loops.

Five took one look down at her hand at his hip, then he narrowed his eyes at her. “Excuse me, Miss? Not sure you are aware, but you are invading my personal space.”

Not seeing the problem, the woman, dressed in a skintight catsuit, erupted in a bubble of laughter as she gave Five’s dress pants a little tug.

“You are right, he is cute,” she said to Klaus before leaning closer to Five with the sting of alcohol on her breath hitting him so strongly it made his eyes burn enough that he had to blink the fumes away.

Despite how drunk she was and how aggravated he was getting, Five couldn’t help that his eyes flicked down to the mounds of her huge breasts spilling out of her velvety top. Momentarily unable to think of anything other than burying his face in her dirty pillows, his tongue slowly ran over his teeth and his mind went all sorts of naughty places.

With the hand he still had in his pocket nudging his dick into a position that would be less embarrassing for him if he inadvertently let his eyes linger any longer, Five looked back up again, his disinterest still evident in the hard line of his mouth as he posed the question, “Am I supposed to be happy that you think I am cute?”

Only after hearing that did Klaus’s friend look a little hurt, but that didn’t mean she removed her fingers from his pants or that she moved her body away from Five’s backside.

“Klaus told me you might like a little company…” she dangled.

“Did he?” Five mumbled, flagging the bartender for another.

As he set down Five's next shot, Five turned and requested a bottle of water as well.

About this time, seeing as Klaus was misinterpreting his slick plan to get Five laid as a done deal, the older looking Hargreeves started back peddling himself out into the crowd, easily disappearing in the lights and bodies moving to the electronic music thrumming through the bar.

Cat lady wiggled her butt, swishing her tail behind her provocatively. “What do you say, want to have some fun? I am really good company…”

“I am going to have to say no. I am all good on company, thank you,” Five returned, then picked up his next shot, flipping it back down the hatch as he shifted his weight forward on the bar stool to try to dislodge her hand from his waist.

Undeterred and obviously too drunk to read her own name let alone pick up on what Five was laying down, she squeezed in next to him, her thighs rubbing up on the side of his leg as her other hand fell in his lap, tickling down between his legs.

“I want you,” she purred.

“I am flattered but I am not interested, but lucky you, that guy over there probably is,” Five noted, tipping the shot glass dangling from his finger at the guy behind her that her cat tail endowed butt was ramming into.

“Awwww, but Klaus said you don’t get out much.” She tried to bat her eyes, but it came off more like she was having a stroke rather than sexy. “He told me this kind of thing is exactly what you need to work through all your demons.”

She rolled her body against Five.

Five straightened his back as he cleared his throat. “Darling, no amount of sex is going to exercise my demons and as much as I’d like to fuck you so hard that you won't be able to see straight for weeks, I have a meeting in the morning,” he effortlessly lied, trying to give her a gentler brush off.

To that, her face lit up excitedly. “It doesn’t have to take long. Klaus told me you are a virgin, so I am sure it won’t. If you want, I can suck you off in the ladies’ room, and later back at your place I can help relieve you of that other little virgin problem,” she dangled, her fingers getting even more frisky.

“As tempting as that sounds…” Five gently peeled her fingers from his pants. “Here,” he said, putting the bottle of water in her hands. “Drink this and go dance. I’ll catch up with you another night.”

“Are you sure?”

As warm and buzzed as Five was starting to feel thanks to the whiskey burning him from the inside out, his old voice of reason wouldn’t be deterred.

This girl did not know who he really was or what he was capable of, and even considering her offer the tiny amount he was, was making him think it was time to go about ten minutes ago.

She was pretty. Young. Probably twenty-five or maybe a little older, she was lost perhaps, and insecure and very drunk. Five might be a fucked-up prick, but he wasn’t such an asshole that he going to shit on the kid’s feelings because he wasn’t into this. After all, maybe if it wasn’t Halloween, and maybe if she wasn’t doing this because of Klaus putting her up to it, and if she was someone older but not too old that it made it even weirder, Five would have said yes. Looking so young and lacking when it came to social graces, Five knew that he should be grateful for someone willing to look past all that. But…

“I am sure,” he calmly repeated, again ordering her to drink the water as he authoritatively pointed a finger towards the dance floor.

The girl looked smitten by his bossy behavior, but finally getting that Five meant business and not the business she was hoping for, she said, “Thank you. And...just so you know, I still think you are cute.”

Then the kitty danced away on unsteady legs that Five was having a twinge of regret not having wrapped around him as he tried his best to fuck her pussy through the metal wall of one the bar's bathroom stalls.

Even though she was very inebriated and probably only did what she did because of his brother, the girl’s minority opinion of him had a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Holy shit did that girl have daddy issues,” he breathily mused.

Shaking his head and thinking about how much fun it would have been to be her ‘daddy’ for the night, Five paid his tab, then slipped past the dance floor, looking for signs of Klaus, but not seeing him.

He wondered where he’d ended up; whose bed he’d be landing in tonight, but really it didn’t matter so long as he didn’t bring back his conquest to their place because that would mean Five would have to sleep with ear plugs in and a pillow over his head all night.

As Five was midway to the door, he felt someone watching him. He stopped, cautiously surveying his surroundings.

He didn't see any threats but one of the dancers caught his eye. She was a hot little number. Slightly shorter than him, with soft looking hair and a white feathery skirt that covered her ass and not much more.

