#none of that blood is hers. (hers is silver and blue anyway.) you should see the other guy! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years ago

Text

not okay, m | jjk, myg

full title: I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, ft. jungkook

summary: Jeon Jungkook fucked up. He talked shit about emo girls. Min Yoongi decides he's going to make him take back what he said, make him beg and plead and cry to be touched by the sexiest woman he knows. Never mind that you were a goth in high school and not an emo.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; established relationship (Yoongi/you); definitely a scheme to seduce a clueless JK; threesome smut (fem reader, D/s dynamics, m-masturbation + daydreaming, edging / orgasm denial, inappropriate (but wanted) touching in public, a lot of begging, hair-pulling, scratching / marking, thigh-riding, handjob, choking, ball squeezing, restraints, cowgirl, nipple play, handcuff and anal vibrator usage, doggy, little bit of m-receiving oral, finger sucking); tbh Jungkook is a mess, is forced to make messes, and likes it; fluff; shifts from all three POVs; black-haired, sub!JK x noona, dom!reader x blue-haired, dom!Yoongi

yes, there are My Chemical Romance references, I'm aware MCR don't like being considered emo, we know labels =/= how someone truly is; yes, it's PTD (emo for a hot second) JK and Yoongi

"Is that what you think?"

Jeon Jungkook flicked the long black bangs over his left eye, laughing. "Yeah, these are just extensions. I thought it would be funny. I don't actually think this kind of style looks good on me."

A sharp click of the tongue. "No, the other part. About women."

Jungkook blinked, bewildered. Then he slowly remembered, recalling his words. "Oh... I just meant I wouldn't be attracted to a girl with a more emo, edgy style."

The deep voice was sharp and accusatory. "You said it was cringey."

"Ah... well... a little?"

Those pointed, cat-like eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Uh... hyung?"

Min Yoongi frowned and stood up.

"We will see about that, Jungkook."

Jungkook watched him go, even more confused than before.

"Why did that sound like a threat...?"

Because it was.

The next time they went out to eat together, Min Yoongi brought his girlfriend with him. She didn't often tag along. When his friends asked Yoongi about it, he just laughed.

"It's because you guys are too fucking loud."

The few times she did come with him, she was relatively quiet. She had an unapproachable air about her, intimidating in the way that a single eye shift and locked-on attention could cause heart palpitations. Everything about her image seemed far too sleek and refined for everyday life. Her gestures, her walk, her style. Minimalist outfits, mostly white and black. It was obvious that she had a nice body, but none of her clothes implied that she was advertising it, at least when she was hanging out with her boyfriend's friends.

There was one exception.

She always smelled delicious.

Noticeable, addictive, gourmand, always making you turn your head just to smell it again. A hint of ginger to startle, followed by the warmth of marshmallow and the earthly scent of green tea. It blended with her skin, turning warmer and muskier as the evening went on, making you wish that you could smell the bedsheets that laid against that sweet-smelling body later that night.

Very troubling for Yoongi's friends for his girlfriend to smell like pure sex and then gaze at them with such intensity when spoken to, startlingly similar to Yoongi himself.

"Hello, Jungkook. Surprising that you're the only one here."

Jeon Jungkook was so stunned that his brain seemed to cease all functions. He was completely frozen, eyes and mouth wide open, not believing the sight in front of him.

Yoongi?

His hyung was dressed normally. Black cardigan, white shirt, black jeans. His hair was light blue now, a cool-toned, steel azure. The color made his fair skin glow and his dark brown eyes stand out.

His girlfriend?

Her hair was loose and wild, partially covering the left side of her face. Dark eye makeup and dark crimson lips. Large, loose black shirt hanging off one shoulder, with a black leather choker and silver chain that clipped to the button placket of her shirt with a clasp. Her bra strap was obvious, meant to be seen, the delicate lace pattern molding around the top of the cup that was barely visible. The shirt was long enough to cover her ass, belted at the waist with a black leather belt adorned by a silver moon-shaped buckle. Sheer black stockings with seemingly intentional rips and sleek black velvet heels.

"Yoongi said you think emo girls are cringey," she chuckled, looking down at him, smirk on her plump, defined lips.

Jungkook sputtered, feeling his face burn. "N-No, noona, that's not what I meant, I–" He was attempting to restore brain function, but he was rapidly losing blood up top and it was gushing down below.

This had to be the hardest part of living.

"I had to remind him that I was a goth in high school, not an emo. They're slightly different."

She bent at the waist and adjusted the chair before sitting down next to him, giving Jungkook half a second to view her perky tits encased in black lace, her chest smelling so fucking good that he nearly passed out. He jerked his head away, glancing at Yoongi in sheer panic.

The older man gave him a completely blank expression.

Their previous conversation echoed in Jungkook’s head. We will see about that.

"The rest of them aren't coming today. I'm treating Jungkook," Yoongi was explaining.

His girlfriend tilted her head. "I thought you said Hoseok was coming."

"He was, but then something came up."

"Hmm..." She raised an eyebrow at Yoongi. He straightened his cardigan, noticing her discerning gaze, and raised one back.

It was only then that Jungkook realized they weren't sitting next to each other, but on either side of him, boxing him against the wall. Now Jungkook could smell Yoongi too, wearing a spicy, woodsy cologne that mixed with his skin to become warmer and more comforting, except right now it was scaring the shit out of him because he didn't understand why they weren't sitting next to each other.

"Ah..."

He simply pointed to the empty chair in front of him, unable to finish his sentence.

Yoongi looked over to see what he was pointing at. "Hm?"

"You're right, I should move it so the server has easier access to our table."

And she dragged the chair to the side.

"Very considerate of you, Jungkook."

She smiled at him and he swore the proximity was causing his sanity to crumble to dust. He saw her tuck her black purse behind her perky, round ass. It had a small pin on it of a devil reading a book titled, Guide to Eternal Torture.

A cutesy yet ominous image.

At this point, Jungkook realized he was staring at her ass and the raised hem of the shirtdress, revealing the fact that the stockings were thigh-highs. The black garter straps were straining against her juicy thighs as she adjusted her long legs under the table.

Fuck.

He bolted out of his seat, mumbling and stumbling past her, the alluring scent of her perfume enticing him as he squeezed past.

"B-Bathroom, be right back!"

You watched Jungkook run off, clamping his hands below his stomach, raising your eyebrows as he and his tight black jeans sprinted to the bathroom.

"Hm."

You turned back to your boyfriend who was looking at the menu like it was the most intriguing piece of art he had ever laid his eyes on. You stuck your tongue in your cheek and breathed out, waiting for him to continue. Yoongi didn't look up. You didn’t really expect him to. You waited out of politeness.

"How long am I torturing him for?" you finally asked.

"Until he takes back what he said about you," your boyfriend responded dryly.

You laughed, shaking your head. "I don't think it was directed at me specifically. Does he even know that this is what I usually dress like? Or why you always tell me to dress simpler when I come with you to eat with all of them?"

Those dark brown eyes flickered up.

Yoongi's perfect lips curved into a small smirk.

You rolled your eyes. "Of course, he doesn't."

He lowered the menu, raising his chin defiantly as he spoke. "My reason is still valid. You saw how Jungkook acted. He a mess around you."

"I don't ooze sex, Yoongi. You're exaggerating."

He cocked a brow. "I beg to differ. I would wager he's jacking off in the bathroom right now."

He drummed the table with his fingertips, challenging you to bet on it. You waved a hand, dismissing the challenge. Wasn't like you could miss that tent. You circumvented back to the matter at hand.

"Did Jungkook actually say that? About emo girls being cringey?"

Yoongi shrugged. "Something like that."

You frowned. "Really? With his eyebrow piercing and tattoos? And his black hoodie and jeans?"

Your boyfriend went back to the menu. "Projecting, I think you called it?"

Yes, Jungkook washed his hands before throwing himself into a stall and touching his dick.

He wasn't gross.

Would be really great if his dick had calmed down on his own, but her perfume lingered on Jungkook's hoodie sleeve, just the faintest trace on his left arm, and he pressed it against his nose, inhaling.

Fuck, why does she smell so good?

His right hand was undoing his pants, his eyes and fingers closing in, focusing on his throbbing erection fighting his underwear. Maybe if he just touched it on the outside, it would be fine...

Her face popped into his head, complete with the little quirk of her eyebrow.

Nope.

Jungkook shoved his hand into his boxer briefs and pushed them down, teeth biting his hoodie sleeve so he could smell her perfume as he stroked his cock, feeling somewhat dirty about it, but mostly violently horny. It wasn't like he could stop his brain. He couldn't go out there with a massive boner either, so he had to do what he had to do. It was only a few thoughts anyway, thinking about her thighs under the table and wondering how they would feel wrapped around him, wondering if she would let him rip those stockings off and bite those delicious legs, wondering if he could undo that belt and unwrap that body and press his nose against that sweet-smelling skin and taste it with his tongue, planting kisses over those beautiful breasts with her hand around his cock instead of his own, pumping him to her unforgiving pace, forcing him to moan into her skin, abusing his stiff length with her tight grip and expansive strokes, his hands gripping her soft thighs and his whines saturating the air, pleading, begging her to let him cum.

Would she edge me?

His hand abruptly stopped.

Jungkook used every ounce of willpower to avoid whimpering into his own sleeve.

His whole body was achingly tense, screaming at him to finish, but he refused, shoving his whole face into the thick fabric and breathing hard, clenching his jaw and his twitching cock, imagining her pretty face with a smug, sadistic smirk, those dark lips teasingly telling him he could finish inside her.

"What are you doing?"

The pale hand dance in the air, beckoning the waitress over.

"Ordering."

You tilted your head. "Jungkook isn't back yet. You should wait for him."

Yoongi shrugged. "I know what he likes." His gaze flickered to you. "Meat."

You narrowed your eyes. Yoongi gazed back, unfazed. You knew that look. You knew how to read between the lines. To everyone else, Yoongi was a 3D puzzle with a million pieces, but to you, he might as well have been a children's picture book.

The side of his lips quirked upward, so faint you would have missed it if you weren’t looking for it.

He did have very nice pictures in his book. You'll give him that.

You ticked your right eyebrow so subtly that no one caught it but him. He, too, knew that to look for. His smirk grew, pleased at your wordless communication.

You were dating a real troublemaker.

You smirked back as the waitress arrived at your table, apologizing for keeping you waiting. One look from both Yoongi and you, and she nearly dropped her notepad, fumbling with the pen, cheeks flushing pink.

Trouble did tend to find trouble.

Jungkook had determined he hadn't done anything wrong. He didn't actually orgasm in the bathroom stall thinking about Yoongi's girlfriend while smelling her remaining perfume on his clothes as the said couple sat in the restaurant, awaiting his return.

Well.

Now that he mentally described it like that, it did sound kind of fucked.

Crap.

He saw a blob of black in his peripheral vision and looked up to see Yoongi's girlfriend stride past him, fragrant-smelling hair drifting behind her, his head turning automatically to follow the sight, entranced by the movement of her hips and hair, only to find her glancing back at him, foxy smile dancing on those dark lips.

He swore she mouthed his name.

Maybe even said it?

Jungkook blinked and she was no longer looking in his direction, heading to the women’s bathroom and rolling up her sleeves, clearly going to wash her hands.

He was seeing things.

Yes.

Just horny and delusional.

"I ordered the beef plate for you. If you don't like it, we can order something else."

Jungkook looked down at the streaming, sizzling platter of seared beef and vegetables, feeling his stomach growl as he sat down.

"No, hyung, this is great. Thank you."

"Hm, that's good. You can start eating, I'm going to wash my hands."

Yoongi began to stand up, brushing off his pants. Jungkook jerked his head up, seeing the older male push his chair back, light blue hair falling over his forehead.

"Um, h-hyung?"

"Mmm?"

Those dark brown orbs flickered to him.

"Er..."

Yoongi tilted his head.

"Erm... why is noona here? I thought you said… you were just treating me to a meal...?"

Yoongi tilted his head the other way, slowly, unreadable expression in those cat-like eyes.

"I am. I'm paying today."

He raised his head and smiled. Jungkook tore his eyes away from Yoongi to see her weaving through the crowd to make her way back to the table, silver chain hanging from her black choker glittering in the overhead restaurant lights, exposed shoulder and collarbone a stark contrast to her all-black outfit, body shape so exquisite that it wasn't only Yoongi and Jungkook watching her walk. Many pairs of eyes followed her wake, some shy, some unabashed and brazen.

"Besides, she is a treat, isn't she?" Yoongi purred.

She had made eye contact with Jungkook and her lips curved into a small, amused smile.

Any response he had to Yoongi’s words died in his throat.

"Too bad you think that style is cringey, otherwise you might have had a shot, Jungkook."

You sat back down as Yoongi waltzed off, gesturing to his hands, leaving you with the Korean equivalent of Steve Rogers from 1943 to 2011, complete with what you presumed to be a very nice ass if the rest of Jeon Jungkook was anything to go by. Ah, well, you trusted genetics. Surely nature would have blessed Jungkook with a good booty. You looked over to him. He wasn’t moving.

Wasn’t even blinking.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face and Jungkook started, jumping in his seat, his wide brown orbs shakily shifting to you. You made eye contact and he quickly looked away, swallowing hard.

Come on, surely, it's not that serious.

Jungkook ran a hand through his short black hair and snuck a glance at you. Or, more specifically, your chest. Ah. Was that it?

"Something wrong?" you asked, picking up your chopsticks.

"N... No...?"

You had to smile. Jungkook didn't even sound like he believed himself. You pointed to your collarbone.

"Too much?"

His brown orbs shot up. Silence. You locked eyes with him, keeping him in place. You witnessed his inner struggle now, trying to decide between what he thought was the right answer and what his instincts were telling him.

"Aren't you... uncomfortable, noona?"

You chuckled, picking up a piece from your pork belly dish and blowing off the steam. "Me? Of course not. People stare at me all the time. Might as well dress how I want." You dabbed the extra oil off on the side of the plate and brought it to your lips. Your eyes flickered to the younger man. He was still watching you, his own lips parted, wispy black strands over his forehead, accenting his dark brows and the silver bar piercing on the right side. Poor guy. Jungkook really picked the wrong man to project to, the one whose girlfriend never grew out of her goth phase.

You brought the meat close to your mouth.

Let your tongue snake out for a millisecond between your open lips.

His eyeballs nearly fell out of his head.

This is too easy.

You placed the hot meat into your tongue and closed your lips around it, chewing slowly, maintaining eye contact.

Not speaking.

Yoongi was surely overreacting to something Jungkook probably didn't think too much about before saying it, but that was fine with you because Yoongi told you to cause some trouble. You liked causing trouble. That's how you got Yoongi. Trouble attracted trouble. Still, he had something planned. You could tell. Maybe even guess.

You smiled at Jungkook and he gulped so loudly you could hear it over the sizzling meat.

Otherwise you might have had a shot, Jungkook.

What did that mean?

Jungkook was having a mild panic attack throughout the entire meal, even when Yoongi suggested they get beers. His girlfriend was driving, so only he and his hyung drank as they ate. They barely talked. Jungkook’s brain was too busy trying to break down the meaning of the mysterious phrase, replaying Yoongi’s words over and over.

You might have had a shot.

A shot at what?

What, exactly?!

Jungkook snuck a glance at Yoongi’s girlfriend and she was looking back, cocking an eyebrow when they made eye contact. He flinched and peeked at Yoongi's expression. His hyung was chewing his beef slowly, staring into space.

Have had a shot.

Maybe Jungkook needed to do shots to be a normal human being at this point.

"You're pretty quiet today, Jungkook."

His dick twitched in his pants.

Jungkook threw one thigh over the other and mashed his dick between them.

"Ah... sorry..." he mumbled, fixated on his beer glass.

Yoongi rapped his forearm with the end of his chopsticks. "Look at people when you talk to them."

Jungkook swallowed and looked up at her. "S-Sorry, noona."

She tipped her head and frowned slightly. "Is there something wrong? Did I say something to make you upset?" She looked apologetic. "I'm sorry if my presence is ruining your time with your hyung."

He jerked his head to said hyung. Yoongi prodded at something in between his teeth with the end of his chopstick and gave Jungkook a confused look, as if to say, what are you looking at me for?

"Um... no," Jungkook finally said, shaking his head and turning back to her. "No, noona. I'm glad you're here. It's really nice to see you."

"You're barely looking at her."

His ears burned at Yoongi's dry remark.

She perked up, pointing to her collarbones. "Is this bothering you? It's too much, isn't it?" she chuckled, jingling the chain on the choker and making his dick jolt between his clasped, jean-covered thighs. "You really don't like this style, huh?"

Jungkook darted his eyes to Yoongi, who pointedly stared back, giving him zero context clues except for reminding him of what he said before the meal.

A shot.

“Uh, that isn’t it, noona. Ah, actually…”

Jungkook chewed on his lip nervously, focusing on her instead of Yoongi. She turned her body, giving her full attention to him. He couldn’t tell if that was better or worse. The guilt ate away at him. Minutes passed by. So many, in fact, that it was getting awkward. His neck was on fire, his ears were red-hot, he was pretty sure his cheeks were flushed, and not from alcohol, yet he still he couldn’t say shit to those dark eyes and crimson lips, trapped by the gaze of the woman in black, feeling like he just booked himself a room in the Hotel Bella Muerte.

“Are you okay, Jungkook?” she asked, shadows of an amused open-mouthed smirk on those lips.

Was he?

“Er, yeah… I’m okay,” he croaked, coughing to clear his throat.

Yoongi snorted.

Jungkook shook his head quickly, letting out a small growl of frustration. “Actually, no, noona, I’m not okay.” He rubbed his forehead and exhaled hard, biting his lip as he faced her questioning expression. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said the style you’re wearing is cringey, because it’s not. It’s really not. You look amazing. You always have, but you look extra cool and sexy today and I feel really bad saying something like that because I should have thought about how other people could look and pull off that style, but I didn’t, I was only thinking about how stupid I looked when I was fifteen and I assumed–”

Her hand shot out and she pressed two fingers to his lips, silencing him.

“Shh,” she hummed, fully smirking now. “You assumed and thus you got yourself in trouble, didn’t you?”

She’s touching me!

Jungkook jerked his eyes to Yoongi, who was nibbling on his last piece of steak and ignoring Jungkook’s panic. He added a bit of the sauce and popped the meat in his mouth, chewing slowly. It was like she and Jungkook weren’t talking at all or, rather, Yoongi wasn’t concerning himself with it.

Her fingers slid down, pressing into Jungkook’s lower lip.

He very nearly made a noise, quickly darting his gaze back to Yoongi’s girlfriend.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

Why was she saying his name like that? Like… like she was sexing it with her tongue or something? Oh, shit, he was going crazy. He had to be. It was all in his head. She must be saying his name normally. Had to be. Yoongi’s girlfriend? Flirting with him? No, no, absolutely not. And certainly not in front of Yoongi. Even if his hyung was pretending to be deaf, he was definitely not deaf. Yoongi was the kind of guy who would smack a stranger looking at his woman funny.

This?

It was all in his head.

Her fingertips slid to the side of his lips, tracing the shape.

R… Right?

“You think I look extra cool and sexy today?” she mused, licking her lips.

Jungkook could smell her perfume off her wrist. Sweet, musky, seductive. His thighs were so tightly clasped together that Jungkook was pretty sure his dick was pointing straight down with how erect it was at the moment.

“Ah… w-well… a b-bit…?”

Clink!

Jungkook yelped as cold water flew into his lap, immediately spreading his legs as the glass tumbled onto the tabletop. Yoongi swiftly stopped it, sighing exaggeratedly.

“Ah, my bad, that was quite clumsy of me…”

“Shit, Jungkook, are you okay?”

Her fingertips left his lip and he could finally breathe, only to squeak sharply as hands planted firmly onto his thighs and crotch, bunched-up napkins dabbing the excess water away, quickly soaking it up with the paper.

“You should be more careful Yoongi, sheesh…”

“Sorry, Jungkook, here, take these.”

Jungkook vaguely registered Yoongi saying her name apologetically as well, but at the moment he was not okay, very not okay, he promised this was the most not okay he had ever been in his entire life as Yoongi’s girlfriend mopped up water from his inner thighs and crotch, molding her hands around his dick, yes, his actual straining hard-on was being touched by her hands and it was getting harder by the fucking second, her hurriedly wiping the water off, acting like this was completely normal and not like his cock was trying to rip out of his pants.

