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missgeniality · 4 years ago

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A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this! This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy!

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods.

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning.

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold.

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity.

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully.

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.”

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?”

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation.

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?”

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious.

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well.

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight?

BTS is on your flight?

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography.

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger.

BTS who?

Biggest boyband who?

You only listen to Frank Sinatra.

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh’ throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally.

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours.

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help.

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved.

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could.

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back.

Aw, you are in trouble.

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face.

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true.

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth.

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you.

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you.

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to.

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all.

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile.

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously.

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean.

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.”

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..”

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in.

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb.

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.”

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told.

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep.

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began.

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you.

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you.

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you.

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family.

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen.

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request.

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement.

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.”

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck.

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart.

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him.

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon.

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.”

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence.

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car.

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you.

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that.

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of.

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far.

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode.

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma.

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this.

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong.

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do.

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall.

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!"

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!”

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor.

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so.

But you’re not anyone else.

He isn’t just anyone.

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two.

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours.

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century.

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind.

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours.

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation.

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end.

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark.

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.”

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible.

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken.

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him.

The elevator door opens, and people walk out.

But that’s not where your attention is.

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm.

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad.

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present.

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.”

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile.

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too.

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space.

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!”

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed.

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again.

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.”

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”.

The punctuation was not vocalized.

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself.

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there?

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna.

So far, no sign of him.

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far.

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode.

And then you hear it.

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but.

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck.

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight.

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight.

“Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, ” Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?”

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement.

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is.

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart.

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.”

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first.

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own.

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes. “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.”

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter.

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?”

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight.

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger.

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware.

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer.

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue.

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch.

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates.

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?”

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air.

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative.

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?”

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress.

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured.

“On your knees.” he commands.

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.”

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on.

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm.

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head.

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise.

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly.

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him.

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him.

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.”

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over.

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench.

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening.

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod.

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum.

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you.

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him.

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss.

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair.

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt.

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room.

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom.

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you.

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention.

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought.

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret.

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch.

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth.

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way.

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face.

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs.

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem.

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-”

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him.

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason.

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard.

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him.

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making.

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls.

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat.

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it.

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response.

“Go on baby, ride me.”

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better.

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!”

“That’s fucking right, only me.”

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away.

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve.

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full.

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high.

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face.

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!”

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.”

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way.

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole.

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs.

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core.

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours.

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.”

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon.

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart.

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.”

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness.

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook’s chest is heavy.

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance.

He finds none.

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go.

You inch closer.

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his.

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win.

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words.

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst.

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it.

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows. You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him.

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far.

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up.

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement.

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

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blu-eh · 4 years ago

Text

after school summons

[AO3]

or: Danny gets summoned. He doesn’t like it.

It starts with a tugging feeling in his very core.

Danny Fenton pauses. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the last year, it is not to ignore random things that are definitely ghostly in origin. He has just enough time to place his pencil on the desk from where he had dutifully been doing his homework—for the first time in two weeks, mind you—before his vision goes white, he hears a snap, and suddenly he’s not in his room anymore.

For a moment he’s weightless, lost in the feeling of falling. Then, his body jerks and he has just enough time to think, oh fuck—before he’s slammed to the ground hard. His knees buckle under the unexpected weight and he goes down, clumsily, and trying not to throw up what little he’d managed to eat between homework packets.

“Ow,” Danny says.

He lies there, just for a moment, taking in the cool concrete underneath him. He tries to steady his breathing just enough so his mind can process what the hell just happened in the last thirty seconds. He’s still blinking stars from his eyes when he hears the hushed whispers echo around him and a heavy pair of footsteps approaching him. All in all, very bad signs when mysterious (and somewhat painful) things happen to you suddenly.

A gruff, questioning voice asks, “A child?”

“Oh, man,” Danny says, because that definitely does not sound good. Then he forces himself to his knees and looks up.

The first and foremost thing Danny notices is that he’s not alone. He’s on some sort of altar or platform, elevated a foot or so above the ground. A couple feet away, a group of no more than a dozen people surround him in a semi-circle, faces all covered by tattered cloaks. Another cloaked figure, dressed in much more formal robes with gold trimming, stands on the platform a mere couple feet from where Danny is. They all seem to be staring at him, waiting.

Danny hastily gets to his feet. He shifts a little into a sloppy fighting stance, just in case things were to get messy.

The dimly-lit warehouse room and the head covers don’t give him much to work with in the facial feature department, but he’s pretty confident that none of them are ghosts. Mostly from the fact that none of them are glowing and/or ranting about how much of a pain in the ass he is, but it still pays to be wary. Especially when Danny’s situations tend to quickly dissolve from bad to oh my god there are ghosts lose in Amity Park and also he maybe-sort of-possibly died in the process.

Which brings him back to his next brilliant deduction; he’s definitely in ghost form. He definitely was not in ghost form before this. His ghost form is rather obvious considering he sticks out like a glow stick in darkness of the warehouse. He doesn’t even feel the need to check his hair color, this time, but that’s more due to the fact that he doesn’t want to take his eyes off the weird people who managed to summon him from his bedroom and forced him to change into his ghost form.

(He desperately hopes that they hadn’t seen him change—weird warehouse people are not people that Danny generally associates with secret keeping.)

“Is this a cult thing?” Danny asks before any of them can speak. He takes in white line that surrounds him, and the red liquid (which he very much hopes is not blood) used to paint runes and symbols that circle him, and their weird cloak-like robes, and says, “This is definitely a cult thing. Oh my god, did you summon me? Seriously—”

Before this, he hadn't even known he could be summoned. It's just the little ghostly things learned via accident, sometimes, that truly take the icing on the cake.

There’s a tiny spark of anxiety in his gut, but honestly there’s a large difference between humans threatening him and ghosts threatening him. On one hand, he’d take weird cultist over Skulker’s lair any day. On the other hand, pure white walls and experimentation tables aren’t super high on his to visit list either. Worst comes to worst—before they sacrifice him to some ancient gods, more likely—he puts on his scary face (and maybe adds a couple of explosions) and slips out before they even notice he’s missing.

“Silence, creature,” the robed man snaps. Danny zeros in on him and immediately deduces him to be leader from vibes alone. Also the gold trimming on his robe, which very much screams leader of weird cult that summons ghost kids.

“I—okay, you know what? That was just rude,” Danny says. He points to the white line that surrounds him, “Is that cocaine?”

Danny has a feeling he doesn’t want to know the answer to the mysterious red liquid and painted symbols, so he doesn’t ask.

“It’s salt,” one of the other cloaked figures answers, like it should be obvious.

(It’s not actually obvious, and actually leaves Danny with more questions than he started with. Mostly in the realm of how did a group of cultists summon him with salt. He knows salt is supposedly an anti-ghost measure, but Danny is pretty convinced it has little to no effect on him considering the amount of Nasty Burger fries he’s consumed haven’t taken him out yet.)

“Salt,” Danny repeats. He pauses, then awkwardly tags on, “That’s good, I guess, because drugs are bad. Uh, don’t do drugs.”

A cultist quietly, and a little slowly, answers back, “We, uh, don’t.”

“Right,” Danny says. His eyes catch another section of weird in this already weird, cultist warehouse. At the base of the platform sits a variety of bones, so fresh that some of the muscle still clings to them. “Are those bones? Oh my god, did you sacrifice someone? That’s not cool! Murder isn’t cool!”

“Those are goat bones,” another follower says.

“Oh,” Danny says. “Well, I mean, that’s still fucked up on a variety of levels, but I guess that’s better than murder. Unless it's considered goat murder? Uh.”

For a second, there’s silence. The nature of the interaction is so awkward and oppressing that he almost goes invisible just to save himself the scrutiny of these random people and get the hell out of dodge. His curiosity is the only thing that holds him back—that, and the fact that he’s not quite sure if any of these people are secretly hiding ecto-weapons.

Danny very much does not want to be shot tonight.

He looks around the room, eyes taking in every inch of the sparsely decorated warehouse. There’s nothing that immediately grabs his attention, nor anything that really screams danger but it pays to be suspicious of his surroundings in his line of work. A few of the cultists notice this, and start shifting awkwardly as Danny looks over them as well.

Then, Danny’s eyes flicks back to the lead cultist and he says, “I’m going to be real honest here and say that I have no idea what the heck is going on.”

The leader makes no inclination that he acknowledges any word that comes from Danny’s mouth. Instead, he brings an old, wrinkled hand up to his face, like he’s thinking about some complex problem. The leader circles Danny once, then again, and Danny feels something inside him defensively coil like a spring.

He tries not to be bothered when people treat him as something lesser—it’s not, exactly, uncommon for him to encounter. He dealt with being shoved into lockers long before he died, anyways. It doesn’t stop his shoulders from tensing just the barest amount.

Instead of showing this, he brings his feet up to his chest and crosses them mid-air, and fakes a yawn for good measure. A few of the other cultists gasp in wonder and fear. The leader simply stops his prowling and turns to face Danny.

“So this is the fabled Ghost King,” the man says, like he expected better.

Danny feels he should almost be offended if it isn’t for the tiny detail that these cultists—who summoned him by using salt and goat bones—assume he is the ghost king. “…Did you seriously confuse me with Pariah Dark?”

The man pauses, and asks, “Pariah Dark?”

“Yes! He’s like fifteen feet tall, has a huge sword, is a pain in the ass, and has, like, an entire ghost army. I have, I dunno, pre-calc homework in my bag. We are not the same.”

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. Danny bares his teeth in their direction, just to see them squirm. A couple take worried steps back and Danny fights off a satisfied grin.

Hey, poke a bull and get the horns. In this case, summon a ghost-teenager and get the ecto-powers.

(He’s slowly becoming more and more aware that these people have no idea what they’re doing.)

“I see,” the leader says. From his tone, he definitely does not see. “It doesn’t matter. Our book summoned the King of Ghosts and that is you, so you will do as we tell you and your pain will be lessened.”

“I am still not the Ghost King,” Danny tells him. “And no thanks. I’ve already used my yearly cult sign up and I can’t say I’m thrilled to join another. If you’re going to hold an initiation ceremony, at least decorate a bit first. Uh, not counting the goat bones and salt, of course.”

“You have no choice,” the leader snaps and steps a bit closer to him. Danny merely raises an eyebrow. “We are the Followers of Infernal. We have summoned you to serve us. You are bound to our will and bound to our grace, as the book foretold. Now bow, demon, for we are your new masters.”

There’s a very large portion of Danny Fenton that is convinced any good karma he held in life did not pass with him during his death a mere year ago. An even larger portion of him is convinced that these guys are no more serious than the GIW is. Danny does not tell the cultists this.

Instead, he squints and says, “Alright. I definitely failed US Government, but I’m pretty sure that’s not legal. Don’t you guys need like, a permit to summon undead beings of mass power?”

“It thinks it’s funny.” The leader’s face is mostly hidden by his robe, but Danny can imagine the sneer there from his tone alone.

“Trust me, I’m not the one who’s a joke right now,” Danny says. He looks back over at the dozen or so followers and grins at them. They don’t seem too keen that he’s not following their master’s orders and bending to their will. He turns back to the leader. “What’s in it for me?”

“What?”

“If I follow you and stuff, what’s in it for me?”

The leader pauses, then says, “You will be spared of punishment.”

“Hmm, that’s not good enough,” Danny says. He angles his body so he's once again looking at the followers and points at one in the middle. “Hey, you! With the cloak. No, not you, the other dude. To the left. Yeah! You. What do you have to offer me?”

The follower looks so startled that he cowers for a second. Then, seeing as he hadn’t been reduced to a pile of ashes from Danny’s gaze alone, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and silver. “Uh, I have a paper clip, your ghostliness.”

“A paper clip,” Danny repeats. “Yeah, sure, fine. Whatever. That sounds neat.”

“You’ll submit to us?” the man sounds so hopeful that Danny almost feels bad for being a jerk. Then, he remembers that they summoned him out of his nice, warm bedroom at ass-o’clock in the night and feels significantly less amounts of pity.

“No, dude, I’m not being your sack of potatoes for a paper clip. Man, you guys are stupid.” Danny rolls his eyes and floats just a bit higher. The other followers shuffle around again, uncomfortable. In front of him, the leader remains impassive as ever. “Where even am I?”

“The lair which you will spend the rest of your afterlife,” the leader says.

“Okay, this is definitely a warehouse, firstly. And secondly, dude, I meant what state.”

“…Wisconsin,” the man allows because of course everything terrible happens in Wisconsin.

“You chose the worst state to have your crappy lair,” Danny tells them. Now he has to fly a couple hundred miles home and hope he gets there by morning, all the while avoiding his creepy, obsessed arch-nemesis. He wonders if Vlad is even aware there’s a ghost-obsessed cult in his home state. Probably not. “Nothing good ever comes from Wisconsin. You can take that as, like, ghostly wisdom or something.”

“Hey,” one of the cultists says, offended. “The Packers are in Wisconsin.”

“Nothing good,” Danny repeats, firmly.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the leader says. “It’s trying to distract you because it fears control. Briar, bring me the orb.”

“Yes, sir,” one of them says.

The followers mutter to themselves and teeter around in their positions. The woman who spoke, on the end, bows and scurries off. Danny watches as she runs through the darkness of the warehouse, footsteps echoing around them, until he can no longer see her among the darkness.

“Hey, if they already listen to you then why do you need me?” Danny asks. The leader doesn’t answer, so Danny floats a bit on his side and puts his arms behind his head. “What kind of orb are we talking about, anyways? Like one of those Spirit Halloween ones? Or is it more like orbeeze? I can’t saw I’m super excited from your ominous it fears control statement, but—"

“Silence, beast,” the leader says.

Danny huffs. “I’m just asking. No need to be so snippy.”

The man ignores him which, rude. Danny’s just about to see how far he can test this guy’s patience when Briar comes back, just as quickly as she had disappeared. She jogs through the warehouse and up the steps of the platform. Danny can’t see her face, but from the way her hood moves to glace at him every so often, he figures that she’s probably nervous. Specifically about him lounging around in a circle full of salt.

“Father Johnathan,” Briar says and bows. In her hands is a glowing, silver orb. It really did look like a generic orb one would find in a Spirit Halloween. “The orb.”

“Your name is Father Johnathan?” Danny asks. He eyes the orb for a second, but doesn’t feel the tingle of ghostly energy from it, so he ignores it. He turns right back to the leader, not able to keep the grin off his face. “Your name is really Father Johnathan?”

Father Johnathan gently takes the orb in his hands as Briar scurries off towards the rest of the followers. Then, he sighs and says, “Yes, creature, my name is Father Johnathan and I shall be your new master.”

“Oh my god,” Danny says, positively gleeful. “I meet real life Papa John and he summons me with salt and threatens me with a Spirit Halloween orb.”

“Laugh all you want,” Papa John says. The nervous air shifts into something a bit more predatory. “You will not be laughing much longer.”

The cultists break into applause and talk amongst themselves loudly. They shift forward, eagerly, as if they want to watch the spectacle up close. They’re only a foot or so away from the platform when Papa John waves at them to halt.

Papa John holds up the orb. It swirls, the silver fog inside consolidating and then dissipating. Something inside it starts to glow the barest amount.

Danny pauses, just for a second, and watches it. There's still no tingle of ghostly energy coming from it. If he hadn’t already thought these guys are a joke, he definitely would’ve been a tad more nervous. As it stands, he thinks nothing of it—no ghostly energy means no control over ghosts.

(Unfortunately, he knows the feeling of ghost-controlling objects quite well. It’s not an experience he’s eager to repeat.)

The orb glows brighter, and brighter, swirling more furiously. The chatter of the cultists picks up to the point where they’re almost shouting, jeering at him. Papa John draws closer and closer, orb outstretched. He holds it through the salt line and touches it to Danny’s chest. The shouting from his followers almost becomes unbearable.

And then….nothing. The orb stops glowing. The fog inside stops swirling. It simply dies in Papa John’s hand.

“Was that supposed to do something?” Danny asks.

Papa John touches him with the orb again, a tad more forceful, so Danny assumes it was supposed to do something. From the panicked whispers around him, it definitely was supposed to do something to him. Danny’s honestly not sure if the outcome is due to him being a halfa or these guys being a joke.

(He’s willing to bet it’s the latter.)

“I think your LED batteries died,” Danny tells him. “Or maybe you mixed up your Spirit Halloween orbs. Better luck next time.”

Papa John stops furiously pressing the orb to his chest and if Danny could see his face, he has no doubts that Papa John’s expression would be livid.

“You will obey us,” Papa John says.

“No,” Danny says. “I won’t.”

“You will—”

Danny swings his feet down so hard that he cracks the very ground he now stands on. Dust kicks up around him as he stands tall, even though Danny’s at least two feet shorter than the leader in front of him. His eyes burn a brilliant green and he crosses his hands over his chest in an effort to look intimidating. The cult thing is interesting and all, but it's late, he still has homework to do, and Jazz has definitely noticed him missing by now so it's probably better to end this before they can get another object from a Spirit Halloween and try that instead.

It works, if the half-step back from Papa John is anything to go by.

“Listen,” Danny says, flatly. “Get a hobby and leave me alone or else you won’t like what I’m going to do.”

He makes his form flicker and the temperature drop in the room, just for dramatic effect.

Some of the followers in the background shift uneasily. A couple take panicked steps back. More than a few look ready to bolt for the door and leave this cult business behind forever.

Danny takes notice and stares at them, smiling wide enough that they could see his slightly-toothy grin. He makes sure his eyes flare, just a touch, and says loudly, “Boo.”

To say the cultists are startled would be an understatement. More than a few stumble back, a couple falling onto their asses. One trips on their robe and is sent tumbling. Another one yells and cowers. Papa John has no time to reign in the situation before two scatter completely.

“Peace!” Papa John shouts over the chaos of a dozen panicking followers. Those that remain do settle down enough to hear his words. “Stand down, there is nothing to fear. It is only trying to scare you into letting it free. It is trapped whilst it remains in the circle.”

Danny snorts. “I can leave any time I want.”

“You cannot leave here, demon—”

Danny raises one single eyebrow and dutifully steps out of the summoning circle.

The warehouse erupts into chaos.

The cultists are yelling now, but this time there’s only because of fear. They scatter over each other, running and tripping over their obnoxiously long cloaks. A couple trample the goat bones to the point where several loud snaps are heard over the pandemonium. It only adds more fuel to the fire as less than a dozen people scramble to get as far away from the platform—and subsequently the ghost-kid—as possible.

“Do better than a paperclip, next time!” Danny calls out to them. They only seem to run faster at the sound of his voice.

Papa John is the only one who doesn’t run. He had stumbled off the platform and away from Danny the second that Danny made it over the salt line. However, in the disarray, he had been knocked to the ground, his orb lay broken at his feet, and his robe’s hood had been yanked off and left on the ground beside him. He sits, frozen, but Danny doesn’t know if it’s from shock or from fear.

Danny takes a step closer to him.

“How…?” Papa John whispers. He’s not looking at Danny—only his old, wrinkled hands. He’s bald, with brown eyes. He looks like nothing more than any generic old man that Danny would see at a grocery store on Sunday afternoon. “We followed the book. We…we took every precaution the book said. We were supposed to have the perfect slave, bound to our every word. We…”

“That didn’t work out too well for you, huh?” Danny says and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s ‘cause you forgot the dunce cap when you decided to be the class clown.”

“Please,” Papa John says. “Spare me.”

There’s something wrong about this—seeing a human beg for his life at Danny’s feet. Danny doesn’t want to be feared. He never has wanted to be feared.

He presses his lips together and takes a single step back. Some part of him, though, knows that he desperately needs to make his point clear to avoid another situation like this (likely with more weapons, next time).

“I warned you,” Danny says softly. His voice echoes around the warehouse. The man below him shivers in terror. “Do not summon me again, or I won’t be so nice next time.” He pauses, just for a second and can't help but tag on, "Papa John."

He lets his threat linger and hopes the man takes it seriously enough that he won’t get summoned again. Then, the cool strings of invisibility wrap around his body and he disappears from sight. Danny takes one look at the man left on the floor before he shakes his head and shoots up into the Wisconsin night sky. He doesn't hear the shouted response of it's Father Johnathan from several hundred feet below him on the warehouse floor.

Danny waits about all of thirty seconds before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

"Jazz? Hey, yeah, I'm fine. Yes, seriously, I'm fine but you are not going to believe what I just went through—"

#me mentioning my love for spirit halloween no less than five separate occasions #anyways #my fics #danny phantom #i Attempted to mention every single ectober week 2020 in this fic so like. lmao #ectober #ectober 2020 #ectober week #ectober week 2020 #phan phic #phic #tw drug mention #there are no actual drugs but i do reference a drug by name so this warning applies

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freddiefiction · 3 years ago

Note

hey :) first of all how are you doing lately dear? hope you're well! I wanted to ask if you could write some fluff for the kid au, maybe khaleel and something related to school idk I don't really have a proper prompt lol 😭 thanks in advance <3

Part 51 of Jimercury Kid Series

Khaleel turned the piece of paper awkwardly in his hands, wondering if this was really a good idea. He knew how dramatic his Baba could be; he had cried buckets during his end of year performance of The Nutcracker and when Khaleel had received his letter of acceptance from the Royal Ballet School, Freddie had it framed and mounted on the wall of the lounge to show off to his guests whenever they were holding a soiree.

