#the way he camouflages perfectly against the city lights?????? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miracle-sham · 3 years ago

Text

Die Like the Butterfly Shoot With Their Guns.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 2, Day 7: Guns} |

Chapter 1 of Sheltered by Darkness not yet Moths to the Flame.

———

| Sometimes a family can be a gang comprised of eleven vigilantes, and their AI robot, fighting against the father of one of their own. |

| Or alternatively: after falling through the cracks, they do what they must to survive. And if that means committing crimes in order to bring down the Big Butterfly and all the other corrupt businesses in the city, then so be it. |

———

| Tonight's the night. Half of them will strike one of the Big Butterfly's warehouses that just so happens to contain some fancy new gun tech. Besides, it'll be in better hands with them than the Big Butterfly or his associates. Now all that matters, is that nothing goes wrong! |

| Word Count: 3,322. |

| Warnings/Tags: Cyberpunk/Criminal/Gang Au, Explicit Language/Swearing, Hacking, Breaking and Entering, Theft, Mentions of Bombs and Guns, Mentions of corrupt/shady businesses, Fluff, Gang/Team as family/family dynamics, Found Family. |

———

| A/N: It is Cyberpunk Au time! This is a twoshot, so have a looksy to see if you can find all the snippets of foreshadowing I've set! Also this is mostly Action/Fluff but beware of the warnings regardless. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Rain patters against the concrete, sound mixing with the low hum and high buzz of electricity. The ground is slick with murky puddles that never seem to clean the pavement. Still just as filthy as before, permanently dyed with dried bloodstains, mud stains, electric scorch marks, and far worse. The air is heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke, ozone, and that ever underlying decay that clings to the city.

It's dark—dead of night—but the streets are awash with flickering neon lights. There are a few others haunting the street though most of them are sticking to the areas of light, avoiding the shadows.

Which is where Marinette, also known as the ruthless gang leader Fantôminou, is lurking.

Jason—Red Hood, her co-leader—snarls as he drops down onto the shadowed fire escape beside her. “We've got a rat. Someone's tipped off the big Butterfly and security has been increased around the perimeter. Most likely interior security increased too.”

Fantôminou flexes her glowing clawed gauntlets, “I suppose we should check in with our local pied piper, before we strike, hmm?”

There's a bzzt in her earpiece as the channel is hijacked by the familiar voice of their gang's hacker, Max aka Raijack. “I wouldn't worry about that if I were you, our pied piper has already been contacted. Whoever they were, they didn't reveal which location we were targeting, so it's just a general security increase.”

She hums. “Raijack, link us up with the rest of the strike force.”

“Got it, 'Minou.” He responds, and not a split second later, the earpiece makes another bzzt and there's the faint ping of the rest of the channel being alerted at someone joining.

“Look, I think you could totally pull off the—oh, who just joined the channel?” Adrien, Cheval Mallet, asks in surprise.

“Just me and our anthill tiger.” Red Hood announces, snorting at the glare Fantôminou sends him.

Silence echoes across the line before a scrabble of hushed but excited voices causes a ruckus.

Fantôminou sighs, “I know we're all excited to hit the big Butterfly hard by stealing some of their new fancy gun tech. But let's leave the yelling for when we inevitably set off the alarms!”

“Hey!” Raijack protests. “I'll have you know I have produced a new virus that has a ninety-eight per cent chance of not setting off any alarms!”

Red Hood rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, but you've still not worked out how to get your viruses to deactivate the bombs in the crates yet, huh?”

“I will one day, until then it's your job to stop the bombs from triggering the rest of the alarms!” Raijack counters with a huff.

Fantôminou sighs again, this time with an added sprinkling of are-you-kidding-me. “Red Hood, Raijack. I can and will kick your asses if you do not shut up so we can discuss final prep before we begin the pesticide protocol.”

Bumping shoulders with her, Red Hood snorts again. “I've got nothing against being beat up by someone as pretty and buff as you Minou, you know that!”

“Oh, I think we can all agree to wanting to get crushed by Minou's guns.” Cheval Mallet pipes up once more.

Fantôminou sighs very wearily. “Nevermind, are you all ready?”

Red Hood salutes at her, and despite his mouth being covered, it's easily telling that he's grinning cockily underneath. “I'm ready. My guns are ready, and I've got the bomb defusal kit at the ready.”

“I may be holding my horses but I'm saddled to giddy-up on the go!” Cheval Mallet cheerfully announces.

“This has to be one of your worst attempts at horse puns yet.” Raijack comments, “otherwise, I'm in position and ready to hack on your call, Minou.”

Red Hood exchanges a glance with Fantôminou as silence falls over the earpiece channel. “Hold up, where's Arsenal? Shouldn't he have checked in by now?”

Taking his hand gently, Fantôminou gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“He already did but because you two had your issues getting into position and avoiding the unexpected police patrol, Arsenal had to deal with another issue that popped up which would've threatened our plan,” Raijack informs, sounding nonplussed.

“Well, you don't sound concerned.” Fantôminou points out the obvious. “Has he got back up?”

There's the faint tapping of a keyboard through the earpiece channel before Raijack responds, “Chèvrapide is on her way to back him up, don't worry.”

“Then that's everyone accounted for. Let's rock and roll.” Red Hood orders, dropping from the fire escape and landing in the rain-slick alleyway with ease, conveniently right beside the hoverbike they had stashed here.

Fantôminou hops down after him, except she manages to flip and expertly land in the driver's seat. “I'm driving Jay, you're the one with the guns after all,” she all but states, putting one gauntleted hand up and flexing just to hammer in the point, “I'm close range only right now and you know it.”

Red Hood throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey! I'd never complain about getting to watch you drive this beauty of a hoverbike.”

Fantôminou snorts. “Just get on, pretty bird!”

“Well, if you say so, pretty kitty!” Red Hood teases back, vaulting onto the back of the bike behind her. He wraps an arm around her waist and rests the other hand on his sheathed-for-now gun.

She revs the engine of the hoverbike and steers out of the alleyway with practised ease. There's no directions on the hoverbike's holoscreen, but it's not like they need any—the directions to where they need to be outside the warehouse have already been memorised by each and every one of them.”

Down the left street, take the right at the T junction, pass under the flyover street, then take a further two lefts and then straight on until the block of office buildings forming a protective extra layer between the warehouse electric razor wire tipped fencing and the road. Easy.

“All networks in the office buildings have temporarily shut down. As far as the tech will be concerned, it'll look like the networks just decided to not work today.” Raijack announces through the earpiece channel, voice coming through slightly more robotic than usual.

“So no security cams?” Fantôminou checks cautiously, circling like a hawk around the small stretch of street between her and the office building she and Jason will be entering through. The rain has slowed to a drizzle but that doesn't make the circling in it any less mildly uncomfortable, at least inside it'll be dry.

There's the familiar clack of keys once more. “Not quite, they're a little harder to crack than entering in through the backdoor via someone's unprotected webcam in the office. Thank you, Shodan.” Raijack pauses, keys continuing to clack in the background. “Unfortunately, the Big Butterfly's got tech security smart enough to keep the security system on a closed network so I can't hop from webcam to computer to network to cams. However, they didn't account for Markov, suckers!”

Red Hood snorts. “Isn't Markov a little obvious for this kinda mission?”

“Oh, did I forget to tell you?” Raijack says, in a voice that very clearly conveys he didn't forget so much as purposefully neglected to mention, “I recently upgraded Markov, outfitting him with the currently most highly advanced cloaking system. Thanks to some help from Fantôminou's knowledge of cloaking and camouflage fashion.”

Red Hood leans his head onto Fantôminou's shoulder. “I'm hurt, you knew and didn't tell me? I want cloaking guns! Think of how much cooler I'd look with them!”

Fantôminou merely hums in an unamused response. “Raijack wanted it to be a surprise.”

He huffs. “I see who your favourite person in our gang is then!”

“You're right! It's me!” Cheval Mallet cheers, jumping into the conversation.

“Fucking 'ell!” Red Hood curses under his breath. “I thought you were gonna mute whilst getting in position.”

Cheval Mallet's laugh cuts in and out across the earpiece channel. “And when did I hay that!”

“Hacker voice, I'm in!” Raijack interrupts. “Looks like the security system was perfectly untouched by whatever minor error caused the main networks to crash, how lucky. Which is to say, looping is in process, and we now have free entry.”

“Got us a place to park yet, though?” Red Hood asks.

Raijack doesn't immediately respond, but the sound of the garage door connected to the office building opening, is answer enough. “I might.”

Fantôminou snorts. “Thanks, Raijack. Hood and I need to split here right, just until we get past the fencing right?”

“That's right.” Raijack responds, “good luck, and Markov and I will see you all on the other side.”

“Break a leg, or three!” Red Hood calls over the earpiece. “Preferably some else's though!”

Fantôminou pulls the hoverbike into the garage, keeping her gaze ahead. “If I could elbow you without fucking up my parking, I would.”

Red Hood cackles quietly in response, trying to at least keep to the stealth part of the mission plan.

In the blink of an eye, the hoverbike is securely parked. Perfectly hidden in plain sight but easily accessible for a quick and clean getaway should nothing go wrong. And well, if something were to go wrong, there's not going to be any hoverbike left for evidence. Though, that's not to say a small part of Fantôminou's brain doesn't anxiously hate how they're practically sitting on top of bombs ready to blow up at the slightest hint of things going wrong. However, they've been through enough strikes like this for the concern to be mostly easily ignored.

———

With the hoverbike parked, Fantôminou and Red Hood part ways.

Fantôminou heads up through the internal stairwell connected to the garage, whilst Red Hood takes one of the external doors leading to the office building next door.

The stairwell is like any other maintenance stairwell. Grey concrete walls, metal railings and steps. Even Fantôminou's light footsteps clang loudly against the ridged metal stairs. It's cold, just as cold as the garage was and barely warmer than it is outside in the rain. The air is stuffy but at least the respirator hidden beneath the bandana wrapped around her mouth makes it bearable to breathe. Other than the aforementioned clanging of steps, and her breathing, Fantôminou is alone with the ominous silence of a liminal space.

The stairs stretch on upwards for what seems far longer than it should, but eventually, Fantôminou reaches the final steps to the roof entrance door.

The door is unlocked, and so Fantôminou opens it as quietly as possible. She walks out into the rain once more and scrunches up her nose. A quick glance of the roof yields no immediate signs of danger or anything of note, so she continues to the edge of the roof.

Fantôminou rests one foot on the lip of the roof and flexes her gauntlets, lights switching off for stealth. Carefully, she turns around and crouches on the lip, gauntlets gripping the edge and toes of her boots braced against the wall. Bit by bit she descends, gauntlets making it more than easy to stay attached to the wall.

Two-thirds of the way down, Fantôminou climbs onto a window sill. The fence is only a metre below, with a further four-metre drop. No security drones in sight, yet—but no alarms have been triggered yet either.

A shadow drops down the building and over the fence on the other side of the compound. Not a second later is the double buzz of the earpiece signalling that someone is in position.

Fantôminou smirks beneath her face coverings, not one to be so quickly outdone she leaps forwards in a dive—spinning midair as she begins to plummet. Clearing the razor wire fence with room to spare.

She hits the ground in another diving roll, and immediately uses the momentum to throw herself up and run towards the nearest warehouse building. As soon as she reaches the wall, she double-taps her earpiece to send the double buzz signal to others.

A moment later comes the third double buzz, soon followed by the fourth and final signal.

“Markov is covering our air support.” Raijack's voice clips across the earpiece channel, “Fantôminou, you and Red Hood are on opposite ends of the same warehouse. I've unlocked the doors for you. You know the drill.”

“Thank you, Raijack. Entering now.” Fantôminou responds, she slinks over to the warehouse doors and cautiously pries open the now unlocked door.

Fantôminou heads straight for the terminal, and knows Red Hood is doing the same. Slipping Raijack's new and improved virus into one of the terminal's ports. Seconds pass.

“Interface secured,” Raijack informs.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Red Hood prowling over to her. She nods to him and taps into the terminal with her gauntlet.

Red Hood readies his bomb defusal kit as she instructs the internal warehouse drones into delivering the goods to them.

The drone, blinking yellow—a sure sign of Raijack's virus in effect—hovers over and drops a large black cased crate before them.

As soon as the claws of the drone release the crate, Red Hood is immediately on it, pulling it open and weeding out the bomb.

They wait with bated breath. Red Hood tinkers away. The earpiece channel is silent as the team focuses.

He hisses through his teeth, and Fantôminou tenses—ready to grab him and run, in the worst case—but he only packs the kit back away and sighs in relief.

He taps the earpiece thrice—signalling success.

Raijack and Cheval Mallet don't respond, so Fantôminou and Red Hood stuff their haul into Fantôminou's Miraculous, for ease of transport, and begin making their way towards the warehouse the other two were hitting.

By the time they reach the nearest warehouse doors, the earpiece triple buzzes. Success, again.

They pause only to exchange a nod between the two before continuing to meet up with Cheval Mallet and Raijack—no rendezvous needed this time so far.

It takes forty seconds to cross halfway to the other warehouse, where they meet the other two along with Markov in the middle.

Cheval Mallet waves a hand and the five of them skulk over to a small shed off the side of another warehouse. He raises his horseshoe weapon and calls out, “Bon Voyage!”

The portal forms and Markov flies through first. The remaining four exchange glances then bolt forwards, racing to see who can get through first.

The blue light blinds them all for a second, despite how used to the power they are.

“Mission success!” Fantôminou cheers breathlessly once the blue fades, throwing her hands up in celebration.

“WOOH!” Cheval Mallet yells, jumping up and punching the air.

Red Hood snorts, “but more importantly I so won!”

Raijack hums, “let's see what Markov has to say about that.”

Markov makes a series of boops and beeps, yellow LEDs flickering. “Red Hood is correct, he won the portal race.”

“YES!” Red Hood crows.

“Oh come on!” Raijack grumbles.

Footsteps and clapping approaches. “Well done,” Félix praises, “but perhaps leave the celebration until after you've all gotten into jammies.”

Cheval Mallet giggles, “Flicks, I can't believe you can somehow still sound pretentious whilst saying something as childish sounding as "jammies"!”

Félix raises an eyebrow, “you say this every time I call pyjamas that. Now come on, I've ordered pizza and Roy, Alix, Luka, Artemis, Kori, and Bizarro are already waiting for you lot, in the lounge, so we can get the party started.” He turns on his heel and walks out of the utility-changing room.

Markov, as the only one not needing to change, shows the tongue-sticking-out emoji on his LED screen and zooms after Félix.

Jason, Marinette, Adrien, and Max all start changing out of their gear as quickly as possible.

“Oh no!” Adrien gasps, half undressed, suddenly remembering something. “We forgot to take the motorbikes back!”

Marinette groans, “I knew I was forgetting something!"

Facepalming, Jason sighs. “We were all too caught up in everything going well for once.”

Max snorts. “Oh don't worry! I anticipated this, all it took was a little hacking into our hoverbikes and now they're on autopilot to one of our empty storage bases.”

“Oh. Well, that's good then.” Adrien says, looking a little embarrassed.

“Yeah… anyway come on, we don't want to keep your cousin and the others waiting any longer! They'll eat all the pizza!” Marinette exclaims.

They all finish changing into loungewear and pyjamas just as music starts to play from the lounge and so frantically, they all dash towards it, trying to shove each other out of the way and laughing playfully as they do so.

They've won a battle, they've successfully gotten in and out with a good haul of gun tech. No alarms tripped, nothing went wrong. Hoverbikes undamaged and on the route home. For once, everything went smoothly. And that, is cause for an evening of celebration.

Leaving the worries of the rat for tomorrow.

———

In a dark observatory with a closed butterfly window, a folder is tossed across a desk.

Papillon glances down at the folder with indifference. He rests his elbows on the expensive polished wood and steeples his fingers. “You said you had acquired information that you believe will interest me?”

The man in a black suit sitting opposite Papillon, smiles patiently. “My informant went through quite the lengths to acquire this. Why not take a look inside.”

Papillon purses his lips, “this better not be a waste of my precious time, Lex.”

Lex Luthor raises an eyebrow in amusement. “I assure you, Gabriel, you will find what is inside most interesting.”

There's a moment's pause as Gabriel waits. Nothing happens. He nods and then opens the folder. He spreads the papers inside in arc across the desk. In the middle of the papers, is the photo of a smiling teenage girl with bright blue eyes, and blue-dyed hair. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” He reads out, lips curling into a contemplative frown.

“Poor little girl,” Lex croons mockingly, “missing—presumed dead—after her parents' bakery was destroyed in an Akuma attack. Her name should be familiar to you though, won your one-day derby hat competition at her school.”

Gabriel's fingers still mid-steeple, and he moves one hand up to his chin in thought. “Ah yes, I remember that designer. The one with the feather derby whose design was stolen and copied. That signature embroidery was impressive work.” He recounts.

Lex grins, “yes, however most distressingly, it would seem this up and coming star of a designer has lost her glow.”

“How so?” Gabriel responds, furrowing his brows.

“Well you see, my informant has found… evidence, that our poor little designer here fell through the cracks into the shadows after the loss of her parents and bakery. It's rather obvious that the larvae have taken her as their own, some of their masks and clothes fit perfectly with what we know of her unique incorporation of her signature, as well as stitch work.” Lex explains, waving a hand towards the rest of the photographs and documents spread from the folder.

Gabriel frowns and eyes a few of the other papers with interest. “I see, that is most unfortunate.”

“But.” Lex cuts in before Gabriel can say anything more. “I'm well aware you're plenty familiar with fixing larvae with damaged wings and frayed wires. As such, a strange little cold case brimming with potential for your program, would do quite nicely for your collection, wouldn't you say?” Lex insinuates, rising from his seat as he continues, “rescue the poor larvae, craft it a chrysalis, and nurture the Pupa into something radiant. Not unlike what you did with the Macrothylacia Rubi, and your replacement wife.” With that, Lex smiles smugly down at Gabriel and then strides out of the observatory, not giving Gabriel a chance to respond.

And leaving Papillon to the folder and his musings.

——��

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Behind the Names: Fantôminou is a portmanteau of Fantôme (Ghost/Phantom) and Minou (Kitty). And she's called that because I thought the Black Footed cat fit her, and they're nicknamed Anthill Tigers. They also have the highest successful hunting rate! |

| Raijack is a portmanteau of Raiju (lightning dragon) and jack plug (the connect-y bit on headphones into a phone for example) but is also a play on the word Hijack. |

| Cheval Mallet is an evil horse spirit that offers rides to weary travellers and kidnaps them. Yes, there is a reason behind this. It's covered in Chap 2 |

| Chèvrapide is a portmanteau of Chèvre (Goat) and Rapide (Fast). |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I’ll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

20 notes · View notes

smp-live · 3 years ago

Text

Man in the (Shattered) Mirror Ch. 6

AO3 First Prev

Quackity trekked through the forest of redwoods, brushing a branch out of the way. It bounced back and smacked him in the face.

“Fuck,” he cursed with an irritated scowl, rubbing at the sore spot on his forehead. At least it didn’t cut.

He kept walking, pushing past more annoying redwoods and oak trees. The dead leaves on the ground barely crunched, soggy in the wet winter air. It was an abnormally warm day, not cold enough for his breath to fog despite it being January.

Honestly, he’d rather not be here at all. He’d always preferred the organization and structure of cities, their cobblestone streets perfectly laid out and wooden houses providing shelter from the wind. But over time, he’d gotten used to making his way through the woods; he’d been forced to, after all. Especially this specific overgrown path.

Quackity pushed past one last branch and into a familiar clearing, no longer tramped down with constant footsteps, but grassy and lush. The door on the cliffside was broken and falling off its hinges, clumps of moss glued to it for camouflage falling off. Clearly nobody had been here in a long time.

He slowly nudged the door, just enough to slip by. It was apparently too much movement for the rusty hinges, though, for it crashed into the underbrush with a loud clatter of branches. Quackity winced at the sound. Even standing here, just at the entrance to Pogtopia, it felt wrong to be loud. To disturb things. Like ransacking a graveyard.

He should really turn around, but he needed cobble for his newest project, and Pogtopia had some, last he remembered. If nobody had taken it. And he’d really rather scavenge it than go mining for days.

Or, at least, he had rather, he thought, eyeing the dark tunnel spiraling down into Pogtopia proper.

“Come on, Q, you’re being a bitch,” he muttered to himself with a laugh, lighting a torch that sent shadows dancing on the walls. His quiet footsteps echoed in the stairwell, amplifying them tenfold, and the air seemed to somehow grow perceptibly colder in the five seconds it had been. “Jesus fucking Christ, this is creepy.”

He made his way down, down the rickety paths hanging high above the ground below, amongst long-extinguished hanging lanterns. The air was stale and scentless, each of his steps sending up a little poof of dust and dirt that quickly settled back down.

Before too long, he’d made it to the storage room, lined floor-to-ceiling with chests. They’d been mostly empty or full of useless shit, but hey. Who knew what he might find. He knelt down and started rummaging through the nearest one.

A rock clattered to his left.

Quackity whirled around, raising his torch high, heart pounding in his chest. A rat’s tail disappeared behind a chest.

“See? It’s nothing,” he told himself with a chuckle. “Just a rat. Nobody’s here, obv-“

Something - someone - grabbed him from behind, and he screamed. In his surprise, his torch dropped out of his hand, plunging the room into darkness. Quackity wriggled and thrashed against the grip and, somehow, his arm managed to catch his captor in the nose. They cursed but held on tight, and eventually managed to slap a hand over his mouth. A familiar, gloved hand.

Oh God oh fuck oh shit he was fucked-

“Quackity? What. The fuck. Are you doing here – you Manburgian,” one Wilbur Soot hissed into his ear, then moved his hand away to wrap his elbow around Quackity’s throat, instead.

“Wilbur?” he asked with a nervous laugh. What the fuck – Wilbur was dead. He’d seen the body with his own two eyes. “What-“ He cut himself off as Wilbur squeezed tighter.

“I’ll ask one more time – what are you doing here?”

Quackity swallowed. “I- I was just coming to get supplies-“

“And how,” Wilbur snarled, “exactly, do you know about this place? Was it Tubbo? The Blade?”

“No, no, what?” Now Quackity was even more confused. “You brought me here yourself.”

“I would do no such thing. Not to Schlatt’s Vice President. I’m not fucking stupid, Quackity.”

Quackity squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t been referred in relation to Schlatt in… a while. “Okay, okay. Obviously, we’re not on the same page here. So why don’t you let me go and we can have a nice, civil discussion about what’s happening.” Wilbur hesitated, and he added, “I promise I won’t try anything. On my honour.”

And that must have been good enough for Wilbur, for he pulled back with an “…alright.” Quackity heard some shuffling, the click of a lighter, and then he was blinking furiously against the light as Wilbur relit his torch.

He looked like he always had, dark eyes dancing in the firelight with messy hair. A blood-stained shirt under his dirty, patched-up trenchcoat where he was dropping his lighter back into his pocket. He looked up, his eyes caught on Quackity’s left cheek and he frowned.

“What happened to your eye?”

Quackity instinctively reached up to where he was staring, touching the rough-scarred skin under his eye. “A fight,” he said, unwilling to say exactly what had happened. That fucking pig.

“Mm hm.” Wilbur raised an eyebrow but didn’t question him further. “You still haven’t answered my first question.”

“Do you really not remember?”

“Quackity,” he warned.

“Wilbur,” Quackity mocked back. Wilbur sighed, and waved his hand in exasperation.

“Just-“

Quackity rolled his eyes. “Why are you so difficult all the time?” Wilbur scowled and moved towards him, so he took a defensive step back and raised his hands. “Okay, okay! After the Festival, Tommy found me alone in the woods, so he took me here? With you?” He wisely left out the whole thing with the button; not thinking that Wilbur would appreciate it much. But he still frowned.

“The Festival?”

“…Yeah? The Manburg Festival? October 16th? Tubbo got executed? Damn, whatever fuckin’… higher power, or whatever, brought you back must’ve really fucked with your memory.”

But Wilbur didn’t seem amused by the joke. He stared blankly ahead, shallow breaths barely noticeable with the flickering lighting. His gaze flickered to Quackity. “What do you mean, October 16th?”

“What?”

“It’s September 29th,” he said, complete honesty in his eyes, and oh, shit.

“Oh, fuck, okay,” Quackity said, “uh, that is not the date. It’s January.”

Wilbur’s face darkened. “You’re fucking with me. You’re a spy sent by Schlatt and you’re trying to convince me that I’ve lost it-“ he started pacing, one hand tugging at his hair while the other held the torch “-but it won’t work because I’m fine! I’m not-“

“Wilbur!” Quackity exclaimed, because holy fuck, he had to snap him out of this spiral. “I killed Schlatt.”

He froze. “What?”

“I killed him, the day after the Festival. Shot him. Took a life. He’s fully dead now, okay? You can trust me.” Quackity spoke calmly, like he was soothing a horse. It apparently worked, because Wilbur just closed his eyes. Clenched and unclenched his fist. Took a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was smooth.

“Okay. This is fine. You,“ he gestured at Quackity, “are on our side, now, apparently, because future me trusted you. Okay.”

Quackity slowly peeled away from the wall. “We good now?”

“I still don’t fuckin’ trust you,” he said lowly, “but yes.”

“Okay, good,” Quackity said, relief flooding through him, and he grabbed his torch from Wilbur’s hand and his bag from the ground. “C’mon. Let’s go. It’s creepy here.” Wilbur paused.

“I’m… not allowed to go to L’Manberg,” he said hesitantly, and Quackity’s blood froze. Right. Wilbur didn’t know what had happened, that it was gone, and he didn’t particularly want to explain right now. Instead, he just said,

“Your exile’s over. I’ve just decided.”

Wilbur snorted, but set off behind him. “Nice quip. How long d’it take you to come up with that one? All conversation?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

An unintentional grin spread across Quackity’s face as he cautiously led Wilbur up the rickety bridges too narrow to fit side-by-side on. Prime, he’d missed this banter, like they’d had during the election. After the Festival, the ex-President… hadn’t exactly been up to it, most nights.

Someone emerged from the stairwell right in front of him.

Quackity reeled back, nearly losing his balance and sending scree clattering down the ravine until a hand on his shoulder steadied him. Except that didn’t calm his pounding heart, because right there, frozen in just as much shock, was another Wilbur.

A different one, with tired, dead eyes that quickly grew fiery, dancing in the light of both their torches. He was dressed in the same trenchcoat as the Wilbur standing slightly behind him, only torn and caked in ash and soot. And his shirt…

A large gash ran through the no-longer-white cotton, drenched in barely dried blood. The tear was large enough to see Wilbur’s chest and the scar, pale pink and freshly-healed, from his stomach to halfway up his chest. Quackity felt sick. It was identical to Ghostbur’s, only no longer open and oozing blue, (and was that seared into his memory, ever since he’d first seen it.)

“Well,” the Wilbur in front of him said, thoughtfully, carefully, “this was unexpected.” The one next to him took a small step back.

“What the fuck,” Quackity said, holding his ground. Wilbur ahead of him laughed.

“Quackity, oh, Big Q, hey,” he said, sickeningly sweet, “long time no see, I guess, huh? For you, at least.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Hm. You’ll figure it out,” his eyes gleamed. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you? You always knew how to come out on top.”

“I don’t-“

“Oh, don’t bullshit me, Big Q,” he growled. “You know what I’m talking about.” And he took a step forward. Quackity backed up, bumped into something warm. Then other-Wilbur was shoving past him, shoulders drawn high and face smoldering.

“Stay away from him,” he all-but-growled.

Bad Wilbur, villain Wilbur, button room Wilbur laughed again, high-pitched and empty, and it echoed familiarly through the ravine. “What? Trying to protect your crush?”

“I don’t have a fucking crush on Big Q.”

“Sure, sure,” he dismissed, waving a hand. “Call him whatever you want. You’re protecting him from yourself, anyways. Kinda pointless if you ask me.”

“And what the fuck does that mean? I fuckin’ hate him, but I’m not gonna hurt him.”

He snorted. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Keep telling yourself you’re not gonna hurt them all. Because it’s a fuckin’ lie.”

“What?”

“Oh, Wil,” he said softly, gently, as if he was trying to help. “You’ll learn. You’ll fucking learn. We’re not a good person.”

And he pushed past the two on the narrow ledge, nearly sending them careening over the edge. “Stay away from me,” he called out, “or you know what happens.”

They watched his light bob down for a moment, then Quackity grabbed his arm and started pulling him up the stairs. They were not sticking around, thank you very much.

Wilbur followed along, apparently shellshocked. Except he’d have to differentiate them, now, right? This was good Wilbur, the one before he’d snapped, before the Festival and the button room – because apparently they had to differentiate like that. Because villain Wilbur was here too. What the fuck.

“That was…” Wilbur looked vaguely sick, just like Quackity felt, and he stumbled on a step before quickly catching himself, “me. Alright. Okay.”

Quackity just nodded. Pushed down the bile and anxiety in his throat. “Yup. Now c’mon. I want answers.”

“Tubbo! Holy fuck!”

Tubbo stood at the call from his best friend, up from his kneeling position in the snow. Work on the new settlement he’d dubbed Snowchester was going well, refugees from L’Manburg working alongside newcomers to erect several dozen houses, at this point, and the foundations for many others. They’d already set up docks for trade, and Tubbo himself had just been working on laying the fence of a llama farm – the animals did well in the cold, after all, and they couldn’t exactly grow many crops up here.

That wasn’t the only issue. They weren’t an officially recognized country, (yet,) which… had it’s benefits, yes, but they couldn’t really form any trade treaties. Nor alliances. Nor have any protection from anybody seeking to harm them.

So yeah. He kinda wanted to be recognized. But for now, until they had a better defense system, it was better to lay low. Stay under the radar, until they could protect themselves.

He was working on that last bit.

Tubbo dusted snow off his pants with frost-nipped hands. Tommy was running up to him, cheeks dusted red from the chill, and there was Ranboo, walking at a much more reasonable pace behind him.

“You’ll never fuckin’ guess what happened, Tubzo, oh Prime,” Tommy rambled, nearly knocking him over and grabbing onto his arms to steady himself. Tubbo fought off the urge to push him away. He clearly needed it, judging by how he looked nervous, and panicked – and was that a tinge of relief or joy?

Immediately, Tubbo’s blood chilled, and his mind started racing to the thousand contingency plans he’d been implementing. “What?” he asked, careful to keep his voice steady, as he’d learned in Schlatt’s cabinet.

“You… might want to sit down for this,” Ranboo said, walking up to them, and Tubbo frowned. Oh, Prime, it was bad news then. Tommy’s hands suddenly burned on him and he pulled roughly away.

“I’m not fucking weak,” he snapped, and they both stepped back nervously.

Ranboo raised his hands defensively. “I’m not saying you are?” The swell of rage in his chest simmered down.

“Sorry,” Tubbo mumbled. “I know. Just tell me. Who died?” Tommy laughed at that, high-pitched and borderline hysterical.

“No uh, the opposite actually.”

“What?”

“Remember when uh- when Ghostbur – on Doomsday – he came up to us?” Tommy rambled – he had a tendency to do that when he was nervous, or there was bad news. Tubbo nodded. “Yeah, uh, he wanted to be resurrected, right? And we said yes, and he did research, then you two went on a road trip to look for a totem and left me behind – thanks for that, by the way, it was fuckin’ boring around here-“

“I thought you wanted to stay behind?” Ranboo interjected.

“Shut the fuck up, Boob Boy, I never fuckin’-“

“Tommy,” Tubbo warned, getting impatient. He could dance around the topic for hours, if there was bad news, and they couldn’t afford that.

“Right, right, well, uh, the resurrection was today, and,” he looked Tubbo straight in the eyes, “it worked. Wilbur’s back.”

Tubbo took a step back in shock. “What?”

“Yeah, he’s back, and he’s not our Wilbur, Tubbo, it’s right-before-he-died Wilbur, and he said he’d do it again-“

Tubbo didn’t hear any more of what he was saying as static swelled in his ears. No. No. Not again. It can’t happen again, I- I can’t-

He abruptly took off, towards a small room only he could know the location of, barely conscious of the way his boots dragged in the snow. I can’t let it happen again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tommy lunge towards him, faintly heard him call out, “Tubbo?” Ranboo held him back, muttered,

“Leave him. He gets like this sometimes.”

Tubbo kept going. Down the main street, onto a barely-there path that led to a small doorway hidden on the rocky side of a hill. He punched in the code to the keypad – the code only he knew, for now. It was too risky telling anyone else. Then he entered, quickly climbed down the ladder.

The bunker was cluttered, sheets of paper with calculations scribbled upon them scattered willy-nilly. The walls were covered in tools and bits of sheet metal, and tables with failed prototypes sat scattered around, glinting in the dim artificial lights.

He’d planned on taking his time with this project, using it only as a last-ditch resort. Maybe against Dream, if he came for them again. But they’d reached that point. He was desperate.

With Wilbur back and bad as ever, Snowchester would be the first target on his list. Another settlement, fresh and newborn, led by the second coming of J. Schlatt? They stood no chance.

He couldn’t fail his people again.

Tubbo pulled on a pair of welding gloves. No time for thoughts. He had work to do.

#Dream SMP #Wilbur Soot #Quackity #Tubbo #Dream SMP Fic #Wilbur Soot DSMP #Yoo it's been a while huh?#Sorry 'bout that #Lotta stuff came up and this chapter sucked to write #Enderwrites

4 notes · View notes

midnight-moonlight-and-mars · 5 years ago

Text

Carbon Monoxide (Requested)

Warnings: Depression, Swearing, Fluff?

Summary: Tak is convinced Y/n is dead. The love his life was killed saving him from an impulsive mistake he made. Between the blame, the drinks, and depression everything was bleak and pointless. Until he arrives a Bancroft party to find what he knew was nothing at all. What really happened?

Requested by: @ravenclawsstolemybunies

A pulse flows through the air in a gushing wave. Tak felt his whole body fall to the gorund and go completely numb as well the rest of the swarming mob of people.

Stack Shocker... FUCK

He looked for Y/n in the now fallen crowd of battered and bruised people. She had been thrown by the blast in the middle of the road. Blood pooled around her body pushed around by the freezing rain.

Tak fights through using every ounce of strength to get himself to her lifeless body, the blurring his vision and making his body numb.

Her heart beat was slow. The noise and chaos that erupted around them disappeared into a static and blurry cloud. His mind went fuzzy with adrenaline and ears ringing from all of the hits to his head.

“Y/N??? Y/N!!!!”

Nothing.

Cold skin... Blood... wound. Cover it... Pressure...

“Y/n please... oh god please...”

....Analyzing Stack.... No signs of activity. Lifeless

Too much... too many... guns... police....Leave....Leave her...now. Go!

~Present Day~

Tak sat in the outside garden at Suntouch waiting on Bancroft to finish whatever the fuck rich people do in their spare time. It was nice and all but he saw past the pretty flowers and statues. He saw everything scum like these people stood for. But, he needed the money if he was going to ever get out of this shit hole.

“Mr. Kovacs! You’re early.” Bancroft made his way through garden alongside his wife, who just seemed to be very interested in Tak anytime he was around.

“I need to speak with your associates or friends. See if they have any grudges against you or your family. I need you to get them all into one place without raising suspicion. Can you do that within the next few days?”

“Of course Mr. Kovacs whatever you need to get this done. I assume you have a plan? Do you plan on someone confessing to you or do you have someone in mind? I will tell you they are snakes with their own secrets and scandals. Turning over these stones will likely cause some fuss. More than the one you’re causing already my friend...”

"It does work in our favor though. Many people seem more interested in attending now that you are honored guest." Bancroft's wife said eyeing him a little too hard for her husband being a foot away.

“If you can get it done leave the rest to me.” Tak waiting for no contest left as quickly as he came. He couldn’t stand to be there, let alone work for them to save his life. Besides, he needed a cigarette and a drink to prepare for whatever the fuck he was about to step into.

When Tak arrived at the Raven Hotel, Poe was quick to spark conversation that he was just not in the mood for. Something about news or the maybe the weather? He didn’t know and he really didn’t care honestly. The headaches were getting worse not to mention the weird hallucinations. Maybe it was the drugs he took yesterday... What was it? LSD maybe?

“Master Kovacs I also think it’s imperative that you...”

“Poe. Seriously? Shut the fuck up my head hurts and I really don’t have time for your questions or whaatever other shit you have to bother me with.”

“Are the headaches getting progressively worse now?” Poe asked worriedly. He knew the cause, but hardly knew what to do anymore, Nothing seemed to remedy these episodes.

“You’re not helping it either.” Tak took a long awaited drag of a cigarette out his pocket and tilted his back. He closed his eyes and let the smoke curl out of his mouth as he felt the flood gates in his mind give way. He could see Y/n's face appear out of the mist of darkness. The dark splattered blood on her face and the way her eyes looked so dead. He felt the same pain swallow his chest as before. The same one that tears through his skin and coils around his heart.

