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honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

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part of the 2020 sapphest fic fest, cross-posted to ao3

pairing: jungkook x hoseok x namjoon

word count: 8.1k || rating: sfw || genre: magical realism

summary: jungkook doesn’t know what she wants in life. but maybe the cottage-dwelling botanist and warlock she moves in with could help. or, perhaps, they might even be the answer.

notes: i apologise if this isn’t up to scratch, i haven’t written an actual oneshot i think since jan/feb (?) so i know i’m rusty. also, this fic contains a trans female jungkook, cis female namjoon and non binary hoseok so i really do hope i’ve done them justice, it’s my first time writing characters with differing gender expressions. please do let me know what you think with a reblog or an ask, it really makes my day and would help a lot as i’m trying to get back into writing. thank you and i love you xxx

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Jungkook feels the gripping pressure around her heart ease with every step she takes down the street, fading into phantom pangs once the tall apartment building falls out of view.

She had never quite gotten used to it; the relief in a lack of something, the bliss of less. Her family’s worries seeped into her bones, soured her tongue when she was home. At high school, and especially at university, the stress of other students buffeted her like gales of wind. The brief moments of respite when she’d walk to the bus stop always felt so fleeting, like a gasp of air that didn’t quite fill her lungs enough.

Now, though, she didn’t stop there. She walked further, sucking in deeper breaths.

The train station lay close to the centre of town, but it was never that busy in the late morning, something she’d known fully well before going.

Her phone buzzes in her front pocket, no doubt her mother wishing her safe travels again. She doesn’t answer it, though. Happiness is a sweet tang behind her teeth, and her respite from obligation is a welcome one.

Her train is already pulling into the station when she steps up to the platform, and she wastes no time in scanning her card and finding a seat, tucked in the least occupied corner.

It doesn’t take long for the cramped blocks of Seoul to open up into countryside, and with it comes an openness in Jungkook’s chest that she only remembers feeling once before, a family vacation to an island that felt so blurry in her childhood memory.

Her gift wasn’t so strong then, but still Jungkook finds herself, over a decade later, seeking out nature as a balm for the mood pollution of city life.

When she’s as far south as the train allows, she disembarks. Not a single other soul steps foot off into the station, and it seems nobody is around.

It’s more a bus stop with rails than a train station, really. A roughly squareish pad of thick concrete sits beside the old tracks, a steel park bench and signpost the only things adorning it.

Around the lonely station is an open plain with few trees. On the opposite side, vast untended fields sprout daisies and dandelions, rising gracefully to low hills in the distance. On Jungkook’s side, a single narrow path of sun bleached dirt cuts through the wild grass, leading her to civilisation.

It’s a quiet walk. Not that she minds, of course; on the contrary, the remoteness of this place settles her and allows her to appreciate the finer sounds that normally get drowned out. The grass and scattered trees rustle gently in the wind. A few birds that roost in the shade of the branches chirp to each other, and the melodic noise brings a smile to Jungkook’s face.

When the small path she wanders along finally leads her to a series of small, traditionally-built houses, she’s unsurprised to find them seemingly abandoned. There’s no signs of life outside, and no evidence of human mood anywhere in her body. Even more than the rundown appearance of the outpost, Jungkook trusts her natural gift.

So when a tug in her chest leads her past the small crop of houses, she doesn’t hesitate. There is something for her here, something she may not yet have the words to explain, but for the first time she’s letting herself follow the currents that run through her veins, instead of trying to live around them.

The path lifts.

Like the train station was the base of a funnel, the land rises into hills on this side too, the extra exertion heating her calves with each step. Eventually, the narrow spine of dirt becomes overgrown with grass, and she’s forced to trample over it, ducking around low-hanging branches and stumbling over roots as the trees cluster around her, welcoming her into the cool shade of the hillside.

The crest of the hill has a jagged notch missing like a chipped tooth, providing a shortcut to the other side. The sun peeks through worn walls of ancient stone. It glares in Jungkook’s eyes, but even that brightness is overwhelmed by something stronger that radiates from the very ground itself. Euphoria.

Though her gift was still sometimes a mystery to her, Jungkook had learnt to distinguish most moods. In her cramped suburbia, she’d generally just been exposed to human feelings and the occasional animal, but she could still recognise the specific energy that plants give off.

Stronger with every step she takes, her soles practically vibrate with the flow of plant life singing out in joy - the joy of thriving, of being taken care of. Her own excitement wells up inside her, and her feet pick up their pace until the thud of grass changes into the slap of heavy soles on rock. She slips through the narrow crevasse of stone at the peak of the hill, breath catching at what greets her on the other side.

Like some kind of paradise, lush colours and fragrances mingle in the fresh air. The slope is much gentler here, and instead of uneven undergrowth and stubborn shrubbery, graceful rows of trees fill the open plains in front of her.

An orchard of plum trees with their pink blossoms rests to her left, rich purple fruits beginning to grow from them. Beside, a thicket of orange trees brighten the landscape with the bold citrus, only a few white flowers remaining on the branches. The green apple trees in front of her are laden with fruit, the branches hanging low. To her right, she even spots the brilliant pink spheres of pomegranate, though surely her eyes deceive her.

There’s no clear path through the foliage, though each row kindly provides enough space for a person or two to wander through, so Jungkook takes one such gap at random. There looks to be a fairly old though well-tended cottage beyond the trees, and even as the ecstasy of the healthy orchards envelops her in warmth, she feels the tug in her chest still guiding her forward.

Her body adjusts to the strong flow of positivity. It clears her mind, opens her lungs; like breathing pure mountain air. She has no idea what she’s really doing - trespassing and approaching a stranger’s house like this - but already the thought of having to leave here and find a place to stay makes her stomach curl.

Between the line of trees she can make out the front-facing wall of the cottage. Made up of wide planks of wood, slightly uneven with all the knots and flecks left on the surface, green creeping ivy runs lines across the edges of the plants like earthy seams. That’s all she can see, though, and the first sign of human life doesn’t come from what she sees but rather what she hears.

Reaching her ears even around the happy murmur of greenery, a bright voice hums a meandering but cheery tune, interspersed with chirped phrases that Jungkook can’t quite make out yet.

She approaches slowly, but impatiently peeks around the trunks of trees for a glimpse at the individual. The movement, the colour, the tint of energy that she feels off of them is unlike anything she’s felt before. Pure light, just as brilliant as it is tender.

She steps forward again, foot snapping a fallen twig. Suddenly, that stranger’s energy wobbles, the freezes in the air altogether. Jungkook pauses, knows she’s caught.

“A visitor?” the new voice exclaims incredulously, almost as if talking to themselves. “Are you human, visitor?”

Jungkook swallows. Whoever it was must not have been able to see her. “Mostly,” she replies hesitantly.

As if that’s the right answer, a joyous hoot rings out through the orchard, and light thumps skip closer. A smile stretches across Jungkook’s face entirely unconsciously, her eyes widening when the person finally darts into sight, hand hooked on an orange tree at the very end of the row.

“A friend, then!” the apparent owner of the house declares. They’re dressed for gardening, though dressed is perhaps overly generous. With bare feet and cropped, slightly curly hair, the only thing the person is even wearing is a pair of overalls, dirt on the knees, the leg cuffs rolled up to their calves and the front only just covering their otherwise naked chest. Every inch of skin revealed down to the elfish slope of their nose is a warm, rich bronze, like the sun itself has sunk below the surface and is instead shining outwards. It matches the high energy that Jungkook feels off of them, making her heart race.

Used to modest - even prudish - city fashion, Jungkook swallows at the delicate shoulders and collarbones that contrast enticingly with the swell of their biceps. Averting her eyes, she clears her throat and introduces herself. “And sorry for, uh, intruding,” she offers up with a grimace.

But the stranger waves it off, the movement exposing a flash of something gold on their palm. “Don’t be,” they respond easily, “we haven’t had a guest in years. Name’s Hoseok, by the way.”

“Jungkook,” Jungkook replies without thinking, making the other’s eyes light up even more. “I don’t even… I don’t really know why I’m here.”

Hoseok seems to be expecting this answer. “You should come inside, Jungkook. I built up wards against humans about three years ago when we moved in - it’s not even on any maps now! - so if you’re here, you’re here for a reason. Just because you don’t know it yet doesn’t mean it isn’t important.” They state this all like it’s a matter of fact, and Jungkook herself feels instinctively swayed by the logic. Or, perhaps, swayed by the way Hoseok’s back flexes behind the straps of the overalls as they turn towards the house, leading her there.

Jungkook swallows, trying to distract herself from the beautiful being in front of her. “Are you a, um-” but even her first question isn’t so clear. Unsure what to choose, she goes with the statistically more common option. “-are you a witch like me?”

Hoseok cranes their head back with an easy grin, boyish waves framing their face like a dark halo. “That’s up for debate. Technically, sure, but I don’t really like using the term witch or wizard. Lots of non-binary folk just use warlock, mostly. But yes, I have magic. Come see.”

They hold out their palm, then, and Jungkook jogs forward a few steps to catch up, just breaking out of the shade of the orchard as Hoseok tilts their hand towards her.

Like the rest of Hoseok’s skin, their palm is a warm golden shade, though it positively glows, an ethereal brightness resting below the skin, centred in their palm but reaching as far as their fingertips like five tiny lamps. “Sunhands,” Hoseok explains simply, their hands radiating a delicate warmth. “Had them since I was born. Helps me grow things year-round,” they finish, gesturing loosely in front of them.

Finally breaking her gaze from Hoseok’s beautiful gift, Jungkook looks ahead, unable to stop herself from gasping in a breath. “It’s gorgeous,” she offers up, but the compliment feels lame in comparison to the haven she’s met with.

Hoseok hums proudly nonetheless, and gives Jungkook time to take it in.

The house is every bit the rustic, homely cottage Jungkook had envisaged from the glimpse she got, but her heart is taken by the details. The wooden face she’s met with is clearly the side of it, hosting a small woodshed complete with an axe half-embedded in a tree stump and a tiny freestanding barbecue grill. The house itself is two-storied, although the second floor looks much smaller than the first. A round glass window peeks out from the top. Jungkook thinks she sees something move behind it, but her attention is quickly pulled by the glint of glass in the sun off to her right.

Behind the house, taking up almost the same ground space as the other building itself, a glasshouse blooms with vibrant green. Lush ivy trails up the frame on either side of the rounded top like a set of ribs bracketing the plant life inside. Unlike the neat rows of fruit trees, it looked like a dense forest within those crystal clear walls; the only signs of human intervention were the rows of metal shelves housing smaller plants, and irrigation pipes fitted inside.

“Our little sanctuary,” Hoseok sighs happily, seeing where Jungkook’s gaze has wandered. “My wife’s a botanist by trade, her specialty is in endangered species. Most of these only bloom very rarely, or don’t survive well in regular soils. We’ve spent a long time cultivating them. I use my gift to grow them; she uses her gift to study them.”

Jungkook tries to tamp down the ebb of disappointment that arises. “Your wife?”

“In all ways but legal,” Hoseok confirms with a dreamy grin. “She’ll just love you, I know it already. Come on; let’s get out of the heat.”

There’s a swing bench on the porch outside the front door with a lone novel resting atop it, open page-down as if the reader had to leave it there without a bookmark to keep their spot. Hoseok skirts past it, wiggling their feet briefly on a worn mat before stepping inside.

Feeling so out of her depth, Jungkook doesn’t protest, but instead pauses just inside the door, unsure if she should take off her boots.

Hoseok notices and winces. “We don’t, uh, we don’t have any spare house slippers. If you wanna keep them on, you can.”

Jungkook bends down to toggle the zips down anyway, letting her socked feet enjoy the respite of the cool hardwood floor. “You have a really nice place,” she offers up, though it’s quite the understatement.

To the right is a narrow set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine. There’s only one closed door up there that Jungkook can see, no doubt leading to the second-floor window she’d seen earlier.

The other side is a short hallway lined with what looks like homemade artworks and photographs. Down at the far end, the sun shines into a kitchen, but Jungkook doesn’t get a good look before she’s ferried up the stairs, the third step creaking under her socked foot.

“Knock knock,” Hoseok sings out instead of actually rapping on the closed door, squishing their cheek against the frame. A murmur comes from inside, and they open the door immediately, flocking inside. “A new friend, Joon-ah!”

When Jungkook slips inside shyly, her breath is immediately taken away by the beauty of the person inside. Not just their looks, though she’s never seen hair as glossy and graceful as theirs, and eyes as bright. But being near them feels like standing on the bank of a still, clear lake. Deep with wisdom but still teeming with life and curiosity. With a set of tortoiseshell reading glasses almost tipping off their nose, the person seated at the chair feels like the heart of the house, the heart of the whole region.

“Does this new friend of ours have a name? Preferred pronouns?”

Jungkook can’t do much more than blink. She’s dreamt about this, obsessed over this for years, but it may just be the first time anyone’s ever actually asked her in real life. “Sh- uh- Jungkook, she/her. Th-thank you for asking.”

The beauty in front of her smiles, and Jungkook’s knees threaten to give out at the serene warmth and endearing dimple. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Joon, by the way. I use she/her too. I’m sure Hoseok forgot entirely, but they use they/them. Always best to check, don’t you agree?”

Jungkook’s nodding immediately in response before she even processes it. “Yeah, I- that’s helpful, thank you.” Her mind feels hazy. People in the city never felt this vibrant, mixed with the blissful hum on the soles of her feet from the plantlife outside. She fights to wrangle her mind back into something coherent “Um… Hoseok said you had a gift too?”

Joon’s brows furrow delicately, swiveling her chair back to face them fully. She’d been seated at a busy-looking desk when they entered, writing notes into the margin of a yellowed textbook. Now, Jungkook can appreciate her simple choice of outfit: just a loose t-shirt and some thin fabric sweats, she nevertheless exudes pure grace, even as she quirks a brow towards Hoseok.

The latter coughs lightly, scratching their bare shoulder under one of the overall straps. “I mean… I would call you gifted, love,” they state in an imploring tone.

Joon just lets out a breathy chuckle and turns back to their newcomer. “I’m fully human, actually. My history is academic rather than magical.”

“I am curious, though,” Hoseok chirps, hooking one of their legs on the arm of Joon’s chair and draping themself half onto her, “what’s your gift, Jungkook? You’ve seen mine. Elemental,” Hoseok states, patting their bronzed palms on Joon’s thighs.

If Jungkook pauses to process the public display of queer affection in front of her - as well as the unfurling of mutual fondness emanating off the couple - she might just pass out, so she clears her throat and directs her gaze a few inches above their heads. “Sensory,” she explains. “I feel moods from other beings. I think the trees and stuff outside brought me here, actually.”

Hoseok blinks, eyes wide. One of their overall straps has slipped down, exposing one side of their chest, making Joon tut and tuck it back up again, but the gifted one takes no note. “The trees? You can feel the trees?”

Jungkook shrugs, but her insides glow at the impressed tone to their voice. “Yeah, I, uh, I can’t really do much with it, so I studied house magic at university. I rented out house witch services for some extra money, so that helps.”

Joon’s smile warms even further at the mention of study, her eyes crinkled with some bemusing inside joke. “We might just have to keep you, then,” she quirks, “as amazing as Hoseok is, their skills don’t really extend to the indoors. Mind you, I’m even worse myself.”

Hoseok hums, unflapped by the comment. “I never had a knack for fiddly stuff. I much prefer getting my clothes dirty than cleaning them.” Seeing how worn and discoloured the knees of Hoseok’s overalls are, Jungkook doesn’t doubt that for a second.

But her mind can’t really focus on that. Her own nerves rattle through her body, metallic on the insides of her cheeks. “I, um… I could help? If you wanted?”