Despite her attire, she was dancing alone and appeared perfectly content that way. Five couldn't see her face but her body language said it all. She was dancing for herself and no one else, and that made it damn sexy.

When she finally turned to face him, Five stopped breathing, his fists clenching at his sides as the flashing lights lit up her sparkly halo.

She was the angel girl from the alley, and she was dancing with her eyes closed and a blissful smile on her angelic looking face.

It made no sense after what had almost happened to her that she’d be there.

In his periphery Five could see that two sleazy looking coyotes were circling her, trying to figure out how to slip in for the kill. As pissed as he was that she clearly hadn’t listened to him and gone home, he still wasn’t about to let them get to her before he took another bite out of her first.

He bolted through the crowd and slipped into the tiny empty space between her and one of the approaching stalkers, placing one hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes flashed open and for a second and they seemed to glimmer with unnatural light, but Five quickly waved it off, assuming it was the glare from one of the laser lights flipping around.

“You’d think with what happened to you earlier, you’d prefer hanging out somewhere a little less dangerous? Like at home since it’s past your bedtime.”

“I could say the same to you,” she said, her smile as sassy as his words.

Five bit down his ire and gave her an overly sweet smile of his own. “You know that you have a couple of new predators stalking you,” he told her, indicating the two men sulking at the edge of the dance floor.

She turned to look at them. “And you thought you’d rush to protect me, again?”

She rolled her body with the music, their proximity so close that she was forcing Five to mimic the movement of her hips to keep from stumbling like an uncoordinated idiot.

“Something like that," he quickly shot back, "or maybe I thought the look of my beat-up face might remind you that you are luring in all the sickos again."

One of her eyebrows lifted just a little. “I am sorry about your face but are you trying to imply that you’re less of a predator?” Her hand brushed across Five’s chest as her eyes slowly ran over him. “Because… You look like the devil to me.”

Five’s hand moved from her shoulder to the small of her back, pulling her close. “Angel," he deeply growled, "I am one hundred percent a predator, but trust me, unlike with them, you’ll like it when I eat you.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at him.

The gesture might have been dismissive, but her body language was anything but. She closed the minuscule distance between them, keeping her body pressed against Five’s as she took control of the dance they were doing, guiding him with a suggestive sway of her hips and her hands gliding across his shoulder blades.

Five did not like to dance and only did so when he was shit faced wasted, but he was buzzed and she moved like liquid silk, luring his body to forget it had bones.

As strange as it was, Five would have been content to stay there with her, just dancing and flirt fighting the rest of the night, but then the song shifted to a more bass laden sounding tune, and noting Five’s discomfort, the girl took his hand and led him from the dance floor.

Her cool hand felt so good wrapping around his hot fingers, that alone was enough to make him follow but then she said, “Come on, handsome. You saved me, so I think that means I should at least buy you a drink.”

Five had known many compelling women but this little seductress leading him along had a very different kind allure about her and only part of that was in how she was so boldly handling him. Sure, Five had swagger, and probably a dictionary full of as many slights as he did pick up lines if he chose to deploy them, but there was something about the way this girl looked at him that made him feel sexier than he’d ever felt.

In a matter of minutes, Five had forgotten why he’d felt the need to confront her or protect her from the other men in the bar. Her face spoke of youthful innocence but everything else about her said differently and Five wanted to take care of her as much as he wanted to do very bad things to her.

Five knew something wasn’t right about that, but he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Just like in the alley, he felt outside himself, only this time not necessarily in a bad way.

Chapter Two: The Devil's Advocate

After receiving their drinks, the girl took a sip, then gave Five a kittenish look that made his heart beat a little faster than it already was.

Though the girl was getting to him, Five did his best to feign indifference as he smiled back. “What happened to your wings,” he questioned as he looked at her shimmery white outfit while trying not to linger too inappropriately long on the tempting curves of her body.

“I parted ways with them because they were itchy,” she said with a pretty but sad sounding laugh. “Like you, I am more of a fallen angel type, so I fear the illusion I was trying to play off wasn't working that well anyway.”

Silence filled the space between them and Five looked down at the pink drink in his hand, his dark eyelashes fanning over his alcohol flushed cheeks.

“That bruising you’ve got going on really brings out your eyes,” she teased, reaching up to adjust Five's hair so everyone would be able to better see his two pointy devil horns.

Again, he'd totally forgotten that he was wearing the horns and since the girl seemed to be enjoying them, Five decided to leave them on as he huffed a little self-depreciating laugh of his own, then he sipped his matching fruity cocktail and said, “That's great. Just what I was hoping for when I threw my face in front of that gorilla's fat fist.”

Being the perfect flirt she'd been since Five spotted her on the dance floor, the girl giggled at his grouchy response.

Not sure what to think of this young stranger’s forward behavior with him, Five gave her a sidelong glance.

She sat on her barstool, swirling the ice around in her glass with the glowing straw. Since it was even more crowded than when he had been over there before, Five didn’t sit, but leaned on the bar as he cautiously watched her. Thanks to the booze flowing through him, he felt at ease, but yet not at all, and that contradiction was making it hard for him to let his guard down enough to fully enjoy the girl's surprisingly not horrible company.

“If that hurts too much, I might be able to help,” she offered, clearly referring to his busted eye socket and swollen lip.

Five gave her a hard look. “And how would you help?”