“Master Kovacs are you still with us?” Poe asked observing him closely.

Waking from his trance, Tak gave Poe one last glare before he finally took the hint and fazed somewhere else. Closing his eyes again, he resumed his dream. This time, though, was different.

He could still see her face, but there was no blood. She was smiling even. It seemed so real and she looked so lively. She was speaking incherently almost in a whisper, but he couldn't understand a single word. Tak reached for her but no matter how close he got, she would just grow farther and farther away. At one point he even began to chase her, but taking a final leap to catch her woke him from his dream. Why was this one different? What could it mean?

Getting up from his chair Tak felt his head spin in a whirlwind of thought. There was no way she could be alive. None. From what he can remember Y/n’s stack and sleeve were destroyed. Anyone that found her remains would have never let her live and surely destroyed her stack. Everything now is fuzzy but hes sure. What Tak remembered had to be true.

It just had to be... right?

Now Tak was questioning everything he remembered about what happened. The headaches were becoming worse and even came down with a fever from all the strain on his body and mind.

Poe appeared next to Tak who was lying in bed dripping in sweat. “Do you need anything? I can make myself rather useful in a variety of areas. Cooking, cleaning, or just simply an ear for someone to talk to.” Poe said avoiding eye contact.

“Fine.” Giving in, Tak talked about Y/n. he talked about her smile, her strength, courage, and of course how beautiful she was inside and out. Poe listened intently smiling at how much Tak was gushing about this mystery woman. But when Tak explained how he thought she died and how the details aren’t adding up, it sounded familiar. She died before Poe could meet her, which he disappointed to hear, but he was more saddened by the fact that Y/n’s death was still killing him.

“She sounds wonderful. You two seemed very compatible.”

“She was wonderful... Everything that I thought I knew and thought was solid proof is falling through my hands. I can’t think straight I can’t sleep... A part of me still thinks she’s alive but it can’t be true. Y/n would have found me by now she would be looking for me or let me know what was happening but...”

“Mr. Kovacs if she were alive.” Poe interrupted, “Y/n would very slim of an opportunity to meet you. We don’t know the circumstances she is in or even her whereabouts if Y/n were to actually be alive. Perhaps it is better to take what you have left of Y/n and hold onto it. If she is alive, it is completely out of your hands.”

Tak walked away from Poe trying not to agree with what he was saying. He took a moment to stand on the balcony, letting the cigarette slowly burn away. He looked at the lively and bright city before him, his heart slowly but surely breaking. Rain soon engulfed the city like a flame, completely soaking his clothes, and camouflaging his tears.

~Flashback~

“You know Taki, although I do hate being in the city, it always looks so beautiful at night. The lights, the noise. It’s all so... surreal.” Y/n spoke looking out onto the cityscape from their room.

Aside from the pollution and screaming and yelling, the lights mixing with the thundering rain painted a beautiful picture. The way the colors mixed in water drops and the way skies lit up with lightning had Y/n in awe.

“I hate it no matter what it looks like. It’s nothing but criminals, sex, and secrets and everyone else having to deal with it” Tak said snaking his arms around her and holding her close placing small kisses on her neck.

“Sex sounds pretty good right about now...” Y/n gave smiled giving Tak a kiss.

Tak took in her all of her features and the way the wind combed through her hair perfectly and her eyes were just endless. It was her original body, but she was more than just looks. He loved every part of her no matter what body she was wearing, and being with her made him the happiest man in the world.

“God you're beautiful.” he said pulling her slose as possible

“You’re not too bad yourself, Taki.”

“Ugh. Stop calling me that. It sounds awful.”

“Make me.”

~Present~

At Bancroft’s Party, Tak was observing all of his friends and how they interacted with each other, especially Bancroft himself. He didn’t see anyone suspicious, actually all of them seemed like it, but there were several people that stood out. For all the wrong reasons anyway. Aside from the frilly dresses to eight pounds of makeup to some people just completely naked, all seemed normal.

Tak continued to down a few more shots when the mood of the room seemed to calm. People began to buzz amongst themselves and cluster together when this woman appeared. She was pretty, everyone at the party was supposed to be. Yet, she had something they didn’t, it was a certain way she looked down at even the highest of the high of people that caught his attention as well as everyone else's.

She didn’t mingle with the other guests, in fact, she made her way straight to the bar paying no attention to anyone or anything but the drink she would take in her hand. The burning liquor seemed to relieve the now noticeable anxious expression on her face.

“Not a fan of parties I take it?” Tak asked watching this woman down two more shots of really strong liquor with ease.

The sound of Tak’s voice caused her to slowly turn her head towards him. Her expression was unreadable, and she was trying to find the words to say but couldn’t. After a moment she steadied herself and spoke.

“Not a fan of these assholes that's for sure. I have never been to a party like this in a while, and never without a certain special someone. Now that I am here I think I can manage these clowns all night. And by the looks of it, you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself either mister.” She took a moment to take him in, she noticing he was fighting his own battle in this miserable place.

“Same situation you’re in I guess. Having to deal with their shit is a real fucking pain in the ass. You know these people?”

“I know of them, but they’re not why I’m here. I was looking for that special someone, it was rumored that they would be here tonight. Huge guest of honor I hear. I pulled all the strings I had in my back pocket to get into this party.”

“Over a rumor? Everyone likes an optimist I guess. I hope they’re worth it.” Tak downed one last drink before he tried to leave but her words stopped him.

"At least I think you are."

Tak paused for a moment. At first he was confused, he didn’t know this woman. But the more he thought about it, the more it actually didn’t make sense.

"Who the fuck are you?" He said more than aggitated thinking she was there to kill him or start something he had to finish.

“Taki, you still haven’t figured it out? So much for that envoy intuition.”

Taki?

“Y/N? It can't be. That's impossible your stack was...”

“It was ok. It was damaged only slightly but I needed a new sleeve for sure. This sleeve took a while to make and I had severe sleeve sickness afterwards. I was desperate to find you Taki. There is so much buzz around you now it was hard to get to you. I am so sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner... Maybe I could’ve helped you with all of this I...”

Tak swooped Y/n into an embraced and kissed her. Even holding her was long overdue. He felt the grip on his mind release and felt his heart throb out his chest. Y/n melted in his arms and felt all tension leave her body. Between the tears and the I love yous, the time they spent apart was slowly erased.

Completely not caring about Bancroft and his death anymore Tak and Y/n navigated through the crowd and out the back door. Bancroft would have his head on a pike later but he didn't care.

Using the elevator they did their best to avoid cameras and other party goers who could point them out or stop them.

Tak waved down a cab and let Y/n slide in first. After taking a moment to breathe after practically running out of the place they both started laughing hysterically. He missed that laugh. Despite the new sleeve it sounded the same.

They began exchanging stories of their time apart, and Tak realized he had forgotten how badass Y/n can be. Her stories seemed more eventful and dramatic than he thought possible. It made Bancroft's death and party and cheap soiree.

When Tak took a turn spoke about how her 'death' affected him, Y/n's heart sank at every word. His whole demeanor changed and did her hardest to hold back the waterfall of tears in her eyes. All she wanted to was cradle him in her arms forever. He already had lost Quell, he shouldn't of had to lose her too.

They let the heaviness in the air between them fill the silence. There would be longer be a need for pain anymore. It was over.

The car soon came to a halt in front of the hotel and Tak had to brace Y/n for the storm that was Poe. In all honesty she couldn't wait to meet Tak's only friend through everything.

After an hour long interview with Poe, Y/n headed upstairs to Tak's room. He stayed behind to grab something to eat off of Poe to bring up.

The amount of bottles on the floor made her feel guilty. She knew he was alive and what happened but he didn't know about her. Even when he thought she was dead he looked for her and found nothing. There were times she questioned going back to him at all. Not because she didn't love him, because she thought he was better off. She thought wrong.

Hearing the elevator make it's way up she quickly got out her clothes and into one of his shirts on the floor. She laid on the bed trying not fall asleep on the extremely comfy mattress.

Tak stepped out of the elevator with drinks and something fancy on a plate but seeing Y/n he didn't think the food would even be touched. He just set it on the floor, took off his clothes, and slid into bed beside her.

She slid in closer to him and laid her head on his chest. His body felt so warm despite being out in the cold. Y/n didn't have a care in the world. Being in his arms was the only world she wanted any part of.

Tak took a deep breath and closed his eyes for just a moment and for once didn't feel any pain or guilt. At long last it was just silence and darkeness. He began to stroke her back just make sure she hadn't disappeared. Laying there in silence, just being in each other's presence after so long and given how exhausted they were from the last few hours was more than enough.

"I love you Taki. More than anything."

"I love you too Y/n/n."

"Ew don't call me that." Y/n giggled. "Never use it again."

"Make me."

There something Tak wanted to do before they closed in for the night. Something that took a moment for him to gather the nerve for. Despite the anxiety he was feeling, he had to make sure he wouldn't lose her again.

Sensing his anxiety, Y/n looked up at him.

"What's on your mind Taki?"

...

"Marry me"

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

Tags: @ittie-bittie-tittie @pixelsinspace @umbrellabrass @fandomalert31

#takeshi kovacs imagine #tak x reader #takeshi kovacs x reader #takeshi kovacs #altered carbon imagines #altered carbon

205 notes · View notes

serararku · 4 years ago

Text

Dancing in the Sand Pt 3

The sun had ducked beneath the horizon by the time Zevi made it to the designated area at the edge of the territory. Just like Era described, the half-sundered boulder concealed a crevice only a young kitten could run through. Between the dry shrubs clinging to life rested the path he was instructed to follow, but he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. He half-expected an animal had made its home in the widened opening halfway through this secret passage, but what he found was far more intriguing.

A small clay pot filled with hastily made arrows sat along what looked to be an old campsite; half of them were of terrible quality, with the others not even finished. A pile of rocks cut and sharpened sat in the corner of this little hovel. But the paintings are what held his attention the longest. There were two Miqo'te standing side by side with the sun shining over their heads; one was short with black hair and blue eyes, and the other was disproportionately tall, with long white hair and an over emphasis on its bright orange eyes. There was no doubting it- this was Era’s doing when she first left her tribe to search for S'tage. This place was cut off from the elements, meaning these paintings would last for decades… perhaps even much longer. She had to be down here for a few days in hiding to make these drawings, as well as all the projects she started but never finished.

"Would she do this for me?" A thought crept along the back of his neck to whisper doubt into his ear. "If I were captured… would she devote this much energy to save my life? If he returned from beyond the grave… would she run off with him?" R'zevi couldn't decide if it was the dropping temperature of the desert night or his waning confidence that was responsible for the chill running up his spine, but he could no longer ignore this dreadful cold. But he wasn't here to sit in this cave to witness the obsessive adoration his lover once had for another man. With nothing else left to look at, he promptly turned to leave this place behind.

As soon as he stepped out of the narrow passage and into a wide clearing between the crags the hair's on the back of his neck stood up; immediately he stopped and looked upward, locking eyes with a band of tribal women wearing beige leathers for camouflage, and armed to the teeth with stained bone spears and longbows. They stood along the edge of the cliff, their eyes glowing dimly against the backdrop of the starless sky. Was he caught? Was this a search party he was supposed to avoid? Zevi’s mind was abuzz with questions with limited ways to find answers. They knew this area far better than he did, so running was probably not a good idea. On the other hand, Era would likely never forgive him if he fought them, especially if he managed to wound, maim, or even kill any of them. Against his better judgement he remained perfectly still, his pale blue eyes glimmering right back at them. This silent staring contest would have to continue until one of them made a move.

“It’s alright. This is the one she promised.” A voice called out in that familiar huntspeak, provoking Zevi to turn his head. A tribal woman stood beside a bed of flowering cacti, armed with only her flowing brown hair and glowing green eyes. It was like looking through time to stare face to face at Era twenty summers into the future. He knew they would look alike, sure, but he expected her to have some features from her father; the resemblance was almost uncanny. She looked up at the women and nodded, sending the hunting party away to give them some privacy. “Come closer… we have much to discuss.”

Zevi’s ears flattened for a moment as he warily watched the hunting party move away. Gradually his ears lifted as it seemed that the party had no intention of doubling back. Satisfied that he wasn’t about to take an arrow -- or worse, to the back, he turned his attention to the woman before him, taking a few cautious steps in her direction. “S’yuun?”

“Yuun is fine. You must be Zevi, yes?” She calmly smiled, seemingly relaxing once she heard his voice.

“Yes, my name is Zevi.”

“Wonderful.” Once she was close enough to touch, she began to circle him, poking at his chest and stomach inspectantly, before running her fingers along the scars and muscles on his arms; she seemed to be grading him. “So you’re the one who convinced my daughter to abandon her duty for so long, hm?”

He watched as she sized him up, his brow furrowing for a moment while she touched his form; he’d expected an inspection of some kind, but this wasn’t quite what he had in mind. “Convinced?” He repeated, indignantly. “I was concerned for her when she decided to return, to visit the tribe, but I never tried to convince her not to go. Era’s will is her own and I’ve known that from the beginning.” His gaze continued to follow the older Miqo’te, cautious -- but trying not to be overly guarded.

Just as Era warned, her mother had a poor grasp of personal space. She reached up to run a hand through his hair, traced his jawline with a finger, and pressed her palm against his chest in several places. Zevi struggled to resist pushing her hands away; she was making him feel more like a prized pig or a slab of meat than an actual person. Even worse, she either didn’t notice or didn’t care how uncomfortable she was making him. “That’s not entirely true. Era is governed by her emotions. Just like her father.” At last her inspection ended when she wrapped her arms around her waist, and he could breathe easy- for now.

“She...can be a bit emotional at times, yes...” He admitted.

Yuun didn’t seem to hear him while she practically undressed him with her eyes. “Plenty of scars and muscles. And not bulky, ugly muscles. Lean. Practical. A real body befitting a real man… unlike our Nunh.” She then motioned for him to follow her, but she didn’t walk far. Just a few paces away she unfolded a fur blanket and draped it along the ground. She sat crossed-legged before patting the blanket beside her. “Have you… come to kill him?”

Zevi waited for her to sit before easing down onto the blanket, with an eyebrow perking at the comparison. His ears tilted back as his brow furrowed - he’d had these talks before. “It’s not my intent, no. Era doesn’t seem too keen on sharing, and when I left my tribe I made the decision to live in the Free Cities, rather than attempt to become a Nunh -- I hear the life expectancy is a bit better for Tias there.”

“How peculiar…” Yuun’s smile was soft but fleeting. “I have three sons. One is still with us, too young to yet survive on his own, and two sons out there training to become Nunhs. A part of me hopes they succeed… but the chances of that are… very slim. They were frail kittens when they were born, and…” She trailed off to wring her hands together. “I wish they had the courage to leave this life behind. Maybe… they’re in your tribeless cities with lovers of their own?” Her voice was more hopeful than factual, as if she was trying to convince herself of what she was saying.

“Maybe they did make the decision to give the Free Cities a go - there are many Tias out there, quite a few of them with families of their own. So it is a possibility…” He trailed off, swallowing roughly and lacing his hands together, unable to stop the frown that formed as she spoke of the choice he knew was inevitably going to come.

Not eager to dwell on the idea of her dead sons any longer, she cleared her throat and promptly changed the subject. “Well… if you’re not here to kill Vahli, then there’s only one way this ordeal will play out. My daughter will be found out eventually, and she’ll have to make a choice. Her family… or you.”

His gaze dropped to his hands, his hair long enough to cover his eyes. “I know that. I’ve always known that there would be a choice. First with Tage, and now with her family. I’ve never hid my wishes...for her to stay with me, have a family with me...but as I said, Era’s will is her own. Whatever she decides I’ll stand by - even if that means watching her leave.” He exhaled sharply before looking up once more.

Yuun couldn’t hide her laughter, or perhaps she didn’t even try. “Hahahah! If you think Era wouldn’t choose you over us, you haven’t been paying attention! This is bigger than a fawning obsession for a man she’s never mated with. What you two have is real, is it not? You have given her what no Nunh ever could. Happiness… happiness and the freedom to pursue it.”

Zevi blinked slowly. “I...yes, it’s very real. I just want her to be happy - whatever that means. I’d very much like for it to be with me...I enjoy our time together and she makes me happier than I can remember being. But I also know she loathes the idea of losing you. We’ve...briefly talked of the future before, of children...and the one damper on the conversation was the thought that you wouldn’t be able to see them.”

Yuun turned to watch the flashes of lightning far off in the distance, falling silent for a few long breaths. “I would love to be there when she gives birth to her first kitten. To hold my granddaughter in my arms… or grandson.” Her gaze flicked to Zevi for an instant as a smile danced along her lips again. “But I know she would never be happy as a tribewife. The bloodlust of her father courses through her veins. She’s a warrior, through and through.” Yuun eventually turned her body to face Zevi directly. “I want you to do something for me.”

He watched her for a moment, before letting his gaze get pulled away by the distant lighting - a small smile gracing his features as he recalled another impactful thunderstorm not all that long ago. His attention was pulled back as she spoke of ‘tribewives’ and he tilted his head as she turned to face him. “What’s that?”

"Protect my little kitten. Be her voice of reason when next she does something reckless." Her stare was piercing. "And I want grandkittens. Lots of them. I may never see or hold them myself, but… knowing she is happy will always be more important."

Zevi nodded as she spoke, turning to focus on Yuun once more - rather than watching the distant lightning. “I’ll do my best...in all regards. And maybe...one day...you will get to see and hold your grandchildren. I mentioned we talked about children - but we did note it might not be for a little while…”

Yuun didn't seem to mind, simply shrugging and turning back to the storm. The wind was beginning to pick up, tossing her auburn hair aloft before she reached up with both hands to tame it. "When she left us to chase after that dead man, I was convinced my oldest daughter would never return, or worse- get herself killed out there. Many nights I had nightmares of her laying in a pool of her own making, calling out for me as she faded away. I don't expect you to understand the loss of a child, but… it was all I could think about for moons on end. And just when I thought I had grown numb to the pain, I turned around and she's standing there smiling like she never left." She gave Zevi a side glance before continuing with, "Knowing she's alive and happy is good enough for me. Take her far away from this place when the time comes, Zevi of the Raptor Tribe. She deserves a peaceful life… you both do."

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair - a nervous habit. “I’ll take care of her, Yuun. I never felt at home with my tribe. I didn’t feel at home in the Free Cities. I didn’t know what home was until I met Era.” He paused, before his ears folded back a bit. “I...didn’t mention my tribe. How did you know?”

She gave him a playful smile before reaching over to trace her fingers along his chin to wipe away any comfort he had built up since sitting down alongside her. "Your markings gave it away. It's difficult to tell at a distance… but up close it's obvious." Yuun licked her lips before continuing. "More than a few Tia from your tribe have come to challenge our Nunh." She leaned over and took his hand to trace the markings on her own face. "See? Every woman from the Zu Tribe has the same markings. We check those to ensure a bought tribewife or upcoming Tia isn't from another sect… to prevent inbreeding."

“That...doesn’t surprise me. The fact that there have been more than a few Tias from my tribe. There were quite a few Nunhs when I was growing up who didn’t last very long. My father was one of them.” His brow furrowed and he hummed thoughtfully, as he lowered his hand. “I never paid any attention to the markings, but then again - I didn’t have any intention of remaining with the tribe, so I suppose I didn’t need to.” He reached up to rub the back of his neck before glancing out towards the storm in the distance once again. Yuun must have noticed the tonal shift when he mentioned his father; and she had just the thing to distract him.

"The love for my children is boundless. However the intimacy between two kindred spirits is something I will never know firsthand…" The woman casually untied her fur wrappings, letting what little clothes she wore slide down her figure. She then turned to gaze at him with a familiar hunger in her eyes, as naked as the day she was born; and when she reached out for him, she draped a leg over his lap to straddle him.

It took a moment for Zevi to process what was happening. His eyes widened as she settled herself onto him, the action effectively knocking him from his shock induced stupor. He’d known there might be an attempt - he’d been acutely aware of just how close the older woman was as he’d sat down on the blanket. "Lay with me like you do with my daughter.” Her voice was soft and eager now, but it sounded more like a command than a request. She could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and it only made her devious grin grow. “I want to taste true love for myself. These desert nights are so cold… won't you warm yourself inside me?" Yuun didn't even wait for his reply before she pressed her breasts against him when she leaned forward, her hands slipping between them to undo his belt.

He blinked hard several times and swallowed roughly, but he reached down to still her hands before the belt could be removed. “Yuun...no.” He looked up with a face flushed red, his gaze locking with hers. “I love your daughter, and I made a promise to her. I won’t break that promise.”

She paused from undressing him, but didn’t make a move to get off him. "You know what she had to do in order for our Nunh to listen to her, yes? Was that not fair to you? Why should you keep a promise when she did not?" She slowly brushed her nose against his, and brought her alluring voice down to a whisper. "Tell me you don’t want this..."

“I know...what she did with the Nunh, yes. She told me the day she returned.” He gave a shaky exhale as he paused to gather his thoughts. “I was...angry, hurt - on some level I still am-...but I knew it was a possibility when she left.” His ears flattened against his head. “I almost expected it, to be honest. She wanted to see her family again, and there was going to be a price to pay. But that...that was Era’s choice. When I give my word, Yuun, I do my best to see it through. I gave Era my word - I won’t betray that trust, even if she betrayed mine.”

A warm smile lit up her face as she stared into his eyes, eventually pulling her hands away from his waist to caress his chin. "My, my… you are a strange one." She then looked hungrily at his lips, silently contemplating whether or not she would push him onto his back and sleep with him anyway; instead she leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek, before lifting her leg and to slide out of his lap. "I won’t tempt you any further." Yuun assured, running her hands through her hair one last time before she began reaching for her furs. "But I should warn you about that other Tia. He had no such restraint to reveal how he felt about my daughter." Her bright green eyes flashed in his direction again once she pulled her clothes over her head. "He loves her, I think. A different kind than you two share, but just as passionate. Safe travels… and thank you for humoring me."

Zevi relaxed as she slid off of his lap and dressed before his gaze narrowed in her direction. “...What other Tia? K’thalen??”

Yuun simply shrugged, visibly disappointed that her night would end with far less excitement than she had planned. "I didn't catch his name, but he's certainly of the Hipparion Tribe. Dark skin and yellow eyes… does that sound familiar?"

He nodded as he focused on fixing his belt. Era had the same air of disappointment when he told her no; yet another personality quirk she inherited from her mother... “K’thalen. She was living with him when we met and was intimate with him for a time.”

"People don't change so easily. Passion doesn't burn out at the snap of one’s fingers." With a gentle sigh and a subtle frown, Yuun reluctantly rose to her feet to begin preparing her trip back to the heart of her territory. "Era may be obsessed with you, but that doesn't mean her previous lovers have let go of their desires. Just some food for thought."

He stood, casting one more glance out at the horizon and the distant storm. Appropriate. “We’ve discussed Thalen. Part of the reason she moved into my apartment was because of the...of my discomfort with her living with him.” He frowned as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. Yuun on the other hand simply pretended she knew what an ‘apartment’ was. “...I wouldn’t expect other’s passions to fade overnight. Maybe it’s naive - but I trust her, Era - to be honest with me about what she wants...even when it’s painful to hear. If she wanted to be with K’thalen, she would be.”

Yuun silently stalked Zevi while he was distracted by the distant lightning, before running her hand down his arm and across his stomach to feel his muscles again; if she wasn’t attracted to his body, she certainly would have fooled him. "My daughter isn't the one you should be worried about. Men are driven by their desires… and even the best of them can succumb to their cravings. This Thalen seems harmless and kind enough, but the desire for her remains."

Zevi gave a long, slow exhale - focusing on what she was saying rather than the trail of her fingers. “The warning is duly noted. I can’t stop Thalen from wanting her, but I can do my damnedest to make sure that Era’s needs and desires are met...that she doesn’t have the need to look elsewhere to be satisfied…”

She turned away to pull the blanket off the ground before casually suggesting, "You could always challenge him for Era's affection. If you think you can take him, it would make him think twice about pursuing her when you're not around… or you could eliminate all doubt entirely and kill him."

He frowned as he glanced back over his shoulder at her. “I will do what I have to in order to protect Era, but she is also able to choose and take care of herself. Thalen can pursue - but that doesn’t mean she has to give in to his requests or desires. Ultimately, it’s Era’s choice to make.”

“It is her choice.” Yuun repeated, smiling briefly. Her sharp whistle carried far over the Thanalan wastes, as if she was calling something… or someone. Out of the darkness a lone woman came running, armed with a scimitar and small round shield. “Unfortunately this is where we have to part ways, unless you’ve changed your mind?” She gave Zevi a playful wink, but she didn’t wait to listen to his refusal again. “Chaje, I am ready to leave.” The stranger undressed Zevi with her gaze as well- he was beginning to notice a trend around here. She gently took the woman by the arm to usher her back to her territory. Yuun glanced over her shoulder one last time and waved, choosing to depart without muttering another word.

Zevi watched them leave, his form finally relaxing. He had played this scenario over and over in his head for the full week before tonight, and he was still woefully unprepared for what actually happened. Yuun was, in an uncomfortable number of ways, just like her daughter; she knew what buttons to press to get a reaction out of him. A fully developed woman straddling him while completely naked was not something he was prepared for as well; still his heart was pounding against his chest and his face remained vibrant red. That was perhaps the biggest difference between mother and daughter. Yuun was bold and definitely not lacking any confidence.

He could stand there like an idiot all night trying to process what just happened. A part of him-- a throbbing part, couldn’t help but wonder what would be happening right now if only he had taken Yuun up on her offer; but he had officially worn out his welcome, and he needed to leave. A sigh slipped from his lips before he turned to make his way back, following the same route that he’d used to arrive at his destination.

---

Collaborated with @rzevi-tia-ffxiv

4 notes · View notes

ahh-fxck · 5 years ago

Text

Modern Gay Bar AU: Warrior’s Blues

Author’s Note: This fic deals with some pretty heavy themes, including but not limited to alcohol, homophobia, military trauma, and PTSD. You have been warned.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903460

A big thanks to @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog, who was instrumental to this fic from start to wherever the hell we are now somewhere in the wilds of chapter 6. This fic is 100% better because of your help, insight, and incredible kindness. Thank you so much!! You’re the best!! Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for future installments. Tag list: @astouract

Warrior’s Blues

“Ouuuuwww!” A man howls joyously, and his attention snaps in that direction. In the distance he can see someone leaning against one of the ubiquitous red brick storefronts that line the old city streets. Turning, he heads towards him, the only thing that currently seems real in the blurred landscape around him. As he gets closer, he sees that the tall man is grinning hugely, his eyes hidden behind huge round sunglasses with sequined rims. A fall of artfully cut short brown hair drifts around the frames. He is wearing denim shorts that barely qualify as more than a few ratty pockets and belt loops, the curve of his ass hanging out of them and dragging on the brick wall behind him. On his hairy chest is a cropped white t-shirt, with a huge rainbow heart in the middle of it. Emblazoned in sequins on the chest is the legend “COCK.” Astonished, he pulls up short, his feet rooting to the spot.

Before him, the man bites his lip and lowers his sunglasses slowly, sweeping his eyes from his head to his feet unhurriedly. The shock as their eyes connect on the way back up runs along his entire spine, leaving his head vaguely tingling.

“Hello, there,” the man hums merrily, his eyes glittering. It is only then that his eyes focus fully, and he realizes that the man has a long white popsicle in his hand. His other hand rests on a quietly whirring portable freezer, whose power cable snakes back into the dimly lit building door at his elbow.

Chapter 1: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

The road is shimmering with heat haze. Stretching before him long into the distance, a line of cars clots the highway. Leaving the military base had proved simple, but it was turning out to be the only simple thing about his day. His ancient truck growls and rumbles in the heat, beginning to give off a warning whine as it inches along the blacktop. His fingers alternately clutch and tap at the steering wheel, jaw working as he desperately scans for a way to get off of the highway before the damn thing breaks down altogether.

He hasn’t driven it in years; Hadn’t honestly expected to see it again so soon, much less be forced into the damn thing over the course of a few hours. As the truck whines and sputters up the road, he cranes his neck, trying to see up ahead. Finally, just as the engine is beginning to well and truly overheat at the near-idle pace he’s been forced to keep it at, he sees an exit up ahead. He hesitates for a moment. After a lifetime of military service, the prospect of breaking traffic laws still gives him pause.

But.

That is no longer a factor. The fat sheaf of papers sits in the cab behind him, rustling in the blasting heat coming out of the blowers he is running in a desperate attempt to keep the damn truck going for just a few more miles. Dishonorable discharge. Might as well be dead, as far as society is concerned.

Fuck it.

A determined expression settles over his face, and he shifts the truck into gear. It coughs, gives a roar, and he pulls haltingly out into the breakdown lane. Sweat drips down his cheeks in the soggy, relentless heat as he cranes his neck again, scanning the road for police officers one last time. Seeing none, he guns the engine, the truck bucking into motion at long last. He bowls his way up the breakdown lane, barrelling towards the exit, pulling onto it with a thump and a screech of tires, horns chorusing around him. Something about that causes his fraying temper to snap, and he sticks his middle finger out the window at the irritated drivers as he barges his way back into traffic.

To be perfectly honest, off the exit is even worse than the highway. The cars are gridlocked as far as he can see. What the fuck could have locked down the city like this? He growls in frustration, pulling back out of traffic and forcing his truck over a curb. It goes over it with a thump, starts rattling, coughs, and then bucks forward through a parking lot onto a side street. All he wants is to get to his damn storage unit, but it is all the way across the city and the main streets are proving to be impassable. The truck blessedly settles into a lower rumble as he drives along the narrow alleys and back streets of the city. It is cooler here, shaded with drooping maple trees that are limp and listless in the heat. Before long, he is hopelessly lost and his temper is spiraling out of control.

When the truck finally dies on a hill not far from the center of the city, his boiling temper overflows. “FUCK!” he shouts, slamming his hand on the dash. Seething, he uses the slope of the hill to inch his truck into a parking space, cranks the emergency brake hard enough to nearly break the shaft, and bursts out of the truck.

He spins and wallops the trunk of a maple tree nearby with a closed fist, splitting the skin on his knuckles instantly. Snarling in pain and rage, he strikes it, again and again, until his hand is raw and bloody and his rage and grief are momentarily spent. Panting, he shakes the sweat from his eyes and wipes his undamaged hand over his face, smearing the sweat droplets up into his short cropped white hair.

What now?

Staggering back from the tree, he turns and leans against his truck, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he tries to gather himself. The stinking heat gnaws at him, impairing his every attempt to form a coherent thought. His cheeks are red and hot, and he knows if he doesn’t find some sort of shelter soon he is going to become ill. Realizing he had better start moving no matter what, he turns to open the truck door. He might not have a plan, but he did know that he wasn’t going to accomplish anything by allowing dehydration or heat stroke to take him down. That meant finding water, a cool place to collect himself, and, with any luck, some kind of a damn map.

Reaching across the back seat, he grabs his camouflage print khaki backpack and pulls out a water bottle. It is mostly empty, but he drinks the last of it as he eyes the discharge papers. He doesn’t want the folder with him… but even worse, he doesn’t want the papers to be towed away if he isn’t able to return to his truck in time. He knew there was at least a chance they would find the truck after discovering he had been kicked off base. While he can’t bear to face them, not yet, he doesn’t want them worrying that he is dead. His body hums with tension as he looks at the papers, twisting the water bottle back and forth in his hands.

Finally, his shoulders set as he comes to a decision. He grabs them and stuffs them roughly into the bag, zips it, and flings it over his shoulder. Then he pats the truck apologetically, feeling obscurely guilty for losing his temper, turns, and begins to make his way downhill towards the heart of the little port city. He cradles his bloody hand close to his chest, keeping it above his heart, trying to keep the swelling from robbing him of its use altogether. As he walks away from the truck, away from his last clear means of returning to them, his heart sets up a gnawing ache in his chest.

It is some time before he exits the industrial district he has left his truck in, and as he does so, he feels a strange sensation in his stomach, in his bones. As he approaches the main street, the sensation resolves into a pounding bass rhythm that he feels more than hears. That is fine, he can handle the pain of it, but when he turns the next corner, he feels like he has walked into an absolute wall of color and sound. He freezes, eyes wide, as he takes in the sight before him.

Rainbow flags adorn every available surface. Children in nylon faerie wings chase each other screaming around a nearby fountain, and in the distance, a few streets away, a parade is in full swing. People of every possible description are out in the heat, dressed in glitter, dressed in leather, towering drag queens and tiny leather dykes mingling comfortably on the summer streets. His heart plunging, he suddenly feels desperately out of place in his sweaty green t-shirt and camouflage print pants.

He is too hot, too overwhelmed, and too heartsick. His whole body feels raw with grief as he looks upon the scene. Everything he has lost is thrown into a mocking highlight, reminding him that all he has ever loved has been stripped away because of one fucking stupid mistake. The organization he has spent his entire life serving had rejected him for the very thing these people were celebrating, and seeing it is like slamming into a brick wall. The world whirls around him, heart rallying and heading for his throat now as a feeling of overwhelming despair and panic begins to overtake him. His eyes flutter shut and his adam’s apple bobs as he fights for control, fights for breath, the world fading from around him until there is only oppressive heat and the hammering of his heart. He clutches his injured hand against his chest and focuses on the weight of the sack on his back, trying to block out the spinning. It isn’t the first time that he has abandoned himself so shamefully. It likely will not be the last.

Gradually, as time passes, the world begins to trickle back in. Glimmers of noise and color flit across his awareness, beginning to cohere into a solid impression once more. The sound of the nearby children laughing swims to him as if from underwater, followed by an arc of glittering light floating between his partially opened eyelids. As he tips his head forward and opens his eyes, it resolves into a huge pink and silver banner being dragged by laughing men a few streets up, floating in the air like a kite. He feels his chest spasm, and he finds himself stepping back unbidden. Then, blindly, he begins walking up the street that runs parallel to the parade, breath coming in short huffs and gasps.

It would be impossible to tell how many blocks his feet have carried him before his mind starts to come back to him. He could have been miles from his truck, for all he knew. And at this point he couldn’t have said more about the little park than that it had had children in it, little winged fairies dancing in the noise and light. Disoriented, he lifts his head and looks up around him, trying to get his bearings.

He drops his injured hand to his side as he scans the nearly empty street, feeling the heavy backpack shift on his back. His hand gives a slow, distant throb, barely felt in the depths of his daze. The street is scattered with wrappers and glittery garbage, feathers, fluttering bits of paper twisting slowly in the humid breeze. The parade has already passed by here, and the few remaining hangers-on are dispersing as he watches. He licks his dry lips, searching for familiar landmarks as he tries to orient himself. His concentration is broken by a piercing wolf-whistle from about a block and a half up the nearly empty street.

“Uh?” he says, feeling his already sweaty face turn a deep red.

With a flick of his hand, the man stuffs his sunglasses into a barely adequate pocket, revealing sparkling blue eyes that crinkle in amusement, and then gestures to the freezer. “Would you like one?” he offers. “You look hot.”

Eyes traveling down the length of the other man’s arm, he realizes that the freezer must be full of more popsicles. Dumbly, he nods, not entirely sure he understands what’s happening. With a little flourish, the blue eyed man opens the freezer case and steps aside to allow him to look inside. He steps forward, feeling as if his head is wrapped in cotton balls, and peers into the depths of the little case. As he leans, he holds his bag steady so that it doesn’t knock his elbow as it shifts.

At the bottom there are boxes of plain-wrapped popsicles, one indistinguishable from another in their white plastic wrappers. He can feel burning scrutiny along his back as he leans over to swipe one from the freezer, and a low heat pools at the pit of his stomach even as his head swims. As he turns around, he finds the man a respectful distance away, innocently gazing up at the clouds as if assessing the weather and sucking on his white popsicle. Feeling off-balance, he turns and swipes the freezer closed before opening the flimsy wrapper on his own cold treat. It turns out to be green, and the frozen sweet tang of lime on his tongue is sharp and grounding. He brings his bloody, mangled hand up to wipe his face, and the other man hisses in sympathy.

“Oh, darling. That looks like it hurts.”

Bewildered, he stops and looks at his hand. The pain swims back, pulsing vaguely in time with his heart, as he stares at the injury like he’s never seen it before.

“Let’s get you inside and take care of that.” Tutting, the man sweeps up behind him and ushers him through the door, into the cool sanctuary within. He’s too out of it to protest. Once inside he stares around the room, eyes wide and bewildered, feeling lost. The high walls are raw wood, scattered everywhere with tiny, colorful pieces of artwork.

He finds himself installed at a bar in the far dark corner of the place before he has time to protest. It is silent and empty at this time of day. Remembering the popsicle in his hand, he tentatively licks at the drip of lime forming on the base of it and waits for his blown-out pupils to adjust to the relative darkness. The straps of his bag are starting to cut into his shoulders, and it is difficult to sit comfortably in the chair, but he can’t rally his faculties enough to take it off.