Perhaps he should hold off from telling him just yet. He didn’t want a huge fuss.

He hung about in the doorway of Jim’s workshop, watching his father put the last finishing touches to a little birdhouse they were planning to set up on the lawn; Phoebe had recently found a family of robins living in the rosebush and thought they could use somewhere safer to live, what with the cats prowling about day and night. Freddie being the animal lover he was, assigned Jim the task of making them a comfortable little home to keep them safe until the chicks were old enough to leave the nest. Khaleel couldn’t help but smile; his parents really were the most compassionate people he knew.

He waited a moment before knocking on the doorframe. ‘Dad?’

Jim paused in sanding down the wood, turning around as he pulled his goggles up to rest on his forehead. ‘Oh, hello, you. Need something?’

‘Just wanted to talk.’ Khaleel wandered into the room, glancing at Jim’s many finished and unfinished projects littered about on each surface; a little carved mahogany cat he was planning to gift Mary for her birthday, a few end tables that Freddie had requested for the lounge and a half finished cradle he intended to ship over to Ireland for his eldest niece, who was expecting her first baby. A few of his creations were concealed under white sheets, clearly intended to be a surprise.

‘Anything wrong?’ Jim asked, removing his gloves, and leaning back against the workbench.

‘No.’ His son replied, though he didn’t sound certain. ‘It’s just…I found this on my desk this morning.’ He held out the piece of paper for Jim to take, cheeks going pink as two brown eyes studied the writing thoughtfully.

‘Roses are red, violets are blue. Sugar is sweet, and so are you. Love from D.’ Jim’s mouth curled into an amused smile. ‘Isn’t that lovely? Any idea who this “D” person is?’

‘There’s only one person in my class whose name begins with D.’ Khaleel shifted on his feet awkwardly. ‘Denise Maddox.’

‘I think Denise has a little crush on you.’

Khaleel chuckled. ‘Yeah, Dad, I figured.’

‘And how do you feel about her?’

Khaleel’s smile fell, and he looked down at his feet. ‘I’m not really sure. She’s…nice, I suppose. I haven’t really spoken to her properly, but I sometimes see her watching me during our ballet lessons. She says I’m the best dancer in the class.’ He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. ‘Maybe I like her a little bit…’

‘Ah, young love.’ Jim tittered, reaching over to ruffle Khaleel’s hair when he pouted. ‘I’m only teasing you, Bijou. It’s perfectly normal to have crushes at your age. If you really like Denise, you should try talking to her, strike up a friendship. And if you decide you want to be a bit more than friends…maybe you can take her on a little date.’

‘What kind of date?’

‘You could go for a walk by the river or take her to the pictures. You could even bring her over here and have a little picnic in the garden. But be sure to take things slowly. You’re far too young to be worried about romance. Just focus on being friends for now.’

Khaleel took a moment to process this information. He nibbled a bit of loose skin at the corner of his lip, glad that Freddie wasn’t there to scold him for it. ‘What do you think Baba will say?’

‘I think he’ll be over the moon to know his little boy has found himself a girlfriend.’ Said Jim with a wink. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he started planning your wedding immediately.’

‘Ugh.’ Khaleel pretended to dry heave. ‘Please forget I ever said anything.’

‘I know your Baba can overdo it sometimes, but he means well. He only wants what’s best for you.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ The boy scuffed a shoe against the floor, smiling despite himself as he thought about his theatrical father. ‘Thanks for the chat, Dad. I feel a bit better now.’

‘Any time, pet.’ Jim replied, returning the note and slipping his goggles back on. ‘Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?’ When the boy shook his head, the Irishman turned back to his workbench. ‘I’ll give you a shout when dinner is ready. And remember – homework first, Game Boy later.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Khaleel rolled his eyes fondly and stepped out of the workshop, closing the door behind him. He took a moment to glance down at the note again, his chest going tight as he re-read the words before folding it back up and stuffing it into his pocket.

He was being honest with Jim when he said that talking about it had made him feel better. But it hadn’t eased his anxiety completely. He liked to think his parents would understand, that they would never judge him, no matter who he might have a crush on. But knowing what his Baba was like, how overprotective he could be, it made him wonder if it was really a good idea telling him the truth about his not-so-secret admirer.

“D” didn’t stand for Denise. Denise Maddox did exist – she was two years above him and he only knew her name because her younger sister was in his class.

“D” stood for Dylan.

#jimercury #jimcury #jimercury fanfiction #kid au #my writing #she's a killer queue

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choco-glow · 4 years ago

Text

Day of the Dead (Robin)

April 27th.

The bed shifted, creaked as Bruce dragged himself up out of the comfort of his way too expensive (and totally worth it) mattress, followed reluctantly by an equally exhausted Selina. He insisted she use the bathroom first, taking that time to rub his face and scalp, forcing himself into an alertness that he didn’t feel…and Bruce ignored his constantly buzzing phone. He could hear Alfred puttering around in his own room down the hall, Damian’s near silent footsteps alongside his dog’s as the youngest Wayne limped down to let Titus out. Tim…Bruce sighed, knowing that Tim one of two places; passed out in the chair in front of the computer down in the cave, or passed out on the couch in the library, his laptop on the floor.

Either way, he was sleeping, most likely, and Bruce was going to take advantage of that.

“Hey.” He glanced up, and the smile on his lips was small, but real; she looked so good leaning against the doorway in nothing but her underwear and one of his old band tees, tousled hair sticking to her forehead from her shower, a sweet smile on her face, those familiar green-blue eyes always so dark in the morning. Bruce dragged himself upright to wrap her up in his arms, hugging her tight, and Selina melted against him, nuzzling his cheek. “Bruce…”

“Thank you for staying…” He murmured, gratitude thick in his voice, and she patted his bicep, popping up on her tiptoes to kiss his nose.

“Of course, sweetheart. Go wash up and get dressed, I’ll head down and help Alfred with breakfast?”

“Selina, you don’t have to…” She shook her head, chuckling, and he chuckled back, ignoring his impulse to just turn away and go brood. Brooding wouldn’t help today…

“I want to. I know what today is…and why it’s so hard.” He ducked his head, swallowing his next word, and she cupped his cheek. “Bruce. I mean it. Jason…” He lifted his head, blue eyes tired but crinkled from a weary smile.

“I miss him.”

“I do too. Go on. We’ll be waiting for you.” He nodded, and after a lingering kiss, despite Cat’s aversion to morning breath, Bruce let her go. The shower was hot enough to wash away some of the pain from his shoulder and upper back, and after washing up, he carefully redressed the bandage on his thigh, then pulled on a pair of old jeans and a tee shirt. It was Saturday, thankfully, so Bruce didn’t have to worry about a suit, and making his way down the stairs, he was glad to see visitors…especially these visitors.

Four years…four years, he’s been gone now. His heart twinged, but Bruce didn’t have to hold up a mask around Dick, who hugged him tight as soon as his first Robin saw him, nor around Barb, who he knelt to hug as well. Steph looked a little lost, a little nervous to be here, and Bruce hugged her too, whispering thanks to her as he’d done to the rest, and if Steph hugged his waist a little harder, her voice a little thick…well, Bruce wasn’t going to tell.

“Father, Alfred the cat is most worried about you.” Bruce paused as he set Steph back on her feet, turning to face Damian, who was holding his purring tuxedo cat and looking concerned…and Bruce couldn’t help the tiny, choked sob, because Damian looked so much like Jason at that age, his whole being focused on “comfort father”.

“So I see. May I hold him?” Damian nodded, and Bruce gently took the cat, smiling as Alfred bumped noses with him and settled on his shoulder, purring deeper still. “Thank you, Damian…”

“This is an auspicious day; we need all the comfort we can receive…” He murmured, and Bruce hugged his youngest tight, tears spilling over now…and Damian hugged him back, clinging to him tight.

“That’s…that’s true…c’mon everyone, we better get into the kitchen before Alfred the butler and Selina yell at us.” He murmured, and Dick chuckled while Barb smiled and took the lead. Damian pulled away from the hug, but not from Bruce, and they walked in hand in hand, taking comfort from one another. Jason’s photo, the last one taken two weeks before he died, was sitting on the counter, as always, with a candle lit…and the new addition of a tin can with the label meticulously soaked off, full of dandelions, and Bruce paused by it, lips twitching up in a fond smile.

“Master Bruce, I hope you don’t mind…I wanted…well…I remember Jason making those bouquets for us when he was a child…” Alfred murmured, and Bruce just pulled him into a hug, tears running hot down his cheeks now.

“I can’t think of a better thing…It’s perfect. Best bunch of flowers that’s ever entered this house.” They all shared a laugh at that, though Selina, Steph, and Damian looked a little confused, and it was Dick who explained, his voice warm and fond as he remembered all the times Jason would prowl the Wayne grounds, plucking dandelions and purple clovers, filling an old coffee can or tin can full to the brim and bringing them back to the house to share, his smile bright and happy.

“…At first, we offered him the flowers from the garden, and Jason just shook his head, looking scared, and said that he got in trouble for pulling those. No one cared about the wildflowers.”

“Oh, what a sweetheart…” Selina breathed, and Bruce and Alfred settled at the table at last, which prompted Dick to pass them the plate of pancakes and motion to fill up.

“He really was…c’mon, let’s eat, best way to remember our boy.”

“Here here! And whatever we do, avoid Buzzfeed today.” Barb raised her OJ in a toast, and Bruce closed his eyes with a sigh.

“God, I hate Buzzfeed…”

“Same here, old man. Same here.”

—-

Six months I’ve been back, and not a Bat to bother me. Jason settled in for a quiet Saturday morning, and ignored cable for a change; he knew what was going to be all over the news today, and he, for one, didn’t want to hear yet another poignant portrayal of his death. At least Bruce wouldn’t be out in public today; he’d learned that from running through the old news stories from the last few years, and frankly, Jason was grateful for it. It…meant that Bruce at least care enough to mourn him. Even if the goddamn Joker is still alive…

He sighed, and pushed away the anger he still felt at that fact, and pulled out his guns, then pulled up YouTube on his TV. He scrolled through his usual recommended list, feeling…restless and a little out of his element; it was the first death day he’d spent back in Gotham, and his normal goofy favorites just…weren’t going to cut it. Then he saw the one video he didn’t expect to see.

Buzzfeed Unsolved: Jason Todd, Wayne or Robin?

A grin split his face.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

—-

“Welcome to Buzzfeed Unsolved. I’m Ryan Bergera, and this is Shane Madej. Today, we are covering the mysterious deaths of two important people in the deadly metropolis that is Gotham City…or are we?”

“Wait, what?”

“Jason Todd Wayne, the adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, and the second Boy Wonder, Robin, both of whom disappeared the same day, April 27th…and have never been heard from again.”

“Ryan, you said it was one murder!”

“And therein lays our mystery, because the more you hear details of the case, the more you wonder if these two boys were really the same person.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh…I smell a conspiracy!”

“Shane, you smell lunch.”

“And a conspiracy! C’mon, out with details, gimme something, Bergera.”

“Hold your freakin’ horses, dude, lemme go over things…” Jason watched with unconcealed delight as he disassembled his pistol, cleaning each part as Ryan laid out the admittedly sparse facts of the case; of course, Jason knew the truth, but he was frankly somewhat impressed with the story that Bruce and Alfred had concocted. Of course, they couldn’t say the Joker beat him to death with a crowbar and blew up a building on him ( and even Bruce couldn’t have guessed that Talia al Ghul had stolen his corpse from the morgue, gave them an equally beaten dead kid to bury, and dumped his ass in the Lazarus Pit). But the story of Jason being killed as a hit out on the Wayne family was all too likely.

Batman had a lot of enemies.

Bruce Wayne had a lot more.

“No one was ever charged for Jason’s murder…here’s the last video of the press conference where Bruce explains things.”

“…Jesus, he’s barely keeping it together…I know he’s a billionaire, but he’s got a lot of heart…poor guy…”

“Yeah…I know we tend to fuck around on this channel, but…this kid died. Pretty badly, from what the evidence shows.”

“Man…so, you said there were theories, right?”

“Yeah, and they only get worse from here.”

“Well, we started the program with a dead kid; can’t get any worse than that.” Jason paused the video and just…stared at Bruce’s face, the tears on his cheeks, his exhausted appearance…and sighed a little.

“Sorry Dad…”

—-

“Theory number one: Dick Grayson killed Jason Todd out of jealousy. It was rumored that the brothers didn't get along and Dick and his father didn't have a good relationship when Jason came to the household.” Jason’s eyes narrowed at that one; whoever thought up that crock of shit had another thing coming. Sure, he and Dick had bickered like brothers, but at the end of the day, Dick was his brother from another mother. Even now, even with everything that had happened…Jason missed those hugs something fierce.

“I mean, that’s a pretty cut and dry one…”

“So it would seem…but if you look at the interviews, there’s nothing in Dick’s demeanor that shows any resentment or anger. And both Jason and Dick were orphaned at early ages and adopted by Bruce, so…”

“Yeah, I dunno. It’s cut and dry, but…at the same time, it doesn’t really make sense.”

“Especially given that Dick every year celebrates Jason’s birthday; I mean, killers can be weird, we know that from the last several seasons, but…I dunno. It doesn’t really fit.”

“Probably some asshole detective looking to close it up.”

“Probably…”

“On to number two!”

—-

“Bruce Wayne killed Jason Todd. This was, actually, the first big conspiracy theory to hit the web. Thankfully, it quickly died when people saw just how devastated Bruce was for months after his death, but apparently there are still some trolls on public forums who accuse Bruce Wayne of killing his son.”

“…That’s utter bullshit. Fuckers.”

“Right there with ya, buddy. Right there with ya. Onto three?”

“Please.”

—-

“Jason isn't dead, because of sightings of a homeless boy who wandered all around Crime Alley and looked exactly like Jason Todd. He was completely battered and bruised and suddenly disappeared after a year in the streets, likely due to a trafficking ring.” Jason raised an eyebrow at that, and turned his AK, Shane and Ryan’s incredulousness a comfort. He wasn’t sure why he was still watching this, but…it was kinda nice. Nice to have people be pissed off for his sake.

“Jesus Christ, Gotham, y’all are so dark.”

“May be why their superhero is Batman, dude.”

“STILL. Could this one have some merit, though, since he was an orphan?”

“This one is one of the strongest theories to date, because Jason was from a place called the Narrows, not far from Crime Alley, and according to Wayne Enterprises official documentation in their family museum, Jason had had issues with drugs and abuse, though to what extent, only the family knows. It’s a pretty ugly idea, but…it’s possible.”

“I think I’d rather be dead, Ryan, than go through that.”

“Same. Same…”

—

“Now. We move onto the disappearance of the second Robin, who vanished the same day that Jason Todd supposedly died. Possible theories of the disappearance of the second boy wonder—”

“Ryan. Ryan. Buddy. Champ. Are you implying, really, that Jason and Robin are the same kid?!”

“I’m just reading the script!”

“You wrote the script!”

“…I may be implying that they’re the same, yes.”

“I KNEW IT.”

“You don’t know shit.” Jason started laughing, and paused to get himself a fresh beer, ordering pizza while he was at it. Alright, this wasn’t so bad after all…

—

“He is hiding. Some say he hid from Batman, and some say Batman is hiding him from others. They don't know what, though. Some even say he quit the job.”

“Alright, I’ll bite, who’s ‘some’.”

“Paparazzi, conspiracy theorists, Alex Jones, etc…”

“Ah yes. The enlightened crowd.”

“Pftt…This is the weakest one, so we’ll go ahead and lay out the second theory while we’re at it. The second Robin died. After Robin stopped appearing with batman for an entire year, the same time Jason Todd died. This used to be a widely spread theory, until people realized maybe talking about the death of a boy in a terrorist attack for a conspiracy theory after his father broke down in public isn't the nicest thing to do.”

“And this is your theory.”

“This…is the strongest one I think, and the one that has the most emotional punch. But let’s be real; if the second Robin was indeed Jason Todd, then his Batman HAS to be Bruce Wayne. And c’mon. We’ve all seen the nightmare surrounding THAT theory.”

“Uh, yeah. No thanks, I do not ever need to write another “But the butts don’t match” article ever again in my life.” Jason snorted at that, cracking up laughing, and when he googled “The Butts don’t match”, he had to pause his boys because the ensuing hyena laugh had him flat on his back for ten minutes, absolutely losing his shit.

“Oh Christ, I love the internet…”

—-

“Next theory. He’s a kid, he took a break from vigilante-ing to do something else.”

“Now see, I like this one; that’s like, the most wholesome version. I hope this is the real one, but…”

“I know, man. I know.”

“Sigh.”

—-

“Almost there. Some people believe the second and the third Robin are the same, although many people disagree, considering witness reports that they looked very different, and the Robins were very distinctive in their fighting style and personalities.” Jason snorted at that, shoveling a slice of pizza into his gullet, and even the boys were looking a bit annoyed at that theory, Shane more than Ryan.

“Question.”

“Yes?”

“How the hell do they know about fighting styles?!”

“Gotham City Police.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense now.”

“Also, apparently Commissioner Gordon likes the third Robin more, which tells me they’re definitely not the same.”

“Yeah, if anyone other than Batman would know, he would. What’s next?”

“This one is kinda great, but also a bit outrageous.”

“Ooooh, juicy. Spill the beans, Bergera!”

—-

“Some even believe that the second Robin is now the infamous Red Hood. Gothamites have been known to try to stalk the dude but it's never successful, and supposedly, even the Batfam won’t bother him.”

“I mean, that’s a cool story, but how true is it?”

“Considering the guy wears a red freakin’ helmet with eyeholes and no mouth, who knows how true it is?”

“Still a nicer story than the butts. And hey, Red Hood is pretty chill, man, I think he’s probably the best thing to hit Gotham in years.”

“You’re a Hoodie!”

“The fuck is a ‘Hoodie?”

“Red Hood groupie.”

“Uh, hell no, I just think he’s cool.”

“Uh huh…Well, folks, that ties up our deep dive into the murder of Jason Todd, and the disappearance of the second Robin. To date, this case remains…Unsolved.” As the quiet music that ushered in the ending screen and credits, Jason sat back, working his second slice of pizza, and chuckled a little to himself. If only they knew…well. His people knew who he was; old man Falcone figured it out the second day Jason had been home. The Narrows had welcomed their boy back…And they weren’t gonna tell anyone. They didn’t trust Gothamites, they didn’t trust the Bats…which was why Jason had carved out his place here again, with gunfire and brutal justice. They trusted him.

He turned YouTube over to something mindless, and padded over to the window, feeling the sunshine, weak though it was, break through the clouds and warm his skin. Jason leaned against the familiar brick, and opened the window, letting in a rush of cool air, reminiscent of spring.

It was good to be home.

#deathinthefamily #jason todd #red hood #batman #bruce wayne #selina kyle #damian wayne #dick grayson #barbara gordon #buzzfeed:unsolved #ryan bergera #shane madej #this is feels and crack #why do I write this

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themadlostgirl · 4 years ago

Text

When It’s Cold (2)

*Horny teens are horny. Mild smut mentions ahead.*

~~~

I laid in bed watching the lightning flash outside my windows as thunder shook the room and rain poured down. As a child a storm like this would have had me hiding under my covers. Tonight though I watched the storm, every inch of my body on alert with every crack of lightning and thunder. The doors to my room burst open with a roll of thunder. A shadowed figured stood in the hallway. My heart hammered fast as I tried to see through the darkness at my intruder. A flash of lightning illuminated the once dark room and I recognized the jagged line down my visitor’s face.

“Felix?” I sat up straighter. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you weren’t scared.” He prowled closer, a wicked grin on his face as he got to the foot of my bed. “You always were so scared of storms.”

“I was…” I murmured. He was dressed only in a pair of pants. That same chiseled torso I had gawked at earlier on full display.

He crawled onto the bed until he was hovering over me. “Do you want me to stay?” His voice purred in my ear, “I can keep you warm if it gets cold.”

“Yes please,” I let the robe around me fall from my shoulders leaving me exposed. “Keep me warm, Felix.”

“Gladly.” He swooped down upon me.

~~~

I woke with a start. My body was wound up tight and I was tangled in the blankets on my bed. I gazed around me confused before the previous day’s events caught up to me. It felt like a dream that Felix and I had found this mansion last night.

Felix…

The real dream came back to me with stark detail. What had that been all about? I’ve never had a dream like that before. I never have dreams in the first place. Even when I do they’re nothing like that and most certainly do not feature Felix. Yet he had been the epicenter.

Half naked with a devilish grin looking down at my own nude body. I had wanted him to--to--

I buried my face in my pillow. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gone to his room last night and saw him coming out of the bathroom. Why did I have to see that? Now I was having borderline erotic dreams about him. Oh screw borderline! I knew exactly what I had been hoping to happen and the aching between my legs only solidified it.