“I’d take you somewhere private and I’d find a way to make you feel better. I owe you and I always pay my debts.”

Five frowned. “Am I missing something or are you looking to get yourself into trouble again?”

“You aren’t missing anything.” She flashed her teeth, her smile so innocent looking that again it was impossible to ignore that she was way too young for him to be checking out in the way he was.

Forcing his eyes off the barely legal eye candy next to him, Five pulled up his cuff to check his watch, noting it was after midnight.

“Like I said before. I would have thought you’d have gone home or called the police to report that guy, not continued with your evening like nothing happened," he challenged as he hesitantly glanced back up then even more firmly added, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but coming into places like this where losers lurk around every corner isn't a very bright idea."

“What if I said that those kinds of losers were exactly what I was looking for before I found myself and even better catch?”

“I’d say you are fucked up,” Five replied, trying to laugh off her weird rebuttal, but as her hand came up and lingered near the knot of his tie, he stopped laughing and apprehensively asked, “What are you doing?”

“I am helping you.”

“I don’t need help,” Five sharply retorted, his smile beginning to melt away as a hard line drew between his eyes. He set his drink down, readying himself to scold her like an angry parent does a teenager. “I don’t understand why you are at a bar. There is no way you are twenty-one."

As he should have guessed, based on his own appearance, the girl looked very amused by him trying to put her in her place and that only irritated him even more.

“We have quite a bit in common and one of those things is me being older than I look," she said, simpering back at him. "Also like you, if I want something, I have my ways of getting it." She began to softly run her fingers up the back of Five’s suit coat, then to the back of his neck with tender strokes, teasing the ends of his hair.

The sensation felt so foreign yet so comforting that Five reactively shut his eyes for a moment before quickly opening them again, only now they were filled with alerted suspicion, not the droopy look of contentment he had just so easily given himself over to.

“I don’t think you should be touching me like that,” he cautioned.

The girl looked unconvinced as she leaned into his ear, her cool breath adding to the tickling feel of her fingers splaying through the back of his hair as her nails delicately scratched his scalp in a way that made him want to drool it felt so damn wrong but good. Both feelings mixed, overwhelming Five as wonderful shivers shot up and down his spine.

Unable to fight it, he shut his eyes again. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself to this.

“Oh, I think touching you like this is exactly what you need,” she shushed as she watched him helplessly falling apart. “On top of that, I am not used to such interesting gentlemen like yourself stepping in to right the wrongs of this world for me. Meeting you was a refreshing encounter, and you make me wonder if this thing we have could be more than..."

As she pushed back away from him, Five opened his heavy eyes. The girl's smile was borderline silly as she rolled her eyes around as if thinking really hard about what she was about to say but then she baffled him even more when didn't say a word. Further messing with him, she looked at him again, then plucked the cherry from her glass and began twirling it between her luscious looking red lips.

It was more than clear to Five that she was toying with him but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t eagerly eating it up as he hungrily watched her every move and melted more and more with every sweet touch, she so willingly gave him.

“Wondering if we could what?” he anxiously asked when he lifted his gaze from her mouth to meet her mesmerizing eyes again.

She said nothing, and his own eyes glazed over with raw desire and something much darker and harder to quench.

Five’s hand suddenly clamped down onto her leg, midway between her knee and her hip.

Holding his breath, he looked down. He couldn’t believe he’d put his hand on her like that, but it was there, and it was in a very intimate spot.

“It’s okay. I want you to touch me,” she soothed.

Five’s mind filled with all sorts of other things he’d like to be doing to her and touching her only there was just the tip of that iceberg of things he craved.

Heart racing, his gaze rose to her mouth again, lingering on her teeth that were studding into her lower lip.

Five moved in closer, his hand slowly inching higher.

As the girl parted her legs for him, for the third time that night, Five felt as if he was having an outer body experience.

As if her doing that wasn’t temptation enough, a voice in his mind was telling him not to stop, and it was doing it so loudly it was all he could hear.

His hand slid upwards, reaching the top of the girl’s thigh, high up under her skirt where her hip joint met her leg.

Five brought his body closer still, clearing any space left between them as her knees pressed to the insides of his legs, but remained pointed towards the bar, hiding what he was doing to her.

“Number Five, I know what you want to do,” she sweetly sang, almost so quietly and hypnotically that he thought he might have imagined it.

Five hardly thought it was possible that this little vixen next to him had any clue of the things he wanted to do to her but then she proved him wrong.

“You want to make me come, right here while I am sitting on this bar stool,” she said, calling him out without an ounce of doubt.

“Fuck,” Five coarsely muttered.

His fingers as if having a mind of their own brushed across the cool wetness that was soiling her panties. Five's body ached with yearning that was only worse from the feel of that, but his mind suddenly and very painfully kicked back in as if he was just hit upside the head.

As the lights from the dance floor scattered a rainbow across his face, he felt lightheaded and that had him frantically starting to question what was happening to him.

Five jerked back, but he didn't remove his hand and that was because he felt he couldn't; almost like something was mentally blocking his nervous system from doing what his brain was ordering it to do.

He was trapped.

Unfazed by his state of confusing, the girl reached down as her hand gently explored the smooth cotton that was covering his taut torso. She kept smiling as her fingers walked downward and then below the waistband of his dress pants. Five fought to think clearly, and pull away again, but her grip tightened around the top of the black wool fabric and she said, “Come on, lady killer. I am ready for you…”

“You said my name... But I didn’t tell you my name,” Five whispered as he started to panic.