The tentative flicker of interest reaches Jungkook from both parties, allowing her to get her hopes up. Nevertheless, she bites her tongue and braces herself for rejection. Did she even have enough money on her card for the train ride home? Stupid, she was-

Joon beams warmly, though with a touch of hesitation. “We’d love that, really we would. We just… We don’t have much human currency, Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks, chest flipping as she rushes to shake her head. “I don’t need it, honest! Do you- If you had a place for me to crash, or…”

Hoseok sucks in a breath through their teeth and jostles Joon playfully on the shoulder. “Come on, love, we could move some of those old boxes up here and she could have the spare room. Don’t you want to keep her?”

Even faced with Hoseok’s all-but-bare back, Jungkook can sense their pleading eyes with the way that Joon melts in her chair. She pats Hoseok on the shoulder. “Up you get, then, sunshine. It’ll need some dusting too.” The curled brunette heaves themself up, peppering a kiss on Joon’s cheek before slinking out the room.

Jungkook isn’t quite sure if the rising ecstasy in her chest is all her or a shared blend of the people around her, but she knows she’s never felt so bright. “Thank you so much, Joon! What jobs do you need help with?” She turns when she feels the tingling, menthol-esque blossom of hope directed at her back. Near the top of the stairs, Hoseok still remains, their cheek squashed against the banister and eyes glistening. “I could always clear out the room for you?”

Hoseok begins to perk up but Joon just tuts. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart, you just put your feet up. We aren’t going to put you to work straight away.”

“We aren’t?” Hoseok murmurs in unbidden disappointment.

Joon tries to hide her smile, but her lips quirk up fondly at her partner nonetheless. “The cleaning spray and broom are in the hallway cupboard downstairs,” she divulges, receiving a dramatic whine in return. “Suffering builds character, dear.”

A sulky, “yeah, yeah… love you,” is heard from the foot of the stairs.

Joon lets out a breathy chuckle and returns the affection, before standing up from her desk and nodding warmly at Jungkook. “Perfect weather for a lunch picnic, don’t you think? I might go down and see what I can prepare. Why don’t you explore a bit, or go rest? The couch in the living room is divine for taking naps.” With that, she departs, leaving Jungkook alone in the attic to process the absurdity of the past hour.

Feeling less like an intruder than before, Jungkook welcomes the opportunity to fully roam the outside of the property, admiring the lush wildlife and vegetation. The open plains go far beyond the opposite side of the house, leading to a sharper cliff face going up. Jungkook even thinks she can spot the thin vein of a waterfall if she squints, but there’s plenty of beauty at her feet for her to discover first.

While the grove of trees flanks the house on one side, the far side boasts rows and rows of garden beds, the dirt a richer brown than the rest. Fat strawberries weigh down their stalks in some plots, leafy greens spill over the sides in others. The vast range of produce is almost unbelievable, with the side of the house itself displaying a maze of herb pots. Most of them were cooking-based, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the orange spots of brewer’s mint, the sharp, wicked-looking leaves of murkroot and even a small terracotta pot of Jupiter sage. She was well-versed in magical ingredients, but had never seen them fresh outside of her university’s greenhouse. She could only imagine there were many more in the tall glass structure behind Joon and Hoseok’s house. Her fingers itch to test them, to wow her new landlords with a pain-reliever salve or the perfect dream-infused tea. It can wait, she tells herself. If they were growing them, perhaps they used them for something else.

A wet huff interrupts her musing, and she jumps when she feels something moving against her leg. Glancing down, she’s relieved to find the new presence is a tubby, short-haired dog with sleepy eyes, back arched as it stretches first its front legs, then its back, before collapsing onto its back, wriggling against Jungkook’s boot.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, reaching down to gingerly rub the creature’s belly. The dog all but purrs, legs kicking in the air and tail thumping rhythmically against the sun-bleached wooden veranda.

“Where did you come from, huh?” Jungkook crouches, feeling her calf muscles ache but grinning at the way the dog seeks out her attention shamelessly, not hesitant at all about the presence of a stranger.

“Ah, I see you met Cho,” a warm voice comes from above her. Jungkook cranes her neck up, admiring Joon’s tall form. “She’s a rescue.”

A rescue? Paired with the close view of the gorgeous botanist, Jungkook has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to push her feelings down. She’d fall in love if she wasn’t careful. “Is that so?” she asks, willing her voice to be steady.

Joon nods, kneeling down to gently run her knuckles behind the dog’s ears, tan fur paling to white on the very tips. “I had to go to a nearby town for supplies, and found this wee girl in an alleyway digging in some bins. My heart broke for her, I just couldn’t leave her there.” She lets out a light laugh. “She was so skinny that Hob-ah called her chopstick. Now, though, she’s built like a barrel, so we just call her Cho.”

Cho wiggles her butt against the veranda, paw hooking on Jungkook’s wrist the moment the petting pauses. Continuing to pat the canine, Jungkook sighs. “That’s really sweet of you. She looks really healthy.”

A spontaneous laugh erupts from Joon’s nose. “She just about eats more than us, she better be. Anyways; I better get back to work. I just came out here to grab some mint for the lemonade.”

Jungkook stays hunched on the floor with Cho - whose nose is burrowed wetly into her furled palm - while Joon approaches the trellis of herb pots, gently plucking some soft green leaves off a plant that’s low enough to make her bend at the waist. Biting her lip harshly, Jungkook averts her gaze from the way her pale sweatpants pull taut around her hips with the movement.

Before long, the botanist returns inside, causing Cho to let out an indignant sneeze and scramble up to join her.

Jungkook exhales until her lungs feel concave. Back in a moment of quiet, she runs her fingertips over the texture of the wooden veranda. The energy from Joon’s unhurried focus feels like the echo of strong hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, but past it is the playful jab of Hoseok’s mock frustration. She grins, picturing the warlock fiddling with an old broom or trying to line up the corners of a fitted sheet. The tang of surprise has long since faded from Jungkook’s mouth, and it’s nice to sit in the warmth of both the sun and their welcome.

She breathes deeply, inhaling the fresh smell of clean air and fresh earth, and smiles.

For such a small house, there really is no shortage of work for Jungkook. Some things are easy fixes, like a permanent polish salve for the heavy mahogany bookcase in the main room or the several anti-dust spells she casts around the house. Others take days at a time to chip away at - she’d forgotten just how long it takes to fully steep a digestion aid tea to cure Hoseok’s raging lactose intolerance - but her two new housemates never nag or criticise. In fact, she’s found a warm foundation of purpose inside her that she hadn’t had since she graduated.

Each evening, when her hands begin to ache or the recipes on her phone look fuzzy, she packs up and joins the two lovebirds for dinner. It’s become a domestic ritual to help them cook, chat for a few hours on the porch as the sun slips below the hills, and then turn in for a restful night of sleep. It’s meant to be a full moon tonight - the fourth one since Jungkook arrived - and their routine is no different, gathered on the edge of the porch facing the open fields behind the house. It’s peaceful, Jungkook thinks. She’s more content now than she’s been in a long time.

There’s something...worrying bubbling within her with every shared moment, though. It’s in the way her pulse leaps when Hoseok beams at her, or the stuttered heartbeat in her chest with Joon’s casual touch. She knows they’re together, can feel the resonance of their affections inside her, yet she can’t help pretending those vibrations are directed at her. Lets herself accept the fond shoulder squeezes, blush at Hoseok’s playful winks.

It’s a dangerous fantasy to indulge in, but…

“Jung-ah, did you change your hair? It’s gorgeous.”

She flushes at the compliment, the genuine tone of Joon’s voice. Joon’s own hair is still a sunkissed brown, so long now that she often ties it off with a ribbon into a lazy ponytail. For a while, Jungkook burned with gender envy, knowing it would take years and years for her hair to grow that long. But a quick text to a friend from uni and an obscure millennial cosmetics spell site helped speed that process up. It wasn’t nearly as long as Joon’s, but the feeling of it tickling her bare shoulders each night made something deep inside of her positively glow. “Thank you,” she murmurs shyly. Hearing Joon notice it and respond well to it ignites that euphoric spark again. “Wanted something different.”

Hoseok reaches a hand up to ruffle their own hair; loose coils springing back around their brow. “Don’t you get hot, ladies? I’m tempted to take a razor to mine and it’s not even past my ears!”

Jungkook can’t manage to suppress a snicker in time. “I’d pay to see that.”

Hoseok grins, but sends a wink Joon’s way. “Hmm... wifey doesn’t seem so convinced, huh? Don’t you think I’d suit the skinhead look?”

Joon tilts her head back to catch the last few rays of orange sun, shadows cast below her jaw. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. But confidence looks better on you than any hairstyle, sunshine.”

Hoseok beams at that, letting the conversation drop as if they never were that interested in shaving anyway. “I think I’m making progress with the vanilla, love.”

That gets a strong reaction from Joon, her dark brows arching gracefully. Jungkook’s interest is peaked, leaning forward so that she’s sitting right on the edge of the porch. “The vanilla?”

Like a proud mother, Joon puffs her chest. “It’s mostly grown in Madagascar these days, and it’s a notoriously fickle plant. The flower only blooms one day a year, and is fertile for only 12 hours. And often, they require human intervention to actually pollinate. Seok-ah here thinks they can get it blooming more often. Have you gotten it, sunshine?”

Hoseok shrugs away the attention humbly, though their eyes glitter with barely-restrained excitement, turning to them both. “For a while I thought my sunhands were my only gift, but I think I must have some type of connection with plants too. I’m really not sure, but I’ve gotten my vanilla crop to bloom three times this month alone! Only two of them produced decent pods, but it’s definitely progress.” Their eyes drop, mouth twisting in thought. “I wonder if I could speed up the fermentation process as well. It usually takes months, but I’ve grown whole trees faster than that. Who knows?”

Joon’s reply is interrupted by a low vibration rattling against the porch. Her smile slips in confusion, and drops entirely when she flips the phone and reads the screen. “It’s Tae.”

Hoseok sobers up too, worry and anxiety emanating off them like a cold tide. “Is something wrong?”

Joon doesn’t reply, brows furrowed as she types something back. Barely a moment later - though it feels much longer as Jungkook awkwardly sits, completely out of the loop - a text buzzes through again, and a surprised laugh comes from the back of Joon’s throat, her lips stretched in a smile. “He’s… he got the job in Osaka.”

Hoseok gasps and claps their hands together once, wiggling in their spot. “That’s incredible!” they begin, but before Joon has even replied to the text, a third is coming through. Hoseok basically jumps in the air, demanding for their wife to read the message aloud.

“Oh my goodness, Tae has a boyfriend, Seok-ah! Says he’s a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city centre.” Joon smiles fondly. “He’s doing well, sunshine.”

Hoseok mulls this over with a slightly put-out look. “Dammit, I didn’t even think of dating a chef.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I made that dipping sauce from scratch yesterday.”

Jungkook feels the banter whip back and forth on either side of her, impenetrable without the important context. “Who’s, um, who’s Tae?” she asks hesitantly, bracing for them to scold her prying.

Joon just smiles placidly, reaching back to lazily re-tye the peach ribbon that’s threatening to slip off. “He’s our ex.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Hoseok chides, “you know he doesn’t like to be called that.”

A sigh. “Tae’s our husband once-removed. Happy?”

“You… had a husband? Both of you, or?”

“What’s mine is hers, Jung-ah,” Hoseok coos happily, “we like to share. Tae was my… boyfriend, back in the day. We actually got hitched before I even met Joon. Young marriage, we were pretty dumb kids.” They shrug, the soothing cotton-soft acceptance filling the air around them, not a spike of negativity to be held. “He actually introduced us shortly after our honeymoon, and I fell for Joon straight away. I admitted my feelings to him, but he just started laughing. The two of them had briefly dated in high school. Small world, huh? We sort of fell into a trio after that.”

“It was unspoken, really,” Joon mumbles, her eyes in the far distance as blue twilight dims the sky. “It felt as natural as flowing water to us.”

“And then-” Hoseok breaks off roughly, and the air tightens. “Tae went through some personal changes. Identity changes. We all tried making it work, we loved being three, being together, but it wasn’t right for him anymore. He ended up winning a scholarship to a very prestigious photography school in Tokyo, and we all knew that was what was best for him.” They fall silent for such a long time that Jungkook would almost think they were finished talking. But then, only just audible, they whisper. “I’m glad he’s doing well.”

Joon leans over to Jungkook, her sweet scent filling the narrow space between them. “Some of the art in the hallway is his if you want to look.”

Before Jungkook can reply - though her head is swimming with joonjoonjoon that she probably has no coherent comments anyway - Hoseok makes a strange strangled noise and gets up. “I’m so sorry,” they announce stiffly, “I think I left a light on in the glasshouse.”

Jungkook watches in confused silence as the warlock, still barefoot even in the cooling night air, marches swiftly across the field to the pitch-black glasshouse. Joon lets out a gentle sigh.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks, voice almost cracking on the final word. “I shouldn’t have asked-”

“It’s okay,” Joon interrupts kindly, a warm hand placed on Jungkook’s knee. “It’s just… This is the first time we’ve had a third person in the house since Tae. I think Hoseok missed it.”

Jungkook bites on the inside of her cheek, feeling a chill run through her. “I can’t replace him, though. He sounds like a good guy.”

A considering hum resonates from Joon’s throat. “He is a good guy. But neither of us,” she gestures first at herself and then the shadowed silhouette of a head poking above some plants in the greenhouse, “are looking to replace him. In fact,” she admits with a rueful laugh, voice dropping to a low murmur, “I think the two of us are quite enamoured with you, Jung-ah.”

Joon’s hand on her knee burns through the thin cotton of her sundress, the tips just grazing bare skin. Jungkook swallows, feeling every beat of her heart thud at her ribs. “I like-” her voice rasps like sandpaper, throat dry. She clears it, swallowing thickly again. “I like when you say my name like that.”

She isn’t looking directly at Joon, but she still feels the broad smile. “It sounds pretty, don’t you think? It suits you.” Jungkook’s lips twitch; she ducks her head even as Joon leans closer. “You know, my parents wanted a son,” Joon explains softly. “They called me Namjoon. I always hated it. Felt like such a tomboy, the Nam was too mascule to me. So I dropped it. Still me, just… better. I know plenty of people change their names entirely, but you don’t have to. I think Hoseok would love to chat with you about stuff like that. I know I wouldn’t understand those feelings as much as they would.” Joon furrows her brows, looking embarrassed at her monologue. “I just want you to feel comfortable here.”

“I appreciate it,” Jungko- Jung-ah says immediately, glancing up to see Joon’s face light up. “I- I’m, um, enamoured with- with you too. With you two, too.” Coughing lightly to clear the awkward phrase hanging in the air, she drops her gaze again, but a single finger pauses her, hooked gently under her chin.

Slowly, Joon lifts Jung-ah’s jaw until their eyes meet. They’re somehow closer now, their breaths mingling hotly together between them. Jung-ah’s lips part, but no words come out.

This close, she can see the way a sheen of chapstick glints in the moonlight when Joon smiles. “Sweetheart, can I kiss you?”

Her stomach flips. She nods, not trusting her voice, and barely has a chance to flutter her eyes shut before a pressure lays across her lips. Joon kisses her slowly, so softly, like she might shatter in her hold.

The air has a chill to it now, but every point of contact feels hot like a furnace, and the keening, pleased energy that blooms from Joon keeps her warm. She lets it sink into her, wrap around her just as Joon’s soft palm encases her cheek, fingers playing with her hairline.

Joon’s lips taste like strawberry, but the real sweetness is her delicate movements, chaste but sensual, passionate but patient. Her thumb rubs slowly over Jung-ah’s cheekbone, giving her the strange feeling of swaying in the sea, entirely unmoored. She leans into it, diving deeper, feeling their noses bump.

Joon pulls away too soon, leaving Jung-ah with tingling lips and a dizzy mind. Her chapstick has all but rubbed off, but her lips are plumper and pinker than ever, pupils blown wide.