It’s not like I never found Felix ugly or anything. He was pleasant to look at. I dare say at times he was handsome but I never dwelled on it. Maybe a stray intrusive thought or two but they never went so far as my dream had. I couldn’t stop picturing it. Felix and I in bed, his large hands on my body, his lips caressing my skin…

I pressed my legs together as the image took root in my head. Maybe I deserve to indulge a little. For right now there is nothing to worry about. Besides, it’s not like Felix will ever know. My hand dipped between my legs as I let myself fall back into the dream. My body was extra sensitive since I hadn’t been able to indulge in this particular past time since Neverland. Not that I got to do it a whole lot there either. I swear there is absolutely no privacy on that island.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And none here either it seems.

With a small whine I swung out of bed and pulled my robe in tight. I opened the door and Felix was waiting on the other side already dressed. Could it be considered poetic irony that the boy I had just a moment ago been masturbating to interrupted said masturbation?

“Did you just wake up?” Felix looked me up and down.

“Kinda. I figured I was allowed to sleep in. What do you want?” I stepped back and started collecting my clothes from the floor.

“Get dressed. I discovered something you’re gonna wanna see.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“No. Now hurry up.” He closed the door and left.

With a sigh a pulled my clothes back on and followed Felix up a set of stairs to a hallway that led to a dead end. “This is what you wanted to show me? A wall with a picture on it?”

“Watch this,” He pulled the light fixture next to the painting and suddenly the wall came loose and rotated opening up a passageway into a whole new room.

“This place has secret rooms now. Very cool.” I stepped inside. “A library?” I looked at the books but there were no names on the spines. I pulled one off and flipped through it but all the pages were blank. “I will say I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh but it gets better.” Felix went over to the desk at the end of the room and pulled open the drawer. There was a button inside. He pressed it and a section of the floor popped up. I knelt down and opened the hatch and my eyes went wide. It was a safe!

I turned the latch and nearly cried at what I saw. Money. Just stacks and stacks of money! One less thing to worry about. We wouldn’t need to scrape by or get jobs. This safe could keep us comfortable for months! Years even!

“How did you find this?” I asked Felix.

“I like puzzles and I like to snoop.” He grinned pulling out a stack of hundreds. The band around it said ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars and there were easily a hundred or more just like it from what I could tell from the naked eye. We have someplace warm to sleep and we have money for food.

I started sniffling and I could sense Felix watching me befuddled. “Sorry, I just--” I took a deep breath and wiped the tears from my eyes, “We’re going to survive the winter. We don’t have to be hungry or cold again.”

“I know,” Felix pulled a few hundreds from the stack and dropped the rest back in the safe. “Now how about we go do that grocery shopping you were so insistent on?”

“Yes!” I hopped to my feet. We put everything back in place and left the room. I found a pad of paper and started making a list of everything we would need. Unlike Felix who had spent so much time on Neverland that he couldn’t remember who he had been before being a Lost Boy , I did remember who I was. I remembered the responsibilities I had before Neverland. What was needed when I was made to go to market. The grocery store wasn’t like the open air markets I was used to but it was still the same general concept.

Felix and I got weird looks as we entered the store and I took one of the trollies. My first stop was to grab some toiletries. Toilet paper, shampoo, body wash, loofah, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, floss, and even a set of razors in case Felix wanted to shave. Next we grabbed laundry detergent, dish soap, paper towels, spray cleaner, trash bags, aluminum, and hangers. We would need to go to a different store for clothes. Lastly, food. Now, being the designated responsible person out of the two of us I know we couldn’t just indulge in the sweets and other delicious yet not necessarily healthy food for us.

I sped up and down the aisles with Felix trailing after me as I dumped stuff into the trolley. Chicken, beef, bacon, vegetables, fruits, a ten pound bag of potatoes, bread, milk, two dozen eggs, pasta, rice, butter, flour, sugar, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, vanilla, yeast (it’s been forever since I baked anything but I figured I could give it a try), orange juice, apple juice, cheese, canola oil, olive oil, and spices. Then came on the things I knew less about, peanut butter, chocolate chips, gummy candies, dressings, chips, ice cream, instant brownie mix, pizza rolls (they sounded good), cans of soup, yogurt, pancake/waffle mix, whipped cream, cereal, granola bars, pretzels, and tea bags.

Our trolley was overflowing with items as we wheeled our way over to the register. The man bagging our items looked at us strangely as we started unloading our groceries onto the counter. Several minutes and a trolley full of groceries later we were given our grand total. I was scared that we wouldn’t have enough but thankfully we did. We left the store and looked at our haul.

“Hey, Felix,” I paused as we were halfway through the parking lot, “How are we gonna get all this back to the mansion?”

“We steal the cart.” He said it like it was obvious. “Who is gonna stop us?”

“True.” We started out trip back to the mansion and pushed the trolley into the house. We spent the next several minute cramming things into cabinets and the icebox. I pushed the trolley back outside and went to put my toiletries away while Felix took the laundry items down to the basement. I would also need to learn how to use the electronic washers they had here if I wanted clean clothes.

Speaking of clean clothes, “Felix!” I shouted down the steps, “We’re not done yet today. We need to go clothes shopping.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t bring any extra sets of clothes with me when we left Neverland and I’m sick of wearing these dirty rags. Now get a move on!”

Felix came upstairs with a scowl. “Don’t pout. Even if we kept these clothes clean they stand out too much. I think it’s part of the reason everyone glares at us. We’ll arise less suspicion if we blend in. Especially since our mission is to find a way out of here and back to Neverland.”

“Fine.” Felix grumbled. He counted the remaining money in his pocket. “Let me grab a few more bills from the library just to be safe.”

My stomach grumbled and I decided to grab a granola bar to settle my stomach while I waited for Felix. This house was so strange. They didn’t have any dish soap but they had pots and pans. No shampoo but they had combs. Not a lick of food but a cabinet dedicated to what looked like a very fragile table set.

Felix came back a few hundred dollars richer and we made our way back into town for the second time that day. The clothes store was emptier than the grocery store which put me more at ease. Felix and I went our separate ways as I perused around the racks and racks of clothing. I grabbed a few shirts, pajamas, sweatshirts, sweat pants, underwear, socks, gloves, a scarf, hat, a thick jacket, a new pair of boots, and a large messenger bag. When I went to try on some pants though I was thoroughly disappointed. They fit fine but the pockets on them were tiny! I could barely get my hand in them. Was this what pants were like here? Why?!

I went over to the men’s section and found Felix also trying on some new clothes. It was a simple black t-shirt and a pair of dark denim jeans but it looked really good on him. He almost looked less foreboding. Maybe that was just due to the fact that he didn’t have his cloak hood up like usual.

“You look mad,” Felix chuckled upon seeing me stomp up to him.

“I am! Look at this.” I squeezed a few of my fingers into my jeans pocket. “These pants have absolutely no room! Are yours like this as well?”

“Mine?” he stuck his entire hand in his pocket up to the middle of his forearm. “Nope.”

“What the hell?” I stuck my hand in his other pocket. These were so much roomier than mine! “Why are these better than the ones in my section?”

“I don’t know,” Felix pulled my hand out of his pocket, his face was red with anger again and he wouldn’t look me in the eye, “You can stop invading my personal space though.”

“Oops, sorry.” I snatched my hand back to my chest. What had I been thinking? I essentially stuck my hand down his pants and for what? Because I was jealous of the size of his pockets? I grabbed a few pants from his section that looked to be my size and raced back to the dressing rooms in my section. These fit just as well as the ones I was wearing now but the pockets were much roomier so I chucked the others away and got the men’s pants.

Felix met me at the registers when he was done browsing. He still wasn’t looking at me. I think I made things between us really uncomfortable. We paid for the clothes but had no trolley this time so had to carry everything in large bags back to the mansion. After we got back Felix disappeared into his room. I changed into a pair of the comfy new clothes I bought and went downstairs to make myself something to eat.

I heated a can of soup up and sat down to eat. I wasn’t in the mood to be so adventurous as to make a full blown meal. Now that we had all the essentials Felix and I could start our search for a way back to Neverland in earnest.

I didn’t see Felix for the rest of the night. Figures he wouldn’t want to be around me after we spent all day together. I drew myself another hot bath and this time was able to actually wash myself with the soap and shampoo we had bought. I felt truly clean for the first time in a long time as I slid on the pajamas I bought and crawled back into bed.