The girl’s eyes were locked on Five’s slightly parted lips, and they flickered with that same eerie light he’d seen in them on the dance floor, only this time, he was sure it wasn’t the pulsing lights making them look so otherworldly.

Running her fingers along the sharp angle of Five’s jaw, she only enchanted him further with what she said next.

“Five, I know who you are, and I think you are beautiful. Because of that, I am going to give you something you can’t seem to find on your own, and just so you know, I’d want to give it to you even if you were still outwardly that sad but sweet looking old man you have living inside your head. You are special, and your real age has nothing to do with it.”

“What are you?” Five asked, now sure that the woman next to him wasn’t at all the angel she appeared to be.

Again, she flashed him her pretty smile but this time Five noticed her somewhat elongated incisors looked very sharp.

Five was stunned; his mind felt foggy, but the fear building in him kept trying to push through the haze.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” she hushed him with her index finger softly tracing the line of his mouth, stopping before it graced the painful looking split on his lower lip.

Five was frozen in place as the girl’s icy looking eyes darkened and she said, “Like you, I may be a predator, but I assure that you’ll like how I bite.”

The girls’ legs nudged his, wordlessly inviting Five to proceed where he’d left off.

As if drawn to her like they were surrounded by opposite magnetic fields, Five reactively positioned his body even more so in such a way that casual observers would never know what he was doing.

With his hand still up the girl’s skirt, Five’s thumb hesitantly rubbed over her sex.

Five said nothing as he softly touched her, his fingers gliding under the silky fabric as his eyes remained locked to hers.

If the bartender came by them, he’d know exactly what was happening but Five couldn't bring himself to care about that or anything other than her.

The way she was touching him and the things she kept saying to him were all making the crotch of his pants so sinfully tight. That alone was making it hard to think straight but Five knew something was wrong, only he couldn’t bring himself to stop, not when wrong felt so fucking right and his brain kept shorting out.

Driven by unimaginable longing, Five came closer, his lips a mere inch from tasting her. “You may think you know me, but I assure you, you are meddling in things you don't understand,” he darkly warned, then he started to rub harder alongside the small nub of flesh between her legs.

The more his thumb circled her clit, the harder it seemed it was for her to resist rolling her hips against his touch and that empowered Five even more.

He felt like he was coming back to himself, but it was too late. He wasn't going anywhere.

“Beg me to fuck you,” he hotly whispered in her ear, giving her exactly what she wanted but denying himself nothing.

“Please. Plea-”

Not satisfied, Five upped his pace.

“Fff-uck- Fff-”

To his delight, she couldn’t finish her breathy hum of 'f' words. The girl dropped her head to Five’s shoulder, her lips brushing past the side of his cheek on the way there.

He tucked his chin against her temple as if in a lover's embrace.

The feeling of her body being so chilly compared to his enflamed skin instantly reminded Five of how it felt when he was fucking Dolores. That thought and the girl’s immediate obedience that matched that of his beloved, were making his dick so hard it felt like it might rip out of his pants.

Aware of his growing problem, the girl started slowly palming the bulging fabric between his legs.

Five’s head rolled back on his shoulders and a low groan came crawling out of his throat that fortunately was drowned out by the heavy rumble of the bass pulsating through the bar.

“What if someone comes by?” he hissed through his teeth as he tried to focus more on what his fingers were doing than on how good his dick felt in her hand.

“If they know, that just makes this all the hotter,” she breathed against his neck.

Hell yes, it did.

The thought of some stranger catching him fingering her and her not caring was driving Five’s mind crazy and that made waves of heat surge straight to his loins.

She wanted him to fuck her and Five wanted to do that more than ever. A deep tightening in his stomach was filling him with visions of dumping his load all over her, just like he liked to do with Dolores when he was in the mood to really shock her.

That wasn’t happening but he was still fucking this girl and just as Five was wishing his hand had more room to move, the girl’s legs drifted further apart.

To that, Five swiftly slid another finger under her panties and straight into her with no warning, causing them both to moan from the venereal tightness of the sensation. Reveling in the feeling of being inside of a real woman’s body for the first time ever, Five’s thumb continued to rub the girl’s clit, and her wet skin directly against his own was making him want to rip the rest of her clothes off and spread her wide as he could so he could bury his face where his fingers were.

Five’s body was blocking his finger pumping in and out of the girl, but when he caught sight of the bartender, who had a slightly different view than the rest of the bar, he returned Five's look of dismayed lechery with a curious looking smile, making it look like he knew exactly what was going on but didn’t seem inclined to interrupt the young devil angel combo that were actively getting off in front of his bar.

“You are such a bad boy, Five,” she whispered as her cool breath tickled his ear and her compliments continued. “You so fucking hot, I wanted you the moment I saw you.” She nipped at his ear, her teeth grazing the shell. “Fuck, I want to taste you,” she prettily growled, and to that, she did taste him, letting her tongue move up his neck before she softly kissed the slight protrusion of his Adam's apple.

As she continued to rub her hand over the fabric covering Five’s confined cock, he wanted to return her compliments but the only thing that would come out of his mouth if he opened it was going to be a moan, so he bit the side of his cheek instead and kept at it, fucking the girl with his fingers thrusting in and out of her slicked hole.