It takes a moment for the cloud to dissipate, but when it does, Jung-ah gasps weakly. “Oh my god, you’re married, what am I-”

“Ah, yes,” Joon remarks with a wry smile, “you’ll have to go and even the score now or I’m afraid Hoseok will be terribly disappointed.”

Jung-ah pauses, caught off-guard. “They won’t be...angry?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joon coos, “Seok-ah quizzed me for hours last night on the meanings of flowers so that they could grow you some. We’re poly, Jung-ah, you don’t have to stress. Besides,” she quips, inclining her head out towards the field, “it looks like they want to speak with you.”

Glancing in that direction, Jung-ah blinks when she sees the glasshouse, still in darkness, but with a warm yellow glow cast inside, the main door cracked open intentionally.

A fond energy smooths the air between them as Joon stands up off the porch and ruffles Jung-ah’s hair, mumbling a soft goodnight.

After listening to the door squeak open and closed again (she’d have to fix that tomorrow) Jung-ah has nothing left to do but make her way across the grassy plain toward the glasshouse.

The warm glow from inside had dimmed as the moonlight cast her surroundings in silver. Still, Jung-ah could see Hoseok’s silhouette clear as day as they paced back and forth amongst the various shadows of the plant life inside.

It doesn’t take long before her hands are brushing on the metal doorway, glancing inside. “Hoseok? Did you- are you-?”

“Come on in,” the warlock replies easily. There’s a pleased glint in their eyes even as their curls hang heavy over their brow. Overdue for a haircut, though Jung-ah couldn’t deny it made them look even more endearing. “Come here often?” they quip.

With a strange pang, Jung-ah realises this is the first time she’s stepping into the enclosed jungle. Hoseok spent time outside, Joon spent her days glued to her computer or a book upstairs, and Jung-ah wandered around the house with an ever-changing list of ‘Ideas’: to-do jobs that the homeowners were too polite to frame as compulsory. She never really ventured beyond the garden beds for the occasional herb to use. “First time,” she admits with an uneven tone.

Hoseok’s eyes wander, widening. “It is too,” they agree easily, unruffled. “Well, I’m very glad you came. I don’t blame you for sticking indoors. Joon’s far more interesting than me and my leaves.” They reach out and flick at a plant lazily, though Jung-ah doesn’t miss the gentle care in the touch.

“I think you’re fascinating,” she rebuts instead, “I just never wanted to bother you. But it’s… These plants, Hoseok, they’re beautiful.”

A proud beam highlights a smear of dirt on Hoseok’s chin, and Jung-ah resists the urge to reach up and dust it off. Instead, she follows riveted as Hoseok leads her around the deceptively large greenhouse.

“This is where I keep the rarer things. Or, I suppose, the more fickle ones,” they begin, trailing a path along a metal-framed shelf to their left with a single fingertip. “The tahina spectabilis here normally only lives until 50 in Madagascar,” Hoseok explains, and Jung-ah cranes her neck to glance up a trunk, looking much like a simple palm tree. Hoseok’s voice is soft, like they’re in a library, or a place to pay respects. “The tree will flower at fifty years old, and the process is so taxing that it actually dies. This one was passed down through my family’s ancestors, all elementals. It’s over two hundred.”

“Oh, wow,” Jung-ah murmurs without thinking, though she can’t help but view the sturdy trunk and flax-like leaves with a new admiration. “Your ancestors were all interested in nature like you?”

“Absolutely,” Hoseok remarks with a mysterious humour clouding their tone. “I bet yours were, too. Magical folk descend from gatherers and healers right back in the prehistoric age. I bet you would’ve been the healer to my gatherer, Jungkook.”

She swallows, watching the lines of Hoseok’s back move gracefully with every careful step through the lush, almost overgrown glasshouse. “Jung-ah,” she corrects lightly. “It’s, um, it’s Jung-ah now.”

When Hoseok turns, it’s like their fantastical surroundings are cast to grey. All Jung-ah can see is their bright eyes, bold heart-shaped smile and puffed cheeks. She wills her heart to stop thudding in her chest so hard, letting the pleased hum of the plants around them settle her internal rhythms.

“Jung-ah,” Hoseok repeats, and the name sounds even lighter on their tongue. “I like that.”

“I like you,” Jung-ah states and immediately curses her loose lips, wincing harshly at the rich dirt beneath her feet.

A surprised chuckle tinkles the air. “How scandalous, when my wife is just next door!” Before Jung-ah can dissolve into a blabbering, apologetic panic, Hoseok’s hand is reaching into her line of vision, a playful tug on the collar of her shirt. “Good thing she feels the same way as I do,” they continue softly, not lowering their hand.

Jung-ah sucks in a breath, feeling their knuckles bump against her collarbone as her chest lifts. “What way?” she asks carefully, daring herself to look up only for Hoseok to be far closer than she remembered, hand warm and glowing slightly between the two of them.

Behind the earnest smile is a slight hesitation that Jung-ah feels more than sees. Hoseok’s voice is barely a whisper, but no other sound penetrates their green paradise. “I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up,” they confess, “and the last thing I see before I go to sleep. I want you to stay with us. I want to be yours, and you mine. That way.”

“Do you want to…” Jung-ah pauses, tongue wetting her lips unconsciously. “Do you want to kiss me?”

Hoseok’s smile grows, and the prodding hesitation disappears. “I’ve been waiting a long time to hear you ask that, hon.”

Their lips connect with no time for a reply. Jung-ah doesn’t mind though, letting herself melt into the kiss like there’s nothing else in the world. She feels Hoseok’s hands like twin suns, warmth running over her upper arms, her shoulders, catching gently on her jaw. And further, on a level so deep only she can feel it, those bright rays envelop her, Hoseok’s energy like pure joy. Jung-ah feels them smile into the kiss, lips slanting against hers and teeth bumping as they fail to suppress a grin.

When she finally has to pull away to suck in a breath, chest heaving, Hoseok is still beaming, their eyes dazed and hair rumpled. A strange light illuminates their chin and tip of their nose from below, and Jung-ah blinks in surprise as she sees Hoseok’s hands, completely alight up to their wrists with sunlight.

Catching Jung-ah’s gaze, Hoseok flushes, burying them in their overall pockets even as the light penetrates the heavy jean. “I know it’s bright, it’ll… it’ll settle down soon,” they promise, a sheepish smile puffing their cheeks. “I’m just really happy, Jung-ah.”

Jung-ah can’t help but return the smile. “Me too.”

Hoseok exhales dreamily as the sweet smell of strawberries fill the air. Not one for alcohol, they’d gotten Jung-ah to help make them some pink lemonade just the night before. Their wife hovers over the coffee table with the glass carafe, gripping it tight like it might wriggle out of her fingers at any moment.

One arm cradling several packets of snacks and the other holding a plate of slightly misshapen gimbap, Jung-ah makes her way between the two, settling the goods on the coffee table before slipping under Hoseok’s outstretched arm. The two curl up on the couch, Joon’s attempt at pouring the bubbly drink keeping them both amused.

“So nobody is going to help me?” she questions incredulously, grimacing as some of the lemonade doesn’t make it into the mugs she’s attempting to pour it into.

Hoseok’s fingers slip unconsciously under the hem of Jung-ah’s shirt sleeve, rubbing lightly at the skin there. “You’re doing splendid, love,” they assure earnestly. “The table was looking a little dehydrated.”

Joon lifts her jaw with a hard stare, but her lip quirks before she can help it. “I can’t believe this is my celebration party and I’m still the one doing this. I’ll remember this for your birthdays; just you wait.”

“Don’t worry,” Hoseok murmurs into Jung-ah’s ear with a lilting tone, “she always says that but I get breakfast in bed on my birthday every year. I love you, Joonie,” they call out in a singsong voice, reaching out to grab an outstretched mug with the hand not wrapped around Jung-ah’s shoulders.

Taking the other mug and watching the bubbles pop on the surface of the rosy liquid, Jung-ah sends Joon a warm smile. “I’m really proud of you, Joon,” she praises softly. “You worked hard, and the book is amazing.”

Joon raises a brow, taking a swig from the final mug and squeezing up on Jung-ah’s free side, neglecting the second empty couch in exchange for some closeness. “Have you read it?”

Jung-ah pauses, avoiding her gaze. “Seokie and I looked at all the pictures.”

Joon nods somberly, even as her eyes glint in bemusement. “The one thing I didn’t do.”

Hoseok’s hand reaches far enough past Jung-ah to just slightly brush at Joon’s cheek, the human pressing into the contact. “You’re far smarter than us, love. There were lots of very big words that we couldn’t quite understand but we’re proud of you nonetheless.”

Joon lets herself smile then, a warm one that crinkles her eyes and deepens her dimple. “I love you both too.”

Jung-ah flushes, feeling her toes curl at the sentiment, professing her own love for the two on either side of her before dipping her chin to sip at the lemonade. The sparkling water tickles the roof of her mouth, the lemon giving a bright tang, even as the strawberry infusion leaves a sweetness on her tongue long after she’s swallowed. It’s familiar to her, somehow.

As Joon leans onto Jung-ah’s side, beginning to explain to them the elaborate process of getting her third book published, Jung-ah takes another sip, swilling it in her mouth a little longer this time. It’s not until Hoseok’s getting up to pour them all a second glass, making the other two cackle as their hand is even shakier than Joon’s, that Jung-ah finally realises where she remembers that taste from.

It’s not a taste at all, but a feeling, an energy. Most of the senses her gift gave her were from other people, from plants, from wildlife. Very rarely were her own emotions strong enough to come back to her like mic feedback. But she recognised this one. Jung-ah was content.

#jungkook fanfic #hoseok fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namseok fic #namkook fic #hopekook fic #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fluff #namseok fanfic #namkook fanfic #hopekook fanfic

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buffcontrol · 5 years ago

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New Short Story: “Athleticism”

(Female to male bodyswap, race change)

Sora watched with disappointment as all of her friends were accepted to universities on prestigious sports scholarships. She hadn’t received even one letter of admission and time was nearly up — all of her girlfriends had already decided on where they were going. They were all off to schools in Seoul and Busan and a few were even going overseas to study. Meanwhile, Sora had failed so far to get into even her own community college. She was humiliated.

Her grades had never been so good. Throughout senior high school, she had been preoccupied with boys, mostly — shopping to find more attractive dresses, studying makeup tips on Youtube and going on as many dates as she could. She never had the energy to study with the amount of time she spent running out to cafes and practicing her eyeliner in the mirror. It resulted in a boyfriend at least, but even he had kicked her to the curb one he got his admission letter. She was utterly dejected.

If only she had tried a little harder at volleyball, she thought. It wasn’t that difficult. And her friends going to university on athletic scholarships weren’t even that much better than she was. If she had just applied herself, practiced a little more, her grades wouldn’t have mattered and she would be off to university with her boyfriend in tow. But that dream was over: she hadn’t been good enough at volleyball, she hadn’t been smart enough and all she had gotten from her high school career was an expensive wardrobe and some makeup skills.

Maybe she’d end up being an esthetician, she thought. That wouldn’t be so bad… But she felt tears welling up as she longed for the life her friends had. “I wish I was more athletic,” she moaned.

She hadn’t imagined that some cosmic force might have been listening. That fate was ready to intervene. She hadn’t even thought of what she was saying when things started to change.

Sora was lying on her bed and attempting to stifle her tears when she felt a sudden heat swill through her skin. It was like a fever had suddenly loosed from her bones and submerged her whole body. And the sensation began to grow hotter from the base of her slender, white feet.

They were getting bigger. She hadn’t noticed at first, her eyes welled with the residue of her crying, but as she sat up straight and wiped at her face, she saw her toes beginning to expand inside her little pink socks, decorated with flowers and cherry blossoms.

The feeling began to quickly rush up from her feet and over her calves and lower legs. They were expanding, pushing out into lengthier, sturdier limbs as they enlarged over the end of her bed. Soon her new, meaty soles would touch the floor of her room. A sharp pricking revealed the emergence of dark, brown hair slowly beginning to line her entire legs before a set of rough, burly toes ripped from her pink floral socks.

“What’s— what’s happening to… me,” she asked in fear. But the words were hard to remember. It was like her native Korean was becoming more of a second language. “What… this is?”

She clapped a hand to her mouth. The voice didn’t sound like hers. And why was she speaking as if she only knew as much Korean as a foreigner? The fear coursing through her only became more dramatic as she felt the the width of her fingers inflate one by one as they grew thicker and burlier covering the entire width of her face, little knots of hair sprouting around her knuckles and the back of her wrists.

She needed to get up. She needed help, she thought. Something was seriously wrong. She stumbled up from her bed, finding her legs so clumsily long and thick with new muscle she could not operate them properly. She stumbled like a lost bird before toppling to the ground where she watched her legs grow into two overlong hunks of flesh. Even her calves had become radically pronounced and bulbous as if spheres of sheer muscle had been planted inside them, and her thighs were suddenly ripped with wedges and valleys of defined bulk. And they were so wide — they seemed almost double the size of her waist. With a final push out, they desecrated the last of her skirt, leaving her lace panties exposed while hair began to crawl further up her thighs.

Sora could only scream like a little girl, but she found that the voice erupting from her throat was low and gravel-like. Rocky and deep. It was no longer her voice, it was that of a man’s and one that did not belong to her. She covered her round lips with her strapping, wide palms, just to discover even her forearms were growing blocky with muscle. She didn’t even know muscles like that existed. And as it rose around the bones in her arms, stretching and pulling in new directions, she saw her skin was taking on a decidedly lighter tone. It spread from her fingernails and into her plump fingers before racing up her arms: becoming white.

Watching the changes take her body, she was overwhelmed with the tremendous weight possessing her upper arms. Her biceps pushed up so quickly they ripped through her school uniform, shredding the fabric and leaving her embarrassingly exposed. Despite being alone in the room, she sheepishly tried to cover herself up somehow, hide herself from the humiliation of how much of her body was visible. But her arms were such an absurd and lewd size at this point, it was no use; no matter how she adjusted her swelling arms, they revealed a wild thickness and muscle.

Her chest, too, was expanding. She had nice sized breasts — it was always what she received compliments on from boys — but the weight accumulating in her upper body was different from before. It popped the last buttons of her uniform and revealed her pink bra beneath where she found the bouncy flesh of her chest replaced with broad sinews of strength. Her nipples shrank and centered into a symmetrical face.

And across her new broad chest came a quickly encroaching layer of light hair. She cried out again, her voice even more masculine than before, as she desperately tried to swipe away at the new hair. It only grew thicker as she itched at it in place.

Her neck grew wider as her spine readjusted to fit her strange new height. Her countenance was changing too, she could feel her mouth getting wider and her lips thickening into a straighter, more square shape. Her petite, button like nose became broad and demanding as the nasal tissue stiffened, and her brow dropped and dug toward the lower half of her face. In her closet mirror, she watched as her jaw became rectangular and cut with the appearance of facial hair that immediately sickened her with disgust. Her small and delicate face was gone: staring back at her was a freakish foreigner bodybuilder. Finally, her long black haircut shriveled up into a tight brown crop as her eyelids unfolded and the muscles across her face realigned. She tried to think of how to say help in Korean — the word was totally vanished from her mind. Instead was a different word which echoed around with a startling familiarity. “Hilfe!” she sobbed. Tears bobbed down her big, boyish face. “Hilf mir!”

Cowering and beginning to cry in horror at what had happened to her, she awkwardly stood and walked in her usual dainty fashion toward the mirror. She had trained herself to walk with her hips, one foot in front of the other, which looked horribly ridiculous in the six foot four frame of this man she had come to inhabit. She’d been a whole foot shorter before.

“Ew…” she muttered, examining the hair stricken across her handsome face. And that was before she noticed the sudden musky smell of sweat move up from her exposed armpits. When she looked down to examine them, she nearly jumped in horror at the amount of wiry hair springing from them.