“Ack, noona, w-wait…!”

He tried to sit up and Yoongi’s hand came down on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Good idea, get under his ass just in case.”

Jungkook nearly blacked out as her napkin-covered hands slid under him and cupped the inside of his legs and bottom half of his ass, patting around. Her palms cupped his balls for a hot second.

He was fucked.

Utterly fucked.

Jungkook whimpered in his throat.

Her hands immediately stopped.

She looked up at him, very serious. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Jungkook shook his head from side to side so quickly that his vision blurred. “Yes.”

She shared a glance with Yoongi. The older man sighed and stood up, squeezing his shoulder as he leaned down to Jungkook’s ear.

“You want her to keep touching you or not?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, jerking his head to Yoongi. Those dark brown orbs looked back at him, demanding the truth.

“I didn’t spill that water for nothing.”

It was only then that it dawned onto Jungkook.

This was a set up. He was being set up. His hyung had set him up.

This whole fucking thing was a set up.

We will see about that, Jungkook.

She was cleaning his seat off and gently tapped his thigh. “It’s dry now. I think you’re okay.”

Jungkook decided that he really did not care about being set up. He did not give a single shit that he fell for it wholly and completely like a gullible idiot. He whipped his head back to Yoongi’s girlfriend, who was sighing ruefully, giving Yoongi the side-eye, muttering under her breath so only they could hear.

“What do you think he’s gonna do, Yoongi, ask to fuck me?” she hissed, placing the wad of wet napkins onto the table.

Too bad you think that style is cringey, otherwise you might have had a shot.

Jungkook’s hand shot out and squeezed her thigh.

“Can I fuck you, noona?” he breathed, chest tight.

He dug his nails into the sheer stocking, ripping new holes.

“If hyung lets me?”

"Yoongi, what are you thinking?"

Your boyfriend smiled. Very nonchalant. Nearly innocent. You knew better. This was Min Yoongi after all. His cardigan was off now. His broad shoulders in the white t-shirt were very distracting. Actually, so were his arms, now toned and more defined. Yoongi had recently taken an interest in working out.

His smile turned into a smirk. "What?"

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. You noticed movement under you and smacked Jeon Jungkook's hand down so he was no longer picking at the peach fuzz in his face. He gasped in surprise, but you ignored him, completely focused on your rather troublesome boyfriend.

"You can't be serious."

You felt fingers brushing against the hem of your shirtdress, playing with the edge of the fabric. Yoongi was kneeling behind Jungkook, who was sitting on your bed, and the younger man was now messing with your outfit as you and Yoongi continued your conversation about him.

Your boyfriend leaned down and placed his hands on Jungkook's jaw, laying down his deft fingers one by one, lifting that chiseled chin up, those wide brown eyes now looking at your face, paired with the amused, cat-like ones.

"I am serious," Yoongi murmured. "You should teach him a lesson."

You pursed your lips. "He already apologized. That's enough."

Yoongi tilted his head, clicking his tongue.

"No, it's not."

Your eyes flickered down and you raised an eyebrow at Jungkook's interruption. "What was that?"

He gulped under your stern gaze. "Um..."

Yoongi smiled pleasantly, removing his hands from Jungkook's face. "See? He wants it."

"He's your friend, Yoongi. We're going to have to see him in person later. You want him to be horny every second he's around me?"

Yoongi placed his palm on the crown of Jungkook's head, drumming his fingers slowly. Light blue strands curled around his dark brows and eyes, playful smirk on his shapely pink lips. His deep voice was a low, alluring drawl.

"He already is."

Jungkook nodded very fast to agree. He was trying to hide the keen excitement in his eyes by not speaking, but his eager expression was giving him away as Yoongi slowly chipped away at common sense. You grabbed Jungkook's chin and squeezed, holding him in place. His breathing hitched in your hand, small whimper of your name leaving his lips.

"Don't look at me like that," you scolded.

"Like what?" Jungkook asked with shaking eyes and a small pout.

You kept switching from Jungkook's to Yoongi's eyes because if you looked too long into those pleading brown orbs, you might actually crack. You spoke slowly, emphasizing each word.

"Like you're desperate for it."

A low, dangerous chuckle.

Your gaze fixated on Yoongi. He was about to do something.

His long fingers worked into that short black hair and yanked back, making Jungkook gasp and shiver as he was pulled from your hand, your name falling from his lips in a breathy moan as his eyes continued to watch you, waiting, needing, begging.

"P... Please, noona..."

Yoongi's grip tightened in those black locks, Jungkook whimpering at the roughness, his own hands clutching your shirtdress, tugging at it.

"I'm telling you to do it," Yoongi purred, smokey and dark, staring into your eyes.

Jungkook was pulling your shirt now, pulling you to him, getting you to straddle his lap, you glaring at Yoongi's smirking face the entire time, annoyed that he put you in this position, and yet you knew something of this nature was coming the second he pulled you aside earlier today and asked you to dress the way you normally did because he was going to take you out to eat with Jungkook and Hoseok. Jung Hoseok already knew about your eccentric fashion sense and, while it did spook him a little the first time, he often sent you links of clothes that reminded him of you. You didn't think much of Jungkook being there. He was the youngest and Yoongi often treated him to a nice meal, although usually without you.

"Unbutton the top more."

Yoongi had adjusted the exposed shoulder himself and handed you the leather choker.

"Wear this one."

You had given him a skeptical look. "You suiting me up for some kind of mission?"

Yoongi had smiled mysteriously.

"We're going to make Jungkookie's life a living hell and he's going to like it."

Apparently, Yoongi's mission was to tempt and torture Jungkook until he was mildly insane and then subsequently draw out the younger man’s ravenous desperation so that Jungkook was now clawing at your thighs and whimpering under you, trying to get you to fuck him, shuddering every time he attempted to raise his hands and Yoongi punished him by yanking at his hair in warning.

"She hasn't said yes yet. No higher until she says yes," Yoongi snapped, not taking his eyes off you and your body.

"B-But..."

You slapped a hand down on Jungkook's mouth and squeezed harshly, digging your nails into his cheekbones.

"Shh. I'm thinking."

You closed your eyes.

Breathed out.

"You know the only hope for me is you, right?"

"That's a little dramatic, Yoongi."

Those dark brown, cat-like eyes glittered, full of mischief.

"You always play along with my ideas."

"They're all very good. You are a genius."

You loved the way Yoongi smiled at you, endearing and sweet with a hint of cunning cleverness. He liked to invent new ways to keep your life interesting. Being with Min Yoongi was never boring.

"I doubt you'll be able to shock me though. I've seen it all." You, too, enjoyed challenging him and being challenged. That was part of the fun.

That's why you carried on with his black parade.

Yoongi chuckled. "Mmm, famous last words."

“Don’t let him move.”

His veins were on fire, chest shuddering as his head was pulled back, back, his spine arching to an almost uncomfortable position, but he didn’t care, only feeling pleasure as she leaned down, hovering over his body, her hand on his mouth, gasps trapped on his tongue while her own extended from those dark lips, down, down, her other hand grabbing a fistful of his hoodie and yanking down the neckline.

The tip of her tongue touched the space right between his collarbones.

She removed her hand.

Jeon Jungkook moaned, hot and wanton, sinfully right in front of Min Yoongi’s face as Yoongi’s girlfriend licked up his throat, tracing his Adam’s apple and scraping her teeth against it, before sliding up to his chin, stopping right before his lips.

Exactly where the mole under his lower lip was, tip of the wet muscle unmoving.

Those sharp eyes shrouded in black eyeshadow and dark eyeliner looked down on him.

“Please, n-noona…”

He didn’t care if he was being pathetic, tearing at her stockings with his fingernails, unashamedly imploring for more.

She didn’t speak. Yoongi spoke for her.

“Please what?” his hyung murmured, massaging his scalp slowly.

His cock was so hard that it physically hurt being trapped in his jeans like this. Any sanity he had left was being obliterated into pure, unadulterated lust. Jungkook didn’t care anymore about right or wrong. Whatever they let him have, he would take. He would beg and plead and cry if he had to. Whatever it took.

He whimpered, his thighs tensing with need.

“P-Please fuck me…”

I want it.

I need it.

I crave it.

She raised her tongue and flickered it over his lips. He moaned, shaking, his hands dropping from her thighs, reaching between his own legs and rubbing his painful erection through the zipper of his jeans, nearly sobbing as Yoongi’s fingers tightened, nails raking at his scalp.

“I can’t t-take it anymore… please… whatever you want to do, just do it, please, please touch me, I can’t s-stand it, I’m so h-hard…”

She pressed her knee down onto the back of his hands and Jungkook whimpered, so aroused that even that felt good, simply knowing she was applying the pressure, his balls suffocating a little against the center seam because of how thick and stiff he had become.

“Are you a little bit of a masochist, Jungkook?” she whispered, licking his lower lip gently.

Instead of answering right away, he pulled his hands out from under her knee and pressed it down onto his aching cock, his eyes rolling back and moaning deeply, forcefully raising his hips up, slightly pulling on his own hair in the process.

“Hyung, noona, please…”

The friction was almost painful, but the leaking pre-cum had soaked into his underwear, the slickness rubbing against the head, the added pressure of her knee slightly crushing his erection being his own self-inflicted pain that only added to the pleasure.

Jungkook gazed at her with half-lidded eyes, shuddering.

“Destroy me more.”

Min Yoongi liked to watch his woman work.

She was the best, she knew she was the best, and she only got better the longer she was with him. Of course, he loved her working him most. But Yoongi also enjoyed keeping things interesting. Being an assistant to the master was just as fun. And besides, they had a much more equal power dynamic and that’s what they liked.

But Jeon Jungkook.

He pulled Jungkook’s hoodie off, taking the shirt underneath with it, bare chest exposed to sharp black nails that immediately sent Jungkook into a spiraling mess of moans, falling back as those dark lips attacked the tanned skin, leaving marks all over that muscular body. Yoongi placed a hand under that sharp chin and pressed the younger male’s head to his chest.

He liked this too, this power.

Yoongi pressed his fingertips into Jungkook’s chin and raked his nails over that quivering throat.

He didn’t expect anyone to understand how or why he operated the way he did. He only needed one person to understand and she was currently yanking off Jungkook’s jeans and black boxer briefs with vicious vigor, throwing them aside before climbing off his lap.

Yoongi placed his hand over Jungkook’s eyes and wordlessly took his sight.

He liked the sounds Jungkook made. Needy, desperate, and strikingly beautiful. He had a wonderful quality to his voice, pouring all of his emotion into it. Nice cock too. Very hard, very red, a good length and girth. Yoongi chuckled, amused at the younger man’s eagerness. He lowered his head, whispering into that ear with three quivering silver hoops.

“So cringey, isn’t it?” he taunted.

Jungkook whined in his hands, trembling tone saturated with apology. “I’m sorry, hyung, I’m so sorry, I take it back, I didn’t mean it, p-please believe me...”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw his woman remove her panties and step out of them. Stockings and garter belt stayed on though. She had style. He smirked, humming softly to mask her movement.

“You don’t have to say sorry to me.”

He removed his hand and she dropped her bare pussy onto Jungkook’s naked thigh.

Wet, hot, and sweet.

“Oooh, fuck…”

He lifted his head, eyes hazy and unfocused, greeted by the sight of Yoongi’s girlfriend straddling his thigh and rubbing her pussy all over him, the scent of her perfume mixing with the scent of her sex, thick and delicious and intoxicating, her soaked opening flexing against his hard muscle, driving him insane, disappointed that she was still mostly dressed.

“Noona…”

Jungkook reached for the belt at her waist, expecting Yoongi to stop him, but he didn’t, letting Jungkook unbuckle it, his hands shaking badly from the pleasure of her pussy touching his naked skin. The gentle slap of her thigh against his balls and cock not enough. He wanted to be touched, but those scrutinizing eyes indicated that she would touch him when she wanted and no sooner. It was making him lose his mind, but he loved it, moaning her name deep from his chest as he struggled to undo the small buttons, flinching and shuddering with her movements.

“I’m sorry, noona…” he gasped, staring into those sultry dark eyes.

She reached up and touched his lips, tracing the shape with her nail, sending shivers all over his body.

“You gonna watch your mouth from now on, Jungkook?” she murmured, trapping him with her gaze, turning the shivers into brimming electricity.

“Y-Yes, noona…”

He undid the last button and she swiftly removed her hand from his mouth and smacked his away, shrugging out of the shirtdress and tossing it to the floor before reaching down to her ass. She opened her mouth and her tongue snaked out, shiny with saliva, using her hands to spread her ass and pussy, squelching down on his hard, tense muscle.

“A-Ah, so good…”

And now he could feel more, the inner lips of her pussy now rubbing on his skin with her clit, slick and slippery, muscles of her opening constricting and relaxing on his thigh, an indescribable feeling, sensual and dirty and raw, the control so precise that her smug expression and upper body remained relaxed, hips still moving at the same rough pace.

Yoongi’s fingers tangled in his hair again, husky voice at his ear.

“Put the fingers of your right hand in her mouth.”

Jungkook obeyed as if spellbound, raising his hand and dipping his fingers into that waiting mouth, her warm tongue wrapping around them and coating them with her saliva, pink muscle gliding between his joints and dancing around his tattoos, spit dribbling down his palm and dropping in fat plops onto his crotch, his body flinching at the contact, unashamedly whimpering his want, Yoongi’s dark chuckle filling his ear.

It must have looked so dirty.

So wrong.

“Take them out.”

Jungkook removed his fingers with a sniffle, the coil in his core so tight he thought he was going to explode.

“Touch yourself.”

His cheeks burned at the thought of his own hand wrapping around his cock in front of two people, adrenaline and thrill burning his veins.

“B… But, hyung…”

“You touched yourself in the bathroom at the restaurant earlier, didn’t you?” that deep purr accused, pulling at his hair, prickling pain shocking his scalp.

“I…” His hand lowered. “I h-had to… noona is just so…” Staring into those heavily shadowed eyes, tongue licking those dark-stained lips, his saliva-coated fingers wrapping around his aching, taut cock, so close to sobbing at the relief of being touched that his voice cracked a little. “So sexy… and she smells s-so goooooood…”

Eyelids fluttering, Yoongi rapping his shoulder, telling him to look at her, telling him to appreciate that hair cascading over her left eye, those breasts cupped perfectly in that black lace bra, that garter and stockings barely encasing those juicy legs and her pussy sliding up and down his thigh, her hands spreading her ass wide so he could feel it as he punishingly and roughly pumped his cock, trembling all over, struggling to get his words out, cheeks burning with embarrassment as he explained but, for some reason, he wanted to explain and became even more aroused by it, relishing in knowing that she was listening intently to his confession.

“You always smell so, so good, noona… I t-touched myself w-while smelling your perfume on my clothes… T-Thinking about you and my hands all over your perfect body and your hands t-touching me…”

Fucking his hand harder, tighter, faster, slipping down, down, knowing what he was going to say next, driving himself to that point, the coil inside causing every muscle to tense, staring right into her eyes, knowing his pupils were blown-out and unfocused.

“T-Touching me like I am right now, abusing my c-cock and… s-stopping right before I c-cum…”

So close, so close, so close, please, please, please…

Her hand shot out and gripped his wrist painfully, forcing him to let go of his cock.

Jungkook cried out in vain, jerking his head forward and bringing tears to his eyes from the pain of Yoongi’s unmoving grip, tugging at his own hair, the sudden denial causing his cock to twitch and slap against her thigh, smearing pre-cum and saliva onto her soft skin, knowing that he wanted it, sinfully satisfied in how perfectly frustrated she made him, reading his signals and torturing him just right.

A merciful, skilled devil in disguise.

The hand left his hair.

Her hips slowed, sitting onto his thigh, an almost unbearable weight that he welcomed.

“Jungkook.”

His head lolled, scalp stinging, staring into her eyes and loving the way she said his name, like her tongue was wrapping around it and caressing it, each syllable drenched with curated possessiveness that was meant just for him.

Yoongi’s fingers snaked around his neck, four fingers fitting under his left ear, thumb pressing onto the pulse just under his right ear.

“You want to finish inside me?” she exhaled, hot and heavy and addictive.

The grip on his neck tightened, pressing on the blood vessels leading to his head.

One of her hands was still on his wrist. The other reached in between his thighs, past his stiff, purple-red cock. Fingers wrapped elegantly around his balls, joints locking, keeping him in a vise-like grip of pure power without adding any unnecessary pressure.

“Y… Yes, please…” he gasped weakly.

The grip of his wrist vanished. He was getting lightheaded, fighting to keep his eyes on her, and her free hand was now finally encircling his cock, finger by finger, making him wait, squeezing his balls a little harder, fuck, her touch, a distinctly different hand and different power, gently stroking his throbbing length as Yoongi choked him and she pulsed her grip around his balls, his breath leaving in shallow gasps and not only from the thinning circulation, but the flashes of pain and the constant pleasure of her hands and her wet pussy flush against his thigh.

“What if I make you cum like this?” she murmured, leaning in, Yoongi pressing in between his shoulder blades and pushing him to her beautiful face, dark and sultry and captivating, her lips now close to his.

“O… Okay…”

It took all of his willpower to hold himself up with his hands.

“You can do whatever you want to me, noona,” Jungkook whispered thinly. “I mean it.”

Yoongi pet his sweaty hair, pushing it away from his forehead, squeezing his neck tighter.

Jungkook choked out her name, desire so potent that he saw something in her eyes flicker. She liked it. She liked him and what she was doing to him and his reaction to it. It gave Jungkook a special kind of high, the kind of arousal that transcended past the sex.

Jungkook couldn’t get out anymore.

He knew he would crave this feeling, the feeling of power in powerlessness.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

Jungkook’s first kiss with Yoongi’s girlfriend was her forcefully jacking him off as she squeezed his balls and Yoongi choked him, his tongue sloppy and lips quivering, her sucking on it and making him moan with his tongue trapped in her dark lips, his hips twitching and shooting thick strings of cum all over her thigh, his thigh, and the sheets, suddenly slingshot into oxygen when Yoongi let go, adding to the high, his eyes rolling back, shivers racking his body, pleasure so intense that he felt nothing else, absolutely nothing but her touch, her hand leaving his balls and wrapping around his waist, pulling him to her body, her kiss stealing his breath, her cum-covered hand sliding up and down his abused cock.

Jungkook inhaled.

Her perfume invaded his nose, marshmallow sweetness, warmth of green tea, spark of ginger, and he was drunk, drunk on submission, sex, and their power over him.

Yoongi loved everything she did.

The way she looked at him.

The way her body moved.

The way she leaned over and kissed him as he pinned Jungkook’s wrists over his head while she was riding the younger man’s cock with a bruising, intense pace, her tongue curling around his, moaning softly into his mouth, lover to lover. With every moment, Yoongi fell more and more in love, addicted to orchestrating the perfect scenarios for his woman to completely ruin someone else.

She broke the kiss.

What a brilliant, satisfied, killer smile.

“O-oh, fuck, so good, fuck, your pussy is s-so good…”

Yoongi sat back and watched her hands slide over Jungkook’s chest, gripping his shoulders and fucking him hard, watching her pretty pussy clench around that cock that was begging for that tightness and that torture, the younger man rolling his hips up with every descent, destroying himself further.

The squelch and slap of skin to skin was audible, loud, and so, so sexy.

Her fingertip flicked the bottom of Jungkook’s chin, smirk on those plush lips now smeared with dark lipstick. There was something erotic about the mess though, her wild hair bouncing with every thrust, faint dark smudges now on his lips and Jungkook’s panting mouth.

“Aren’t you the perfect little fucktoy?” she teased.

There was a tension in her jaw, indicating that she was clenching around the younger man’s cock.

“A-Ah, just f-for you, noona…”

She frowned playfully, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. “Hmm, I don’t know, sweet boys always have sweet tongues and you’ve already proven yours sometimes says misleading things…”

Jungkook whimpered. “P-Please, I s-said I was sorry… I m-mean it…”

Yoongi liked this begging, this desperate tremble vibrating from that silvery voice.

“I would n-never do something l-like this…”

Jungkook had such a handsome face, even with his cheeks flushed red and his composure falling apart.

“Unless it was y-you… and Yoongi-hyung, oooh, God…”

He raised his eyebrows, making eye contact with her.