He can hear bustling noises close by, clinking glasses and running water. It’s too hard to focus yet, so he doesn’t try, closing his eyes and letting the noise and heat of the street finally begin to bleed off of him. He curls his mangled hand back above his heart, trying to ignore the throbbing pain that pulses in time with his heartbeat. His awareness of the popsicle in his other hand fades away, along with everything else, as he sits at the bar and breathes in the quiet. There is a wall at his elbow, and utter silence behind him, the large room all the more reassuring because of the hugeness of its emptiness. No people. No crowds. No sounds.

A damp thunk near his wrist causes him to open his eyes. The dark haired man is right in front of him, his face kind and curious. He stares in confusion as the room filters back into his consciousness. As his gaze comes into focus, he notices exactly how blue the man’s eyes are, a rich cerulean like rippling coastal waters in sunlight. His heart stutters in his chest and he quickly looks down, feeling even the tips of his ears begin to burn. Right near his arm is a tall glass of ice water, droplets already beading on the outside in the mercilessly sticky heat. The popsicle droops in his fingers as he stares at it for a long moment, trying to find his tongue.

Clearing his throat, he eventually manages a hoarse, “Thanks.” He grabs the glass in his injured hand and hisses in pain as the cold touches the sore, swollen underside. Undeterred, he takes a large swallow from the glass before raising it to run across his forehead and cheeks, trying desperately to cool himself.

The other man vanishes only to return a moment later. He delicately pries the forgotten popsicle from his hand before placing it in an empty cup on the bartop. Startled by the touch, he looks down at his sticky hand in confusion before glancing back up into those soulful blue eyes again. Something at the bottom of his vision moves and his gaze drops. The brunet extends a towel towards him, a gentle little smile playing about his lips. He puts down his glass and takes it between numb fingers, tentatively beginning to wipe the sticky green syrup off of his hand.

“Wait a moment, I have some hydrogen peroxide around here somewhere…” the man has already bustled out of sight again, leaving him in peace to inspect the damage to his right hand more closely. He probes it tenderly with the wet cloth, and hisses as it comes away red. As he focuses, he realizes that the blood has run between his fingers and snaked up his wrist, clotting on the knuckles and fingertips where it dripped when he had dropped his hand to his side.

In front of him, he hears a gentle tut. Turning, he finds that the man has returned with a bowl of warm water and a surprisingly generous first aid kit, which he lays out on the bar unhurriedly. He opens it, glances across the bar at him, then holds out his hand.

“May I?” he asks.

Dumbfounded, he nods, allowing him to draw his hand across the bar to inspect it more closely. Any other day, any other time, and he would have probably picked up and left. But right now, dazed and heartsick, it is easier to say yes. He is lonely, far from the only people he knows, full of gnawing grief and sadness. The unaccustomed gentle touch as his hand is lifted and cradled leaves him dizzy, feeling guilty for how suddenly and deeply he craves it. The sudden impulse arises a moment later to yank his hand away, but the man glances up at him with deep blue eyes just before he does. His stomach flips hard and he subsides, allowing himself to be tended to.

The man bends over his hand carefully, chestnut brown hair falling over his eyes as he does so. He shakes his head slightly to dislodge a few inconvenient hairs, then begins very gently to clean and dress his wounds. Silence stretches between them, strained and intimate. The man finishes and withdraws to put away his medical supplies before returning to his guest.

As he waits, unsure of what to do next, he empties his tall glass of water and crunches on the ice cubes at the bottom. The jarring cold of them, combined with the relief of having his hand finally wrapped, brings him back to himself fully. He blinks, cautiously withdrawing his bandaged hand, studying the man in front of him with more focus now.

“There you are,” the man says warmly, cocking his head to the side and studying him right back. He has lovely, almost elfin features, high cheekbones, and a delicate nose. He is younger, slightly shorter, broad-shouldered, with a lean and rangy frame that is enhanced by his daring clothing. His lips are expressive, currently pursed as he eyes the older man with unabashed curiosity. “Hello, darling. Now. What’s your name?”

He is pretty sure he has never been called darling this many times in a conversation before… maybe not even in his life. Very few people have called him pet names of any sort. Pulling his glass in front of him awkwardly, he hesitates, then says roughly, “Geralt.”

“Hmmmm. Well, Geralt,” the other man says with a quick grin that sets his pulse racing, “Why don’t you take off that backpack and relax a moment? I’ll make you a quick snack.” Without waiting for a reply, he snatches the cup out of his hands and spins away to refill it with ice and fresh water.

Geralt gulps, startled, and stammers out “I, uh, I can’t-”

“On the house,” he says, turning back and placing the cup in front of him, alongside a tall pitcher with some sliced lemons dropped into it. Shocked back into silence, Geralt nods and carefully pulls the glass back across the bar to hold. His fingers trace droplets up and down the cold glass as he watches the man vanishing into the back of the bar. He notes in surprise that across his broad back, the crop top is decorated with a pair of glittering sequin wings.

As the clatter of kitchen implements begins somewhere out of his line of sight, Geralt slowly relaxes back into his seat. His bag bumps against the back of it and he startles, finally remembering it. Standing, he slings it under the counter at the base of his tall bar stool before resuming his perch. The blessed silence settles down across him, frayed and sizzling nerves finally beginning to quiet. He presses the cold glass to his forehead and closes his eyes once more, falling into a fuzzy exhausted numbness at last.

It is some time later that a plate of food being plunked down in front of him announces the return of his host. It is simple fare but generous; a thickly stuffed roast beef sandwich with some sort of pink dressing, potato chips, and a generous helping of julienned pickled vegetables. He glances over the plate at the handsome man, who fixes him with a sunny smile and leans back against the counter behind him, bringing his foot up to rest on one of the shelves as he relaxes.

“You look like you’re new in town. Reassigned to Fort Morhen?” He inquires, eyes following Geralt’s big, scarred hands as he picks up the sandwich. The older man moves stiffly, face tight with pain and exhaustion, but looks at the sandwich with obvious hunger.

Geralt hesitates, thinking, then takes a huge bite out of the sandwich. He hums quietly in pleasure. Then he nods, opening his eyes to see his host’s face. To his surprise, those bright eyes are soft, crinkling slightly at the corners.

“On leave?” he inquires, picking up a toothpick and beginning to toy with it. Geralt is beginning to get the impression that the other man is rarely still, watching as the toothpick flickers back and forth between long, capable fingers.

“Ah… no.” Geralt says after he swallows, chasing the mouthful with a generous gulp of water. He grimaces before taking another bite. He takes the time to chew before answering. “Was just discharged.”

The younger man’s face falls, and he drops his foot back to the ground. “Oh, no, I’m sorry.” His eyes flick up and down Geralt’s body again, softly curious. “Medical?”

With a grunt, Geralt jerks his head in a short ‘no.’ He mechanically takes another bite. “Dishonorable,” he says around the sandwich, avoiding eye contact, seeming to collapse in on himself. The younger man falls silent and still, and Geralt feels himself wishing that he could sink away through the floorboards. Bad enough that he betrayed the only people he loves. Now this man can hate him too.

Eventually, the man behind the bar grabs a glass and begins to fill it with beer from one of the taps. “Did someone ask,” he asks, very quietly, “...or did you tell?” He is careful to keep his eyes on the glass in his hands, waiting patiently for Geralt’s reaction.

Geralt’s throat constricts into a stunned knot as he stares at the sequined wings on his back. They glitter softly with every shift of the man’s broad shoulders. “Uh…” he chokes out, after a long moment. He had been expecting to be kicked out of the bar, or for the man to scoff... had been expecting literally anything but that question. Caught off balance, he reels.

The other man peeks over his shoulder, a sad smile playing about his lips. “I own the gay bar nearest to the base, darling,” he explains, turning back around and placing a frothing tankard of beer next to Geralt’s plate. Geralt’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth to protest again. With a flap of his hands, the man cuts him off. “On the house,” he reminds him with a soft, bittersweet smile. “Everything’s on the house for you tonight. Stay as long as you like.” He turns away again, becoming absorbed in preparing the bar for the rush due in a few hours.

Geralt’s gaze follows the glittering wings back and forth behind the bar as he eats, descending into thoughtful silence. He’s still thrown, but he feels strangely warmed by the man’s quiet acceptance, which gives him a dizzy, fizzing feeling in the pit of his stomach. After a while, surprised to find himself speaking, he volunteers, “Didn’t have to tell. New security camera did the job for me.”

The man pauses, rag in hand, and glances over his shoulder at Geralt. He is grinning, eyes sparkling. “Oh, my,” he says. “Caught doing the good stuff, hmm?”

Geralt feels like those inquisitive blue eyes are pinning him to the spot as he reddens, then nods shortly.

“Mmm. Well. At least you went out in a blaze of glory,” he hums pleasantly, resuming wiping down the counters behind the bar.

Geralt chokes on his beer, sputters, and puts the glass down on his coaster. The shorter man laughs again, easily this time, tossing him a rag to wipe himself with. Geralt paws the rag off of the bar and begins to dab at himself. Something is nagging at him, and as he wipes the beer off of his green shirt, he finally puts his finger on it.

“What’s your name?” he asks, placing the rag back on the bar. The man’s whole face lights up as he turns back towards him, holding a stack of glasses.

“I was wondering when you’d finally ask,” he grins. “My name,” he flourishes a little bow, glasses clinking, “Is Jaskier.”

This is met with silence. So much silence that he straightens from his bow a little hesitantly, giving Geralt a queer look. Geralt gives him one right back, a slow half-grin creeping up his face. “...Jaskier? That cannot possibly be your real name…” he takes a long, slow swig of the beer out of his tankard. “Buttercup.” Amber eyes glitter over the edge of the glass, watching Jaskier light up with laughter.

“Yes, yes! Where are you from, Poland? I thought I detected a little accent…”

“Mm,” Geralt agrees around the edge of his tankard, draining the cold beer. “Spent my early childhood on a base out there.”

“Ooh,” Jaskier trills. “Army brat?” He continues bustling around, now chopping lemons and limes for drink garnishes.

Geralt nods, putting the empty tankard back on the counter and twirling one of his remaining potato chips between his fingers. “Lifetime on the bases. Yeah.”

“Father an army man?” Jaskier continues, swiping the empty tankard on his way by and refilling it.

“Mm.” Geralt hums an affirmative, taking the tankard from him with a nod of thanks. He half-drains this one, too, grateful as the warm numbness of the alcohol begins to soften all the jagged edges inside of him. “He died when I was a baby. Got adopted by a colonel.” He drains the rest of the beer in one gulp.

“No mother?” Again, the tankard vanishes, and again it appears, refilled. Geralt pulls it close, sipping at it, slower this time. The beer is good, yeasty and bitter and cold. He shakes his head, leaning his elbows on the bar, slowly beginning to relax.

“Nope. AWOL in Powidz, never heard from again. Happened a few months after my father died, according to army records.” He sucks some of the foam off the top of his glass, licking the bitter treat from his lips. “Never lived as a civilian before,” he adds, then pauses. “You still haven’t told me your name,” he reminds Jaskier, who laughs easily, tossing his hair out of his eyes.

“No, darling, I haven’t. I suppose that’s a bit rude of me, but I don’t tell many people. Julian is just so…” he flaps his hands expressively, searching for a word, “boring.” Geralt laughs, genuinely amused.

“So you went with ‘Buttercup?’” he asks drily, tilting his head to the side, his eyes dropping to follow the swaying of Jaskier’s ass as he moves about behind the bar.

“Not everyone speaks Polish, you know,” Jaskier trills, unphased. “Besides, they’re my favorite flower. Say the name of your true love while a buttercup is under your chin, and it will light your chin up yellow. Hmm. I loved playing that game as a child. So romantic!”

Geralt smiles lopsidedly, charmed in spite of himself. “That’s just a children’s game,” he rumbles. “No truth in it.”

“Ah, who needs truth when you can get kisses?” the tall man says easily, moving out from behind the bar and heading to the entrance of the club. His shoes, it turns out, are sequined the same color as his sunglasses and wings. With practiced, efficient movements, he hauls the freezer back into the darkness of the building and rolls it across the floor, past Geralt, and into the kitchen beyond.

Mesmerized, Geralt watches him go, picking at the pickled vegetables and following the motion of Jaskier’s muscular legs. He tries to think of a time he’s ever spent around a man this flamboyant and easygoing. Wracking his brains, he draws a blank. Even the few dalliances he had allowed himself were very discreet in the way they presented to the world, never flaunting themselves like this man did so easily. He is dizzy with the newness of it, unable to distinguish the metallic tang of full-body fear from the arousal pooling low and hot at the base of his spine. Jaskier either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, fully absorbed in the task of setting the club up for the night.

It was some time before Geralt found the means to speak again, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “What… ah… what was that event outside earlier?”

“What?” Jaskier says, muffled, from the back room. “Oh! You mean the Pride parade?” He comes out of the back room carrying a load of boxes stacked precariously in his strong arms. Walking over to the seating area out in front of the bar, he delicately negotiates around the tables until he reaches the largest one, directly between Geralt and the empty dance floor. Setting them down, he begins to sort them out and pull decorations out of them, fairy lights and rainbow streamers and more, cascading out until there is a giant pile. To Geralt it looks like chaos, but the man seems unruffled as he goes about beginning to decorate.

“...The what?” he asked, genuinely confused. He swivels his stool around so that he can face Jaskier fully, curiosity bubbling.

Jaskier looks over his shoulder at him, lips parted, eyebrows drawn up quizzically. “Pride…? You know, once a year when all the queers come out and…” he flaps one hand, searching for a descriptor, “riot with giant speakers playing the Village People and glitter bombs?” Seeing Geralt’s obvious confusion, he turns to study him. “Seriously not ringing a bell, darling? How long have you spent overseas?”

Geralt’s face feels numb, his tongue dry, and it takes him a moment to even move to finish his beer. He swallows the last of it awkwardly, rolling it around his mouth and trying to find his words. The man’s piercing gaze is rooting him to the spot, and as he looks at him, beautiful and lanky in the half-light, he thinks that he has never felt more out of his depth than he does right now. “Uh.” he says.

Jaskier shifts, lifting a long hand to brush hair out of his eyes, and Geralt feels a wave of hot prickliness wash over his body. “Uh… Long time. Most of my life.” He gulps, realizing belatedly that he is starting to get hard under the lovely man’s penetrating stare. Leaning forward, he shifts his hips subtly in an attempt to adjust himself without drawing any further attention to his predicament. A small, knowing smile flickers across Jaskier’s face for just a moment, quick enough that Geralt isn’t sure that he actually saw it, and then the other man is turning away again and resuming the task of decorating. As he does so, he speaks.

“Pride started out as a riot, love. We got sick of being beaten by the police, so we started fighting back. It lasted four nights, and… well, it changed the way people talked about us. This was in the 70’s…” he makes a little buzzing, humming noise as he thinks, “Mmm, no, tell a lie, it was 1969. And the next year was the first march.” Geralt shifts again, taking the opportunity to get more comfortable, turning his stool back so that he is no longer facing the lithe man so directly.

Jaskier begins running the fairy lights along the base of the wall, unspooling and untangling them before hanging them. “And every year since, in June, cities have held marches.” Backing up carefully, he navigates around a corner with the mess of cords, and continues, “Every year, more and more cities have had them. We’ve had ours since 1976, and we have gotten quite good at them.” He smiles, squinting up at the ceiling as he considers a dodgy looking fastener above him. “And tonight, is the busiest damn night of the year for the Pegasus…” His eyes slide sideways to meet Geralt’s again, flashing him a sly smile full of teeth, “Affectionately known as the Peg.”

Geralt doesn’t know what that means, but the look makes his cock twitch uncomfortably in his trousers. Hurriedly, he turns back to his last few pickled vegetables, feigning great interest in them. “Hmm,” he says, around a mouthful of julienned carrot.

Behind him, Jaskier watches him for a moment, eyes considering. Then he withdraws, retreating into the back room once more before emerging with a ladder. He seems content to let the big man sit in silence at the bar now, letting him finish eating in peace.

Geralt’s head whirls. His whole life has been the military. Early mornings. Strict obedience to the chain of command. Upholding the code of conduct as a professional at all times, even off base. Sodomy was strictly forbidden, as codified in military statutes written well before he was born. The fact that there is not only a whole club, but a whole culture, a whole country full of people who live this way is… unimaginable.

He crunches through a potato chip slowly, dragging the salty pieces across his tongue and focusing on them to keep himself from sinking too deep into numbness. His heart feels ragged and raw as he looks around the walls, focusing on the artwork for the first time. Many of them are little squares of stark black-and-white imagery, queer men and women captured in moments of impeccable geometry. The squares are bordered in frames, obviously handmade, covered in sequins and glitter, feathers, even funny little toys from gumball vending machines. He peers at the one closest to him, and at the bottom there is a legend with the name of the artist and title of the piece.

Robert Mapplethorpe - “Smutty,” 1980 New York, New York.

Geralt gapes at the image, eyes wide and lost. He doesn’t even notice at first when Jaskier slides up in front of him, pushing a shot glass full of clear spirits across the bar towards him. When he clears his throat, Geralt startles out of his reverie, spotting first the shot glass by his elbow and then, eyes traveling upward, finds Jaskier regarding him kindly again. He picks up the shot glass in numb fingers and sips. Vodka. The liquor burns warmly across his palate, making his tongue curl and his cheeks flush. The welcome sear of the alcohol turns into a dull spreading heat inside of him. It blurs the ragged, churning ache he is desperately trying to escape.

“This is all rather a lot for you,” Jaskier observes quietly, eyes flickering over Geralt’s stiff face and hunched, unsure shoulders. Looking into his glass, Geralt nods, then slugs back the rest of the shot with a grimace. The lovely man’s face softens into a look of thoughtful concern, and he drums his fingers on the counter as he ponders something. As he comes to a decision, his fingers make a decisive tap. “Look. Do you have anywhere to be right now?”

A ‘yes’ comes rushing to Geralt’s lips, seeing an opportunity to flee the situation, but then those blue eyes fix him with such a look that he is rooted to the spot. A look like that, the white-haired man gets the tingling feeling that he’d know the lie the second it got out of his mouth. He swallows it.

“...No,” he says reluctantly, his voice husky and quiet.

Jaskier nods, taps firmly again on the counter, then straightens up. He emerges out from behind the bar and stands before Geralt, long and tall in the half-light. Geralt’s head tips back, and he eyes him uncertainly. “Come with me,” Jaskier says. “I have to open in about an hour, and it’s going to get very rowdy out here…” A sly smile spreads across his face. “And a beautiful man like you won’t last a minute before some little twinkle-toed little horndog comes sniffing for you, darling.”

Geralt gapes at Jaskier, who reaches out a hand, gently but firmly pulling him out of his chair in a manner that brooks no argument. His whole body lurches at the touch, the feeling somehow nauseating and exquisite all at once.

“I have a bed in the backroom, in my office. I use it sometimes if I stay too late doing the books,” he explains. “You look like you need a rest.” He smiles, tugging Geralt along. Stunned, Geralt stumbles after him, remembering at the last minute to swipe his backpack from under his seat on his way by. A sure, strong hand pulls him across the floor of the club and into the storage room. Too exhausted to resist, it’s all he can do to keep his feet as he’s pulled along. They pass stacked kegs, boxes of paper towels, cleaning supplies, and at the back of that room is a nondescript steel door. Jaskier pulls keys out of his pocket, unlocks the door after only a moment of fumbling in the dim lighting, and slips inside to turn on the light.

As it flickers on, he blinks, looking around. The office is tiny, smelling mostly of stale brick and old wood. There is a tiny wooden desk that looks older than the building crammed right towards the front of the room, stacked high with ledgers and bills. Behind it are two filing cabinets, and at the very back, a rumpled bed with some raggy but comfortable looking blankets crumpled at the end. Jaskier steps forward and flicks on the little lamp on the desk, turning out the overhead and significantly dimming the light in the room. Then he begins jerkily clearing away the ledgers and bills, muttering to himself.

Geralt stands dazed in the doorway, backpack swinging from his fingers as he observes Jaskier’s chaotic movements. Then, his eyes drift to the bed, and upon seeing it his body feels suddenly crushed with exhaustion and sorrow. He can barely stand under the weight of it. His soul aches, and all he wants to do is forget for a few hours.

When Jaskier looks up, he sees the lost and haunted look in the white haired man’s amber eyes. He pauses mid-motion, laying the papers slowly back down on the desk, as if being careful not to rustle them. “The bed’s back here. Sorry, I guess I don’t need to clean up all the way right now…” He grins awkwardly, fluffing the back of his short hair in a nervous motion. “Uh. I’ll be out bouncing at the door if you need me, once things get in full swing. The bartender’s name is Lars. If he tries to charge you anything, come get me and I’ll set him straight.”

Geralt nods to show that he has heard, but finds himself locked in place, struggling to figure out what to do next.

Jaskier looks him over in concern, then purses his lips and hums softly. He advances on Geralt, taking him by the shoulders and gently, ever so gently, guiding him to the back of the cramped little office. He can feel Geralt’s shoulders stiffen under the contact, and with a sad look that Geralt can’t see, carefully withdraws his hands. “Sleep,” he suggests. “I’ll be back to check on you later if I don’t see you.”

Geralt nods again, a moment too late, the door already closing behind him. His body is still snapping and crackling with the unexpected touch, the imprints of Jaskier’s hands burning on his shoulders through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Dropping his backpack, he heaves a heavy sigh before sinking to the bed. The cheap springs of the metal frame shriek under his weight, and he grimaces as the sound rakes across his raw nerves. The drinks have mellowed him, though, and the room is blissfully cool and quiet.

While he feels like he really ought to leave, ought to go anywhere else, it is beginning to sink in that he has nowhere to go. Even if he gets to his storage unit, what is he going to do? Sleep in it? He can’t load anything into his dead truck. There is no place to take his few things to. He has no place to sleep. The money in his bank account won’t last him long. And he’d broken the last safe place that he was supposed to have, long ago. This latest episode of stupidity was only the final nail in the coffin. He can’t even bring himself to call them. Not yet. The future stretches out before Geralt, an unreadable mass of uncertainty that makes his stomach churn. He’d never not had a plan before. The military had provided him a life of strict routine, a clear future, stability. Maybe even a nice little grave with a flag at the end of it all. Now, he didn’t even have that to look forward to.

Finally, heaving a sigh, he awkwardly unlaces his boots and lays down, pulling the covers over himself and settling onto the battered pillow. The whole world is too much, and he just can’t process it anymore. As he nestles into the bed, he notices that the whole bed has an oaky, musky scent, fresh soap and sweat and Jaskier. His head whirls with it as his body begins to relax, then, abruptly, turns off.

#modern au #geraskier modern au #geraskier pride week 2020 #gay bar au #modern gay bar au #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #julian alfred pankratz #pride #here it is everyone hope you like it!#ahh-fuck writes

43 notes · View notes

whatshockey · 6 years ago

Text

slow dancing in the dark - k.k.

A KASPERI KAPANEN IMAGINE.

in which what was supposed to be a goodbye declared in the dead of night ended up being stretched into the following morning

song used for inspiration: “SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK” by Joji

word count: 3,909

warnings: mentions of alcohol, some smut and cursing, and breaking off things for good type of thing. overall just really angsty i’m sorry lol

a/n: i promise that i won’t only do song fics but this song grew on me late one night and this is my first time attempting anything raunchier than kissing lmao

Her eyes bled sorrow and throat swelled in heartbreak. Another sob shook through her frame, leaving her knees quivering on the porcelain tile of the bathroom floor, bending further into his lap with every chill down her spine. Her lips cracked and knuckles dampened from attempting to keep her tears hidden, palms heavy as she gripped his shirt collar with the feeling of regret already beginning to creep in. “Stop it,” her mind scolded, and she really did want to. But her voice was drowned out by his dangerously reassuring whispers of, “Shh, it’s okay” and “I’ve got you, baby.”

Only four hours ago, she’d been camouflaged in the buzzing streets of Toronto, forcing her lips together in attempts to form something that resembled a smile. The large jacket hung off of her back, and months ago a last name could’ve been found blanketing his shoulder blades, one that did not match the man’s whose hand held her’s. She could still faintly smell his scent lodged in between the pairing of the worn out fleece and denim, but at times wondered if she had imagined it all, cursing herself for thinking about the same scent lingering on her pillowcase when she was in the company of another man.

Scotiabank Area couldn’t feel more cold, despite the thousands packed and seated dressed in variations of blue. It had only been their third date and somehow her heart had managed to wedge another blade in between her breaths, slowly digging further into her chest as the minutes ran by. Her eyes flickered to the suite that was surely full of the women that, at one point in her life, she could’ve considered sisters. She allowed her mind to wander back to the nights she’d spend in there cheering on her favorite person in the world, whereas now the new couple, although she avoided referring to it as such, sat uncomfortably close to the ice. The sounds of blades carving the sheets of ice echoed before her, and her pulse heightened at the mere glimpse of his jersey, one she’d worn many times before. Before he’d claim that he’d always be able to spot her even if she was in the midst of millions, and she’d wondered if he still looked for her in the crowd, or if he simply stopped caring to do so at all. What would he think if he saw her, at his own game, wrapped in the arms of a stranger who probably couldn’t keep up with the sport himself if he tried.

Her lips curled, finding the irony of the situation amusing. Karma was certainly a bitch, and she almost wanted to laugh at her own stupidity. She had allowed her date to drag her into a bar later that night. The same one where she had shared a heated kiss pressed up against a bathroom stall, a vein-covered hand moving to unbutton her jeans. She felt her cheeks burn as she was ushered into the club with a far less calloused and muscular arm against her back, and internally blamed the contrast of the temperature outside rather than the memory of another doing the same. Her date’s arm never left her waist, even as the two sat down on the stools and he’d pulled his close enough so that their entire sides were squeezed together, lips ghosting over her ear as he made a mediocre joke in which she forced herself to laugh to.

Her date attempted to gain the bartender’s attention, but he had noticed them immediately, recognizing the shine of her hair even in the dimmed lights of the club. He’d addressed her by her first name, earning a confused look from her date. However, she managed to ignore his stare as she ordered two of her regulars, and refrained from referring to it as such. Explaining to her date how much she’d frequented this bar with a man he could never compare to was not on her agenda for the evening. And neither was gossiping about their colleagues from work, which he had turned the conversation to and she had no interest in amusing as their drinks were placed before them. The two had met a company party, never interacting before as they worked in separate departments. She particularly avoided her male colleagues, knowing to never make her professional life messy if she could. However, he’d been the most attractive one there, and perhaps the most attractive man she’d seen in a while, and as much as she’d preferred a certain edge she was used to on a man, her would-be date was now her ex. And her coworker’s dress pants seemed to fit particularly tight at his groin in a way that she couldn’t help but admire.

“Uh,” he cut in, looking over her shoulder as she attempted to navigate the conversation onto the latest project she’d been working on, her eyes narrowing at his interruption. “Sorry, but are those the leafs?”

It had been surprising he even spotted them, seeing as the club had been packed with sweaty bodies in short dresses and ripped jeans grinding against each other or stumbling to down two more shots of vodka. It had been even more surprising that they had even attended such a place post their big win for the night. The city’s heroes usually opted for a far more elite establishment even on their off days, taking over the VIP section with expensive liquor at their lips and beautiful women at their sides.

What hadn’t been surprising, however, was finding her ex boyfriend and a girl with a siren-like gaze hanging off of him, dressed in a deep red dress that made her skin glow gold. She could tell that even with heels, the woman would tower over her frame, offering a much envied advantage when bruising his neck with her full lips, painted so that they’d match the fabric stretched across her breasts and hips.

They had all already been facing her as she turned around. She’d avoided looking at his face, knowing very well that it would only take one second under his eyes to have her coming undone, but whether she’d run into his arms or out of the door, she did not know. Will had been the first to acknowledge her with something other than a blank stare, grinning almost instantly as their eyes briefly met, and he’d already been at his feet approaching her. She wondered why others hadn’t protested against it, and what had been going through her date’s mind as she could feel his arm freeze in place along her hips. She wasn’t sure if she really cared about what exactly he thought of her in the moment as he watched her with a shocked stare, but she shook away from his grip and leaned out to greet her old friend who’d outstretched his arms. The two had grown awfully close over the last year, which only made her hurt more while he helped her as she packed up her things from his teammate’s apartment.

Freddie had been next, sending her a small smile and quick kiss on the cheek. He’d become quite a comforting presence to be around, always available for a good conversation or comfort when her boyfriend was injured. She hadn’t noticed him following, instead catching eyes with Auston, who sent her a tight-lipped smile and casual nod, and continued to hold onto the girl on his lap who was just as attractive as the other. She wish she could bring herself to fearlessly stare down the last leaf, but instead opted to turn her focus back onto the two towering over her. She could still picture the countless messages he’d received from other girls during their run, her own mind replaying the images of their bodies twisted in flattering angles and perfectly lined eyes. He’d never reply, but she almost wished he did so she could prepare for this moment, because he was undoubtedly talking to one of them now. Hadn’t any of the other inhabitants of the bar noticed them yet? It felt as if they were the only ones in there.

The same arm from before wrapped itself around her frame and she fought the urge to roll her eyes, refusing to introduce the two to her plus one. The more time she spent around him, the more he clinged on, and she was left missing the large hand that would cup the flesh of her thighs under the table at team dinners, the same would that would wrap around her throat in their bedroom afterwards. Despite how delicious the man from work looked with his sleeves rolled up, his arms were left bare, and no art could be used as stencils for her love bites to trail her tongue across.

Her thighs clenched at the thought, but the feeling quickly left as she felt the vibrations from the voice next to her speaking, congratulating the two men on the game.

“We were at the game,” he’d mentioned, her stomach lurching as he squeezed her side tighter. “It was, like, really crazy.”

She secretly thanked Freddie, who’d been eyeing her for enough time to know she was growing uncomfortable, quickly thanking her date and steered the conversation away. Will, on the other hand, looked at her expectantly, as if she’d introduce them at a shudder from his hard glare. She shook her head, knowing very well the boy would prounce back to his former roommate and share every detail of their encounter with him. And she was unfortunately very aware what the outcome would be upon the announcement of the fact that she still attended their games.

The players eventually bid a goodbye, final hugs exchanged, and made her promise to catch up over a lunch with them soon. Her date practically reeked of curiosity, and laid out a simple answer to his question before he could ask.

“We met through a mutual friend.”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but she hadn’t wasted time to feel guilty. She’d begun pouring more alcohol into her system, mind buzzing from everything that had taken place over the past five minutes. She felt as if she had just ran a marathon, and didn’t know if she’d ever see the finish line. But more than anything, she didn’t want to feel like looking on the opposite end of the bar any longer.

Within the next hour, her vision clouded and the four men were long forgotten, making her question whether they were imagined in the first place. The date’s hand now resting lower, lips stretching to fill the space between them as he leaned down to capture her ear with compliments on her outfit tonight. He’d been used to seeing her in pencil skirts and cigarette pants, the recent college grad being the hottest topic amongst the male employees. However, the dip of the neckline and hug of her jeans left her drowning in praises with eyes trailing over every inch of visible skin.

She didn’t complain. Perhaps it was due to alcohol replacing the blood in her veins, or solely due to the fact that it had been some time that she’d been laid. Nonetheless, she excused his blatant advances, entertaining the possibility of sleeping with the same man who’d made his first move through buying her a coffee during his lunch hour that at the time she’d thought was lame. Maybe it was time she lowered her expectations.

It hadn’t been her fault, that she’d known clear as day. With how close she had been sitting to her date, the two barely took up space for one person. However, she suddenly felt a harsh nudge at her back, lunging her forward to collide with her date’s chest, which caused her to reach out and push away to see who her attacker was.

She began apologizing out of instinct, until her eyes focused and ears curled at the sound of a silky, dangerously low voice that nearly sent her flying over the bar counter itself.

“My bad,” his voice rang arrogantly, licking his full lips perfectly pink. “Didn’t see you there.”

Her eyes locked onto hazel eyes, ones that felt so familiar as they enveloped her, to his pouted lips in a cocky smirk, and finally to the tattooed arm that grasped her forearm as if he was steadying her, completely aware of the fire that shot up her arm as he held her in a firm grip.

A choked noise erupted from her chest, and the man leaned back to size up her own date as well.

“Pretty girl you got here.”

And with his kind, yet backhanded remark, he turned his back and left, palm lingering on her wrist a bit longer than the rest of his body had.

With a pale face and spine on the verge of shaking, she felt as if she had just seen a ghost. The entire unexpected encounter left her in chills, yet her skin still burned where he had touched her. It couldn’t be home, no way. She definitely had too much to drink.

Until her date spoke up in a much less shocked tone than he had before, voicing her thoughts all while confirming her fears.

“Okay,” he started chuckling lightly, then took a deep breathe nearly as big as her’s. “Was that Kappy or am I just going crazy?”

Maybe it was just a guy who looked like him, she thought. Surely, he’d left with his conquer of the night, or perhaps even with Auston and the two would switch off after a few rounds. He’d do anything before speaking to her, wouldn’t he?

It wasn’t until she looked over her date’s shoulder, who sat sipping on only his second drink (he wanted to drive her home, after all) and yet once again, connected eyes with the devil himself. He held her there, frozen, with such a challenging stare that her heartbeat replaced the bass of the speakers. He allowed one eye to drop down in a sly wink, tongue darting to the corners of his mouth as he drank in her silhouette for a final time, and turned his back once again, finally out of the club with no other girl in sight.

The two left not too long after that. She’d mentioned she suddenly felt sick, thinking that the alcohol had gotten to her and apologized for wanting to go home, although she wasn’t sorry in the slightest. His cologne began to invade her senses and his hold on her made her feel trapped, causing her to grow nauseous and wish she’d been pressing her face into the firm chest of another man. One who had held her hair back the first time she was this drunk in his presence, and the same one who told her he’d fight for her regardless of the competition.

The thing is, he loved to play games. And never though to play fair. Sure, on the ice he followed the rules and earned his spot as a crowd favorite. However, anywhere else, he was in control, and she scolded herself for being so naive. She debated with herself while her date helped her into his front seat, pulling her seat belt over her lap and buckled her in, making sure she was comfortable before jogging over to the driver’s side. Had it been any other day, she’d thank him, maybe even swooned. However, her head throbbed saying one name over and over, and it wasn’t his.

She gave him directions, ignoring the way his palm crept up her knee, knowing that the other man she kept thinking about would’ve rubbed small loving circles with his thumb on the inside of her thighs. It wasn’t long before she found themselves driving along a familiar street, lights glaring on the sidewalk she spent many nights on, hand in hand with someone who at the time she considered, above all, her best friend. Although she hadn’t realized until that exact moment, she wondered if it had been unintentional at all, as she lived on the other side of the city yet automatically told him to go this way. And even went as far as telling him to pull up to a luxury apartment building she no longer could call her’s, never thinking once to stop herself before she made a stupid decision.

She leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek, waving off his pleas to “make sure she got up safely” thinking this is where she lived. As sweet as he was, it wasn’t what she craved, and she wish she’d lost her appetite by the time she was knocking on the man’s door.

He’d welcomely opened it, almost as if he’d been waiting for her, and was conveniently shirtless with sweatpants hanging low. He met her lips expectantly as she threw herself on him, arms wrapping around his shoulder and fingers raking through his hair, holding on as if he would be stripped away from her in a heartbeat. She didn’t care that his pretentious neighbors could pass by any minute, because all she wanted to see, feel and hear was him. He groaned into her mouth, teeth clashing as he grabbed onto everything that he could with her chest pressed up against him. First her hips, then ass, and finally the back of her thighs as he carried her from the doorway, kicking it closed with his heel and moved them further into the apartment.

He pushed her against a wall, hands moving under his shirt to cup her breasts and bite at her neck, everywhere his lips fell left her scorching and writhing under him, merciless to his touch. She’d been moved and backed up again, this time with no clothes remaining and lips replacing where her’s had been. He mirrored her, grinding his naked body against her before reaching over and turning on the shower over their heads, water racing down the valley in between her breasts as he leaned down to lick it away. She knew he could still smell her coworker’s cologne on her, and wanted to tell him that his own musk was indescribably intoxicating, but could only manage a strangled moan as her trailed his lips farther down her body.

“You looked so good out there tonight,” she gasped as she felt him move his hand down to cup her heat, to which he replied by thrusting two fingers into her.

“I know.”

She had so much to say to him. She’d been rehearsing on her way up in the elevator. Yet as his fingers curled, she found herself shaking in seconds, begging him to continue as he teased her.

“Always such a fucking good girl for me,” he growled into her neck, sucking onto a particularly soft spot that she assumed no other man would ever be able find. His teeth scraped against her pulse, and she shook, unraveling and shaking, knowing she’d have fallen over if it wasn’t for him holding her up.

As she came down from her high, she could feel her chest tighten, making her collapse against him in exhaustion and full realization of what she was doing. He’d been so nonchalant during their encounter beforehand, and she questioned whether she’d known him at all. She’d ran back like a sick puppy, asking for attention and celebrating in it as if he didn’t plan to put her up for adoption the next day. And yet, she didn’t want to stop, nor could if she even wanted to.