“This can’t be me…” she said, “this can’t be happening.” It wasn’t until she had finished speaking in her dumb, bro-like voice that she realized none of the words parting her lips were in Korean. What language was it? The words were masculine and brutish -- and she realized, she was speaking German. She panicked as she tried to find any Korean words in her brain and only a horrendously pronounced “annyeonghaseyo” spittled out.

As she was pulling on the features of her face, cringing at the horrible scent of man spiraling up from her, she felt a sudden transformation in the heat in her body. It began to concentrate all at one point, just beneath her stomach, punctuated with a stiff valley of abdominal muscles. The feeling was just beneath it, hotter than before, as if she was incinerating right there. At the crotch.

She stared into the mirror and watched as her lace panties quickly began to fill with the round head of a tremendous white cock. She nearly screamed again, except for that as she opened har mouth to, the sensation was flushed with extraordinary pleasure. She felt all of her sexual organs push into a new shape as they seemed to exit her body and manifest in the sensitive rod of her new genitals. And they kept expanding until the lace panties were so stretched with flesh she thought they would rip too. Balls descended from her, also scattered with hair, and she felt an entirely new sensation as blood rushed into this strange, massive thing between her thick highs which shot up straight. She was hard as fuck. Her dick finally popped up from the base as an intimidating 10 inch monster against her obliques.

Sora looked into the mirror with shock. She had become truly athletic. She thought: I got what I wanted. The feeling of accepting this truth was unlike anything she had ever felt as her two slabs of pectoral muscle overworked her little pink bra and her new cock throbbed against the bottom of her panties. She moaned: her voice still inflected with a feminine tone as her cry of pleasure came out more like a woman’s whine. She was overwhelmed, but she knew she had to do something with all of this pleasure.

She threw herself on her bed and desperately began to work her cock. It was intuitive: up and down with her hand. She fingered her nipples with her free hand and pressed her pecs together as if they were still made from the breast tissue she had possessed before. She had loved having her breasts played with during sex: this was altogether a different feeling, but the sensitivity radiating in her nipples was enough to make her buck in place. It was a strange feeling, she thought, the pleasure was so much stronger and stranger. As she moaned and squirmed on the bed, her sprawling back and thick, firm ass slicked with sweat, an incredible intensity seized her unlike anything she had ever felt before. For a moment, she was horrified, she thought she might die as her cock suddenly exploded with semen. She was coated in it: with no idea how to control her ejaculation, her cute pink sheets and her

Weeping in a bizarre guilt and terror, she found the only thing in her closet that would fit her: a baggy dress she had thought was once stylishly oversized. The dress that had been large on her small body now bunched up at her huge chest, so tight her new arms split a seem. Her enormous dick and balls gorged on the material and were totally visible through the white clothes as she marched downstairs for help.

Her family was preparing for dinner. They gasped and screamed as a lumbering German man appeared, crying in a feminine tone at odds with its bovine pitch: “Was ist mit mir passiert? Was ist mit mir passiert?!”

Her family had been shocked by the transformation, but not entirely surprised. Once they had worked out what had ahppened, they said this kind of thing had occurred in their family before, ancestors previously randomly taken by the power of a misplaced wish. Accepting their daughter’s fate, they began to help Sora adjust to her new life. It was extraordinarily difficult with the new language barrier — Sora had to relearn Korean from the ground up and could only express the most basic of desires. Her father had to teach her how to properly wash beneath her balls after she had showed up to breakfast one morning disgusting with musk. Shaving had been a nightmare. She could hardly figure it out, and after not too long she gave up on getting rid of her body hair. She surrendered to the tangle of pit hair and curls across her chest and groin, though she continued to try and lop at the patches of masculine hair on her face. And though it had taken her a great deal of practice, at least she no longer had to sit to piss on the toilet anymore, she had figured out how to pee standing up. She was slowly figuring out how to adapt to this new world.

Wrecked with shame and embarrassment at her ridiculous new form, she was most disgusted to discover how often her new body needed release. Every morning she woke up in the too-small girly pajamas she insisted on wearing with her titanic dick raging and desperate to cum. Her attempts to ignore her new sex drive were in vain: if she neglected her dick for too long, it began getting hard at any moment and leaking with pre-cum. She couldn’t believe this is what men had to put up with, and twice daily she woefully turned her attention to masturbating, clumsily whacking her dick around until it finally came and surrendered for a time being.

But the one thing that hadn’t changed was her desire for men. Now, only she had to cater to a different crowd. She had wondered at first if the change might make her into a straight man, but she found she was now even more desperate for male attention. She was wildly lonely, only having her teddy-bear for company. The same bear she’d had since she was a child.

Her desire for a man only increased as time went on. She could hardly take the shocked stares she received from other Koreans when she went out in public -- she wanted to scream “I’m the same as you!” despite knowing she was not at all -- but she desperately needed to find someone to give her what she needed. Occasionally, she’d notice other men ogling her body, watching her closely as her girly walk shook her hips and ass as she awkwardly tried to move.

When she couldn’t take it anymore, she looked up the closest gay bar. She went by herself, sneaking out after her parents went to sleep, and wandered in with her feminine canter and shyness as she blushed and kept her head down. But all eyes were on her. When finally a handsome foreigner came up to her and asked her if she wanted to go home with him, she realized at last why she had wanted to become athletic. As he sucked her dick in his dirty, tiny apartment, she felt an unbelievable pleasure for the first time. She thought, this is why I wanted to be athletic.

She came with an obscene geyser of cum into the foreigner’s mouth, and she thought that maybe this had been a blessing all along.

#transformation #female to male

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sonderoan · 4 years ago

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[Image: Two photos of large terra cotta pots on a concrete porch, taken about 7 months apart.

In the first image, the pots are mostly bare, with a few tomatillo sprouts and some twiggy rush milkweed (Asclepias subulata) plants.

In the second, they’ve become a little wild; Scrappy-looking tomatoes spill out over the edge of one pot beneath the canopy of a large, desiccated tomatillo plant, a basil plant is looking quite happy with its bushy leaves and delicate white flowers, and spindly rush milkweeds reach for the sky with woolly plantain (Plantago insularis) and bladderpods at their feet.]

In June of 2020, I decided to get back into gardening.

I’ve long wanted to grow native plants and arid-adapted food crops, by way of Native Seeds SEARCH’s incredible seedbank of Southwestern heritage crops. I was meaning to journal about it, but I blinked, and suddenly it was 2021. So I will reflect! With lots of pictures hahahaha!!

I’ve been going through it this year! That’s not really a secret. But I thought it would be good to have an obligation to go outside each day, if only for a little while. So my birthday present in 2020 was two enormous terra cotta pots, some dirt, and a whole lotta seeds.

[Image: Mayo / yoeme basil blooms. They’re delicate, white, and clustered tightly together, looking a bit like strange orchids.]

I was only interested in growing wildflowers and native plants at the time. The crop plants were a compromise with my family, to get them to help me with the garden now and again. It didn’t work! But my mom loves to go out there and look at them, so it was worth it : -)

To this point I had mostly gardened indoors, raising nonnative succulents under extremely controlled conditions. Most of my attempts to move an indoor plant outdoors were met with disaster. I thought I’d have a hard time jumping straight into the Sonoran desert summer, but...

[Image: A few toa ke tsi tokia tomatillo sprouts surrounded by little punta banda tomato plants.]

... Plants that have lived here since time beyond time (and/or have been selectively bred by people who have lived here since time beyond time) know a whole lot more than you do, huh.

My food plants have been going off the shitts this past summer and fall. You can only see the shriveled remains of the tomatillo plant in the photo at the top of this post, but it grew into a monster.

[Image: The same tomatillo sprout, now quite big. At its largest it was almost as tall as I am, give or take the huge pot underneath it.]

[Image: Tomatillos! As in, the fruits! They are tiny, and encapsuled in a papery covering.]

I ultimately planted too late, though, and the tomatillos never grew large enough to be safe to eat. (they are poisonous when they’re small.)

[Image: One of the tiny, undeveloped tomatillo fruits peeking out of its papery capsule.]

Some even split open before they could properly ripen... It just got too cold too fast.

Eventually the tomatillo plant gave up the ghost. I intend to turn it into mulch at some point. The tomatoes, though...

[Image: Underripe tomatoes growing slowly on the stem.]

I took this picture today. For those reading from the future: It’s the middle of January.

Anyway. I’m writing all this now, because the native milkweed pot (my passion project!) has been unremarkable for most of 2020.

Now, I am not the rugged outdoorswoman I want to be, but I like to think I have a better handle on identifying mature plants out in the field than I do immature ones grown under ~ideal conditions. So, imagine my excitement when I see what looks like some kind of caltrop growing underneath my milkweeds in the middle of summer. California caltrop? Arizona poppy??

[Image: Puncturevine, with a single, tiny yellow flower on one stem and leaflets over all the rest.]

Uh Oh!

My naivete was rewarded with puncturevine (Tribulus terrestris). Puncturevine is an introduced noxious weed here in the Americas. She has super sharp burs for seeds that can embed themselves in the toughest of materials-- shoe soles and bike wheels and certainly human feet (ouch.)

Now, unlike the food plant pots, which use a typical potting mix, I used a mixture of cactus mix and local dirt for the native milkweed pot. So, I inherited not only the clay-rich, water-retentive soil of an urban irrigation ditch, but also the local seedbank, containing every native seed and noxious weed that’s ever passed through. Oops?

This pattern would repeat for most of 2020. I had broadcasted seeds for all seasons in the milkweed pot, but for a long time it was only popular with nonnative weeds and palm saplings (which are lovely, but I absolutely do not have the room for a palm tree on my deck.)

Suddenly I wake up, and it’s 2021. I go outside, and I realize I haven’t tried to identify the plants in my milkweed pot in quite a while.

[Image: The milkweed pot, brimming with life.]

[Image: Likely a bladderpod, Lesquerella gordonii. It has a tiny clover-like yellow flower atop woolly, spear-shaped leaves.]

[Image: The deeply dissected leaves of a Mexican gold poppy (Eschscholtzia mexicana)?]

[Image: The fuzzy, grass-like leaves of woolly plantain (Plantago insularis)?]

[Image: Some kind of Bowlesia, with maple leaf-lookin leaves?]

[Image: A leafy rosette of i-don’t-even-know-what! iNaturalist suggested some kind of horseweed or fleabane! I Don’t Know!!]

:’ -)

#probably i have made mistakes with my IDs! Please correct me if they are wrong!#long post #cannot stress how long this post is!#mea culpa tag #sonoran desert #southwest united states

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royallyprincesslilly · 5 years ago

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KinkToberFest Fic Collection #3🔥🔥🔥

Title: Your Body is My Wonderland 🔥🔥🔥

M’Baku x Reader {One-Shot}

Warning: SMUT, NSFW, Body Worship & Sploshing (Edible Body Paint)

Word Count: 3.8K

Note: The second man I am apprehensive to write about, or even dare to post about. M’Baku wives, please forgive me if this does not fit your king, I did try my best. As always, thank you for reading!!!! {I got a little carried away, oops.} FOLLOW THE RATING UP TOP.

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

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It had been a long winter. A winter that had many, many problems. Problems that began with the fishing quantities and went on to a lack of resources in the harvest to divide adequately among the tribe. It was a winter for the books, and your husband, the chief of the Jabari was the one everyone looked to not only to solve the problems but calm everyone’s worries. It was a big job for one man, a job that often required long hours, sleepless nights and countless trips away with his men. So, what did that mean for everything and everyone else? Loneliness.

It was now April; the snow and ice had melted, and the days were longer with more and more sunshine. Though the days were warmer, your nights were still chilly, even more so because your husband, the Chief, spent many of them working. It seemed there had been no time to rest. After the complex winter months, the grueling spring ones were upon you now. Crops needed tending; each family within the tribe needed their own attention from the Chief and Chieftess, diplomacy needed to be handled delicately, especially now when the big city and those of the Jabari were forging a new path—a united one.

M’Baku was gone every morning before you woke and in well past when you went to sleep, no matter how hard you tried to remain awake for him, it never worked out in your favor. You even tried to steal moments with him throughout the day in between each of your engagements. All that equated out to be were slight hand grazes, longing gazes, and near kisses. Every time you glanced at him you could see a storm brewing behind his deep soulful eyes. You didn’t know if it were from all the stress he was under, or perhaps he’d grown tired of you.

You’d been married for barely a year now. You’d expected the embers of love and desire to still be burning brightly, but it was not, and you didn’t know why. Before you married, you’d heard quite the rumors of your chief’s appetite for all things amorous. Many of the unwed women whispered among each other of the tales they’d heard of his stamina, his technique, and even his preferences. From those rumors you’d gathered he was a passionate man who enjoyed pleasure thoroughly. When you married, you worried you wouldn’t be able to satisfy him because of your inexperience and shyness, but he was kind to you, took his time and taught you many things. You’d begun to think it was you. Perhaps he’d grown tired of teaching you and wished for a woman—a wife who could please him properly. Those thoughts worried you.

Sighing, you walked into your Chieftess quarters and closed the heavy sliding wooden doors behind you. You pressed your back to the door, closed your eyes and tried to center yourself. It had been an exceptionally long day, and it wasn’t even over; it was barely close to sundown. You shouldn’t have been hiding out, but you were. This was the first free moment you had to yourself all day. Just as you felt yourself relaxing there was a knock. “Hanuman!”

The knock came again, and you opened the door to see your most trusted friend on your detail, En’eyea. “I am sorry for the interruption, Chieftess; I have a message for you.”

“A message? From whom?” She held out the folded paper. On the outside of it was the seal of your husband. It was such a formal way for him to send a message to you. Usually, he would send any messages that were not private through word of mouth through one of your maids, or even a simple note. This was not simple. You took the paper.

“Thank you, En’eyea.” She nodded and bowed her head to you before she backed away and walked down the hall. Staring at the paper for far too long, you rolled your eyes, broke the seal that held the image of the great gorilla god, with the intricate and elaborately crafted letters “M” and “J.” it was his seal no doubt, even it demanded respect and asserted power. As you opened the note you recognized M’Baku’s handwriting.

Sithandwa,

I wish to see you this evening. When the sun disappears behind the great mountain, come to the Waterhouse.

-M’Baku

It was direct, not an ounce of affection in it besides his nickname for you. You stood there reading and re-reading the note allowing your thoughts to run away from you. Before you knew it you were more than fifteen minutes late for your next obligation.

As you hurried there, you tried to focus on the task at hand; this was your pet project. You’d worked hard to bring together all the female members of the tribe. You wanted each and every one of them to know they served a higher purpose than cooking, cleaning and taking care of their men. You’d established opportunities for them to learn more than others thought they should. You’d fought long and hard with your husband to do it. Now every woman of the Jabari could learn and practice anything they wished. You sat with the women and listened to them all, and it was enough to take your mind off of what your husband could possibly want to see you about.

When the last of the group left the room, you saw the sun had just about disappeared and created a dewy glow across the sky. It was like one of his paintings that hung in your martial chambers. Excusing yourself, you dressed in your furs. While it was April, once the sun disappeared there was a slight chill in the air, and the path to the Waterhouse was higher in the mountains which meant the breeze was stronger. Once you walked outside of the palace you followed the torch-lit path through the village. As you passed tribe members they all graciously nodded their heads to you and even saluted you showing their respect. Before you were the Chieftess, they all knew you and your family; they’d seen you grow from a child to a woman. You were not a stranger to the tribe.