She smirked back, dangerous and perfect.

“I-I can’t...”

“Yes, you can, Jungkook,” you murmured, arms around his neck, his arms shaking as he held himself up, moaning as you stroked his back, Yoongi behind you, still fully dressed, kneading your breasts, your nipples poking out between his long fingers and giving Jungkook the visual of your cleavage and the hard nubs poking straight out at him.

He groaned, hazy brown orbs returning to your face.

“Please, wanna make you cum with my cock so b-bad…”

You began to rock your hips again, the brief intermission stalling his orgasm over, and now he was moaning again, squirming at the oversensitivity and strained by the denial, your pulsing pussy keeping him hard until you built the pace up again, pushing him to the edge once more.

“Look at you,” you murmured, caressing his neck and back, fingers splayed over his hot skin. “You dream about this, Jungkook? Dream about hyung letting you be noona’s fuck slave?”

His teeth sunk into his lower lip, whining in his chest.

��I-I’m sorry…”

“Shh…”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, smacking your ass down onto his thighs, tightening around his cock. Jungkook moaned into your face helplessly, shuddering at your sensual gesture contrasted by your fierce thrusts.

“I wanted you too,” you whispered hotly, breathing in his clean scent. “You always looked so innocent. Made me want to mess you up every time I saw that handsome, nervous face of yours.”

Your grip tensed around his head, lower half really giving it to him now, bouncing on his cock, letting his thickness and his hardness fill you up over and over again, Yoongi pinching your nipples and rolling them between his fingers, following your rhythm.

“It’s not going to be enough for him, you know,” Yoongi chuckled darkly behind you. “He’s going to come crawling back, begging for more.”

Jungkook bit his lip again, looking from you to Yoongi, already guilty.

You leaned forehead, placing a light kiss on that mole below his lower lip.

“I love it when you beg for me, Jungkook,” you purred.

You could feel it, arousal flaring at your own words, already close and getting closer, pussy pulsating around that satisfying girth.

“Are you going to be patient?” you teased, tugging at his hair, savoring the strained moans from Jungkook’s throat. “Are you going to wait on your knees and watch Yoongi fuck me until he’s satisfied and then come to take his place and show me that you can be good for me too?”

You felt Jungkook’s cock twitch inside you, already enthralled with the idea.

“Y-Yes, noona, p-please…”

Fuck.

You dug your nails into his scalp and moaned deeply, staring into those glazed-over brown orbs, drugged on his lust for you.

“You’re so obedient, fuck, makes me want to cum on this pretty cock of yours and reward you.”

Yoongi pinched your nipples and tugged on them.

The spark collided through you, gasping as your orgasm seized your senses and took over, your eyes rolling back as the powerful jolts made your walls spasm, tension so high that it felt as if your nerves were vibrating, Jungkook’s name tumbling from your lips with a hiss that turned into a groan in unison with his, his overstimulated cock jerking and twitching from the brutal massage of your orgasm, the condom swelling inside you from spurts of his own.

The scent of sex was so strong that even Yoongi moaned, squeezing your breasts roughly.

“F-Fuck…”

You inhaled sharply, feeling Yoongi’s arms wrap around you, nuzzling your neck.

“Don’t I have such good ideas?”

You grinned, seeing Jungkook’s euphoric expression before he pitched forward and leaned his forehead against your other shoulder, panting for breath. His exhale was warm, drifting over your racing heart and heating your heated skin.

“Yes, Yoongi,” you chuckled, stroking his soft blue hair and Jungkook’s sweaty black hair. “You’re a genius.”

"Jungkook-ah!"

"Sorry, Jimin-ssi, I can't–" He clenched his jaw, stifling the noise threatening to escape from his throat. "I can't hang out today. I have a deadline for work."

"Aw, that's okay Jungkookie. Do you want hyung to bring you some dinner? I can stop by!"

"I already ate, ah, just now. Thanks anyway."

"Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone. Don't forget your hyungs! You work too much."

Jeon Jungkook made an affirmative grumble. "Talk to you later."

An elegant finger reached over and hung up the call. The same hand lifted his phone from his ear and placed it back on the nightstand. Jungkook wasn't able to hold the phone himself.

He was handcuffed to the headboard.

"A-Ah, noona, fuck!"

Now that he was off the phone, she turned the toy back on, making him yelp and squirm. He whimpered, thighs shaking as his prostrate was assaulted with harsh vibrations, the connected silicone ring choking his cock and balls, flush against the base of both.

He moaned her name helplessly, looking down to see her laying between his legs, jerking forward with every smack of Min Yoongi's hips. His hard, dark red cock was sticking straight up right in front of her face. She heated it with her calm exhale, smiling at his shuddering whine.

"P-Please, touch me, o-o-oh, fuuuuuuuck..."

Yoongi smacked her ass with his open palm, making Jungkook moan at the sight of her ass bouncing from his hyung's dick.

"F-Fuck, please, noona, hyung, please, I wanna c-cum so b-bad..."

She increased the vibration setting and patted his thigh, returning to casually fucking Yoongi as he lost his mind from the jarring, rough pleasure, flexing his core and ass to make his cock jerk and swing in the air, unable to touch himself because of the handcuffs.

He loved it.

Jungkook loved every second of the torture crafted just for him.

"What a good boy for his noona."

Jungkook could only moan and whimper in response.

"Mm? Are you a good boy for her? Lying to Jimin so you can spend more time with my lovely woman?"

The younger man whimpered, biting his lip.

“H-Hyung…”

Yoongi smirked as Jungkook’s eyes rolled back, mouth open, gasping wail falling from his mouth as her tongue circled the head of his cock, lapping gently at the sensitive skin. The handcuffs rattled, Jungkook’s hands gripping the chain, tattoos standing out on his arm from his tense muscles. Yoongi watched her hands side up those toned thighs, up shaking hips, up to that slim waist, then drag back down, nails pricking at that skin, creating indents and red lines, visible, wet, glistening tongue toying with the throbbing cock in front of her.

He felt his own twitch inside her. Her muscles clenched around him tightly in response.

She lifted her head, gripping Jungkook’s hips and forcing him down on the bed, him whining and pleading for her to do more, but all three of them knew the way this was going to go and the one in the handcuffs wasn’t calling the shots.

“You keep coming back, Jungkook, and it’s gonna ruin sex for you.”

Her hand slid up his abused cock and balls, playing with them and rubbing the overstimulated skin as Yoongi increased his pace in power and speed, fingers spread out on her hips and sinking in, mirrored by the way she removed her hand from Jungkook’s length and grabbed his hips again, cocking her head, looking down at Jungkook.

“You keep flying high and you’re not going to want to come down.”

Jungkook’s black hair was all over his forehead, messy and sweaty, shudders leaving his swollen lips. The light caught the glint of the silver metal piercing on his trembling eyebrow.

She leaned down, hands crawling up his body, digging her nails in, scratching him up, and Yoongi hissed at the shifted angle, deeper now and more intense, her hair cascading down her shoulders, the sweet scent wafting up, sweet, warm, spicy, his favorite scents in the world melding together.

Sex.

Perfume.

And his woman, a curator of the little, beautiful death.

She chuckled, taunting and playful, placing her forearms on Jungkook’s chest, pushing back against Yoongi and using the other male’s body as leverage, poised in front of Jungkook’s fallen composure, one hand lifting and tracing his lips, enticing that pink tongue to sneak out, begging for a taste.

She shoved her fingers into his mouth, humming approvingly as Jungkook began to suck on them noisily, moaning around her fingers as the rhythm escalated, louder and louder, squeezing his length tighter so Yoongi had to thrust harder, growling in his chest, firmly gripping her ass, faster, rougher, her fingers sliding in further, the wet sounds of tongue and lips adding to the symphony.

Her words the crescendo.

“The jetset life is gonna kill you, Jungkook.”

The fire flared to an unbearable tension and Yoongi hissed her name, clenching his jaw and scratching her back hard, causing her to let out a long, drawn-out moan, clenching around his entire length and he came, cock jerking against her punishing walls, shooting his orgasm into the condom, his fingers sliding down her back, groaning satisfyingly when she matched him, her cum gushing out and sticking to his crotch and thighs, sweet purr of his name drifting out of her lips, her fingers slipping from Jungkook’s mouth, shiny with saliva and wiping it all over his chin.

“O-o-oh, fuuuuuuuck, please…”

And she didn’t forget, not even in her ecstasy, her hand wrapping around Jungkook’s neck, choking him strongly, driving him to the edge.

It took seconds.

Your lips curved into a smirk, Jungkook’s shaking, half-lidded brown orbs saturated with lust, vibrations and visuals and now the loss of blood leaving him breathless, lightheaded, and at your mercy.

Open mouth, gasping out your name.

Then he threw his head back, airlessly screaming, handcuffs rattling, muscles standing out all over his body from the searing tension, tattoos glistening with sweat, eyes rolling back, hips jolting up and shooting cum all over your stomach and his, orgasm so intense that he arched his back and jammed his cock between your bodies, your hand releasing him, Jungkook sobbing at the relief of his aching length still flinching and twitching, the hot head of his cock throbbing against your skin, still dribbling out hot cum in between your bodies, thick and slick.

You slithered on top of him, smearing it everywhere.

“Oh, God, n… noona…”

“Asleep already?”

You petted Jungkook’s head, smoothing his hair. “He had an eventful night.”

Yoongi chuckled. “He asked for it.”

Jungkook scooted closer to your heat, burying his nose in your chest, inhaling deeply.

Yoongi kissed the top of your head affectionately and you reached for his hand, running your fingertips over his knuckles. He placed it on your bare hip, tracing his marks on you.

“So, next time…”

“You’re already planning next time, huh?” You turned your head to look at those mischievous, cat-like eyes shrouded by strands of wispy light blue.

Yoongi ticked a brow. “Do you think he’s going to stop? I made him wait a whole month from the first time to this time and he gave me puppy eyes every chance he got.”

You shook your head with a smile, turning back to run your fingers through Jungkook’s black hair. “I wonder how you survived.”

“I looked away.”

You snickered and lifted Yoongi’s hand, pressing his fingertips to your lips.

“I would make him look away from me,” you murmured, low and dangerous.

“Hmm, then I’ll let you decide when next time will be.”

“Not counting tomorrow morning, right?”

“Of course.”

You felt Jungkook’s lips press onto your skin, a soft kiss inviting you and Yoongi to destroy him more.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #yoongi x reader #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook smut #bts smut #jungkook smut #yoongi smut #jungkook x you #yoongi x you #yoonkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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pillage-and-lute · 4 years ago

Note

If you're still taking request - your arranged marriage Au made me think of Jaskier as maybe someone cursed and in a tower, maybe everyone thinks the prince in a tower is guarded by a terrible dragon but the prince IS the dragon, and Geralt investigates?

Cute idea, elementalsight!

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“Rescuing a fair maiden, really?” Geralt said.

“The notice had he/him pronouns, so probably not exactly,” Yennefer said, looking at her nails. “And you need the money. Do you want the contract or not?”

Geralt picked it up from the table and smoothed the parchement.

“There’s really very little information here, they say he’s guarded by a dragon?”

“Mmmhmm,” Yennefer said, brushing at a chip in her nail polish that was probably imaginary.

“There’s no dragons out here, the terrains wrong, we’d know anyway.”

“Mmh, intriguing, right? Bet you wanna take that contract now.” Yen hadn’t looked up from her nails.

“Yen, what do you know?” He lashes cast odd shadows across her face in the torchlight.

“Nothing I’m telling you,” she said. Then she summoned a portal and disappeared with a swish of skirts.

Damn. He really was out of money though.

The tower wasn’t imposing or ominous. It wasn’t made of black stone or crooked, no random lightning storms or smoke, it wasn’t even that tall.

“Go away,” the voice came from a throat like a blast furnace and Geralt was staring into the slitted eyes of a mid sized (still big enough to eat him, just in more than one bite) dragon.

“Hello,” he said. “What’s a sky dragon doing in a place like this.” It was his special ‘talking to horses or big animals’ voice.

“Not a sky dragon,” the sky dragon grumbled.

“Yes you are, and what’s weird is that you should be up on some chilly cliff, not in a forest.”

“I’m a dragon, not any special kind. The eat you all up and burn your armor kind.” There was a pout in the voice now.

Geralt scratched one of the snout scales.

“Sure,” he said. The dragon huffed, blue-silver smoke rings curling from the nostrils. No eating occurred.

“I imagine I’m not very good eating,” Geralt said. Most witchers would probably at least give a dragon indigestion. “I also imagine you know something very important about the prince in the tower.”

The dragon, despite having eyes the size of soup bowls, did not meet Geralt’s gaze.

“He’s not even a very important prince, I don’t know why you’re interested.”

“I’d quite like to know why he’s imprisoned in a tower,” Geralt said, although a mental picture was forming. “And why I have a contract to kill both him and the dragon guarding it.”

The dragon pulled back sharply and hissed. A blade thin line of fire, blue and so hot it nearly seared off an eyebrow, missed Geralt by inches.

“Monster hunter,” the dragon said, shifting up on it’s haunches like it was getting ready to pounce. It wasn’t. He could see it in the muscles, they weren’t bunched right. The dragon didn’t want to hurt him, and the eyes just looked sad and kind of resigned.

“Yes,” Geralt admitted, holding up his hands, both currently sword free. “But I don’t want to kill him...or you. Monster hunter, not prince hunter.”

“Dragons are monsters,” the dragon said.

“Only to stupid people,” Geralt replied. “And sheep,” he added as an afterthought. “I want to meet this prince of yours.”

“NONE MAY ENTER,” the dragon said. “NOW LEAVE BEFORE I BURST YOUR EARDRUMS WITH A ROAR”

“You can’t, that’s only earth dragons, they’re all curled up under a mountain somewhere, and they’re certainly never blue.”

“The dragon looked nonplussed. “I’LL SPIT ACID IN YOUR FACE.”

“Swamp dragons,” Geralt said. “Green or yellow and a little smaller.”

“I’LL...”

“You were raised by humans,” Geralt interuppted.

“No?”

“Yes you were, otherwise you’d know more. Did the prince raise you? I won’t harm him you know, I only wan’t to talk.”

“NONE MAY ENTER.”

“Yes, you’ve said, but I won’t take him away. I just want to know why people want him dead.” Here Geralt looked the dragon right in the blue eyes, close enough to se the silver flecks in the iris. “Maybe I can help him, help you both.”

The dragon looked away. “Come back at sunset.”

Geralt did.

He yelled out for the dragon but it wansn’t there.

“I’m climbing the tower,” he called out. “Don’t flame me, you invited me.” And he clambered up the tower. Coming back down he’d be thankful for the rope he’d brought, because the stones were slick and smooth. He sat on the small windowsill and swung his legs into a room.

It wasn’t a very nice room. It was definitely a prison. small bed, one candle, uneven table and wobbly stool. A young man was sitting on the floor, cradling a lute.

“Are you the prince?” Geralt asked. He hadn’t seen a picture and although he felt silly making sure, he’d feel sillier if he got it wrong.

“Yes, are you the dragon slayer?”

“Witcher,” Geralt said. “And I did’t slay your dragon.”

“He’s not my dragon, he’s my fearsome jailer, keeping me inside this tower.”

“No,” Geralt said. “I doubt it. Show me your eyes.”

“No,” said the prince, not looking up.

“I’ll bet they’re a very pretty shade of blue,” Geralt said. “With silver.”

Blue and silver eyes met gold.

“You knew,” said the prince, swiping dirty, brown hair from his brow.

“You act odd, for a dragon, prince...” he sought the memory. “Julian.”

“Friends call me Jaskier,” said Jaskier. “Although I don’t have many. Just a little bit of dragon blood in the line, barely more than a drop, really, but I just so happen to get all of it. Anyway, I thought all dragons could look human.”

“They can,” Geralt said. “But they’re raised by other dragons, so they don’t act the same. Why are you inprisoned? And why was I sent to kill you.”

Jaskier sighed. “It’s not good, is it, to have a dragon for a son, even if he is your third son and won’t inherit. Father locked me up and had a mage cast a spell. As a dragon I can roam a little, but I can’t climb down the tower as a human, and I’m only human at night, some mishap with the runes as I understand. True love’s kiss breaks the mage’s spell.”

Geralt scoffed. “That pansy stuff never works.”

“It’s just what I was told,” said the prince, shrugging. “Somehow my father got the idea that true loves kiss will also make me no longer a dragon.”

“Not how that works,” Geralt said.

“No,” Jaskier agreed. “But he keeps sending heroes after me hoping they’ll kiss me.”

“The contract said I was to kill both of you.”

“Yes, well, that would also take care of the problem, wouldn’t it?”

“The problem being you?” Geralt said.

“The problem, generally speaking, being me.”

“We’ll break the spell,” Geralt said, although it wouldn’t be that easy.

“And then what? I can’t fight, I’ve no useful skills and nowhere to go. According to you I don’t even make a very good dragon.”

The young man slumped down. “But I’ve been so lonely,” he said. “You know I’ve been here five years? Just me and my lute, I think I’m going mad. You could even be a figment of my imagination.”

“Right,” Geralt said. “Getting you out first, dealing with other problems later.”

“Where am I going to find true love’s kiss?” asked Jaskier. “Do I kiss you?”

“You could try?” Geralt said. He really wouldn’t mind. The prince was whiny and a little dirty but very good looking. “But I was thinking more like, finding the runes and wiping them out.”

“You can just do that?” Jaskier leap to his feet. “They’re right up there,” he pointed among the cieling beams. “I can’t reach them on my own but the two of us...”

Geralt was already lifting the princling onto his shoulders. He didn’t weigh a lot.

“Just a little forward,” Jaskier said, accidentally kneeing Geralt in the chin.

“Hmmm,” he said, to avoid cursing, and shifted forward.

“Thery’re coming off! The runes are wiping away!”

He was loud but Geralt couldn’t blame him, five years was a long time. Although not compared to a dragon’s lifespan.

“They’re gone, I’m free!”

Geralt let the boy down from his shoulders and got a surprisingly tight hug and a very pleasant, extremely enthusiastic kiss.

“Just...you know, covering all my bases,” said the blushing prince. He really was cute.

Geralt carried him down the tower. Delighted, Jaskier turned into a dragon, then back to a human, then a smaller dragon, house cat sized, and perched on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Where are we going now? And what’s your name? Will I meet other witchers? Don’t forget to bring my lute?”

It would probably get old very quickly, Geralt thought. But the company was kind of nice, if a little scaly.

#geraskier #dragon jaskier #creature jaskier #true love's kiss is for sissys #the witcher #askbox answers

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1engele · 4 years ago

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daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 3. frogger

Previous | Next

[warnings: cursing, smoking, light violence, blood]

"i don't want to be friends. i want all of you."

—

"Can I get your number?"

You and Larry both whip around to face Sal, the person who'd spoken that sentence. You're stood at the foot of Addison's Apartments.

"What?" You blink. "Me? My what?"

You assume Sal mirrors your nonplussed expression because he bats his eyes just as startled as you did. "Uh- your phone number. So we can be in touch easier. You know, for school and stuff."

Eager anxiousness in the form of butterflies batted their wings in your gut and your ribs. You reached into your back pocket, flipped your flip-phone open, and handed it toward the blue-haired boy. "Here," you blurted. "Put it in there." You gloss your eyes toward Larry. For some apparent reason, he's wearing a wide, shit-eating grin.

"You can put yours in too if you want."

He waves a tan hand. Your attention is on Larry, but it somehow drifts and you're glancing toward Sal. His veiny hands are jerking which each movement of his thumbs as he presses numbers on the keypad.

"No, that's okay," Larry replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'll get it off of Sal."

"Here," Sal holds the flip phone out to you. It's small in his hand.

He has long fingers, you thought.

"Oh, thanks." Your fingers brush his as you reclaim your phone and return it to it's place in your back pocket.

Your heart is beating unnecessarily loud by the time they've walked you to your apartment. Your hands are in your coat pockets to conceal the mild trembling in your hands. You're almost nervous that they can hear the rushing of your blood as your heart rapidly pumps it through your body—because you know you certainly can.

"I had fun today," you smiled, your expression nothing but sincerity. "Thanks for everything. I appreciate it."

Larry grins. "That's cute. No need to thank us, alright?"

You twitch the corner of your lips upward and nod towards him.