Rain pattered outside and I was reminded of my dream from this morning. A part of me dreading and hoping that I would have another just like it.

~~~

Fucking hell! You were killing him! You had to be trying to kill him! That’s what Felix concluded as he locked himself in the master bedroom of the mansion.

Ever since Felix had let himself be talked into going to Storybrooke with you he had been forced by your side. You were the only Lost One in Storybrooke still loyal to Pan when all the others had run off to find families for themselves. He told himself he was tagging along instead of staying in Neverland to enact revenge on those that murdered Pan but that was only half of the story.

He should have never followed you though. Revenge aside. It hadn’t worked out anyway. Even after he learned that Pan was still alive, albeit in someone else’s body, it wasn’t enough. Pan died anyway before he got to enact the curse that would have turned this worthless town into a new Neverland. Now everyone was happy and safe and you and Felix were both very much stranded.

Finding this mansion had been a sweet turn of luck. He knew you were right when you mentioned needing a better place to stay over winter. Felix didn’t like the cold either but he could tolerate it better than you. Every night since you two got here you would shiver the night away at your camp. The night before it had been so cold that even Felix was cursing the wind. While he shivered though he glanced across the fire pit at you. You were huddled in so tight to yourself. Teeth chattering and body convulsing.

He was glad that you didn’t make any mention of him giving you his cloak as an extra form of warmth that night. He didn’t want to try explaining why he had done it. Terrible complicated feelings that he refused to acknowledge. He pushed them down hard, stomped them into dust so they could never rear their ugly head again.

Then he had gotten out of the bath. Truly clean for the first time in years he had left the bathroom and all those complicated feelings from before shot to the surface at the scene laid out before him. You knelt on the ground with only a towel barely covering you. Your wet hair leaving drops of water rolling down your shoulders and back.

His jaw clenched and he fumbled to maintain some composure as you explained what you were doing practically naked in his room. He had found the robe in the master bathroom and was planning on wearing it to bed himself but when he caught sight of you he was only too happy to chuck it into your arms. He needed you to cover up. He needed you clothed and out of his room that instant!

He was far from relaxed after you had left that night. The sight of you knelt over, the towel just barely covering your ass was burned into his brain. He ignored the stirring under his towel and dove into the large bed. He tossed and turned most of the night trying to rid the image and the thoughts he was having. His mind betrayed him though as it brought him much more vivid fantasies of you on his bed wearing nothing at all and beckoning him to take you.

He woke soon after breathing hard and his hand around his cock. Felix cursed the fact that he had a lewd dream about you of all people. He tried to ignore the images flashing in his head but when he closed his eyes there you were on all fours again with a teasing smile. He jumped into the bathroom and turned on the shower hoping a cold jolt would snap him back to sense but then he was thinking of you in this shower with him. Water rolling down your body, that same teasing smile and sultry voice begging him to take you against the wall.

For a few minutes he swallowed his embarrassment and let the fantasy play out fucking into his fist and pretending it was you squeezing around him instead. He thought of your moans and whimpers egging him on. Begging him to be harder, faster, rougher. He bit his lip to keep from shouting as he finally spent himself and started coming down from his high.

He felt more relaxed afterwards but the release of tension didn’t make him feel better knowing he had masturbated to you. You were his...friend? You two had never been friends before coming to Storybrooke and he doubted that you two were that now. Whatever you were to him he shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You both wanted to get back to Neverland and having obscene fantasies of you was not the way to go about that.

It was still fairly early but he was too wound up to go back to bed. So he got dressed and went exploring throughout the mansion. That’s how he had found the secret library full of blank books and that secret vault under the floorboards. He put everything back in place before racing to wake you up and show you. He had almost forgotten about his dream until you opened the door and he was met with your sleepy face and bedhead. Had you always been this attractive or was it just the layers of dirt that had gotten washed away last night that made you much more appealing to him suddenly? He decided not to dwell on why he was having these thoughts and instead took you down to see the stash of money he had found.

You were so giddy at the knowledge that you could actually have a roof over your head and food in your belly that he found himself smiling too. Your smile was so infectious. He let you take the lead when you went shopping. He didn’t recognize half the stuff he saw in that store but trusted your judgement when you dropped something in the cart.

Then there was when you went to go clothes shopping. Felix wouldn’t admit that he was getting a little worn out of his Neverland attire. It was functional but that was all he could say about it. The smell of it after he had gotten out of the bath the night before almost made him gag. Perhaps this was the reason no one wanted you or him around. You both reeked of years of living in a jungle.

You two were on totally opposite ends of the clothing store so Felix thought he was safe until you came charging into his dressing room ranting about the tiny pockets on your pants. The tight fitted pants that hugged your legs and ass perfectly. Then when you unceremoniously stuffed your hand down his pocket to see how deep they were it took all his self control and thoughts of rotting animal carcasses to not pop an erection right there in the store.

You were trying to make him burst a blood vessel and you didn’t even seem to notice! Which is why he was back in his room sitting on his bed hungry and horny. He was waiting until after he was sure you had gone to bed to get some food. He really didn’t want to chance running into you again and risk those impure thoughts bubbling to the surface once more.

Hopefully today had just been a spoof and tomorrow all these strange new thoughts and feelings would be gone. You two had a mission after all. Get back to Neverland. Lust wasn’t going to help that mission.

---

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#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #peter pan ouat #roommate au #felix's pov is in 2nd person

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harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years ago

Text

Prowling For Pleasure

You treat Vergil to a night of indulgent luxury and forbidden pleasures.

Rated Explicit for: Dubcon, Vampiric Manipulation, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Femdom, and the usual Vampire Activities.

Part Two: Decadence & Depravity

Tonight is the night of your promised hunt, and you can honestly say that you’ve never felt this excited in all your undead life! Everything is almost ready for your date…all you need to do is finish getting dressed, which is easier said than done with the ever-growing knot in the pit of your stomach. You’ve grown accustomed to spending your solitude with only a few trusted confidants, but the thought of stepping out for a night on the town with Vergil is exhilarating!

You can’t stand all the pent-up nervousness and excitement raging inside you any longer. Your eyes dart over to a black velvet bag sitting on a nearby shelf as you apply the finishing touches to your makeup. You reach over and grab it before taking out a deck of tarot cards at Vergil’s desk. Their musty scent wafts through the air as you shuffle the cards a few times, envisioning your question before splitting the deck into three smaller stacks. Then, you gather them all back up in a different order and spread the top four cards out on the desk in the form of a cross.

Time to see how our date will play out.

You turn over the first card to reveal the image of a nude woman pouring two vessels of water, one over land and the other into a calm river. Your lips curve into a fond smile at the familiar card, The Star, which has popped up in a lot of your readings ever since Vergil started calling you by the sweet endearment. So, it makes sense why this card represents you and your feelings in the matter at hand: you hope to grow even closer with your fierce fella after tonight.

Your brow quirks at the next card in the spread, which depicts a man in full armor riding atop a valiant steed with a large wand. Huh…how curious, you muse, tilting your head at the Knight of Wands as you ponder its meaning. It usually denotes a popular person prone to grand gestures crossing your way…this person may also be full of themselves and impetuous, leading them to make rushed and foolish decisions. You’re not exactly sure what this means for your date tonight, but you get the feeling that it won’t be favorable.

The next card has you blinking a couple times before leaning in just to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. But the scene of three young women dancing in a circle with their golden chalices held high in a joyful toast remains the same. Curiouser and curiouser, you thought while tapping your nails on the desk, wondering if the proposed outcome of success is too good to be true. Drawing the Three of Cups is all around a good omen though, so you press onto the very last card of the spread.

A shiver runs up your spine at the sight of a man and a woman embracing each other in paradise. The consequences of tonight’s date will lead to what you’ve always wanted in your previous life…and what you desire now more than ever despite your cursed existence. Now I know it’s too good to be true, you consider sullenly, warning yourself to not get your hopes up as you begin clearing the desk. But a peculiar notion pops into your head when you touch The Lovers card again; it doesn’t seem like your usual stray thoughts at all…it feels like a sudden prediction of moments yet come…

Two souls shall converge in a moment of destiny.

“I didn’t take you for a fortune teller.”

Your head whips around at the sound of your lover’s voice. His soft lips curl into a smirk as you check out his delectable attire for tonight. The paisley pattern of the midnight blue jacket looks absolutely regal buttoned around his waist. A black and blue handkerchief pokes out of his jacket’s pocket, bringing your attention to the silky black lapels framing his broad chest. The matching black dress shirt and pants starkly contrasts with his silvery white hair while the Yamato hanging on his hip completes his elegant wardrobe.

“I don’t dabble in tarot much,” you explain while storing the cards back inside the small velvet bag. “But I thought a little insight might help us with our date tonight,” you admit, softly nipping your lower lip with a single fang as you get up from his desk.

Vergil hums in understanding as you stow the bag back on the appropriate shelf. “And where, exactly, shall this date take place?” he inquires, slicking back his perfectly styled hair while watching you with a curious gleam in his eyes.

Your hands become a blur as you quickly wrap your hair into a low bun before pinning it in place. “There’s this posh jazz lounge downtown,” you reveal while grabbing a starry headpiece with two chain swags. “It has an excellent bar, great music…” you pause for a moment as you carefully stick the headpiece right above your bun. “And some private sitting rooms for exclusive members,” you finish, clipping the two chains on either side of your head.

Vergil tilts his head. “Sounds like you’ve hunted there before.”

You chortle at his keen deduction as you swiftly fasten an elaborate shoulder necklace around your neck. “It was my usual haunt on those nights whenever I needed a break from blood packs,” you recall with an impish smirk while adjusting the hanging strings of pearls on your arms. “But I haven’t had to go back since you feed me so well, my love,” you point out with a playful purr before showing off your strapless black dress.

The sparkling diamonds and iridescent pearls twinkle like stars as you spin around with a slow and sensual twirl. His husky growl sends pleasant tingles below your belly as the skirt flares out, revealing your bare legs and black stiletto heels. You run a finger down your cleavage with a flirty grin, relishing the spark of desire in his silver blue eyes as your knee pokes out of the scandalously long slit of your dress.

“Well?” you prompt with a pleased smile. “What do you think?”

Vergil slowly stalks over to you. “Now I know why mortals can’t stay away when you’re on the prowl,” he softly declares while taking your hand. “You’re irresistible…” he trails off, turning your hand so that he may place a gentle kiss upon your wrist. “And utterly magnificent,” he murmurs with a reverent smile as he tips your chin up into his amorous kiss.

You grasp the lapels of his jacket as both of your lips slowly smack against each other for a moment before withdrawing with delighted hums. He offers his arm and you gladly accept by wrapping both of your hands around his elbow. His wicked smirk stirs that ever-present hunger deep inside you as he leads you out of his room, effectively distracting you from sharing one more crucial detail of the date.

“There’s one last thing I’d like to do before we leave,” you reveal nervously as both of you descend the stairs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this with anyone but…”

Vergil looks down at you inquisitively as you close your eyes and focus on reaching out with your mind. His eyes widen in shock as your quiet thoughts brush against his consciousness. “It’ll help us keep track of each other tonight,” you reassure, patiently waiting for him to let down his guard. You can feel him contemplating for a few moments before your mind is suddenly flooded with another presence. It feels familiar and little apprehensive, so you decide to test the connection with a simple thought.

Can you hear me, my love?

Vergil stares at your unmoving lips in wonder as your words pass through his mind. Then, he gives you an affectionate smile while his response slips past your barrier.

You continue to surprise me, my Evening Star.

“Shall we?” he asks aloud while opening the door.

Your soft giggle fills his mind as both of you leave the shop. He slashes open a portal with the Yamato and takes your arm before leading you to the other side. Then, you explain your powers and abilities in more detail as you both walk through the more upscale part of the city towards your destination. It doesn’t take long for both of you to arrive at The Nightingale, a high-end jazz lounge and your hunting ground for the night.

Vergil asks if a reservation is needed to enjoy this swanky club as you approach the entrance. You nod and admit that you’re not on the list but that can be rectified with just a few words. He quirks his brow at you as he opens the door, letting you enter first before following right behind you.

A young lady greets you in the entryway. “Hi! Welcome to The Nightingale! Your name, please?” she inquires with a friendly smile.

You give her some random name and as she looks down to check the list, you let a tiny bit of the magnetizing presence hidden within you slip out. “Hmm…I don’t see you…” she trails off with a soft gasp as her head snaps up to meet your gaze. “Gosh, you’re so pretty,” she admits with a dreamy sigh before blinking with surprise. “Oh! I’m so sorry, miss! I dunno what’s gotten into me,” she hastily apologizes with a shake of her head.

“Think nothing of it, darling,” you reassure with a tilt of your head as you stare into her awestruck eyes.

Your vampiric charm pulls her in deeper as you delve into her mind, sifting through a few recent memories before reshaping one for your intended purpose. “Perhaps you should check the list again,” you kindly suggest while receding from her mind. “We don’t want any trouble over a simple misunderstanding,” you add with a patient smirk as you glance over at Vergil, who looks just as confused and fascinated as the hostess.

“Yes, of course,” she replies before checking the list again. “Oh! There you are!” she exclaims while marking the exact name she now remembers you saying to begin with. “Must’ve misheard you…so sorry about that!” she apologizes again with a sheepish grin as she points down a nearby hall with huge double doors. You thank her with a smile before heading in that direction, silently amused at her quiet muttering about making a fool of herself in front of a beautiful stranger.

Vergil observes you from the corner of his eye before speaking softly. “It all makes sense now…how you’re so good at gathering information,” he muses with an amazed smirk as both of you come to a halt in the hallway.

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to what I’m about to do, my love,” you boast, noting the two doormen just outside the main venue as you stare up at him with a smug smile. His arms wrap around you as he chuckles at your boldness, bringing you in close to bestow a soft kiss above your brow.

“Happy hunting, my dear.”

And with that, he teleports away in a blink of an eye, leaving you to deal with the spooked doormen. Damnable devil, you thought while rolling your eyes with an annoyed huff. But you’re able to calm them down easily by assuming a peaceful aura within your vampiric presence. They both go back to their positions by the double doors and swing them open as you approach the loud and lively venue.

The smooth sounds of jazz along with the excited chatter of the crowd brings back memories of a past long forgotten. You pause just outside the door to capture this moment before a magnificent storm while nostalgia sweeps you away to a bygone age. Then, you slowly release the full majesty of your presence, letting it unfurl like a blooming flower as you stride into the main floor with your head held high.

All eyes are instantly upon you as the entirety of the club notices your grand entrance. Even the music slows down as your presence hits the musicians, but they quickly recover and find the rhythm again. You can’t help but to smirk at their awed stares and gaping faces as you pass by multiple tables. Several waiters completely ignore their current customers to assist you with your every need. Your soft laughter makes all their hearts beat faster, stirring your hunger as you request a secluded table on the second floor. Their heavenly sighs fill the air when they behold your gracious smile before rushing off to do their task.

You search for Vergil with your mind as you head up to the second floor, questioning if he successfully made it inside the venue unnoticed. His impressed hum brushing against your consciousness lets you know that he’s not only there but close by. Your eyes dart from side to side as you wonder where he could be hiding…but the mystery of his whereabouts has you shivering with anticipation. The thrill of being watched from the shadows runs through you as you’re seated on a plush couch by a table with a fantastic view of the stage.

That’s when your hunt truly begins.

Most of your kind usually like to roam around looking for their prey and play pretend as they chat up some gullible mortals. Then, they lure them to a private place where the ignorant human will experience the bliss of the Dark Kiss while their new acquaintance indulges in their blood. It’s typical of all vampires to hunt this way…but some predators wait for their prey to come to them.

And oh, do they come…like a swarm of moths to a dangerous flame.

Quite a few people approach you with various requests over the next hour. Some ask if they can join your table while others just want to buy you a drink. You accept some patrons at your table and refuse others, steadily surrounding yourself with potential prey while listening to excellent jazz. Your keen sense of hearing picks up their whispered conversation, learning a little about these mortals as you judge the potency of their blood. All of them show promise but their constant gawking and shallow compliments are boring you to death…again!

Your eyes begin to wander as the band starts playing a slow and smoky tune, totally changing the atmosphere of the club to something more intimate. And that’s when you spy a young woman standing by the bar, trying her hardest to not get caught staring as she peeks over at your table. How adorable, you muse while admiring her curves and pretty dress. You tilt your head with interest when her body quivers under your alluring gaze, which only whets your appetite even more…that is until the sudden appearance of a young man distracts her.

You manage to hold back the irritable growl crawling up your throat at this unfortunate interruption. But you continue to watch closely as they start talking, noting that they must know each other very well going by their friendly demeanor. The woman must have mentioned you since the man glances your way and his body instantly reacts much like his lady friend. Your brow quirks as they lean in close, sharing a few more hushed whispers before turning around to face you together.

Oh my…what an adventurous couple, you surmise, softly laughing to yourself as you dismiss your entourage with a mere flick of your hand. They all follow your silent command without question, leaving you alone with a couple bottles of unopened champagne. You pat the now empty couch with your hand as you lure them over with an inviting grin.

The daring couple immediately join you and introduce themselves while sitting on either side of you on the couch. You take one of the bottles of champagne and pop the cork, smiling at their eager faces as you kindly offer to pour them a drink. They each grab a glass and propose a toast about seizing opportunities for new experiences before taking a sip as you steer the conversation towards themselves.

It doesn’t take much cajoling to learn that they’re not only a couple but engaged, and you just so happen to catch them the night before their wedding! You ask why they’ve chosen to spend their time with you rather than enjoying each other’s company and they both give a vague answer…but curiosity gets the better of you. So, you simply urge them to be honest with your captivating presence, holding them even tighter within your seductive sway as they spill all their dirty little secrets.

Oh, this is just too delicious! you gush when they reveal one in particular fantasy about having a threesome with a gorgeous stranger. You lean in real close to each of them and whisper your own craving for something new and exciting, tempting both of them with the promise of exquisite pleasure as you nibble on their ear. Your hunger intertwines with lust as you eye both of their necks, reveling in the aroused blood running through their veins.

You’re absolutely ravenous by the time they finish off one bottle of champagne, and you dare say that your venturesome couple is ready for more…but the sudden announcement of a song request draws your attention. You look down at the stage to see the bandleader pointing up in your direction.

“This next song is for the star up above.”

The band begins playing some mediocre number that barely manages to be tolerable. Your brow furrows at the awful request while your lovely couple remains totally oblivious to your confusion. The insidious whispers of paranoia invade your thoughts, but you push them aside as you mentally reach out to Vergil.

Did you…?

His reply is swift with a hint of cold anger.

No. It was him.

You scan the room and instantly spot the man that has provoked the ire of your fierce fella. It’s not hard to pick him out with that shameless leer on his face as he struts towards you. As he gets closer, you feel this distinctive shift in the air around him while the potency of his blood sets you on edge. You can sense his influence seeping through the mortals around him, bending their will in a show of dominance as he finally makes it to your table.

There’s no mistaking it.

You’re in the presence of another vampire.

“Hey there, sugar,” he greets, making your skin crawl as his lips curve into an oily smile. “Mind if I join you?”

You give him a quick once over before looking back up with an unimpressed frown. “Would if I could but I’m quite busy at the moment,” you decline coolly, wrapping an arm around the woman as you tousle the man’s hair.

“Aww, c’mon now…can’t a couple of night owls share a drink?” he persists as his eyes flicker over your adventurous couple.

Your eyes squint into an icy glare. “Go get your own and leave me be.”

The meddling mosquito laughs in your face. “Listen, I don’t appreciate you moving in on my turf without the proper courtesy that’s expected of one so young,” he discloses while that oily smile turns more sinister with every word. “But I’m willing to put this lil’ transgression behind us.”

You roll your eyes as he moves in closer, encroaching on your personal space while staring you down. His lecherous gaze makes your blood boil as a foreign presence slams against consciousness. “All you have to do is-” he abruptly gets cut off as his eyes meet with your furious stare.

KNEEL!

Your harsh command assaults his mind with overwhelming force. His knees buckle under the weight of your superior power as he falls to the ground. He looks back up at you in shock, mouth agape and eyes wide as he begins to grovel at your feet. “I’m deeply sorry, mistress…I didn’t realize-”

SILENCE!

The pathetic little tick instantly shuts his gaping mouth. “I know for a fact this is not your turf,” you reveal, slowly raising his chin up with your foot before shoving the tip of your stiletto heel between his lips. “In fact, no one has claim over this place…until tonight.”

His eyes widen in terror as you pierce his filthy damned soul with your scornful gaze. You mentally nudge the young woman beside you to grab the bottle of champagne off of the table. She complies and pops the cork before handing it over with a sweet smile, not even acknowledging the cowering vampire kneeling before you.

“It’s all mine now.”

Your overpowering dominance keeps him from standing up or speaking out as you pour every last drop of champagne atop of his head. An amused chuckle flits through your mind as the sparkling bubbly dribbles down his mortified face. You wedge the tip of your heel deeper between his teeth, letting the slope of your foot guide a good amount of champagne into his mouth. He gags and tries to spit it out, but you command him to swallow every fizzy drop, knowing that he’ll have to suffer through the unpleasant process of purging it from his body once you’re done with him.

You order him to clean your foot as soon as the champagne stops flowing, carefully instructing him to only lick the bottom since your stiletto heels are way too expensive for his vile tongue. Your lips curl into a cruel smirk as he laps up all the dirt and grime with a disgusted frown on his face. You take pleasure in his humiliation while handing the empty bottle over to the young man sitting calmly beside you. And when you tire of his submissive cleaning, you decide to give this worthless tick one last word of warning before setting him free.

“I highly suggest you never darken my domain again,” you threaten while molding his will like wet clay, “unless you want to suffer a fate worse than Final Death.”

And with that final command, you release him with a dismissive wave of your hand. He quickly stands up and tries to speak, but something behind you catches him off guard. You see a flicker of blue reflect in his horrified eyes, visibly shaking with unbridled fear as he slowly backs away before making a hasty departure.

You follow his speedy retreat until he’s no longer in sight. “Now, where were we?” you murmur while cupping the lady’s cheek as your foot rubs up and down the young man’s leg. “Ah yes…I remember now.” Your hungry gaze flickers between your adventurous couple before looking at one of the private sitting rooms. Their bodies shiver in delight as you finally close in on your prey with one final question:

“Care to join me somewhere more private?”

🌹🦇�� (Vergil’s POV) 🌹🦇🌹

Vergil knew he was in for an intriguing experience when he agreed to this lascivious date. So far, it’s played out exactly as he expected: you’ve ensnared everyone in the club with your enthralling presence and caught some prey within your alluring web. The detestable appearance of another vampire nearly made him come out of hiding to cut him down. But he stayed his hand and watched as his Evening Star bent the miscreant to her will before ordering him to leave immediately.

Remarkable, he muses, impatiently wringing the collar of his dress shirt while intense yearning flushes through his body. His keen ears pick up your sensual whisper as you ask the enamored young couple to follow you somewhere else. They nod their heads eagerly before wrapping themselves around each of your arms. He hears your voice ringing through his mind like a delicate breeze as you stand up and glance at a vacant room guarded by a doorman.

Better hurry, my love…the show’s about to begin.

Vergil smirks at your playful tone as you glide across the floor with refined grace. He follows close behind, trying his best to remain unseen while waiting for an opening to sneak into the room. Your captivating gaze falls upon the doorman, staring at him with intense focus while muttering under your breath. His eyes glaze over as he stands stock still for a few seconds before snapping out his momentary daze. Then, the doorman smiles politely at your approach and opens the door for you, giving Vergil the opportunity to slink in after you when he walks away.

He quietly shuts the door behind him and creeps among the shadows of the room, checking for any sign of the couple being aware of an uninvited guest. But you have them wrapped around your finger, completely infatuated and fawning over your every move as you lead them to a large couch in the corner. He leans against the opposite wall as you guide the woman to sit down and halt the young man from following suit by gently placing your hand on his chest.

“Ladies first.”

The young man shivers and nods his head in understanding. He moves to stand by the young woman while you sit beside her, giving Vergil a perfect view as the climax of your hunt begins. You cup her face and bring her in close, only stopping a hair’s breadth from her lips as your hands slide down her neck. She whimpers and tries to lean in for a kiss, but you gently push her to lie down on the couch and continue to caress the curves of her body.

Vergil remains motionless as you lift the young woman’s dress up, spreading her legs to reveal her soaking wet panties. His cock twitches as you settle between her thighs, nipping at her skin while moving lower and lower…then, the woman gasps and her face contorts in pain for only a second before slacking in pleasure as your fangs sink into the prominent vein near her clothed sex.

“Holy shit,” the young man grunts, palming his bulging crotch as he watches you partake of his lover.

Vergil finds himself mirroring the action, cupping his aching cock while taking in every detail of this depraved moment. The euphoric moans of the young woman as she writhes in pleasure on the couch has him itching to loosen his pants. But he resists the urge to touch himself and just continues to witness the power his Evening Star welds over these mortals.

You withdraw from the woman after drinking a couple more mouthfuls and pin the young man down with your lustful gaze. His eyes widen as you smack your red lips, letting out a pleased hum while drops of blood dribble down your chin. “What the fuck?!” he gasps with realization as you bend down and close the wounds on his lover’s thigh with a swipe of your tongue.

Vergil senses his fear and summons the Yamato at the ready for a quick getaway if needed. But you simply rush over to him in a mere second and place a single finger on his trembling lips. “Shh,” you coo, staring deeply into his eyes as you ease him to a state of total relaxation. His lips curve into a dopey smile as you circle around and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” you whisper while staring down at the blissed-out woman still laying on the couch.

“Y-yes!” he gasps as your fangs graze his ear. “I love her so much,” he tacks on with genuine fondness, making your lips quirk into an amused smirk while prompting him to look at you once more.

“Be a good boy and feed your mistress.”

The young man turns around and bares his neck for you. He seems to melt in your embrace as you scrape your fangs against the pulsating vein. You peer over his shoulder before biting down, seemingly staring right where Vergil is standing in shadows. The young man grunts in pain as your fangs sink into his flesh, but then he moans as his body quakes in pleasure.

Vergil’s grip on the Yamato tightens as his other hand moves on its own accord, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants while you enjoy your second drink of the night. He quietly hisses as his cock springs free from its tight confines, already engorged and weeping white droplets at the tip. His blatant gaze never wavers from your mesmerizing stare as he finally succumbs to his deepest desire and begins pleasuring himself. He grits his teeth with every pump of his hand, consciously holding back any grunts and growls that try to escape his throat. The intense yearning from earlier overtakes his mind, hardening his cock even more with the thought of you handling mortals like mere playthings.

After a few more moments of silently watching each other, you release the young man’s neck with a pleased hiss. Your tongue closes his wounds with a quick lick before relinquishing him from your grasp. You softly gasp and cover your delighted smirk with a dainty hand as you examine the huge wet spot on the front of his pants.

“Looks like somebody got too excited!” you playfully note while directing him to sit next to his lover on the couch. “But that’s alright,” you sigh as the young man just smiles happily, totally oblivious to coming undone by your sensual bite alone. “I know exactly what you need for round two,” you divulge with a wicked gleam in your eye as you take a seat between them.

Vergil pauses at your mysterious words and quirks his eyebrow when you prick your middle finger with one of your fangs. “Both of you have pleased your mistress greatly,” you gush while holding your hand over to the young woman. “So as a reward…” you murmur as a few droplets of your blood drips between her parted lips.

The young woman lets out an ecstatic cry as your thick and redolent nectar touches her tongue. You let her suckle on your finger for a moment before giving the young man his fair share of his prize. He also cries out at the taste of your blood, eagerly lapping every drop off your finger. The front of his pants grow tight with his reinvigorated arousal while his lover rubs her cunt through her drenched panties.

You get up from the couch and stare at the hedonistic couple with a satisfied smile. “I suggest you fuck each other hard and rough,” you coax with a provocative purr. “Oh! And one more thing,” you quickly add while cupping both of their enraptured faces. “After you both come…” you trail off as they meet your entrancing gaze, remaining still and silent until he hears you whispering your final command.

FORGET.

Vergil sees the light in their eyes glaze over as you slowly retreat from the couch. He swiftly puts his cock away and waits until you’re close enough to pounce on you. His arm encircles your waist before dragging you back into the shadows.

“You shine so brightly, my Evening Star,” he whispers fondly, earning a quiet giggle and soft whimper from you as he nibbles your ear.

Your head tilts to the side as you look up at him from the corner of your eye. “Enjoy the show, my love?” you inquire with a naughty grin while grinding against his crotch.

“Immensely.”

“Mmm…I’ll say!” you quietly exclaim with glee while eyeing his straining cock.

You suddenly become a blur of motion before his eyes, completely taking him off guard as he leans back against the wall. His head snaps down to see his pants by his knees and you licking the underside of his cock, pulling a surprised grunt from him while the sound of passionate sex fills the air. You gesture with your head towards the swooning couple, subtly prodding him to watch as they fulfill your request.