Once you made it to the great mountain and you began your twelve-minute walk to the Waterhouse and enjoyed the beautiful views of Wakanda at the same time. It was perfect, and you could not imagine being anywhere else on Earth. As you neared the mountain you saw a trail of flowers begin, and your feet stopped looking around you. Not seeing anyone around, you continued wondering what was going on. When the gate to the Waterhouse was in sight the trail of flowers turned yellow and red, the colors of the flowers from your wedding day to M’Baku. You bent down and took up a few petals and examined them. They were, in fact, the same flowers. Your heart began to beat rapidly. Once you stopped at the gate you took a few calming breathes and walked through it.

The courtyard of the Waterhouse was a favorite of yours. It always reminded you of a serene garden no matter the time of year. In the winter, it was snow-covered with crystal-like icicles and winter flowers of blues and gold. In the spring it had sprigs of green grass growing from underneath the cold earth, and green leaves beginning to sprout from branches with red and yellow flowers as far as the eye could see. In summer it came alive with an abundance of colors, smells and sounds, and fall was when the air carried the fragrant smells of purple flowers across the mountains down to the tribal lands.

The red and yellow flower trail continued to the door of the house, and before you pushed it open you noticed the slight tremble of your hand. Once you did, you stepped inside and looked around the familiar surroundings. This was a place that was meant for the Chief and Chieftess, but M’Baku opened it up for all of the tribe. The therapeutic waters and transcending views worked miracles on the body and the mind. You slowly walked through the house along the flower trail to the door when it stopped. Opening the door, you saw your Herculean built husband standing before a stone tub with nothing on but his tribal wrap around his waist. It sat just at his hips, giving you the mouthwatering sight of just how much muscle he’d added over the winter.

Where some men added extra pounds during winter to keep warm, your husband added muscle.

“Intaka encinci entle.” You smiled at the term of endearment. M’Baku held out his hand to you, and without hesitation you crossed the wooden floors to him. Once before him, you placed your hand in his. M’Baku lifted it to his lips and grazed a soft kiss across your knuckles. You unfolded your hand and caressed the soft skin of his cheek.

“Othandekayo,” you whispered.

“I am sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“It has been many months since I have been a husband to you. It has been far too long since I have shown you just how precious you are to me sithandwa,” M’Baku spoke with his forehead pressed to yours. Your heart soared hearing his words especially since your day was spent worrying he felt the opposite for you. A tear slid down your face. M’Baku pulled you back and watched it drip from your jaw.

“Uyakhala. Yintoni sithandwa?” His thumb brushed across your cheek, drying the salty substance.

“I am sorry, my love.”

“Tell me what I have done.” You crashed your body to his and pressed your cheek onto his bare chest. The sound of his heart pounding was just what you needed.

“Y/N, ndiyacela.”

“It is nothing, my love. I just feared you had tired of me, feared you no longer loved me.”

You heard his heart slow before he pulled you back to stare deeply into your eyes.

“I could never. Hanuman as my witness, my love for you shall never fade, and my desire for you is relentless. It has killed me not to be able to have not even one day to show you. I am endlessly sorry. Intliziyo yam iyakulangazelela.”

You could see the passion and heat behind his eyes, and it made your skin prickle with goosebumps. M’Baku’s lips dropped to yours and softly kissed you with an increasing intensity that sucked the very air from your lungs. When he pulled back you gasped for the lost air as his lips connected to your neck and peppered kisses down to your shoulder. M’Baku’s fingers deftly unlaced and unfastened the garments on your body. One by one each layer fell to the wood floor until you were naked before him. His gaze slowly traveled across every inch of exposed flesh then you heard him suck in a breath.

“Ukumkanikazi wam omuhle.” He dropped to one knee before you.

“My king, what are you doing?”

“Bowing to my queen—my only.”

You smiled and dipped down to claim his lips in another heated kiss. As M’Baku rose to his feet, he lifted you in his strong arms and held you against his heated body. Before you knew it he was allowing you to slide down into warmed water.

“Allow me to make amends, my wife.” He dropped to his knees beside the tub and gathered the fabric along with the bar of soap and began making a lather. When the cloth swiped along your arm up to your shoulder it left a fragrant path of luscious suds in its wake.

Slowly he bathed you taking care to wash every area of your uniquely, curvaceous body. As his hands slowly traveled across your skin you noticed his eyes never left the path of the cloth he held. With every passing minute you could tell what he was feeling. You knew what he wanted. When his eyes met yours you nearly came undone right there.

“Stand for me, my chieftess.” You stood in the water, and the soapy trail slid down your body. M’Baku watched each bubble on its race to rejoin the water around your shins. His tongue snaked out and across his bottom lip. Gathering both hands filled with water he stretched onto his knees and released the cascade onto your body.

“You are so beautiful. Every inch of you, I have longed for this view for more nights than I can ever explain. His hands slowly descended your body, beginning at your neck then across to your breasts. He then gently cupped them and kneaded your flesh.

“I worship at your feet, my love. Every inch of you. Your skin is like spun honey and sugar with the grace of the purest silk.” His hands dipped across your stomach then over the full swell of your hips. M’Baku pulled you to him, and he bit onto the flesh of your belly. You hissed at the sudden slight pain. It was only momentary pain though, M’Baku’s lips were there to soothe it instantaneously. Your hands connected at the back of his head and then you felt his lips trail to your pubis. Your head fell back when you felt his lips kiss the most intimate part of you.

“M’Baku,” you whispered. It was his encouragement, an encouragement he willingly obeyed and delved his tongue between your folds. Your moans were the only sound in the great room.

Just when you were getting weak in the knees, M’Baku quickly stood claimed your lips and scooped you out of the tub before he was walking again. When you pulled away to see where he’d taken you, you saw you were in another room with a large white mat across the center. You looked to M’Baku for any clue as to what you were doing here and what he had in store. All he did was smile.

“Uyandithemba sithandwa sam?” You studied his eyes and nodded your head.

“With all that I am othandekayo,” you responded.

He smiled, kissed your nose, and walked you to the mat then lowered you onto it. Once you touched it, you recognized it didn’t feel like a regular carpet or mat. It felt textured, similar to his canvases. “What is this, M’Baku?” When you looked to him he was walking away to the opposite side of the room. You took the time to admire his frame. Your husband was the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on. When he turned to look at you, you could tell he knew it. A cocky smirk decorated his lips as he walked back to you with a trey in his hands. Once he was again by your side he placed it down and stared at you. Your belly flipped, and you smiled, feeling a little embarrassed under the intense heat of his eyes.

“Lie back for my Y/N.” You did as he requested and lied onto your back and waited for him to make a move. For almost a minute, he did not; he just scanned your body. Then he opened the lids off the nine jars that were on the tray then took up a brush to dip it into one of the pots. When he lifted it the tip of the brush was coated with a white substance that looked like paint.

“You are my muse and my subject, you are my canvas, and your body will be my art, my love. I plan on worshiping every single inch of you with my love.”

M’Baku trailed the tip of the brush across your skin in swirls. The coldness of the paint, coupled with the whispy strokes of the brush made you wriggle under his expert wrist strokes. When he lifted the brush the center of your body had a beautiful swirl.

“Try not to move, my queen.” He slid his tongue across the painted swirl he just made along the entire trail of it, ending just at your collar. Once he was finished you were already a panting mess. You moaned and looked to him, his mischievous smile made your spine heat.

Again he dipped the brush into one of the jars and came away with a bright yellow paint this time. M’Baku circled each of your breasts, then dipped into another pot and painted smaller red circles around your nipples. He then inched back and admired his work before he smiled and continued his painting. Every dip into a jar produced a different colored paint that he used to decorate every inch of your skin with intricate symbols of the Jabari. As he painted across your skin he whispered what each symbol meant. “Love.” “Passion.” “Desire.” “Obsession.” “Life.” “Beauty.” “Intelligence.” “Skill.” “Power.” “Joy.” He was truly worshiping every inch of your body, not only with the attention of the brush but that of his lips and hands. No part of him left any part of you.

By the time he stood to examine his work, every inch of your skin was covered. “You are more beautiful than the rising and setting sun my love.” You were so on edge you needed more of him than ever before. As if he could read your mind he smiled “Roll for me intaka encinci.”

You rolled across the canvas slowly. Every roll you made the painted symbols imprinted into the canvas. His smile widened the further you went. You lost track of how many rolls your body did. Once you stopped he was standing above you again holding four of the jars. Without a word he poured them onto your body. Your eyes never left his. You dropped your hands to your body and rubbed the paint across your skin, up your belly around your breasts to your neck and jaw. A splash of the pain landed on your mouth, and you tipped your tongue out surprised when it tasted like berries, coconut, lemon, and other fruits that corresponded with the color. Somehow he’d made edible paint. Your realization made him smile widely. A wave of love washed through you. “Roll.”

Again you rolled across the canvas slithering your body across it. M’Baku slowly followed you until you stopped. He was now standing between your spread legs. You lifted your legs and hooked your toes into the waist of the tribal wrap he wore, and you pulled it until the fabric fell, finally revealing him to your hungry eyes. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip.

“Is it my turn, my Chief?” M’Baku dripped to his knees between your legs and pressed his heavy frame to your body. You moaned and claimed his lips as yours. His moans echoed in the room feeding the fire of your desire. His lips dropped to your neck and lapped at the flavored paint that was smeared across your skin. His movements were not slow, which said he’d pushed himself to the edge of his need. When his lips sucked, licked, and lapped at your breast you hugged his head to your body and relished the feel of his mouth on you.

M’Baku dropped his mouth lower to your nether lips and hungrily savored your taste. Slow was not in his vocabulary right now; he licked and teased your flesh as expertly as ever. His tongue quickly flicked against your swollen need, and before you knew it you’d came right on his mouth. He lapped at your juices but didn’t look as if he had any intention of stopping.

You had other plans. With all your strength, you pushed at him and rolled onto him. You were surprised you were able to overpower him, and by the look on his face he was also surprised. M’Baku smiled. “Feeling powerful, my queen?”

“You are about to see how powerful I feel, my king.”

You reached for the jars and retuned the favor pouring their contents across his chestnut skin. It was a sin for any man to possess such beauty, you thought as the colorful paints combined and swirled across his skin. Lifting the paintbrush you swirled it around the pool of paint and absentmindedly began making your masterpiece. You didn’t paint anything in particular you just had to fake it long enough to drive him crazy.

He knew just what you were doing, and he didn’t allow it for long. After a few minutes, he grabbed your wrist, and the brush fell. He pressed you to his chest and kissed you hungrily. He the slickness of the pain against your bodies made this feel incredibly erotic. You tore your lips from his and traveled across his chest down to the delicious snack that awaited you. Dropping your mouth over his swollen length he grunted and bucked his hips. The mixture of flavors in your mouth made you moan on him which made his length violently pulsate.

After only a few minutes, M’Baku rolled onto you and settled between your thighs then thrust forward, fully sheathing himself within your heat. From the first touch of bliss, neither of you could wait any longer, and soon you were going at it like his namesake animal. Neither of you held in the sounds of your pleasure or passion for the other. Your name from his lips bounced off the walls, and his name was muffled into the canvas once he flipped you onto your stomach.

As he pounded into you, he proved to you just why he was Chief of the Jabari, just why so many in the tribe lusted after him, why he demanded attention, respect, and authority with every move he made. This man was born to be a king; this man was your king, your one and only.

You screamed loudly when your felt yet another orgasm rip through you. “Y/N!” You felt M’Baku’s strokes speed and become sloppier as he chased the release he’d denied himself for weeks. The way he hammered into you made you weak, and you knew you’d be sore for the next several days. You didn’t care, it had been way too long, and you needed every inch of him.

“More!”

Without words, he obeyed your demand and delivered one bruising thrust after another into your leaking cavern of love. “M’Baku!”

“Shower me with your love, Y/N. Let my seed take bloom!” You felt the eruption within you as he filled you. The force made you clench around him, which made him push you to the canvas again with his hand harshly gripping the back of your neck as he delivered the final two, three, four thrusts. On the last the both of your shouted in unison and allowed your pleasure to dance through you.

Your bodies shook together, and neither of you could move. Before he crushed you, M’Baku rolled off of you hooking his arm around your abdomen to keep himself buried deep inside of you. You now laid on your sides with him behind you kisses your shoulders.

“Your body is my wonderland intaka encinci entle. I will worship at its alters until my last breath.”

You smiled and settled into his protective arms and found the first satisfying sleep you’d had in months.

Glossary:

- Uyakhala. Yintoni sithandwa = You cry. What is it dear one?

- Intaka encinci entle = Beautiful little bird.

- Othandekayo = Beloved

- Intliziyo yam iyakulangazelela = My heart yearns for you.

- Ndiyacela = Please

- Ukumkanikazi wam omuhle = My beautiful queen.

- Uyandithemba sithandwa sam? = Do you trust me, my dear?

-Sithandwa = My Dear/Dear One

**Translations Courtesy of Google.com

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***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@bugngiz @dadinhas-heat @azarmanii @chaneajoyyy @muse-of-mbaku @missmohnique @bellaamor88 @frantastique @yourwonderbelle @allhailqueennel @alyxkbrl @thelovelyliterary @ queengodiva619 @tinypalm @ ventingunknown

#KinkToberFest #kinktoberfest series #kinktoberfest 2019 #erik killmonger #Steve Rogers #m'baku #T'Challa #bucky #thor #heimdall #sam wilson #quentin beck #Marvel Comics #marvel fanfiction #your body is my wonderland one shot

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duskaris · 3 years ago

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Day 8: Sugar

A bit of a shorter one today, mostly angst but ends on a sweet note. Thanks to @oc-growth-and-development for the prompts!

Aeryn stared into her tea as she idly stirred. It was stupid to miss something as simple as sugar in her tea, especially with everything else going on, but on some rare moments like this the petty thoughts began to slip through the filter. Sugarcane wasn’t a particularly uncommon crop, but it refused to grow in Elkai. Even in the north where the temperature was right the rains weren’t frequent enough to coax out more than a quickly browning sprout whenever someone thought to try. As far as Aeryn knew there were only two places with established sugarcane farms. The first was across the sea in a country that had been consumed by the Arroneous Empire generations before Aeryn was born. There hadn’t been an official trade since, though the smuggling business flourished. The second was the tropical jungle of Elkai’s neighbour to the east. That was where most of their country’s supply stemmed from, but sugar wasn’t a priority and wasted precious space on the few supply ships they received. Ships from Ar’krry were few and far between as it was, as most of their trade previously went over land, and when a shipment did arrive, the logical part of Aeryn’s mind wanted weapons and food that could sustain them much more than a simple sweetener.

Everything Neva had left was carefully inventoried and rationed. She had seen the charts, hell she’d even worked on a few of them. Running out of a non-essential like sugar seemed like nothing compared to what they were facing. How long could they last before people began starving? Months? Weeks? Days? A fire or earthquake or other tragedy was the only step between them and annihilation, so why did she care about the fucking sugar?

Aeryn realised with a start that the cup in her hand was shaking as warm liquid hit her hand, dripping down onto the table below. A hand rested gently on her shoulder and she turned to meet Sofra’s eyes, blue eyes full of love and empathy. Without a word, Sofra grabbed a napkin and delicately wiped the tea off of Aeryn’s hand. Aeryn leaned forward, resting her face on Sofra’s shoulder. Arms wrapped around her, firm and steady when she couldn’t be. For a while, she let herself be comforted in her wife’s warmth while worst case scenarios race through her head. Slowly those scenarios transformed into something useful. The reminisce about land trade had led to an idea. She wasn’t sure it would work, but it was at least worth discussing with Lucille and Theodosia.

“I think I have an idea,” Aeryn said slowly as she lifted her head, trying not to build her wife’s hope prematurely. Sofra nodded.

“Let’s go then,” she provided a small smile before standing from her chair, offering Aeryn her hand to help her up. Aeryn accepted and took a deep breath, one last emotional thought creeping through as her brain switched to tactical mode.

Who needs sugar when they could have someone like this?