Sal tucks a strand of blue hair behind his ear—you'll never get used to the color. In a good way. You could look at it for hours—and fiddles with his backpack strap. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah," you respond, your teeth making an appearance. "Goodnight, you guys."

With that, you're inside of your apartment and shutting the door behind you. You hear their muffled voices and unintelligible words through the wall as they retreat from your door and towards the elevator.

You drop your bag at the door and make haste to your room. You sit on the side of your bed and hurriedly open your phone.

The first phone number you'd ever had—save your mother, which doesn't count— was "c you tomorrow :)", sitting right beneath "Mom" on the contact list. After changing his name to "Sal :)" you breathed out shakily, and slowly pushed enter on his contact.

Should you send him something? Isn't that a bit weird? You'd just seen him a few minutes ago. Should you wait a little longer? What if he's still with Larry, and they see what you'd sent a message so quickly and make fun of you?

You shake your head. That was unlikely. All they'd been was great to you.

"c you tmrw."

You inwardly linger over the thought of pressing the send button.

Why the fuck were you so nervous, anyway? Because a boy with nice hands and a pretty laugh said he'd see you tomorrow?

Yeah.. okay, maybe that was it.

"c you tmrw." The message was sent.

You slapped a hand over your face. Should you have said something else? Should you just have not texted him at all? You fell back into the mattress, draping your arm over your face and blinking into your wrist. The feeling of exhilarated dread churned in your gut.

A subtle vibration reverberated on the comforter. It buzzed in your ears momentarily. You paused, before lurching upward and snatching the phone back into your grasp.

"you too. let's try not to rouse mrs. packerton's suspicions tomorrow like we did today lol."

You grinned, and replied before you could stop yourself. "might not be possible. you may need to answer another math question for me."

Sal replied after a pause. "can't say no to that. goodnight, y/n"

You breathed out slowly, typed out a goodnight message, and slowly dropped your hands back down to the comforter.

Your fingers shook and your heart was beating itself against your rib cage. Not long after, you dozed off into sleep thinking of the way your body felt when the warmth of his palm was flush against the nape of your neck.

Getting up the next day is a bit harder than getting up the previous one. You couldn't seem to rub the sleep away from your eyes, and, for some reason or another—you'd waken up in a cold sweat, and your sheets stuck to your body. Not only that, when you'd went to shower, the water was freezing, for no apparent reason. You'd come to terms with the fact that this building had multiple personalities.

Standing beneath the shower head felt like being pricked with itty-bitty pitchforks. Topped with miniature ice cubes.

You'd gotten dressed in an oversized black sweater (over a long-sleeved, black top for added warmth), along with an a-lined plaid emerald green and blue skirt on top of your sheer black tights. The skirt was not short—not amongst your standards, it was mid-thigh—but nowadays teachers were weird about how girls dressed so you'd have to keep an eye out about that.

Also, surprisingly—instead of the usual beat up and raggedy sneakers you usually wore you decided on some of your chunky Mary Janes you'd thrifted not long back. You'd never given them a go outside before. The only time they'd been worn was in your room and by yourself.

When you were fully dressed, you let yourself examine your outfit in the mirror. While doing so, your phone chimes in your hand. You snap it open hastily and read the notification.

"it's larry. sal gave me your number :P meet us outside when ur ready"

You grinned and walked out of your room. You grabbed your bag and made for the door. When you'd gotten outside, what greeted you there was not exactly what you'd expected.

"Oh! Ashley, is this yours?" You inquired, gazing over the pale silver Ford Fiesta that sat in the driveway. It was a cute car. Ash sat in the driver's seat with the window down and her forest green eyes attentive and on you.

"Yeah! My little brother had an allergic reaction while eating out at some big corporate food chain and we got it in compensation. We already have a family car so it was given to me."

What a nice story, you thought, making sure you maintained your pleasant expression.

"Oh," you passed your gaze over the vehicle again. "Cool!"

You noted Todd's place in the passenger seat. You met his eye and gently waved. He returned the wave, with that neutral look on his face he always seemed to have.

"You're going to be cold," a voice behind you says rather abruptly. You jump, whirling around.

"You scared me," you laughed, your face burning as you made eye contact with none other than Sal Fisher. "What do you mean?"

"Your skirt," he replies, glancing away momentarily. Your eyebrows raise comically.

"You don't like it?"

"No-" he rushes out, a bit too fast. "Uh, no. It's g- it's nice. I meant you're going to be cold in it."

He was right. It was nearing the end of August.

You pass your eyes over your legs, from the a-lined skirt, the sheer black tights, and the chunky Mary Janes. You return your gaze to his—not before catching a glinting glimpse of what seemed to be rings adorning his fingers—and shrugged.

"Oh well. All I'm worried about is being dress coded," you look to Larry, who's near Sal. "Good morning."

"You too," he grins. "Let's get in the car. It's chilly."

You all clamber into the backseat. You're in between Sal and Larry. Hot air blew from the car vents and hit you in the face as Ashley turned the temperature up further. While doing that, she turns on the radio and channel surfs until she's found some sort of soft rock station. She turns it up to a moderate volume.

A car freshener in the shape of a red tree dangled from the rearview mirror and swayed as Ashley put the car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway. It had a charming illustration of what resembled two strawberries on the front.

The car smelled nostalgic—like the smell of the hair on one of those Strawberry Shortcake dolls you owned as a child.

The wistful scent is abruptly overpowered by the smell of smoke and the autumn air. Larry had rolled a window down and had just lit a cigarette to your left. On your right, Sal has pulled out his flip phone and is playing some sort of shit quality version of Frogger.

Interested, you lean over.

"How'd you get that on there?"

He looks over at you. He's close. You can hear him slowly inhaling and exhaling through his nose. "Todd did it for me," Sal replies. He gestures toward you with the phone. The phone makes a sound. The digital frog had fallen into the water. "Wanna play?"

"Oh," you pause, and smile. "I like watching you."

His eyes flicker over your face. "Okay."

He returned to the game. Finally, you had an excuse to stare down at his hands. Multiple silver and black rings adorned his hands. They fit him perfectly—snug on his pretty fingers and accenting his veiny hands perfectly.

During your examination, you hadn't exactly realized it but your cheek was now flush against his shoulder and your hair was tickling his neck.

No, you weren't smelling him, but it was hard not to scent it when you inhaled through your nose. He smelled of delicate laundry detergent—fresh, clean—and of minty vanilla. Breathing that in made you feel what was probably the most at home you'd felt in months.

You glanced up from his hands, to his Adam's apple, to his prosthetic face—his gaze remained attentive on the flip phone, dark lashes moving along to accommodate his flickering eyes. You looked away before he'd noticed, and paid attention to the game.

"You're good," you commented.

He didn't reply immediately, almost as if he'd looked over at you. The side of your face remained on his shoulder and your hair still brushed against the skin on his neck.

"Well, it's only Frogger," he remarked. "I bet you're better. Try it."

The sudden scent of ashy smoke consumed your senses. Larry must have exhaled halfway inside of the car. The vapor floated for a moment before dissipating into nothing.

You took the phone from Sal's hands and shifted in your seat to sit straight up. You pressed play on the game, and within seconds your frog had fallen into the water.

"I suck."

"No, you don't. You're just not trying hard enough."

"Potato, Potahto," you reply, shortly laughing at yourself and pressing play again nonetheless.

Suddenly, the vehicle slammed to a halt. You held onto the phone tight in one hand and steadied yourself on the passenger seat in front of you with your other one.

Sal seemed to have the same idea, except he seemed to panic and had braced yourself on your knee instead. You could have sworn you saw white for a split second, your insides jumping and chills fluttering down your spine. He quickly retracted his touch, catching your eye immediately.

"Sorry," Sal uttered.

"That's okay," you'd done a fine job gathering yourself together. "Perfectly fine."

"Jesus Christ, Ash! What the hell was that?" Larry calls from your left, the cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers. He was halfway through exhaling his smoke when he spoke again. Vapor spilled from his lips as he stared at the front of the vehicle. "Trying to kill us?"

"Whoops! Sorry guys, I almost missed the red light."

"That wasn't very wise," Todd remarked from the passenger seat, turning his head to look at Ash. You couldn't help but shortly giggle, looking back down at Sal's phone.

You heard Sal slowly exhale a breath of relief beside you.

"Yeah, anything but fucking wise," Larry scoffed. "Thought I was about to die, dude."

"I said I was sorry," you could hear the roll of Ashley's eyes in her voice. "My parents would kill me if I got a ticket. Also, who told you that you could smoke in my car?"

"I did." In your peripheral vision, he was staring blankly. "What're you going to do about it?"

In the rearview mirror, Ashley squinted her eyes but said nothing.

"This is a shit show," Sal murmured, looking back to his phone in your hands. You'd returned to the game, still attempting at getting past the first level. The digital frog continuously leaped over lily pads and logs. It was almost therapeutic.

"Sorry you don't want me back here, Sal." Larry's tone had transformed from mildly annoyed to slightly bitter. His cigarette had been held unattended for a decent amount of time so it had begun to burn out. "I didn't ask to third wheel."

You blinked and convinced yourself you'd heard him wrong.

You weren't looking at Sal's face. He was silent for a few seconds.

"Just chill out, alright?"

"I'll say what I want."

"It's too early for this, Larry," Sal bit out. "Cut it the fuck out."

Your heart pumped furiously.

"Where do you want to take this, Sal?"

Ashley jumped in incredibly quick, the car jerking as she turned the wheel abruptly, pulling the vehicle into the school's parking lot. "Fuck no. What the fuck are you thinking, Larry? Going to fight Sal because you're in a pissy mood?"

"I'm not going to fucking fight him, Ashley," He shook his head. "It's just- apparently he's got some kind of vendetta against me today so I guess we could talk somewhere else-"

"That's in your head, Larry," Sal said honestly. "I don't know what makes you think I have something against you today, but I don't. I don't know how you want me to prove that to you."

Larry settles into silence as Ashley pulls the Ford Fiesta into a parking space.

"Just- put the cigarette out and calm down, okay?"

It didn't look like the smoke had much left in it, but Larry still drew one last hit out of it before he stepped out of the car and crushed it beneath his shoe. He throws his bag over his shoulder and slams the car door behind him.

You look over at Sal, who was reaching for the door handle. Ashley and Todd had already exited the vehicle, and Ashley was standing by and waiting for you both to get out so she could lock the car.

"Hey," you murmured before he could leave. The blue-haired boy turned his head and inquired you with raised eyebrows. "Try to be patient with him, when you two talk it out. I haven't known him long—but I can tell he's the sort of person that wouldn't act like that unless something's bothering him."

Sal looks down at you thoughtfully, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. You hear him swallow thickly. "Yeah," he muttered. "He is that type of person. I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

With that, you both exit the vehicle and Ashley locks the car. Todd and Larry had already walked up a measured distance ahead of the three of you.

"Do you know what that might have been about?" Ashley asks, directing the question toward Sal by holding eye contact with him. You walk to Sal's left, looking ahead as to not be intrusive on the conversation.

"Uh.." he trails off. A cool breeze filters past your face and legs and it makes you shiver. "Not really. Usually, it's about his mom. Whenever they've argued about something, it puts him in a bad mood."

Ashley seems to give herself a moment to reply.

"Anything else?"

Sal does the same.

"Not that I know of."

Your eyebrows twitch downward.

Ashley walks slightly ahead of the two of you. She calls your name, and you look up from the ground, startled. "How are you liking the apartments? Anytime I've been there, they're kind of creepy."

You giggle. "Yeah. You could say that. I'd say they're alright—it gets kind of cold. The water was fucking ice cold today. Could barely shower."

Ashley mirrors your laughter. "Anything else?"

You pause. "Larry has this really great treehouse. I don't know if you've been, but it's honestly pretty cool. It's homey."

She looks up to Sal in surprise. "She's already been? When did you guys show her?"

He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. "Uh, well, we didn't necessarily show her.."

Ashley looks at you curiously. You sarcastically pout towards Sal, finding his eyes to be twinkling with amusement. "I may have broken into it."

"Oh, you didn't break into it," Sal protests, exhaling sharply through his nose in a gentle chuckle. "You just didn't realize it was inhabited."

You look towards Ashley. "Long story short—I found a cool treehouse. Thought it was abandoned. Climbed into it. Coincidentally, Sal and Larry climbed into the treehouse while I was in it. It was embarrassing."

"It wasn't. It was funny," You could hear Sal's grin. "She smoked for the first time that day."

Ashley's jaw dropped in faux-astonishment. "You've tainted her innocence."

You smile. "It was honestly kind of horrible at first."

Before you knew it, the three of you had entered the school. After a few more minutes of banter and friendly conversation, you and Sal parted ways from Ashley to head towards your first class of the day: math.

Once again, Mrs. Packerton had given the class a math sheet. For god knows why she expected you to know all of these things off of the bat and get all of the questions right with barely any assistance. You were stuck on one problem like it always went.

Someone nudged your arm. You looked to your left and smiled at who was looking at you. He glanced down at your paper. "The answer's-"

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Mr. Fisher?"

Fuck, you thought, slowly looking up to your elderly teacher. Glancing over to Sal, his eyebrows were raised and he peered up at the woman at the front of the classroom with something akin to surprise in his eyes. "Uh-"

Before he could explain himself, Mrs. Packerton's entire facade did a 180 and her eyebrows were suddenly furrowed and her frown was deep-set. It was almost comical, and you strained to keep the laugh in. You weren't looking to break a rib, so you unfortunately giggled beneath your breath.

Her dark brown eyes slid over to you. After a moment of being examined and feeling extremely uncomfortable, she sighed.

"I'm administering detention for both of you, after school. I will let you finish the test, but next time this happens it'll be an immediate fail for both of you. Understood?”

You and Sal exchange both equally supposed expressions, before nodding together.

Before class is over, you see Travis giving Sal another sour look. Oh my god, you thought, twirling your pencil around in between your fingers. Is this going to have to be another talk, Travis?

The bell rang. You and Sal jumped up and fled the class as quickly as you could.

"Oh my god," he breathed, as you both stepped into the hallway and began maneuvering through the countless amount of students flooding the halls. "She's super fucking scary. I was so wrong."

You abruptly laugh. "Yeah. She's got that look in her eye." You pause. "I'm sorry, Sal. You wouldn't be getting a detention if it wasn't for me."

Sal tilts his head just slightly. "It's no big deal. It was my fault, anyway. It's not like you asked for my help either times I helped you out. It's not like my dad's going to be mad, anyway—he'll probably be relieved. I've never really got detention for anything, especially involving talking to another person. Probably'll be glad I'm being more social, haha."

You frown. "I'm still sorry."

"I appreciate it, but you don't have to be-"

"If only your friend wasn't so dumb, Sally Face. It's a shame that your perfect record is all tarnished."

Sal appears as though he knew who was talking a few words in. He inhales, turns around to face the blond boy behind him, and backs up a step. "What do you want, Travis?"

Your fingernails sink into your palms. It stings. You told him yesterday!

"Nothing. Just wanna know why she's so stupid."

Sal's eyes flicker. "Mm, think you're forgetting about how close you were to failing mid-terms last year. You're not very bright yourself."

Travis grows a bit red but he looks as though he's trying to ignore his growing frustration. It boggled you—the fact he was so easy to anger because of the fact Sal was defending himself. Defending.. you?

"Whatever. Why am I fucking arguing with a fucking satan worshipper, anyway?"

That genuinely surprised you. What kind of insult was that? And where did it come from?

"Whatever, Travis. God doesn't like bullies, either. I hope you don't kiss your daddy with that mouth-"

You're glad the hall is relatively empty because the crack you hear when Travis' fist meets Sal's prosthetic face is loud and startling. Your heart is in your throat. You place your hands on Travis' chest and push him into the lockers. The metal cages rattle beneath the sudden weight.

"What the FUCK is wrong with you?" You shout, red hot anger coursing through your body and pumping through your veins. "Get the fuck away. I swear to god, I'll-"

Sal murmurs your name, gripping your wrist. "Stop. Don't push him."

You give Travis the bitchiest expression you can muster. He scoffs and walks away. You're surprised he didn't throw one last insult into the air—but he instead walked down the hall with heavy footing, turned around the corner, and disappeared.

As soon as you're done watching him down the hall, you whip around to Sal with wide eyes. He was cupping the place where the mask cut off, collecting blood that dripped down.

"He's got a mean right hook," Sal breathily laughed.

The rage you currently felt made your head hurt. You quickly grabbed him by the wrist and hurried him towards the restrooms at the opposite side of the hall. On your way, the bell rings. You couldn't care less whether or not you were going to miss your class—it's not like you didn't have detention already.

"Hey, what're you-"

You pull him into the girl's bathroom, which was empty. You make sure to turn him away from the entrance. His eyes are as wide as two dinner plates.

"Huh. Smells nice in here," he comments. The fact that's the first thing he says tells you he's clearly in shock from being clocked in the face.

You grab some paper towels and look him in the eye.

"I'm going to clean you up now,"

You reach around his head.

"Hey, I- wait, you don't-"

You unbuckle the clasps at the back of his prosthetic and pull the prosthetic off of his face. You set it aside, and set it on the edge of the sink.

He slowly meets your gaze. The amount of internal fear that's held inside of those eyes—fear you know that's been held in for so long—is astonishing to you. Your eyes soften. You slide your gaze over his face, and all you can feel is an unbelievable amount of happiness and satisfaction.

Butterflies swarm your insides and beat against your ribs at the sight of his mouth.

It's just as kissable as you'd imagined.

Shut the fuck up, you snap back at yourself. Not the time.

You're unable to hold in the large smile that grows on your lips as you bring the paper towels toward his face and wipe away the blood that dripped from his nose, down his mouth, and fell down his chin—there was so much of it that it had made its way down to the collar of his shirt, staining the material scarlet red.

"You can give that to me later," you uttered. "I know a thing or two about getting blood out of clothes, haha."

His lips twitched, but he remained silent and let you do your thing.

After thoroughly cleaning his face off, you return the prosthetic to him, handling it with care.

"Here you go."

After he'd put it on, you met his eyes.

"Hey, Sal, I'm-"

"It's okay." He peered at you sincerely. "That went.. better than I thought it would. I just hope you don't think of me differently."

The thought appalled you.

"No!" You exclaimed, a bit too forceful. You gathered your composure and tried it again. "No. Um- I could never. Seriously. Your face doesn't change who you are, Sal. It doesn't make me think of you any different. You're still you. Besides, I- um... I liked it."

His eyebrows jump and he jerks his head upward. "What?"

"I liked it. I liked your face."

He was silent like it was taking him a little bit to process that. Your eyes wandered during this time, and they landed on the collar of his shirt, again. You cursed.

"Shit. Hold on."

Suddenly, you'd crossed your arms around your midriff and began pulling the sweater upward. The noise Sal made was almost comical.

"No, uh, you don't have to! It's fine, I can-"

Before he could stop you, the shirt was up and over your chest and it was off of your head. Thank god that you'd remembered the black top beneath, or else you'd feel really bad that you couldn't give him the sweater—it wasn't like you could walk around in just a bra (as much as you'd like to sometimes.)

He grabbed the article of clothing from you, hesitant. "You're sure?"

"Yep!"

"Alright," he murmured, cautious, pulling your sweater over his head and pulling it down his torso. Once he'd done so, he looked back to your eyes and inquired you with his own. "So? What do you think?"

Heart beating so loudly it thrummed in your ears, you replied: "You've never looked better," and grinned wider than you ever have before.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

271 notes · View notes

kyn-lyn-blog · 3 years ago

Text

Race for the Crown

Okay so this is going to be a story about my interpretations of Jude and Cardans kids. This is not really about them but they are obviously in it. I will put the list of their kids here just so everyone can get an idea that this is a long project! FYI the last three children are triplets and with them being so young they won’t be involved like the rest but maybe in the future I might write something (a little blurb on them as they are older!