“Oh yes, Ah-Ffff !” she cried.

Her agitated sounds of delight continued as she pulled at the top of Five’s pants, dragging his hips in so his erection came up against the side of her knee.

Not even questioning it, Five automatically started moving himself against her, humping her with an unforgiving pace. To him, it felt almost exactly like he'd done it some many times with Dolores, and because of that, Five couldn’t help but let his tortured mind slip back to that comforting place of unconditional love that he always had with her.

Now he was safe. That quiet voice in the back of his mind screaming at him that something was wrong went silent.

In his mind, as he pressed himself against the girl, he created the image of Dolores. He could even feel the sensation of his hand holding the familiar shape of Dolores’s rigid fingers. It felt so real that Five could even hear her telling him that she loved him, and not thinking, he whispered it right back.

Dolores’s hand tightened around his, her lips softly kissing his neck again.

Five gasped. The world felt like it was slanting on its axis and he was about to fall off, and that startled him right out of his fantasy.

The seductress held him tight, not letting him move away. “It’s okay, Five. You can pretend I am her. I don’t mind."

Five’s eyes went wider and then even wider when her fingers abandoned his, then brushed through a gap between his shirt buttons, searching through the slits until she found his navel.

She tickled her fingers around under his clothes, pushing them down the very fine line of hair trailing downwards. He all out spasmed when she found the tip of his cock where he'd tucked it to keep it hidden but was now overhanging his belt because he'd gotten so hard.

The little angel’s finger swirled around the surge of wetness that had formed at his tip, while her other hand squeezed his where he had it digging into her thigh.

All at once, Five's mind was filled with more reassurances and words of love, only now they were not in the voice of Dolores.

With those sharp white teeth pinning her plump lower lip, the girl collected the fluid, then brought it back up to her mouth, licking it as she gazed back at Five in the most sinful way.

To add to Five’s shock, the girl reached back down and started rubbing her thumb up and down the underside of his cockhead, causing him to go weak in the knees.

Five’s mouth burst open, and his words flew out of him. “Oh my god! I know you are inside my head, but I don’t fucking care. I want to be inside you so fucking bad. I want to destroy you. I could fuck you through that wall right fucking now!”

“Ah-hah… That again,” she giggled. “Twice in a matter of an hour you've had that fun idea. You seem to love the idea of fucking people through walls, don't you, Five." This time her taunting was followed by a provocative nip at Five’s lower lip, her teeth scraping over the tender tear in his pink flesh.

Five felt like he was dying. His heart felt like it might leap right out of his chest.

When the wicked cherub seducing him pulled back, letting his lip go, Five let out a small, whimpered plea. “Please kiss me.”

Five watched the girl’s red lips happily spread as she leaned back in, slowly letting her mouth mold to his.

Five didn’t know what he was doing, but he’d kissed Dolores millions of times, so he thought about that, but let the girl take the lead for him because this was so much more than that.

The girl was being so soft with him, not at all mimicking the pace of his fingers viciously pumping inside her. Her skin on his was pure ecstasy but when she prodded his lips to part, it was all new territory. The gentle lashes of her tongue teasing his had Five feeling desperate and he immediately pushed for more.

Hand on the back of her neck, Five drove his mouth harder into hers, letting out a soft sound like his soul was breaking.

He felt consumed by the taste of her, and the rhythm of his hand slowed almost to a stop, but only for a second before he picked it back up again and then everything picked up speed.

If the music wasn’t so loud, Five was sure that the sound of the girl’s wanton moans and the sound of his fingers squelching inside her would be heard by everyone around them. As it was, there was no hiding the small thrust of his hips as he fucked her leg like the horny devil he was.

Their kiss had turned deep and wild, and the fresh cut on his lip was throbbing but it felt almost as good as her finger that was still playing with the bloom of his cock.

When she broke their kiss, feverishly panting, her lips traveled across Five’s neck, softly kissing below his ear with icy hot breaths.

He couldn’t take it anymore. She felt like Dolores, or better yet, like he wanted to believe Dolores felt.

He yanked the girl’s head back, forcing her mouth to drop open.

Now he saw that her teeth weren’t just sharper than normal, now her canines were dangerously elongated.

He hadn’t imagined it the first time he'd seen it. Five wanted to say so many things, but he didn’t and couldn't. He eyed her blood red lips for only a second before he crushed them with his own again.

Five had never kissed anyone before this. He had never had the nerve to. He had never trusted anyone enough to let himself go in this way. He had no reason to trust this girl and she was clearly not all she appeared, but after a lifetime alone, he was finally getting the chance to have this and for some reason all his worries felt like they didn’t matter anymore.

Five had believed himself damaged beyond repair and that no one would want him if they knew who he really was, and if they did, it would be for all the wrong reasons, but when this girl saw him from the inside, she still had said he was beautiful…

She started to gasp for air again, her lips moving against the side of Five's mouth. Knowing he had her right where he wanted, and not wanting to let up, Five covered the skin under her ear with wet kisses and daring little bites.

“Oh, Fi-vvve,” she keened, her hips pushing against his hand each time he pumped his fingers into her.

Wanting to make her cry out his name again, Five curved his fingers up, dragging them in and out.

A flood of unintelligible words spilled from the girl’s mouth as her fingernails scratched the skin on the back of his neck.

“OH! FFFfff-uuuck!” she cried.