Her sobs were muffled by his chest, as he quickly turned off the tap and moved to encompass her in his arms, wrapping her in a towel and sitting her on his lap as she shook in despair, coughing on her own cries and shifting to stop her from aggressively rubbing her eyes from stripping her vision away.

“Kas,” she weeped, clutching onto him, knowing that she’d leave before the day breaks and the two continue to pretend that they don’t know each other, and that they don’t care about each other in the slightest.

That couldn’t be farther from the truth, and she knew this as he carried her to the bed, moving her so that she rested on the plush pillows and rubbed her thighs in the most soothing manner. She didn’t know how many more apologies and promises she needed to hear before she could breathe again, but her chest tightened at the sight of him gently kissing the small ink on her ankle, one she’d spontaneously gotten with him only after knowing each other for six weeks.

He continued to move up her legs, and the rest of the night went on as the two continued to re-learn and memorize every inch of each other’s bodies, spending extra time fawning over the way each other’s lips molded together and their bodies fit like puzzle pieces. He eventually collapsed on her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as she swallowed the tears that threatened to pool over again.

“Please stay.”

He had whispered it into her hair, and it had been so soft, she wondered if he’d even said anything at all.

Yet she did, and didn’t want to think about why as wrapped a leg over his and he pulled her even closer than before.

The two never slept that night, instead choosing to bask in each other’s warmth and mixed scent sticking and coating their skins. No more words were exchanged, and she held her breath, slowing her heartbeat down to match his. And even after climaxing more times than she ever had before, she craved for him to be closer in every way possible. And for once, she finally knew he felt the same.

The sun began to peak out from his curtains, ones that she’d picked out when they first moved in together. Slow sliding down his frame, she once again attempted to leave the bed, cringing at the cold air as she lifted the blanket just enough to stretch a leg out to the floor. Before she could place a foot down, an arm reached out to grab her waist, pulling her back into the bed as the sheets twisted at their connected hips.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he grumbled, pressing his face into her neck as the raspiness scratched at her ears.

She combed her fingers through his hair, sighing as she looked at the time on the clock already quickly approaching noon. Her head pounded and his weight crushed her, yet she felt far more comfortable than she had in awhile.

“Home,” she shrugged, only to be met with a confused daze, eyebrows furrowed as he moved to sit on his elbows, pushing her hair behind her ears.

He hadn’t said anything in response, moving to lift the blanket and settle in between her thighs again, reminding her of the times she’d wake up beside him every day and what they had entailed, and she wondered if he was just mocking her all along.

It was clear that neither wanted another friend in the lives, knowing very well that the two of them could never stay as such. Instead, they waited, and waited, and continued to wait until the day that their “just one more night” finally turned into their final night. And oh, what a tragedy that was.

#kasperi kapanen #kasperi kapanen imagine #kasperi kapanen imagines #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl smut #toronto maple leafs #maple leafs #smut #auston matthews #william nylander #freddie anderson #kappy

274 notes · View notes

thelostandforgottenangel · 6 years ago

Text

~ Until You Come Back ~

TMNT Leonardo one-shot

Okay please be kind guys because this is officially my first fanfic since the accident and it’s probably some of the worst I’ve done but it was done in 30 minutes after watching a video that made me cry I needed to do something cute and - well we got this

@bloody-hands-pure-hearts1 @lonelyheart-clubband @fyreball66 @betelgeusessonajblog @midnight-chocolate-turtle and everyone who loves to read my horrible little stories

((Do not own these Pictures))

He had been gone for too long. Her best friend in the whole world had been gone for three long years

After New York had celebrated their cities unseen heroes officially giving them credit and bringing the mutants into the light they were finally accepted by many people, some had a hard time accepting them but in the end the turtles had been the unseen heroes and saviors of New York City who could not just warm up to four giant sweet guys being praised around the city. They had left for a month to do training upstate with the military as part of their coming out to the world and the moment they got back it realized while they weren’t protecting the city at night the world had a need for them in the light.

Donatello now worked for the police tech center always upgrading their systems while Raphael and Mikey had on more then one occasion shadowed the swat team on dangerous jobs always the ones to go in first reducing fatalities in the departments officers but the biggest shock was when Leonardo had been contracted by the army to help train their special ops soldiers around the world

The last time she had seen the oldest turtle he had been standing in a camouflaged uniform customized to fit his larger body and around his shell perfectly and his swords on a special pack on the other side of a fence boarding a plane, he had waved to his family but couldn’t meet her eyes as she stood there stone faced not going to show how much it hurt to see him leaving but the moment she could move she ran for it so he wouldn’t see her heart breaking

This was a great opportunity for the leader and if she voiced her hatred of him leaving she knew he wouldn’t go even if she could see this was something he so wanted and after Mikey’s little break down over his oldest brother leaving and her pushing him to go she couldn’t just beg him not too – but he was leaving at the most important time in her life so far

She was graduating in a month then starting college something he had encouraged her to do

She walked across the stage without her family to see they were busy with the new life they had and had forgotten, a week later she had packed up her bags and left the city for the state university she had been accepted too almost laughing when six weeks later Donnie had called her in a panic upon realizing she was gone

They had been so consumed in their jobs she had went unnoticed until they had shown up to her place to find she was gone and her apartment was empty, on top of that with Leo leaving Splinter had named Raphael and Donnie the new leaders since he felt both of them were ready to stand in until Leonardo returned home

It was hard, she had no contact with the blue masked ninja of her own choice but it wasn’t like he had the time to call her but in her heart the woman knew if she saw him and couldn’t reach out to touch him it would have killed her, his job was important she could wait until he was back home, it was rare enough for the guys to hear from him why interrupt their time with her petty crush.

Afterwards she stayed busy and rarely left campus making her unavailable to them as well the few times they had offered to come see her scared the second she saw one of her friends she would break down

Of course they understood as their voicemails had repeatedly reminded her how could they not – she had watched her world walk away when she needed him, after a few months they hadn’t tried to call her, she called a few times once it got too much but all she got was voicemail and no call backs

Sleepless nights and extra classes, mountains of homework and projects she had wished Donnie could have helped her with, and a small coffee addiction that made her genius friends look like normal here she stood in line with the most uncomfortable high heels and a tight blue dress she had found that reminded her of his eyes

The class representative gave his speech that had the people there in tears from laughter looking out seeing the thousands of family’s that had come out to see their graduates walk but as her eyes searched the seats she had bought she was less them shocked to see all of them empty

Her family had disowned her the day they found out that not only was she friends with the turtles but in love with the oldest of the males, they threw her out of her family home and moved out of state like she was their biggest shame in the world but – she had thought just maybe her other family would have been there

She didn’t see Master Splinter, Raph, Don, or Mikey anywhere but she knew they had been sent invitations months early, oh but she could understand them not showing up they were busy, they had lives and jobs that from the outside looked like they were living it big, newspaper articles that decorated her walls and news stories she had recorded showed the guys were doing great beyond somebody like her they had to have forgotten her by now

If not she could just send them the video later

Time passed by slowly as her classmates were called one by one the crowd cheering for them so loudly the air was vibrating around them; finally she stood at the front listening as they listed off every achievement she had mastered top of her class with honors, several certificates and awards and a full nursing degree but as she started to walk across there were no cheers, nobody said a word giving her an uncomfortable silence she hadn’t had all day making her feel like the biggest failure

All those accomplishments and nobody to see it that cared

She was watching the ground her head held low as she got halfway before somebody whistled and whooped loudly followed by clapping

“Go Baby girl! We knew you could do it!”

Her eyes came up fast and landed on four figures standing next to the headmaster her breath leaving her as she looked at them seeing her family standing there looking so handsome and dressed up making her freeze tears welling up in her eyes moving forward fast hugging them in shock when they rushed her and again once she had her diploma laughing as Mikey kissed her head making the crowd clap as they egged others to show her some love

“Now I’d love to stop here and give this young lady just a moment longer because today her family is here to watch her get this diploma and I think we can see she worked hard for it, to be here at this moment with a full record and a job guarantee to any hospital she chooses but today we are saddened to see somebody is missing and we tried to call him on the video chat his brother brought but unfortunately he was un available to talk. You see her biggest supporter serves overseas and I’m sure if he was here today he would be just as proud of her as we all are!”

She was clinging to Splinter who kept telling her how proud he was of her giggling as she got several kisses and hugs from the guys as she tried to wipe away her tears before somebody started shouting and clapping over everyone with a whistle making her look up at the ‘That’s my girl!’ unsure what to think upon seeing a large figure coming down the aisle in a dress uniform walking so proudly towards the front holding a bouquet of roses taking off his hat showing in full leaf green skin and a blue mask moving forward as the crowd roared to life hearing the headmaster over the speakers

“Please put your hands together for returning Specialist Sargent Leonardo Hamato who had just made it home from completing his 40 month tour of duty across the world to see this graduation”

She stood there crying out sure she was dreaming when she felt Raph grab her before she could hit the ground sobbing “Oh my...” before anyone could help her she had pulled up her gown kicking her heels off right there jumping off the stage then bolted down the aisle towards him as fast as she could run “LEO!!!” he leaned down a little laughing as she jumped into his open arms feeling his grip tightening around her as she cried into his neck hugging him tightly repeating his name over and over as he held her

She had no idea how long they stayed like that but all too soon she pulled away wiping her face trying to stop the tears looking up as he chuckled handing the flowers to the young woman as he pulled her face up gently wiping away her tears whispering softly “You look so beautiful – I almost forgot just how much I loved your hugs” his words hadn’t even reached her as he cupped her cheeks leaning down kissing her deeply without any warning barely parting their lips “God I’m so sorry” the woman smiled shaking her head as she pulled him back returning the kiss to the leader with all the passion she had, her arms went around his neck as he pulled her against his chest kissing her like he had wished he had done before leaving. The way he had dreamed of for all those months of missing his beauty

Everything continued around them, his brothers were making cat calls and mocking them but she was too busy welcoming her soldier home for either of them to care

#tmnt 2014/2016 #tmnt leonardo #teenage mutant ninja turtles #female #army #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt mikey #family

155 notes · View notes

copper-wasp · 6 years ago

Text

Noctis Lucis Caelum x Reader: Kisses (Part 4/?)

From an ongoing series of short one-shots regarding kissing our favorite pretty boy quartet.

Also posted to AO3

Rated: T

Words: 2091

The water felt great on your feet as they dangled from the dock. You leaned back on your hands, closing your eyes to the fading sun as it began its descent below the horizon. It was warm on your cheeks, it’s light having brought out your freckles from basking in it all day. It was your last night here before you had to drive back to Insomnia and continue with your duties.

Gladio and Prom were huddled around the campfire, while Iggy and Iris prepped the s’mores. Noct was walking toward you, two bottles of beer in his hands. He handed one to you, having already removed the cap, and you clicked the bottle against his before taking a long sip.

“You look comfortable,” he commented, sitting cross legged next to you.

“I could probably stay here forever if you let me,” you replied, setting the bottle on the worn wood.

He chuckled, “I don’t think any of us can afford that luxury... but it is pretty nice out here, away from the city.”

“It is,” you agreed, running your finger over the condensation forming on the bottle.

“Hey, thanks for coming with us this weekend. I know the Marshal keeps you busy most of the time.”

You chuckled, taking another sip. “Yeah, he does, but honestly I wouldn’t have it any other way. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, after all.”

“Oh jeez, now you sound like Ignis.”

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked, cocking your head to the side as you looked at him.

“I can barely handle one Iggy. I think I’d die if there were two,” he replied with a laugh. “I’m sorry we haven’t had much time together, you know, to hang out,” he added, running a hand through his hair.

You pulled your feet out of the water, tucking your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around yourself. “It’s all right, I know how popular you are,” you replied, looking down at the surface of the water, watching the little ripples your feet left as they exited widen until they merged with the rest of the calm water.

You could see Noct looking at you in your periphery as he absentmindedly brought the bottle up to his lips.

“It’s not polite to stare, Highness,” you said sarcastically, turning to smirk at him. You thought he’d look away, but he kept his gaze on you, deep blues looking right into your eyes.

“What if I can’t help but stare at beautiful things?” he replied softly, moving himself incrementally closer to you. You opened and closed your mouth pathetically, trying to come up with some sort of comeback, a witty remark to deflect his attention elsewhere. He couldn’t know how you felt about him, could he? It was wholly inappropriate, a member of the Crownsguard lusting over the Prince, especially as you were three years older than him. But every time he’d look at you, or brush his fingers against yours when you handed him something, or smile and nod at you in passing, your stomach did a little backflip, always failing to stick the landing.

You thought about just sliding into the lake and letting yourself drown, but decided quickly that that may be a touch extreme (not to mention that you knew how to swim...). You were pulled out of your self-deprecation when you felt his fingertips ghost over your cheek; they were too soft and too warm, and now hurling yourself into the lake was looking even more tempting. His lips were centimeters away from yours when you heard Iris call out to you.

“Noct! Hey, [Y/N]! S’mores are ready for the fire!” she said, and you scrambled to your feet, power walking off of the pier and onto the soft grass. Luckily Iris has been standing too far away to see what had almost happened, and you breathed a guilty sigh of relief.

Listen, self. You cannot, and I repeat, cannot kiss the Prince; you can’t! Is that clear? you thought, claiming the empty seat between Gladio and Prom around the fire. You furrowed your brows, actively averting your gaze when Noctis rejoined the group.

“You okay?” Prompto asked, handing you a marshmallow already gored on a skewer.

“Fine, yeah. Just tired from all this doing nothing,” you remarked, grinning at him.

“Nothing is my favorite thing to do,” Gladio interjected, lowering his book to catch your eye. You chuckled at him, thrusting your marshmallow directly into the flames. The only acceptable way to roast a marshmallow was to make sure that baby was charred on the outside, making it gooey and delicious in the center.

Iggy, horror-struck at your treatment of the marshmallow, argued with you for a solid three minutes about how you were just burning it and there was no way it tasted better than his perfectly golden brown one, until Prom agreed with you, brandishing his own blackened ‘mallow before lovingly sandwiching it between the chocolate and graham crackers. Then Gladio agreed with Iggy and the whole thing started again. Iris wisely kept her opinion to herself, even when her brother tried to goad her into taking his side. Noct, on the other hand, wasn’t even bothering with the fire, literally just shoving marshmallows into his mouth ‘raw.’

Like a telepath, he managed to catch your eye every time your gaze meandered over to him, and you were glad that the orange glow of the fire was enough to camouflage your pinked cheeks.

After eating far too many s’mores, and unable to keep sitting there as if your body wasn’t screaming to be held by Noctis as he pressed kiss after kiss on your lips, you lamely excused yourself to the cabin to try to fall asleep.

After quieting your heart, you closed your eyes tight, eventually falling into a dreamless sleep.

It probably wasn’t the best idea to go to bed at 8:30 in the evening, as you fell out of sleep a couple hours later. Holding your wrist over your head, you saw the glow of the hands on your watch resting on 12:47. Groaning, you switched positions, then switched again, and once more for good measure before giving up and extracting yourself from the bed.

You crept to the front door as quietly as you could, only stubbing your toe once on the coffee table, cursing under your breath, before gently twisting the handle and stepping out into the night. Some of the daytime heat had dissipated, but it was still balmy and pleasant.

You wandered back over to the pier after grabbing a lantern from around the fire, sitting down on the edge and dipping your feet into the water once again. The moon was bright, casting a glow on the placid surface and you took a deep breath, still faintly smelling the burning wood from the campfire.

You leaned back on the dock, trying to find as comfortable a position as you could on the hard planks, your eyes darting around the night sky, playing connect the dots with the stars.

You heard soft footsteps from behind you on the pier, knowing immediately who it was.

“Good evening, Highness,” you said, sitting up, but not looking at him. “Or I guess I should say good morning?”

Noctis sat next to you, his shoulder bumping against yours as he tucked his legs underneath him. “You know you don’t have to call me that, right? My name is just fine,” he replied.

“I know, but I have to remind myself who you are,” you said softly, tilting your head back to look up at the sky once more.

“Is that why you practically ran away from me earlier?”

“Shit, you really get right to the point, don’t you?” you sighed, pulling your feet out of the water and shaking them to try to get as much liquid off as you could.

“That’s not exactly answering my question, [Y/N].”

You glanced over at him, the lantern illuminating his striking features. You could see his hair was a mess, though, sticking up even more than usual at odd angles. The Prince must not be a calm sleeper.

“Yes, Noctis,” you replied, voice heavy with annoyance, wanting to bail on this entire conversation. “You’re the goddamn Crown Prince. I cannot kiss the Crown Prince. I can’t. I just can’t, okay?” You ran a hand through your hair, hating that there were angry tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“There’s nothing stopping us....” he said quietly, trying to take your hand, but you pulled it away, a sardonic laugh escaping your lips.

“Except my job, and my age, and oh, you know, you being the Prince.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he said flatly, trying to get you to look at him. “I like you, I know you like me, why won’t you just let me kiss you?”

“Gods, Noct, of course I want that. I am always thinking about you... but we just can’t,” you said, your tone softening.

“I don’t care about what’s expected of me, okay?” he said, finally able to grab your flailing hand, quickly pressing your palm against his chest, right over his rapidly beating heart. “All I care about is how being around you makes me feel.”

You could feel your resolve crumbling. Your brain was frantically trying to mortar that brick wall back together, but your heart was a bulldozer.

“Noctis-“ you whispered, but were quickly silenced by his lips on yours. He brought his hands up to your cheeks, kissing you desperately, uncoordinated as he claimed your mouth with his. You slid the hand that was on his chest up to his neck, feeling his heartbeat even stronger there. Your other hand you hooked over his shoulder, bunching his shirt into your fist.

Once he felt your hands on him, he angled your head to press even closer to your lips, pouring every ounce of himself into it. Completely in sync, your tongues met, swirling around one another in tandem. You moaned softly into his mouth and he swallowed it, greedily drinking down all of your noises. He moved his hands to your waist, pulling you as closely to him as he could from your awkward sitting positions, lips not leaving yours for a single second.

You draped your arms around his neck, pulling back to suck in a breath before finding his lips again. You kissed for an embarrassingly long time, and when you parted, you were lightheaded and completely out of breath from his sweet oral torture.

“Oh, Noct,” you breathed, still as close to him as you could be. “Now I’m never going to be able to fall back asleep,” you finished, laughing softly.

You felt him caress his hands up your back, a shiver shooting down your spine. “Well, we’ve got this whole lake to ourselves... wanna go skinny dipping?”

You grinned, pressing a soft kiss to his soft lips. “That’s very inappropriate to be asking your bodyguard, Highness,” you teased, emphasizing the last word as you untangled yourself from his grasp. Standing up and facing away, you grabbed at the hem of your tank top, pulling it up and over your head in one fluid motion, exposing your naked back to him. You heard him choke on his spit, coughing a few times to try to clear his throat. Next went your shorts and underwear, pushed swiftly down over your hips, giving Noctis the full, unobstructed view of your backside. You stepped out of them, hearing him curse, followed by some scrabbling as he rushed to stand.

Looking at him over your shoulder, you saw him half way through tearing off his own shirt, his lithe, muscled stomach accented by the moonlight.

You elegantly dove into the water, squealing a little when you broke the surface, the temperature being a little colder than you expected. You looked back up at the pier, getting just a little glimpse of Noct’s naked form before he joined you, his cannonball splashing some water on your face.

He surfaced and immediately swam over to you, his hands finding your waist under the water. He pulled you close, humming satisfactorily as your breasts came into contact with his chest. He claimed your mouth in another intense kiss, feeling like his hands were touching and caressing every inch of your skin.

You brushed his dripping hair back off his forehead, kissing his temple as he held you in his embrace, both of your feet kicking to keep you above water.

Thank you for reading!!

Find me on:

AO3: copper_wasp

Twitter: copper_wasp_

#ffxv #noctis #noctis lucis caelum #noctis x reader #kissing #kisses #ffxv noctis #final fantasy xv

36 notes · View notes

thefine9diary · 5 years ago

Text

Peacock and the Beast

Once upon a time, there was a young fella who just entered adulthood and is eager to finally explore the world on his own. He was entering the most fruitful time of his life, eager to taste the bittersweet flavours of romance that he had heard much about but was forbidden to experience being raised in an all-boys school. He was groomed to be honourable, to be righteous and to be a gentlemen. He dreamt of himself being the knight in shining armour, destined to meet his beautiful and kind princess by rescuing her from the darkness and riding into a bright future.

Often times in this world, the most beautiful beings are also the most deceptive. In nature, poisonous creatures such as caterpillars, snakes and jellyfish use bright colours to attract their preys. This is a proven law in this world, just look at the three prime colours, they create countless beautiful shades, but when mixed together, their true nature is revealed - black. Unfortunately the young men fell into the same trap when he met the first girl that came into his life. He has never met a girl this pretty before having grown up in a boys school and was blinded by her bright colours. He pursued her with sincerity and generosity and finally she belonged to him. Things were good at first and they planned a life happily ever after. He was a giver and built his happiness on her, he took care of her needs and showered her with care. She was appreciative at first but as time passed by, she became accustomed to the pampering and her true colour as a taker came to light.

She took advantage of his giving nature and took him for granted. She was unappreciative of him, he thought it was his problem and tried even harder to please her and found himself in a vicious cycle. Eventually he just became part of the household, like a piece of furniture, a carpet that initially received admiration for its comfort, provided warmth for the feet, but always stepped on and slowly forgotten. Until one day she decided to replace the carpet with new tiles, because warmth was boring for her and the new tiles were flashy, the cool sensations on the feet were too exhilarating to resist.

He was left with a void, his fair lady had became an evil fairy haunting him from his past, leaving him with a curse that he would never be the charming, honourable and giving knight he once was. Instead he became the Beast, one that lives in the dark and is ugly on the inside so no princess deserving of his love would ever come near him. His greatest fear is that he would die alone, knowing that the only way to avoid this is by finding the princess who would love him for who he is now so that he could return to his original form.

Despite the impossible odds against him, the Beast was not a quitter and with wills of iron, he was determined to break the curse. Fortunately for him, he did have one strength that could help him win the princess that would bring him back to his original nature, and that was - he is extremely leng jai...... Okay all jokes aside, it was because he had mastered the skills as a hunter. He was able to assess his surroundings like reflex, he could smell and see through body signals instinctively to identify vulnerable targets, he knew exactly how to make an approach without alarming the prey, he practised the art of seduction to lure his targets in, and he was fearless in going for the kill at the end. He was convinced that with these skills, he could win over a princess and not have to be alone for the rest of his life.

He started his quest to hunt down his princess in the crazy city where the fallen have gathered to party in the dark. Soon he found himself in a mix of different beasts in the hunting ground. There were scavengers who were the lowest of them all and would eat whatever is left, devouring the dead corpses that no self-respectful being would eat. There were foxes that would con and cheat the gullible young girls like rabbits into their schemes. There were fishers who would throw a bait out, often flaunting their wealth and attracting gold diggers with brain sizes comparable to a gold fish. We see a lot of fishers here, claiming to be hunters but not realising without the bait, they are nothing more than a stick. There were wolves that would hunt in packs which are admirable to outsiders because of the comradery until you realised they also share the easy girl who was weak like a sheep and they are in fact just dogs when outside of the pack. There were also monkeys who picks the low hanging fruit and brags to be a hunter, but just as fruits will never make it on the dining table, these girls are bland and will never satisfy a real beast’s appetite.

The Beast hunted alone as he had no interest in scavenging, conning, fishing nor fruit picking, he would never share his treasured princess with anyone too. He had success from the beginning, he would glance and scout the bar to find an attractive woman that interests him at first sight and move into her proximity to make his presence known. Keeping his eyes fixed on the target, he would wait for her to catch eye contact with him and reply with a smirk and her reaction would indicate her approachability. The approach is probably the most critical part of the hunt, the most ferocious predators always come prepared and approach with caution, take the cheetah for example, he would crouch and hide behind the grass, using his mesmerising spots as camouflage while getting into the optimal position and angle to charge, mount and penetrate with his sharp fangs. The Beast did exactly the same, he has practiced and overcame hundreds of objections without flaw, he has learned to hide his true intentions without lying, he has mastered the art of camouflaging with different identities and could direct interactions into exactly where he wanted. All that is left is to mount and penetrate.

He did this for years, mounting and penetrating numerous beauties but was no where closer in finding his princess. All the so called beauties were in fact takers who had no interest to know him for who he really was. They wanted what he represented - the flirtatious courting, the unknown anticipation, and the lustful ecstasy. Eventually he became numb and desensitised, becoming part of the darkness that surrounds him and began to embrace himself as a beast. Soon he was hunting not in the hopes of finding his princess, but purely for the ego and satisfaction of conquering the forest. The beauties were nothing more than supper to him now, their faces became vague and names forgotten.

Until one Friday night when the beast was once again out hunting alone. From afar he spotted a beautiful girl with the most confident radiance walking through the crowd towards him, she was of medium stature with feminine curves, she was well-covered in subtle yet eye-drawing outfit as the fabric hugs her body lightly, accentuating her perfect silhouette in the dark. Lucky for him her journey ended at the bar counter right next to him, her skin was perfect with luscious tone, her features were delicate with a perfectly straight nose, eyes that touched the soul and lips that were full and firm, all of these were arranged in the golden ratio on her oval-shaped face. He would typically have made a move at the sight of such attractive being but hesitated as there was something unique about her, she was in a socially open place with her friends yet she was comfortable in her own world, looking calmly and confidently ahead without any signs of insecurity. That signalled to him that any trespassers trying to intrude her world would not be welcomed.

He could see the animals drooling over her and one by one starting to make their way towards this precious creature and hoping to try their luck. One hungry fox got there first and tapped her shoulder from the side, she rolled her eyes to see him with her peripheral without turning her head and ignored him, he leaned towards her head and said his first words but she looked away as if he didn’t exist and had him leaving with discouragement. Then the bold eagle arrived at the sight of her drunk friend, he pecked and tried to get a reaction from them but was swooped away by her hand in his face insulting him with disrespect. The Beast knew they were doomed to fail and was trying to figure her out but realised he had to make a move soon before she gets fed up by all the other animals trying their luck.

He took a risk knowing he may well end up rejected like the rest of them. He leaned in along the counter so his face is in front of her and she could not avoid eye contact. He pointed to her drunk friend and asked jokingly “why are you sober?” She looked into his eyes with a slight pause and replied “Cause I am a peacock.” It was an unheard of expression that also made immediate sense for him, she was elegant, gorgeous and unwavering in her confidence. Knowing exactly what she meant, the Beast still asked her to clarify whether she calls herself a peacock because she was ready for mating in order to direct the conversation to where he wanted - about sex. She saw right through his intentions and answered with a simple no followed by a fierce statement that she does not want to talk unless he drinks 4 shots. The Beast knew she was out of his league and she was toying him so he left without any loss of enthusiasm in search of his next target.

They parted ways but the Beast always remembered the beautiful peacock at the back of his head. She was a creature that belonged on the bright heavenly skies, destined to fly freely with the birds, unreachable by the predators that pollutes the land. But she chose to come on the ground into the darkness, perhaps forced by a similar reason as the Beast, that she believed in the bright side but it had let her down. It was out of choice that she walks on the dark side, to revenge and instil fear on the unworthy beings with her seductive yet destructive strides.

And this, is how it all started...

1 note · View note

writing-royza · 6 years ago

Text

Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul: Chapter Twenty-three - Just a Name on the List

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! I hope you all enjoyed last week's big reveal. A big shoutout to Fanfiction.net reader fallenangel7583, who was posting her theories in the reviews, and managed to figure it out a few months ago! Congratulations, honey, I'm super proud of you! Clearly I need to make things more difficult ;) Enjoy this week's chapter, folks!

I do not own FMA.

Chapter Twenty-three - Just a Name on the List

UNINHABITED ZONE, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

0322 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

She moved carefully in the deepest of the shadows, approaching the inhabited areas of the city for the second time that night. Kimblee was some four hundred metres away to her right, on his own hunt, and she would rather he not know she had followed him. He had wanted to hunt, and while Riza did not particularly care if he did or did not feed on the unsuspecting population… she also knew that his usual method of attack mean the prey never got back up again.

And if similar murders to those in Central and East City happened here, the military was bound to get themselves involved. More people watching, more people combing the city for her and Kimblee… more chances of being caught.

So she trailed him from a great enough distance, keeping a tight leash on her thoughts so that he wouldn't clue in to the fact she had not, in fact, stayed at the inn hideaway. She would know from the uptick in his own openly broadcasted thoughts when or if he found prey, and would hurry to stop him from killing outright, if she could. It was all about sustainability: sustainable food sourcing and sustainable secrecy.

Coming to the edge of the inhabited area, she took to the roofs once again, traversing them with the same light, carefree footing as a cat. The augmented strength in her legs allowed her to jump from one to the next in leaps that thrilled her heart, her brain growing giddy on the adrenaline —

No. Focus. She checked Kimblee's mental state, found him already in the quiet, anticipatory mental space that signalled he was stalking prey. Gritting her teeth, Riza turned her steps in that direction, weaving between stone chimneys and traversing the traditionally flat-topped roofs with quickening speed. She clamped down harder on her own mental broadcasting, imagining her thoughts kept hidden under a camouflaged dome as she picked up her pace ever farther.

The stucco, brick, and stone under her bare feet held no vestiges of warmth from the day's sun, though she barely felt the nighttime chill as she ran. Sand and grit whirled in her wake, kicked up by her passage.

She came upon him in an alley so dark that it was nearly pitch-black, just as he was dragging the stunned body of a young woman from the revealing torchlight in the street. She struggled feebly, small distressed noises issuing from her throat despite the hand clamped across her mouth.

Riza let her mental walls drop, evidencing her anger and distaste for what Kimblee was up to. He froze instantly, his head jerking up, but it was too late. Her feet hit the ground in front of the would-be victim, the two of them glaring at each other over the prostrate body between them.

"Lieutenant, do you mind?" he asked in vague annoyance. "I'm in the middle of dinner, and it's rather rude to interrupt someone at mealtime."

"I'm not stopping you," she pointed out, drawing herself up to her full height. "I'm supervising. I'd like to make sure she goes home when you're done, instead of adding another murder charge to the ones you've accumulated already."

His teeth glittered against the dark backdrop behind him as he grinned. "Is that all? You wouldn't perhaps like to… share? One drink, two straws, so to speak?"

The look she gave him was pure disdain. "I'm perfectly capable of hunting for myself, thank you. Without creating more competition or leaving bodies lying around afterward."

Kimblee scowled. "Competition? What are you talking about?"

Riza's smile was practically acidic. No teeth showed, but her eyes glared daggers as she spoke. "The bite of a vampire is what starts the transformation, although it's very slow. The morning after you bit me for the first time, I began noticing changes, although I passed it off as still recovering from my wounds on the Promised Day."

She slid forward a few steps, standing over the girl on the ground. Her eyes were open, still slightly glassy-looking — no doubt from Kimblee's mental influence — but more coherent than they had been a moment ago. Riza spared her one glance, but no more. "Every other person you've hunted, you've killed when you fed on them. That's lucky, since if you had just bit and sucked the blood, leaving them alive, they would have slowly been turned until they were — after several weeks, I'm guessing — a fully-fledged vampire. Or as close as you can get without drinking your blood in return."

"Creating competition," he said slowly, her point dawning on him. "For food sources, for territory…." His eyes quickly traced her form, but not quickly enough to escape her notice. "For mates…. And how do you suggest we prevent this then? How do we feed without biting?" His quick smile returned, his eyes flicking slyly to the woman at their feet. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a new sister?"

"Very sure," she shot back, crouching low over the woman's hips. "As for not biting… I can show you."

The woman began to struggle again as Riza's hand fisted in the front of her dress, pulling her partially into a sitting position. Riza smiled sweetly, her free hand gently stroking the other's cheek as she sent forward soothing thoughts, willing the fear away. She exuded reassurance, like a parent calming a child after a nightmare… and watched as the terror leached out of the woman's eyes, her tense muscles relaxing.

The soft strokes moved from her cheek to trail down her neck… and when the woman didn't react, Riza pressed her thumbnail into the skin, drawing down to open a cut. The only reaction was a soft gasp that quickly subsided until Riza's mental touch, and blood pooled quickly on the skin.

She looked up. "And there you have it. With our strength, puncturing the skin with just a fingernail is no great feat, and as long as you don't start licking like a dog, she'll remain fully human. Perhaps it's not quite as dramatic as what you were intending, but it's better than creating a whole passel of other vampires to contend with."

Settled cross-legged on the ground, Kimblee pulled the body of the bleeding woman toward him. "Very innovative. And how many have you hunted this way?"

The hunger twisted in her stomach at the sight and smell of the blood, and she averted her eyes in the pretense of looking out for witnesses. "None. I've been a little busy since I turned fully, and haven't exactly had time to hunt."

He tsked, lifting his mouth from the still-oozing cut. "That's not healthy, my dear, you need to keep up your strength. Skipping meals is never a good idea, whether human or vampire." He shook his head in reproach. "Honestly, you'll make yourself ill if you don't eat properly."

Annoyed, she pushed to her feet, turning toward the alley exit. "I make myself ill just being around you," she fired back. "Make sure you don't kill her; we'd have the population down on our heads faster than we could blink, and even we can't fight back if the numbers are overwhelming."

She didn't hear his response as she turned the corner onto the deserted street and bolted off into the night. Her teeth gritted. Of all the men to be turned into a vampire and fixate on me… it had to be him. She had never liked Kimblee even before it was made abundantly obvious that he was mentally unstable. He was arrogant, he was rude, he was utterly deaf to the feelings of those around him—

Her stomach twisted again, hurting a little this time with hunger pangs, and Riza grimaced. Unfortunately for her, this time, he was also right. She needed to find some form of sustenance.

What little information Scar and Miles had managed to impart to them on the day's travel between the welcoming party's interception and arriving in Jadad had said that the inhabited parts of the city were divided according to family demographic. Families in one area, single women in another, single men in yet another…. Now if she could simply remember where each section was….

The market where she had stolen her abaya was more or less in the centre of the three housing districts, and she would have passed over the family dwellings to get to it. From there… if she remembered correctly, the single women were placed in homes to the north, and single men were placed to the south. Travelling west as she was, she turned to her left, angling off through the streets and allowing the shadows to swallow her.

INHABITED ZONE, CITY OF JADAD, ISHVAL

0413 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

He was mildly surprised that he had managed to any sleep at all, and that the five hours he had gotten hadn't been fitful or interrupted by dreams. Roy supposed he ought to feel grateful for that much… but right now, he couldn't bring himself to feel much more than just tired.

The small single-family house he had been directed to for the duration of the trip was dark and quiet as he moved from his bedroom to the small bathroom. It was quiet outside as well; it was even too early for the city's merchants, bakers, and craftspeople to be up and preparing for their day.

Two minutes later, standing at the sink, Roy watched the water flow over his hands and debated the usefulness of trying to go back to bed. He doubted he would sleep more; his mind was already too hard at work. And if he wouldn't sleep, he was liable just to lie there and worry about Riza.

He dried his hands, and returned to the bedroom, but it was to turn on the light and reach for his clothes. If he were awake anyway, he might as well do something useful and try to get some work done. There wasn't much else he could do, he reasoned, pulling the tunic over his head and belting it at the waist with the traditional Ishvalan sash.

Riza was out of his reach, at least for now. Miles and Scar wouldn't be up and about for a couple of hours yet, along with the rest of the city. He was on his own for the time being, but that didn't mean he had to be idle.

The sound of the kettle beginning to boil in the kitchen as he leaned against the counter next to a waiting mug was welcome and familiar. Something that hearkened to early mornings on better days. He smiled, picturing Riza leafing briefly through the East City Times as she waited for the water to heat for her morning tea. Her hair falling around her face in a sleek blonde curtain, his shirt covering her to her hips, her bare feet padding across the floorboards to the stove….

He shook his head to clear the images, dragging himself back to the present to the strident whistle of the kettle. He lifted it from the burner and switched it off, before pouring the hot liquid into the mug, watching the teabag bob to the surface.

He had never been much for tea before Riza started as his assistant. After that, he had seen her drink a cup of the stuff every morning until he had finally been curious enough to explore the drink himself. She had taught him to like it, and in the six-month separation before the Promised Day, he had almost given up coffee in favour of it, to feel even slightly closer to her.

Now, she was gone again and he was here, drinking tea without her.

He opened the front door of the little house into the cool, predawn darkness, thinking that it might be relaxing just to sit outside and watched city wake up. Before he was two steps out, however, his stomach gurgled insistently. Apparently, breakfast was on the agenda as well.

Setting the mug of tea on a small bench to one side of the door, Roy returned inside. He retrieved a pair of flat, rectangular biscuits from a box Miles had pointed out to him on the counter. The Ishvalan label was indecipherable to him, but the Major had said they were some kind of breakfast treat – mildly sweet, some kind of oat, dried fruit, and honey mixture that most Ishvalans went crazy for. Either way, it was likely they went well with tea.