Jurdan Kids:

Ben / Ezren (horns)/ Liriel (Bee wings/controls bees) / Aimon (tail) / Elluin (snake skin patches/forked toungs) / Cohlan (tails and claws) / Lixiss / Finnea (butterfly wings) / Finneus (moth wings) / Echo / Echibod / Echian

words: 3025

The intro basically explains the plot but i will say this: It is about the Greenbrier/Duarte children’s fight to the crown and their struggles, strengths and ambition

I do not typically post fics or stories but I am hoping to start, All questions, feedback, and statements are welcomed

There were twelve children, nine chances, eight competitors, three who cared too much, three who weren’t sure, and one who did not want it all. All fighting for the throne and crown. The current King and Queen grew tired of ruling, and many thought choosing an heir would be no problem with all the children they had and yet, though the numbers where high, problems came with every one of them. The only children who were for sure out of the running were the triplets, the youngest who were barley three. Every child had a story and something keeping them from the crown from the oldest to the youngest and none of them seem to have shown what it takes to have the crown. In the end it was decided that all children must be watched closely and deliberately in order to make the best decision. Oldest to youngest every child fought, unknowingly, for the power of the land.

BEN

Ben’s story was the strangest to the people of the land. Some did not even feel he should be considered for the throne due to him not being blood. Ben was abandoned as a child by his father and the queen took him in secretly, having been friends with the child’s father. She took him in at 7 years old and he instantly loved her more than his own family. She showed him love and kindness, while being firm and fair. She did not have a child of her own, so she was often hesitant to officially call him hers, but after the king heard news of the boy, he was elated to help his wife raise the child. The King gave the boy and the Queen the push to officially create and start their family even if the child was not either of their blood. The Boy grew into a man and a charming one at that. With his birth father being a sorcerer, he was able to perform magic the land had never seen. He treated the other siblings as his own even if some did not see him in the same light. He did his responsibilities with ease and poise.

As he grew into a man and a noble, the land became split when rumors of his crowning came to surface. Half the land saw him as the perfect contender for the role of king. He was good to the people but firm in his beliefs of what is best for the land. He dished out judgement in a way that seemed regal and fair, even when he was sentencing someone to death, there was an air of calm finality around him and his subjects. He stood tall, his sandy gold hair standing out against the dark of his siblings, and his face showed no cruelty, but he looked as if he was made to be a king, instead of an abandoned child taken into a new world. The term golden boy seemed coined just for him.

However, there were others, the countering half of the land that fell into the arms of tradition. Him not being related in blood seemed to create a bigger problem than expected. People felt he couldn’t rule a land he wasn’t born in or born to understand. The cursed his name whenever people even mentioned his status to the throne. These objectors weren’t silent either, they loudly jeered and scorned him with distaste. When his name was called at revelry’s and royal events underneath the cheers and praise were the boo’s and hateful jabs. He took them with a smile. He was approachable and while some saw that as a sign of good fortune for the land others saw it as disrespectful and the acts of a common man instead of a king. For yes there was a no, for every good dead there was a twisted scandal behind. Prince Ben could not breath without someone begging for his fortune and attention or trying to trap him into a wrong word or step. When he started to notice the small seeds of him being king start to get planted by the council he started to panic. He knew many would never accept him as king, and if half the land won’t accept him how was he supposed to rule with a knife at his neck at every turn. He decided to take matters into his own hands the day he found out the whispers were growing into assumptions.

Ben knew he would do whatever is best for the people, but he had to keep himself alive and in the land’s good favors in order to do so. He had to step away from the throne for awhile but in a way that wouldn’t make him look like a cowered or as if he was running away. He prepared for the party that was going on that night with shaking hands. He decided to dress in lavish gold and baby blues, With a swirling patterns of the colors on his vest with a white frilly shirt underneath and breeches to match. He wore golden boots that reached just underneath his knees and a gold cape held to his right side with a lion head brooch that had diamond eyes to match the teeth of its roar. He placed the silver ring of a crown on his head indicating his title of prince. The royal family would wear their weapon of choice to these events as an accessory, but since he relied on magic as his weapon he settled on a pair of gold gloves that had diamonds accentuating his fingertips where his nails would be seen. He made sure his hair stood up above his crown, his signature quieff hairstyle on display, the golden strands slicked up and shining. As he looked at his work in the mirror, he couldn’t help but frown. He liked what he saw he just didn’t like how much he looked a king waiting to accept his crown. He had a split second where he considered changing into something less but voted against it. He had already made himself up he wasn’t going back on that now.

The merriment of the party was in full swing as he entered, his name and horns blaring in his ear upon announcement.

“I present to you” The royal guard announced while giving him a wink, she had once set him up with her daughter and still held hope he would find some interest once again, Ben knew he wouldn’t but smiled at her anyway, “Prince Ben, Oldest of the high queen and king, Prince of the court of Mystics , runner up to the throne” Ben cringed deeply at her last statement, those kinds of titles and statement were only spoken by those who have already pledged their loyalty, and he was sure she would be disappointed once he made his announcement and proposal to his mother and father, the king and queen. He heard whispers and saw glares and adoring eyes. He saw the ears of his siblings raise, their noses twitches and their eyes look at him in accusation. They would disregard him soon enough. He kept his head high and smile easy as he sauntered over to the golden dais that held his family. As he walked, he could feel everyone’s gaze it didn’t matter that he came later than the others. The way he was dressed, the way he walked, and his demeanor all suggested he was on time and that everyone else was just early for his arrival. He stepped up to his mother and kissed her cheek lightly. He turned to his father and gave him a fist bump (which Ben had started doing after one of his visits to the mortal world). He took his spot closest to the throne next to his brother Ezren who did very little to hide the distaste from his curled lip.

“That was quite the introduction” Ben did not even bother to look over to his sister Liriel, she never liked being outdone or outshined and Ben was certain she did not like his name being followed up with ‘runner up’ when it came to the throne. She wanted the choice to be unanimous when it came to who should be crowned and she wanted the unanimous decision to be her. She had always considered Ben beneath her. It did not matter, however. Soon enough she’d be one step closer to the crown. As final announcements and introductions of other courts were finished the king and queen began to greet subjects who felt their problems were big enough to bring to the throne. The princes and princesses began to depart and get lost in the crowd of guests and nobles. Ben could handle his drink, he was, after all, no mere mortal but one with great power and lineage, even if that lineage left him to die. Still some tried to get him eat strange drinks and powders and fruit that should make him loose his mind. Ben never minded, he became used to the folk underestimating him, it was how he preferred it so he would often eat it anyway and just pretend to be mad with happiness and giddy joy. This made his nights more interesting and more of a time to collect secrets rather than a time for parties, however tonight he kept his lips and tongue clean. His siblings all had fun with their groups and newfound strangers. All except Ezren. Always so serious. He kept his eyes on Ben a jealous fire in his eyes as ben kissed hands, twirled maidens and laughed with nobles. Ben had always told Ezren he’d be more favorable for the crown if he spent more of his time with the people rather than watching his siblings every move. But Ezren didn’t trust any of them except Liriel. So, he sat and watched ready to intercept at any time his siblings make a fool of themselves. Ben never truly cared however, he could hold his own and then some.

As the party died down, and that means people were beginning to fall over drunk and delusional, Ben made his way to the dais where his parents sat whispering and laughing to each other. His dad’s tail flicked back and forth for a bit then came to wrap around his mother’s wrist. Ben knew what that meant, when his father’s rail started wrap around his mothers limbs, either he was nervous for her or he was getting ready to bed her and from the look on his face Benn had a good idea it was the latter. He rushed to the top before their thrones and both the king and queen looked up in surprise at his sudden rush towards them.

“Mother, Father” he gave a short bow with each greeting.

“Ben, what is this, is something wrong, shouldn’t you be enjoying the revilers?” That was his father’s code for ‘Unless someone is dying you better make this quick’ and not in a ‘I can’t be bothered way’ but a ‘I’m gonna fuck your mom so make this quick’ sort of way.

“Yes, everything is fine but I wanted to make an announcement, a proposal of sorts, to the two of you and I feel everyone should hear too” His mother side eyed him, unsure if his plans. It was no secret Ben loved Jude the most since he was young. When he was seven and first came into her care, he’d sing her name at night and cry when she had to leave for royal duties and no nanny could console him until her return. His mother knew him better than anyone and he told her everything, everything except his plans for tonight. It made since she was suspicious, since that has always been her nature anyway.

“Does it have to be right now-“Jude elbowed cardan interrupting him.

“Of course you can give your…announcement” His mother trusted him, she just didn’t like not knowing what he was planning. Ben smiled at them and his father gave a slight eyeroll as he kicked his legs up on the side of his throne and waved his hand as a gesture saying ‘get on with it’. Ben took a step down from the dais so that he was in between steps. He turned to the crowd and spread his hands gaining the attention of few but not nearly all.

“High courts, gentry, royals and friends!” he shouted merriment laced in his voice. “I, Prince Ben, Oldest son of the High King and Queen” he looked at Ezren as he spoke those words, smirked then looked back at the crowd “Have an announcement, a proclamation for my parents and the high court,” He turned towards the thrones where the king and queen sat, but his voice resonated as if he was speaking to every single person in the room individually. “Mother, Father, all of Fae knows of the rumors of your choosing for the throne, I am not here to throw my hat in the ring, as the mortals say, but to instead withdraw myself from the line” Gasps fill the room and cries and uproars, he feels someone might have even fainted. “Instead I ask you give me another role, a new role, title, that I have made for myself. I wish to travel the lands of Fae, sea, mortal lands, and the unknown in search of allies, magic, emptied lands, treasures and advances. I wish to not own the crown but help it thrive and advance. I swear my service to it and my loyalty.” By the end of his proposal he is down on one knee head bent to the ground. He raises his eyes and sees his mother is shocked but hiding it with a steady look. His father has a smirk and looks as if he trying to keep from laughing meaning he either sees this as some joke or is nervous about what his son’s statements mean. Ben always had a feeling His mother saw him as one of the main royals reaching for the throne and probably assumed that that was what Ben had wanted. Ben just hoped she wasn’t upset with his decision. The room was silent awaiting The High King and High Queen’s reaction.

His father broke the silence with a laugh “Blood or not you definitely got the dramatics of this family, here we thought you were about to announce some coup or something, pull a Balekin part two!”

“I didn’t think that” His mother said with a smirk, low enough only Ben and Cardan could hear. Cardan whispered something to his queen as Ben stayed on one knee. He saw from the top of his vision Jude give a curt nod, and His father stood up.

“My son,” he said with a sigh “Your proposal sounds…exactly and perfectly fit for you” Ben stood up as an uproar went up filled with cheers and surprised shouts. He looked over and saw the head of the guard look at him with betrayal on her face. Seems she realized she backed the wrong prince. “However,” The High King continued “I don’t know where all this talk of crowning a new ruler came from, but perhaps…” Cardan turned to look at Jude then back at the crowd “It might be time to consider and keep watch of who that will one day be, and keep in mind Ben, just because you want withdrawal now doesn’t mean you can’t come back to reconsider before it’s too late” Ben could feel the eyes of all his siblings even the ones who care far less about these ordeals. Ben had just moved a piece in an eight-player game of chess, the piece that not only started the game but caught the attention of the other players. It didn’t matter to Ben; he was taking himself out of the game enough to still come back a hero if he really wanted to, and according to his father, still a chance to come back as king if he ever changed his mind. Ben had all the freedom to do what he wanted, and none of the others could do the same without looking like followers to him, and they all knew it. None of them could pull off what he put in motion, now that it was already done. Ben turned to his father.

“Thank you, I will remember your words as I begin and endure my travels, but for now I plan to enjoy my first night with my new title and status and worry about the details tomorrow”. The high king smiled and nodded, then step back to his wife. Ben turned to his mother and her eyes questioned him while her lips pulled into a smirk. She rose from her throne and stood in front of him and gave him a seemingly innocent hug, but Ben knew better when she pulled him down to whisper in his ear.

“For once I don’t know what you’re planning, but remember this, the throne, this new title, your siblings’ ambition, are nothing to play around with, you’ve always been smart Ben don’t let this battle change that.” She pulled away and looked into his eyes, probably hoping to find some genuine emotion there in them.

“Don’t worry about me mother” he kissed her cheek “I know my place” with that he stepped down from the dais into the crowd with his head high and gold cape flowing behind him, yes, no one could deny he looked like a king that night, the same night he seemingly gave up the throne. Ezren watched from afar eyes secretly filled with unnerving satisfaction. Ben ignored him and the questions of the nobles that approached him and grabbed a drink he knew was supposed to make him crazy with faiery lust, he downed it feeling nothing. He was never the trickster type but he did have his secrets, secrets he would take with him on his upcoming travels, secrets that would only be reveled upon his inevitable return.

#the folk of the air #Jude #Jude Duarte #Cardan #Cardan Greenbrier #Cardan Duerta #Jurdan #Jude X Cardan #Cardan x Jude #Holly Black #The Race to the crown #Taryn Duarte #Court of Shadows #how the king of elfhame learned to hate stories #OOC

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binniesthighs · 4 years ago

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EIGHT LEVELS, THE DESCENT

CWs: death, bits of horror and fear, hellish things

Descent

you had never imagined death to be something like this.

with careful footsteps you followed the hollow sound of metal on rock, metal on metal, metal on skin.

you were scared, but a thrill crept up your throat like none other. it bubbled in the pit of your stomach and fluttered like butterflies through each and every nerve of your body.

the hallway was dark, nearly pitch black, save for the light at the end of the hall. it seemed like it must've been the size of a pinhead from as far as you were. you thought to yourself, that this must be your punishment: walking on and on forever towards a light that you could never reach.

seemed reasonable enough. you were not saint...if this was hell anyway.

sweltering hot heat caught up to you as you walked on, and it singed your skin with a burn that only grew over time. your brow beaded with sweat, and your legs felt heavier with each step.

at the same time, you felt a deathly chill: a piercing kind of cold that you could only describe as loneliness and emptiness. the two temperatures fought a terrible tryst, and your body could not decide if the shivers ailing you reminded you were really dead, or if by some mistake you had been mixed up in some devils game.

you don’t remember dying. does anyone? you didn’t know. you can’t exactly ask someone.

in your shock, you realize that the pinhead of light was growing larger and larger before your squinting eyes. now, the sounds of metal were replaced with wails in despair intertwined with something much different.

ungodly sounds of pain and pleasure filled the dense air, and moaning and groaning spilled into your ears with some kind of cacophony that made little sense.

the light approached closer and it became blinding: the kind of blinding light that you had always imagined death to be like. maybe you really had died.

what you had seen at the end of the tunnel, was not at all what you had expected.

a reception room. a normal one, like the ones at a hospital.

am I a ghost? you wonder. is my soul trapped in the place that I died?

a normal looking nurse in a normal looking nurse’s uniform waves you over.

“me?” you mouth.

she nods.

she gives a curt little smile, and pats down her sterile looking baby blue scrubs. she wears no nametag, and the only thing distinguishing her is the fiery red nail polish that decorates her nails. her eyes are kind, a kind of hazel brown that looks to be a dozen different colors at once.

“welcome!” she greets.

“...thank you?” you return.

“how can I help you today?” the nurse beams. her smile is perfectly white, but her teeth crooked.

“i...don’t know.”

she asks outright: “do you have your key?”

“my key?”

you note that there is no one else in the waiting room besides you. light streams in from the windows, but it is pale and white, like the kind of sun on a cloudy day full of grey. the air smells dusty, old...and burnt.

“yes?” she cocks her head. “you should have a key?”

“i-i don’t think that I have anything...”

a weight pulls down the pocket of your jeans and you see the bulging fabric.

a brass key makes the imprint. it looks ancient and is a bit rusted on the edges. there is nothing too complicated about the skeleton key except for the fact that the head of the key is shaped to the number eight.

“what...”

“ah! that’s the key. well, it looks like you’ve got an eight. that’s wonderful.”

the nurse looks down at her desk to her paperwork, but the white sheets of paper hold no writing or ink.

“says here that you qualify for all eight levels--just as your key says! well, now i’ll show you to your first room and you can just wait patiently in there for it to begin.”

“it? i’m sorry, what is “it”?”

“you’ll see soon enough dear.”

through her crooked teeth you catch sight of her tongue, and at looks as if it is split: forked like a serpent.

“this way!” she rouses from her desk.

the waiting room remains empty when you follow the nurse behind a frosted glass door and into yet another hallway, but this one is illuminated with a flickering green-ish white light. the hall is quiet, and no other patients in rooms can be heard. no talking voices, no crying children, no moans mixed in pain and pleasure.

“hold onto that key! you’ll need it. that’s all i’ll say!” the nurse nods, and her hazel eyes change color as they’ve been doing under the lights, and you can’t quite tell what color they are.

“wait!” you reach out to her, a million more questions swimming. before you can get another word out, the door is promptly shut with a slam that seems to shake the whole room.

the examination room seems normal, just as the nurse seemed to be at first. it is a windowless place, and you almost miss the grey light from the waiting room. a chair is positioned in the corner and the examination table is covered in white paper that crinkles when you sit on it.

i can’t be dead. she shouldn’t've seen me.

a lock on the wall ticks and your heartbeats match the rhythm, beating thickly in your chest.

your eyes close tightly and you draw back your memory as far as you can take it.

i’m asleep. i’m asleep. that’s it. i’ve fallen asleep. this is a dream.

your eyes open, and there he is, back to you, facing the wall.

your whole body jumps from the scare, and your chest aches with fearful gasps.

his skin is nearly inhumanly pale and white, but peaking muscles curve under his leather vest. muscled arms stretch out bare, and every single twitch of his equally toned legs flare under his skin-tight pants. by contrast, red leather bands wrap around his arms and thighs. thick, long, silver chains drip from his wrists--it would’ve been impossible to get them in their quietly without you knowing. his hair is starkly white, much like untouched snow.

“you have your key?” he growls.

your voice is dry when you answer “yes.”

the man turns. rather than the beast that you had expected, he is handsome: some kind of godly form that glows with a kind of white light even when he looks at you with his icy blue eyes.

his sharp cheekbones are astonishing and serious. he studies you and you shy away to crinkle the paper under you.

“you’re new.” he simply says. “we’re going to like you.”

“w-we?”

the man chuckles with a kind of laugh that seems to reverberate in your chest. with a wicked smile that nearly cracks the corners of his mouth, he leans in. you’re frozen in your horror when he whispers into your ear:

“welcome to hell.”

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

EIGHT LEVELS | READER X OT8 | 1k SPECIAL

Pairing: self insert, female reader, male reader, gender neutral reader x ot8

Genre: pure smut, angst

Tags: explicit sexual content, explicit language, minor pain play, bondage, impact play, sensory deprivation, edging, overstimulation, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, throat fucking, use of pet names, degredation, shibari, pet play, sex toys, orgasm denial, marking, exhibitionism, threesome, foursome, general debauchery and more

CWs: mentions of death, blood, hellish things and slight horror elements

Word count: ??

aka the hardest thing that i will have written to this date. can you endure the pain and pleasure of eight of hell’s most sinful demons?

~if you would liked to be tagged on this piece, let me know!

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @julesinthesoop

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ssson-of-sparda · 3 years ago

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WHAT FORTUNE GAVE - Prologue (Vergil x Nero's Mother)

Summary: Turmoil has engulfed the small Island of Fortuna, shaken now more than ever by a never-ending civil war opposing the religious Order of the Sword to a group of rebels named the Guard of Sparda. As he tries to unveil his father's secret past and achieve some hidden dark purpose, Vergil crosses path with Elissa, a young lady whose thirst for vengeance and blood is as red as the dress she's wearing. He doesn't want to care and he especially doesn't want to get involved but you don't choose your fate in Fortuna. That's the story Nero is about to discover.

Tags: Romance / Angst / Fluff / Explicit Sexual Content / Explicit Language / Canon-Typical Violence / Blood and Gore / Religion / The Order of The Sword / Civil War / Rebellion / Demons / Action and Adventure / Sparda's past

Author’s note: This is one hell of an ambitious project I put myself into, but I hope you will follow me in this journey which is basically another fan fiction about Vergil and Nero's mother. Probably not the best (I've read some prreeety good ones) but one that should be (hopefully) different from what was previously posted.I worked a lot on this story, made a lot of research and used many artistic references that I catalogued at the end of each chapter for the curious ones among you. Since English is not my mother tongue, feel free to let me know if there's any grammar mistake or if some sentences don't make any sense. Anyway, enjoy your reading.