Vergil beholds the scene of pure debauchery just a few feet in front of him: torn clothes strewn across the floor surround the couple vigorously making love on the couch. He focuses on the lady bouncing up and down in the young man’s lap, admiring her swaying breasts as she struggles to keep up with her lover’s fast pace. His curious gaze lingers down to where they’re connected, so wet and slippery as they slap against each other over and over. He feels your mouth sink all the way down his cock as both of their cries of shared ecstasy stoke the flames of his desire.

You waste no time with your usual teasing and start sucking him off with the fervor of a wanton harlot, eagerly bobbing your head in time with the couple’s raunchy pace. Their litany of shameless moans drown out his approving growl as he cups the back of your head and thrusts his hips to meet every downstroke of your mouth. He can feel his cock growing more taut against your tongue while the tightening sensation of imminent release pools below his belly. The hand clenching the Yamato starts to shake as he pursues that blessed peak of pleasure, approaching fast and getting closer and closer and closer…

The private room’s door abruptly bursts open, startling both him and the randy couple but not you in the slightest. A strange sensation swathes him with a spine-tingling chill as a doorman hurries inside and begins asking the couple to get dressed. Your lips curl into knowing smirk around his cock, still sucking with gusto as his heart begins to pound with the thrill of getting caught.

The doormen turns his head towards your hiding spot in the shadowy corner. Vergil takes the Yamato in both hands and presses its sheath against the back of your head, effectively barring you from making any more movement. But that doesn’t stop your tongue from lavishing his shaft…nor your hands from caressing his innermost thighs. He purses his lips and glares down at you in warning while attempting to remain silently composed.

You look up at his scowling face as your fangs elongate in defiance, grazing the silky skin around the base of his cock. The lone doorman comes closer, peering at the darkened corner as you stroke and squeeze his balls. The preserve thought of coming undone in front of a total stranger makes his pleasure soar sky high, climbing higher and higher until his impending release starts to curl and crest…and despite his best efforts to stubbornly resist, he comes crashing down with a restrained roar at the back of this throat.

Vergil watches as the doorman scratches his head in confusion, seemingly unaware of a devilish intruder emptying his load into your mouth. He doesn’t dare to move with the doorman standing so close, resigning to just enjoy the decadence of such carnal delights as the last tremors of his orgasm leaves him breathless. But the doorman eventually departs with the perplexed couple in tow, finally giving both of you respite from the utterly tense yet highly arousing situation. He glances down at you through half-lidded eyes, noting the white streaks of his seed leaking down your pretty chin with a gratified hum.

Your lips curve into a pleased grin as you pull his spent cock out of your mouth. He knows that you can’t partake of his seed, but the thought of you spitting it out seems like a waste. So, he sweeps you up into his arms before you find a trash bin and captures your lips with a hungry kiss. You throw your arms around his neck as he pries your mouth open, softly moaning while thick white cum trickles down on his waiting tongue. He swings you around and presses your back against the wall, eagerly drinking every last drop before tearing away from your lush lips with a low growl.

“I have half a mind to punish you for your disobedience,” he scolds with an irritable snarl.

“Even though you liked it?” you point out with an amused giggle. “You shouldn’t have let me taste you again if you really wanted to berate me for fulfilling your voyeuristic fantasies,” you point out while licking your lips with a satisfied hum. His brow twitches at your response but he doesn’t deny that he enjoyed the rush of adrenaline when the doorman unknowingly looked straight at him. You smile knowingly as he lowers you down to the ground with an indignant huff.

“And don’t worry, my love,” you coo softly as he makes himself presentable again. “I cloaked us both in the shadows of their mind, so we weren’t in any real danger of being caught.”

Vergil pauses as he remembers the strange sensation that overtook him when the doorman showed up. “You’ve failed to mention that you can extend that deceptive power to me,” he mutters with a suspicious squint while zipping up his pants and buckling his belt.

“It must’ve slipped my mind,” you note with a nonchalant shrug and cheeky grin.

A rumbling growl emanates from his throat as he crowds you against the wall with his looming height. “Such insolence will not go unpunished, my dear.”

You nip your lower lip with a single fang as his hand slides up along the slit of your dress before slipping between your legs. He softly growls while stroking you over the flimsy fabric of your panties, utterly pleased by slick essence of your sex dripping down his long fingers. You whimper as he shows off just how wet you are by bringing his hand up close to his face before licking a finger clean. Then, he presses another glistening finger against your lips, silently demanding you to open your mouth while gazing down at you with dark promise in his eyes. You hum indulgently while sucking his finger clean before titillating him with your brazen response to his enticing threat.

“I can’t wait to see what you have in store for me, my love.”

I’d like to thank @bettybattaglia for her galaxy brain idea of champagne guzzling and heel licking! And I gotta give a shout to all my fellow judgement sluts in the discord server for encouraging this filth! 😂🙈

Tagging: @drusoona @exsultry @tehrevving @varen-neoraven @shiranyaaww

#vergil #vergil x reader #devil may cry #dmc #vampire reader #Prowling For Pleasure #nothing like a night on the town with your fierce fella #hope y'all are ready for some shameless filth 😏#harlot writes

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virgil-writes · 3 years ago

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ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 8 - great expectations

SFW, but usual blood/gore warning. around 3.5K words.

He barely remembers getting dressed and returning to his quarters after such a relaxing shower. At some point he had slipped inside his pants and slid an undershirt on, thrown himself at the desk chair and poured over plans and schematics, a mess of paper and far more motor oil than necessary. He had written and read until his eyes had grown tired, like every other night, fighting off sleep to the best of his ability. He could sleep when he was dead, or when she was dead, when he was far away from this hellhole, when nothing awaited him come morning.

Some nights he would skip it altogether, keep his eyes wide open when his mind was too fraught with dreadful thoughts. He knew what would come if he finally closed his eyes, the memories that he worked so hard to put away. A dream, it was only a dream, he would tell himself over and over, but it was hard to believe it when he would wake up drenched in sweat and tears, throat sore from screaming at the top of his lungs, that all too familiar twinge of sadness and terror balling up in his chest. It was hard to believe and hard to forget, because he would see it when he held the wrench, when he brought a cup to his lips, when he pressed the buttons to get the conveyor belt running. His hands shook, his fingers lost their strength, and then we would remember it all. It was not real, but it had been once, and he is unsure whether the knowledge makes things better or worse.

Heisenberg remembers nothing but the familiar tingle on his fingertips, the numbness that overtook him, anxiety and fear washing over him like he had been engulfed in a sea of darkness. The scribbles on the paper would be evidence of how he had lost control the night before, how he had pressed the pencil hard to try and force himself to focus, to keep going. The cut on his forehead would tell him that he exhaustion had taken the reigns and he had fallen face first into the table, head hitting the metal clamp and inadvertently helping lull him to sleep.

Much to his surprise, that night, when Heisenberg closed his eyes, he was greeted with the blissful sight of nothing. Head void of dreams, of nightmares, body protesting with the awkward way he’d scattered over his work station, but nothing else. The cut had stained some papers with blood and drool had ruined some others; his arms felt numb in the morning, as they had been left hanging off the desk with his head and neck as the only support. It took him a good few stretches of his hands to feel his fingers again - all things considered, this had been a much better night than most.

If the night was almost-pleasant, the morning was anything but. A hot gust of air blew in when the factory kicked into gear with full force, like it did every day around this time, the whirring of blades and purring of engines his usual white noise. Only this time there was an intruder, a high pitched, repetitive sound that threatened to pierce his eardrums - he woke up to the incessant sound of his phone ringing. The thing sat just inside his office, an old landline that Miranda had insisted on him keeping in case she needed to speak to him urgently. She would call him every now and again, but more often than not it was his siblings that would bother him. Moreau would call to ask if he had found any old VHS tapes or old fiction books, Donna would ask him for blades and all manner of crazy-looking schematics built. Alcina rarely called, but given her interest in the bloodsucking beast that prowled the woods, he was certain that would change very soon.

Not that he intended to answer any of them, naturally. Nine times out of ten he was nowhere near the dumb phone to answer, which made Mother angry and him even angrier, because the last thing he wanted was to interrupt important research to tend to any of their petty, cruel whims. When she called, invariably he would be thrust into something barbarous and despicable; she wanted someone kidnapped, or killed, or turned into a monstrosity. She wanted him to spy or intimidate, put on his best scary mask and drill the fear of the Black God into someone’s mind. She never once asked if his research went well, if he was doing well, and though it had been years of such abuse, he could not help but feel the sting of it every time he heard her speak. Somewhere deep down, he still held onto a sliver of hope that she cared; and she would always dig deeper and deeper, until she found it and choked his feelings to death.

Heisenberg lazily lifted his head, right arm coming up to wipe away the drool at the corner of his mouth, eyes hurting under the bright industrial lights coming in through the window. A strand of hair had sneaked into his eye when he blinked, such a small nuisance upsetting him even further, a simple strand of hair that felt like the devil’s toothpick stabbing his eyeball. The phone had stopped for a few seconds only to resurge like the wailing of a baby, and the ringing prompted him to shoot up and off his armchair in a flash, too disoriented and uncomfortable to fully register what was going on. He almost fell on his way to the phone, tripping over his unbuttoned pants, annoyance levels rising with every step. He rubbed his eyes as he approached the offending object, flicked the room’s light on like it would help him hear better. At least it would keep him awake.

“Heisenberg,” came the voice from the other side, sweet and soft-spoken, domineering and stubborn. “Any news on our quarry?” Our quarry, he mouthed to himself mockingly. As if any of it was a team effort, as if he had anything to gain from this little adventure. Well, as it turns out, he did, but lady super-sized bitch didn’t need to know that. The damn hair was still stuck somewhere between his eyelashes. “A little bird told me you left the forest quite late last night.” A little bird would die a horrible, horrible death as soon as he discovered who it was that had agreed to his sister’s asinine plan of meddling in his business.

“Oh hey, sis. Surprised you get reception all the way up there.” He heard her huff of annoyance, chuckled in response. It bought him enough time to figure out exactly what he would tell her. Hey, yeah, turns out your monster is actually this gorgeous lady with a pair of tits big enough to rival any fertility goddess’? “Slippery little thing, that monster of yours. Found some bodies, some blood,” truth was always easier to tell than lies. “Caught a glimpse of something, too, but it disappeared in the middle of the trees before I could grab it. Little shit gave me the loop, took me quite a while to find the way back.” Heisenberg could practically hear her chest rising and falling as she breathed excitedly, happy to hear something, anything, even if it was a blatant lie. He could hear her nails hitting against wood impatiently, stringing together a tune he did not recognize. “What do you want with this thing anyway, needing a new pet?” Quite the funny thought, really. He was suddenly curious to know if the little witch would put up a fight as a tight collar was snapped around her neck.

“Am I right to assume you will return to the forest soon for another search?” Oh, most definitely, though his intentions were far different from what she expected. She continued without waiting for his answer, clearly aware that he would retort in the crassest manner possible. “I will see you handsomely rewarded once I have it in my possession, brother. House Dimitrescu does not forget such acts of service.” And there it was, brother, the greatest honor she would grant him, a compliment reserved for moments like these, when she desperately needed his help and no one else’s would do.

Blah, blah, blah. What was she going to offer him, a maiden? A scrawny lady with bruises big enough to make one believe her skin was purple, bones showing through her ribs and threatening to poke out at any moment? He had long decided against experimenting on women - they were always so weak and fragile, he would tell himself. Had long left behind his whoring days, too, far too focused on his research to let himself be distracted by a pair of tits. Oh, right; the irony. What else could she give him? A casket of wine made of blood of an innocent, with its thick bouquet of brutality and mercilessness?

She could offer him riches, influence, her undying loyalty. The only reward he wanted was to see her fractured into a thousand tiny pieces, nothing left of her and her daughters but the crystal cores they would dissolve into. The jewelry he would keep, the crystals he would sell to the Duke for a hefty price; the dust he would gather, send to an artist to mix into paint and commission a portrait of himself in his best work attire, his beat up trench coat and ragged hat. To make a statement, his fly would be open and his dick out in the painting, forever immortalizing him as the large, hard Lord of the Castle. With the money he would buy the best brewery he could find and have it make the worst beer, call it Lady D’s Fresh Piss, all in her honor, naturally.

He would bring over his suitcase and set up shop in the castle, tear down every reference to the Dimistrescu family and replace it with cheap replicas of innocent, idyllic landscapes, and dozens of horrible quality photos of his face. The extra large milk pail she called a hat would be used for entertainment when he gathered guests over, shoot the ball into the dead lady’s hat or take another shot. His soldats would clean house, kill every last monster in the basement, replace those god-awful torture tools with something else, anything else - maybe pigs, to pay homage to his dear sister. He would then fire all maids and forbid them from ever setting foot inside the place again, hire an all-male crew to tend to the estate and leave him well enough alone. On a clear day he would grab all of their expensive dresses, the paperwork that dignified her as gentry, her snob literature and photo albums, pile them all into the courtyard and burn it all, the vineyard alongside it, then light his cigar in the blaze and smoke it while facing the inferno, the flames reflecting beautifully on the lenses of his glasses. Once it had all turned to cinders he would strip before going through the front door, waltz around the place while rubbing his dick on all of her favorite spots. He would dump all of her fine wine in the biggest, smelliest cesspool, grab the revenue from the last shipment and throw it from atop the church in the village to watch the peasants fight each other for riches that were supposed to be hers.

Perhaps best of all, he would invite Alcina’s little monster over, encourage her to come in while dragging all the dirt and mud gathered on her bare feet. He would give her a tour of the castle, allow her to decorate every room with a harvest wreath or handmade candle, let her cover the posh couches with handmade quilted throws. Together they would roll up the fancy carpet and throw it in the fireplace, lay down the most unrefined of straw tapestries in its place. The mantle would be a display of their crudeness and peasantry, his schematics and forgotten bits of scrap metal, her incenses and rune-inscribed bones and whatever else her little heart desired. He would allow her to have her pick of his sister’s jewelry, try and convince her to take them all, to wear nothing but her favorite set as she danced under the skylight of the atelier, the flames of all tolling bells and the bright shine of the moon as the only source of light for their unholy, delicious rituals.

When silence settled he would grab her waist and pull her closer, whisper in her ear the most delectable of invitations. Together they would desecrate every last corner of the castle, from the halls to the belfry and the stairwells to the balconies, the cries of agony the place had come to be known for replaced by their sounds of pleasure. When they were far too tired to continue they would work together in the kitchen, he would help her prepare a bloodless meal that they would savor watching the wide open doors to the courtyard. He would sit at Alcina’s spot, ignore every single piece of flatware and eat with his bare hands, audibly chew on every morsel. He would draw every curtain and open every window, let the gelid gale wipe away any trace of her and her daughters. Late at night, he would carry his prized lady up the stairs to her quarters, gently place her on the giant bed and cover her with the decadent expensive sheets. She would ask him to stay, and he would, hold her close as she slumbered and he stared at the top of the canopy and let out a tired sigh almost a hundred years in the making. He would be free, and he would have claimed it all, a fitting end to his sordid tale.

If he wasn’t sure Alcina would rise from the grave and put herself back together out of sheer spite, the whole thing didn’t sound half bad.

Heisenberg barely registered whatever she said after, far too immersed in his little happy place to give a shit. She had talked for what seemed like hours, something about training the beast to present it to Mother Miranda, to allow her to experiment and find out what sort of things they could learn of such a splendorous mutation. Some illusions of grandeur sprinkled here and there, the very obvious wish to become the best, most adored child. He felt like Alcina wished Mother would descend upon her in a ray of light, to lift her up and away towards the heavens to take a place at her side. What a load of crap, though he had to admit it was far more than he would have given her credit for when she came up with this sordid little plan.

At some point, she finally realized she had said too much, exposed too much of her grand plan, had become too excited with the prospect of having that admiration within her reach. That, or she had grown tired of sounding too friendly with the riffraff. She quickly finished saying her piece and hung up without waiting for him to say goodbye, wishing him good luck on the hunt, reminding him she had great expectations. As did he.

He found his mind wandering back to his little witch in the woods as he placed the handle back on its hook. Where did she even come from, anyway? Was she born in that miserable place, brought up among the failed experiments of this village in middle of nowhere, Romania? Did she know how to use money, or were the lei they used foreign to her? He had it in good confidence that she could read, considering all the books he had seen around, but did she know how to write? Had she ever seen electricity at work, or had her life been lived under candlelight? Could she drive a car? Operate a telephone? Did she have toilet paper in her outhouse or did she wipe her ass with ferns or something of the sort? How did she find out about nail polish, of all things?

Had she ever lived outside that lousy shack? Did she ever get a taste of luxury, of fine wine, scrumptious desserts, someone to cook and feed her, maidens to attend to her? Had she always worked the land and tended to livestock, gathered herbs and berries in the forest? Had she cared for her parents or grandparents and learned her trade then, offered her services to lice-ridden villagers when they were no longer in the picture? Had they ever met, some day when he was too busy with his own sorrow to notice her, to take in the beauty that had come to haunt him so? Had she ever shared her body with someone, with a lucky lad or lass that caught her vulnerable and willing on a lonely night? Did she… Did she think of him, as much as he had begun to think of her?

Her shroud of blood and mystery, alongside Alcina’s excitement over the prospect of having her torn apart, had a strange feeling seep within his bones, a pang of anguish tugging at his heartstrings. All the more reason for him to hide the truth for as long as he could - even if the witch turned out to be just really clever with herbs and some hallucinogens, he wouldn’t give dear sister the pleasure of sinking those rusty nails into her flesh. Not when he had so much to discover.

Finally alone with his thoughts and away from his fantasies, he looked down at himself to see his shirt tousled, the fly on his pants undone. He had slept alright, although passed out might be a better description. In his defense, he had tried to fall asleep like a normal human being: sat down and let his mind go blank, eyes firmly shut to try and get some rest. But try as he might, he always startled as he was about to drift off, the sight of the dark horse dissolving into a puddle of blood right before his very eyes, of Sturm’s decapitated arms almost comically flying in his direction. Rage followed soon after - another failure, another waste of time. How would he make that thing rise again? He was then caught in the infinite loop of thinking, and planning, and burning out in frustration, until he could carry on no more.

Of course. He remembered it now, what had finally lulled him to sleep, in the throes of his despair. The way she had distracted him with a well-placed, gentle hand on his face, to work her magic and make his pain disappear, to preserve the secret she worked so hard to maintain. The gash on his hand that had left no trace, the lycans and moroaicas dead but not quite. The way she seemed to have a knack for putting things back together again, to prop them up on strings and have them dance like a puppeteer would. If he brought her here into his den, allowed her a glimpse of his work - would she be able to help him? Would she want to?

At first, he had thought the whole thing was bullshit. So maybe she knew a few plants, knew how to make a mean incense to get him high as a kite and seeing shit. Maybe she had some medical training and could put a nose back in its place, big deal. Maybe she held the world record on fastest, most painless stitching of human flesh, and was in cahoots with the Duke to use whatever seemingly magical substance he put in his antiseptic solution. Whatever she was smoking to say that she could actually heal things, that she might just be able to murder Mother Miranda - he wanted some.

And yet the more he thought of it, the less sense it all made. Her touch was unmistakable when she held his chin up, when the monster’s wispy tendrils had done the same. There was no doubt that she had, indeed, healed his wounds. The decapitated heads were very much alive, the blood pungent, the bite as painful as it should be. If she had killed them, how had she brought them back to life? How had she kept them alive on borrowed time, negated the effects the very creator of the Cadou could not avoid? How far did her powers go? Were they powers, like his and Moreau’s and Donna’s and Alcina’s, or a clever trick of the mind?

Whatever the case, Miranda had spent the better part of a century trying to bring back a dead girl in the body of another, necromancy a far too advanced concept for her young mind back in the late twenties. She had spent countless hours, spilled gallons upon gallons of innocent blood, spread a disease that they no longer had control over in the lycans, all for naught. And suddenly some creepy girl at the ass-end of the woods was the second coming of Jesus? She had knocked him on his ass and somehow morphed into this giant mass of blood that would make the hairiest of grunts shit their pants. If there was any chance that she was for real, then it would change everything. The possibilities were endless. He just needed to tell apart the bullshit from the truth.

#resident evil #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x reader #virgil writes #a rather chill chapter but next comes soon

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hysterialevi · 3 years ago

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Hjarta | Chapter 13

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Agh, sorry about the longer wait for this part guys! I hit a bit of a writer’s block blegh

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE NEXT DAWN

BJORNHEIMR, THE DOCKS

Eivor dipped his hands into the bowl and stained his fingers with fresh blood, brushing the liquid onto his face. The red pigment of the medium stood out from his skin like stars in a night sky, and enhanced the barbarity that prowled behind his wild gaze.

Today was the day their clans would finally lead an assault on Kjotve’s fortress. Word had been sent to Fornburg about the upcoming attack, and the entirety of Bjornheimr’s villagers were bustling with preparations for the demanding journey ahead.

Everything had been set in place. Their plan, their warriors, their ships -- they were all ready to face the chaos that would clash into them head-on. The oceans were calm with the mercy of Njord’s blessing, and the seeress had done all she could to plant Tyr’s courage in the hearts of their men.

Now, the rest depended on the warriors themselves. They would have to charge the settlement with enough haste in order to save Thora before she embarked for Hel’s gates, and -- hopefully -- put Kjotve down in the process. Killing both him and Gorm was a task that even Eivor wasn’t certain they’d be able to pull off, but it was a goal worth striving for nonetheless. He just prayed that the gods favored them today.

Eivor looked up at the clouds sailing above them, and peered into their wispy structures as they glided through the air. The majority of the sky was still trapped in a deep slumber, and only a small portion of it had been greeted by the morning sun. Traces of the aurora could be seen lingering in the remaining darkness, and if he stared hard enough, the man could’ve sworn he saw the faces of fallen Einherjar looking back at him.

Eivor couldn’t fail today. He wouldn’t allow it. Thora’s life was depending on their victory, and their clans had already put in a tremendous amount of effort in keeping their people afloat. If anything went wrong this time... well, that wasn’t something he wished to dwell on at the moment.

He was already in enough distress due to everything going on between him and Sigurd, and he didn’t know if he could’ve handled the weight of another tragedy.

“Steel yourselves, men!” Ulfar’s voice boomed in the distance, grabbing the Wolf-Kissed’s attention. He was currently overseeing the preparations at the docks, and ensuring that their ships were ready to set sail. “The jarl’s daughter is depending on our victory. Do not waver, and do not scurry no matter what happens today. Hesitation will be our greatest hinderance.”

The old raider continued marching up and down the piers, keeping an eye on Bjornheimr’s warriors as they loaded their supplies onto the ships.

Meanwhile, Eivor carried on with his own business and secured a circular shield onto his back before sliding his axe into its holster, eager to shed blood. He had been thinking about the upcoming battle nonstop ever since Arngeir informed him of the plan, and found himself growing more and more restless by the minute. His head was racing with a million thoughts of how today’s war could’ve ended, and his heart was hammering against his chest like the thundering of a horse’s hooves.

Thankfully, there was a familiar face to calm him down.

“Eivor!”

Stopping what he was doing, Eivor came to a halt and glanced to his side, only to see Sigurd strolling towards him. The prince was clad in a sturdy suit of armor that consisted of leather and fur, and had the hilt of an impressive great-sword standing out from behind his shoulder. His face had been marked with a vibrant layer of blue war paint, and his hair radiated brazenly in the sun.

“Sigurd,” the young man replied, beaming at him. “You look ready for war. I’ll be honest -- I wasn’t sure if you’d join us in the upcoming battle.”

“Ulfar may have opposed the idea of me being a scout,” Sigurd said, “but I’ll not cower in the shadows and let our warriors sacrifice themselves for me. A king must be able to fight for himself, after all. If I can’t lead our men on the battlefield, then what good will I be on the throne?”

“A noble mindset to have,” Eivor commended, “but a risky one.”

“Indeed,” the prince conceded. “I’m... fully aware that there’s a chance I might not return from this assault. But I’m prepared for anything that awaits. So long as it guarantees Kjotve’s defeat.”

His lover’s face flattened with worry. “...Don’t talk like that. You’re a skilled warrior, Sigurd. I’m confident we’ll both see this through.”

“So am I. But fate is often unpredictable.”

Sigurd decided not to dwell on the grim matter anymore and switched over to another thought, bringing up a rather interesting proposal.

“Hey, Eivor. Listen. I’ve been thinking...” he stepped closer to the other man, “...if everything goes according to plan today -- we save your sister, we kill Kjotve, we rid Rygjafylke of his clan -- then me and my people will return to Fornburg. Permanently. Randvi will come with us too obviously, but I don’t know if we’ll ever return to Bjornheimr again. Apart from the occasional visit.”

Eivor had a feeling he already knew where this was going. “And?”

“And...” Sigurd continued, “I wanted to extend an invitation to you as well.”

He paused for a second, pointing a finger at himself. “Me?”

“Why not? I’ve seen you fight. You’re a man of many talents, Eivor. We could use someone like you. And besides...” a loving warmth coated the edges of his gaze, “...it’d be nice to have you around. We could go on raids together, I could show you around Fornburg, we could spend our nights drinking in the tavern... it would be wonderful. Don’t you think?”

Eivor was tempted to accept the enticing offer, but found himself hesitating nonetheless. The idea of being able to spend time with Sigurd whenever he wished was a dream like no other, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that the man was married now. Would it even be possible for them to preserve a relationship such as that?

“...I don’t know, Sigurd.” He replied sincerely. “I want to go with you, but... it’s already hard enough dealing with the fact that you’re married to someone else. I don’t know if I could handle seeing you with Randvi every single day.”

The older man’s tone dimmed slightly. “Of course. That’s understandable. I... I can’t imagine the conflict you must be going through right now.” He raised a curious brow. “Will you at least consider the offer?”

Eivor gave him a faint smile. “I’ll think about it. For you.”

Sigurd returned the friendly expression with a lighthearted chuckle. “Then let us pray that I live long enough to hear the answer.” He patted a firm hand on Eivor’s back and began guiding him towards the ships, ready to get started with the day. “Come. You and I will be sailing with Ulfar. Has he informed you of the plan?”

“Only some of it. How is this going to work, exactly? Won’t the longships just get Kjotve’s attention?”

“We won’t be taking them all the way to the shoreline.” Sigurd explained. “The ships will bring us close to Kjotve’s fortress, but we’ll use rowboats for the rest of the journey. That way, we avoid alerting his men. Once our feet are on solid land,” he gestured to the cloak on his shoulders, “our hoods come up. Don’t let anyone see your face until Dag and his scouts give us the signal to attack.”

Eivor felt a sense of unease at the mention of his name. “So Dag will still be among the scouts? Even with all your suspicions?”

Sigurd sighed in annoyance. “I expressed my concerns to my father last night, but he didn’t seem to share any of them. He believes that Dag is loyal, and trusts him to get the job done. I suppose I can’t blame him. Dag has been closely tied to my family for decades now. My father trusts him like a son. Still... the sudden shift in his behavior gives me pause. I’m not sure I like the idea of sending him so close to Kjotve.”

“What about Ulfar? Has your mind been swayed about him?”

“Like I said before -- apart from Ingrida’s vision, I have no other reason to doubt his intentions. He has yet to do anything that would arouse suspicion, but somehow, that almost makes me more nervous. After all, the ones you trust the most have the biggest chance of stabbing you in the back. I just hope my instincts are wrong.”

“As do I. I’ve known Ulfar ever since I was a boy. He was always there to fill the absence that constantly followed me after my parents’ deaths. If he turns out to be the snake...” Eivor let out a breath, “...I don’t know how I’ll react.”

Sigurd rubbed his shoulder in a reassuring manner. “I’m sure it won’t come to that. Ulfar strikes me as a man of honor, and he has no reason to betray you. You’re like a son to him. The last thing he’d want to do is endanger you.”

“Well, that’s true, I suppose. But it’s like you said -- fate is often unpredictable.”

Approaching the longship, the two of them ventured down the pier as Ulfar waited at the other end, helping his raiders prepare for the arduous journey. A few other warriors had already filled some of the seats and taken hold of the oars, including Dag himself.

Eivor had to admit -- he was surprised Sigurd was willing to sail with Dag, considering the wall that had been erected between them recently. Even though he knew that the pair of them were childhood friends, he still got the impression that the prince wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Their relationship seemed to have vanished over these past couple weeks, and Dag wasn’t exactly jumping with joy at the sight of the redheaded vikingr either.

Though, now that he thought about it, Eivor supposed it’d be easier keeping an eye on him this way. It might’ve put them at greater risk being so close to a possible traitor, but at least they’d be able to watch his every move. His only worry was that Sigurd’s suspicions would be proven right -- and that they would realize it when it was too late.

“Ulfar!” The prince called out, greeting the grizzled raider.

“Ah,” Ulfar replied, “Sigurd. Eivor. There you are. Are you both ready to set sail?”

“I believe so.”

“Good. The sooner we leave for Kjotve’s fortress, the better. As you’re aware, Dag is one of the scouts we’ll be sending in, so I want to get him there as quickly as possible.”

Ulfar shifted his gaze to Eivor.

“And what about you, little cub? How are you holding up? Are you certain you’re ready for this fight?”

Eivor nodded. “Yes. Kjotve may have slipped from my grasp before, but I won’t let it happen again. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to save Thora.”

“Then bring honor to your family, Wolf-Kissed. Just make sure that your desire for vengeance does not overcome your sense of reason. I need you to be sharp today.”

“I will, Ulfar.”

The older man gestured towards the ship. “Then let us make haste. The day isn’t getting any younger, and I dread to think about what Kjotve will do to Thora if we don’t arrive on time. Find a seat, grab an oar, and prepare yourselves for the storm ahead. May Tyr’s courage guide your hand.”