Not wanting to draw even more attention than they already had even though he was loving this, Five immediately covered the girl’s mouth again with his, smothering her cries as he slid his tongue in, tasting her like he was starving.

The girl’s body started to tremble around Five’s fingers, the feel of it impossible for him not to notice.

She was trying to return Five’s ferocious kiss but was failing and he was in heaven just listening to the beautiful sound of her fighting him.

When Five felt that the pulsing flutter of her body around his fingers had eased to almost nothing again, it was as if the lights got turned back on and the music turned way down.

Suddenly feeling like a spotlight had been thrown on him and like he’d been drugged and was coming down from the high, Five slowed his hips to a stop.

Despite his bizarrely uncharacteristic level of blind trust unraveling by the second, Five was still careful to keep a steadying hand on the girl and keep her covered as he withdrew his hand.

She met his confused gaze, looking totally blown away as her fingers that had been clinging onto his tie instead came to the nap of his neck, softly stroking his hair again.

“What did you do to me?” The question came out of Five sounding both scared and so full of anger that the girl looked taken aback by it.

“Only what you had wanted,” she defended.

“I didn’t ask to be fucked with. Get out of my head!” he shakily snarled back.

Her voice came out so unwavering entrancing that it hit him physically. "I am not going to hurt you, Five. It’s okay. Come back to me. I promise it’s going to be okay if you do.”

Blinking slowly, Five shook his head, trying to wake himself up. In less than a few seconds, even though he intended to, he couldn't let the girl go.

“That’s it, Five,” she soothed as he started to look back at her in awe, rather than filled with venomous hostility.

She smiled with relief as Five hand started to lovingly stroke the inside of her thigh.

“You are so gorgeous unreal and I just... I have been wanting to do that for a very long time,” he quietly admitted while forming the most boyishly charming grin that it made the girl trapping him in her arms look at a loss for a moment.

“You’ve been wanting to finger me...for a very long time? But we just met?” she teased, followed by a laugh, that made the dimple in Five’s cheek grow even deeper.

“I wanted to know what it felt like to kiss someone who could kiss me back,” he coolly corrected.

“So, I was wrong," she dangled as she smoothed out the length of his shiny tie, her eyes purposefully getting wider the second her hand fleetingly passed over Five's cock again. "You weren’t thinking about getting your hands up my skirt so we could have a moment of shared public debauchery?”

Five lifted his hand to his mouth and nonchalantly tasted his fingers. “Mmm…” he hummed as he tilted his head to the side and his other hand naughtily grazed over the wet fabric between her legs. “I wanted to do that too,” he admitted with an air of playful confidence coming back to him.

Totally taken by the angel's spell again and feeling like he didn't have a care in the world, Five subtly rolled his hard length against her leg to the beat of the music.

“I think there’s more you want to do,” she said, giggling at him.

“What is your name?” Five suddenly asked, his hopeful eyes filled with emotion much deeper than his lust.

“It won’t matter after this,” she whispered just before her lips were on his.

Before he could even consider why it wouldn't matter, like before, her kiss tasted like a fruity paradise and Five wanted to drown in it. It was all teeth and tongue and madness, but then all at once, a metallic taste filled his mouth. He tried to pull back, but he couldn’t. The unpleasant flavor grew stronger, and the girl kissed him harder, her teeth locking down on his bottom lip as he moaned out of the sheer intensity of blinding pleasure hitting him and in pure terror and for what he didn’t even know any more.

Her kiss was consuming him, it was too much, but then the bloody iron like flavor abated and Five was suddenly swallowing something much colder and almost bittersweet tasting.

It tasted like nothing he'd ever known but he hungrily tried to get more. He kissed the girl back even harder than he already was. Five’s heart hammered in his chest and his body sizzled with heat so strong that he thought he might spontaneously combust.

Then it stopped.

He was standing there at the bar; the music so loud it was deafening. The girl was holding both his hands in hers as a curious smile graced her stained lips.

Five blinked a few times.

What the hell was going on?