In twenty-five years, Aifric’s Alehouse hadn’t changed even just a tiny bit. Same hefty old furniture. Same mucky walls and filthy floor covered in layers of dry alcohol that stick your shoes to the wooden slats each time you take a step. Same lamentable drunkards in search of more alcohol to drown their sorrows in, their arms around women that would pretend to adore them for a night in exchange for a bit of money. And, now that Vergil dared breathe a little, same foul stench of humidity, staleness and sweat, typical of this kind of underground bars from the no-go areas of the Castle Town of Fortuna. And the music … Don’t let him think about the music. Never thought he would come back here one day. His firm gloved hand grabbed the backrest of a wobbly stool that scratched the old wooden floor with an unpleasant creak as he pulled it to sit on it, revealing his presence to the brown-skinned man sipping his beer in silence next to him, his defeated pockmarked face hidden under a thick dirty white cloak that hadn’t been washed in probably years and that had lost almost all its glorious golden embroideries. Vergil eyed at him for a second, the same way the Moor had eyed at him when, more than two decades ago, he had sit on this very same stool, his then young frame hidden under a cloak similar to his and yet less odorous, a young wanderer looking for stories and answers. Strange how things seems to move in circle. “You’re too late. You know that?” The man’s voice was thickly and hoarse, due to the long years of alcohol abuse and contempt towards the world, towards that silver-haired ghost back from a distant past but especially towards himself. “Twenty-five fucking years too late to be more precise.” He got no answer to that reproach, not a word, just a nod and a pregnant silence that made him scoff. But his laugh, once so hearty and alive, held today nothing but melancholy and despise. “But at least she was right. You did come back.” Vergil peeped at the man again from the corner of his icy blue eyes, longer this time, but still with that eternal impassibility he was known for, hiding his slight surprise and his judgemental thoughts he knew deep down he shouldn’t have. But the barfly next to him was nothing like the man he had met years ago. This man was just the broken shadow of the one everyone in Fortuna once called Adel the Honourable¹ , Captain of the Guard of Sparda. “What the fuck are you doing here … Vergil?” He spat on his name, literally, not caring about what the solemn Son of Sparda would think of him, would do to him. He spat to show him his disgust, his hatred, even though he knew that a bit of saliva wasn’t enough to show the extent of his feelings. “Where is she?” Vergil asked with a calm voice that made Adel grimace (that voice was as nasally and annoying as he remembered) and finally glare at him, allowing Vergil to see how the years and the pain had marked and scared his once-handsome face. “You got some nerve to ask that now.” “ I need to see her.”Adel firmly hit the counter with his empty glass before turning around to stare at Vergil, giving him a long disdainful look he thought he could only give himself. “Sure, I’ll bring you to her. But you might want to give me that damn sword of yours so that I shove it deep in your stone-cold heart first.” Vergil smirked. This was way too reminiscent of old foolish squabbles he once found very amusing … though quite pathetic and most of the time one-sided. “Why don’t you use that crossbow² of yours instead?” The taunt wasn’t meant to defy him if one could read through Vergil’s phlegmatic voice. But the Moor³ interpreted it that way and yet refused to react to it, knowing how vain it would be. “I don’t have it anymore.” Adel opened his cloak to reveal a leather sling with no weapon attached to it. “I don’t have anything anymore. And we know full well that it wouldn’t have done shit to you.” “Trust me, Adel. I know what it’s like to lose everything.” Was it an attempt at sounding

sympathetic? Probably. After all, Vergil still felt somewhat confused by the occasional waves of humanity surging up from inside of him. “Do you?” He laughed with bitterness, not believing him for one second. “Bullshit! And you know why? Cause you never had anything!” If Vergil took this as a personal attack he didn’t let his body show it, but he nevertheless let out one simple sentence, a boast he knew would displease the brown-skinned man, a display of his pride and superiority he always thought he had over that mere human. “I had her.” Quite expectedly, Adel jumped from his stool and before falling back against the bar, tried to grab Vergil by his blue collar. But it looked too pathetic and clumsy to be considered menacing or dangerous. “Fucking stop talking about her!” He pointed his finger at him in defiance while tears formed in his dull black eyes that had long lost their charming spark. “She fucking loved you! She loved you so damn much and you never cared, not a damn second. So don’t come to me with all your ceremony and shit, pretending you care now?” He sobbed loudly and wiped his eyes with his fists, a gesture that only made Vergil frown. How low had that man sunk! And how wrong he was. “Nero needs to know.” The silver-haired man finally said, not very willing to continue this conversation due to a growing lack of patience. “He needs to know about his mother.”There was a new brief silence that could only be filled with glasses clinking, noisy hubbub and prostitutes giggles. Both men gauged each other, wondering who should talk first and what to say after the name of the boy the woman they both loved had given birth to was brought into the discussion. “So you finally know.” The Moor finally said as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “How does it feel?” Vergil didn’t want to talk about his feelings, especially not with a man he hadn’t seen in years and that would be too eager to judge him. His feelings were his to ponder and only his. “My feelings are none of your concern.” The brevity of Vergil’s sentences was annoying to Adel who had almost forgotten how it was to have a conversation with the stoic Son of Sparda. And when some people would call it introversion he would call it self-importance, despicable self-importance. “Do you ever think of her?” New intended silence. But yes, there were times when Vergil did think of her because that’s what happens when someone as special as her shares even just a tiny bit of his life. He thought of her when he was at his best and when he was at his lowest. And he had been thinking of her even more lately, each time he would look at Nero or think of him, each time he would remember his journey in Fortuna. She was a part of his past he would never be able to cast away. But again, none of Adel’s business. “Look, you don’t need to talk to me about her. Just tell Nero. I bet you know how to find him.”Glad to finally leave, Vergil stood up and dusted his long dark coat he felt had been soiled by such a dirty place. But right after he turned around to walk away, his old acquaintance spoke again with disarming heartfelt honesty. “It feels like hell to me.” Vergil stopped and slightly looked back at him from the corner of his eyes, at his defeated look staring deep in his empty glass again. “Like fucking hell actually. Seeing that kid of yours growing up to be just like her but at the same time just like you right under my nose. That smug smirk he got from you on the lips he inherited from her. Everything about that child makes me want to vomit or plug my eyes out because that makes me realise all I lost, all I could have had if you had never stepped a foot in Fortuna. You took her away from me, away from everyone, and when you finally got out from my life, you dared leave behind you a living reminder of your victory over me to torture me for the rest of my miserable days.” Vergil stood still, withstanding the man’s rancour without batting an eyelash. “The fact you considered her love a victory maybe is the reason why you

never had her.” Vergil replied and before pushing the double-leaf door of the bar, waited for an instant as if he was expecting something to come in, but Adel was stubborn and not keen on accepting defeat. “You took her away from your son!” He shouted and smiled when Vergil froze again on his way out. “ If that’s true, go tell him that then.”

***

Nico was pissed. Nero could tell it by the way she was furiously trying to fix the neon blue sign of their van. But what could he do about it? It wasn’t his fault if a starving empusa had decided to snack on the E while Nico was parked waiting for her friend to come back from his demon ass kicking routine. “D vil May Cry” Nero read out loud with a pout. “I don’t know, Nico. Works for me.” And yet, he had a feeling being angry because of a damn light was just a pretext to let out some pent up frustration due to god knew what. “Really? Is that how you gonna treat your family heritage now?” The black-haired woman harrumphed, threatening to hit her friend with a monkey wrench. “Is that how you gonna treat my precious Minotaurus after all he did for ya? After he followed you right into that hellish ficus?” “Qliphoth.” He corrected with a smile. “Yeah whatever.” Nero had a brief laugh but eventually shrugged, not seeing the problem as he read the neon sign on the van again. “The E doesn’t light up anymore. So what? We still know it’s Devil May Cry.” “When your deadbeat dad tore your arm out from its socket, didn’t I give ya a new one?” Nero grumbled, not finding the comparison funny or admissible. “That’s not the same! You can’t compare my arm to a damn neon letter. I needed my arm!” “And Devil May Cry needs its E! So stop complainin’ and pass me the stillson.” She ordered as she kept on adjusting the colourful wires hidden in the dented bodywork of the van. Nero sighed but handed her the tool anyway. “I thought you were tired of being my pet mechanic.” “ I am but like I said, I can’t let you treat my baby like that.” And then, he dared say it. “Seriously. I thought you would be busy reading those new files you found in your father’s old stuff? You didn’t say anything about what they were.” And, as Nico dropped the wrench on the hood, he immediately knew he maybe shouldn’t have asked that. “Cause they were not interesting. Just pieces of diaries he wrote when he was young, explainin’ how he started working for the Order and why he didn’t want me or my mother in his life anymore.” Nero frowned, not believing Nico for an instant. Her sentence didn’t make any sense to him cause he was sure any child who had grown up without a parent would be even just a tiny bit interested in knowing who they were or what they did. He knew he was. God! What he would give to know even a just of small piece of information about his mother, about who she was, how she looked like. But unfortunately for him, the only person who had all the answers to his questions was never prompt to give them, acting more like a vault than a chatterbox. “And that doesn’t interest you? Raaah come on, Nico!” He clicked his tongue. “I’m interested in his work. Nothing else. I couldn’t care less about his adventure with that other chick which is FYI apparently one of the reason why that asshole left my mother and me.” “ You father left your mother for someone else?” Nico glared at Nero, catching a judgment in his voice that never was there. “ Well I least I know why my father left my mother… No, actually, I know my mum, period.” Nero hadn’t heard that kind of words in years but the burn was as painful as he remembered. How many times he had heard the kids in Fortuna disrespecting him, disrespecting his mother, claiming she was a prostitute⁴ from the ill repute places of Fortuna. How many horrors he had to listen to. And how many punches he had received, and given, because of them. “Damn! I’m sorry, Nero. I didn’t mean.” Nico declared, horrified by her unusual behaviour and by the sudden sadness Nero tried to conceal in his blue eyes. “Forget it. I’m used to it.” He gestured her to let go and went rummaging in the toolbox for no particular reason but to occupy his mind with something else. But Nico wasn’t willing to end their conversation like that, the feeling of guilt eating at her. “I’m sure your mother was someone fantastic, Nero.” She had a soft comforting smile.

“I mean, she had to be, you know … to stand your father.” Nero chuckled but there was still that hint of misery, that very particular misery he only felt when thinking of his mother. A mix of bitterness, void and love. “Maybe she never really had to stand him. Maybe she was … a prostitute like everybody said.” Nico frowned; refusing to believe Nero would go for such bullshit. Didn’t he know how close-minded and rumour-hungry the people in Fortuna were? “Nah, I don’t think so.” She declared as she funnily wrinkled her nose. “No money in the world would be enough to accept to spend a night with your dad. Your mother had to veeeery nice and patient and ooooh so in love with him.” Nero spared a glance at Nico, deeply moved by her attempt at comforting him and hoping she was right. “Damn, I beg that poor woman was a saint, ‘cause Vergil might look yummy to most people’s standards but he ain’t fun.” Her lips pinched together, she had a sort of deep serious frown that wrinkled her entire forehead, a somewhat amusing grimace Nero was sure was meant to emulate his father characteristic impenetrability. She kinda nailed it but … “ Did you just say my father looks yummy?” Nero asked, quite disgusted. A crush on Lady, that he could get, but on his father … It made him shiver and want to throw up. “Huh, to most people standards!” She repeating, clapping her hands between each syllables. “I’m not most people.” Nero’s eyes widened when he heard familiar slow and steady footsteps coming from behind the door of the garage. “I mean, do you really think I could feel even just a tiny bit attracted to ‘Power! I need more power!’?” She imitated with a cavernous voice and Nero tried not to laugh. But it wasn’t Nico’s new impersonation of Vergil that was making him want to do so. It was actually his father standing on top of the stairs, stoic and still like a marble statue staring impassibly at Nico making a fool of him. Maybe he should warn her of his presence. Yes, maybe he should. He timidly pointed at his father standing right behind her; still unsure he wanted this scene to stop. But he couldn’t wait to see Nico’s face when she would notice Vergil. And oh god, how priceless it was. Nico was an intrepid, loud and lovely person but when her dark eyes took a small glance of Vergil, she froze and cleared her throat, definitely uncomfortable and … yeah a tiny bit scared. “But it has its charm. You’ve got some charm. That’s undeniable.” She rectified, looking at Vergil who eventually nodded, a faint smile on his face that meant more ‘yeah right’ than ‘how funny’ in Vergil language. He didn’t find this funny at all. “Good evening to you too, Nicoletta. Nero.” He nodded once again, casting his aura of solemnity all over the garage. “Nico. Just Nico … nevermind.” Nico mumbled in a whisper that Vergil heard but chose to ignore. Nicknames were not his thing… They had never been his thing.He went down the stairs, his hand resting on the hilt of his precious Yamato as always and looked at the van with a new frown. “You two are busy working on some repairs, perhaps.” He asked in an effort to be as familial as possible, something that wasn’t his forte at all. It made the two friends exchange a curious glance. “ Yes … I mean, no, we were done.” Nero replied, wondering what his father was doing here. After all, unexpected visits were not in Vergil’s habits. “ No, we were not. Gotta fix that E, remember?” Nico tapped at the letter with insistence. “ That again?” The young man sighed. “Is Dante here?” That could explain Vergil’s presence in Fortuna. But as 90% of the time – or more – the Son of Sparda evicted an answer, changing the subject – or ignoring it – with a destabilizing yet infuriating indifference. “ Miss Goldstein is right, a E is important.” He spoke, his icy blue eyes looking towards a distant past, towards memories he held in his heart he was rediscovering more and more with each day spent with his family, with his son. “ Thank you! See, I told you!” Nico

shouted, proud to be right. “ What are you doing here?” Nero finally questioned, impatient to finally know the truth behind his father’s presence. “I was in Fortuna visiting an old acquaintance.” Vergil weighed his words with smoothness as he paced in the garage looking at his surroundings without no real interest in them. “ You … got acquaintances?” The slight frown of disbelief on Nero’s face made him suddenly look so much like his father but Vergil didn’t notice, too busy staring at the extinguished E that looked so dull surrounded by such neon blue lights when it should have shone as brightly as them if not more. “Hopefully, he should visit you soon.” “ Wait! What? Why?” Nero always saw his father as an impenetrable mystery, even when he was just V, but right now he couldn’t tolerate him being so evasive. “To give you the answers you want.” And he couldn’t not tolerate him being a stolid piece of shit either. “About my mother?” Or a mute one. But with Vergil, silence often meant a lot. “Hey! You can’t just leave me like that!” Nero caught his father’s right arm with a violent strength, a vision that stirred a new one, an old one, one Vergil regretted. “Plus, why would you send a stranger in my house to talk to me about my mother? Why don’t you do it yourself?” God! If she knew what he had done to their son. What would she say? What would she do? “Silence. I thought so. You don’t even have the courage to tell me her name so why should I expect more from you.” In his lifetime, only a few persons had been able to defeat Vergil, one of them being his son. So, after looking down at his boots for a second, he walked away, not keen on riling up Nero even more, not today.“Elissa.⁵” The name, left unpronounced for so many years, burnt Vergil's tongue when each blazing letter, probably angry to have been reduced to dormant embers for so long, managed to escape the barrier of his tight lips. But Vergil welcomed this fiery pain without blinking and even dared say it again, embracing the ignition once more with a soft melancholic smile. He was part demon. Fire couldn't hurt him. So why being afraid of it? “Your mother’s name was Elissa.” Plus there was no danger in saying her name, just liberation. It was a beautiful name, after all. And for a second, he felt like his young self again. “Now fix it, would you?” That E meant a lot to Vergil.

REFERENCES: ¹ Adel The Honourable: Adel is a Persian name derived from the Arabic عَدَلَ meaning "to act justly". I added the title "the Honourable" to reinforce the idea his character was made to be fair, honest and just. Adel also belongs to the House of Montefeltro, a name you will discover later. ² crossbow: I intended to give Adel a simple bow as it is the weapon of righteousness (ndlr: Robin Hood) but then I chose to give him a crossbow because I thought the addition of the word "cross" was giving a religious connotation that suited his character. The fact that he lost the weapon is of course meaningful. ³ The Moor: reference to Shakespeare's Othello. ⁴ claiming she was a prostitute: This idea of Nero's mother being a prostitute was directly taken from Devil May Cry: Deadly Fortune. In the novel, we learn that Nero was often bullied by the other kids claiming his mother was a whore. ⁵ Elissa: Elissa is the other name that was given to Dido, first queen of Carthage and lover of the demi-god Aeneas, in Virgil's Aeneid. Her name is composed of the Punic reflex of "El-" meaning "god", and "‐issa" that means "fire", hence why her name burns Vergil's lips when he says it. Her name carrying the word "fire" also echoes the red colour of her dress and her hair as well as her affiliation to the House of Minos you will read about later. In a nutshell, this girl is on fire! ;-)

#devil may cry #devil may cry fanfiction #vergil #nero's mother #vergil x nero's mother #vergil fanfiction

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morosemagick · 4 years ago

Text

Young, Wild, Free | Stiorra x Sigtryggr One Shot

Warning: None

Words: 2110

TAGGED:

@solinarimoon @emilyhufflepufftlk @ivarinleatherpants @osferth @magravenwrites @thebohemianpenguin

What is freedom? Are you born with it? Given to you the way your mother gives you life. Is it given by the Gods… or God. Must you fight for it? Earn it on the fields of battle. Spill blood and sweat and tears for it. Why do men raise their swords in the name of freedom? Why do other men think they can take it away? How do you put a price on silver? How can one compare it to the weight of silver? If such a thing can be given a price, then what is the point of trying to live? Why waste the freedom on life, and why not wish immediately for death if freedom just does not seem worth the price?

“Sigtryggr? Sigtryggr, are you listening to me?” Stiorra called out as she looked forward to the Dane lying in the grass with his arms behind his head.

“I am listening,” He tells her, though Stiorra can see him with his eyes close and a piece of bark in his mouth, “You asked about freedom.”

“I did,” Stiorra grumbles as she picks at the grass, “So?”

“So?”

“What do you think?” Stiorra snips as she lays back in the grass, her body facing the opposite way of his but their heads aligned, “Do you feel freedom is a right or something you must earn?”

“What do you think?” Sigtryggr questioned her and Stiorra groaned.

“I asked you first,” She complained as she turned her head to face him, catching Sigtrygger momentarily open an eye to peek her way with a smirk on his face, “Go on, then.”

“It must be earned,” Sigtryggr responded, keeping his eyes closed, “You must pay for it, be it with blood or silver, and the price is always changing… so you will always owe a debt.”

“And say you are born a slave, how do you pay for it?” Stiorra asked, testing his answer.

“It is a disadvantage, you will always be fighting harder. Paying more,” Sigtryggr explains, “Why does this interest you so much?”

“Look,” Stiorra tells him, tapping his shoulder to make sure Sigtryggr opens his eyes. Above them, a bird flies across the blue sky, though it is hard to tell what it is from so far away, “That bird is born free. Nothing will ever take its freedom away.”

“Except death,” Sigtryggr counters.

Stiorra glances his way and sees Sigtryggr staring her way with both eyes open, “Yes, except death.”

“You are a curious woman,” He tells her in a soft voice and a smile on his face.

"I have lived a small life," Stiorra tells him calmly, the corner of her lip creeping upward, "I wish to expand my world."

"Is that why you agreed to come with me to Eoferwic?" Sigtryggr asks with a certain tone about it.

Sounds like flirtation.

Stiorra rolls her eyes, scoffing at him, "Well, I am not going to Eoferwic for you."

"Is that right?" Sigtryggr smirks.

"I chose to go with you because I refuse to go back to Coccham," Stiorra explains, staring back to the sky, "I want to explore the world, like my father has."

"And you shall," Sigtryggr tells her, "This world is yours to stake claim to."

"I don't want to stake claim to anything," Stiorra corrected him, "I just want to understand. To see with the eyes of a traveler. Go wherever the wind takes me."

They would be the future.

"You will," Sigtryggr promises her, "I promise you."

-------------------------------------<3--------------------------------------

Her curiosity for knowledge is what pulls him to her. Her hunger to take in the world, and see all that the kingdoms have to offer. Stiorra is unlike any Dane he has ever met. More like himself, thriving to be more than those who came before. Desperate to be better than their ancestors.

"What was it like," Stiorra asked him as they traveled the road on horseback, moving side by side, "Being raised surrounded by Danes."

"We are raised with the desire for two things," Sigtryggr told her in all honesty, "Reputation and silver."

"Is that what you came to England for?" Stiorra question, no teasing or taunting found in her voice.

Just constant curiosity.