~~~~~~~~~~

LATER THAT DAY

SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE KJOTVE’S FORTRESS

A wooden groan emitted from the ship’s weathered body as it penetrated the ocean’s waves, gliding gently along with the wind that fluttered behind its sail.

At the moment, Ulfar and his men were completely surrounded by mist, and groping blindly through a barrier of fog. For as far as the eye could see, structures and figures alike had all been obscured into one massive haze, and the only things they could detect were the nearby silhouettes of rock formations poking out from underneath the water’s surface.

The sea was calm with a disturbing layer of stillness. The mellow breeze brushed over its glassy hills like the whispers of a chanting god, and it felt like there were eyes peering at them from behind the murky veil.

It was a dangerous path to trek, that much was clear. Many obstacles stood in the way of their journey to Kjotve’s shores, and the withering daylight did little to help in terms of guiding their way.

As for Eivor, the man was currently sitting in front of Sigurd and meticulously rowing his oar, making sure not to scrape the end against any of the icebergs dotting the landscape. His arms were sore from heaving its weight for hours on end, and he could feel his muscles straining with every move.

But he wasn’t ready to give in just yet. Despite the ache spreading throughout his body, Eivor’s spirit remained fervent with an unwavering thirst for battle. He was eager to set foot on solid land, and quite frankly, part of him felt like a rabid dog being held back on a leash, just waiting for the moment he’d finally be allowed to dig his claws into the enemy.

His biggest concern right now, was that Dag would take that chance away from him.

“Alright, listen up, drengir,” Ulfar said, keeping his words at a low volume, “it won’t be long until we’re at the edges of Kjotve’s settlement. It doesn’t look like his men have noticed us yet, but any unwanted attention will surely bring our demise. So keep your mouths shut, unless you wish to let out your dying breath.”

He gestured in the distance. “Not too far away from here, one of our men will be waiting with a smaller boat. We’ll stop the ship just before it wanders into Kjotve’s line of sight, and then row you all to shore. Three at a time. Dag will be one of the first to leave. Who else will go with him?”

Almost instantly, Sigurd spoke up. “I’ll go.”

Dag shot him a glance, clearly suspicious as to why he was so willing to offer his company. But he said nothing of it.

“I’ll go too.” Eivor said.

Ulfar seemed pleased with that. “Very well. The three of you will sail to shore once we reach the other boat. In the meantime, we’ll stay behind, and ensure nothing comes your way. As for you, keep a low profile until we’re all together. Be as discreet as possible. Do not remove your hood. Understand?”

The three of them nodded in unison. “Yes.”

“Then keep your lips tight and your eyes open. We’re almost there.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

KJOTVE’S FORTRESS

Sitting quietly in the boat, Eivor watched as the water around them rippled with the oarsman’s movement and bounced off the vessel’s rim, disturbing the silence with a soft trickle.

He could see the faded outlines of Kjotve’s settlement steadily coming into view like a beast emerging from the shadows, and already, many voices began to ring in the distance.

For their enemy, it was a day like any other. People carried on with their lives the same as usual, and not a single hint of dread polluted the tranquil atmosphere. Business thrived in the settlement as villagers ventured to and fro, and not too far away from them, Eivor could see the piers of the harbor standing calmly above the sea.

It was a sight that would’ve reminded the young man of his own home, had he not known of the cruelty lurking within. A plethora of civilians populated the bustling community, and a part of Eivor almost felt guilty due to the fact that he knew some of their lives would be lost in the crossfire today. He didn’t wish any harm upon the innocent villagers who dwelled under Kjotve’s rule, but at the same time, he had no intentions of losing his sister either.

He was going to get Thora back. He didn’t care what it took to find her.

“Alright,” the oarsmen announced as the boat slid onto shore, “we’re here. Now hurry up and get to work, you three. I need to bring the rest of your ship here as soon as possible.”

Sigurd was the first to hop off. His boots planted themselves into the ground with a light splash, and tiny bits of gravel could be heard cracking under his feet.

“Go on,” the prince told the oarsmen, pulling his hood over his face. “Return to Ulfar. We’ll take it from here.”

Dag stepped off the boat. “In the meantime, I’ll start looking for a way inside the fortress.”

“What, now?” Sigurd asked. “Shouldn’t you wait for the other scouts to arrive? Most of our men are still at sea.”

“I’d rather get a head start, in case things get messy. Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. Just wait for my signal.”

Eivor held up a hand. “Wait, what is the signal, exactly?”

Dag pointed to a brazier standing on one of the fortress’ towers. “See that beacon up there? My scouts will light it once we’ve finished paving the way for you.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” He questioned. “Wouldn’t that just alert Kjotve’s men of our presence?”

“Yes, but by the time they realize what’s happening, we’ll already be kicking down their door. Half of them will be dead before they’re able to put up any sort of fight.”

Eivor was still apprehensive about the idea, but figured there wasn’t enough time to argue. “...Very well. If you’re certain.”

A hint of hostility sharpened Dag’s tone. “I am. Now, you two just wait here for Ulfar and his men. I’ll find a way to open the gate. Pay attention to the beacon. I won’t take long.”

Scurrying off into the dense crowds, Dag vanished without saying another word and slipped behind the cover of Kjotve’s civilians, hastily navigating his way towards the looming fortress. Meanwhile, Sigurd and Eivor remained hidden among a thick gathering of bushes and avoided stepping into the light, suddenly feeling incredibly out of place.

This was hostile territory. The people around them might’ve been fellow Norsemen, but even then, Eivor felt like he didn’t belong. The overall nature of this region was completely foreign to him, and he couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that someone was watching them.

“...So, what do you think?” Eivor whispered, earning a puzzled look from Sigurd.

“Think about what?”

The younger man tilted his head towards Dag. “About him. He was rather eager to take off without us, don’t you think? I realize we’re in the midst of an urgent matter, but still. His haste is... somewhat peculiar.”

Sigurd followed his line of sight. “Indeed. I offered to sail with Dag because I thought it’d be easier to keep an eye on him, but I think all I’ve done is make the man more cautious. I haven’t exactly been subtle with my scrutiny.”

Eivor shrugged, unable to push away the sense of doubt swelling in his chest. “...What if he’s not actually the rat?”

The prince cocked a brow. “You don’t think it’s him?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible. If I were the rat, I’d let Kjotve know about the horde of warriors coming over the horizon. I wouldn’t even give them a chance to set foot on our land. And considering how we haven’t been cut down yet, a part of me is wondering if Dag truly is the traitor.”

Sigurd wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Hmm. I suppose. Or maybe Kjotve is just biding his time -- waiting for the right moment to strike.” He let out a sigh. “...There’s just one thing I don’t understand.”

“What is it?”

“Well, if Dag is the rat, then... why would he do all this? What reason would he have to betray us?”

Eivor thought for a moment. “Maybe he doesn’t agree with this alliance. Maybe he sees my clan as weak.”

The older man had a different idea. “Possibly, but it still doesn’t make any sense. He never expressed any opposition to the alliance before, and he seemed to approve of it when we first came to Bjornheimr. His recent behavior feels more... personal.”

“You think it’s aimed at you?”

Sigurd hesitated for a second. “Actually, Eivor, if I’m being honest... I think it’s aimed at you.”

That caught the Wolf-Kissed’s attention. “What? Why would Dag be angry with me?”

The prince was at a loss. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that every time I mention your name, he gets this sour look on his face. Like I’ve just spit on his mother’s grave. He always becomes more reclusive whenever I talk about you, and even just a few minutes ago, he was rather antagonistic.” His eyes lit up with a sudden thought. “Dag hasn’t given you any trouble these past couple weeks, has he?”

Eivor shook his head. “No. Dag and I haven’t said a word to each other ever since your clan arrived. The only times I’ve spoken to him is when you’ve been around.” He trailed off into a brief silence. “...Do you... do you think it’s possible that Dag believes he’s being replaced? I mean, he’s a childhood friend of yours, isn’t he? Maybe he’s threatened by me.”

A look of bewilderment slapped Sigurd across the face. “Well, yes, but... I highly doubt that’s the case. He doesn’t know about our relationship. And besides, even if he did feel that way, surely that wouldn’t be enough to motivate treason. There must be more going on here than meets the eye.”

“I hope you’re right. It’d be a shame if that were the reality. All these lives lost, and for what? The fear of being left behind?”

Sigurd took on a more serious tone. “If my suspicions turn out to be correct about Dag, I will personally send that man to the gates of Helheim myself. The truth will be revealed sooner or later.”

Eivor’s eyes darted towards the sky upon the sudden appearance of a newborn flame, causing him to nudge the prince in the arm.

“Look,” he said, pointing towards the fire. “Dag’s lit the beacon. The gates are open. We should get moving.”

“Wait...!” The prince urged, placing a restrictive hand on Eivor’s chest. The other man gawked at him in confusion.

“What? What is it?”

Sigurd thought the answer was rather clear. “You don’t find it strange that he managed to open the gates so quickly? We’ve only just arrived. The rest of our men haven’t even joined us yet. How did Dag reach it so easily?”

The Wolf-Kissed shared his lover’s skepticism, but wasn’t willing to wait.

“Well, however he did it, we don’t have much of a choice anymore,” he reiterated. “We have to attack now. Everyone in this settlement will be able to see that beacon. Kjotve’s men will know something’s wrong. We need to go before they’re able to prepare for the assault. Otherwise, Thora will be killed.”

The older man sighed in anger. “Shit...! What on Earth is that man thinking? He disappears before the rest of our clan even arrives, and now he’s forcing us to launch the assault when he knows we’re still alone?” Sigurd stepped out from hiding, and took hold of his sword. “Dag and I are going to exchange a few words once this is over. For now though, just keep your guard up. Gods know how Kjotve is going to react to this.”

Sigurd stepped out from their hiding spot and approached the center of the village, glancing at Eivor over his shoulder.

“Follow me,” he instructed, “and don’t lower your hood. Even though I doubt we’ll be able to evade Kjotve’s warriors for much longer, I’d rather not be caught in the middle of this mess when half our clan is still at sea. If we’re lucky, we’ll find more of our people along the way. Now hurry up. Thora hasn’t got much time.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

INSIDE KJOTVE’S FORTRESS

Rushing through the panicked crowds like snakes slithering through a bundle of weeds, Sigurd and Eivor hurried towards the fortress as disoriented civilians clamored all around them, trying to figure out what was going on.

The soul-shattering call of a war horn had sounded ever since Dag ignited the beacon, and now, clumps of scattered warriors were forcing their way through the cramped settlement, attempting to reach the enemy before they could launch a defense.

Fortunately, it looked like Eivor and Sigurd weren’t the only ones on Kjotve’s shores. A handful of familiar faces had also been delivered by the other boats including Randvi herself, and more of them were arriving by the minute.

As for Ulfar, the man was nowhere to be seen yet. Eivor figured he had originally been planning to sail with the last boat, but now, the Wolf-Kissed assumed he’d just bring the entire longship to land. The horn’s cries were practically loud enough to touch the edges of Rygjafylke’s borders, and he had no doubts that the old man would’ve heard it. He just prayed to the gods that his raiders arrived in time.

“In here!” Sigurd exclaimed, pressing his body against the gates. Eivor planted his palms into the surface and helped the prince push them open, creating a crack big enough for them to slip through.

Contrary to what they were expecting however, there were hardly any guards on the inside. Barely any of Kjotve’s men were patrolling the fortress’ perimeter, and the place seemed to be devoid of any life. At first, Eivor simply assumed that Dag had already killed most of them during his infiltration, but the realistic side of him knew better.

“Where is everyone?” He wondered aloud, stepping into the deserted keep. “The place looks abandoned.”

Sigurd wasn’t willing to let his guard down. “Don’t let it fool you. I’m certain Kjotve knows we’re coming now thanks to Dag. We’re likely running straight into a trap.”

“I know,” Eivor conceded, “but we have to keep moving. Even if it may be a trap, Thora needs us to find her now. We can’t waste any time.”

The older man flicked his eyes around. “Where do you think she would be?”

“Kjotve must be keeping her prisoner, so I imagine she’ll be in the dungeons.”

“Then we’ll have to make our way down. Come on. This way. I think I see some stairs.”

Ripping the shield off his back, Eivor took his axe in hand and followed Sigurd into one of the fortress’ many doorways, causing the distant sounds of battle to become muffled as they ventured behind the stone walls. The temperature in the air instantly sank upon their abrupt entry, and the lack of any sunlight made it feel as if they were roaming into an abyss.

It was eerily quiet in this section of the keep. They couldn’t hear anyone’s voices echoing off the walls, nor the clashing of any swords. The wind remained still despite the tempest that was building up outside, and a heavy stench sat just underneath Eivor’s nose.

It admittedly disturbed the young man, how familiar the stench was. He found no shortage of it in Bjornheimr after their first encounter with Kjotve’s clan, and now, the sickeningly sweet smell had returned.

The revolting aroma seeped into the thin crevices embedded in the wall, and it only seemed to intensify with every step they took. By now, the sound of something creaking had reached Eivor’s ears as well, and he could feel the pace of his heart increasing rapidly with each passing second.

“Do you smell that...?” The young man whispered, his voice laden with dread.

Sigurd gave him a grim look. “Yes. It... it smells like...” he let out a brief cough, “...oh, gods.”

Holding his shield out in front of him, Eivor braced himself for an ambush as they approached the bottom of the stairs, getting closer to what he assumed were the dungeons. The mysterious stench had completely filled his nostrils at this point, and a part of him even swore he could almost taste it.

At the other end of the staircase, Eivor barely made out the faint shadow of a lone figure swaying on the floor. No enemies had leapt out at them just yet, but even then, the young man felt the urgent desire to run from this place as soon as possible.

A pang of ice-cold fear had burrowed itself into the very flesh sitting on his bones, and for the first time in years, he found himself battling the temptation to drop his weapons and flee.

When he finally found the source of the smell though, his entire body froze in horror.

Dangling above him, Eivor saw the fresh corpse of a prisoner swinging lifelessly in the wind, hanging from the ceiling as if it were a chandelier. Its skin was grey due to the frost that had settled into its flesh, and its blank eyes almost bulged out of their sockets.

There wasn’t anyone accompanying the body -- dead or alive -- but regardless, Eivor could still sense the spirit lingering in the vicinity, waiting for someone to discover its abandoned shell. Its unseen presence loomed over them like a wolf prowling in the woods, and within seconds, all the color had drained from the young man’s face.

He collapsed to his knees and stared hopelessly into the corpse’s eyes, doing everything he could to suppress the scream that was now building up in his throat.

“...Th-Thora?”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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chocoluckchipz · 4 years ago

Text

A Soulmate for Christmas - 4

< Previous

Marinette rushed through the hallways to the kitchen. She’d been absent for far too long. Hopefully, Maman hadn’t sent out a search party to find her yet. Sometimes, she worried too much.

Not this time, apparently. When Marinette finally returned to the kitchen, Sabine was giving her work to another server with a smile on her face. "Take these next, dear.”

"Oh. Coconut. I love those. May I steal one?"

Marinette froze. That... was not a server.

Adrien gave her mother the most killer set of puppy eyes she’d ever seen, picking the tray up. His jacket was gone, leaving him sporting only a shirt and a vest, just like all the other male servers at the party. Only his were of much better quality.

Sabine offered him a macaroon from her board. "Take this one and leave the arranged ones for the guests." Her gaze finally caught Marinette. "Sweetheart. There you are. I was starting to worry."

"I got caught up with something. I’m sorry, Maman. I’ll get right to it." Marinette walked closer, looking at Adrien. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping." He shoved the macaron into his mouth and chewed. "Your mother was looking for you, and since I’m pretty sure it’s my fault you were missing, I thought it was only fair for me to help out."

"Thanks, but I’m here now. You can go."

"As you wish." The tray in his hands, Adrien turned to the exit and was gone before Marinette could object.

“Such a nice young man,” Sabine said as soon as they were left alone. “We’d better think about how we can thank him. He’s been helping me for the last fifteen minutes. Can you imagine? Just walked in, asked about you, and offered to help. I’ll leave him some macarons. He seems to have a sweet tooth. Speaking of which… I think the next batch is done. Where did I put those oven mittens?"

Marinette nibbled on her lip. How much had he said? Maman knew about her soulmate, but she didn’t seem to realize that he was Adrien. How did she even not recognize he was Adrien Agreste, the boy whose photos had been plastered all over Marinette’s room for ages?

"Did… he tell you anything about himself?"

"Just that he’s your friend,” Sabine answered, taking the pastries out of the oven. “Why? Is there anything—"

A loud thud echoed through the room as the baking sheet her mother was just taking out hit the ground. Sabine pushed the young girl who was working beside her away from a pot of hot, steaming liquid that was falling sideways. The girl stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. Sabine wasn't as fortunate. She tried to dodge but was a moment too late as the boiling liquid splashed all over her hands, scalding the skin.

"Maman!" Marinette rushed to the woman.