#oc-tober #OC #oc prompt #Blades of Treason #These prompts are forcing me to actually give names to places #instead of just existing as placeholders with a vague mental idea of how they sound

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midnightdaybreak · 4 years ago

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Fate Monsters

‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’

The man sneered at the forest surrounding him. He was a man not in the sense that he was human – far from it – but rather by his clear distinction as a male. He wore not a shred of clothing, allowing his massive endowment to bounce freely between his legs as he walked.

Standing seven feet tall, he was a hulking being with perfect and bulking muscles on his arms, back, and chest. His legs were equally built, though they deviated from his form. Whereas his upper body was passably human, the shape of his thick legs were more reminiscent of a goat, covered in thick black fur and ending in massive black cloven hooves. They left deep indents in the ground, which smoldered with each step.

His skin was as black as the fur, rivaling the night sky in its hue. A tapestry of scars was painted across his chest that, together, formed a mural of a great and ancient war. More scars decorated both of his arms, arranged into a pattern of flames licking upward from his fingers to his chiseled shoulders, from which extended a pair of great black wings. Even folded, they were as tall as he was, with the tips still sweeping the ground.

Black horns grew from several places on his body, including large spikes that jutted out from his shoulders. A line of smaller spikes ran down the length of his arms, and more circled around his collar. There were two that stuck out from his defined cheeks, and another protruding like a goatee from his chin. A row of them ran down his spine, ending above his buttock with a long serpentine tail. It was covered in black scales and flared near the end, forming an arrowhead tip.

The largest horns, though, were the ones on his head. They dominated his crown, adding easily another two feet to his impressive height and branching several times – they were heavy as he walked, cursing him with a perpetually aching neck. From behind the horns grew the remnants of the being’s once luscious and fiery red hair, cropped short to his neck.

He looked around in disgust as he walked. His once shining silver eyes had dimmed to a dull gray cast against flaming yellow-orange sclera. His face had long since lost its androgynous features, having aged and hardened over countless eons into the grim mask of fear it was.

‘Why in Helheim’s sacred name did that bitch choose this remote corner of such a miserable realm as her home?’ he wondered. In a way, he could see the appeal. The forest was lush and peaceful, glowing gold and green in the late-day light of the sun’s rays. It was a beautiful place; the kind he and his people would’ve once inhabited. That was so long ago, though, when he still had a people.

He pushed his way through the dense undergrowth, grunting every time a bush or branch brushed against his exposed skin. It wasn’t that it hurt him – pain was his constant companion. He simply didn’t like to be touched anymore. Not since the day his skin had been dyed by the power of Helheim’s divine element, The Deepest Darkness. Nothing had felt right since then. Every touch, from the gentlest caress to the fiercest blow was both burning and chilling, painful and pleasant, agony and bliss. He often wondered if that was part of his punishment.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” came a woman’s voice, filled with taunting.

The male being stopped in his tracks and cast his gaze around. He immediately spread his aural sense outward, searching for the voice’s source.

“I simple don’t believe it,” the female voice went on, unable to contain its delight. “If it isn’t the great Iblis Shaytan, founder and king of the shaytan race himself, slumming it once again here in Midgard.”

The being flared his nostrils. “I’m in no mood for games, witch,” he growled, his voice a deep bass.

The woman’s voice giggled, as if she had just been paid a complement. “Oh come now, Ibibi, is that any way to talk to an old fling?”

Iblis huffed. “Very old.”

The woman’s voice laughed again. “You’re one to talk. Last count, you still had an eon or two on me.”

“I did not come here to discuss our immortality,” Iblis growled. “Show yourself before me.”

The woman’s voice made a tsking sound. “Oh no, no, Ibibi. This is not your domain. You’re on Midgard now, where my kind reigns supreme. Surely you haven’t forgotten. After all, isn’t that what started everything? Made you into the monster – albeit a devilishly good-looking monster – that you are?”

“You don’t have a kind anymore!” Iblis barked, waving his arm dramatically and flaring his wings. The scars on his chest and arms lit up bright orange. A wave of yellow-orange flames rolled down his arm, flying from the tips of his clawed fingers and into the trees, setting them ablaze. “I grow tired of your childish ways, witch. You should well know I would never set foot on this horrid ball of rock, much less seek out you of all beings, if it weren’t a matter of great importance. I command you to stand before me; else I burn this entire forest to the ground and drag you out.”

The woman’s voice drew in a shuddering breath. “Still so forceful,” it said amorously. “That’s what I always loved about you, Ibibi. Well, that and, of course, this.”

A set arms suddenly encircled Iblis from behind. They were as black as his skin, covered in a chitinous exoskeleton that ended in claw-like fingers. One wrapping possessively around his chest while the other glided down to capture his hanging member in its grasp. Even it had a spiky ridge running along its top, which she fondled affectionately with her thumb.

Iblis let out a sound between a shudder and a groan at the contact, pain and pleasure spiking through his body.

“No cock has ever satisfied me like yours,” the woman’s voice whispered in his pointed ear while her hand slowly stroked him.

Iblis just let out another huff. “You should know by now; you’ve had plenty.” He brushed the woman’s arms off and escaped her embraced with a grunt, turning to face her. “I didn’t come here seeking your pleasures, Lilith.”

The woman pouted and fluttered her purple, butterfly-like wings. They sprouted from her back and were as tall as her, her hind wings barely an inch off the ground. “And here I’d thought you’d finally come around, Ibibi. You know I’ll show you a good time.”

She ran her hands seductively over her body, starting by cupping her breasts and smoothing them down her flat stomach to her thighs while turning slightly and sticking out her ass. Like Iblis, Lilith wore no clothing. Unlike him, though, her appearance was distinctly more human. Her skin was creamy and fair, stretched tautly over a toned frame. The black exoskeleton – reflecting deep green in the forest light – that covered from her bicep to her hands also coated from her mid-thighs down, ending in black, bird-like toes.

She had long brown hair that fell in ringlets down her back and chest, the tips curling around her rosy nipples. Her face was heart-shaped with delicate features, petal-pink lips, and earthy-green eyes. Long, golden horns sprung out from her temples and extended along the sides of her skull to the back, forming a natural crown. She was beautiful, no doubt, hand-crafted of Richest Clay. Any other being would have found her irresistible.

Not Iblis. He just rolled his eyes and sighed at the display.

Realizing that the male wasn’t impressed, Lilith frowned and relaxed her posture. “Still boring and only interested in yourself.” She sighed and shrugged, turning away from her former lover. “All right, what are you here for?” she asked boredly.

She walked to a nearby tree and tapped it with her finger, which was glowing a deep green, causing the bark and branches to morph. It creaked and crackled loudly, taking on an almost liquid state as it reshaped itself into an ornate horned throne.

“You know why I’m here,” Iblis stated, tapping one hoof impatiently as she settled into her seat. She curled one leg under herself while draping the other over one of the arms, exposing her vagina invitingly.

Lilith smiled at Iblis’s acknowledgement of her ability, knowing how much it pained him to have to admit it. She wanted to see him squirm a little more. “You could’ve gone to others,” she told him, staring nonchalantly at her claws. “The Moirai, the Sudice, the Norns; any of those old hags could’ve told you what you want to know. Why come to me?”

Iblis exhaled loudly through his nose, snorting out tiny flames while his scars glowed faintly. “Because, my dear Lilith, despite everything, I trust you far more than any of them. Though they claim independence, they all favor those within their own pantheons. Of all the beings in all the realms gifted with precognitive abilities, I know with absolute truth that your only loyalty is to yourself, and your cunt.”

That made the witch giggle. “I do treat her well,” she agreed, patting the space between her legs affectionately. “You know my help isn’t free, Ibibi. If you really want to know…” she used her index and ring finger to spread her vulva while sliding her middle finger inside, “you’ll have to convince her to let me tell you.”

“I’ve long since lost interest in pleasures of the flesh,” Iblis dismissed.

“But I haven’t,” Lilith moaned, masturbating slowly in front of him. Her breathing hitched a little, her chest heaved, and her face grew flushed. “Come on, Ibibi,” she almost begged, inserting a second finger. “For old time’s sake?”

Iblis closed his eyes and swallowed. He took in a slow breath, trying to rein in the stirring in his loin. Despite his claim to the contrary, he couldn’t deny the allure of watching the woman who was once his lover pleasure herself. Even with the messed up way physical contact felt, sex with her had always been pleasant. He could never let her know that, though. Love was a weakness he couldn’t afford.

Lilith smirked, noticing the man’s struggle. “Or maybe…” she said slowly. She waited until she saw his eyes open again before withdrawing her fingers, shining with the evidence of her arousal, and moving them even lower. “You’d like to partake of some forbidden fruit,” she offered, tracing her moistened fingertips around the puckered pink of her anus.

A wrinkle of pleasure swept through the shaytan, made evident both by the warm glow of his scars and the obvious twitching of his cock. “You can hardly call something that’s been had by half the men in the Nine Realms forbidden,” he said calmly, still feigning disinterest.

Lilith laughed again, making it a sultry sound. Her image disappeared from the throne in the same instant that it reappeared directly in front of him. With her back to him, she wiggled and rubbed her ass seductively against his growing erection.

Iblis hissed at the contact, pain and pleasure radiating through him. Instinctively, he reached out to embrace the woman, though he caught himself just in time.

“Stop fighting it, Ibibi,” she whispered seductively. She reached behind herself and grabbing his cock again while positioning her wings on either side of him, blocking the rest of the world from view so that he could only focus on her. She brought his member between the cheeks of her perfectly rounded ass and rubbed herself up and down against it while leaning her back against his chest, thrusting her breasts outward. “Give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Iblis let out an unwilling groan of pleasure, one that didn’t go unnoticed. He cursed himself for letting the witch have her way with him. ‘Women truly are a cursed thing. What was Allah thinking?’ he wondered as he finally gave in. “Tell me what I want to know,” he said in a strained voice. “If you can please me, then I’ll please you.”

Lilith squealed with glee. She released her hold on him and clapped her hands excited, her wings fluttering as she danced a few steps away. It was the best answer she could hope to get. Not to mention, if he didn’t like what she had to say, she could always lie to him. Iblis never welched on a deal and, as long as he was placated, she would get what she wanted.

“It’s a deal,” she said, turning and offering her hand to him.

Reluctant to trust the witch entirely, Iblis grasped her hand with his own. “Deal.”

“So, what’s on your mind, Ibibi?” she asked, all business-like, withdrawing her hand and starting back toward her throne.

“You know what,” he said, rolling his eyes and following her. She was still playing games with him, but he was in no mood to argue; playing along was easier. “Surely you felt that aura the other day. It did originate from this realm.”

“You’d have to be human not to feel that,” Lilith replied, smirking at her own irony as she curled up in her throne again.

“There’s not been a presence like that felt since the time of Creation. What is it? And where did it disappear to?”

Lilith tilted her head back and brought her finger to her lips, as if she were pondering. Of course, she was just making a show of things, knowing exactly the answer. It was just fun to tease Iblis. “You know how the jötnar have been coveting Midgard since the time of Gaia?”

Iblis quirked a confused brow. “Yes, and?”

“And one of them finally did something about it,” Lilith explained carelessly, matter-of-factly. “Her name was Dagný; she was a Norn.”

Iblis clicked his tongue in irritation. “Are you saying some prophetic, giantess bitch caused that?”

“Not exactly; she just started it. She got this cockamamie idea that her Norn powers could be used to not just look at fate, but actually alter it. She went to that dwarf who made Mjölnir, and asked if he could forge her power into something that could grant her wish. He said he could do it, but it would probably take the entirety of her soul to make an object that powerful. She was fine with that, so he smashed her head in with his hammer right there. Really gruesome, bloody mess; you’d have loved it, Ibibi.”

Iblis just snorted tersely, blowing tiny smoke and flames out his nostrils.

“Sindri – the dwarf – mixed her blood with some bronze and made this tablet… slab… thing. It’s got all these gems set in it; quite gaudy, if you ask me. Not a very original name either; Dagnýskive (New Day Slab).”

Iblis frowned. “So a hunk of bronze caused that ripple?”

“Nope,” the witch told him, tapping his nose with her finger.

The Shaytan King growled loudly. “Then what was it?”

Lilith only laughed. “You’re so cute when you’re begging. Sindri tried using the tablet to grant Dagný’s wish, but it didn’t have enough power. He asked his brother, Brokkr, for some advice, who guessed that a bunch of ren and ka would do the trick.”

“Brokkr told Sindri not to do it, though. Not only is that a lot of souls to rip up, but changing the fate of the jötnar directly defies Allah’s will.”

That actually made the shaytan smirk. “So the maggot did it, then?”

“Oh, did he,” the witch said in an exaggerated way. “He popped up across the ocean, over where the Æsir-worshippers dwell, and disguised himself as a shaman or something. It’s nothing but war and bloodshed amongst the tribes over there anyway; I guess he figured, since they’re killing each other anyway, it would be a less of a loss. As if these insignificant, mortal dirt-husks of their intended form”

“And?” Iblis pressed, the impatient glowing in his scars getting brighter, joined by a glowing in his eyes.

Lilith sighed in exasperation. “Sometimes it’s so annoying to see so much. You’d better give me a good pounding after this.”

Iblis ground his teeth in irritation.

“Sindri went all over that peninsula promising those barbarians that he could end their warring days and lead them all to Valhalla; those monkeys will believe anything if you flash a little prana if front of them. He rounded up about a thousand of them; gathered them all in a big field, called on the fires of his forge to wipe them all out, then sucked all of their ren and ka into the Dagnýskive. The ka is the part of the soul that generates spiritual energy, and the ren amplifies that power – along with shaping the soul and binding it to the body. Put one thousand of those together and you’ve got quite a power source.”

Iblis scoffed, looking into the forest. “And also a big mess, leaving that many soul fragments lying around.”

“And that big mess is exactly what we felt, Ibibi,” Lilith told him in an uncharacteristically serious tone that drew Iblis’s gaze back to her. “Without the ren to shape the soul, the ib and the sheut begin to clash, which distorts the ba. That dwarf created more than just the Dagnýskive; he created a swirling maelstrom of lost and shapeless souls that had only one thing they could cling to.”

“And that was?”

Lilith leaned forward in her throne, taking Iblis’s horned chin in her hand as she brought her face close to his. “Revenge. Sindri had promised them Valhalla; an end to war and suffering. Instead, he’d condemned them an eternity of formless, nihilistic discord. That desire for revenge became the new ren that bound all one thousand of those lost souls together. That desire shaped the shapeless ba into a monster; a great black dragon, the Malice Striker, Níðhöggr.

“Sindri tried to use the Tablet’s power against Níðhöggr but, since both the Dagnýskive and Níðhöggr were created from the same ritual, their powers cancelled each other out. That clash of power is what we all felt. Thing is, since Níðhöggr had no ka to draw power from, it had to draw power from its ba. So, even though its power and the Dagnýskive cancelled out, Níðhöggr took too much damage, and ran away.”

“Where is it now?”

“Yggdrasil.”

Iblis furrowed his brow and cocked his head. “Why there?”

“Power,” Lilith said sternly. “It’s hiding out in the roots, feeding on them. Yggdrasil draws power from all Nine Realms, including the power of the Divine Elements. For a being with no ka, it’s the best source of sustenance. Even though Níðhöggr’s form it bound, it’s still basically just a chaotic mass of formless souls. The Divine Elements, which can be breathed to life, will settle that chaos and help Níðhöggr develop a ka of its own.”

“What will Níðhöggr do then?” That was it; the real reason Iblis had come to Lilith. Níðhöggr’s creation had shaken the Nine Realms in a way nothing else had before. He had to know what impact the dragon could have on the Game of Souls he was playing. Would it get in his way? Could he use it to his advantage?

Lilith shrugged. “Ragnarök.”

Iblis’s eyes opened wide. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice caught in his throat.