"In Ireland, we fought for honor and wealth, yet we found ourselves lacking both," Sigtryggr explained to her, "It was there I learned that men who fight for such things usually find themselves gaining neither. It's trivial. There are better ways to leave your mark in time."

"And you hope to leave your mark how?" Stiorra asked with her brow raised, "Ruling Eoferwic?"

Sigtryggr shrugged, "I have yet to decide, but I know that the best way to make your mark on a land is to grow roots. You must set a foundation so that your mark remains permanent."

"So what… start a family? Have children?" The face Stiorra made was of disdain.

It made Sigtryggr laugh.

"Is that so awful?" He asks.

"I am sick of children," Stiorra said as she made a noise of disgust, "I rather find myself on the fields of war, praying for Valhalla."

"You rather war than children?"

"You have clearly not spent enough time with children," Stiorra told him with a glare, making Sigtryggr laugh some more, "They are a menace."

"I shall take your word for it."

-------------------------------------<3--------------------------------------

"Do you believe in destiny?” Stiorra asked him one day, while they sat together in front of a fire. Camped for the night surrounded by the rest of Sigtryggr’s Dane army.

“Destiny? Sure,” He stirs the fire with a stick, “All Dane’s believe in fate in some way.”

“My father use to tell us destiny is all,” Stiorra explains as she drinks from her cup, “The God’s have a place for us, all of us. A role we must play. A path we must take. All of it already written, and we cannot fight it. My father’s destiny lies in Bebbanburg, my brothers belong to his God-”

“And what is your destiny, Stiorra Uhtredsdottir?” Sigtryggr asks her with a brow raised, and she shrugs.

“I have yet to figure that out.” She tells him, her eyes drifting to the fire, “I have wants and desires but no means to discover whether I will acquire any of them. I have dreams, but I know dreaming is for children. I could be a warrior, a leader, hopefully not a mother. My path has yet to be revealed. Hopefully, I will find it in Eoferwic.”

“What if who you are needed to be is not who want to be?” Sigtrygger brings up, making Stiorra eyes glance his way, “We all want things, but what the Gods want might differ.”

“Then I will follow the path they put me on,” Stiorra tells him as she smiles into the fire, “No matter where it takes me.” When she looks up again, he’s still looking at her, and it makes her blush and turn her face back towards the fire.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I just-” Stiorra chuckles to herself and then looks up again, “My mother taught me a song... when I was a child, do you want to hear it?”

“A song?” He questions.

Stiorra rolls her eyes and scoffs, playfully, “Do you want to hear it, or not?”

“Sure,” Sigtryggr tells her sweetly, “Sing for me.”

“With a tiny rope and a bag of stone, and all heartbroken wishing bone, she's going in, she's going home. Oh this little golden knight, fighting every day behind the light, behind the light.” Stiorra voice starts off soft, but picks up and gets more confident as her song goes on, “Walking faster down the street, red eyes and no shoes on her feet, going on this journey, determined to complete. This is farewell, this is goodnight the last time she will see the daylight. See the daylight.” She’s smiling now as she continues on. Thinking of those she’s left behind, and the journey she has started alone, “And she's going on a journey always walking down the road. And the water is always calling; ‘My little child, please come home’.”

Other people in the camp have started to take notice of Stiorra’s voice. Stopping what they are doing, and approaching the fire she and Sigtryygr sit around to listen to her sing. The song, relaxing and peaceful, seems to catch the attention of everyone there, but it is Sigtrggyr that Stiorra keeps her eyes on the whole song.

“That's when she went away. Away from the light of day. Standing by the riverside, patiently waiting for the tide to come along, to come along. The waters going through her feet and on her body wind so cold and sweet. So cold and sweet,” The smile on her face is while as she sings, but not as sweet and kind as the one on the other man’s face. The song, a gift from her mother, means so much to her and now it will have meaning to all those near her. Her new people. Her new family, “And she's going on a journey, always walking down the road. And the water is always calling ‘My little child, please come home’. And the stars were brightly shining, when she reached out they were gone, and the water started calling ‘My little child, please come home’.“ She thinks one last time, on her life, and notices that maybe this place is her destiny. The path the Gods have sent her on a good one, “When a shiny light hit her eye and she turned around and climbed towards the sky. Towards the sky.”

The men and women around her clap and cheer happily as she finishes her song, and Sigtrggyr raises his cup to her words. She basks in the love and care given to her by her new people, as well as this man she has chosen to follow… or at least that destiny has chosen for her to follow. This life is a new adventure, and she is ready to see where it takes her.

More importantly, she is happy the path she is taking is one Sigtryggr will take with her.

-------------------------------------<3--------------------------------------

Stiorra walks the streets of Eoferwic alone.

It is safe for her here, in this Daneland. She can do such things here.

She tours the markets alone, taking in its people. Her people. Danes and Saxons living together in peace. As it should be, she thinks to herself as she passes a stall of gems and jewels. No war or hate, only peace. She wonders how long it will last, and tries not to dwell too much on the end. This is just the beginning, anyway, no reason to fret on when the enemy will arise.

For that is a worry for another day.

A stall of trinkets catches her eye, and she stops to peruse. The wares the man sells are of great beauty and amongst everything he owns, Stiorra spots a peculiar ring with a piece of amber at its center. She picks up the ring and holds it up to the sun, admiring the beauty it holds inside. A beauty, similar to that of her father’s sword. The man running the stall notices her staring at the ring, and walks over to greet her.

“Like that piece, Lady?”

“I do,” She smiles, trying it on for size, “How much for it?”

“That piece is rare, you won’t find any like it,” He tells her, cleaning his hands with a rag, “I’ll give it to you for one piece of silver.”

“She'll take it," Sigtryggr tells the man, suddenly appearing at her side like magic, with a piece of silver already in his hand.

"Earl Sigtryggr," The trader says in a bit of shock as he catches the silver the Dane has flipped into his hands, "Thank you, Lord."

"I could have paid for it, you know," Stiorra tells him, only a touch annoyed with his kindness.

Sigtryggr smiles at her, admiring the amber ring that sits on her finger, "I know,"

The trader looks between the two of them, and raises a brow, "Is this your lady, Lord?"

Stiorra glares at Sigtryggr, who's smiling, and then looks at the trader, "He wishes."

"I assumed you were a Dane, Lady, my apologies," The trader tells her and Stiorra chuckles not seeing where the man was getting at.

"I am," She tells the trader before looking back at Sigtryggr, "I am both, and I am neither. I am all that destiny desires me to be," Stiorra looks down at the ring, smiling, and then takes Sigtryggr's hand, "Young. Wild. Free."

#mcloveproductions #fanfic #fanfiction #stiorra uhtredsdottir #stiorra tlk #tlk #the last kingdom #sigtryggr #sigtryggr tlk #tlk fanfic #tlk fanfiction #one shot #lifeasmernie #prompt request #this is for you nonnie

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c-rose2081 · 4 years ago

Text

Finding Home

Chapter 1 [Part 1] (Dave & Roxie)

—

“Are you sure you wanna do this?”

The chopper pilot’s voice was stolen by the wind as Roxie and Dave leaned out the side door to have a look at Isla Nublar approaching on the horizon, “this is a suicide mission! You’ll probably die! I can take you back to the mainland right now!”

“Not a chance!” Roxie yelled back to him, tightening the backpack they had filled with rations and camping gear for the trip, “I’ve waited three years for this! Drop us there, on the North Shore!”

“You’re both crazy!” The pilot complained, turning the chopper anyway to begin descent towards the Island, “I’ll be back in four days for you! If you’re not there, I’ll assume you’re dead and leave without you. This is an unsafe fly-zone!”

“Just do as the lady says!” Dave called through the wind, clinging to the doorframe and his own backpack of supplies, “you don’t wanna be on her bad side!”

“It’s your money, amigos! I won’t be landing here though, you’ll have to jump for it!”

Nodding affirmatives, and with Dave throwing up his thumb, the pilot shook his head in disbelief and lowered the chopper down close to the shore. In the midst of billowing sand clouds, Dave and Roxie leapt from the chopper and onto the beach. Their boots sunk in the soft dunes, and ache from the landing quivered up into their knees. But as they turned, they could only see the bottom of the chopper’s blue and white cabin as it rose back up into the pristine sky.

“We made it,” Roxie breathed, brushing herself off and turning to look at the jungle ahead of them, “we’re actually here.”

“You know he’s right though,” Dave commented, ruffling his hair as to shake away sand grains, “we could get eaten before four days is up. We might not even get past today.”

“I’d rather die trying then never have tried at all,” Roxie shot back, “you’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No. Just making an observation, that’s all. So, where exactly are we?”

Removing a folded paper from her interior pocket, Roxie scanned the map of the island. There was a red X on their landing spot, and the place they’d have to get to should they catch the chopper again.

“We’re here, on the north shore,” Roxie said, pointing to the spot and tapping it, “Camp is...was...just across the main Gyrosphere paddock here. It’s a straight shot, we could get there before nightfall,”

“And what if we encounter a dinosaur before then?”

“We shouldn’t if all the fences are still up. A Compy or two perhaps,”

Dave didn’t appear to agree with her assessment of the situation, as his normally loose and humorous brows furrowed up into his hairline. But he said nothing on it, merely exhaled a puff of air and nodded.

“Ok. You have the map memorized, you lead the way.”

“Keep close to me,” Roxie insisted, reaching out her hand for Dave to take and giving the warm palm a solid squeeze, “this place has probably grown a lot in three years. It’ll be a miracle if there’s anything left to see,”

Walking carefully into the underbrush, the mission was officially underway. Roxie wasn’t sure what she was expecting upon finally getting back here. After all, it felt like a lifetime ago. She could memorize and map all the trails and access roads she wanted, but jurassic undergrowth was a menace. For a while, the two of them walked in silence, listening to a slight breeze which rustled the leaves in the canopy. They strained their ears for noises which sounded out of place, but there was nothing but nature.

“So...” Dave spoke up eventually to break the silence, nearly giving Roxie a heart attack, “have you thought about it?”

“It?” Her heart jumped at the oddity of the question. Of course, she knew what it was, and the truth was that she had put quite a bit of thought into it.

But marriage?

It was a lot to take in.

“Though I appreciate your transparency on the matter, love. I’m not sure this is the right time to be having this conversation,” Roxie managed out finally, placing each word together as though pulled from a scrabble bag.

“I don’t see why not,” Dave complained jovially, “I mean, it’s kinda romantic being out here with you. And we don’t have much else to talk about,”

“I hate when you make good points,” Roxie mumbled under her breath, only to stop and slam her arm out for Dave to halt as well, “hold on,”

“What?”

“Shh...I hear something,”

Roxie listened hard again, and for a second she thought maybe she’d just imagined it. But then, somewhere in the distance, was a familiar guttural roar. But it wasn’t my dinosaur which Roxie knew. No, this roar was something else...something far more familiar.

“Is that a car?”

“Rox...”

“No, no I’m serious,” listening harder, Dave was moving across the ground, causing it to crunch under his feet.

“Roxie...”

“It’s an engine. But that not possible...”

“Roxanne!”

Whipping her head up, Roxie was just in time to duck as something was swung at her head. The whoosh of air made the skin on her ears tingle as the attacker pulled back for another go. In a blur of motion, Dave reached up a hand and grabbed whatever was being swung, only to grunt as a foot made contact with his exposed chest and sent him reeling backwards.

“Dave!” Roxie cried, wincing in solidarity as her boyfriend hit the ground with a moan of pain. She was just in time to move as a baseball bat nearly crashed into her outstretched arm, and she realized finally that this wasn’t any animal attacking them, but another human being.

Shuffling backwards to put a few more feet between her and the newcomer, Roxie wondered how they hadn’t seen or heard them coming. Hidden in the deep indigo shadows of the trees, a pair of shining green eyes stared out intently.

“W-we don’t mean you any harm,” Roxie said, grappling for the pepper spray hooked via carabiner to her backpack strap, “please. We’re here to help,”

The stranger said nothing, merely shuffled closer as the baseball bat in their hand dragged across the dirt. To Roxie’s surprise, it fell to the ground with a wooden clunk a moment later. For a second, she wondered if the person would stop. If they would leave them alone. But there was a silver glint in the dark as a knife was pulled from inside a hidden sheath, making a horrible scraping noise.

“Oh...god,”

Jerking as she found herself with her back against a tree, Roxie yelped in panic as the figure leapt at her. She saw a metallic shimmer as the blade sliced through the air and forced her eyes closed. She waited in anticipation for the pain, or the feeling of flesh tearing open. But there was nothing; just a pained, raspy panting and the overwhelming smell of forest and decay. Cracking one clenched lid back open to see what happened, the serrated knife was still held in the air, poised to strike.

The person holding the knife was now fully illuminated by a patch of sunlight, and Roxie had to pause. Green eyes met brown, and the knife lowered as a teenage girl stepped back with a harsh gasp of surprise. Roxie opened her mouth to speak, but there was only a croak.

“...Brooklynn?”

The name almost didn’t fit on her tongue. How she somehow connected the pink haired social media star to the figure before her, Roxie want sure. The stranger — identified now as Brooklynn — tilted her head, furrowing her brows up into her hairline. Unlike three years ago, the pink to her hair was all but a memory. A brown, ratty mess was pulled up behind badly sunburned ears, and skin freckled by long afternoons sparkled with a sheen of mud and sweat. Some of that mud was more red then brown, and Roxie realized it wasn’t just dirt, but also blood that coated her body.

Brooklynn stared at Roxie for a hard moment, her brain whirring behind those piercing green eyes. She then turned to where Dave was now sitting up, rubbing a hand against where he’d been kicked.

“...oh...”

Had she not been so close, Roxie would’ve missed the word. It was barely a whisper, one which was easily taken away by the breezes. Two adults stared down a teenager who had been ready to kill them not a moment before, jaws agape.

“Brooklynn...?” Roxie asked, causing the girl to glance up at her. Her eyes were wild and uncertain behind long bangs, “what...w-what happened to...you?”

It wasn’t a good question; but what really was at this point? What could she ask that she didn’t already know deep down somewhere? Roxie had dreams of rescuing children; the children she had left behind. The children who’s eyes would light up like fireworks at the mere mention of Dinosaurs. But she wasn’t expecting them to actually be alive after three years. She had been expecting to pick up some old relics to bring back, to show the families just to prove she had been on the Island and had done everything in her power to make things right again.

She wasn’t expecting to nearly be murdered by one of the kids she was supposedly here to save.

Brooklynn didn’t say anything, merely pressed her lips together and glanced down at the knife still held in her hand. It almost appeared as though she were forcing it away; like her arm wouldn’t respond to the command of letting them live. The metal scraped back into its holder, and Brooklynn mechanically walked back towards where the baseball bat lay in the grass. She picked it up, clutching the bottleneck grip in both hands.

Then, in a second, she was gone.

Roxie didn’t even have time to call out; the girl had vanished while her eyes were wide open. Were she not still pressed up against a tree with the smell of decay lingering close to her nose and throat, Roxie might’ve believed she was simply seeing impossible things.

“Rox? You ok?”

Jumping as Dave’s hand brushed against her shoulder, the woman opened her mouth but no sound came out.

“No,” she choked finally, turning to the broad chest beside her and seeking solace between his arms, “Dave, we thought none of them survived,”

“Yeah,” glancing down at one another, Roxie felt a horrible thought creep into her gut, “you got really pale all of a sudden,” the man above her commented, “what is it?”

“Dave, what if all of them survived?”

#camp cretaceous #jwcc #jwcc finding home au #fanfic #angst

38 notes · View notes

theelvenhaven · 4 years ago

Text

Reunions in Arda

Part 1

Vanifinwë x Fëanorians

5.3k words

Warnings:

Strong language,

Implied nudity,

A/N: I changed around in which the news was broken to her! But tada!

* * *

Exhaustion filled her as she sat atop the mare the elves of her brothers provided her and Nolofinwë. Upon their arrival to Arda, her brothers Pages greeted them, telling them to come and meet with the Fëanorians. With hesitation, Nolofinwë agreed, and Vanifinwë jumped at the chance. She needed to hear the explanation from her brothers on why her brothers did what they did.

Perhaps even part of her missed them as well. Yet that factor would be decided upon, which would depend on everything they had to say for themselves. What they’d done was completely unforgivable, but she needed to perceive if they held a shred of remorse for what they’d done. Vanifinwë needed to see if her brothers were as heartless as they led her to think they were.

They did the ride in silence and it appeared she was not the only one who was unsure of what to say. Even as their settlement came into view, it only left them somber and quiet. Vanifinwë couldn’t help but wonder how much time passed in their crossing that her brother’s already established houses. Actual houses...

Houses of stone erected in the elvish fashion, though the roads still dirt… A large building coming ever nearer. Grand and ornate as it could be, with few tents established for the artisans who were still there to complete other things. Eru...

In reserve, she looked to Nolofinwë. The two exchanged a solemn glance. A glance they shared and were both determining they were thinking the same thing about the time passed.

Vanifinwë shuddered as another icy wind ripped through the air. It was nothing compared to the Helcaraxe. Her clothes were still too light even for this “warmer” temperature.

As they came upon the dirt and grass courtyard, and greeted by the sight of five of her brothers. A small fountain behind them, water trickled out, with shrubs around it… Workers bustled about outside working on Eru knew what. Quietly Vanifinwë let her eyes scan over them, Makalaurë stood in the center, clearly the one to greet and welcome them.

Tyelkormo and Curufinwë to her left of Makalaurë, and Minyarussa and Carnistir to her right… All dressed in thick tunics and heavy fur cloaks, each one looked positively warm and comfortable. She’d give anything for dry warm clothes, as it was cold enough her clothes never dried since their arrival from the Helcaraxe. Even though they’d ridden for some time now, the newly fashioned sun hidden behind clouds heavy and swelling with snow which threatened to fall upon them any moment now.

“Uncle, truly it is good to see you.” Makalaurë began as they dismounted from their horses, turning her gaze to Nolofinwë who sighed, nodding at his nephew’s reception. The warmth in which he’d once have shown them he masked beneath a more stoic and hard exterior now, something they plainly expected.

“I want to say the same, nephew. But I fear for the moment I do not share the sentiment. Not until I have further explanation as to what all has happened.” Nolofinwë spoke in an even tone, dampening his own anger that he felt swell over the gentleness in which Makalaurë spoke. Vanifinwë noted how none of her brothers seemed to have registered her presence yet, all too fixated in their nervousness upon their Uncle.

“I sure as the Void would love an explanation as well.” She spoke up with a fire in her voice. One that finally unleashed the heat of her hurt through her hroa and fea. She stepped up to be next to Nolofinwë, her head held high despite the shivers that had ripped through her. Surprise rippled through her brothers as their gazes fell upon her form.

“Vanie! You came!” Makalaurë breathed out with surprise. He moved to step closer, in hopes to embrace her, yet he stopped short of getting any further as she sent a glare in his direction. One that made his blood run cold as their father’s fire blazed with contempt in her gaze, a look he had not seen since before their Atar succumbed to his injuries.

“Don’t.” She fumed out, not up for any of his affections as she had for years to let the anger she felt over what they had done fester. Not just to her, but to the Teleri, to her Uncle and those who followed him. Makalaurë shouldn’t have been so surprised. Of course she’d be angry. It had been him and Maitimo who had given her the epesse Failendis, and it hadn’t been for nothing.

“Is that anyway to greet us, Vanie?” Tyelkormo scoffed as he tilted his head with a glare shot in her direction, silver hair spilling over his shoulder as he did so. Yet Vanifinwë was unmoved by his sarcastic reaction, only tensing her jaw at his words as if he had any right to complain about how she greeted them.

“Forgive me if your betrayal hasn’t exactly left the warmest impressions upon me, brother. Where is Atar? And the rest of our brothers, Makalaurë?” Vanfinwe said. Her words dripped with venom as she referred to him as her brother. Nolofinwë’s hand came to her shoulder. He attempted to soothe and comfort her, not wanting for her to lash out any further and be thrown from the settlement.

“Betrayal!? You are one to speak, dear sister.” Carnistir began out in a hiss as Curufinwë moved to approach. Were Vanifinwë not used to her own arguments with her Atar, she may have felt intimidated by her brothers.

Yet she was unfazed. How many times had she and Fëanaro gotten into their arguments regarding politics and semantics? How many times had she argued with them or broken up their fights?