When he returned outside, however, the mug of tea was gone.

Roy stood very still, staring at the spot where he was positive he had left the cup. It wasn't on the ground, he hadn't taken it with him back inside, so where….

"Oh dammit, it's you."

His head snapped back as he looked to the roof, eyes widening. Sitting perched on the edge, the mug of tea cradled in both hands, was Riza. Her face was set in a mixture of mild surprise and strong annoyance, glaring at him over the rim of the cup. "I thought," she said frostily, "that you were some early-rising dad coming outside to avoid waking the kiddos and your wife…. Easy prey, and not very common at this hour. But I suppose I was wrong."

It's all right; she can't attack you as long as you have — A cold chill gripped his spine as he realized that he had left the protective charm pouch in his bedroom. Unused to wearing it, he had forgotten about it completely… and was now wide open. Forcing himself to keep his cool, he broke a piece from one biscuit and bit into it. "Sorry to disappoint you. Out for breakfast, are you?"

"More like dinnertime for me," she corrected, almost languidly. "And no…If I were hunting now, it would qualify more like dessert. I've already had my main course, so to speak."

Roy felt the colour drain out of his face. "I see. Would you mind telling me where, so that some innocent civilian doesn't stumble across the crime scene and scare themselves half to death?"

She laughed, a genuinely merry sound that still managed to raise hairs on the back of his neck. "You're thinking of K —" She seemed to stop herself, losing her humour almost instantly. "…of my sire's method of hunting," she continued after a brief hesitation. "Personally, I try not to kill my victims, or to spread vampirism around by biting indiscriminately. And I've made sure that he is willing to do the same."

"That's a bit like closing the barn door once the horse escapes, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it benefits us as well as you." She took an appreciative sip from the mug. "Mmm. Very nice. Really cleanses the palate. Anyway, as long as we don't create new vampires and don't go about murdering people for their blood, I really think we can learn to coexist. Maybe a couple people get snacked on each night, but I would think most people would rather that than an all-out murder spree, don't you?"

He gritted his teeth at the insolence in her tone. "Somehow, I don't think everyone will be dancing in the streets at that proposition."

"Well, no, of course not. But it's got to be better than the alternative. That's my whole point."

They were both quiet for a moment, listening to the lack of city sound all around them, before Roy swallowed his latest bite of breakfast biscuit. "Sounded like you almost gave a name to your… your 'sire,' you said? Why the anonymity?"

She looked down at him from her perch for a moment before taking a nonchalant last sip from the cup. "Because I figure that if he wants you to know who he is, he'll reveal himself to you in time. It's not really my place to do so." She tossed her hair back over one shoulder. "Suffice it to say that he's no friend of yours: never has been, probably never will. And maybe that's for the best."

She dropped to the ground, setting the empty cup on the bench. "Thanks for the drink. See you around, fire boy."

"Hold on a second." Just as passed him, Roy reached out and caught her by the arm. The fabric of the sleeve was cool under his palm, her muscles shifting minutely as she tensed and turned to glare at him. "What really brought you here? Were you looking for me specifically?"

The glare softened somewhat, though she threw a distrustful glance at his hand on her arm. "No, what I told you was true. I was on my way back to my little hideaway, saw a lone man out by himself and thought he might be easy prey for a light snack. You're just lucky enough it was you." She tugged gently. "You can let go of me now."

"…I see." His eyes went to the white linen as he let go and she took a step back. "Nice dress."

Riza beamed, purple eyes smiling up at him from under blonde lashes. "You think so? I needed something a little more me than that plain brown thing, so I thought I'd treat myself. Not a bad choice, as it turns out." Her smile turned sly, showing teeth. "But I bet you'd still like what's under it even more."

Not much made Roy Mustang blush, but the look of pure lasciviousness in those strange purple eyes certainly did. He took a step back, distancing himself, careful to keep his tone cool and unaffected. "The face is right, but the mind isn't," he shot back. "Call me when it's the real Riza at the reins, not you."

She stood hipshot, her arms folded as she watched him with an amused expression. "Oh, come on. You're really that much of a purist that you can't even allow yourself one little indulgence? Do you think it'd be cheating, somehow?" Her grin broadened. "Same body, same hair, same lips, same… everything. Well, maybe except the eyes, but that's straying toward semantics." She shrugged, trailing a step toward him. "But other than that, aside from acting a little differently… can't you just accept that this is still essentially the pretty little lady that gets you all hot and bothered?"

"The body is only part of it," he answered, trying to ignore the heat gathering on the back of his neck at the sound of her voice, the lithe movements, the teasing lift of those familiar lips…. "The rest is a person's soul and spirit, and yours isn't Riza. You told me yourself that you're suppressing hers."

The strange creature with Riza's face drew another step closer, and when he went to retreat, he found himself literally backed against the wall of the house. Long, cool fingers stroked his cheek, her index coming to rest on his lips. "Don't be silly," she chided gently, drawing close to press lightly against him. "You're putting far too much thought into this. It's just sex, fire boy, nothing terribly new to you." Her free hand trailed low, over the front of the loose desert pants; her teeth showed at what she found there. "You can't tell me you're not at least a little bit interested."

If blushing was rare, physical violence toward a woman was unheard of… yet it didn't stop him from planting a hand on either of her shoulders and shoving hard. The vampiress, caught off-guard, staggered backward several steps and was lucky enough not to trip on the hem of her white dress.

"Seems to me that there's one of your own kind you could get that kind of attention from," he pointed out, though he hated the words the moment he said them. He knew it wasn't Riza, but to encourage the thing in her body to go after another man… well, not a man exactly, but another male….

"He and I don't exactly see eye to eye," she scoffed. "Riza never liked him, and strong dislike like that tends to bleed through the barrier between personalities… and the only reason he wants her is to hurt you." She paused, eyeing him thoughtfully. "Although… perhaps it would be a fitting punishment for turning me down. Maybe I will let him have a little fun."

That same cold chill returned, this time grasping his stomach in icy fingers. What had he just done. "Wait a minute… you said that this guy… none of us ever liked each other, and yet he's using her to hurt me." Those amethyst eyes turned unreadable, and he had the sense she felt she had given too much away. "You almost said his name before, but cut yourself off after one letter. You won't tell me, but what if I guess?"

She shrugged, the motion too nonchalant to be genuine uncaring. "So what if you do?"

Roy gritted his teeth. "King Bradley?"

For a long moment, she was very still, still watching him closely. "That's a nice little bit of deduction," she commented at last.

"Only if I'm right. Am I?"

Another shrug. "Maybe you are and maybe you aren't," she answered cryptically. Glancing skyward, she turned to head north along the deserted street. "We may have to continue this another time. The sun will be coming up before long, and I'd like to be safely indoors by then." She tossed a finger-wave over her shoulder. "Have a nice day, Colonel."

"Hey, hang on a —"

But the words were left echoing around the street as she bolted at terrific speed off into the shadows, veering sharply down a sidestreet and out of sight. Roy sank to a seat on the little bench against the wall, dropping his head into one hand as belated nervous shivers ran the length of his spine and back again.

She wasn't alone anymore. And her new partner in crime — whether it was Bradley or not — was every bit as deadly as she was.

RECONSTRUCTION OUTPOST OFFICE

0523 HOURS, APRIL 24TH

Roy had to pound on the locked door of the outpost office for nearly three minutes before Miles finally opened. The usually put-together Major was, for once, disheveled by sleep and still blinking the last vestiges of it from his eyes. Belting a robe around his waist and shaking his long, loose white hair back behind his shoulders, he frowned at the tense man on the doorstep.

"Colonel? What —"

"Don't ask questions, just let me in." The tone of his voice left no room for argument. Miles stepped back immediately, his soldier's training temporarily overriding his fatigue. Once through the door, Roy nudged him aside, turning to firmly shut and re-bolt it.

Any trace of tiredness was rapidly vanishing. "Sir, I know you said no questions, but what the he** is going on?"

"I had a visit from our mutual friend. Less than an hour ago." He turned, running a hand back through his hair in agitation. "It might be a bit early, but have you got any of that liquor from the other night?" His grin was lopsided but strengthless. "I need something to take the shake out of my legs."

"Sure." Starting for the stairs, Miles pointed to the paper-littered desk. "The bottle is in there. I'm going to grab some clothes, and send someone to get Scar. He'll want to hear about this as well."

Roy had the desk drawer open by the time Miles' footsteps reach the second floor. The bottle was just over halfway full, the clear liquid sloshing up the sides and making a tinkling sound where it hit the cap. Roy settled his fingers on it to open it… and froze. He could hear Riza's voice — her actual voice, not the sultry, dangerous tones of the thing in her body — admonishing him.

Really, sir? Don't you think that an alcohol chaser for breakfast sends the wrong message? His conscience yet again, in reality, not just as her own joke.

He lowered the bottle, watching the room's dim lighting reflecting off the shifting liquor. He had thought that he had left this particular urge behind during the long lead-up to the Promised Day: the urge to try and quite literally drown his sorrows. Oddly enough, it had been his own mother, his regular supplier of professionally served alcohol, that had pointed out the flaw in that logic.

Alcohol kills your brain cells, boy. And if you're going to figure your way out of this situation, you haven't got many you can lose. That grim stare and red-painted lips hovered in his memory, along with the wagging finger of reproach.

"’If there's a drink in your glass, you'd better pray it's water,’" he muttered to himself as footsteps sounded again from the stairs. A young warrior priest — one of the guards from the yantir, Roy recognized — bolted down two steps at a time and out the front door in seconds, Miles returning only a moment later, still tying the sash of his tunic. Red eyes glanced at the bottle still in Roy's hand.

"Feeling better, sir?"

"Actually, I think I'll take a raincheck on that drink. Save it for celebration when we get the upper hand in this whole mess." He dropped the bottle back into the drawer and shut it firmly. "That was your messenger?"

Miles nodded. "The two of us — you and I — have each been assigned a guard until we sort this all out. Yours was told to remain as unobtrusive as possible, so he was staying in the vacant house behind yours." He frowned. "Though I wonder how it was that he missed the Lieutenant's so-called visit."

"We would have been on the opposite side of the house, and probably out of his view," Roy answered. "How long until Scar gets here, do you think?"

"It shouldn't be long. Ten minutes, maybe."

True to his word, when the door opened ten minutes later, it was Scar who entered followed by the guard-messenger. He dismissed the younger man with a nod, moving to the small dining area where Roy and Miles waited at the typically low Ishvalan-style table. Each held a fresh cup of tea, with a third waiting for the large man.

"I was of the opinion that most Amestrians, even soldiers, don't generally start the day until at least six," he commented dryly, setting himself at his place.

"Personally, it's usually five or five-thirty for me, though there's not a lot I wouldn't give for six." The wry humour helped to ease Roy's tension somewhat, but a good percentage of it still remained, nestled in a knot between his shoulder blades. "I appreciate you coming so quickly."

"There was very good reason." Lifting his cup, Scar watched him over the rim. "What happened?"

Taking a deep breath, Roy wrapped both hands around his own cup, welcoming the warmth. "I couldn't sleep, so I got up, thinking I would take my breakfast outside, in the fresh air, where I could try to relax and think about the kind of work that has to be done here. Both with the Hawkeye situation and the reconstruction. I went back inside for something and when I came back out, she was waiting for me."

Miles frowned. "Was she… well, did she try to…." Clearly not sure what words to use, he simply pointed to his neck.

"No… though she mentioned she had already been out… the term she used was hunting. From the sounds of it, she'd… fed."

Scar lowered his cup, outwardly calm but the instant alertness showing in his eyes. "Meaning that somewhere out there is another victim. Like the others in Central and East City?"

Roy shook his head quickly. "No, no, I had the same thought, believe me. She assured me that she has no interest in hunting the way the killer does, that she had found a way to… to make it less destructive for the victim. To even keep them from being turned as she was." He raised his hands as both men opened their mouths at the same time. "Don't ask me how; she didn't go that far into specifics.

She also confirmed that the vampire who turned her — she called him a 'sire' — arrived last night, and that she thought she had probably convinced him to stop ripping his victims apart in favour of her method." He grimaced. "That's the good news. The bad news is that he is indeed here and we now have him to contend with as well."

Taking a contemplative sip, Miles spoke up. "I don't suppose she gave this sire a name? Whether or not it's the same as he had in life, it would at least give us something to call him."

"Well… yes and no." Roy began slowly spinning the cup on the table, watching the way the movement rippled the liquid inside. "She started to say his name, and then thought better of it. All I got was a letter that sounded like 'kuh.' Like a K or a hard C." He gave each of them a significant look. "She also told me that this guy knows us, has never liked us, and we've never liked them." A shrug. "I've made my fair share of enemies, but very few of them have names that start with a sound like that."

"Did you venture a guess?" Scar asked, his face and voice deceptively calm.

"Yeah. King Bradley." He shook his head. "She wouldn't confirm or deny, though. She had already said too much."

"Hmm." The big man was silent a moment, contemplating, then said, "It may not be Bradley."

They waited, but he did not elaborate, merely alternating between sipping at his tea and staring into the depths of the cup. Finally, Miles pressed, "And why do you say that?"

"The Colonel asked Lieutenant Hawkeye if this new persona was that of a Homonculus," Scar pointed out. "She was insulted by the idea; called them 'freaks.'" The broad shoulders lifted and fell in an expressive shrug. "If her sire were King Bradley, he would not harbour the same hatred. Hatred that it is fair to assume she inherited from her sire."

Roy nodded slowly as it sank in. "If Bradley were the sire, he would have pride in this new form, but no animosity for what he was before. Same for if it were any other Homonculus, which means we're looking in a completely different direction."

Miles gave a half-felt smile. "Just how long is that list of enemies, Colonel?"

"A month ago? Too long. Now, the majority of them are gone, thanks to the Promised Day." Roy sat back, bracing himself on both hands. "The Homonculi, their Father, the Command Council, that doctor that was working for them —" He stopped, one thought occurring with a weight that settled, heavy and dark, in his chest.

"…Somebody that knows Hawkeye and myself," he repeated slowly. "Somebody that never liked either of us, somebody that we never liked… somebody that would be just fine with using her to get to me…."

He saw the light of recognition dawn in both their faces at the same time. A man they both knew as well; a man they had every reason to hate just as much as he did. It was Miles that voiced the name.

"Fucking Kimblee."

#fma #fmab #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #royza #royai #fma fanfiction #royai fanfiction #tainted blood

4 notes · View notes

amitds · 6 years ago

Text

Sirocco: Hidden beneath The Sand

Summary: Months have passed since Sasuke and Sakura escaped Pein and the other vampires sent by the Uchiha and now the two are enjoying their time together in Suna, ‘The Desert City’, while on the run. Unbeknownst to the couple, though, new enemies lurk, hidden in the sand.

Notes: I decided to follow up my ‘Cloaks’ fic from ss month 2018 (day 21) with a sequel. Suna is supposed to be like Las Vegas but with more desert sand lying around and less strippers lol. Um it’s supposed to be SS but I feel like half way through it reads like a full on story and not only ‘shippy’. I guess it’s because I actually thought of continuing Cloaks and even continuing this with a part 3 (fingers crossed).

“Morning,” Sakura mumbled as she awoke, her head resting gently on Sasuke’s bare chest.

Months have passed since Sakura and Sasuke ran off escaping Madara and his Akatsuki and now, as residents of Suna, the couple usually started off every day like this. Lying and holding Sasuke in her arms while in their new home; this extravagant, beautifully, embellished apartment, Sakura could sense a tear moistening her eye ready to spill out. Such was the sensation of peace and contentment that resided within her now. As Suna’s vivid sunlight filtered through her fine wine- coloured silken curtains, its rays dyed the red of blood, Sakura could only think of Sasuke and this life he was building for them both. Sakura was his princess. This Sasuke ensured.

“Aa Sakura” he returned, still shaking the sleep from himself with his fingers gently brushing the creamy skin of her bare back as his other hand reached for her forehead.

“Tap.”

“Anata..” Sakura gushed, her cheeks kissed red like rose bloom. Sakura felt a special, ethereal bliss every time Sasuke tapped her forehead. Even now, months after eloping and after a night of sweet passion, Sasuke’s little gesture warmed her heart. It was their gesture and it was sacred to them. This man loved her and would do anything for her. She could feel it. This is what she knew and such was the euphoria of their life, their new life as husband and wife.

“We really should wake up now, Sakura.”

As much as he dreaded ending this moment Sasuke remembered that he promised her some semblance of a honeymoon and some fun while here. Sasuke had to deliver on his promise. The temptation of spending the rest of the day held up in this russet, mahogany poster bed hidden behind drapes of silk while he held, touched, kissed and made love to his wife was almost too much for the young man to bear. Sasuke, however, knew better.

Sakura was now his wife and for the first time in his centuries- long life Sasuke Uchiha felt the intensity and delicious furor of love. The loneliness and yearning for love and companionship that controlled him for countless years as a noble of the Uchiha Clan was extinguished and now replaced by a blaze of pure ecstasy; Sakura Haruno’s love and friendship. Sasuke was resolute in his vow to protect her and ensure that their eternal life together would be worth every minute.

“Hmm not yet..” Sakura giggled as she turned, her light green eyes meeting his own of pure obsidian. The young witch then lavished her husband with sweet kisses as she pulled over the crimson silk sheets, ready for part two of what transpired the night before. Sasuke, despite his views, was all too happy to oblige.

Hours later, due to in no small part Sasuke’s stamina as a vampire prince and Sakura’s craving for him, the couple finally pulled themselves out of bed to start their day. After a quick shower together Sasuke and Sakura, the former vampire prince and all powerful Shikkotsu witch, were ready to take on Suna.

“Where do you want to visit first, Sakura?” Sasuke inquired, as usual wanting Sakura to decide as he himself found solace in just being with her. He had just finished getting dressed when his wife shouted from her closet.

“I’m feeling lucky, how about some slot machines. This is our honeymoon after all... well sort of.”

Sasuke smirked. His characteristic smile, the one he only shared with Sakura was now painted across his face. It was only to be brushed aside as Sakura arrived.

“So how do I look?” Sakura asked, her voice dripping with innocence. “What do you think about this?”

Sasuke was trapped in brief awe as his smirk died away, instead being replaced with an expression of utter amazement. Naturally, Sasuke thought of Sakura as the most dazzling and enticing woman in the world but something about today and the way she looked right now in their apartment threw him, the usually stoic prince, completely off.

Before him stood Sakura, her sleek, lengthy, fuchsia hair cascading down her back while neat bangs framed the delicate features of her face. At the center of her forehead, of course, was her bindi stippling the porcelain of her skin. Her eyes were lined with deep kohl and lipstick, the crimson of blood, glistened against her soft lips. Her dainty frame was hugged by a tight, short sleeved salmon top paired with a black leather mini skirt that, Sasuke thought, showed off her exquisite, milky legs perfectly. Pointed earrings of jade-coloured aventurine now dangled from each ear, for luck, replacing her rose quartz crystals she wore before (she needed no luck in love now, she had her true love after all).

The young witch also wore a choker embedded with smooth round crystals of black tourmaline for protection while her athame and shrunken besom broom were camouflaged within the straps of her knee-high, onyx, gladiator heels. Perhaps her most valuable accessory, though, was her intricately designed white gold and white diamond wedding ring that adorned her left hand, a symbol of her husband’s eternal love.

Needless to say, even without magic Sakura could enchant Sasuke. Still, he couldn’t totally believe that someone this beautiful, this gentle, this perfect could be his wife. Seeing Sakura, as she stood, bathed in the pristine light shining through the silk curtains of their apartment, Sasuke was overwhelmed by feelings of contentment and appreciation. Finally they were together. Finally they were at peace.

“Hmm.” Sasuke smirked, moments later, composing himself. “You look great Sakura.”

Sakura, her cheeks reddening once more, chuckled after examining her husband a bit. Sasuke had worn his favourite royal blue shirt, a gift from Sakura, with its sleeves rolled back, coupled with his reliable blue jeans and preferred black and white cushioned sneakers. An obsidian gold bracelet, with specks of black tourmaline for protection, given by his wife, encircled his right arm with his matching black gold and diamond studded wedding ring adorning his left hand. As usual for his trips during the day his ruby necklace; his protection from the sun, hung from his neck under his shirt.

Yet, Sakura found herself entranced by Sasuke himself. The way his shirt hugged his muscled frame, how his spiky raven hair caught the light filtered through the curtains, his clean cut, chiseled face that now wore a mischievous smirk that made her knees weak and especially the starless night of his intense eyes all trapped the witch in Sasuke’s own spell. Indeed, Sakura was the luckiest woman alive, she thought, to have such a man as her life partner. Only his heart could spell her more.

Despite months of dating and their recent marriage Sasuke and Sakura still felt enraptured with one another,especially when they were on display like this for each other to consume. It as if the were meeting for the first time, over and over again. Truly, Sakura was the Venus to Sasuke’s Adonis.

“You’re looking quite handsome yourself. I might have to hold on to your extra tight today.” Sakura smiled, now out of her wonder as she interwove her arms with his.

“Aa.” Sasuke blushed faintly. “Well then.. let’s go.”

In the moments that followed Sakura placed enchantments of armament upon the apartment while Sasuke, invoking his vampiric compulsion, set up wards to deter intruders. Ironically though, they themselves were intruding as Sasuke compelled the landlord for this space. Nevertheless Sasuke, the vampire noble, claimed this apartment and thought nothing in doing so. This was their first home, his family’s first home and to him that was all that mattered. With that the couple set off into the clamor that was downtown Suna City.

Suna was the grandest city Sakura, and even Sasuke, had ever seen. Amidst the surrounding desert the city lay nestled like a jewel at the center. Soaring buildings towered within the city: five star hotels, first class restaurants and, perhaps Sakura’s favourite, luxurious casinos. Suna, despite its presence among an arid desert, West of Leaf City, had established itself as a booming metropolis and a ‘tourism city’; one of sophistication and allure. Humans from all over the world flocked here year round.

Despite it’s complexity, Sakura most notably admired the tinge on nature intertwined among the urban setting. During her few days in Suna Sakura saw towering and verdant palms dotted between streetlights and throughout the city, abundant thriving greenhouses and markets as well as lush gardens and parks scattered throughout the city. Nonetheless, the most memorable and appealing to the white witch were the countless, unique and well fashioned sand gardens present within Suna. Sakura and Sasuke both had never seen such gardens which were slightly reminiscent of those of their ancestral homes in the East. Their ability to incorporate the grandeur of Suna into the refinement of a sand and rock garden only heightened their charm.

Sasuke, though, was appreciative most of all for the city’s fast pace and dense population which served as the ideal shelter for a runaway witch and vampire. Naturally, among the luminosity and dazzle of the casinos and restaurants that lined the main roads, Sasuke felt safe and hidden from their enemies.

“When did Katsuyu say she was coming back, Sakura?” Sasuke posed as they strolled along the main strip of Suna.

“Hmm. I’m not really sure...” Sakura replied, pondering with her index finger bent against her chin. “She’s at the Caves in Shikkotsu meeting with other familiars and crystal gathering so it may be a while. Those slugs are really thorough with their council meetings compared to the other types of familiars.”

“Other types?” Sasuke asked, curious to learn more about Sakura and the witches.

“Yeah Shikkotsu witches have slug familiars but then there’re the toads used by those carefree witches at Mount Myōboku...” Sakura lectured, now in her zone, as Sasuke called it.

“Oh...And then there’s those snakes the black witches of Ryūchi Cave have as familiars. They’re bad news though.”

“Aa... I see.”

Sasuke was now smiling, admiring his ‘teacher’.

“Well now that you’re married to a witch I guess that makes you part witch, a-na-ta.” Sakura teased, as she emphasised every syllable and grinned in Sasuke’s direction. “You’re going to have to study up now.”

“Hmm.”

“Sasuke oh look there’s... Ow!”

Sakura fell back, rubbing her forehead after smashing into something. While walking, losing herself in her moment with Sasuke, something or someone had crashed into the young witch. Sasuke, now alert and steeled for battle, looked ahead with his hand gripping Sakura. How could we not see or sense this? Was I that distracted?! He now saw what stood in their wake.

“Oh my God. I am so sorry guys,” a strange voice apologized. There, ahead of the couple stood a breathtakingly beautiful young woman seemingly in her early twenties. “I��m Ino.”

“Um.. It’s okay, Ino,” Sakura assured, her hand still caressing the soon to be formed bump on her forehead. “I wasn’t looking where I was going...My name’s Sakura and this is my husband, Sasuke.”

Despite her pain Sakura couldn’t avoid noticing the woman. She’s perfect, Sakura thought to herself. Ino’s long, sunny-blond hair descended her back and was held in a high pony tail. She possessed a dainty frame just like Sakura and her deep violet turtle neck and charcoal pants both held her tightly, accentuating every curve of her body. Strange clothing for a desert city, Sakura noticed but flawless all the same. With her open toed black stilettos she towered over Sakura, the witch noticed, as she held Sakura’s emerald green eyes in her own, the hue of malachite. As she took in the woman Sakura heard her voice continue.

“Nice to meet you, Sakura, Sasuke...” Ino gushed, looking especially in Sasuke’s direction as she closed in, holding both of their hands in her own. Sakura could feel the warmth of her hands pressing against her skin. Was she holding Sasuke like this too?

“Hmm, yes.” was the vampire’s only reply.

“He’s not much of a talker is he, Sakura?”

“Uh... um nice to meet you too, Ino” Sakura hurried, trying to divert the path of the conversation.

“Well I have to go now, see you both around then.” Ino grinned, winking at Sasuke in particular. With that the tall blond released her grip, her smile never fading and marched off, the length of her hair dancing behind her as she strode.

Something was awry Sakura thought while eerie thoughts sprouted in her mind.

Am I jealous? God why? No. It’s not that. I’m not a jealous person. But why am I feeling this way? Is it because she winked at Sasuke? This isn’t the first time someone checked him out in front of me and guys do it to me all the time... What’s different now?

“Sakura... Sakura are you alright?”

“Oh yeah. Uh let’s go.” Sakura was snapped out of her stupor. Whatever she felt was inconsequential now. She was with Sasuke in Suna and it was time to relax. They only had a few more days before the had to depart and Sakura promised herself to treasure every minute.

“Before that woman came along I was saying that we should try that Eastern themed casino.” Sakura was now pointing at her anterior towards the colossal complex before them.

“Aa. Well yeah. This looks interesting.” At his core Sasuke could sense that something was off. An odd air of foreboding chilled him now. Is she really alright?... Am I?

Suppressing their thoughts Sasuke and Sakura headed to the Sansukumi Casino and crossed the threshold.

“Shannaro!” Sakura bellowed, hours later, as the couple once more strolled along Suna’s strip, her excitement spicing the air around her. “Twenty thousand dollars! Thanks to those three slugs in the slots! Can you believe it, anata?”

“Impressive, Sakura,” Sasuke noted, his eyes closed as he formed his signature smirk.

“Didn’t have anything to do with this, did it?” Sasuke then teased, his finger playfully flicking his wife’s hanging aventurine crystal earring. “Hmm?”

“Aa, well, um you see... those slots were rigged anyway... and...” Sakura’s words stuck in her throat as a red blush once more graced her features. Finally, she conceded.

“How did you know, Sasuke?”

“Aha. Well as you said...” Sasuke now had her where he wanted her.

“My wife’s a witch...”

“And?”

“And I had to study up.”

“I see.”

“And I was getting tired of spoiling her by compelling people so maybe now she can support us with her winnings.” Sasuke was now winking as he smirked at Sakura.

“Oh really? What a terrible husband I have.” Sakura surmised, now weaving her arms into her husband’s.

“Horrendous.” Sasuke teased.

“Oh Sasuke.” Sakura burst out giggling.

She’s laughing. Good.

To Sasuke, Sakura’s laughter felt like hundreds of cherry blossoms blooming in profusion around him, wrapping sweet fragrance around him. The pure delight and hearth he found in her happiness felt as though a lively spring sunshine was melting the glaciers that held him for so long.

Vampires of the Uchiha were not supposed to love, they couldn’t. Yet here he was finally feeling, finally enjoying as he floated in the high of Sakura’s light. Maybe he was still paranoid after what happened with the Akatsuki. Maybe everything was okay. Sakura seemed fine. Maybe it was just me?

“Want a late lunch, Sasuke?” Sakura asked interrupting him. She was ready to sponsor with her winnings. “Anything you want!”

“I had two blood bags before we left but if you want anything?” Sasuke snapped back, giving her all of his attention.

“Nope. I have everything I need right here” Sakura’s caress tightened as she said it while looking into Sasuke’s eyes.

Sakura still holding him, moments later continued. “I would like to see The Shukaku Sand Sanctuary though. It’s supposed to be the greatest sand garden on the planet!” The witch was now holding out a flyer she unfolded from her purse towards Sasuke. “I saw this flyer for the garden. I think Ino dropped this.”

“Ah...Okay then let’s go.”

Following a few unsuccessful taxi hails and Sasuke nearly resorting to compulsion, the duo finally found a driver in the form of a burly, almond-haired man, seemingly in his twenties as well. Sasuke’s only qualm, the driver ate as he drove and couldn’t shut up. How is Sakura so perky with these people all the damn time?!

Following half an hour of Choji- of course Sakura found out his name- yapping incessantly and having Sasuke seriously considering eating him, the couple arrived at The Shukaku Sand Sanctuary.

The Shukaku sand garden was more awe inspiring than Sakura had ever imagined. Upon their arrival Sakura, and even the usually stoic Sasuke, paused to fully appreciate the image that took shape before them.

Framing the acre wide estate were textured, beige bricks approximately seven feet high crowned with abstruse, ink-black wrought iron, further bolstering the height of the barricade. At the center, directly in front of the couple, lay the entrance: a wide double entrance gateway bent into the shape of a semi circle as if bursting, soaring beyond the surrounding iron fencing. Unique to this gateway, Sasuke noticed, were depictions in black iron of three orbs- moons he surmised- placed vertically from the top to the bottom of each of the two iron gates. Accompanying the moons were also intricate designs of wild vines, bloomed blossoms of cherry and plum along with an elegantly bent cursive ‘S’ split between the top of each of the two gates. ‘S’ no doubt for Shukaku, Sakura concluded, the guardian of ‘The Sand’ according to legend.

The complexity of the exterior was only surpassed by the tranquility and simple beauty of the interior. As they crossed the threshold Sasuke and Sakura were met by a vast open space permeated by a smooth, resplendent lake of sand. The splendor of the sand was further enhanced by Suna’s fevered desert sun causing the sand to shimmer stars of silver, gold and yellow. Countless carefully carved ash-gray rocks stippled the landscape along with small shrubs and alabaster concrete benches.

Perhaps most prominent among the lake of sand, were silvery rock carvings of figures too far to identify, even with Sasuke’s enhanced vision, which he assumed matched the two massive statues of noblemen at the sides of the entrance where the were. The boundary, leaning against the interior of the brick wall and hugging the garden took the form of a thin waterway snaking around the parameter. Sasuke could have sworn that he saw a quaint Japanese styled temple at the edge of the garden directly at their anterior, at the edge of the compound.

“Since when are rock and sand gardens this large though?” Sakura inquired, still examining the compound. “Aren’t they supposed to be tiny and simple?”

“Just like everything else in Suna it seems it’s flashier than the gardens of the East.” Sasuke added on, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was askew. That piercing chill he’d come to trust was gnawing at him.

“It really seems off. Not the design, which seems to incorporate standard Western park features but something else.” Sakura’s sharp mind was already engaged. “It almost feels like we’re intruding in someone’s personal space, there’s no spiritual power her but this is a sand garden!... and where are the other visitors?”

“There are none, Sakura...”

“What? Sasuke...”

Before Sakura could finish, her words were drowned out. The mystery was solved.

“What the...?!” Sakura exclaimed as she turned and crossed her arms before her face, meeting the strength of the gale with her own body. As Sakura spoke a raging storm of wind exploded into the couple from behind them, attempting to hurl them across the compound.

Not this time!

As the wind met their frames Sakura, prepared unlike her time with the Akatsuki, met the force head on with magic steeling her body and fixing her in place. Shannaro! When she fought the Akatsuki the past Sakura had been tossed around like a rag doll and one thing was for certain. She was never allowing herself to be treated like that again.

Sasuke, his aura cloaking him in an aurora of black tinged with ice blue spirals, weathered the assault. Sasuke could feel the power and precision behind the gust of wind. As a fellow user of this power and a vampire with enhanced senses Sasuke knew exactly where this came from, or rather who was eyeing them right now. Instead of being hurled meters away, both Sasuke and Sakura were merely nudged as they turned meeting the windstorm.

“Sakura, you’re not hurt are you?” He finally said as the winds died.

“No I’m fine.”

“Fine? I guess I didn’t do my job properly then,” a woman’s voice hissed as two figures materialized in front of the iron gates. “I’ll be sure to remedy this soon though.” In front of Sasuke and Sakura new enemies emerged from a whirlwind of golden sand.

“Gaara! Temari!” Sasuke shouted, anger and hazard simultaneously lacing each word as he clenched his fists. Birthed from a cocoon of sand were two figures, vampires, Sakura concluded from Sasuke’s outburst. A man and a woman.

The woman, Temari, Sakura guessed gazed at them with intense, teal eyes as she spoke. Her sandy blond hair was styled into four consecutive pig tails and she wore a jet black short sleeved kimono that reached her legs with slits at the sides showing off her toned legs. Her kimono was held by a lengthy scarlet sash tied tightly while she played with a Japanese war fan through her black finger less gloves. Regardless, what disturbed Sakura most of all was the calculative and icy expression she wore. This woman would kill them both without question and judging from the level of miasma she exuded, she was powerful enough to do it

“Gaara... you...” Sasuke started as he stared at the man before him.

Gaara, a vampire noble like Sasuke now radiated more darkness, more hate than Sasuke had remembered. Sasuke had always sensed his ferocity even as a child but now, as the auburn haired vampire prince stood before him, even Sasuke Uchiha felt the sting of unease, a frosty wind against him.

As all nobles, Gaara exuded an air of kingship and authority which pierced forth from his teal eyes, eyes held by deep rings of black that contrasted the pallor of his stoic features. Despite his unruly, spiked hair, as Suna’s clan head he wore his clan’s traditional long-sleeved crimson coat paired with full-length charcoal trousers. Two belts covered his coat along with a single strap fixing the clan’s traditional grey vest in place. Temari was cunning and ruthless however for Sasuke, Gaara, her brother was the real threat to him and to Sakura. Before Sasuke could complete his utterance, the man began.

“I was not supposed to be here?” His voice was calm, lacking any emotion. From his tone neither anger nor excitement could be felt. “The vampires you probed thought I wasn’t.... Next time you should compel people higher up on the chain of command, Sasuke.”

A bitter chill ran up Sasuke’s spine as Gaara spoke.

A trap?! No! We were careful!

But I should have known.

The three moons, Temari’s fan!

S... Sand Siblings!

Sakura...

Yes, Sakura. Despite his shock Sasuke had to compose himself. Sakura needed him. He would not lose anyone precious to him. As her husband, as her love Sasuke had to be resolute, he had to steel himself and eliminate whatever, whoever threatened his family. As Sasuke drew closer to her, Sakura heard his voice.

“Sakura. Let’s fight!”

“Uh-hum!”

“Temari attack!”

“Yes Gaara!”

No sooner had the words had parted with Sakura’s lips than the vampires’ assault began. In the face of her prey, with her psionic power bursting in the form of a deep teal aura and her war fan branching out as it waved, Temari summoned forth a violent gale that kicked up sand in its wake, easily outclassing her prior storm. It was as if the wind was her puppet, dancing to her will.

Adding to the chaos, while Temari’s storm raged, Gaara too began to move. With his right arm extended Gaara, now outlined in an aura of gold tainted with stygian strands of power, let lose a storm of his own. Springing from beneath him, as if forced out by his matching aura, was the very sand at his feet. Tendrils of gleaming sand and dust wrapped around the vampire before amassing into a massive drill- like cyclone and hurling into Sasuke and Sakura. Mid-way on their path Sasuke could see just how Temari’s whirlwind met with Gaara’s sandstorm, bolstering it and thus birthing a sandstorm of even greater power and speed. Convergence?!

“Sakura!”

“On it!”

Moments before the cyclone would crash into them, Sakura made her move, her bindi now alight with violet energy. With her right arm outstretched and her left caressing the black tourmaline crystals on her choker, Sakura invoked the armament of her white magic. Similar to her battle against Pein, Sakura resorted to turning to the black tourmaline crystal, a crystal of protection, for power. Contrasting against the onyx of her choker and the deep scarlet of her nails, wisps of pristine, white mist bloomed from her choker and simultaneously from her outstretched palm.

“Protect!”