For a moment, Lilith didn’t reply. Iblis wasn’t going to like what she told him, which meant she wouldn’t get what she wanted. Her eyes strayed down to the shaytan’s cock, which had lost all signs of erection to their conversation. If she was going to have it, she had to pick her words very carefully.

“Right now, Níðhöggr is just sucking on Yggdrasill’s roots,” she said slowly, “drinking its sap, much like I wish to drink yours.” She licked her lips eagerly. “That’s pretty impressive right there, seeing as no other being has ever even pierced its bark. Eventually, though, it will grow strong enough to take a bite from the roots.”

Iblis’s jaw fell open. He had once tried removing a branch from Yggdrasil, so that it might be carved into a weapon when he declared war on Heaven. Even he, with all his power and might, could not so much as chip the bark of the World Tree.

“When will that happen?”

“In about fifteen hundred of Midgard’s years,” Lilith went on, still choosing her words with care. “After that, it will come back to this realm to get revenge on the dwarf; not that it’ll find Sindri, of course. Dagný’s will still exists inside the Dagnýskive, and for making a wish other than hers upon it, she sucked out the dwarf’s soul and sealed it into one of the Dagnýskive’s gemstones. With no dwarf to get revenge on, Níðhöggr will just start wreaking havoc on the world. A war will break out between humans and unhumans, with Níðhöggr bringing destruction on both sides.”

“Surely Allah will not allow such a monster to have its way with His precious Midgard and darling humans.” Iblis sneered several of the words.

Lilith shrugged. “You know how He is; let things play out on their own. He’ll just sit back and watch for a few decades. Only when Midgard is on its last leg will He send in the angels, but by then, it’ll be too late. Níðhöggr will have grown too powerful and, while they’re busy dealing with it, you and the shaytan will attack Asgard. The Vanir and the jötnar will side with you against the Æsir, the Olympians, the Ennead, and the Dingir – I guess Dagný’s wish will be fulfilled then. The dökkálfar will overthrow the dwarves to claim Niðavellir, though they won’t be siding with you after you ditched them here. Basically, all Nine Realms will be thrown into chaos.”

“Skip to the end, whore,” Iblis commanded her through a tightly clenched jaw. “Are my chances of winning against Allah still the same as before?”

Sighing sadly, Lilith closed her eyes and shook her head. “I told you, Ibibi. This is Ragnarök, not Yawm ad-Dīn (the Day of Judgment). Just as the fighting reaches its climax, Surtr will burst forth from Muspelheim with an army eldjötnar. Countless gods, already exhausted from the fighting, will fall to the fire giants.”

“What of the Judgment, though?”

“You won’t be around for it. You will be fighting Michael when the eldjötnar attack. Their appearance will distract you both, Níðhöggr will appear, and you’ll both be eaten. The rest gets a little fuzzy, but in short, everyone dies. Frankly, I can’t be sure if Allah will even be around to judge any souls.”

Iblis’s legs felt weak. He leaned against her throne, feeling like the breath had been knocked out of him. “Impossible. Me, eaten by that monster? Alongside Michael of all beings?”

“It’s a tough fate to accept,” the woman agreed, patting the back of Iblis’s head. She’d managed to shock the King of the Shaytan; it was time to catch him in her grasp. She’d been scanning through all of the possible futures she could see in search of the one that would please him the most. Frankly, none of them were particularly favorable.

Until she’d seen it.

“If only there were a way to avoid such a fate,” she baited him nonchalantly.

“And what does that mean?” Iblis roared. He threw her hand aside and shot to his feet, his eyes and his scar burning brightly orange. “Are you saying there’s no avoiding this fate? That this monster’s creation is to be my destined downfall?”

“It doesn’t look good,” the witch replied, still feigning indifference.

He found it irritating and, in a fit of power and rage, conjured a mass of yellow-orange flames in his hand and thrust his arm forward. The fire erupted from his palm in a concentrated stream that shot just over Lilith’s shoulder, blasting away the back of her throne. It kept flying into the forest, destroying several trees that got in its path.

A shiver ran down Lilith’s spine as the Smokeless Fire passed her; not from fear, but desire, and was accompanied by a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the flames. It was his pride and ambition that had first drawn her to Iblis, and his power had only fueled that. She’d never wanted anyone or anything more than she wanted him, but he’d never returned those feelings. Pride and ambition didn’t just drive Iblis; they consumed him. Next to that, she would only ever be second in his heart, at best. It was the closest thing to sadness the demon witch had felt since casting away her humanity.

Iblis walked back to her with determined steps. He leaned down with his towering form, tightly grabbing each arm of the chair as he brought his face directly to Lilith’s. “You’ve seen something, witch. You’ve seen the one in a million possibilities that favors me. Tell me of it, and tell me now.”

Lilith groaned with pleasure as another wave of desire rippled through her. She wanted him – badly. She had him in the palm of her hand; it was time to clinch it.

Swallowing back her longing, she spoke slowly and breathlessly. “I did see one future that might please you.”

Iblis just held his hard gaze on her. When she didn’t continue at first he inclined his brows, prompting her on.

She bit her lip, fighting to stay focused. “In this particular future, you manage to enslave this monster. Should this future pay out, the monster will simply disappear, and things will, more or less, resume their course.”

Iblis furrowed his brow. “Disappear? Just… gone?”

The woman nodded back at him.

“That seems a little too convenient,” he told her, his eyes and scars still burning. “Knowing you like I do, I’d say you’re just trying to appease me to get what you want.”

“It’s true, Ibibi,” she said quickly, a little flustered. She wasn’t lying, but he’d definitely caught on to her game. She had to seal the deal quickly. “It’s not a simple future. A lot of things have to happen to achieve this outcome; if even one of them goes wrong, it could still end badly. But, should things go as I’ve envisioned, the monster will disappear and Midgard will be left in shambles. Humans and unhumans alike will be clambering in the wreckage of the world for something to give them hope. It’ll be the perfect setting for you, The Great Deceiver, to lead them astray.”

Iblis regarded her hard. He searched her face, trying to pick out any hint that she might be lying, but found nothing. He was quiet for so long that, when he did speak, it made the witch jump.

“What has to happen?”

Lilith reached out to push him away as she rose from her throne. His proximity was becoming too much to keep her thoughts and composure straight. “It’s quite simple, Ibibi,” she said, walking passed him. She came upon another tree and wrapped herself provocatively around the trunk, grinding her pelvis against a low branch. The rough bark against her waiting skin sent little waves of pleasure through her. It helped her clear away the amorous haze that was clouding her thoughts, and also gave her a chance to tease the Shaytan King a little more.

“All we require is the aid of another monster that can equally sway fate the way this monster has,” she told him, her voice more even.

Iblis scoffed and threw his hands up in frustration. “Oh! Of course! It’s so easy, why didn’t I think of that?” he rambled, making Lilith laugh. “What are you laughing at?”

“You’re so cute, Ibibi,” she said, still riding her branch. “I’ve given you hope for the future, now come and fuck me. I’ll tell you the rest afterward.”

“You’ll tell me now,” he commanded in reply. Knowing that she was trying to draw him in, he’d stayed defiantly by her throne.

Lilith sighed, uncoiling herself from her tree and starting back toward him. “Fine. Answer me this, then? Do you know how many monstrous beings have ever changed the course of fate like this? I’ll give you a hint; you were the first, and this monster is only the third.”

“Then who was the second?”

Reaching Iblis, the woman took his face between her hands and looked him dead in the eye. “Granqueliel.”

A chill ran down the shaytan’s spine. It was a name he hadn’t heard in eons; never thought he’d hear again. He swallowed around the lump that had appeared in his throat. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” Lilith told him. “He is an extraordinary being, whose existence can alter fate. He is the key to turning this situation around.”

“He’s also dead,” Iblis reminded her.

Lilith sighed again, shaking her head. “No, no, no Ibibi, he never died.”

“He’s as good as dead!” he bellowed, throwing her hands off. “What good is a being who no longer exists?”

“But he does still exist,” Lilith insisted.

“Liar! You speak lies to please your own wanting cunt!” he accused, his scars burning brighter than ever. An aura of yellow-orange flames erupted around him, condensing into his hand in the form of a burning sword. He raised the weapon over his head, snarling in rage, and brought it down at the woman.

“I am not lying, Lord Iblis Shaytan,” Lilith whispered, calmly closing her eyes.

The proper use of his name halted the shaytan’s blade just an instant from splitting her skull. He held it there, poised to strike, while glaring at her from behind the licking yellow blaze.

Lilith remained perfectly still, eyes closed. There was little that could be done when Iblis got that way, but playing to his ego was one of them. She waited until she felt the heat of the blade move away before allowing herself to relax.

“Speak, whore,” Iblis told her sternly, letting his sword fall to his side but not dissipating it.

Swallowing nervously, Lilith opened her eyes and spoke in a quivering voice. “G-Granqueliel still ex-exists,” she stuttered. “H-He reduced his entire body and s-soul to pure energy, but with no physical f-form to contain that energy, his existence s-simply dissolved.” She cleared her dry throat once, trying to compose herself more. “All of that pure energy that is him still exists here in Midgard. If it could all be gathered together, every last bit of it, his soul could be reforged. Granqueliel can be reborn.”

Iblis couldn’t believe his ears. Granqueliel. His best friend. His protégé. The man that had refused to stand with him during the Rebellion. The most naturally gifted khudue to have ever been born. There hadn’t been a khudue in the Nine Realms in eons; not since The Fall. If Iblis could revive one – a zalamkhudue, no less – and bring it to his side, then it would tip the Game in his favor. If it could avert him from the fate of Níðhöggr, that was even better.

“How?” he asked the witch. “How do we bring back Granqueliel’s soul?”

Relief swept through Lilith’s body and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Iblis nearly killing her had been the most powerful turn-on of all. She could feel the abundant wetness between her thighs. She was going to live, and even better, she was going to get the reward she so painfully desired.

“I’ll give you a spell,” she told the shaytan as she relaxed.

Iblis watched as she lifted both of her hands, each covered in a deep green-black light. She reached out to him with her right hand and tapped her index finger into his sternum, sending the glow into his body.

“That’s half the spell,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry. Licking her lips in anticipation, she brought her glowing left hand to her collar and ran it slowly downward. Between her breasts, over her stomach, between her thighs. Finally, she cried out as she inserted her left index finger into herself. Her body quivered and she fell forward into Iblis’s chest, who dropped his sword and caught her in his embrace.

“The other half’s in here,” she invited him, looking up through lidded eyes while fingering herself. “You know how to get it.”

Iblis let out a soft sigh. “You are an exasperating wench,” he told her, his tone holding something akin to affection.

Lilith gasped in surprised when he suddenly spun them around, turning her so that her back was to him. He shoved her roughly forward so that she was bent before him, her hands supporting her on the seat of her throne. He grasped her hips tightly, blood trickling where his claws bit into her creamy flesh, and positioned his reinvigorated erection.

Leaning forward, careful to not yet penetrate her, he brushed her hair to the side and whispered in her ear. “This spell had better work, bitch,” he cooed, his breath blistering hot on her skin. “Or else I’ll kill you.”

His threat drove her wild. “It will, my Lord,” she whispered submissively.

“Just a curiosity,” he went on, his voice growing husky as he rubbed his cock against her quivering nether-lips, “How quickly will Granqueliel’s soul revive?”

Lilith had hoped he wouldn’t ask that, afraid that the answer might put him off. She couldn’t lie to him, though; not when her prize was so close at hand. “His soul has been spreading across Midgard for eons,” she told him, practically panting with need. “It’ll take about a thousand years to gather it all, give or take a decade. Oh please, Lord Iblis, don’t make me wait any longer.” She pushed her backside against him, trying to achieve any pleasure she could, but his grip held her in place.

“A thousand out of the fifteen hundred years till my demise,” he murmured, straightening back up. “That’s cutting it awful close.”

“Granqueliel will not fail you,” she whined, still struggling in his grasp. “His revival will mean your survival.”

“Hm… he was quite gifted,” the shaytan concurred, raising his member the slightest bit, the tip resting firmly against her entrance. “Just remember it well, witch; if this doesn’t work,” he thrust suddenly into her, growling out the last three words, “I’ll kill you.”

His words and his assault undid her. Lilith cried out and spasmed as she came around him, collapsing to the throne in ecstasy while the King of the Shaytan fucked her like no one else in all the Nine Realms could.

#Midnight #midnghtdaybreak #literature #lilith #iblis #fantasy #Fantasy Story #fantasy fiction #fiction #writing

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a7xlizardqueen · 7 years ago

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A Life to Remember

TITLE: A Life to Remember CHAPTER NUMBER: 2/? AUTHOR: a7xlizardqueen GENRE: DRAMA/ROMANCE FIC SUMMARY: A woman is found alongside Captain America in Antarctica. Who, and what, she is is a mystery. RATINGS: M (violence, language, eventual sex) WARNINGS: None AUTHORS NOTE: Here's chapter two! Starting to get the story moving along a little. Sorry it might be a little slow, I hope it's not boring you before I get to the romance bits, but the romance isn't really the whole point of the story, so.

Chapters: 1

Chapter Two

April 18, 2012

"She didn't sleep all night," Sylvie heard her guard, this one a young woman called Jones, whisper.

From her perch in the tree, Sylvie looked over to find Jones speaking with a much older woman in a crisp grey suit. She was carrying a pad of paper and a pen. Her greying blonde hair was pulled in to a severely tight updo which made Sylvie's head hurt just to look at. The woman turned towards her then, her lips pressed in a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"How are you today, Miss De La Mer?" The woman said, stepping towards her.

Sylvie dropped from the tree to sit cross-legged on the grass. "I'm fine."

"My name is Dr. Katherine Harper. I'm S.H.I.E.L.D.'s head psychiatrist," the woman said, taking a seat on the wooden bench beneath the tree.

"You're here to determine whether I'm telling the truth," Sylvie stated.

"We're just going to talk," Dr. Harper said stiffly. "I hear you aren't sleeping. Are you feeling okay?"

Sylvie nodded, "Oh yes, I'm quite fine. I'm having a pleasant time conversing with the birds and the squirrels and the plants," She then picked up the bottle of water given to her the day before, "However the water they brought me tastes funny."

"Well, I'll see what we can do about that," Dr. Harper said, jotting a note down on her pad of paper. "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

"I'm not tired," Sylvie shrugged.

And it was true. She hadn't felt tired or fatigued since she'd woken up. So far, she hadn't found it too strange. She'd never slept much as a child, either. As it stood, Sylvie had never felt better, she was even stronger than she remembered, which made sense since she was obviously much older than she remembered.

"I understand that the last thing you recall is being tucked in to bed by your mother in 1925," Dr. Harper confirmed and Sylvie nodded lightly. "How are you feeling about all of this? Waking up so much later and not remembering?"

"I can't stop thinking about her. I don't care that I can't remember what happened to me, and I don't care that somehow I'm fully grown, and somehow over ninety years old. I'm never going to see my mother again, and I have no idea what happened to her after that night. Every time I think of her my chest gets all hot and tight. I'm afraid that I killed her, but Fury says no one knows what happened to her."

"That's completely understandable. And I'm sure that Fury will do everything he can to find out what happened to her. But don't blame yourself."

"How can I not?" Sylvie huffed, and for a moment her strength waned, causing a single tear to slide down her cheek, "If I ran away, it would have broken her heart. What if she died because I ran away?"

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry you have to go through this. And I'm sorry that you may never know what happened to her. But you need to understand that you were very young, and that none of it was your fault."

Sylvie felt the tear collect at the corner of her mouth and her tongue darted out to capture it. The salty flavour burst on to her tongue and the next thing Sylvie knew she was staring up at that vicious Russian woman again. She could feel tears running down her face and the woman was sneering down at her, holding a leather crop. Each time Sylvie sobbed the woman's arm would move suddenly and the crop would crack against her skin. She looked down at her small hands and received another flick of the crop.