“I’m so sorry,” the girl almost cried from the side. “I didn’t mean to… I don't know how it slipped. I—”

Marinette didn't listen, rushing her mother to the nearest sink. She turned the tap on, made sure the water was cool, and put Sabine’s reddening hands under the stream. Her mother sighed with relief. The girl she saved quickly got to cleaning as she continued to apologize. Sabine tried to play it down, insisting it wasn’t a big deal and she would be back to working in no time. Yet a few minutes later, her skin started to blister.

“You’re going home, Maman. This needs to be treated.”

“Marinette, I can’t,” Sabine spoke quietly. “We have a contract to honour…"

"I’ll deal with it. You’re going home. You can’t work like that."

"But—"

"No objections. I’m calling someone right now to take you home. I’ll finish this on my own."

"What happened?" Adrien materialized by her side. One look at her mother’s hands and he was pulling out his cellphone. “My driver can take her straight to a hospital.”

Sabine tried to protest but neither of them listened.

“It doesn't look that bad, but maybe you’re right. Taking extra precaution wouldn't hurt.”

“It never does. I'll tell him to stay with her and drive her home after. If she needs any prescriptions, he’ll take care of that too.”

And there he was. That caring man Kagami and Chloe had told her about was shining through, not hesitating to help others, even if that meant sacrificing his own comfort for those who needed help.

“Okay.” He put his device away. “Gorilla will be by the rear entrance in a few minutes. Let’s wrap her hands and get her there.”

Before Marinette could concentrate on what to do, Adrien found a pair of clean kitchen towels and soaked them in cool water. They wrapped them around Sabine’s hands and headed to the appointed place. Five minutes later, the largest man Marinette had ever seen was driving her mother away.

“She’ll be fine,” Adrien spoke, standing right behind her. “Gorilla will keep us updated on what's happening.”

She couldn't even raise her eyes to look at him. How could he be so kind to her after the way she treated him just now? Marinette clutched her hands together, whispering instead, “Thank you.”

"No worries,” Adrien replied, hesitantly reaching for her shoulder. A few gentle pats for reassurance, and he withdrew. “I believe we have a job to do. Shall we get to it, my Lady? I’m almost out of macarons to serve.”

She turned around, arching her eyebrow. Not that she didn't like the nickname, but they haven't even talked yet. When did she become his Lady? What was up with that cocky, smouldering look on his face, and why were there crumbs all over his vest?

"You’d have macarons to serve if you stopped eating them." She pointed to the evidence.

"But they are delicious."

"They are for guests."

"And I am one."

"Then why are you here, parading as help?"

He leaned closer, their noses almost touching as he grinned. "Because my Lady needs help, and as her cat, I cannot refuse."

That arrogant smirk! She both loved and hated it. Wanted to smack him and kiss those lips of his. He was so much nicer in her imagination. His friends described him as a saint. Not this annoying, cocky dork!

"Don’t get in my way, or you’re out." She turned around and stomped to their bakery station in the kitchen. There was too much work still to do. Marinette wasn’t even sure where to start. Thankfully, the girl had cleaned the mess. Perhaps, Marinette should start with seeing what ingredients they still have to figure out what to make. Wasn't there a list Maman made? Where did it go?

A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind. Adrien leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Close your eyes."

"I don’t have time for this."

"I know, but trust me. Close your eyes. Please."

She grumbled but obliged him. The quicker she did whatever it was he wanted, the faster she could continue. If only his touch and closeness didn’t send her heart into overdrive…

"Now, breathe in. Deep and slow."

She did, oxygen filling every part of her lungs.

"Breathe out. Slowly."

She let it all out and followed Adrien’s instructions a few more times until he tenderly kissed the crown of her head. "Now, let’s do this. You bake and assemble. I serve. And afterwards, perhaps, you’ll give me a chance to explain everything."

She opened her eyes, exhaustion and the chaos in her mind somewhat subdued. "You don’t give up, do you?"

"I’ve waited for far too many years to let a simple misunderstanding stand in my way."

***

"I think this is the last of it," Marinette stuffed the last few mixing bowls in the trunk of her car. "Thank you… for everything. I know it’s cliché, but I couldn’t have done this without you."

"Perhaps, you’ll let me explain the situation as a reward for all my hard work?"

His cellphone rang. Adrien glanced at the screen and refused the call. "It’s Chloe. I’ll call her back. So, my reward?"

His phone rang again, Adrien refused the call once more and looked at Marinette. "Please? It won’t take long."

"Your friends—"

The pestering sound split the space between them for the third time.

Marinette smiled at him."Take it."

"I don’t want—"

"I’ll wait. I promise. Take it."

He pressed the button and put the speaker on, the familiar voice of Chloe Bourgeois filling the space. "Adrinkins, you’d better have a good explanation for hanging up on me."

"I'm kind of in the middle of something right now," Adrien said. "Do you mind if I call you back in a bit?"

"Okay, fine. But just so you know, while you were prowling about, we put on a show, and Gami’s living with me now."

"I’ve been officially disowned," Kagami deadpanned. "You may congratulate me now."

"Welcome to the club?" Adrien chuckled. "I was hoping she would be more reasonable."

"She’ll come around eventually… maybe," Kagami said. "She thinks it’s one of those childish desires of mine, and I’ll come to my senses soon enough."

"But you two are soulmates? You have the marks to prove it."

"Soulmate marks or not, I’m not what Tomoe Tsurugi considers ‘best’ for their family," Chloe answered. "And I’m sure I don’t have to explain that woman’s obsession with ‘sacrificing in the family’s name’ to you. Oh! Before I forget. You were adorable as a waiter, Adrinkins. I’ve snapped a few pictures. Will post to our group chat later."

"Sure. Is that all? Can I go now?"

"Tell him about Marinette," Kagami whispered. "About our conversation."

"Oh, right," Chloe grumbled. "We told your lady-love everything. About Kagami and you and me and all the fake-ness of your engagement and non-existence of your dating life. If she knows what’s good for her, you should be good."

Adrien’s eyes locked on Marinette. "You told her everything?"

"We spared her the sappy stories of you being depressed for months at a time over the whole ‘can’t find my soulmate’ thing," Kagami replied.

“The constant, crying phone calls,” Chloe added. “The ice cream we had to bring over to our ‘Find the Ladybug’ brainstorming sessions.”

“All the pep talks we’ve given you,” Kagami finished. “And the few private detectives you hired to find her. Otherwise, you have no secrets from her now."

"You’re welcome, Adrinkins! Now, go. Adios. Call us when you get a date. We’ll celebrate."

"I will." Adrien ended the call. A blush raged across his cheeks as he lifted his eyes to Marinette. "So, uh... that’s why you didn’t kick my ass out of the kitchen?"

"You have good friends." Marinette smiled. "They care about you a lot."

"Does that mean I’m forgiven?"

She nodded. "Only if you forgive me for freaking out on you."

He grabbed her hand, bringing it to the lovesick grin on his lips. "I never held that against you. You had all the rights in the universe to be pissed at me."

His lips brushed against her hand, the mark of a black cat lighting up the space around them. "I know we haven't known each other for that long, but we aren't soulmates for nothing. I really like you. You're driven and passionate. Kind and creative. You value family and are an amazing cook. Perhaps fate knew a thing or two when it paired us together. I’d really love a chance to get to know you better, Marinette."

His eyes sparkled with hope, a slight undercurrent of worry lurking beneath. Marinette couldn’t refuse him even if she wanted to. He really did seem like a great guy. "I’d like that too. You aren’t so bad yourself. Not perfect, but decent enough."

It was a total lie because who was she kidding? He was perfect! Didn’t mean she wanted to feed that already inflated ego of his.

"Really?" He leaned forward. "So, all my fame, looks, and money don’t make me perfect in your eyes?"

Marinette huffed, pulling her hand away just so she could push his way-too-close face away with her finger. "Not even close,” she teased, tapping his nose. “You’re standing here only because of what your friends told me."

"Share. What did they say about me?"

She let out a giggle. "Nothing too horrible."

"Well, now, you’re scaring me. Did they tell you about my feather allergies?"

"Nope, but you just did."

"Lactose intolerance?"

She chuckled. "Wrong again."

"Social inadequacy?"

Marinette couldn’t hold back a laugh.

"I'm low-key freaking out. What did those two say?"

She took a moment to calm down before replying. "They told me about your big, kind heart, one that doesn't think twice about sacrificing its own desires and comfort for the sake of others. I saw it for myself today when you helped my mother. That’s precious and rare. I like that."

He looked at her in awe for a moment before blurting out, "Can I kiss you right now, or do I have to wait until our first official date?"

Marinette laughed again. "You should’ve just gone for it. Now, the moment’s ruined."

"Ugh, bummer." Adrien mockingly pouted. "Then, tell me, what are you doing for Christmas this year?"

"Nursing my parents back to health."

"Would you mind some company?"

"Don’t you have your family to spend Christmas with?"

He shrugged. "Not really. My father has become a Grinch since… well, since Mom passed away. And I’m sure Chloe and Kagami wouldn’t mind if their third wheel would finally leave them alone."

"They did mention you aren’t on the best terms with your father."

Adrien sighed, leaning on her car. "We aren’t officially feuding or anything. It’s just that… when Mom passed away, Father became very controlling and demanding, stripped me of all freedom, and loaded me with work. I was just a kid; I couldn’t do much about it. Two years ago, I got access to the fund my mom left me, so I moved out. I still work for him, but at least he doesn’t control my every move anymore."

"It doesn’t sound like you’re much of a family, to be honest."

His smile was bittersweet. "Not that I wanted it to be this way. It’s… complicated."

Perhaps she was naive, but Marinette couldn’t imagine having a living father and wanting nothing to do with him. "Do you think you'd want to reconnect with him someday?"

Adrien shrugged. "Not sure anymore. He used to be a great dad when I was little. The three of us had so much fun together…" A smile briefly touched his lips as Adrien paused for a moment. "I always thought if I behaved and did everything he wanted, he’d snap out of whatever it is that made him so cold but… it never happened. With time, I just gave up on even trying." Turning her way, he reached for her hand, gently cradling it in his. "I’d rather spend my time and energy on someone who wants to get to know me as much as I want to get to know them. Like you, for example. Perhaps tomorrow? Helping you nurse your parents back to health?"

Her heart skipped a bit, and he hadn’t even done anything more than look at her and hold her hand. “Okay.”

He brought her hand to his lips again, enjoying the view of a glowing cat on her skin. "I’ll have to give you a Christmas gift later, though. Pretty sure I won’t be able to find anything at such late notice."

"Don't worry about it. I already got everything I ever wanted."

The chime of the clock thundered through the night air, announcing midnight. Adrien looked its way, murmuring something about turning back into a pumpkin. Marinette wasn’t sure why, but she reached forward, hesitantly laying her hand on his chest. The mark underneath his shirt glowed, its light reflecting in his eyes as he looked back at her with the gentlest of gazes. She couldn’t take her eyes away even if she wanted to because the man before her was a far cry from what she’d ever imagined him to be. She was a goner already, and she didn’t care. The feeling in her chest was just too pleasant. Warm. Fuzzy. Addicting. Something stronger and deeper than anything she’d ever experienced. Something much more beautiful and meaningful than a teenage crush.

She couldn’t help herself. Marinette stood on her tiptoes and pulled Adrien down for a tender brush of her lips against his cheek.

He looked at her with wide-opened eyes and a deep blush spreading across his face. "I…um… I didn’t… expect that."

"Is that okay?"

He feverishly nodded. "Yes! More than okay. A lot more okay than all the okays in the world. May I… may I return the gesture?"

"Please.”

He leaned down, aiming for her cheek. Somehow he missed, his lips landing on hers. Neither of them seemed to mind, treating each other to the sweetest kiss one could imagine. Pulling back slightly, Adrien rested his forehead against hers, his eyes locked on hers.

"A soulmate for Christmas. Best present ever."

If Marinette’s heart wasn’t in overdrive before, it sure was now. She couldn’t help but agree with his sentiment. "Merry Christmas, Adrien."

"Merry Christmas, my Lady."

Next >

Read it on A03 FF.net WattPad

Buy the author a Ko-fi for Christmas

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #soulmates #adrinette #fluff #light angst #misunderstanding #happy end #aged up #no magic au #soulmate marks

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years ago

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Flashback time! And maybe the rest of the chapter, depending? Eh, we’ll see when we get there.

Also, 100 follower hype! I did not realize how fast I would hit that number, so thank you all so much for coming along on this wild journey with me! <3

[No. 9 - Deku vs. Kacchan]

An Gremlin.

Katsuki is prowling through the halls, pissed as hell, while also thinking about how defiant Izuku has been recently - both with the middle school scene where Izuku said he’d be going to UA, and the much more recent moment of Izuku telling him he’s the Deku who always does his best. Katsuki thinks of him as a pebble as we transition into the past.

Young Katsuki calls out how Izuku can’t do anything, and then we see him showing off by keeping a ball up in the air with his feet while Izuku and others watch on in awe.

I get the feeling that Izuku had been trying to do it and failed, either getting bopped in the head with the ball or slipping and falling on his face in order to get that smudge across his forehead.

Anyways, Katsuki mentions how Izuku can be read as ‘Deku’, with one of the others (I think the kid with the extending neck) being impressed that he can read kanji, which Katsuki mocks with a ‘what? you can’t?’

Next comes a back and forth between flashback and narration - young Katsuki noting how ‘Deku’ means ‘someone who can’t do anything’ while the other kids are impressed and Izuku quietly mutters to knock it off, followed by current Katsuki wondering why Izuku can’t understand. We skip to another scene of Katsuki skipping rocks, with his record of seven, while Izuku is shaking as he admits he got no skips at all, then narration on Katsuki wondering why Izuku is such a loser.

(Also here you can already see Tsubasa’s wings coming in, only to be full sized in the next panel.)

Another scene skip to when Katsuki’s explosions come in - already impressively showy - with the teacher complementing it and saying he could be a hero with a flashy quirk like it. Katsuki says it makes sense, since he’s awesome and better than everyone else. We get a fade out on the flashback temporarily as we see Izuku and Katsuki tromping through the woods, Izuku complementing Katsuki’s quirk and hoping for his own to come soon, while Katsuki says that no matter what he gets, it won’t be better than his own.

We get a brief peek at current Katsuki turning a corner, calling Izuku a pebble again, and then we return to the past. The other kindergarteners gossip about Izuku’s lack of quirk and their pity for him while Izuku himself is completely lost in his own head, practically disassociating. You can already see how the kids gossip around him while he’s isolated and alone; Katsuki looks on and considers Izuku ‘not awesome at all’.

(-River scene river scene river scene river scene-)

Your options:

Take the hand

Regret later <==

But in full seriousness, this is actually pretty interesting as a scene. We see Katsuki acting as leader, full of confidence as per usual, up until he slips - and in that moment, we can see his face and his shock and fear. The others are shocked that he fell in, looking over the edge to see if he’s okay. Tsubasa notes that Kacchan’s strong, so he’s probably fine, and the kid with the stretchy fingers tells Katsuki to get back up there. Katsuki’s narration rants that he was just fine and that it was no big deal while his younger self rubs at his head and agrees that he’s okay.

In the next panel, we get Izuku down in the river with him and offers his hand, asking if he needs help, if he can stand, and hopes that he hadn’t hit his head. Young Katsuki gets pissed, while the narration asks why Izuku had looked at him that way.

The next two panels transition back to the present, Katsuki recalling Izuku’s rescue of him with similar eyes, and then to the current events with Katsuki looking super emotionally constipated (shocker) as he mentions again how he’s better than Izuku. Almost like he’s not confident about his superiority anymore.

Anyways, we move onwards to Ochako having just found the room with the bomb and Tenya. She thinks about how she needs to stay hidden until Izuku shows up, only to get confused at whatever Tenya is muttering about. Which turns out to be about the exercise! He notes how Katsuki’s tendency towards troublemaking means the exercise is perfectly suited to him, while Tenya himself needs to also take on the role of a villain. He notes that he brings shame to the family name, he must commit to the training since it will help him become a better man. And then we get this:

A fucking dork. I love him so much. And Ochako can’t help but laugh as well at how serious he is about it - which unfortunately gets her caught by him, much to her embarrassment. He calls her out, and then states that it was within his calculations once Katsuki ran off. And since he knows her quirk works by levitating objects she touches, he countered her by cleaning up the entire floor of any possible objects she could use against him. With an evil laugh, he declares that her tricks won’t work there and that she’s miscalculated, while she cringes and notes that he’s really getting into it.

We shift over to Izuku, who’s still waiting in the same spot. He thinks about how Katsuki knew Izuku was reading him, so led with a kick instead. With his guard up, it won’t be easy to get past his defenses, so Izuku needs a strategy. Ochako calls him over the headset, letting him know Tenya found her and that she’s inching back, but…

Izuku asks where she is while Tenya approaches her, the latter thinking about how he doesn’t want to get rough with her.

(Interesting that this is not the last time we’ll obviously see the ‘don’t be rough with her’ that others seem to believe versus cases like Katsuki who take her entirely seriously - and Ochako herself, who proves as time goes on to be a very determined and capable hero in her own right.)

Ochako tells Izuku she’s in the center of the fifth floor, which Izuku notes is right above him. He also notes that there’s not much time left, and the villains win with the timer running out. He thinks about how he doesn’t want to lose here, while Katsuki shows up with a show of his gauntlet (which is fucking HUGE what the hell) which he states is loaded up.

He stares down Izuku from the other side of the corridor, asking why Izuku isn’t using his quirk, and whether he’s mocking him. Izuku is startled, and Katsuki is pretty fucking manic at this point. Izuku is sweating as he thinks that it’s now or never, and that he can do it. He tells Katsuki again that he’s not afraid anymore, and Katsuki starts mentioning that ‘Izuku probably knows this from his stalking’ before going into the details of his quirk - that the sweat glands on his palms secrete ‘something like nitroglycerin’, which is how he makes his explosions.

Izuku is confused why Katsuki is bringing it up, while Katsuki locks and loads his right gauntlet. He says that if the support company honored his design requests, the gauntlets have been storing that fluid. All Might catches on to what’s about to happen, and tells Katsuki to stop it, asking if he’s trying to kill Izuku.

Jesus fucking christ, Katsuki, Izuku had nowhere to dodge to with that!

Tenya and Ochako struggle to keep their balance as the building shakes. Kirishima is freaked out himself and thought it had just been practice, while All Might is is shocked and worried about Izuku. Izuku is in the middle of the debris, just half a foot to the side of the huge hole blasted in the wall, and pants as he sits up to stare at Katsuki with newfound fear, wondering (much like us) why they gave Katsuki that kind of firepower.

⇒ Katsuki: Go completely fucking unhinged.

Well then! What a panel to end a chapter on, yeah? This definitely isn’t a face that ends up in Izuku’s nightmares or anything. But hey, probably only for the next few days, which is good, right?

(cough)

Anyways, see y’all next time for the conclusion to this fight (I think), with only a bit more until we get to the USJ and our first introduction to the greater plot of the series!

#chapter 9 #readthrough #opening arcs #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #uraraka ochako #iida tenya #yagi toshinori #in which Katsuki proves to be completely fucking mental #like jesus christ kid calm down #all your complexes are showing right now #also totally related but #the hands....#it's about the hands....

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simon-newman · 4 years ago

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Newman’s Anime Reviews - Kimetsu no Yaiba

Hello Everyone and welcome to my first anime review in… Nearly 4 years?

*Cough*

Yeah - I know - I am still supposed to write the Seven Witches review… I have no excuses. I will get to it. SOMEDAY!

But today I’m going to talk about another anime. The first title from my 2021 anime challenge.

Actually this is the only anime from the challenge list that I’ve picked myself because I’ve been intending to watch it for a while now.

I’m talking about

Kimetsu no Yaiba

Now - I didn’t really know what I’m getting myself into. I’m not sure if this counts as an achievement but I didn’t know shit about this title outside of:

Some people I know highly recommended it to me,

Nezuko is the best girl (and a demon)

There’s some dude wearing boar’s head as a mask,

Swords

Apparently it’s about killing demons

This is everything. EVERYTHING I knew when I started watching.

First things first however - let's start with the premise.

We meet our protagonist - Kamaboko Gonpachiro as he’s living his harsh but happy life with his large family. Monjiro takes on the responsibility of caring for his mother and younger siblings as the oldest male in the family after his father’s death before the start of the plot.

We join our protagonist as he goes down the mountain to sell charcoal at the nearby village and promises to come back with a lot of goods and food for the New Year’s.

Right off the bat we’re presented with beautiful scenes of a loving family life our protagonist enjoys and I’m not going to make any anime veteran jokes about it.

Long story short - Tontaro’s trip lasts longer than he expected and he ends up staying the night at the village. It is then that we learn about demons that prowl the night of Kimetsu no Yaiba world. Evil creatures of darkness that feed on the flesh of humans. We also learn about demon hunters who protect people from those demons.

Gengoro resumes his trip back early in the morning but thanks to his keen sense of smell soon realizes that something is wrong. Very wrong. He rushes forward to get back as soon as possible but it is already too late.

There was a demon attack during the night and his family got killed with the sole exception of his sister Nezuko who was turned into a demon.