He felt…

Actually, he wasn’t actually sure what he was feeling, other than he felt better than he ever had, and all he wanted was to kiss her like that again.

~~~~~~

A few moments later, Five had stripped off his suit jacket and was tossing it on a purple lounge couch in a private room that the girl was able to acquire with a mere nod of her head towards the bartender.

After scanning the small room, he turned to the girl, his eyes running up and down as she approached him.

Coming at him hard, her hands landed on Five’s chest, pushing him backwards until he was cornered with the back of his legs against the couch.

“What are you waiting for?" she taunted. "I thought you wanted to fuck me through a wall, and I am pretty sure that I see one right here that should do the trick." She slowly moved her gaze to the busy looking wallpaper to their right as if he didn't know what wall she was talking about.

With a devious smile spreading, Five goaded the girl right back. “Angel, before the night is over, I will be killing that tight little pussy of yours by nailing it through a wall or just railing the fuck out of it any damn place I see fit.” Five shamelessly palmed the crotch of his pants as he added, “But first, this devil wants to use his demon dick to have a different kind of fun with you.”

The girl looked honestly shocked for the first time by something Five had said to her and that made him very happy.

He quickly undid the metal fastening of his belt, and then undid his pants.

She was speechless.

As she already had felt, Five was not small, but now his tight black boxer briefs were leaving very little to imagination. He looked utterly adorable standing there with his pants down and his slim fit dress shirt untucked but doing nothing to cover how much he wanted her.

With a steady hand pressing down on the girl’s shoulder, Five encouraged the girl to sink to her knees.

He confidently stood above her, the only tell that he wasn’t as sure of himself as he looked was the slight tremble of anticipation running through his body as he took her halo, throwing it back behind her.

Sliding a hand down, Five pushed his underwear down, freeing his stiff cock.

The girl let out a little whimper.

Feeling pretty damn proud, Five grabbed a wad of her hair, then sharply pulled her head, pushing the girl closer to his body.

“My turn, angel,” he tauntingly sang with misleadingly boyish play in his voice.

She licked her lips then opened her mouth around him, her tongue leisurely tracing up the veins covering his engorged shaft.

After only one pass, the girl stopped to gauge Five’s reaction.

The moment he locked eyes with the girl, she wrapped her lips around him again and Five was quick to push her down without warning, forcing her to gag around him as she struggled and gasped for air.

Smirking, Five let her sit that way, letting her adjust as he let out an unavoidable low groan over that sinful act of cruelty. His fingers played with the girl’s silky hair, petting her even if it was a degrading form of encouragement. Doing as he pleased, Five refused to adjust the pressure he was putting on the back of her throat, but for some reason, it felt okay to being doing this, just like she said it would.

With a small nod of approval from him for her quick submission, Five reached down, requesting the girl give him her hands. She did, then he proceeded to place them palm down on his thighs. Taking her hair again, Five allowed the girl to move freely, bobbing her head up and down, mostly working his tip with her tongue.

Her eyes fluttered and her nails gently dug into Five’s slouched pants as he started to rock her head back and forth over him again, making his dick disappear in her wet mouth. Holding her the way he was, with her head titled back, her throat open and lined up perfectly, it allowed Five deep penetration and a view he'd only ever seen in porn and the sight and the feel of it was making his already heavy cock feel like it might truly choke her if he got anymore turned on.

“If it’s too much let me know,” he said, clearly indicating that she should push back if he was too rough or if he made her take him too deep.

He wasn't expecting it, but she immediately pushed back, then started circling her tongue around his tip as she moaned. Since this was not what he wanted, Five's mind whirled with punishments he could deliver but his stomach filled with butterflies the more he listened to her. As she teased the underside of his shaft, his breathing grew heavy, and he couldn’t help but grind against her marvelous tongue.

Reaching up, the girl’s hand dragged down over Five’s abdomen. She was taking her time with him, and it was evident she was enjoying it and the feeling of each ridge between his muscles as he held his body tight, trying not to sway. Five had to admit, he was enjoying it too, but then she wrapped her hand around him, covering the base of his shaft but not moving. His hands clenched; his knuckles white as he let out a rough sounding sigh of exasperation.

Letting his eyes settle on her, Five was just about to start thrusting down her throat again when the girl’s cold hand began to move, and her head shallowly bobbed over his cockhead as she softly sucked.

Five’s body shuddered and she responded by moving her hand up his length, jerking him a few times before pressing her thumb gently but firmly against the underside of his tip where her mouth was just popping on and off.

Sudden waves of pleasure hit Five, followed by shaky breaths as his fingers tightened their grip on her. Taking complete control of her movements again, he quickly forced her head down, pushing her lips sliding all the way to his pubic bone and only pulling her head up again so he could fuck into her throat all over again.

It’s not like he hadn’t warned her or given her an out. That much was clear in Five’s fuzzy mind. There was no denying he wasn't getting a sick sort of pleasure from her tears and her wet gags and each and every spasm of her throat, and there was no way he wasn’t enjoying the sound of the girl’s desperate whines and moans.

She wasn’t tapping out, but her fingers were digging into his thighs almost painfully as her eyes rolling back so far Five was sure her brain must be turning off because he'd skewered it.

Loving every second of dominating her and roughly fucking her face so hard he was making it impossible for her to think, Five paid her back by not holding in his deep moans and low grunts of euphoria, but all too quickly he had to stop, or it would be over, and he didn't want that at all.

As his hips slowed and pulled away, the girl’s swollen lips gently popped off him.

Her brows furrowed upwards as she watched Five with a needy expression. Feeling like he could get away with it, he tapped her chin with the tip of his cock, spreading the drips of drool that the girl couldn’t help but have on her after taking him that long and hard.

Five smiled down at the girl, a cruel sort of look spreading across his face as he watched the little angel wordlessly begging. He tightened his grip on the back of her head.

“God, you are fucking beautiful,” he breathed, then suddenly yanked her hair back, forcing her to crane her neck back. “I can’t wait to paint that pretty fucking angel face of yours.”