As if heeding her command the bone- white smoke covering her palm shot forward and took the form of a massive screen of solid mist and smoke, seconds before the vampires’ sandstorm crashed. Instead of skewering Sakura and her husband, the dust storm exploded onto the solid white barrier causing thunderous booming and blinding light to be spilled throughout the garden. When the eruption died only Sakura’s shield remained, weakening but still holding. Oddly enough this was much to the amusement of her attackers.

“Sasuke I got your back! Go!”

“Hmm.”

Still sheltered behind the barrier it was Sasuke’s turn to act. Before giving his enemies a chance to strike once more the vampire prince summoned forth his own vampiric power as his eyes blazed scarlet and his fangs extended, ready for prey. Revolutions of inky black power, tinged with glacial blue locks of energy now engulfed Sasuke, surrounding him. Instantly, as summoned, his aura then extended, sending whips of black power directly at Gaara and Temari.

“Pathetic,” Temari sighed, readying one more swing of her war fan.

“Indeed.” Gaara agreed as his arm was once more at his front.

“What?!”

Before Sasuke’s power smashed, the duo was caught off guard. Stars of blazing fuchsia energy in the form of spheres instantly bullet-ed out from behind the barrier and exploded into the siblings, outpacing Sasuke’s tendrils and their attacks.

Did he slow down his attack on purpose?! Even Gaara was alarmed.

Gaara and Temari were sent flying. Yet they were still in jeopardy as mid air Sasuke’s attack weaved through the air as if waiting for the explosion and finally caught up to them. Once more the stillness of the desert air was ripped apart by the thunderous crashing of their powers when Sasuke’s psionic attack connected, forming a brilliant explosion of murky, flame-like energy where the siblings landed near the gate. The siblings were beaten. Or were they.

Sakura and Sasuke looked on and what they saw alarmed them. Sasuke’s black flame-like power was parting along with the clouds of smoke and sand that hid the siblings. From the center a new image took form; a sphere of air tight aureate sand, no doubt enclosing the vampires and shielding them from Sasuke’s psychic onslaught.

“How can they do that?” Sakura failed to grasp how these vampires’ powers functioned and as she readied herself for another attack she continued. “That’s not how your powers work. That’s not how Pein’s worked.”

“The Sand Siblings have totally mastered the telekinesis aspect of our power, Sakura.” Sasuke related, uncharacteristic worry now bursting from his words.

“Even I can’t replicate it. Gaara controls each grain of sand with his power, compelling it and Temari... she pushes and pulls the wind itself with her mind. That ridiculous fan is really for concentration. They don’t use raw psionic energy as much... and Sakura...each of them is stronger than Pein.”

“ Sasuke...” Sakura once more was at his side, a reassuring smile now displayed on her face. “So are we.”

“Yeah...” How could Sasuke be so blind? Sakura was right. They were stronger than Pein and together, Sakura and him could beat anybody. Such was their strength and the power of their feelings for one another. But despite his profound faith in their power together, an innermost fear still clung to Sasuke’s heart. What if they weren’t? What if Sakura died today?

“Sasuke. I told you. We are stronger and we will win!” Sasuke never could conceal anything from Sakura and now that she was his wife he was ardently sure that this was just the beginning of it.

Certainly, Sakura was right. In the months since Pein and the Akatsuki’s assault and the couple barely snatching their victory, both Sasuke and Sakura had no choice but to train. Sakura, hating how helpless she was at one point in the fight, studied arduously to master new spells and perfect her old ones. The young witch even created a new style of magic: imbuing magic into her limbs and body for strength and aegis, a power she used to weather Temari’s initial windstorm moments before.

Sasuke, the proud vampire prince, despised the fact that he couldn’t protect Sakura properly. He was weak and he knew it. Never again, he resolved and from this regret a passion was born. In the months since their escape Sasuke honed his vampiric power daily. Telekinesis, telepathy, psionic power manipulation, he pushed them all, beyond their limits. Sasuke was leagues beyond his former self, the pathetic vampire prince who nearly lost to Pein, and despite Gaara and Temari’s new power, he was not going to lose.

“Hmm. You’re right....thank you for reminding me.” Sasuke agreed moments later, once more recollecting the path taken since leaving Leaf City. “...and you’re also the strongest one here right now since just as myself, those two are without moonlight and darkness....But Sakura...”

“Yes?”

“We have to beat them before the third sibling arrives.”

Upon hearing Sasuke’s words, Sakura’s confidence temporarily dimmed a bit. A third?! We need to end this quick! “Sasuke. The link!” the white witch exclaimed as she gathered her energy while Gaara and Temari were freed from their cocoon. “Ah.” Was Sasuke’s only response. He had to control his aura for what came next.

Once freed from their cocoon of sand the siblings wasted no time in their retaliation. As the orb of sand broke open Gaara, his eyes now lit with power; an unstable golden aura cloaking him let out his attack. With both arms outstretched he ordered tonnes of sand before him to take shape.

“Sand Serpents!”

Bending, snaking as it erupted, several massive tentacles of sparkling sand burst forth from the ground and launched straight at the couple.

Temari was no different. With her aura of bright teal crackling around her, her eyes lit and fangs outstretched she violently waved her fan, constantly and without rest. Birthed from her motion, Sasuke could sense, were countless slashes; blades of wind like pure white crescent moons launching towards the couple in a wild bombardment.

“Lunar beheading dance!” she hollered as her attack was sent.

In the past the white witch would have been overwhelmed but not now. Sakura, though impressed by her attackers’ skill, would not be outdone. Such was her courage, her determination. Simultaneously, as the siblings launched their attacks, Sakura too readied her counter knowing fully well that Sasuke needed no consultation.

In the face of their powers Sakura once more called upon her white magic: weaving her signature hand seal, her left thumb on top and her hands clasped together vertically. With this her bindi shone a star of dazzling amethyst while a pristine wind twisted around her. A new spell, a potent enchantment had now been invoked.

“Shikkotsu Deep Forest Emergence!” Sakura cried causing a rippled of white light to leave her body and imbue itself into the sand before her. Gaara’s tendrils could not reach her, for seconds later his sand was met with the tremendous force of her own weapon. As commanded by the Shikkotsu witch dozens of thick cherry blossom trees bloomed into existence to meet Gaara’s sand head on. The gold of Gaara’s sand was punctuated by the earthen brown and roseate of Sakura’s cherry blossom trees as tendrils of sand were smashed by the lashing of sakura trees and vice versa in a battle for dominance for the field.

Shannaro! If only I could stab him in the heart with a branch!

Sasuke, without paying heed to Sakura’s fight, invoked his power against Temari’s scythe-like wind attack. By the time the vampiress whipped the wind Sasuke, his aura manifesting its characteristic twister of pitch black with streaks of blue, ascended his vampiric power to its zenith. Springing from his whirlpool of psychic power, while his eyes flared scarlet, were veins of onyx, no different from Gaara’s sand tendrils and Sakura’s winding trees. Alas, Sasuke’s ability contrasted those powers significantly. Sasuke’s lines of black energy arrowed towards Temari but as opposed to meeting her blades of wind head on they twisted about the field haphazardly, totally evading her assault leading to Temari’s blades all cutting into Sasuke’s cloak of energy.

The fool missed me! He’s mine! Temari’s victory was ensured. Or so she was led to believe.

While Sasuke’s shield of energy was being whittled away the young Uchiha kept his focus, his focus on Temari. By the time the vampire realized what took place it was too late. Sasuke, his aura now weakened significantly, willed the whips of black power, redirecting them to return to Temari’s side with each tendril drilling into her temples as she flew back, crashing into the wrought iron fencing at the front. The vampiress had no time to react as Sasuke’s attack took place in the blink of an eye. Such was his skill.

“Gaaah!” Temari was now shrieking while she wretched on the ground clasping her temples. Sasuke had cornered her and with Gaara kept at bay by Sakura’s attacks, Sasuke was sure of his victory.

Go to sleep Temari. I command you!

Sasuke’s message was burning through her mind, dimming her aura in the process. Sasuke knew that it was only a matter of seconds before he would have her out cold. Even a vampire of Temari’s power, power that currently could rival Sasuke himself, would be out long enough for Sasuke to end it.

Go to sleep!

Seconds passed by before it happened. Temari fell to the ground, limp and unconscious. As this happened a mischievous smirk appeared across Sasuke face, a stark contrast to his smirks with his wife. Such was his nature as a warrior, as a hunter and as an Uchiha.

“Shit Temari!” Gaara, still in his conflict with Sakura, finally showed some emotion. He was irritated. In the seconds he focused on Sakura Temari had lost against Sasuke. He had to end this quickly. He knew it. But how?

“You’re not going anywhere!” Sakura shouted. “Shannaro!” With that Gaara’s fate was all but sealed. Gradually, Gaara had noticed that Sakura’s trees were overpowering his tendrils of sand and now he was sure of it. Sakura was stronger. As he struggled to keep Sakura’s wild forest at bay, Gaara was dealt another shock. While ribbon-ing through the air Sakura’s branches had not only kept him back but had picked up a passenger. Sasuke.

“How are they doing this? Ridiculous! I sense no telepathic communication.” Even Gaara, the all powerful vampire prince, was dismayed upon witnessing the couple’s combined efforts. “How does he know where the branches are? Can he see such fast moving objects? No! Impossible!”

In her final move, Gaara realised, Sakura let loose all of her rage and inhibitions as she commanded her forest to branch out, where Sasuke his frame cloaked in vampiric power and his claws outstretched, jumped on. From Sakura’s flailing trees Sasuke kicked off, he was launched off by Sakura and was now speeding, soaring through the sky like an eagle waiting for prey. His awesome vampire speed was bolstered by the force of Sakura’s throw.

It was beyond Gaara’s reaction time, especially now. While launching Sasuke, Sakura with her bindi’s light growing let loose a Hydra of fully bloomed Sakura trees with new trees springing from the ground simultaneously. In the face of such an onslaught Gaara’s sand pillars were smashed and before they could be reformed, so was he.

While failing to keep Sakura’s trees at bay Gaara could not properly avoid Sasuke’s plunge. Sasuke, his arms black as night, wrapped in vampiric power as his claws branched out, had finally succeeded in his attack. When Sakura’s trees removed all pillars of sand from the vicinity Sasuke pierced Gaara’s chest, barely missing his heart.

Several branches crashed into Gaara’s gut and sent him hurling into the entrance gate before Sasuke jumped back meeting Sakura. “Shannaro!” Sakura yelled once more as she ended the fight with the remainder of her sacred forest flourishing and ramming into Gaara and even Temari. Sakura trees were now pinning the duo to the wrought iron at the front.

We did it, Sasuke! The link worked!

Sakura, yeah we won.

They didn’t think we could communicate without words or psychic messaging but ... Oh Sasuke! We won! You’re safe!

Hmm. Sakura so are you.

Even in the midst of battle or rather due to the risk of said battle, Sakura and Sasuke couldn’t resist the yearning and appreciation that characterised their relationship. Knowing that they could have lost one another, knowing that they were safe and this fear would not be realized Sakura felt as if a stinging fire was doused and cooled within her. Sasuke, grateful that his bride was safe could only bask in their victory and joy.

Their plan was successful. Gaara was right. There was no telepathic communication during the battle...or at least any that he could detect. Months since their battle with Pein and Sasuke drinking from Sakura, the pair realized that something had changed with them; between them. The bond that was forged as they shared their minds, their very souls on that night had lingered and now the couple could tap into this link whenever and wherever with no exertion of magic or compulsion. Naturally, this livened their already passionate episodes at home, though, there was another use for this bond.

The couple could now phase into one another’s mind if need be and communicate without fear of detection. Sasuke likened it to speaking on a different frequency that was moot to the ears of others, even other psychic users. This was their trump card and it worked brilliantly.

Sakura now looked on as Sasuke rushed Temari and Gaara both pinned to the barricade, while gripping a wooden stake no doubt supplied by Sakura. It was time to stake them or forever be on the run from these two as well.

“I couldn’t stake you during the fight but now that you’re trapped...” Sasuke was inches away, racing towards his victory.

“I can’t believe Leaf vampires and witches are putting Suna to shame like this.... Dance of One Hundred Puppets!”

Following this command echoes of what seemed like gunshots thundered leaving Sasuke lying injured on the ground. He was mere feet away from Gaara. He was bleeding, Sakura could see it from where she stood. Not only that but his attacker, the voice they had heard in the last minute could now be seen as well, crossing the threshold of the gates.

“Ino?!”

What is going on? Ino? Is she a vampire too? No. As Sakura looked on in horror at her husband bleeding on the ground it all became clear to the witch. Who?

Sasuke, wretched on the ground, gripping his gut while he extracted the bullets that pierced him. He was shot by the young girl. That girl? “Kankuro!” Sasuke was coughing now, glaring at Ino and her companion. “You will pay for that.”

In the background standing behind the young girl, his right arm wrapped over Ino’s shoulder was a young man. Kankuro of The Sand Siblings. Beyond him several people, humans, could be seen at the entrance of the gates as if awaiting their signal to move. Each person, Sasuke saw, held weapons of their own: pistols.

Kankuro was the strangest of the siblings, Sakura thought. He wore a long top and trousers, black, inky- black in colour slashed by the deep crimson of the sash that held his waist. Perhaps what seemed the strangest was his face. Kankuro wore a hood that matched his ensemble with protruding cat-like ears atop while lines of rich mauve raced across his exposed features in a pattern unknown to the witch. Sakura likened his appearance to that of traditional bunraku puppeteers from their ancestral land as she examined him, the vampire who just like his siblings radiated nothing by power and blood lust.

“Good job, Ino. Hmm... now how about you just stand there and look pretty? I’ll take it from here,” Kankuro gently instructed as he gripped Ino’s left arm, gently caressing it as she held her sterling silver pistol.

Kankuro was in control of the situation and this was a fact Sasuke had to accept. Sakura, repulsed by what she was seeing- this man controlling this girl- was already thinking of her next move. As Kankuro strolled towards his siblings, Sakura pounced.

Imbuing her legs with magic, the same technique she had used to endure Temari’s storm before, Sakura raced off with augmented speed the likes of Sasuke’s. Swiftly and expertly the white witch met her husband, swinging her heel at Kankuro as she did so.

While reaching for Sasuke, Sakura’s high heeled gladiator on her right leg shot out, revealing itself to be a elongated, spear- like stake, and bulleted forcefully at the vampire. For a split second Kakuro seemed taken by surprise before regaining his composure. “Pathetic.”

Sakura and Sasuke both looked on in horror as Kankuro avoided her stake. Naturally as a pure blooded vampire he could have managed a psychic shield or stealthy evasion, Sakura thought, but what Kankuro chose to do was both abhorrent and unnecessary. At the twitch of his fingers Kankuro created a shield for himself, a human shield.

Dashing in front of the vampire before Sakura’s attacked fired, as if Kankuro foresaw her retaliation, were Kankuro’s puppets and before Sakura’s attack could meet its target, her stake buried itself into the chest of a young man. He looked no older than fifteen, Sakura concluded. He died on the spot.

“Monster!” Sakura’s emotions were out of control. “What is human life to you anyway? Does it mean nothing?!”

Kankuro simply laughed while he continued his stroll towards his siblings. “Nope.” Before Sakura, Sasuke now in her arms could pull of her retreat, bullets rained down upon them.

“Aaaah!”

Sakura’s screams lit the sand garden ablaze as countless silver bullets met her back while she shielded Sasuke.. Tightly, strongly she gripped his back, her husband’s face buried in her chest as she sought to endure it all. “Sasuke...” In the face of the assault Sakura’s love and protection covered Sasuke. After all this was the love of her life. He was her husband. Sakura was willing to take on any pain and sacrifice her very life for him.

Ice ran down Sasuke’s spine as he, still recovering from the bullets embedded within him, looked on in terror while Sakura shielded him with her very body. “Sakura no! Sakura stop it!”

Alas, his words held no power. Sakura was sacrificing herself for him. Sakura! No! Immeasurable fear washed over Sasuke, completely shaking him. Sakura will die if she keeps this up. His wife was in danger and he couldn’t do anything to save her. Panic seized his heart as he struggled, Sasuke couldn’t communicate with Sakura mentally anymore. The link was weakening. Sakura was too weak, too shaken to respond to him.

Sasuke didn’t care about dying. Sakura had to be saved. As he looked up at Sakura, her expression marred with pain and her body flailing against the tremor of the bullets, Sasuke gritted his teeth while trying to shake free of the effects of his injuries.

These bullets must be coated with Jichinsai, Holy Sake! Shit!

Desperately he forced, as if attempting to will his vampire regeneration into overdrive, to pull the noxious bullets out. Gradually he gathered the scraps of power he could manifest in this state as Sakura still clung to him. Then with all his attention needled into his move, Sasuke called upon his compulsion one last time.

Kankuro paid no attention to the couple when it happened. While attempting to free his siblings in the midst of Ino and the others’ assault the vampire was blind to the glint of power Sasuke summoned.

“Sakura!” Sasuke’s voice boomed as he grabbed his wife and spun her around, his arms now sheltering her. Sasuke and Sakura were now cloaked in a thin veil of onyx and azure streaks of psychic power, remnants of Sasuke’s last ditch invocation. Guarding them from each bullet that pinged against it,the curtain of power doubled as a weapon.

When each bullet met the veil, Sasuke claimed them just as he had, Sakura surmised, extracted the bullets from within his body and held them with his compulsion mid-air. Now with the forceful wave of his free, left arm Sasuke sent the bullets dancing across the field and into his opponents.

Of the dozen people that faced them, Sasuke was able to take out nine, of course aiming for their legs to avoid fatality. The holy sake would nullify Kankuro’s hold on them, Sasuke deduced, as he studied the scene before him. Ino and two others, probably at Kankuro’s willing, were however able to avoid injury.

“Sa...Sasuke... I’m fine,” Sakura coughed, still shaky from her episode. “I managed an armament enchantment with the little magic I mustered at that time.” Despite her assurance, Sakura could feel her husband’s tight grip remain. He wouldn’t let go.

“Sasuke I’m fine, really. But I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay Sakura,” Sasuke gently whispered as his wounds still regenerated. “But maybe we still can stop him.”

“Yes!”

“No.” Kankuro announced, now in front of his siblings still pinned. Kankuro now revealed his power. As Sasuke and Sakura stood now facing their enemy Kankuro invoking his psionic power was now wrapped in his own aura of deep purple. “Dance of One Hundred Puppets!”

As the vampire called out his power Sakura couldn’t fathom what was happening. Silvery grey statues, the height of the wrought iron barricades, were enlivened; moving towards Kankuro only to stand at his sides thereafter.

“Shit!” Sakura could hear the panic that dripped from her husband’s voice.

“Kankuro ‘The Puppet Master’. This is his power. He can control any person with his compulsion and any ‘puppet’ with his telekinesis.” Sasuke was now peering at the two giants before him, statues of former clan leaders no doubt that were now protecting Kankuro.

“What are these siblings?!”

“He’s just as strong as Temari, Sakura... Be careful.”

Moments later, a new conflict ensued. While one statue freed Temari and Gaara from the branches that held them, despite Kankuro’s attempts with vampiric strength, the other charged at Sasuke and Sakura with astonishingly great speed and force. There was no time to cast any spells or invoke substantial power, the couple each concluded. This was a close ranged brawl.

As the statue swept it’s massive arms across the field Sakura and Sasuke with their vampiric reflexes and bolstered strength, respectively, leaped and evaded the behemoth. “Shannaro!” Sakura screamed as she jumped and transitioned gracefully from evasion to her attack. Gathering, weaving and controlling her magical energy the witch, who had been training with her husband for months in the art of hand to hand combat, went in. As Sakura descended her heal swung downward as if a meteor of white magical energy was impacting the garden, crashing into the statue’s head and felling it.

“Hmm!” Sakura’s work was done and now Sasuke took control of the battle. Their blood bond was once more activated and Sasuke knew exactly what to do. As the statue fell Sasuke, all of his body’s monstrous vampiric strength concentrated into his right fist, sunk his fist into the statue hurling it forcefully into the wrought iron where it crashed onto the road beyond the garden. With the bullets gone and Kankuro focused on his siblings Sasuke was able to finally regain his strength before facing the statue.

Alas, their victory was short lived as Kankuro was unaffected by this development. While the statue lay ruined outside Sasuke and Sakura struggled to comprehend what they were witnessing. There, Gaara and Temari sat as Kankuro looked on. They were feeding.

“Kankuro!” Raged exploded from Sasuke’s holler at this point. Once more they were tricked, distracted and outmatched. Already exhausted from their fight the couple engaged that statue and now this?

“No....” The pain of seeing the lifeless corpses in the vampires’ arms was too much for the young witch to bear. Sakura now gritted her teeth through her disdain and anguish. “That bastard. Did... did he bring those brainwashed people here with Ino as food?”

“Indeed he did.” Kankuro chuckled as he waved his arms, showing off his handy work. “I am the puppet master and these are my puppets...” he was now pointing at the two limp bodies that were lying next to Gaara and Temari, the siblings still savoring the elixir that was fresh blood warm from the vein.

“Don’t worry. This cutie is mine.” The vampire shifted his attention to Ino who stood mesmerized before him. “I had to use a lot of power to gather these guys and save your asses, Temari, Gaara. I want to feed too.”

“Let her go you bastard!” Sakura was enraged and now her voice boomed with passion and panic intertwined. “Ino!” Sakura had only just met the girl and had barely spoken two words to her but she could let her die here, not like this. Sakura felt it was her duty to protect this girl especially since she couldn’t save those people on the ground from these vampires.

“Sakura...” There was nothing Sasuke could say. Sasuke knew how his wife felt even without their bond. Compassion and love, appreciation for life and its fragility, this was who Sakura was. No one treasured life like Sakura, that’s the kind and sweet girl she was. Nevertheless, Sasuke also knew what had to be done.

“Tch. Do whatever you want, fool.” Gaara had risen and so had Temari. Brushing off their robes the duo joined their brother as the three siblings readied themselves to finally do away with the pests that stood before them.

Sakura!

Yes!

Once more Gaara and Temari flared their auras of vampiric power setting the sand beneath them on fire with sparkles of white and gold. There powers were restored and it was as if they had never fought Sasuke and Sakura. Bathed in their signature auras of teal and bright amber, with Temari’s fan swung and Gaara’s arm outstretched,the siblings called forth another sandstorm in their convergence.

“Power of nature

Purity of the Shikkotsu

I beseech thee

Protect!”

As was the case in their struggle against the Akatsuki, Sasuke and Sakura were forced to resort to their ace. Snatching her choker and sinking it into the soft sand beneath her, Sakura recited her enchantment and invoked her ultimate defensive spell. Through combining her white magic with the power of her black tourmaline crystals, Sakura Uchiha, once more summoned her maelstrom of ivory mist which set itself in the form of a protective dome.

Sasuke had to feed on her to multiply his vampiric power beyond that of his three enemies and he had to do so immediately. The proud Uchiha hated himself for having to resort to such a method, relying on his wife’s blood as opposed to his own skill and power but Sakura’s and his life depended on it. Resolved to finish this quickly, Sasuke gently held Sakura in his arms as she bore her neck out for him like she had done on that night. Carefully he rested his lips upon her smooth neck, kissing her rich blue veins as his outstretched fangs penetrated her.

Sakura quivered, her arms now wrapped around her husband as the same sweet bliss she had experienced that night, and several nights later on when the shared blood, burst within her.

“S...Sasukeeeh...”

Despite the circumstances and Sakura’s wounded pride for needing such a trick for their victory regardless all of their training, the potency of their bond and the sharing that was beginning, completely engulfed her. Sakura hated to admit it but part of her relished that it had come to this and her veins ached for Sasuke to breach them and drink from them as he was now doing. Sakura could sense Sasuke smiling as he realised this through their bond.

Sasuke...

Sakura...

This was it. There was no power Gaara, Temari and Kankuro could summon to combat Sasuke’s own when doped with Sakura’s blood as a white witch of the Shikkotsu. Sasuke, in that form, radiated a beacon of vampiric energy fueled by Sakura’s blood, her warmth, her love that could fell an enemy. He would be as strong as ten Sand Siblings or greater and this was the key to certain victory. Only a few moments and Sasuke and Sakura’s bond would guarantee their victory over the vampires that meant to kill them.

Victory was so close and as the vibrant feelings of love, excitement and hearth that were aspects of their blood sharing thrummed within their minds. Sasuke and Sakura both could feel a flood of cool, relief and security immersing them.

Sasuke! Yes!

Sakura! Almost!

“Aaaaah!”

“Ugh!”

Sheltered within their dome of pure mist Sasuke and Sakura had nonetheless failed.

The last thing Sasuke could recall was him starting to drink from Sakura and the deluge of emotions and light that overcame him as their bond was activated before being attacked. Now, with him and his wife scattered haphazardly across the field torn apart from one another, details of what occurred rushed to him. As Sasuke began drinking pulled tightly by Sakura who was wrapping her arms around him, an explosion power erupted beneath them, an explosion of sand.

Shit! Realization dawned on the vampire prince. Gaara managed to attack them from underground, within Sakura’s barrier. They didn’t think about that possibility. Sasuke didn’t think of it. How could he be so careless. How could he fail so terribly. He couldn’t protect Sakura. Sakura?!

Sasuke was now frantically searching for Sakura and after a few seconds was calmed. A few meters to his right lay Sakura. Her eyes closed as she groaned, caressing her forehead while propping herself up. “Sakura you’re okay aren’t you? I’m not feeling any serious pain from you so...”

“Yes Sasuke. I am fine,” Her palm still placed upon her forehead, the witch responded.

“ Those bastards! He set his power into the sand before my barrier was activated so, like you, it remained despite the barrier barring vampiric energy from the... aaaah!”

“Ugh!”

Fiercely as Sakura and Sasuke composed themselves, another attack struck. Tentacles of resplendent sand as thick and oaks wove around the couple and raised them both several feet in the air. Kicking and flailing, husband and wife could do nothing.

“You two aren’t bright very bright are you?” Temari was gloating, her smile hidden behind her fan. “We know how you beat Pein. We’re not stupid... well two of use aren’t...” Her eyes now shot at Kankuro.

“Temari...” Kankuro irritably responded as he prepared to feed on Ino, the young woman wrapped in his arms.

“Silence!” Gaara boomed, letting everyone, Sasuke and Sakura included, know who was in charge here. His right arm was once more outstretched, willing his tendrils to seal his victims’ movements. On his proclamation, his siblings quieted.

While Sasuke and Sakura were squeezed, Gaara with a clenching fist began his tirade. “You Uchiha can never leave other clans alone. After I kill you I will take great pleasure in handing you over to that tyrannical geezer, Madara!”

Sasuke, pressured by his grip, could sense a tinge of resentment in the stoic clan head’s voice. Of course the Uchiha were the strongest vampire clan and as such and with Madara in charge, they would coax and sometimes intimidate even other powerful noble clans. The Sand was one such clan.

“Hmm” Sasuke smirked with closed eyes. “Careful Gaara, wouldn’t want that statement to go back to Madara, now would you?”

“You dare, Sasuke?!” Even Gaara’s usual expressionless face slightly reddened with outrage and his fist clenched further.

“Gaah!” Sasuke’s cries were peppering the still desert air while the pillar of sand compressed against his rib cage.

“Bastards! Leave him alone!” Sakura’s fury at this point knew no limit. Radiant stars of fuchsia now blossomed around her, surely birthed from her rage. “Aaaaaaah!”

“I said silence!” Gaara’s voice again drowned everyone and everything out, sand tightening around Sakura’s chest and stomach. Her stars of power now dissipated. If not for her channeling magic into her frame, she’d have been killed for sure.

“Sakura Petal Storm was it?” Temari commented, ignoring her younger brother’s order. “You actually managed to force it out for a moment... sort of... I told you, we know all about your fight with Pein.”

“Sakura!” Sasuke coughed out still trapped and helpless.

“Time to die.” Gaara’s stoic voice interrupted once more.

“No Kankuro!”

Temari was screaming and Gaara halted his final strike as a result. What they witnessed left the siblings stunned. In that moment Sasuke and Sakura, dangling, were of no importance. Only Kankuro caught their attention and the attention of Sasuke and Sakura as well. Only Kankuro and Ino.

Standing before Kankuro was Ino, or at least Sakura thought it was Ino. The blonde woman, seemingly before Kankuro could sink his fangs into her neck, held Kankuro’s own neck in her arm. Kankuro, a pure blooded vampire prince, was trapped, gagging and coughing in her grip. Sakura could see the vampire’s legs swinging as he dangled off the ground. Ino was lifting him. How?

What the hell is that? Even Sasuke was at a loss. That blonde girl, Ino was handling a vampire prince as if he were a rag doll. Also her aura. What is that aura? Sasuke could not identify the spectacle before him. Ino was cloaked in a dense fog of translucent, crimson aura. Springing from the shroud were red-bubbles forming all around and dissipating into the air. Nine tail like extensions of the aura danced in the wind behind her. Ino’s eyes were slit, her nails and canines branching out like a beast’s. Was she a vampire, Sasuke pondered this but that aura was neither vampiric or witch-like. She was a totally different creature altogether.

“You bastards have some nerve hurting Sakura chan!” Ino was reprimanding Kankuro at this point, her voice changing and taking on a masculine, grating tone.

Did this person know Sakura? Who is she? Numerous questions pooled within Sasuke. Was Sakura hiding something?

As she finished her speech, with Gaara and Temari speeding towards her, Sakura, bewildered, looked on. Ino had flung Kankuro into the wrought iron behind them while her ghost-like tails met Gaara and Temari’s frames, matching their vampiric speeds adeptly. The two of them joined Kankuro, sinking into the pitch black iron.

With arms outstretched Ino, it seemed, channeled the red energy from her cloak of aura and short forth a solid orb of crimson charged with black bolts at the trio. Upon contact, against the black of the iron, translucent flames of red burst forth upon them vampires, no doubt trapping them. “Tailed beast bomb!”

Sasuke and Sakura were now freed and as the columns of sand tore apart Sasuke, gripping his wife bridal style on the ground, looked on in utter disbelief as Ino’s transformed. Ino was transforming, into a man.

Wrapped in wisps of ruby coloured mist Ino’s arms thickened, her cascading blonde hair receded into concise spikes, her rich green eyes were dyed azure and her features completely altered. From a stunning young woman Ino had transformed into a man of Sasuke’s physical age. Perhaps most astonishing were his cheeks, etched with whisker-like markings. In the revolution of her aura, Ino’s clothing also changed and the young woman, if she was indeed still a woman, now wore a deep fiery- orange hoodie with cobalt laces ,plain blue jeans and blue sneakers striped white. Across his forehead rested a matching cobalt headband with a symbol, the pattern of a leaf, emblazoned upon it in black outlines. Wary, Sasuke still resting his arm around Sakura who was now standing, held eyes of burning crimson as he readied himself for a possible attack from this stranger.

“Sakura do you know this person?” Sasuke’s inquiry was swift, his eyes never straying from the approaching man.

“No. Not that I can remember.” Sakura struggled to identify this man. Honestly she could not remember this person but he said her name so he had to at least know of her.

“He’s a werewolf, probably, Sakura. That would explain his power.”

“Hmm, not quite. Judging from his aura and his appearance I’d say he’s a kitsune, a fox spirit. They use pure, wild natural energy unlike the witches.”

“They’re real?” Even Sasuke was shocked. There were no fox spirits in the West. He was sure of it. “Hmm I never met a kitsune.”

“It’s because they don’t live in the West at all. Even in the Eastern lands they are a recluse and rare species. Mistress Tsunade knows them though I’ve met them on occasion... Maybe he...”

“Hey!” The young man was waving at them as he jogged over. “Will you guys stop talking about me like I’m not coming over?” Sakura was slightly amused by his sunny disposition and child-like personality. It was a stark contrast from Sasuke’s which was calm, focused and mature. Sasuke, however, seemed distrusting with his eyes still fixed on the man.

“To answer your questions guys. Yes I am a kitsune and Sakura chan, Granny Tsunade sent me to check up on you. She figured you’d run to Suna.” The man was now directly in front of the couple, smiling an radiating nothing but warmth and energy. “My name is Naruto!”

“Naruto?”

“Sakura chan we played together three centuries ago when my tribe visited the Shikkotsu Woods for the Forest Festival, remember?”

“Oh my God! I do know you. You were that short, goofy kid who played with us that night!” Sakura couldn’t believe she forgot about him. However in her defense, annually there are tonnes of festivals and this was hundreds of years ago.

“Enough of this.” Sasuke was angry and now grabbed Naruto’s collar. “We still have to deal with them...” his scarlet eyes pointed in Sakura’s direction. “And if you are on our side then why did you shoot at us, at Sakura?! Answer me you idiot!”

“You bastard!” Naruto fiercely exclaimed, returning Sasuke’s anger with his own while grabbing Sasuke’s shirt. The two men glared into one another’s eyes. “As if I’d ever hurt Sakura chan on purpose! That bastard compelled me! I just broke free in the last minute! And Sakura chan was protected! ”

“Hmm. As if I’d believe that!”

“I don’t care what the hell you think!”

“Guys! Stop it!” Sakura’s voice was booming at this point, quelling the conflict as the words parted with her lips. The witch was now grabbing the men, ripping their arms off of one another.

“Please, Sasuke. Leave him alone....” Sakura pleaded and caressed her husband’s face with her hands. Sasuke’s own expression softened as his scarlet eyes met Sakura’s resonant eyes lit with worry. “You said it yourself, we have to deal with Gaara and his siblings, didn’t you?”

“Sakura....”

“It’s okay. Let’s deal with all this later.”

“Hey guys...” Naruto interrupted. “My fox fire’s dying. Let’s stake them before it does!”

“Tch.” Sasuke still peeved responded. “Fine.”

“You guys...” Sakura sighed “ whatever let’s do it.”

As flickers of ruby ‘tailed beast ball power’, as Naruto called it, danced in the desert wind, the newly formed trio prepared their final attacks. Moving in close was to risky so Sasuke decided that they go for a long ranged assault.

Sasuke, his aura of black and icy blue once more alight across his body, compressed the aura of psychic power into his palms. Sasuke had been inspired from his fight with Pein months ago and now developed a new technique. Expertly and instantly compressing the power, Sasuke Uchiha now held the full concentration of his compulsion in his arms ready to fire. “Chidori!”

In tune with her husband Sakura simultaneously called upon reserves of her remaining white magic. In the past the young white witch recalled that she would have been done for at this point but now after months of training Sakura’s stamina was such that she still had reserves of magic to spare. If only my bindi were ready though..Okay not the time.. Halting her thoughts Sakura performed her enchantment. With her left thumb on top and her hands clasped together vertically as was the usual for the witch Sakura summoned her signature roseate stars of white magical power from the pure wind of light that now twisted in revolutions around her. “Sakura Petal Storm!”

Naruto, now joining the couple, let loose his attack as well. Quite similarly to Sasuke, his new found rival, Naruto gathered the power of his now flaring aura. Pulling from the bubbling energy of scarlet, the young kitsune was able to compress his power into a spinning sphere of energy now dyed light-blue in its revolution. With his power spinning like a top Naruto’s arm reached back and he readied his throw. “Rasengan!”

The once calm sand garden was now blazing with sparks and the thundering of the trio’s powers. Sakura’s stars of fuchsia energy exploded in the direction of the siblings paralleled with Sasuke’s lightning bolt; his laser of onyx and azure psionic power and Naruto’s comet of blueish- white which shot across the garden, leaving behind streaks white energy.

What happened following this bombardment was beyond what Naruto, Sasuke or Sakura could ever anticipate. In a flash, in the wake of their three streaks of power, the witch, the vampire and the kitsune’s attacks were blocked.

In the last minute, as each attack neared the siblings, a savage tornado was born. Adding on to this a soaring wall of golden sand erupted behind the windstorm which was itself reinforced by the frame of Kankuro’s cracked giant, now outlined in an aurora of deep violet. The siblings were still conscious and, worst of all, still able to fight.

Against each defense the three powers weakened before bursting through only to die against the crumbling giant that was Kankuro’s statue. In the wake of all the smoke and rubble a rotating sphere of clean golden sand could be seen hovering. Gaara further protected himself and his siblings.

“Sasuke! What...” Sakura was overcome with fear so much so that her thoughts jammed in her mind and struggled to escape her lips. For the umpteenth time these siblings had outmaneuvered them. This was vampire royalty just like Sasuke. Three nobles. Was she in over her head? Did all the training Sasuke and her endured been for naught? So many negative thoughts washed over the witch upon witnessing the vampire’s resurrection. Sasuke... There was a very real possibility that this time Sasuke would die. They would both die here and so would Naruto.

“Shit.” Panic entered Sasuke’s bones and a bitter cold chilled him from the inside out. He really was weak, pathetic, unworthy. Sakura is in danger and after all this he still couldn’t pull off a victory. He failed to save her. They were both low on energy and power and from the looks of the three vampires escaping Gaara’s sand they still had power left. He couldn’t let his wife feel this though and thus calmly hid his feelings from their bond, instead replacing them solely with thoughts of the plan he was currently weaving in his mind.