Surprising a demon hunter who appears shortly after Nezuko manages to regain her senses and has strong enough will to resist attacking humans. Thus begins Kanjiro’s journey - to become a demon slayer himself, avenge his family, protect others from what happened to him and find a way to turn his sister back into a regular human.

Sounds easy, right?

I’ll be honest here that while the beginning was executed beautifully I must admit that I wasn’t really feeling this anime right away.

It seemed like your standard shounen anime from the start. Greatly executed despite being very cliche but still not outstanding.

Tragedy to set our protagonists on their way followed by the training arc and Jangoro finally becoming a demon slayer while Nezuko changes in her own way to be able to live without consuming humans - surprising experienced demon slayers.

It is only after that that the real story begins and we follow Tanjiro as he starts his mission as a true demon slayer himself.

Truly basics of the basics if I were to be honest. At that point I couldn’t really complain about anything in this show but at the same time nothing really stood out. As mentioned - the story was cliche. The fights so far were so-so. Animation was good but at the same time I knew that Ufotable isn’t showing it’s best yet. Somehow however it all just worked - together with music which really played into my tastes - yes - I really enjoy the music in this show (make it the one thing i really liked at that point).

But then everything changed with the Asakusa Arc.

Oh no! It’s Michael Jackson! RUN!

The introduction of the Big Bad Muzan, his Twelve Demon Moons and the possible way of turning Nezuko back into human set our vague goals in place and Kentaro finally had a clear mission to accomplish.

What’s more - from this point on the fights become far more entertaining as well.

I did get the impression that this progress might be done too rapidly but thinking back it’s a good thing actually. We got too used to 150 episodes of nothing important happening and now any sort of early development seems rapid.

Before you say that I contradict my statements from earlier reviews hear me out: While we do meet major antagonists early on we don’t really get much from it outside of direction in the story. The Big Bad doesn’t make a move himself and is not even fought directly but becomes aware of Tangoro’s existence and wants him gone.

This is a good development to happen early in the story to keep the stakes high while not resolving anything just yet.

But this is not the end of improvements.

In the following story arc (Tsuzumi Mansion Arc) Santarou meets with two fellow demon slayer newbies - Zenitsu and Insouke who add some team dynamics to our already decent story and IMO further improves the fights we get to see.

As for the new team members… Zenitsu starts out pretty annoying at first with his extremely cowardly demeanor while Inosuke is the polar opposite with a fearless, rash personality.

I might be overthinking it but I see Inosuke as a parody - of sorts - for a character I personally dislike - Kirito from SAO. Both are dual-wielding master swordsmen with a feminine face (and for added bonus they’re both voiced by Yoshitsugu Matsuoka) but while Kirito’s strong because he’s the protag (Gary Stu) Inosuke is insanely ripped from his harsh life in the wilderness and… Well… Pretty much insane.

Pretty amazing, aren’t I? Pretty amazing, aren’t I?

This change of pace - going from just Gentaro and Nezuko to a 4 man team with Zenitsu and Inosuke - marks the difference between the first and second half of this anime (and i forgot to mention it’s a whole 26 episodes show - not the 12 episodes short we got used to in recent years).

While the first half was kinda decent but not outstanding the second half is really, really entertaining to watch. Both the characters get a lot more chances at interaction and development and the action steps up from what we’ve seen before.

In short - two story arcs I’ve mentioned above supplemented what was lacking before. Things I wasn’t even clearly aware of initially.

Without a clear mission for Tenpachirou to accomplish we’d just descend into a monster-of-the-week formula and without more team members we’d be left with no means to explore our protagonists’ character in full.

What’s of Ponjirou extreme kindness if we don’t get to see him affect people with it outside of one-time-only interactions and his good relationship with his sister?

Yes - you can show it time and time again but from this point on it comes out more naturally and as I’ve mentioned already - we get to see it affect people in the long run - something I hope we’ll see further in the story.

Left to right: Boss Honey Badger, Sleeping Badass, Best Girl and Cinnamon Roll.

Which brings me to this sad point…

Despite being a full 26 episodes show it still feels more like an introduction. We barely get to the right formula in the midpoint and conclude the fight against the first real enemy shortly before the anime is over. Souchirou’s journey has only just begun.

I’ve really wanted to write this review after watching the following Kimetsu no Yaiba Movie: Mugen Ressha-hen. That’s for multiple reasons.

At this point I know that this story arc is going to further up the stakes with the Upper Ranks of the Demon Moons getting into action but at the same time I’m really excited to see if Ufotable is going to show us what they’re capable of in terms of animation.

Because I think this anime deserves it.

Sadly - while the movie was out already I didn’t manage to watch it before writing this review.

Kamado Tanjirou vs Lower Moon One - Enmu.

To sum it up - It was an interesting experience to see the anime develop in front of me - from a decent cliche show that didn’t make any major mistakes and played all the tropes just right into a really good and entertaining show in it’s own right.

My final assessment of the show is also the result of a certain niche this anime fits into. Namely the enjoyable sword fight scenes.

I’m definitely going to watch the movie when I’m able to and dive right into the following seasons of anime if they are made.

At this point something with this anime resonates with me - this show feels “just right” for some reason.

There’s also an added benefit of it not being dragged into infinity. From what I’ve heard the manga is already finished and we could get a definite end line before the story gets watered down into tasteless money grab.

Something to be appreciated when it comes to shounen manga…

Well. It is time to wrap up this review as well.

With all the above being said my final verdict is...

Final Score: 8/10 +Newman’s Mark of Quality

Status: Completed

Sentence: Butterfly Mansion rehabilitation training (I bet I’d enjoy it after a while).

Next: Code Geass

#Anime #Review #Kimetsu no Yaiba #Demon Slayer #Nezuko #Tanjiro #Inosuke #Zenitsu

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pipermca · 3 years ago

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Writing continues. I’ve had several new bits for my Alt Modes and Alchemy AU in mind for ages. As one of them is a disjointed serial in the same way that After Tempest was, I decided I’ll pre-post the rough drafts of it to Tumblr (and Pillowfort!) the same way as I did for that story. :)

This is a direct sequel to A Bonding, a Coronation, and a Funeral, and actually begins the same evening where that fic ended.

Tentative title is The King and the Bounty Hunter, so you know where this is going. ^.^

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

King Smokescreen couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a good time taking fuel.

Maybe it was because he rarely had a chance to sit and talk with his brother about something that didn’t involve the work of running the kingdom or dealing with the complex politics between the throne and the noble houses. Both Smokescreen and Prince Prowl had been incredibly busy for the past half vorn. Between planning and managing all of the changes Smokescreen wanted to bring to Praxus, and dodging insistent nobles who wanted to introduce their creations to the very publicly unattached King, that simply relaxing and enjoying an evening had fallen out of their schedules.

Cadet Jazz had been busy with training, of course. High Commander Irridus had advised Smokescreen privately that it likely wouldn’t be long before Jazz started climbing the ranks of the Praxian Cavalry, since he was both skilled and charismatic. Irridus wanted him in a leadership position as soon as possible. But Jazz was content to work his way up the ranks slowly, and so was spending a lot of time away doing training exercises. As a result, Smokescreen hadn’t talked with Jazz in quite a while, either, although he was sure that Prowl missed Jazz’s company far more than Smokescreen did.

The third companion at the table was new to everyone present. Smokescreen found the bounty hunter a fascinating mech to talk with. Devcon had successfully brought in the rogue Prelate Hitch, the Temple priest who had been involved in the attempts on Smokescreen’s life... And in Lord Halfsteel’s death. Smokescreen was grateful to Devon for helping to finally tie up the last loose end in the horrors that had been unleashed on Smokescreen’s coronation day. But the bounty hunter was also quick-witted, had an interesting take on the politics in the region, and listened to others with an intensity that Smokescreen found strangely appealing. And as he listened to Devcon and Jazz trade stories of their travels around Cybertron, Smokescreen watched how the winglets on Devcon’s back moved whenever he laughed in his deep voice.

Smokescreen didn’t realize how much he’d missed doing exactly this: lounging around after a meal, sitting and laughing and talking with others, enjoying a glass of engex along with the company and the conversation. It reminded him a little of the days before the crown, the mantle, and the realities of leading a country had settled on him, back when he could just relax and be at ease.

Hmm. Maybe he had buried himself in his work a bit too much.

Jazz was the one who broke the spell that had settled over Smokescreen. "Well, Devcon, it's been a real pleasure meetin' ya, but I just got back from field training and I'm runnin' low on energy," he said with an apologetic tilt of his helm. Then he turned and smiled at Prowl. "And, I promised Prince Prowl here we'd get some alone time together before I let myself collapse into stasis." He slipped his hand under the table, and whatever he did there caused Prowl to sit up straight, and his wings to flare out with an audible click.

"Jazz, please," Prowl murmured, but Smokescreen knew that the slant of Prowl's sensor wings meant he didn't really mind Jazz's attention.

As Jazz and Prowl pushed their chairs back from the table, Devcon also stood up. "The pleasure has been mine, Cadet Jazz. And thank you, Prince Prowl," Devcon said, giving them both a small bow. "Please, if you are ever in Altihex, be sure to send me word so that I can return the favour. I can arrange accommodations and company, if you desire, even if I am away on a contract."

Prowl returned Devcon's bow. "I shall be sure to do so," he replied. He nodded at Smokescreen, who was still sitting. "Good night, your Majesty." He narrowed his optics slightly. "Remember our meeting with High Commander Irridus is scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning."

From his seat, Smokescreen held up his glass to his brother in a toast. "I remember, Prowl," he said, suppressing the irritated flick of his wings. "Have a good night."

As Prowl and Jazz made their way out of the dining room, arm in arm, Devcon both took their seats again. "You must also be tired. You said earlier that you'd been on the move for almost an orbital cycle," Smokescreen said, swirling the last bit of engex in his glass before draining the last of it. "Please, don't feel obliged to stay here on my behalf. I... tend to stay awake far later than I should." He picked up the bottle, pouring himself another glass. "On the other hand, you are welcome to a refill, if you want one..." Smokescreen held up the bottle and tipped his wings upwards questioningly.

"Yes, but just a small amount. Thank you." Devcon leaned forward offering his own glass. "This engex is very good, but it's not a type I'm familiar with."

Smokescreen smiled. "I'm not surprised," he said as he started to fill Devcon's glass. He'd only splashed in a little when Devcon held up his hand for him to stop. He switched to his own glass and continued to pour. "This is Northern engex, distilled here in Praxus. The mines in that principality produce some of the purest quality energon in the country, and they have a secret process for its distillation that's only passed on from creators to creations. I daresay you won't find anything like it anywhere on Cybertron."

"I can definitely agree with that. It has very distinctive flavour." He waited until Smokescreen had filled his own glass to the top before leaning back into his seat. He took a contemplative sip. Then he said, "Would it be all right for me to be a bit familiar, your Majesty?"

"That's fine," Smokescreen said. "And please, if we're not talking about business or politics, just call me Smokescreen."

"As you wish... Smokescreen," Devcon said, but there was an odd smile on his face. "And that's exactly the sort of thing I would expect of you. You see, when I accepted your offer for dinner tonight, I was only being polite. But I ended up having quite a good time. It was like..." He tapped his fingers on his glass for a moment as he thought. "It was like an enjoyable dinner with friends." The bounty hunter gestured at the empty chairs where Prowl and Jazz had been sitting. "Being able to talk casually over fuel about everything and nothing was not something I expected when I accepted the invitation to dine with royalty."

"I know Praxus developed a reputation across Cybertron for being a severe, suffocating place, but I'd hoped that some of the news that has made its way out of here changed that preconception a little bit." Smokescreen tipped his wings upwards again. "Can I ask what you were expecting?" he asked.

"It's nothing specific about Praxus." Devcon took another sip from his glass before replying. "My services are in demand, and as a result I've had audiences with governors and nobles and all manner of rulers, all across Cybertron," he said matter-of-factly. "And I've come to expect a certain distance that rulers keep themselves from other mechs. I assume some of it is to ensure an air of objectivity in any association they have, but it always comes across as a coldness, or a sense that they truly think they're superior to the mechs they rule." Devcon's gaze held Smokescreen's evenly. "You don't come across that way, which is a surprise especially with what I thought I knew about Praxus. The care that you show your subjects is obvious in the way you speak about them."

Smokescreen felt a little wash of gratification at Devcon's words, and he inclined his helm at the bounty hunter. "Thank you. I hope the citizens of Praxus feel that way, too." Smokescreen took another drink from his glass and then stared into it for a moment. "There is a lot of well-earned anger and resentment towards the nobility in Praxus, and I want to do as much as I can to reconcile those hurts and indignities that have been perpetuated through generations." He frowned. "It'll take time, though, and I'm being fought every step of the way by nobles who don't want change."

Devcon's winglets twitched. "I surmised some of that in the brief I was given in the contract."

"It's a relief knowing that Hitch has been captured and will face justice along with Lady Crossflare." Smokescreen took another drink. "It's certainly not an end to the trouble that he and Crossflare caused, but hopefully other nobles will see that I'm serious about helping common Praxians, starting with those in Emerald Lake."

Setting his glass on the table, Devcon asked, "What did they do to the mechs of Emerald Lake?" His winglets twitched upwards. "I take it that's a principality?"

"Yes. Lady Crossflare and her family ruled it since before my grandsire emerged," Smokescreen said, twirling his empty glass in his fingers. "They ruled it with cruelty and greed. The crown essentially ignored all that was happening there, and for that... I must take full responsibility, on my family's behalf." Smokescreen held the glass still in his fingers and pulled another vent. "When Crossflare fled Praxus after... after the attempts on my life and the attempts on my brothers' lives, she left her principality destitute. I've sent a team there to help those in most need, but Crossflare emptied the principality's coffers and took everything with her. And now, apparently, it's in protected accounts in Altihex." He grimaced. "No amount of charms from our alchemist or spells from our sorcerer has been able to give us any information about those accounts."

"There's a reason they're called protected accounts," Devcon said. He rested his elbows on his chair's armrests and clasped his hands together. "They're specially protected with charms of their own to prevent exactly that sort of meddling. Of course, that makes them very popular with – ah – unsavory elements, but the Ruling Council in Altihex has upheld those protected accounts for hundreds of vorn." He shrugged. "You might say it's tradition."

Smokescreen nodded glumly. "Yes, I've learned more about Altihexian protected accounts in the past few orbital cycles than I ever needed to know, I think." He twirled his glass again. "I just wish that we could get our hands on the shanix Crossflare took with her. That amount of money could do a lot of good for them mechs in Emerald Lake, and based on the accounting records we seized, the money rightfully belonged to the Praxians living there." He let out a quiet vent, thinking of the reports he'd received of the living conditions the mechs of the principality had been left in after their Lord had left them. They had been destitute before: being forced to work to pay off illusory debts to their Lord, debts that only compounded as time went on and were passed from creator to creations, no matter how much labour was completed. But now, what little shanix circulating in the principality had been spirited away by Crossflare, leaving everyone living there without the financial means to even survive. "Right now the crown is helping to make sure they're getting the fuel they need and the maintenance they lack, and we're trying to stabilize the situation there, but..." Smokescreen fanned his fingers wide as if scattered away chips. "Our resources are already stretched thin. We've been shut off from the rest of Cybertron for so long everyone is reluctant to do business with us still, since we're an unknown quantity." He shook his helm. "I understand their position, but unfortunately it means I'm limited in how I can help Emerald Lake until we get some new trade treaties negotiated."

Devcon's helm had slowly tipped to the side as he listened to Smokescreen, his attention focused on the king closely. "I'm surprised that the crown – the government – is stepping in to help," he said. "In Altihex, the expectation would be for them to find a way to make do, until they can pull themselves up. Giving away shanix like that... Some might say that it just encourages laziness."

"These mechs had nothing. They were starving. They were suffering from engine burnout because they hadn't even had basic maintenance since they were created. They were living two or three dozen to a single dwelling, the adults recharging in alt mode outside to make room for their creations. They were fighting to survive day in and day out, simply because the wages they were paid were not enough to live on. To permit that to continue was unconscionable," Smokescreen said, his words becoming louder and louder as he spoke. When he saw Devcon sit back in his seat, watching him warily, Smokescreen pulled another vent and shrugged, letting his wings bob up and down. "What else would the crown use its money for, if not in the interests of its citizens?" he asked. With a frown, he added, "If I did not use it to help them, then I would just be hoarding cash for no reason than to keep it."

Relaxing infinitesimally, Devcon nodded thoughtfully. "I've never thought about it like that before," he said. A tiny smile flashed across his face. "That's very different from how the governor in Altihex would view the situation, to be sure."

Smokescreen vented again, suddenly realizing how much he'd let himself say. He could almost see Prowl's disapproving frown. Smokescreen always did have a loose vocalizer when he was drinking. It had gotten him into trouble more than once. He gave Devcon a wan smile and tried to shift the subject. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go on and on about that. The internal politics of Praxus probably don't interest you that much."

But Devcon's optics brightened slightly; he seemed to have been lost in thought for a moment. "That's quite all right," he said. "After all, knowledge is part of my trade, and every detail is interesting to me. For example, I had heard that the laws in Praxus changed with your coronation." Devcon gestured towards the doorway where Prowl and Jazz had vanished. "Your own brother is promised to a non-Praxian, and I know your youngest brother is also bonded to a non-Praxian." He smiled at Smokescreen. "You were crowned less than a vorn ago. You work quickly."

"I had... motivation to move quickly," Smokescreen said, remembering the utterly defeated look on his friend's Halfsteel when he talked about the mate the Praxian Temple had chosen for him. "Those laws were some of the first ones I eliminated. Now, a pure-bred Praxian – a noble – can bond with whomever they wish."

Devcon nodded thoughtfully. "Of course. That was part of the information I collected as part of my investigation into my target's whereabouts." Devcon looked at Smokescreen evenly, his blue optics focused on him like a synth hawk. "But – and forgive me again if I am too informal here - it is a surprise that you, the sovereign King of Praxus, is not yet even promised." Devcon lifted a brow ridge. "Unless the customs in Praxus are very different than outside its walls, the first matter of business for a new ruler is to secure their legacy through an heir."

Smokescreen could not suppress the twist in his spark at Devcon's words. His emotions must have been obvious in his expression, because the bounty hunter immediately bowed his helm. "My apologies, your Majesty. I should not have-"

"It's all right," Smokescreen said, waving his hand. When Devcon lifted his helm enough to look at Smokescreen again, Smokescreen managed a facsimile of a smile. "You are exactly right. And you're definitely not the first to have noticed that I am not bonded," he said, thinking of all of the unattached mechs who had been paraded past him in the past few orbital cycles. But he also remembered the golden orb sitting on his desk in his office, and the golden optics of the mech that the orb represented. "Had things played out the way they should have I-" Smokescreen tried to cover the falter in his voice by taking another gulp of his engex. The burn of it steadied him enough to continue. "I did have a promised, before my coronation, but we had only just discussed it. We never had a chance to make it official."

Devcon's blue optics widened, just slightly, and the winglets on his back rose in the same way a Praxian's might when they suddenly understood something. "Your deceased majordomo, I presume," Devcon said.

It was Smokescreen's turn to lift his wings. "Am I so easy to read? Or are there loose lips amongst my household staff?" he asked, knowing the engex was getting to his processor by the bitter tone the words took when they came out of his vocalizer.

"No, your Majesty," Devcon said with a shake of his helm. His voice was gentle. "But it's part of my job to make connections where others might not."

Smokescreen swirled the last bit of engex in his glass, careful not to let any slop over the edge. A voice inside his helm (which sounded very much like his sire, or maybe Prowl) said that he should investigate exactly how Devcon made those connections. But Smokescreen's ambition to do anything had been dulled by the engex, just like it always was four glasses into a bottle.

So instead, Smokescreen vented softly and said, "Halfsteel took the bolt that was meant for my spark. Minutes before that, he had sworn to protect me with his life." Smokescreen tipped his helm back and swallowed the last mouthful of his engex, savouring the burn as it washed down his intake. He coughed a few times before adding, "He was loyal to the very end."

Devcon lowered his helm again. "My deepest condolences on your loss, your Majesty."

"Thank you. And it's Smokescreen, remember?" With an effort, Smokescreen focused his optics on Devcon again and smiled. He gestured with his empty glass at Devcon's. "Would you like some more?"

"No, thank you... Smokescreen," Devcon said, and rose gracefully from his seat. "While I have very much enjoyed your company and your hospitality, just like you pointed out earlier, I have been running almost non-stop for an orbital cycle. I am afraid it's catching up with me now." He bowed deeply, his winglets twitching as he stood up. "Thank you again, your Majesty, and good night."

"Good night," Smokescreen said with a nod from his seat. He knew better than to stand up right now; he might be in danger of toppling over if he tried. He watched as the bounty hunter gracefully swept out of the dining room, and then poured himself another glass of engex. Just one more wouldn't hurt.

Smokescreen sat in the silent dining room, alone, staring at his glass, watching how the flickering lights of the wall sconces reflected off the surface of his drink, and remembering golden optics that once looked into his own with love before they flickered and faded.

#my writing #fanfic #tf smokescreen #tf devcon #serial fiction #alt modes and alchemy au

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