After a few more taps to the girl's waiting tongue, Five swiftly brought her down on him again, immediately causing her to gag. The sound of her body fighting him and the feel of her moans buzzing against him as she twitched and repeatedly tried to swallow, all had Five feeling so damn close to the edge again, but he couldn’t stop now even if he wanted to.

Soon, his rhythm became even more aggressive as he took her head in both hands, sadistically slamming his cock into her mouth while griding the back of her throat before pulling off only to repeat the process.

“You really wanted my dick, didn’t you?” Five breathlessly sputtered as he threw his head back and his eyes fell shut.

Inevitably his brutal pattern became more erratic. Eventually, Five pulled back, fully pulling out. His hand that was tangled in the strands of the girl’s hair moved to the girl’s pouty lips instead.

Jerking her chin up he urgently asked, “You think you can swallow all of it?”

She eagerly nodded.

With an air of desperation coming out of him, Five stroked himself needily, bringing himself closer and closer as the girl watched in anticipation, her mouth open and tongue out.

With a few sharp inhales, Five’s body began to shudder, and his legs began to feel like they could give out on him. His heel squeaked on the floor as he drove forward, intent on delivering.

A long string of rough groans fell from Five's gapped lips as the girl flinched and shut her eyes in response to the pearls of white falling over her awaiting tongue.

Having had plenty of pent-up sexual tension from just the last few hours, not to mention a lifetime of being deprived of anything to this level of sexual eroticism, Five’s load repeatedly spurt out of him in heavy ropes.

The girl swallowed and swallowed, trying to keep up but even though she was, Five deliberately pulled back, letting the last of his cum land across the girl’s flushed cheeks and drip down between the mounds of her milky white breasts.

"Oh fuck," he gasped. His hand remained clasped around his shaft. His angry grip kept moving but slowly as it passed over his hot length and he road that the last incredible waves of his release.

Even though Five was on another planet as the heavy sound of his panting started to abate, he noticed that the girl was suddenly sitting there still as a statue. She was totally quiet, and her hands were in her lap as if waiting for further instruction or perhaps it was because she was too scared to move. The fact that Five couldn’t tell was quickly overshadowing his feeling of frenzied contentment.

His chest was still moving up and down faster than normal as he looked in shock down at the mess that he’d made of her. Appalled at what he'd done, he quickly pulled up his clothes and swiftly tucked his softening dick back in his tight black underwear.

Starting to panic, he stopped at zipping himself up, worriedly staring at her again with his belt still dangling open and his mind falling apart.

Five threw his hand back over his hair, brushing the dark strands out of eyes as he looked around the small room, trying to find something to clean the girl up with. He saw a convenient box of tissues, sitting on a small side table so he lunged for them, then gently as possible, he wiped his seed from the girl’s face.

As Five was about to draw another disposable wipe across the tops of her glistening breasts, he stopped short, realizing that maybe doing that wasn’t a great idea.

He tossed the soiled tissue on the floor, rubbing his shaking hand over his face.

As his fingers brushed over his eye, Five noticed it didn’t hurt at all. It felt totally normal, which made sense because he could also tell that it wasn’t swollen at all anymore.

All of a sudden, it dawned on him that it wasn’t swollen when they came into the private room. His lip felt normal too and being extremely horny couldn't be the only reason he'd ignored it.

Eyes still closed; the girl let out a small sound that Five wasn't sure how to interpret. Her hand floated up, a finger hesitantly poking at her sticky flesh where her white top dipped the lowest.

“I am sorry,” Five sputtered. “I don’t know what came over me. That was so-"

So ashamed of how he’d just treated her and confused about his face and that just let himself do that, Five couldn’t begin to formulate what he was thinking.

“I am going insane,” he breathed, his eyes falling away from the girl as he started to step back, but then her other hand found his, her cool fingers trapping him even more than the couch behind him.

She started to smile. Still her eyes were closed, and it was making her look so blissfully happy it only further confused Five. She was the hottest girl he'd ever seen but she was way too young for him, and from the time he'd seen her on the dance floor, he never intended to do more than have a friendly drink with her. But clearly something changed his way of thinking, but what that was, he couldn't remember and before he could get too upset about that and what he'd just done, the girl finally started to talk.

“You don’t need to apologize," she said, rubbing at her closed eye lids. "I loved every second of that, and I know that nobody has ever been lucky enough to say this to you, and you are more than worthy of the compliment, so here it is. Five Hargreeves, you have a very nice cock, and you taste amazing."

As much as it seemed she meant it, it also seemed she couldn't say such a dirty and brazen thing with out laughing about it and that made Five feel a lightness that made no senses with the rest of his heavy emotions.

This was not normal. Something wasn't right but he wanted so badly to pretend it was.

As nice as she was being about everything, Five couldn’t help but feel like a total asshole despite all his other terrify reservations, so playing along, he ineloquently countered that with the only thing he could come up with. “I do what I can do with what I’ve got, and unfortunately, I have nothing to compare that unforgettable experience to, but I can confidently say that was the most amazing blow job I have ever received, so thank you.”

“Your very welcome. I do what I can with what I’ve got,” she repeated, copying his words and tone so well that Five couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

Feeling some better, though he didn't understand why the sudden switch, his hand came down on her head again and he started to lace his fingers through her tousled hair, trying to fix it. He wanted to help her up and was reaching down to do it but that all stopped when her eyes started opening.

Five’s eyes blew wide as he stared at the unnatural light emanating back at him where before had only been the paleness of her bottomless eyes. Suddenly, he remembered begging the girl to kiss him while they were out in the bar.

He remembered the taste of blood.

Her smile grew wider, exposing her fangs.

In an instant, Five swooped low, wrenching her head back at the same time he pulled out the knife that had been hidden in the strap attached to his ankle.

Eyes ablaze; he brought the shining blade to the girl's neck.

Link to chapters 3 and 4

Thank you for reading and if you like, check out my other stories at the links below.

Master List Post to my Five Centric Stories and Art

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Link to visit me on AO3

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