“Those bastards!” Naruto blurted out, breaking the couple’s thoughts. “I thought we had them there.” Gaara, Temari and Kankuro now stood on the sand beyond them their auras blazing teal, gold and violet against the sand. “Sakura chan, Sasuke, what do we do next? We have to kick their asses!”

Naruto, despite their predicament, still held hope and a fire within him, Sakura noticed. This kitsune was not giving up. Upon his words Sakura could feel a faint smile bloom on her face as she held Sasuke’s shoulder. Sasuke, conversely, was even more irritated by the kitsune. That idiot.

He was right though, Sasuke thought. He also couldn’t stand to see the kitsune so determined while he himself was wallowing. Hmm. A smirk naturally streaked across his stoic face. At least the idiot helped him snap out of it. Still, Sasuke felt a bit envious that Naruto’s bright personality brightened Sakura so and even affected him too. He was not going to be outdone by some idiotic mutt. This he promised himself as he intertwined his fingers into his wife’s and readied himself for their final stand.

“So a kitsune joined in?” Gaara broke his silence as his siblings and himself invoked their psionic powers. “If two can’t work then try three? How simple.... Temari, Kankuro go!”

On his command the siblings let loose their attacks. Twitching his fingers meticulously Kankuro summoned a statue once more, his second, untouched statue, while his violet aura outlined the puppet now readying its punch. Temari sprayed crescents of scythe like wind once more in the trio’s direction. Finally Gaara, the strongest of the three, let loose two sharp tendrils of sand, weaved into a nebula thus completing the vampire’s team up.

Despite Sasuke’s chidori, Naruto’s rasengan and Sakura’s petal storm once more shooting out in response, the trio failed against the siblings’ might. Meeting each attack with their own, Sakura, Naruto and Sasuke could only repel them for seconds before the siblings, brimming with power and vitality from their feedings, splintered their powers away before sinking their own into the trio.

In the wake of the great explosion birthed from the vampires’ flare of power Sasuke, Sakura and Naruto were sent flying about the garden of sand. As the chaotic clouds of sand and dark power died, Gaara and his siblings stood triumphantly while Sasuke, Sakura and Naruto lay defeated, spread out helplessly in the cushion of the sand.

Sakura are you okay?! Sasuke’s thought wave was blaring at his wife as he steadied himself, struggling to wake himself from his defeat. A few meters off Sakura, herself clenching fistfuls of golden sand as she rose, replied. Damn! Yeah I’m fine, Sasuke. We lost.

“Naruto! What about you?!” Sakura was now vocal once more as she peered to her far right at the kitsune spread flat on his stomach. “Okay Sakura chan! I’m hurt all over though... those idiots sure got us.”

Ease and relief warmed Sakura’s heart as she realized her husband and even Naruto were okay, for now. However what could she do? Of all the fighters here she was now the weakest. Naruto didn’t exhaust himself as much as they had, the siblings fed already and even Sasuke got at least a mouthful of her energizing Shikkotsu blood in his system. Making matters worse, their best abilities were now being outclassed by the enemies. Guilt soon replaced the spark of relief as an ice cold frost blew against her, glaciating her once passionate spirit. We’re going to die because of me. Because I can’t help them any more. Naruto... Sasuke I’m sorry.

Sakura enough. Sakura your magic is what made us reach this far in the first place. Sakura you saved me!

Unbeknownst to Sakura, her bond was still active and Sasuke felt her emotions as she herself experienced them. He never changes, Sakura thought to herself. Always the protector. Always supporting. As much as Sasuke treated her as an equal Sakura still appreciated how serious Sasuke took his role as her lover and friend. Sasuke always ensured that she was at her best, even when she may not feel it herself. Sasuke had always seen the value in her, even when she herself failed to do so.

Sasuke....thank you. Sakura’s confidence was reignited and Sasuke could see and feel the zeal flicker in her smirk on her face and the ‘smirk’ warming her mind.

Hmm... Sasuke closed his eyes and flashed his signature smirk for his bride.

You come up with a plan while that idiot and I distract them. Your analytical ability is the best in this group after all! We can’t make it the way we’re going, Sakura.

Sasuke... yeah let’s do it!

As his thought reached Sakura, Sasuke needled his plan into Naruto’s mind. “Fine, for Sakura chan, I will work with you but I’m not going to like it!”

Moments later, covered in the remnants of The Sand Siblings’ attack, Naruto and Sasuke, the vampire and the fox, began their hunt. They sped off, claws extended to meet the trio head on.

Hidden behind clouds of sand while Gaara and his group readied their second firing, a charcoal ribbon of power waved through, cutting through clouds of dust towards the group. Simultaneously Naruto’s tails, nine tendrils of energy branched out above the wave and shot towards the siblings. Gaara could see Sasuke and Naruto in blurs of scarlet and onyx speeding towards them.

Whilst Gaara’s wall of sand easily fended off the attacks, Sasuke and Naruto now airborne, landed behind the trio and like lightning met their frames with their fists, claws and ‘tails’.

“Arrgh!” Temari groaned while blocking Sasuke’s black fist of power with her war fan, now alight in flickers of teal and light green. Sasuke was nudging her back as his other fist met Gaara’s core at his side. Against Gaara’s golden aura, Sasuke’s dark fist sizzled on impact. “Sasuke you...”

Alas, Gaara couldn’t finish his curse nor could he summon any sand. Naruto too was there. While Sasuke attacked from Gaara’s front, Naruto using several of his tails of energy, swept across Gaara’s leg from behind, his scarlet aura meeting Gaara’s as well. They were trying to throw him down. Naruto’s claws though were sinking into Kankuro’s chest, almost through his violet armament of psionic energy as far as Naruto could see.

This skirmish went on for moments as the siblings defended against the desperate strikes of Naruto and Sasuke. Close ranged combat seemed to work alright, Sakura concluded as she noticed Temari and Gaara, especially, struggle against Naruto’s rabid taijutsu while barely countering Sasuke’s which was polished and expert. However, Sakura could see the boys tiring and Gaara and his siblings gaining the upper hand, soon managing to block and stab the boys as their moves slowed. This would end soon. Of this Sakura was certain.

Close combat? Can I jump in and help them? No! Those three are still stronger and if I join in they could get my witch’s blood! We can’t chance it! Come on! Think Sakura! Shannaro!

Clenching at the sand beneath her, Sakura struggled. On paper Sasuke’s proposition sounded logical but what could they do? What could she do? If only Katsuyu were here! Doubt once again held her as Sakura stared, her attention split between the boys struggling to claw at Temari and Gaara while Naruto’s tails and Sasuke’s power now snared Kankuro, and her current, barren surroundings. Three against two... Sakura knew the end was soon approaching. Guys!

Frantically Sakura scanned the sand garden for any crystal she could utilize, any plant she could enchant. There was no Holy Sake around either, Sakura surmised, her mind still storming through plans. She could do nothing.

Sadly Sakura tightened her grip on the sand between her fingers and gave up with tears trickling down her face. As her fists blazed with roseate energy, the precursor to her Sakura bolts, Naruto and Sasuke were beaten. Forcefully, the men were blown back by the aurora of Gaara, Temari and Kankuro’s convergence of power. The siblings had won.

“I’ll finish you three myself.” Gaara’s voice was booming, spiced with rage and utter annoyance at the trio. The vampire prince was now covered in a veil of power; an aurora of bright teal, whirling mauve and his natural aura of splendid aureate. Sakura, now near her husband and Naruto, could see his acute curved fangs bare against his lips as his aura crackled. His arms were outstretched as he then proclaimed his attack. “Sand Binding Coffin!”

Borrowing some of his sibling’s power, Gaara then unleashed his ultimate attack. As Sasuke, now leaning against Sakura, looked on he witnessed sand, not only from the ground but from the very desert sky itself, being pulled into whirls around Gaara. Streams of brilliant sand with sparkling flecks of crystal and rocks embedded, danced chaotically around the sand garden. Sakura, gripping her husband, thought that it would have been gorgeous if this was not the weapon that would kill her. Gaara now showed them what the Sand’s vampires were capable of. Vampire royalty that was one with the desert: wind, sky, sand and sun. As the prince’s maelstrom stabilized, the form of a tsunami of golden sand appeared before the trio totally blocking out the siblings and soaring beyond the framing of the sand garden. Suddenly it was crashing into the vampire, the witch and the kitsune.

Sasuke!

Sakura!

“Bhoosh!”

“Sakura chan!” Naruto awoke now looking around for Sakura and even Sasuke. As he did so he was dumbfounded by what lay before him. Mounds of sand littered at his anterior and flecks of faint, white stars dusted the atmosphere. Beyond, near the gates, the Sand Siblings were lying on their backs.

“What the hell?!”

“Tch. Must you be so loud, idiot?” Naruto was shaken upon hearing that voice.

“Sasuke?!” As he looked behind him after sourcing the voice, Naruto was met with Sasuke smirking mischievously.

“Who else, idiot?”

The young kitsune soon ignored Sasuke altogether as his mind registered something far more important. “Sakura?!”

There, held firming in Sasuke’s arms was Sakura. Her arms were wrapped around his neck as her husband carried her towards Naruto. Apart from beads of sweat stamping her now blushed complexion and the wary look in her resonant eyes, Naruto could tell that Sakura was okay.

“Naruto! Thank God!” Sakura managed as Sasuke put her down finally. They were reunited with Naruto. She hugged him tightly when they met.

“Sakura chan” Naruto was blushing and returning her hug hesitantly.

“Whatever, let’s get those siblings before they wake up.” Sasuke interrupted, obviously irritated by the sappy reunion. “Don’t get distracted, Naruto!”

“You!”

“Guys!” Once more Sakura was the voice of reason among them.

“So when are you going to tell me what happened?” Naruto desperately nagged as they jogged towards their fallen enemies. “Come on Sakura chan!”

“It’s on a need to know basis...” Sasuke interrupted. “And you don’t need to know”

“Sasuke stop it.” Sakura sighed as the three of them now stood looking over the siblings. “Naruto stay still,” Sakura carefully instructed him while laying her palm gently against his forehead, as if checking for a fever. “Now feel!”

Sakura’s words echoed in his mind. Naruto’s mind now blackened from her touch. Naruto couldn’t think for a moment before suddenly, a lone star of intense white light blossomed in his mind. From this one star a pure and intense white light soon flooded his mind. Naruto could feel it, he could see it. A clear view and vibrant feelings entered him.

Materializing before Naruto was the answer to his questions. Naruto saw what he failed to witness himself while semi conscious. Gaara’s tsunami of sand descending upon them and Sasuke. Sasuke in his arms.

What the...?! Why am I holding Sasuke? Where is... me?! Before he could complete his thoughts Naruto was surprised to see himself on the ground. It was as if he was looking at himself; as if he were someone else. It was as if he was Sakura.

That’s it! This is a vision. Sakura’s vision from that time! The realization had finally dawned on him. Ooooh! I see. Upon his realization, Sakura’s experience continued. Naruto saw and felt it all.

Sakura panicked. A ripping pain tore through her body. It was the taint of defeat and hopelessness. Naruto felt it. No, that’s not all. It was heartbreak. Sasuke could die and so would he. Sakura couldn’t bear it. Gaara was readying his final attack and Sasuke and Naruto were defeated. They were doomed. I failed! They’re going to die because of me!

There was nothing but sand in this God forsaken place. Nothing but sand. Sakura gripped the sand in anguish as she cursed their fate. Sand. Sand that gave Gaara power and gave nothing to them, nothing to a witch like Sakura. There was no spell, no herb, no crystal. Only sand.

Sand...

Sand....

Sand!

Sakura’s discovery dawned upon her like the rising spring sunshine after the dead of winter, melting, scorching away the glaciers of hopelessness and fear that held her spirit. In its wake, buds of hope and promise sprung forth like blooming cherry blossoms. Sand was also crystal. Sand was also power.

Shannaro! Sand! Clear quartz! That’s it! Sakura’s grip loosened into a gentle caress as she readied herself. In the face of Gaara’s newly formed tsunami, with her comrades near her, Sakura fanned out her hair while feint jade sparkles of her lucky aventurine crystals twinkled. The witch would cast one last spell.

Invoking her power, the pure magical art of Shikkotsu, Sakura linked her mind, her spirit and her power with the clear quartz crystals in the sand. Alone a speck of clear quartz was insignificant and could barely sting a vampire with it’s power, the power to cast away negative energy. However Sakura thanked God that she wasn’t dealing with one speck. As she ran her fingers through the sand, now enlivened with her finger’s motions, Sakura appreciated flecks of diamond-like sparkles dancing before her eyes. Indeed, Sakura didn’t have a single speck. She had trillions.

Sakura do it! Sasuke cheered, his mind linked with hers; his mind helping her as if performing the spell with her as one mind and soul.

“Flares of the Sun,

Glow of the Moon,

Radiance of the stars,

In this darkness I invoke thee...

Dispel!”

Sakura, channeling all of her white power into the crystals in her hands, formed a link. Each speck shimmered brilliant jewels of pristine white light as Sakura’s magic resonated and awakened their natural power. Sakura felt a warmth like a flare of pure solar power coursing through her, warming instead of burning, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Like wildfire this phenomenon spread. Each crystal pierced by white magic then awakened another and in seconds, while Gaara’s tsunami was crashing down on the trio, the entire sand garden was alight with enchantment.

In the wake of Sakura’s spell, pearls of luminous white, an entire cosmos of star- like crystal burned, lighting the entire garden and exploding upon the tsunami of sand, nullifying it and collapsing it in the process. It was as if the Sun was rising on the garden itself when the light burst forth and blossomed white magical power that blinded all who were present.

The last sound Naruto heard as Sakura was the wailing of the siblings as the light of the enchantment pierced even his vision, thrusting him back to the present and his own mind.

“Sakura chan! You’re amazing!” Naruto excitedly exclaimed, still on a high from his experience. “What amazing control of your magic!”

“Oh he’s back.” Sasuke sighed, feigning disappointment as he stood over Gaara.

“Naruto. Thank you. But I really only pulled it off because you both helped me and supported me.” Sakura was humble and Naruto chuckled as he saw her eyes meet Sasuke’s as she went on.

“Yeah.. you weren’t totally useless.” Was that Sasuke’s version of thank you, Naruto asked himself.

“Sasuke...” Naruto couldn’t find the words to reply.

Sakura now broke their awkward silence, “Naruto. I mean it. Thank you for everything. I owe you my life. We both do. Tell Mistress Tsunade I am okay and will send a letter with Katsuyu soon. But before that...”

As she finished her praise, Naruto was shocked before he could respond. Sakura kissed him gently on his cheek, setting it ablaze in rose like blush as she did so.

“Sakura-chan...” Naruto stumbled for words as his eyes glazed over. “No problem...”

“Tch”

Ignoring Sasuke’s mocking he continued. “Um Sakura, what are those? Are they... those guys’ protection?” Naruto asked while pointing to three palm sized crystal orbs of teal, violet and amber.

“Yes Naruto, these are their protection from the sun.” Sakura smiled, as she played with the precious crystal orbs she had recovered while the kitsune was spelled. “Without these, even when they recharge, they’re helplessly paralyzed by the sun.”

“Oho. Vampires are so disadvantaged.” Naruto smiled, looking at Sasuke.

“Idiot...” Sasuke retorted sharply.

“Hey!”

“Guys!”

“Sorry Sakura chan”

“Hmm..” Sasuke was speaking now, blocking out Naruto it seemed. His attention was focused entirely on Gaara now as he intertwined his fingers with Sakura’s. The couple now stood resolute, side by side in the face of the siblings.

“Gaara, how about we make a deal with my wife and I?”

“Wow. I can’t believe Sakura chan knew where the one ramen shop is Suna was!” Naruto exclaimed cheerfully as he strolled down a minor street in the city. With his eyes shut and his signature sunny smile adorning his face, the kitsune seemed perfectly content despite his recent ordeal.

“I cannot wait!”

“Ugh who is that?!” Naruto complained as he halted to answer his phone. After a brief scan of his surroundings he stepped into a nearby alley. Only the rats present would hear what the kitsune said following this as his expression died down to one that matched Sasuke’s.

“Hello?...”

“Yes I found them...”

“No the witch protected them from my tracking wards with that tourmaline crystal thing....”

“No they didn’t suspect a thing. They think Granny Tsunade sent me.”

“Yeah at most they got some weird emotional shock when I tried...”

“No no I didn’t fail! Listen they’re still here. They’re not on the move. This is what I am saying, they are staying here... and...”

“Listen, I really... I really think you should come here now, Master.”

#sasusaku #sakura haruno #sakura uchiha #sasuke uchiha #myfic #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ss fanfic

53 notes · View notes

jlpat82 · 6 years ago

Text

Not Our Home

Chapter 9

It had been along time since he was down here, Preacher thought, the underground halls hadn't changed. He lead the group through the maze of corridors, twists and turns in the absolute darkness. He was in front, followed by Sasha, Julianne, and Reaper bring up the rear. Each held onto the shirt of the one leading, so not to get lost.

"We need a place to stop, and devise a plan," Reapers voice just above a whisper. "To figure away out of this city."

"I know the perfect place." I responded.

"First, we need to stop by and get a few things." Preacher added. His voice calm, as we rounded another corner.

"How do you know where we are going?" Sasha whispered.

"I snuck in when the bombs starting dropping, before the seals were put into place. At first I stayed down here, to avoid being seen. This was long before the criminals took over the place."

"Why did you come here to begin with?" I asked.

"Once I realized that someone had went through and murdered the scientist on our team I knew it wouldn't be long before they came after us. It took me a while to figure out it was Riptide that betrayed us. He was the one that let the activated nukes slip past." He paused for a moment and then took another turn. "I knew that if he saw me, he would kill me. So I snuck in and went straight to darkest most unlivable place I could."

"Basement level." Sasha stated.

"Exactly, I stayed here for a long while. Roaming these catacombs, I had free roam. Once every month guards would sweep through, they didn't know the darkness like I did. I smashed every light I passed, I wanted the darkness."

"Why?" She asked.

"Being genetically modified the complete darkness is nothing for me. I can see just as well as you can in the day, the people that came down here had limited visibility. I could out run them, cause I could see them coming. The only down side, it makes daylight a bitch to handle."

"When did you go top side?"

"Couple decades back, I stayed low and kept to myself. Found out Riptide didn't hand pick the military, if that's what you call those idiots, anymore and joined. Did a lot I ain't proud of." You could hear the agitation in his voice. "We're here."

I could hear some metal on metal scrapping, Preacher let a sound of a mixture of a groan and a huff. Low light spilled into the hall as he pushed the heavy metal door open.

We stepped into the room, it was smallish. One single light bulb mounted in the far corner was the only source of light. Items I had only seen in videos hung from hooks on the wall. Old camouflage army fatigues adorned with a heavy bulky vest, no doubt reinforced Kevlar. Dusty black boots sat neatly squared under each set, large rifles artfully hung on the walls. These were items from another era. An era tense by war and bloodshed, supposedly a thing of the past.

"I believe these belong to you, Sir." Preacher handed Reaper a set, a name emblazoned across the right breast of the jacket. Harper, in bold stitching. A smile played across his face as he took them, he pulled them close.

"How I've missed you." Reaper spoke softly, pulling his shirt off. Scars lined his bare chest, I turned quickly looking at my sister. Preacher was in the middle of disrobing, changing into his uniform.

"Sasha, you can wear these." Preacher handed her a set, she gladly took them. She stripped quickly out of her slime and maggot covered clothes. They dropped with a wet thud.

"Julianne," Reaper pulled me aside, he handed me a set of fatigues. "These were your grandmother's, you should wear them."

"Why?" I cautiously took them from him, his face relaxed a bit. The kindness had returned to his eyes, something I hadn't seen since that night in my house.

"You are a lot like her." He replied as Preacher walked up to us, handing Reaper a rifle. He turned to me and pushed one in my hands on top of clothes. Bewildered, I turned my attention to him.

"Trust me, we'll need them." He stated, turning he walked back to the wall of weapons.

"News flash Rambo, we normal people don't know how to use these!"

"Easy to figure out, you hold gun, point it thing want to permanently stop and pull the trigger." He replied not looking back.

"You should get dressed." Reaper added and followed his comrade.

I stripped quickly, and put the uniform on. It was heavy and bulkier then it looked while hanging. It felt odd to put on clothes of someone who had been deceased for as long as she had been. Her being my grandmother just made it very weird. Hopefully history would not repeat.

—-

"What do you mean you lost them!" Riptide yelled inches from the guards ruddy face.

"It was guard 116, he turned on me." The poor man croaked out, his eyes averted from Riptide. His left eye was swollen shut, dried blood crusted around his broken nose.

"How?! You were supposed to be one of the best! You passed everything with honors you stupid moron!" Riptide's whole head was a bright red, a vein bulged from his temple throbbing with every word. He absent mindedly rub the back of his head. He could feel the headache starting to come on, he was beginning to wonder if he was surrounded by idiots.

Riptide stepped over to the computer, quickly typed in 116. The computer brought up the file, there was a face he hadn't seen in a hundred years. Riptide felt the blood wash from his face, as a cold chill raked through his body.

The ghost from his past popped up on screen. Preacher had just barely slipped in the force, nothing worth while on his record. Just average, the kid knew how to cheat the system. No honors, no disciplinary actions, because of this he was able to slip under his radar.

"How long has he been on the patrol unit for the prisons?" He barked, panic raised his voice a notch as his hands started to tremble. This could be detrimental, dealing with Reaper was going to be a challenge but adding Preacher to the problem aggravated the situation. Preacher was Reaper's second in command, his go to buddy. Not only did this mean it was a two on one but Reaper would now know the lay out of entire complex.

"This was his second patrol shift." He slowly brought his eyes up, looking at his commanding officer. His brow knotted together, he saw fear in the man's eyes.

"Damn it!"

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking why is that so damning?"

"Because he only needs a day to completely memorize the entire lay out of structure. It was his unique specialty."

"Sir, the guy barely qualified on his exams, I don't see how that is possible."

"He is not as stupid as you are! That's why, his brain works at a faster and higher setting then your peanut size brain does."

"Uh, I don't think I'm following you."

"He's like me." Riptide pull his handgun out, he pointed to his own head with it. "My brain is much bigger then yours, hence why I'm in control and you are not. We, him and I, were created to be better then people like you."

"What do you mean, created?" Riptide brought the gun down leveling it to the ruddy faced guards head. He pulled the trigger, blowing chucks out of his head.

"You wouldn't understand, and now I wasted a perfectly good bullet."

—-

Reaper was in deep conversation with Preacher, he looked over briefly and pointed to the black boots. I slowly sat down, pulling a pair of socks that had been rolled up in one of the boots. I shook the dust off of them pulling them on, watching them conspire. I grabbed one of the heavy boots, I dusted it off and saw a full shine. I shoved my foot into it as Sasha came over, she sat next to me and she started doing the same.

"Wonder what their plan is." She stated, watching the two, as she laced the boots tightly.

"Escape, fight back, who knows." I sighed, I turned my head to look at my sister. Red slime still clung in her hair, blood streaked across her ivory cheek. Even in the low lighting I could see the dust that streaked her face. I never asked her to be apart of any of this, and she was in no way obligated to stay. She continued to prove me wrong.

It seemed like our old lives were hidden far deep in the past, so much had changed in a week. The world her and I grew up in had changed violently, but it hadn't changed at all. It was the same, we had just woken from the dream into a nightmare fueled by hate and bloodlust, that was our reality. The facade had been pulled back, leaving devastating results in its wake.

Genetically modified people were a reality, they stood before us, the last of a forgotten era. Living relics, trained to fight, trained to kill. They had once lived by code to protect, and that's what they were planning on doing. While one attempted to keep us at bay, by all cost.

The world outside our revered reinforced cinder walls were far from the utopia most had aspired for it to one day be. It in its self, the world as a whole, was livable, filled with horrifying wonders yet to be seen. Twisted and knarled oddies waiting to be to be gazed upon. Lands to be explored and documented, fresh air to breathed. A life I had always wanted to see.

Within these walls is the real horror show we had seen. We had been kept in check by powers beyond our control. Cruel and evil men who held our daily lives captive, not only to keep the status quo in check but actively kept our numbers in check. We had been fed the flesh of our peers none the wiser, arguing over flavors that we had never really tasted. Going to and from meaningless jobs, to appease the elite. We were nothing more then clogs on a wheel.

She had seen these horrors first hand, and yet here she was, sitting next to me. Willing to fight till the end of line, a strength I had never known radiated from somewhere deep with in Sasha. She didn't give up when they took me, with the intent of killing me, even with odds stacked against her. It was her loyalty that brought her the courage she needed to keep going. Then again I could hallucinating all of that, and in reality all she just wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower.

"You said you know a place?" Preacher asked walking towards us. "They'll starting sweeping soon, trust me we don't want a fire fight down here."

"Yeah, can you get us to housing complex A?" I responded taking Reaper's hand as he helped me off the ground, pulling me a bit to close to him. I felt like a tiny awkward creature being that close, I could feel the heat spread through my cheeks. His golden eyes locked onto mine.

"Can I get you to housing complex A?" Preacher chuckled mocking me, as he grabbed a couple more handguns, strapping them to his thighs. He tossed a couple to Reaper who caught them one handed without breaking eye contact with me. "Oh child, if you only knew where I've been."

"Preacher, lead the way." Reaper stated, slowly turning from me. My heart in my throat, I let out a deep breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Why did he do that to me.

—-

"Gentlemen, we've had a breach." Riptide shouted, pacing before the hundred men. "First we have a man who has come in from the outside. A contaminant has breached our walls as is a potential threat to our hollowed society, he is to be considered highly dangerous. He will also be armed to the teeth, this man is not to be under estimated. Do not hesitate, take him down, I assure you he will not hesitate to put a bullet through your skull. The second problem we have had one of our own has turned on us."

All eyes, focused on him. He had re-composed himself since his slip, a momentary weakness. He could feel his power begin to course back through him, he was back in control. These idiots were eating up what he had to say, not questioning his orders. Things back to the way it should be and soon back normal all the way around.

"He is also to be considered highly dangerous, he will also be armed. Though 116 seemed to be average don't let that fool you. The man is a highly trained killer. He is ruthless, shoot at first chance. Both these men must be taken with a head shot, if you miss and shoot another body part they will still continue to fight. Be alert to your surroundings, these two have skills you could only dream of." He paused waiting for his instructions to sink in. He had to remind himself that he was dealing with simpletons. After this was all said and done, these men would be purged and the records wiped. Like nothing ever happened. "As for the woman, I want her taken alive."

Permanent tag-

@kitkatkl

Not our home tag-

@devilbat @tarithenurse @radicalesbians @lilmissravingwriter @no-fuhking-idea

Let me know if you want tagged.

#dystopia #dystopien #government break down #soceity breakdown #slowburn #violence #scifi #elite #1st person

14 notes · View notes

sugaxjpg · 7 years ago

Text

underground king; m

⤷ Eventually you came to the realization that, if Namjoon was the king of the underground, you were as close as he would ever get to a queen.

✓ Couple: Namjoon x Reader | Boxer!AU and Gang!AU

✓ Filed under: smut, minor angst

✓ Look out for: violence, light daddy kink

✓ Words: 13,411

Author’s Note: guess who’s back, back again... guess who just edited this fic into the seven heavens and added about 6k more? das right

“Come on, (y/n), you won’t regret it!”

Hovering like a feather over your head, Yoongi’s proposal gradually fell into your consciousness. Quicker than you expected, the shadow of a frown was casted over your features and you found yourself rolling your eyes at his words, frustrated at his mindless insistence — what was that? The seventh or eighth attempt at convincing you throughout the last hour? Your patience was running thin.

Falling from in between your lips like poison, the bitterness of your response was enough for his mocking smile to wilther into seriousness, “How many times do I have to tell you?” you asked him, folding a particular shirt with more brutality than humanly necessary. The laundry room was already claustrophobic as it was, you did not need your friend pushing you against a corner and miserably failing to reach his goal. “I don’t want to get involved in your illicit practices, Yoongi.”

An ironical chuckle exploded on his lips as your answer found him, his sentence already hanging at the tip of his roseate tongue, “Do you prefer to spend your sad Friday night being alone in your sad, lonely house?” he questioned, sarcastic. You nodded instantaneously, making him look you up and down — underneath the cool, flickering luminescence of the laundry room, his hesitant eyes scrutinized your rash, stubborn expression with care. “Folding clothes? Really?”

Your confirmation came as you folded the last piece of clothing — an orange shirt you swore you had thrown out already — and placed it on the large basket by your side, “Really,” you told him, picking the object up and walking towards the open door. You could no longer endure neither the smell of lavender detergent, nor the irritating irony from your companion’s part. Yoongi was your best friend, fair enough, but it was at times like those that you regretted one day giving him the keys to your small apartment. “Why do you care, anyways?”

Nevertheless, you were already aware of the response that would be given to you. Ever since you ex boyfriend had dumped you — about five months ago, in a rather overdramatic public display, if you could say so yourself — you had closed yourself off to the rest of the world, choosing to spend your time in the comfortable warmth and peace of your small place. As much as Yoongi begged to say otherwise, your behavior had not been catalyzed by a broken heart — though, at first, it had been... a bit — but because your ex was one of the few people who could drag you out of your den and remind you of what the sunshine looks like.

The other person was Yoongi and, let’s face it, he was not doing a very good job at it.

Subsequent to the instant you left the laundry room, your friend took the opportunity and shot an infamous question your way, “When was the last time you had sex?” His voice came with a sarcastic tone that made rage bubble within the walls of your stomach, inducing your grip to grow tighter around the basket. You ignored the way his steps sounded against the wooden floor, following you close behind as you approached the staircase that would lead you to your room, “C'mon, (y/n), I worry about your health!” he spoke out again.

Without looking at him, you climbed up the steps, bare feet coming in contact with the cold, dark wood. There was absolutely nothing on this planet that would change your mind, especially not when it came to your sex life, “You’re being ridiculous, Yoongi!” you shot back at him, completely disregarding his misplaced inquiry.

“And you’re avoiding me,” the man chuckled, almost running to catch up on you. For a second, you considered throwing the basket at him and hoping that falling down the stairs would finally shut him up, at least for a couple of seconds, “besides, there’s a certain someone that I’m sure will love to see you again. And he’ll be very… disappointed if you don’t show up to his little show.” he made sure to add, certain that his claims would be sufficient to awaken some sort of interest within your chest.

Well, he was not precisely mistaken in regards to that. Upon hearing the message that hid between the lines of his speech, your muscles froze up in place, eyes growing wide underneath the weight that decision carried. Shortly after, you heard Yoongi stopping behind you, positive that the smirk that ornamented his features had been perfectly created to set your fury aflame — or panic, depending on which tide of emotion you would rather focus on.

Closing your eyes in a hopeless attempt at tranquilizing your quick-beating pulse, you took a deep breath, fingers loosening up around the handles you had gripped so hard on, “You fucking did not…” you started, measuring your words. Calm down — you mentally told yourself; a silent mantra or a faithless prayer — do not lose your cool, do not give this kid the satisfaction of getting under your skin.

But, of course, Yoongi was already drowning in seas upon seas of inner satisfaction. As much as you attempted to camouflage it, your friend was extremely aware of how deeply the mention of that peculiar person struck you, “Yeah... I kinda did,” he said. You could hear it in his voice: the bastard was laughing at your distress, and he was not even ashamed of it. “(y/n), you saw it coming, don’t even pretend otherwise.”

The mention of that “certain someone” had been a constant plague in your life. Even if the last time you encountered such persona was a bit over a couple months ago, the pallid phantasm of his presence appeared to corner you constantly, that being in casual conversations or important news reports. Furthermore, Yoongi could not shut his mouth about him ever since your boyfriend had dumped you, so you were well aware of the desires that hid in the background of those proposals. You did not exactly hate it, if you were to be utterly sincere. You did not hate him.

Oh yes, the almighty Underground King — where to begin? The young boxer had the subterranean town at the palm of his hand at the impressive age of twenty-three, expanding his power with every new victory, spreading a pestilent mixture of trepidation and respect wherever he went to. He was a flawless leader, a flawless criminal and, above it all, a flawless, invencible fighter — both in and out of the arena. Rumor has it that his control over the lower city was so gargantuan, in fact, that even the police had decided to turn a blind eye at his deviances, a silent agreement that, as long as he kept those acts underneath the asphalt, there was nothing for them to do. The laws were different under there, anyways.

If that was not sufficient, your best friend — you had absolutely no idea how — had managed to get close to the infamous Kim Namjoon, and he endowed the man as if he was the very own reincarnation of the Lord. As much as you would never admit it to yourself, you could comprehend the reason why he looked up at him with those dreamy, child-like eyes: there was not one person in the whole town, upper or lower, who had not heard of Namjoon and what supposedly happened to the ones who crossed his path. Approving his lifestyle or not, you had to say he was threateningly good at it.

Trapping you in an irritating and repetitive symphony of bargains, Yoongi begged for you to give him a chance and, at some point, it came to your attention that Namjoon was very interested in getting to know you. Mayhaps you were simply curious or there was some sort of desire hidden in your uneasy position, but it finally came the time that you gave into the stranger’s charms — one mistake in a drunken night being enough for Yoongi to never let you forget its occurence. But of course, as much as you tried your very best not to judge people, a boxer; gang leader; and drug lord was where you drew the line.

It would not happen again. You would make sure of it.

Back to your position, a long sigh erupted from in between your dry lips, setting your pulse to follow the arrhythmic progression of your panic. “Tell me you did not—”

His words sounded like a judge’s hammer deciding your fate, “—I told him that you would be there, yeah,” Yoongi interrupted, rising to the same step as you. From where you were, you could see the door to your room wide open, and you mentally measured the chances of locking yourself there before your friend could catch up on you. Before you could do that, however, Yoongi’s arm was already wrapped around your shoulders, leaning your head against his. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll love to see you again.”

Fucker.

“Who the fuck calls themselves ‘Monster’, anyways?” You asked with a dose of sarcasm, pressing down the leather jacket against your shivering figure. Internally, you cursed Yoongi for convincing you to wear that short white dress: it was so tight you could barely breathe, and now your legs had basically turned into stalactites against the hyperborean breezes of night.

For an instant, your question was all that echoed through the streets, at first meeting no answer. All around the two of you, traffic lights and prismatic signs spoke in morse code, guiding you towards your destination — your only company being their dim, flickering lambency, and the quick progression of your shoes against the gelid asphalt. Few were the ones brave enough to adventure to those corners of the city, for all they would discover would be the entrances to the underground.

Yoongi only laughed at your inquiry, his skin ever so beautifully delineated by the neon signs that embellished the twilight-bathed street. He seemed much younger then, even if for a second, “You’ll see why that’s his nickname. The guy is a champion for a reason.” was all that he told you.

As simply as that, something switched within the corners of your cloudy contemplations. Like a punch in the stomach from an unseen enemy, the ponderousness of reality fell down upon you — gradually, then at once, making you stop dead in your tracks, “Yoongi, wait.” you called out, unsure if your voice had left your chest for a second.

Slightly taken off guard, your friend paused, then turned to you with arched eyebrows, “You good?” he questioned.

You licked your lips, promptly meeting the strawberry taste of your lipstick, “It's just that I’ve never been down before, I’m a little nervous,” you spoke honestly, yet avoided eye contact — were you embarrassed? There was no reason for it — and instead paid attention to the yellow light coming from the semaphore behind his silhouette. With your peripheral vision, you could see the boy watching you closely, expectant even. “I don’t even know what to expect, I don't know how to behave. I don't know, I—”

“—Woah, take it easy,” Yoongi took a step towards you, holding your shoulders, fingers massaging the spot in an attempt to calm you down. Even if the tension still had its claws dug deep inside your muscles, his action was enough for a shaky, assuaged breath to leave your crimson lips. “There is nothing to worry about, okay? I’ll stay by your side at all times.”

Even if his intentions were pure, his words were not all that you needed to calm down the currents of your worries. You did not answer, for there was a knot tying inside your throat and preventing you from verbalizing the sentences you needed to say — but what were those, again? In fact, what were you doing? There was a very special reason why you were avoiding the underground city and, above all, avoiding Kim Namjoon. Would you really throw it all away so impulsively?

Yoongi leaned his head slightly to the side, obsidian eyes falling to your own with an odd curtain of compassion over them, “(y/n)?” he called, the corners of his mouth almost twitching in expectation, “okay, if you really don't wanna go down there, you don't need to. I just need an answer from you, alright?” he guaranteed.

You swallowed your emotions dry, feeling the pressure you were under as clearly as the cold cuts of wind. You hated how Yoongi’s bottomless onyx irises stared deep inside you, the very suaveness of his low voice making it impossible for you to get away from his manipulation.

Then again, you were not certain you wanted to leave, too.