"You will look at me when I punish you, child," she said in thickly-accented English.

"Stop!" Sylvie cried in French, shaking her head, and received another lashing.

"English!" The woman roared.

Sylvie had been forced to begin speaking in English at all times, or Russian if the woman spoke to her in Russian. But when Sylvie became nervous, or sad, or angry, she couldn't help reverting back to French.

"Please stop!" she begged.

"Better," the woman said stiffly, standing and straightening her blazer. "No more crying."

The clean scent of the morning breeze returned Sylvie to the present. Dr. Harper hadn't noticed a thing and was writing on her notepad again. Sylvie took a deep, calming breath.

"Are you feeling well enough to continue?" Dr. Harper asked.

Sylvie nodded.

"Have you thought about what you want to do now? After you get out of here?"

"I'm going to be with Steve," she answered. "He's waiting for me."

"Yes, but have you thought about how you're going to live? What it will be like in this new world?"

"Well, I'm worried I won't fit in."

"Why wouldn't you fit in?" Dr. Harper asked, pen poised to write more notes.

Sylvie held her hand out for a moment and then up from the ground sprouted a thin tree trunk. It grew taller and thicker until finally it was a beautiful young apple tree, bright red apples dangling from it's branches. Sylvie plucked an apple delicately from the tree and took a bite.

"If you can't tell, I'm not exactly normal."

Dr. Harper stared at the tree in amazement as it slowly regressed back in to the Earth.

"My mother was the only one who didn't look at me like I was a monster. My father hated me for this, and the other children teased me. What would be different this time around?"

Shaking herself out of her stupor, Dr. Harper cleared her throat, "Believe it or not, Miss De La Mer, there are many other special people like you, now. For example Captain Rog -"

"Steve," Sylvie nodded. "He's very pretty."

Dr. Harper chuckled and conceded, "Yes. Well, when he was born he was very sickly and he grew to be a very small man with a lot of health problems. His father was in the army, so when World War 2 started, Captain Rogers wanted nothing more than to serve as well, alongside his best friend. But the army wouldn't take him, he was too small and too weak and too sick. One day he met a man, a German scientist by the name of Abraham Erskine."

Sylvie felt the tingle of recognition again.

"Erskine had developed a serum, which upon injection, would make the patient stronger and faster. The army wanted to give it to a soldier who was already strong, rather than waste it on an extremely sick man they believed would die upon injection, but Erskine refused."

"So they gave this serum to Steve?"

"Yes, and all of his sicknesses were healed, he grew more than a foot taller, and gained significant muscle mass. He is one of the strongest and fastest human beings on the planet now. And on top of that, no one knows if he is capable of dying of old age or not. The serum has made him stronger on a cellular level, so his cells now heal themselves. Whether that ever eventually stops happening is unknown. So, you see, he isn't normal, either."

"Yeah, but he can't talk to animals or ask plants to grow for him."

"There's also a school, just outside of this very city, actually. The man who runs it is an extremely powerful telepath."

"What's a telepath?"

"He can move things with his mind, and speak to people without ever actually talking. He can also control people, but he chooses not to."

"And he runs a school?" Sylvie asked in disbelief.

"Yes, he runs a school specifically for special children, like you. These days we call them Mutants. And every one of the children at the school can do something different, along with the teachers."

"So, I'm a mutant?"

"No," Dr. Harper said slowly, "Mutants have a gene that is different from humans, which allows their unique power to manifest inside them. The doctors did not find this with you. We're not sure what you are, unfortunately."

"So, I'm still a freak of nature."

"Yes, but you aren't the only one."

-X-X-X-

April 21, 2012

Once again Sylvie found herself lying on the grass, staring up at the clouds. She'd been in the garden for four days now. Every day Dr. Harper had visited her to talk, but she was getting restless. She wanted to start exploring this new world. She wanted to see Steve again and ask him about who she was before. So far no other memories had returned to her, but Sylvie wasn't sure she wanted them to. If she began to remember then she would remember killing her father, and possibly her mother. She'd contemplated this for hours, and had yet to come up with a reason as to why she would kill her own father; or anyone in general.

The guards tried not to stare at her, but she could tell they were all extremely curious, and possibly afraid, of her. She hadn't slept at all, wasn't even tired. They kept giving her odd looks too, because each time they changed guards they asked her if she needed to use the bathroom, and each time she refused. She really didn't need to go. She was thirsty, though. None of the water they brought her tasted right. First the water in the clear bottle, and then water in a glass cup, it was all laced with chemicals and Sylvie found herself choking on it each time. The only water she'd been able to drink was the dew that the leaves of the elm tree in the corner captured.

"Miss De La Mer," the deep, authoritative voice of Nick Fury interrupted her thoughts.

He was standing at the steel door that led in to the building, again in his leather outfit. Sylvie didn't think he wore anything else.

"Ready to go?" he asked, signalling to the door.

Sylvie jumped up quickly, "Really?"

Fury nodded. "The Council can't see any reason for us to keep you here any longer. Dr. Harper has given you a clean bill of health, and you've been most cooperative. But I do ask that you tell us if you start remembering anything."

"Absolutely," Sylvie nodded, jumping on the balls of her feet excitedly.

"Follow me, then."

Fury led Sylvie back in to the building. Again the buzzing noise invaded her mind, but she found it much more easy to deal with. She followed him through a maze of hallways, each one exactly the same as the last; bright fake lighting and white walls. Finally, when the buzzing noise really began to bother Sylvie, did they emerge into a large open room. At the other end was a wall of windows which Fury led her to. One of them was a door and Fury held it open for her. Sylvie came to a halt almost immediately; she knew about cities, but had never been to one, so she was surprised, terrified, and horrified by the noise and chaos and sheer amount of people and vehicles bustling by. The air was thick with smoke and other fumes Sylvie couldn't place and she covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to stop the pollution from entering her lungs.

"Putain, c'est quoi ce bordel?" Sylvie sputtered.

"Captain Rogers had a similar reaction, although not quite so severe."

"I can hardly breathe."

"Come on," Fury led her to a large black vehicle. At least Sylvie thought it was a vehicle, based on the four wheels, although it looked quite a lot different from her father's Mercedes 770. Fury opened the shiny black door to reveal a leather-covered bench. Sylvie backed away.

"I can't get in there."

Fury sighed, rolling his eyes. "Why not?"

"The leather. I don't want to see that again."

"See what again?"

"I don't want to see what the poor animal went through."

"It's fake leather," Fury assured her.

Sylvie took a few careful steps towards the car and slowly reached her hand out to touch the shiny black material. No image of a cow screeching came to her, although the material didn't feel good against her skin, as if there was nothing natural about it at all. Taking a deep breath, Sylvie climbed in to the back of the vehicle and sat on as little of the seat as possible.

"Agent Hill will take you to the Retreat," Fury motioned to the same dark-haired woman Sylvie had seen a few days earlier, who returned his nod, "Captain Rogers will be waiting there for you."

Sylvie nodded, Fury closed the door, and then they began to move. She stared out the window as tall buildings and a myriad of lights rushed past them. As far as she could remember, she'd never seen less Earth and trees in her life. Sylvie didn't like it. It took them over an hour to get out of the city, and another hour for them to reach the Retreat. Sylvie was very happy to discover that the Retreat was a small wood cabin in the middle of a dense forest; she could even sense a lake nearby, and she couldn't wait to dip her toes in to the cool water. Steve came out of the cabin and opened the door for her, holding his hand out. She took it and stepped lightly out of the vehicle, breathing in the fresh air deeply. This was much better. Agent Hill walked around to meet them.

"You'll probably be here for another week or so. We're still looking in to getting you set up with an apartment," she said to Steve.

"What about Sylvie?" he asked.

"That's been more difficult. We're aware that she doesn't do well in the city so we're looking in to other options."

"That's very kind of you, thank you," Sylvie said, placing her hand casually on the side of the cottage. Immediately her mind was bombarded with the image of a shirtless, handsome man with curly, black hair who looked to be in the middle of constructing the cottage. Without even thinking she whispered to herself, "Banner."

"Excuse me?" Agent Hill asked, startled.

Sylvie shook her head to remove the image and repeated, "Banner. Does that word mean something?"

"Bruce Banner?"

"Who's Bruce Banner?" Sylvie shrugged.

"He built this cabin."

Sylvie looked back at the oak-wood siding, "Oh, that's what you were saying."

"I didn't say anything," Agent Hill replied skeptically.

"Not you," Sylvie smiled politely, "The cabin. All it told me was Banner, which confused me for a moment there."

Agent Hill looked up at Steve in confusion. He shook his head, chuckling, "Don't ask."

Sylvie walked around the exterior of the cabin as Agent Hill got back in to the vehicle and drove off. Her attention was immediately pulled towards the crystal clear water of the lake, the sun reflecting off it's smooth surface. Without a second thought Sylvie stepped lightly forward. She heard Steve rounding the cabin as well.

"You may not want to go swimming, the water is pretty cold," he called out to her but Sylvie wasn't listening.

Before Steve could protest Sylvie shed the itchy white clothing S.H.I.E.L.D. had dressed her in and dove in to the water. She hated wearing clothing, it always felt wrong, especially that brazier they'd put on her. The cool water was refreshing and she spun around playfully before emerging. Steve was standing a few feet from the water's edge, staring at the spot where she'd left her clothes. His face was red, like the colour of a fall maple leaf.

"Steve, are you all right?" Sylvie asked, swimming back towards him. She was about to step up out of the water when Steve sprung back in to action.

"Don't get out!" He yelled.

"Is something wrong?"

Steve sputtered, his face getting brighter as the red crept down his neck. Sylvie gasped in realization, "Steve, did I make you uncomfortable?"

He shook his head, but he still hadn't said anything.

"It's just skin, Steve," Sylvie said as she rushed towards him. Steve's head immediately turned upwards to look at the sky. Sylvie pulled at the hem of his shirt, "You have skin, too."

"Nuh-uh," Steve shook his head, "Nope." And without another word he turned and went back in to the cabin.

Strange man, Sylvie thought to herself.

-X-X-X-

It was hours later that Steve decided to venture outside of the cabin again. Sylvie was now, still naked, sunning herself next to the water, only this time she had about a dozen otters accompanying her, all lying on their backs, eyes closed, paws in the air above them. Steve had to admit that she looked like a goddess lying there in the sunshine. Her golden skin reflected the sunlight and her deep brown hair fanned out around her, interlacing with the surrounding blades of grass. His heart raced at the sight of her, and all he really wanted to do was continue to stare at her, but he knew it was wrong, and so he kept his eyes diverted as he walked out towards her.

"Would you mind getting dressed, Sylvie?" He asked shyly.

"If it'll make you feel better, of course," Sylvie immediately replied, pulling her previous shirt over her head.

Steve sighed and sat next to her, the otters scattering as he did so.

"I'm sorry for how I reacted earlier," he said, now looking her in the eyes, although still quite awkwardly. "It's just that I was raised to believe that a man and a woman should only see each other in that way when they're married."

Sylvie shrugged, "It's okay Steve. I'll try to keep the nudity to a minimum while you're around."

"Thanks."

"Unless you wanna get married, of course." Once again Steve's face blushed and Sylvie giggled, "I'm only kidding. Sort of."

Steve shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "You know, I thought I'd be married and dead by now."

Sylvie sighed, "Did you leave someone behind, too?"

"A few people, actually."

"Tell me about them," she said, leaning her head against his massive shoulder and staring out over the lake, watching as the sun made it's slow crawl across the sky, getting closer and closer to the horizon.

"Well, I didn't leave a parent behind. My dad died during the First World War, mustard gas. And my mother died of tuberculosis when I was eighteen." Steve sighed, "My oldest friend was Bucky. You met him, though you don't remember. I was so jealous when he got to go off and fight in the war, and in my father's old unit, no less."

"But then you did get to fight in the war," Sylvie pointed out.

Steve nodded, "It was a long road, though."

"Dr. Harper said something about a serum?"

"Yeah, I tried enlisting so many times until Dr. Erskine found me. He gave me a chance. So I got sent for basic training at Camp Lehigh in New Jersey. And that's where I met Peggy Carter."

The way Steve said her name Sylvie knew she'd been special to him. She wanted to ask but didn't want to hurt him.

"She was something else. First time I met her she punched one of the recruits, a real jerk, right in the mouth."

Sylvie giggled, "Sounds like my kind of girl."

"I never got to tell her I loved her."

Sylvie placed her hand on Steve's arm in what she hoped was a comforting way, "I'm sure she knew."

"I hope you're right."

They sat in silence for a while. Sylvie didn't want to push Steve to talk. Clearly he had had quite a lot to live for, more than Sylvie had, at least. It was when the sun had finally reached the horizon that Steve spoke again.

"Bucky talked about you quite a bit, you know," he said lightly.

"Really?" Sylvie blushed, although she wasn't sure why, she didn't even remember the guy.

"Said you were the strangest woman he'd ever met."

"Oh."

"And the most amazing woman he'd ever met."

Sylvie's blush deepened. "How so?"

"He told me that you watched him a lot; after he was taken captive in Austria."

"That just sounds creepy," Sylvie mumbled.

"He thought it was flattering," Steve laughed softly, "Always did have an ego, that guy. He also told me you saved his life."

Sylvie felt a fluttering in her chest. At least she did something right.

"A guard beat him, almost killed him. When you found out you lured the guard in to his cell, which also held a few other prisoners. You got Bucky out of the cell, and locked the guard in. The other prisoners killed him. Then you nursed Bucky back to health."

"I wonder why I took such an interest in him."

"He was a good-looking guy."

"So are you, but you don't see me staring at you all the time. Well, not really."

Steve shrugged, "I don't know. All I know is that Bucky came to with you washing the blood off him, and you kept him comfortable, snuck him extra food; lots of apples, he said. He tried to talk to you, but apparently you weren't very talkative. So he talked, he had a big mouth, too." Steve chuckled, "Then I guess Schmidt found out, had you whipped, and that's why they were experimenting on Buck when I found him."

"It was my fault he got experimented on?" Sylvie gasped, pushing herself away from Steve.

"It wasn't your fault," Steve assured her. "They were bad men, who did bad things."

"But I worked for them. I must have been a bad person, too."

"No," Steve shook his head, "Bucky said you were the kindest person he'd ever met. I think Schmidt was controlling you somehow."

"How?"

"I don't know. But when I came to rescue Bucky, you helped me get him out. He begged you to come with us, but we were stopped by Schmidt, and he had some sort of device that he threatened you with. And I think I have a theory about what the device did."

Steve stood, pulling Sylvie up with him and led her into the cabin. He stopped in front of a small black box with a glass front. Steve pushed a button on the side of the box and a high-pitched humming, or a buzzing noise was emitted. Sylvie placed her hands over her ears quickly.

"Electricity," Steve said, "You're sensitive to electricity."

"But we had electricity when I was a kid."

"Yes, but not like now." Steve pressed the button again and the sound went away as the glass turned back to black. "Literally everything is run by electricity now, it's amazing. I think that's why you were so uncomfortable in the city. The amount of electricity being used now far surpasses what would have been used in France in 1925. You're just not used to it. And I think Schmidt figured that out somehow and used it against you."

"Makes sense, I guess," Sylvie said, returning to her spot beside the lake.

"Maybe there was something else, who knows. But you're the only one who can know that now."

"What ever happened to Bucky?" Sylvie asked.

"He fell thousands of feet from a moving train in the Austrian Alps. His body was never found."

Sylvie's chest tightened. She didn't know why she felt so sad, she didn't remember him, but her heart hurt all the same.

"Damn Austria," she whispered, leaning her head against Steve's shoulder again and watched as the sun sank below the horizon.

-X-X-X-

Putain, c'est quoi ce bordel? - What the fuck?

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