“You betrayed us! Refused to take up the oath! Yet you have the audacity to still follow and come here as if you have any right to be here!” Curufinwë seethed out in addition, stopping as Makalaurë held out his hand as he turned some to face his brother.

“Enough brothers...” Makalaure said in a breath, as Curufinwe seemed to relent at his brothers pressing. The tensions had risen at an insurmountable level already, and Vanifinwë had just arrived. Nolofinwë said not a word to address the fire that blazed between siblings. He turned his focus onto the questions Vanifinwë had asked them. Nolofinwe knew it was better to leave those issues between them, she without a doubt knew better than anyone on how to hold her own against them.

Though he confessed to himself, he feared just how far their madness ran. If harm would come to her should they all decide she was a traitor. Vanifinwë may have been their sister, but that didn’t change the fact times were undeniably different.

“Where is my brother? For I would like to speak to him.” Deciding that perhaps he had descended so far into deep madness that he wouldn’t greet him, and the other two Fëanorians were with him. Had Maitimo and Atyarussa bought into their father’s whims now as well? It unnerved him further to see the hesitation that seemed to fall upon the brothers. All five of them looked between each other and then to Makalaurë to answer for them.

“We shall discuss it, both on Atar, Maitimo and Atyarussa. First though, let us extend to you hospitality my Atar had lacked Uncle, sister.” Makalaurë stepped aside and motion for them to walk to enter the center building. Vanifinwë only budged when Nolofinwë did and followed alongside him and Makalaurë.

“We can discuss it after you both have eaten and changed into something warmer.” Makalaurë insisted, yet Nolofinwë shook his head at his words as they paused in the grand foyer. Boots scuffed against the stone floor, and warmth that grew to be a luxury to them now filled the room. Vanifinwë shuddered with a sigh as she folded her arms over her chest.

“No, I will speak now on whatever it you have to share.” Nolofinwë began with a frown. Rather than argue, Makalaurë nodded at his uncle’s words.

“Very well, then come with me. Vanifinwë, Minyarussa will take you to where you can change and eat.” Yet she gave a severe frown, as she desperately wanted to go with him to know as soon as possible what was going on. Not ready to part from her uncle who she had spent the whole crossing with. For now, he was the only other family member she could confidently trust outside of her cousins. Nolofinwë sensed the obvious hesitance in Vanifinwe and with care placed his hand once more on her shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Go take the time to rest, I will deal with your father.” He said to her tenderly, yet there was firmness there to it. Vanifinwë knew better than to argue with him at this point. He had been the whole reason she had survived the crossing. As several times she had come far too close to losing her life, it was thanks to Nolo that she pushed so hard. At this, she nodded and allowed for her brother to lead her from the foyer.

Minyarussa led her up the staircase and down a hallway in unnatural silence. It felt strained and uncomfortable. It was something that was tense and morose, even in his gait and in his shoulders. Yet Vanifinwë decided against pressing and that the emotional distance she was sharing with her brothers was the best thing for her to do.

The two came to a door down the long corridor, as Minyarussa motioned for her to open it. Still silent, and those pale blue eyes refused to meet with hers before he left her to enter and change. He didn’t even instruct on where to find, well… anything.

Vanifinwë opened the door to find a well-furnished bedroom, and she shut the door behind her and locked it. A large double bed in the center of the room with heavy red duvets and soft looking pillows… Something that was so tempting for her to climb upon and just give into the exhaustion that filled her body.

It had been so long since she had last been in a bed, yet she knew if she sat down now she’d never get out of it and would sleep for days… Maybe even weeks with as tired as she felt. Pressing on she moved to the dresser, one of a warm stained wood, opening it to find elleth’s clothing stuffed inside. Sifting through each drawer to find under garments, skirts, tunics and dresses of heavy material.

Wasting no time, Vanifinwë shed her cold and wet clothes. Letting them pool around her feet as she slipped her arms from the sleeves, before she kicked them off to the side. While so exposed without a fire in the hearth, gooseflesh riddled her skin as she shivered and shuddered. She hurried to slip into the warm fleece undergown, before putting on the gown that went over it.

Finally, some warmth filled her as she had sufficient and dry clothing to trap her own body heat. Pulling her inky hair from beneath the confinement of her gown, letting it cascade down her back, breathing a sigh of relief, moving to look in the armoire closest to the bed to see if shoes were there.

Pulling it open, she found cloaks and silken gowns hung from hangers in a sea of red and black, with slippers arranged with precision at the bottom in varied sizes. For guests to pick the sizes that they needed. She chose a black pair that were about her size, before hurriedly closing the doors and moved to leave the room just as rushed. Fearful if she stayed any longer than she’d definitely go to sleep.

But first, before she even considered it, Vanifinwe needed to know where her relatives were and to eat a meal. Vanifinwe hoped it was going to be something hearty and less like... bread. Her mouth watering at the very idea, though she turned her attention to find Minyarussa or the kitchen’s first…

She walked back through the hall towards the way she entered. Vanifinwe paused as she looked over the tapestries that hung on the wall. With details of the House crest upon them, and details of the ships of the Teleri… Vanifinwe could not decide if they were there to glorify the theft or as a reminder of what they had wrought…

She hoped they were there as a solemn reminder and not for glorification, but for the lack of slaughtered elves and burning of their swan ships… Vanifinwë held her doubts. This did not help with the impression she was under about them for the time, though she wondered if that was perhaps what was so different about Minyarussa.

With a sigh, she moved to the stairs and away from the tapestries; she tried to put her focus elsewhere, wanting first to hear their side of things before she continued to assume. At the bottom she found Minyarussa. With patience he waited for her, standing stone still, and he glanced down at the floor.

Vanifinwë needn’t announce herself, as expectantly Minyarussa walked through the foyer once she descended. He led her into a small and private dining room, a word not spoken as he hurried from the room and through another door. A table standing in the center with just enough chairs for each of the Feanorians present, it was good to see that perhaps they all still did meals together…

Minyarussa had returned not even a few moments later without a sound, setting the bowl down carefully full of a warm stew before Vanifinwë took her place at it. She waited to see if Minyarussa would join her, but once more he left her alone to eat.

She wondered what indeed could’ve transpired to have traumatized him so deeply? Did the effects of the Kinslaying get to him, perhaps? Despite herself, she sympathized if he did, as the memories of what had transpired over the years plagued her every waking moment… Vanifinwë didn’t want to imagine what it would finally be like when she closed her eyes.

Mindlessly she ate, not even savoring the way any of it tasted. All of her thoughts ran and spilled over themselves, full of questions in relation to her now estranged siblings. Struggling to ignore the slight dread that hung heavy in her stomach of the idea of being rejected further, even if she was furious with everything that they had done.

Now that she had seen them again, she had the slightest sliver of hope that perhaps they were redeemable. Even if she knew her Atar were not, though, that would be the next hurdle. Dealing with her Atar, who seemed to have so blatantly disowned her before her brothers. She and Nolofinwë had yet to have been thrown from the dwelling, so perhaps this was a good sign. Or did he not mention her to him in fear of what would happen?

Vanifinwë didn’t even know what it was she would even say to him once she saw him… All she felt was just intense anger the more she thought about him and his treatment of other people.

It was as she was down to the last bites of the warm meal that Minyarussa seemed to reappear, waving for her to follow. In her rush did she almost throw her spoon down and feel her heart leap into her throat in anticipation of what was to come. Eagerly she followed right after Minyarussa, who rushed once more through the foyer and down another hall… This place was endless in the halls that it had already…

The two made several twists and turns until they came to another door, with Nolofinwë who stood just next to it in silence. A worried expression on his face. This did not settle the nerves that she felt. Nor did he turn to face and greet her as Minyarussa opened up the door, revealing all four of her brothers that sat in solemn silence.

Without a word, Vanifinwë moved to take her place in the closest chair to the door. Her eyes ran over all of their figures. Makalaurë stood still and to the left of her, leaned against the wall, looking at the floor. His arms folded over his chest. Silken black hair shielding part of his face, so his expressions were unreadable.

Carnistir, just across from her on a settee, leaned back with his brows furrowed deeper than usual, though she couldn’t tell if his face was any redder. With the orange glow of the hearth- to their right- exaggerated it, and Curufinwe was just next to him with a tall glass of wine in hand, as he stared Vanifinwe down intensely. With Tyelkormo, who paced behind them with Minyarussa just behind her… Though there was an addition to the room.

Tyelperinquar… A face she definitely hadn’t seen in ages, it felt like. One that she always surprised her. As Tyelperinquar chose not to follow Nolofinwë and herself, considering he took no part in the Kinslaying despite being present for it.

“Where are Maitimo and Atya? And Atar?” Vanifinwë began, the first to break the silence, leaning back in her chair as she crossed one leg over the other. Watching as Makalaure moved from his place on the wall,

“They are not here, Vanie.” He answered with simplicity, and with a heavy sigh which made her furrow her brows at his words. She watched them all with suspicion as tension filled the room. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest as Vanifinwe thought.

“Well, where are they, Makalaurë?” She pressed her voice still even, despite the dread that filled her stomach, for whatever the answer may be. Makalaure ran a hand through his hair, deep blue eyes transfixed on the hearth before him, unable to face his sister.

“Morgoth captured Maitimo some time ago.” Makalaurë began and at this Vanifinwë felt the air leave her lungs as she sat up with abruptness. Her heart dropped into her stomach with a heavy thud. She stared up at him in utter disbelief,

“How? Why!” She pressed harder, panic rose in her chest and made its way into her voice. Fear all but consumed her, for the words that may follow and say that he was dead… Her sapphire blue eyes raced to scan her brothers, who all looked away from her, including Curufinwe.

“He had agreed to meet with Morgoth, after the Dark Vala claimed to surrender a Silmaril… Yet he was told to come alone. Maitimo brought a small embassy with him, despite the request. When he had not returned and we went and searched for him… We found the whole embassy slaughtered, but Maitimo was nowhere to be found.” Makalaure spoke in monotone, numb to the words he was speaking, chills running down Vanifinwë’s spine as she listened to his words in absolute disbelief.

Tears welled at his words, in her desperation trying to swallow them back at the news he had given her. They spilled over despite herself, and she brought a hand to wipe them away as she no longer could look at her brothers. Devastated for her eldest brother… There was no telling what he was suffering with. If he was still alive. But Vanifinwë didn’t know if she was prepared to hear otherwise. Though that begged to question what happened to Atyarussa…

“And Atyarussa? What happened to him? He is not with Morgoth too, is he?” She asked as she sucked in a sharp breath, unable to help herself. Yet no one said a word just yet, allowing Vanifinwë a chance to express herself before they moved onto the next wave of bad news. Tentatively, Makalaure moved to place his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as she cried.

This time Vanifinwë didn’t distance herself from her brother, taking it as the emotion swelled through her chest painfully. Vanifinwe sniffled and wiped her face over and over again, before Carnistir leaned over with a handkerchief for her to use.

With care she took it from him and dabbed her face with a heavy deep breath. Nodding as they waited on a signal from her to continue. Though the rest left the sole job of breaking this horrid news to Makalaurë. To tell her what had become of Atyarussa, not that they were a great help in telling her about Maitimo. With a heavy sigh, Makalaurë moved to kneel next to his sister, hand reaching for her small one to hold.

To which she let him take, gripping him in return. There was a long pause, Makalaurë opened his mouth to start, but then second guessed it.

“Makalaurë… what happened to Atyarussa?” She pushed in a whisper as there was an audible gulp he made at her question. Before he spoke, sorrow visible in his eyes,

“Morgoth had not captured Atyarussa.” He began in a low and monotone voice. Makalaure kept it even and refused to meet her gaze as he looked at her hand. Not a soul moved or continued to clarify, leaving Vanifinwë to squirm some in her chair. Heart thudded hard in fear of the words he’d speak next.

“Vanie… Atyarussa was killed.” Vanifinwë inhaled a sharp breath as she brought her hand to her mouth. The sob that left her made them all wince at her response.

A sharp pang of hurt seared through her, feeling into the very depths of her fëa that her brother had died. It was horrendous. If only she had convinced him and Minyarussa to have stayed with amillë…

She felt Makalaurë move before he pulled her into him for an embrace. Her head resting against his shoulder while her body shook with heavy sobs.

Time ticked by, with Vanifinwë clutched snugly to her second eldest brother as she cried. Mourning the losses of her brothers, though her senses and wits came back about her once more.

“How..?” She breathed out, needing to know how it was she lost her brother, as she pulled away from Makalaurë to look at him. Yet still his gaze would not meet hers, and he made no move to speak to her. At this with teary eyes she looked to her siblings, none of which would meet her gaze. Vanifinwë expected for Minyarussa to exhibit such behavior, it was his twin.

“It is not something you need to know, sister.” Curufinwë spoke up, breaking his silence. His voice quiet as he moved from his place on the settee and to the decanter set just next to Tyelkormo- who had stopped pacing. Vanifinwë was just about to argue,

“Tell her Uncle.” Tyelperinquar spoke up with suddenness and pulled everyone’s attention to him. Bright blue eyes bored into Makalaurë with intensity. Though he was not looking at his nephew, he could feel the gaze on him. Still, he hesitated, and if it could, the anticipation alone would kill her.

“Did one of you do it?” Vanifinwë asked at their intense hesitation. It was the only thing that made sense. Everyone in the room seemed to tense up at her words. At this, she ripped her hand from Makalaurë’s. This prompted him to stand back up and move away from her,

“I will not repeat myself. If you cannot give me an answer, I will ask Nolofinwë, as I’m sure you told him.” Vanifinwë was correct to have assumed that they had told him, yet it did nothing to ease the mounting tension. Nor bring her that much closer to an answer as the silence continued to blanket over the room for several minutes. Her patience wore thin.

“Atar did it.” Minyarussa answered her and ripped the entire world right out from under her. Vanifinwë looked to her brothers for confirmation, yet again their gazes transfixed elsewhere. Regret clearly plastered to their faces.

“He did it!? How? Tell me now!” She asked as she stood from her seat with utter disbelief on her face, Vanifinwë’s voice growing louder and laced with fury with every word.

“He set him on fire. It came during the burning of the ships at Losgar.” Minyarussa spoke up again with bitterness, and a bolt of anger shot through her at his words! All she could see was red,

“It was an accident.” Curufinwë corrected with quickness, yet Vanifinwë scoffed out with a sneer.

“Tell me, Curufinwë, how you accidentally set your own fucking child on fire!” She countered in fury. There was no excuse. The man she had once called her father, she could view him like that no more. He was simply her sire, and that was all he had been good for. Any memory that they shared, well it was in the past now. That Feanaro was a different ellon compared to the one who wrought chaos to almost all the Noldoli and family.

“He didn’t check the ships, Vani-“

“Do not call me by my Ataresse! I will not associate myself with someone so vile any longer!” She hissed out and interrupted Curufinwë, with her nose wrinkling as she sneered, making the freckles on her face wrinkle.

“Vile!? You have some nerve to speak!” Curufinwë rebutted, slamming his glass onto the table with the decanter set. Making it rattle with delicate clanking, the glasses threatening to tip off the table and onto the hardwood floor.

“Atar!” Tyelperinquar added at Curufinwë, which warranted him being ignored.

“How do you not fucking make sure all of your sons are present!!!! How many years has he been a father of 8!? Yet you excuse it!?” Her voice grew louder in almost a holler, her hands moved with grandiose as if it would further get her point across. A fiery glare aimed at her brother, who had turned fully to face her, returning the nasty stare.

“Perhaps you should’ve taken the oath and joined us since you could’ve done better sister. Yet you are a traitor to this family!” Curufinwë hissed back out in return.

“A traitor!?” Failendis began, “I am a traitor?”

“Yes you are, you have no right to even be here. You are not family, not even Atar considered you to be so-“

“Enough Curufinwë!” Makalaurë piped up in swift defense of his sister, not about to tolerate his brother disowning her further just as Fëanaro had.

“You know who the fucking traitor is, Curufinwë? Fëanaro! Because of his oath, he slaughtered innocent elves! Killed our brother! The other captured and Eru knows what his fate is! He stranded his followers and left them to cross the Helcaraxë! Yet I am the epitome of betrayal!?” Failendis continued in a shrill voice at her brother. This prompted Tyelperinquar to move from his spot in the room to approach her. Highly aware that if he did nothing, it would only continue to escalate.

“Have you descended into madness as far down as he has!? Are you so much like him you too will do the same!?” She hollered out at him, Failendis’ voice had grown high in pitch and her throat feeling sore from how hard she was yelling. Conveying all of how she was feeling to him!

“You glorify him! All of you! Even in the shit he’s done! I have seen your tapestries and have prayed to Eru to give you the benefit of the doubt! Yet you are just like him! In the worst way!” She yelled not just to Curufinwë but to rest of her brothers,

“Learn to have some respect for the dead dear sister!” Curufinwë hissed out. A scoff of bitter amusement left her throat at his words!

“So he is dead? Oh, how fitting it is. Considering everything he’s done, may Mandos punish him harsh and justly for the ruin he’s brought!”

“Watch your tongue!” Carnistir growled out and stood from his seat as well, Tyelperinquar placed his hands on her shoulders to soothe her. Failendis didn’t pull away from her nephew.

“I will not! I will speak my mind on this matter and you will say nothing! For you know nothing of betrayal or hardship if you think a simple no to an oath is traitorous!” She screeched out to him in response,

“He didn’t even release you from your oath, did he? Even now you all are forever to do his bidding! While he avoids everything he has done!” Failendis continued in utter disbelief,

“It is the least we can do as his children! Unlike yourself!” Curufinwë continued with harshness, his voice sounded like their Atar’s. Leaving many in silence over the tone and pitch and sent chills down their spines as it sounded like they were listening to their father.

“At least I am not a selfish maniac who took everyone on a fruitless mission over some fucking rocks!” Failendis rebutted in haste to him. Truly, she had already loathed those gems when she lived in Valinor. She watched what it had done to him. Now she definitely despised them.

“It is not just for the Silmarils! It is to avenge our grandfather and now our father!” Carnistir added, as his face turned redder as he scowled severely. Going to his father’s rescue and Curufinwë’s aid in defending him, since Fëanaro was not there to defend himself.

“Do you really think I would’ve avoided the oath if that’s what it had been about? Fëanaro cared more about those stupid damn rocks than he did us! Look at the wreckage he has caused already! How many more will suffer because of his oath?” Failendis continued to press, while Makalaurë turned his attention to her this time.

He knew the words she spoke of holding some weight, though it did nothing to soothe any of the anger in this room. It was only making things so much worse.

“Va- Failendis… I know you are grievously upset. It is reasonable, you’ve been through much these last several years. For now… Let us separate and have time to let everything settle.” Makalaurë began, neither was going to budge on their views. That it would lead to more severe things being said, and that Curufinwë would certainly never forgive her if it kept up.

When for now they should cherish not only their own relationships and having each other, but their sister as well. Failendis had survived the Helcaraxë, and she had come with Nolofinwë to see them. It was one fewer sibling to worry about being in harm’s way…

“That is an understatement Makalaurë, please do not undermine the struggles that Fëanaro forced upon us.” Curufinwë said nothing in rebuttal, he scoffed at her words.

“I am sure, and I apologize… For now, how about some rest? I’d imagine that was something that wasn’t afforded on the ice.” Failendis sighed at his words with a nod. After having sat down in such a soft chair, she couldn’t deny the exhaustion that now weighed heavily on her. Even if she now stood, sleep sounded good.

“Yes, some rest sounds ideal.” Failendis murmured, as she brought a hand to rub her forehead with another sigh,

“Tyelperinquar take her back to the guest room-“

“You’re going to let her stay? Even after insulting Atar!?” Curufinwë pressed in disbelief! Makalaurë simply turned to give him a more severe look.

“We have lost enough as it is Curufinwë… Yes, I am going to let her stay. She is our sister regardless of what has transpired and what we have said here.” Makalaurë answered, before turning his attention back to Failendis giving her a faint smile.

“We will speak later.” He said to Failendis with tenderness and a nod. Failendis took her leave with Tyelperinquar pulling her gently along.

* * *

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Quenyan names of the Finweans

Maitimo - Maedhros

Makalaure - Maglor

Tyelkormo - Celegorm

Carnistir - Caranthir

Curufinwe - Curufin

Atyarussa - Amrod

Minyarussa - Amras

Vanifinwe, Failendis - Faeleth

Nolofinwe - Fingolfin

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