Pressing your lips together, you inhaled deeply before giving Yoongi an answer, “Alright, okay. We’re going down swinging,” you sighed, defeated. Your friend smiled, victory plastered all across his smug expression and shimmering inside his irises like stars to a nefarious galaxy. “what do I even have to lose?”

A chuckle followed your words, “That’s the spirit!” the man celebrated. Not even a second passed by before he was already taking your hand and leading you to the abandoned train station.

As it turns out, you had a lot to lose.

Outlined by paranoid misconceptions, the image you had painted inside your innocent mind made you picture that the subterranean town would resemble somewhat of an anthill, filled with fathomless, muddy pathways that led to small muffled chambers — or perhaps nowhere at all. You hypothesized that the obfuscous lights down there — if there were any — would not be enough to perfectly illuminate the features of gloomy strangers, nor the intentions that waltzed in the background of their curious eyes. As odd as the comparison might appear to be, it was as if you truly were going down to the lower levels of inferno, accompanied by your own personal demon.

Nevertheless, as you came to observe, it was not even close to that. After entering the decaying subway station, Yoongi guided you to one of the trails, then to what appeared to be a blockage in the tunnels. Meeting a couple strangers there, he lost no time and whispered a password to some grumpy old man, who you swore censored your presence with his ablaze stare. Before you could ruminate on that experience, though, the two of you entered a series of passages so inclined that you had to take off your heels in order not to lose balance. The corridors were, at first, humid and covered by penumbra — however, as you walked deeper into its claustrophobic shadows, fluorescent lamps lighted up your path, its luminescence casting an eerie glow on the cement walls drowning in graffiti.

Gradually, civilization showed itself in the small details: from stone stairs to cement-covered tracks, laughs of intoxicated strangers to the primordial constructions of the underground city, a complex parallel world that existed just below your feet. It was a cosmos of resplendent, polychromatic lights that opened before your eager eyes, lively conversations and loud electronic music mingling in a unique, overwhelming symphony. Suddenly, it did not feel like an astringent taste of hell, but a delicate, paradisiacal caress.

Throughout your path, Yoongi kept his promise by remaining close to you — sometimes even guiding you by hand, which was an aspect of his character you were certain he would never admit to — and explaining what every little construction had to offer. From brothels to massive parties, cheap motels to luxurious strip clubs; the underground city was a living, breathing organism, embracing its visitors in a hypnotic euphoria, taking their most hidden desires and gifting them at hand. Its atmosphere was so magnetic — so overwhelming — that you found yourself thinking that you should have come down there before. Not that you would ever admit that, of course.

All that it took for the forgotten nervousness to germinate within your chest was a simple turn, presenting you a kilometric line to what appeared to be a gymnasium. Its pallid yellow walls were peeling off in bursts of grey bricks and covered by glued papers, the faint tone disappearing underneath the weight of time and the abuse of its users. The most diverse of people accumulated outside the place, clearly eager for one more of the king’s spectacles. The effervescent buzzes of their disconnected conversations turned into a nebula of confusion to your ears and, somewhere deep inside your preoccupied mind, your consciousness yelled out that you did not belong amongst them.

As you started to lower the velocity of your steps, you were surprised by a strong pull on your wrist, inducing for you to momentaneously lose your balance and get back on track, “Um, Yoongi? Why aren’t we getting in line?” you nervously inquired, startled by the looks you two were getting as you passed straight through the impatient crowd. Yoongi’s grip on your wrist was delicate, but firm; presenting you with the insubstantial path to the front entrance.

“We don’t need to,” he simply replied, flashing you a smile as he glimpsed back. Something did not feel right about it, but you were in no position to complain, for you were sure he had the upper hand when it came to those unexplored lands.

Painted by a shade that resembled ruby, the front doors were solely blocked by a red satin rope. Upon arriving there — and burning under the furious eyes of annoyed strangers — Yoongi whispered an unheard sentence to the security guard, who answered with a strident laugh, then an amicable nod of agreement. The large man opened the way for him, but, when you were about to follow your friend into the construction, you were stopped by a hand bigger than your head.

In a way, being blocked by that gigantic security guard gave you some sort of melancholic faith: this was the sign you necessitated to call it a night and go back to the warm hug of your bed. Unfortunately so, your friend’s contemplations were awfully asymmetrical to your own.

Yoongi nudged the man with a firm touch, confident in his words, but somewhat irritated at the unnecessary obstacle, “Man, she’s Namjoon’s girl. Let her through.” he spoke with naturality.

Lucky enough, the man’s surprise was followed by a deep cough from his part, which helped camouflage the pink shade that monopolized your flaming cheeks. Reviewing his decision, you could see at the tips of his fingers grew white around the rope, “I’m sorry, miss,” his low timbre requested your forgiveness, and his legs stepped aside so you could make your way in.

Without a second to chew on what had occurred — was the group of waiting people quieter as well? — you stepped into the building.

The progression of the music reverberated through your bones, the intoxicating scent of alcohol and perspiration causing for your nose to cringe. Encompassing your figure, an ocean of euphoric bodies flooded the bleachers and the lane, surrounding the podium that was located in the center of the large court. A honey-colored spotlight shone upon it, making it stand out like a peaceful iceberg in the middle of chaotic currents. The ring was horribly worn out and stained with what looked to be old blood — which you chose to ignore as Yoongi held your hand tightly, making sure you would not get lost in the thick of the crowd.

It was your turn to slightly pull his hand towards you and, as the boy turned around to hear what you had to say, the flaming discomfort in your eyes almost spoke for itself, “Namjoon’s girl? Are you fucking serious?“ you yelled against the electronic beat.

Without faltering his amused expression, he responded with a, “Did you have a better idea?” Yoongi screamed back. Upon your silence, his smirk only grew wider. “Didn’t think so. And don’t act like it’s not true.”

You closed your mouth, debating if an answer would be worth giving. In the end, you chose to keep your thoughts to yourself, getting lost in your own worried reveries. As the faceless people opened to way for you two, their limbs coruscating under the flashing light, you found yourself out of equilibrium on the thin rope that divided anticipation and fear. After all, you did not know if that was true or not. Not after everything that had occurred.

Yoongi took you past the ebullient stands, where the locker rooms were located, with the excuse of seeing some acquaintances before the show started. As much as his excuse did not exactly make sense inside your head — since it was quite clear that only the fighters and their close friends would be there — you decided that it was a fate you could not avoid for any longer. To hell with it: if you were to see the almighty king again, it might as well be in a public place.

After closing the metal door behind yourself, the noise subsided like you had immersed yourself underwater, causing for you to suspire in assuagement; ears ringing in the sudden silence. Yoongi let go of your hand then, walking in front of you through the small corridor.

A couple minutes must have gone by in sheer quiescence — which had two different reasons. For you, it was the reticence of apprehension and, for your friend, it was the polar opposite. Excitement traced spirals around Yoongi’s head and, as he turned around with a cheerful, “Ready to see the underground king, (y/n)?” you swore you could see some sort of childish pleasure in the cool lights that melted over his features.

Once again: fucker.

After a breviloquent groan, your answer came in between your lips, “Shut up,” you replied, trying to follow the rapid progression of his steps. Why did you agree to wear heels, really? That decision was on the top of your list of bad calls, right underneath ‘Going to the underground city to meet a criminal, who just happens to have a slight crush on you’, “We won’t stay here for long, anyways. It's not like I'm spending the night.” you added.

“You mean: not again,” Yoongi laughed, and, after a few seconds, you two found yourself in front of double doors. Muffled conversations could be heard from the other side, their vague words losing their significance halfway through their path, morphing into a slight buzz soon to be lost in the static universe. Your friend looked back at you as if to make sure you did not run away, eyes analyzing your hesitant expression with amusement, “chill out, will you?” he mocked and, without gifting you a second to respond, opened the passage.

In the expanse between two consecutive heartbeats, you mentally asked for God to make you drop dead.

“Yo, Yoongi!” was the first thing you heard. Before your brain could even capture the image of the place, your attention was already being switched towards the owner of such distinctive, deep timbre — a tall man walked in your direction with open arms, greeting the two of you with a lovely rectangular smile and a warm gaze, which was barely seen underneath the cascade of his caramel-colored hair, “we were already thinking you’d ditch us for tonight. Namjoon was getting impatient, and that’s very irritating.”

As the handsome stranger moved to quickly hug your friend, a dry laugh was heard from behind him, “If he hears you saying that, you’re the next one he’s fighting, Taehyung” another boy warned playfully, his hair painted by a creme tone, hands inside the pockets of his black pants. As much as his voice carried hits of sarcasm, his features remained oddly serious, if not uncomfortable, “Sup’, Yoon—”

Abruptly, his phrase came to a halt, his eyes fixated on your unexpected presence. A glimpse of curiosity traveled across his beautifully delineated features as he studied you with patience, eyes navigating from your face and down your body — also taking a little too long to examine your bare legs, if you could say so yourself. When his gaze met yours again, through, he smiled kindly, “And who’s this beauty?” he wondered.

For an instant you expected Yoongi to respond, but you came to the conclusion that, from the disapproving shadows that were casted over his traces, he was far too irritated by the stranger’s hidden intentions to do so, “I’m (y/n),” you then answered, feeling extremely uncomfortable now that all eyes were on you. At the mention of your name, they all looked at each other, two boys sitting on a bench whispering something you could not understand. Reluctantly, you cleared your throat. “Um… Yoongi?”

Upon the calling of his name, your friend snapped from his trance, clearing his throat — his eyes were still fuming with something you could not quite characterize, and it only added up to your uneasiness, “Yeah, sorry,” he shook his head, remembering the promise he had made. Yoongi was cognizant that it would take you some time to grow accustomed to the new atmosphere, and that you would most blame him the second something went downhill, “(y/n), this is Taehyung,” he pointed to the first man who came to greet you, “Jimin,” to the guy with the creme hair, “Hoseok, and Seokjin,” he showed the other two men, who still sat on the wooden bench, “Everyone, this is (y/n). Pretend you like each other, or whatever.” he shrugged.

Following his speech came a thick blanket of silence, falling over the ambient as the new information settled in. The sudden quiescence did not last for long — perhaps a second or two — but it was enough for a few more details to be perceived by you: the long lines of indigo lockers; the oscillating lights above your head; the few brown benches that broke the monochromatic atmosphere. The locker room was particularly well-kept, especially if taken to account its location and its users, but some dark stains could still be perceived at the corners of the room, or underneath some broken tiles.

“So... that’s the girl we’ve heard so much about,” Hoseok’s voice broke the silence and, with it, your rapid daydreams. You could swear you could almost feel his enthusiasm resounding past his words, “it’s nice to finally meet you.” he said.

“You too,” you spoke back, even if you could not pretend as if you had been curious about those people. Of course, you could recall Yoongi mentioning a couple names in the past, but you seriously did not feel any sort of desire to meet the ones who worked under the name of the great Kim Namjoon, “So… are you all fighting?” you took a chance at asking, hoping it would break the thickness of hesitation.

It was Seokjin who replied, “No, tonight’s Namjoon’s night,” he explained, pausing for a second as if to read over your expression. You swore that it was like those boys were trying to read the pages of a soaked book, attempting to find meaning where there was nothing left — perhaps your arrival was truly unexpected, “It’s the finals, actually. Didn’t you know?” he spoke further.

Beyond one special roll of lockers, a muffled sound was heard. The way it smoothly broke the static of the murmuring lamps was sufficient to send your pulse into arrhythmia, for you were aware of the significance they brought along — God, he was right there, wasn’t he?

Somewhat embarrassed that such information had escaped your grip, your gaze flickered down to the floor for a second, your thoughts fighting to focus on the conversation, “Not really, this is my first time down here,” you choose to confess. Out of your field of vision, the metallic sound of a door closing shut startled your spirit out of your body, but you managed to hide it quite well, “I’m… a little lost.” you cleared your throat.

Your eyes moved upwards the second that a dry, muffled sound of steps echoed around the ambient, “Seriously?” Jimin questioned, surprise reverberating past his word, and into his deep eyes — there, something other than friendly intentions dwelled in saturninity. “I would have thou—”

“—Stop making her uncomfortable, Park.”

Rupturing your forged tranquility like a thunder breaks upon the stormy horizon, those five simple words were more than you ever desired; guilty of replacing your blood with currents of electricity, yet freezing up your stomach with the gelid fingers of panic. As much as you had convinced yourself that you were ready to see him again, your confidence evanesced the very second his presence stepped into your field of vision.

Namjoon, in all his glory, stepped out from behind the roll of deep blue cabinets. The humid strands of his dark hair fell over his observant gaze, droplets of water shimmering like small diamonds when met with the achromatic radiance of the fluorescent lights. Traveling downwards from his plump lips — where you could see a thin crimson cut — and perfectly carved jawline, his poorly tied robe made it possible to see a few more drops running down on his defined chest before disappearing behind the grey fabric. Merely one fragment of your brain noticed that he was working on the gauze on his hands, for his entire beauty blinded you to everything else in that particularly claustrophobic ambient.

God, you hated him sometimes, despised the effect he had on you.

To your luck though, one timbre broke your momentary enchantment, “Sorry, boss.” Jimin dismayed his inner panic with an uncomfortable laugh.

Towards him, Namjoon sent only a low, impassive hum. Even lost amongst the nebula of your overwhelmed mind, you could tell that the man had no major interest in remaining in that dialogue, “I’m happy you could come, (y/n),” he then turned towards you, eyes locking within a heartbeat. Swallowing hard, you found yourself unable to deflect his penetrating gaze.

As if a message had been sent telepathically, the other men grew aware of the tension that lingered in between the two of you, “We… were just… leaving,” Taehyung intervened, somewhat unable to find his words quickly. He could swear that, throughout the few years he worked for Namjoon, he never saw him looking at someone with so much intensity, “we should to get to our places before one of the crackheads bothers us again,” he hesitated; cleared his throat. Hopefully the others would get the clue. ”Hm— Yeah, good luck tonight, Namjoon! We are going now.”

Much quicker than your thrown-aback cognizance could grasp, the men left the locker room in a wave of compliments and wishes of good fortune towards their superior. When the door closed behind the last of them — Hoseok — with a loud click, you were sure you would murder Yoongi in the first given chance.

For an instant, you were unable to move. Air had metamorphosed into this consolidated and alien substance that did not quite enter your lungs, the silence overlapped even the spasmodic progression of your thumping pulse. Without looking, you could feel his eyes pierced on you; could envision the rise and fall of his chest as a prolonged suspire departed from his half-open lips, “You look amazing as always,” his deep voice spoke out.

Surprisingly firm, your body turned around to meet his silhouette leaning against the cabinets. As expected, his pupils were burning past your flesh, uncovering the vacillation of your soul, “Thank you, Namjoon,” running your hands through your white dress as if there was something to fix, you found yourself flinching away from his stare yet anew — you did not fear him, though, but feared your own bad decisions. The fighter solely followed your movements with his eyes, “You don’t look so bad yourself.” you added.

“I’m practically half-naked,” he grinned, stretching his hands and checking if all the gauze was in place. As much as Namjoon acted absent-minded, you were aware he was the polar opposite.

Fuck, just roll with it.

Your response dripped in between your lips before you could censor yourself, “I know.”

What are you thinking, (y/n)?

There was no certainty if his chuckle was instigated by your clear nervousness, but Namjoon smiled at your adorable reactions, holding out a hand for you, “C'mere.” he requested calmly.

You walked slowly towards him, the sound of your shoes resonating in the closed environment. Even hesitant, you could not help but obey his commands — the boy was completely magnetic, owner of such an enveloping aura that left you flabbergasted at his presence; downing in the silkiness of his deep voice. Namjoon’s tongue came out to his lips, following the movement of your legs. The man thought how he would do anything to be between them at that moment, having a taste of the paradise only the two of you shared; a personal heaven that was oh, so dangerously close to his caresses.

Finally, as your hand touched his, Namjoon gently pulled you against his body and your hands rested on his wet pectoral, breasts pressed against his pale grey robe. The tension between you two was heavy, almost palpable, your warm breaths mingling as you touched your foreheads; nose brushing lightly against his, “For good luck,” he murmured.

Namjoon pressed your lips to his gently, his fingers tangling in your hair. Immediately, he was poisoned by the flavor of your honey tongue. It was absurdly intoxicating, a drug he would never get used to. He felt like you were as addictive as nicotine, as mesmerizing as the a mermaid’s melody. And he could never get enough: he missed — needed — you so much.

You sighed against Namjoon’s mouth as your hands moved to the curvature of his neck, pulling lightly on the base of his hair. One of the boy’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, pressing your body against his with undeniable desire, concupiscence. You had entered that locker room with the decision that would never fall into one of his tricks again, but you found yourself defeated by the softness of his full lips, mind erased by the soft grunts that resonated in the space between your intertwined lips. Weak — he made you so, so weak.

The boy grunted as your tongues met, and he turned his head slightly to deepen the kiss. He saw himself wanting you more and more, demanding all of his self-control not to fuck you against lockers until you were screaming for your approaching relief. The moment your teeth found his lower lip, biting and gently pulling, he could not help but moan out your name, “Damn, baby girl,” he murmured right after, voice drunken by lust. You pulled away just enough so that he could talk, noses still brushing and hearts unhinged, “you have no idea how much I missed kissing you.” he breathed out.

You simply smiled, attacking his lips with more fervor — there were no needs for words of agreement when your every move was symmetrical to his own, working in the same dose of eagerness. The boy sighed, turning your body around and pinning you against the cold metal doors of the lockers. Like a natural reaction, your legs curled around his waist, causing Namjoon to moan, slowly grinding against you. The small friction was enough for you to drop a muffled whine, the familiar moisture already spreading through your underw—

“—Boss, are you… OH SHIT SORRY!”

Fuck.

Like a bucket of ice had been thrown on top of you, your immediate reaction was to pull away from Namjoon’s touch, head only missing the lockers for only a few millimeters. Feeling your cheeks burn in deep scarlet, you hid your face on the curvature of the man’s neck, praying to all the gods who may be listening that such position was nothing but a bad dream.

Though, has you felt the fighter’s voice reverberating against your chest, you were sure that it was happening, “Fucking hell, Hoseok,” Namjoon cursed out, clearly irritated at his friend’s interruption. But, hey, at least the two were still fully dressed. “learn how to knock, for fuck’s sake.”

“Sorry! ” the invader covered his eyes with his hand, voice a little sharper than normal. If the situation was not extremely uncomfortable, it would be absolutely hilarious. “I just— The fight is about to start, I wanted to see if you were ready—”

“—Yeah, yeah, I got that,” Namjoon interrupted, pulling away your bodies and letting you put your feet on the ground. You still could not look at the other man, choosing instead to focus on a random corner — those dirt stains suddenly grew so interesting, “I’ll be there in a minute.” he grunted, obviously fighting against every fiber of his body to do so. The last thing he wanted, in fact, was to leave your touch behind.

“Okay!” Hoseok exclaimed, still paralyzed in place.

If someone’s eyes could melt flesh, Namjoon’s were as close as possible, “Jung?” he called out.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Get the fuck out, will ya?”

The first time you met Namjoon was amongst the thumping of a generic beat and the neon lights of an old club at the upper city. Approximately two months after your boyfriend stress, Yoongi won you by exhaustion and managed to take you to such place, glad to see you joining him in one of his infamous nocturnal adventures.

You were not ashamed to confess that Namjoon caught your eye immediately — mainly by the way the boy behaved, emanating confidence and authority in the midst of his every action, no matter how mundane. He stood out in the crowd as if he held to an ethereal — or perhaps diabolical — luminescence of his own, and you were lost in his voice the moment you two started talking. Before you could tell, the party had progressed into the crepuscular veils of dawn, and the boxer did not leave you side for a second, equally overwhelmed by your mysticism.

After a few drinks from both of you, neither remembered how the night reached its terminal hours. Some vague memories still flashed in your mind — when he took you to a hotel, hands up your crop top and whispering sweet nothings into your ear; or when he stripped you out of your clothes, watching your body with desire as you moaned underneath his touches, in awe with the sacchariferous ambrosia of his tongue. You managed to recall getting in all fours, screaming out his name as he thrusted himself in and out of your dripping core, feeling on top of the world as he moaned praises, calling you his baby girl, his…

Queen.

That word was all that you could think about as the rays of morning light arrived over the upper city and you woke up wrapped in his strong arms, head resting on his chest. Truth was simple and terrifying: ou did not desire to be Namjoon’s queen, you did not want to get involved in whatever he did in the underground world. It was all supposed to be a regretful one night stand, nothing mor—

“Morning, babe. Did you sleep well?”

Of all things, you did not expect that. You did not expect his gentle smiles or his loving touches. You did not predict that the man would fight to stay in contact, to keep trying to see you as often as he possibly could. Never did you foresee that someone as feared and dehumanized as Namjoon would laugh so brightly when he was around you, and, above it all, you did not expect him to keep calling you… that. Eventually, you came to the realization that, if Namjoon was the king of the underground, you were as close as he would ever get to a queen — deep down, you hated yourself for loving it.

And you hated yourself for running away the way you did. You gave him no explanation or excuse, no goodbye or any sort of closure. One day, about two months ago, you simply cut him out of your life, never to even mention his name again. All that was left of the almighty king was the ghost of his delicate embraces and soft voice, along with endless requests from your friend to not give up on him so easily; the glimpses of his harsh features that would sometimes shimmer into light within the darkness of your mind. You promised yourself that it was the end for that sad excuse of a love story, that you would never be so naive again.

But now he was back, punching a guy to death.

Monster! Monster! Monster!

The crowd was euphoric, shouting his nickname in aggressive unisound. The exhilarated rooting of expectators was so intense that you could barely comprehend the line of your thoughts, so devastating and overcoming that you almost felt pity for Namjoon’s opponent — though, you were aware that the noise was not his biggest issue at that instant.

Monster! Monster! Monster!

“Annihilate him!” Taehyung screamed next to you, punching the air in pure emotion.

Your sits were, by far, amongst the most privileged in the house: practically on the ring side, right beneath where the conflict unraveled. From there, you could see in impressive detail the rise and fall of Namjoon’s heavy breathing, the way his eyebrows were lowered in concentration. You could see his muscles tensing and relaxing with every move, outlined by the traces of sweat that made his skin glow. Supremely, you could see why people were so afraid of him for, within minutes, his opponent had already been almost knocked out three times, clearly having severe difficulties accompanying the younger man’s precise attacks.

“Get him, boss!” Jimin yelled.

In one swift advance, the other man — Spinebreaker? You could not remember his name — threw a punch, only for his fist to meet the coldness of air. Namjoon took advantage of the opening, turning his body with surprising ease and launching a kick that hit his opponent directly on his ribs. With a muffled snarl, Spinebreaker staggered, but managed to keep himself on his feet. He was not a bad fighter, Namjoon was simply much, much better.

Next to you, you saw Yoongi moving closer to you, his voice rising a little above the others so he could be heard, “You should cheer for your boyfriend.” he teased.

“First of all, we’re not dating,” you spoke back, eyes never leaving the fight. Namjoon deflected an attack just for a few inches. His body moved with impressive agility, just covered by some loose, worn out shorts — you would be telling a lie if you said you did not enjoy the view, “second of all: no, thanks.” you concluded.

“Don’t be a pain in the ass, (y/n),” Yoongi rolled his eyes, pushing his shoulder against yours lightly. Namjoon turned away from another punch, losing his balance for a moment. The other man he was visibly weak, but he continued his offenses mercilessly, “and, yeah, I know you two are not dating. But I don’t think he does.” he chuckled.

Something that lingered in the background of his mocking tone made your focus break. You blinked twice, then moved to stare at your friend, “What do you mean?” you inquired.

He laughed at your oblivious attitude. Yoongi could not comprehend how someone could be so emotionally constipated, “Come on, couldn’t you tell? God, (y/n), you can be so dense sometimes.” he said.

“Yoongi,” you called, this time more seriously. “what are you saying?”

The boy cleared his throat and licked his lips, though his eyes remained trapped in the combat, “Okay, so… the guy talks about you nonstop. To the point that is driving me mad, in fact. He’s giving you your space because he thinks he did something wrong, not because he’s done with you,“ you listened carefully to his words, heart falling into despair at every prolonged pause Yoongi took. “Seokjin even said that like — shit! Defend yourself, man! — fuck, okay... Seokjin said that he wouldn’t mind giving up everything down here, if that’s what has been bothering you so much. But I don’t know.”

“That’s… a lot?” oddly so, you appeared to be unable to find the correct words to construct your response. Then again, you were not certain there were any, “But we don’t even know each other that well, that sounds a bit… radical, maybe?” you continued, reluctant.

“Hey, I’m just passing on the info,” he shrugged. It amazed you how unbothered Yoongi acted, even when being faced with something as life changing as that. Maybe he did not care, you thought, or maybe he was certain that would not happen. “I know Namjoon a little better than you, and I can say for sure that he likes you. This-is-a-romance-movie kind of liking. It’s kinda disgusting.”

Simply as that, the enchantment that held your attention on him was broken, “Oh, please, not with this again. We’re not in seventh grade,” you mumbled, turning your gaze back to the fight. Namjoon had been hit, the mark of a small cut had opened on his cheek, tracing slender lineaments of blood down his clenched jaw line, “he likes me and all the other girls.” you scoffed.

Awakening from his own self-inflicted spell, your friend’s eyes snapped back to his side, meeting yours in a mixture of confusion and disbelief, “(Y/n), there are no other girls, don't you understand that?” Yoongi sighed, irritated as if he was telling you something obvious as the color of the sky. “Namjoon is a solo player, and he’s into you. So either you gave him the best blowjob of his life, or he means it.”

Disregarding his terminal comment was probably the best measure you could have taken at that moment, “Whatever,” your voice came out neutral, but your thoughts were an absolute chaos. “Just give me some time.”

In a sea of incoherent screams and droplets of blood, Namjoon threw another precise punch towards his oblivious opponent. As soon as his face met those gaze-covered knuckles, the other man hung against the ropes after staggering back on the blood-splattered floor. Spinebreaker’s face was already decorated with vivacious scarlet splashes, his movements were perceptively lethargic and more fatigued — it would not take much longer now, the fight was almost done with.

Next to you, Yoongi cleared his throat, “You have been given a long time. I mean, I remember what you told me,” he continued, pausing for a second to watch the fighter’s agile movements — the man was truly mesmerized, “you don’t want to get into this crap. And I understand. But you gotta see that you’re already far too deep to back out like this. Shit, (y/n), you have the guy wrapped around your finger, you can’t just cut him out like that, you’re not that coward.” he told you.

“Thanks for the motivational speech, Yoongi,” you said sarcastically. Deep down, you knew that everything he said was true. And knew you would have to come to terms with it sooner or later.

With one last hit, Namjoon won.

His opponent collapsed onto the ground with a loud noise, unconscious, and the scream of the audience gathered in a single, deafening sound. Before you could get hold of your own unforeseen excitement, you found yourself mingling with the rest of the crowd, congratulating the king on yet another one of his victories. You could not tell where it came from, but suddenly a wave of pride washed over every fiber of your body.

The moment the man spat out his mouthguard and stepped under the ropes, walking towards you, you realized that trying to predict his actions was almost as impossible as telling how many stars decorated the nocturnal sky. Namjoon ignored all the other spectators and focused only on you, the most beautiful woman he ever had the privilege of meeting, as you cheered for him, small hands clapping happily. His tired walk was quickly replaced by a run, his smile shining bright as the distance between you two got smaller and smaller.

In all his victorious magnificence, the Underground King wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging your body against his and spinning you around with joy. And, when your lips met and the crowd exploded into cheers, that moment became the first time Kim Namjoon felt he had really won.

“And then he went like BAM! And the guy was down!” Taehyung narrated the fight, reproducing a few moves with enthusiasm.

“We know, we were right next to your sorry ass,” Yoongi replied, lying on the wooden bench. “are you high, man?”

Licking his lips, the boy took a second to consider the sensations that overtook his body, “Not yet, no,” he denied after such breviloquent instant of ponderation, then turning to his focus to the other man. “boss, how are you feeling?”

Namjoon’s eyes lethargically moved to where Taehyung stood, almost as if he had just been awakened back to reality, “I’m goo— Ouch! (y/n), take it easy there”, he flinched as he felt the wet cotton press delicately against his open wound.

With a diverted laugh, you merely nodded, but disregarded his sentence promptly. You and Namjoon were sitting on one of the benches as well, your fingers gently working on his open cuts, “I have to clean this up. Besides, how are you complaining about a little bit of antiseptics when you didn’t even flinch when you got punched?”

The fighter cleared his throat, “Adrenaline, I gue— God damn it!” he cringed, taking the cotton ball from your hands in one motion. “Okay, baby, I think that’s enough for now.”

Before you could say anything back, another comment resounded from the opposite side of the cool locker room, “The great king can’t handle a bit of pain,” Jimin smiled. The way Namjoon tensed up underneath your touch made you realize he did not like his provocative tone one bit.

Blocking his boss from making the situation worse, Seokjin threw an inquiry around, choosing to intervene in the tense atmosphere, “The party’s still up, right?” he asked to no one in particular.

“Yeah,” it was Namjoon who replied, fingers running through his recently washed hair, “you guys can go, I’m not feeling like it.” he quickly added.

A cloud of confusion grew denser around the fluorescent cubicle, his friends almost unable to understand what had been said, “What?” Hoseok asked, almost automatically so. “You’re the star, boss, what are you talking about?”

Namjoon’s uninterested features showed clearly how little that information struck him. There were more important things in his mind than some silly victory commemoration — which was, sincerely, becoming quite repetitive, “That’s great,” the fighter grunted, slipping his arm around your waist. The touch was firm and filled with warmth, somewhat between the protective and the possessive, “I’m still not going.” he repeated, unshakable.

Next to him, you placed your hand on his shoulder, unable to fight back the curiosity that was bubbling in your chest, “What party are we talking about?” you asked.

“We’re celebrating the Namjoon’s victory!” Taehyung replied promptly, as if he had been expecting that inquiry from your part. From everyone there, he seemed to be the most excited, and you could not help but think that maybe he was lying about not being high.

Humming, you turned your gaze back to the man by your side — his traces still harsh, yet flawlessly delineated by the thin neon lights of the cool ambient. It was awe-inspiring how perfectly Namjoon could coexist between the delicate and the brutal, oscillating like a pendulum in the thick of those opposites, “Sounds fun,” you chose to comment, targeting your words towards him. Namjoon’s hand stroked the curvature of your body, and you watched his thoughtful stare deepen into consideration.

Though, that moment only lasted for a short-lived instant. He had made up his mind, “It’s the same shit every time,” he said back, this time looking back to meet your features — raised eyebrows and pouty lips; the eyes that had so many time enchanted him into your embrace, “and I much rather spend the night with you, babe.” the fighter made sure to say.

Like a switch had been activated within the walls of your taken-aback mind, you felt the tides of roseate embarrassment painting your cheeks with hot brushstrokes. Yoongi, still lying down and with his eyes closed, seemed oblivious to your sudden embarrassment, “Are you okay with me going without you, (y/n)?” your best friend inquired.

Your throat felt a bit dry as you responded, but your words were as true as they could be, “Yeah, sure. I can stay.” you spoke back. You did not want your night to go any other way.

Namjoon smiled, still holding to your waist, “I’ll take good care of her, don’t worry.” he said.

After all the boys left the locker room — heading to the party with clear and resounding exclamations of anticipation — you and Namjoon were left alone for the second time that night. As peculiar as the realization might have been, his company with was not as intense as you had foreseen, the casual talk flowing almost too perfectly.

That was one of many reasons why Namjoon intrigued you so much: the way he could understand you so well; how he treated you as if you were the most precious thing he ever landed his eyes on, when, to others, he only showed his brute, authoritarian face. Those two, polar opposite personalities danced together inside the same person, changing and adjusting so flawlessly that you had a hard time keeping track of his thoughts. Regardless, you adored it. Adored him.

And, good heavens, it was like you could feel yourself falling all over.

“How many times have you won the championship, anyway?” your voice broke the momentary quietness.

Sitting on the bench, you watched the outline of his bare back, his muscles moving as he pulled out his clothes from the metal cabinet. Before the other men had left, the fighter had took a second to wash the sweat out of his body; small droplets of water still ornamenting his caramel-pigmented skin. At the verbalization of your question, he paused for a second, thoughtful, “Around… Nine?” Namjoon responded.

A small exclamation of surprise dripped in between your lips as you leaned back, resting your hands on the bench — the object was not especially large, but it was enough for you to lie down on it comfortably, if necessary, “So that’s why they call you Monster.” you teased.

Namjoon only laughed at your claim, certain that you were aware of the truth — his nickname came from much darker things than winning a few boxe fights over the years, “They call me a lot of things, sweetheart.” he threw back, tone slightly embellished by traces of melancholy. You did not answer, “But I guess you know that, of course,” the man closed the small door, then moved to place the pile of clothes at your side, “considering the time you were avoiding me.” he concluded.

Your eyes widened, heart shattering promptly. Foolish had been the hope that he would have overlooked that phase of your relationship, egotistical had been the part of your mind that swore he did not feel the pain of your departure, “Namjoon, I—” you started.

“—Don’t worry, baby, I get it,” he sighed. His dark hair was disheveled, falling over his eyes like a waterfall, masking perfectly how unable he was to maintain eye contact with you. Some part of him swore that, if he attempted to do so, he would not be able to camouflage the anguish that had monopolized his spirit for so damn long, “the things I do aren’t for everyone.” he spoke further — trying to convince himself more than you.

Namjoon hesitated for an instant, waiting to see if your voice would rupture his rambling. As an interruption did not come, he continued with a heavy heart, “But... here’s the thing,” he pushed the strands out of his dark chocolate eyes, “if it was anyone else, I wouldn’t give a flying shit. But it’s you. I have absolutely no fucking idea what you did to me, but I can’t stop thinking about you,” he took a deep breath, the honesty of his words weighting deep inside his chest, “Shit, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. All I know is that I wanna kiss you until I’m out of breath.” he confessed.

You remained without reaction, absorbing everything he had just told you. Namjoon looked at you with extreme sincerity and, deep in his chest, he truly hoped you would comprehend that he was not as terrible as his reputation made him out to be. He wished you would realize how important you were to him, how he would give up his whole kingdom if that meant having you in his arms again — fuck, he was tearing himself apart.

Before you could verbalize one of the thousand contemplations that had washed over your mind, his voice echoed again, “But I can’t kiss you,” he murmured, defeated. Something in his lethargic tone made you realize the sadness he carried along, the despondency of being unable to fully call you his, “because I know you’re still scared of me.” Namjoon concluded.

There it was — the final drop that made the cup overflow; the unwanted attack that had set your soul aflame. Had you been a coward? Yes, but not because of something like that. You were not scared of him, and you could understand that now. Ever since you two met, you could tell that, underneath the heavy armor that he wore, a golden heart shined along.

“Namjoon, can you stop with all that self pity?” you stood up, standing face to face with the boy. In the way his eyebrows lifted and he took a small step back, you could see that he was as surprised as you by your unexpected action, “I’m not scared of you, I’m scared of all this,” your finger traced circles in the air and pointed all around you, referring to the underground city as a whole, “or, at least, I was. I’m not anymore.” you paused, letting your shoulders fall. “Listen, I’m not gonna lie: I was avoiding you— ”

He laughed sarcastically, “That was pretty obvio—”

“—I said listen,” you interrupted him. He grew silent, “I was avoiding you, but I’m not anymore. I’m here, and I’m very fucking confused with everything that happened tonight. And I damn well know I’m not scared of someone who can’t take a little bit of antiseptics, ” he laughed at that, making you relax a little, “So, yeah, you may be the king of this hellhole, but you don’t frighten me as much as you’d like. I’m not scared of you, Namjoon, so please stop pretending I am this fragile little doll you have to protect.” you breathed out.

Just like that, his own words turned into silence within his head. There was nothing else he needed to say, for the man was certain of the veracity your heated phrases carried along. He could see your reluctance, could see your heart being pulled in between reason and emotion — but fear? Oh, he saw no fear in the midst of the magnificent seas of your gaze, solely the tides of an ocean that attempted to pull him closer, “What are you saying?” Namjoon inquired, gaze flickering towards your parted lips.

Subsequent to a profound exhale, you took a step towards him, “I’m saying that I want you to kiss me, Namjoon.” you whispered.

Unable to fight back the blooming of his own desire, the man quickly granted your wish. The collision of his lips against yours was sufficient to steal all the air from your lungs — already so frail to breathe properly, it seemed — and send your heart into a vivacious pulse. Then and there, the world lost its focus: there was no flickering lights above your head, no scars of a recent battle bothering him. The chilly air of the room had been replaced by the heat of your bodies, an atmosphere so filled by sheer lust that you could not focus on anything else.

With a muffled grunt against your mouth, Namjoon turned your body around, practically throwing you against the cabinets, the metallic sound echoing through the awfully warm room. His firm hands grasped your ass, making your hips naturally grind towards his own. Even if like the ghost of a touch, you could tell that the fighter was already half hard, and the quick contact was enough for him to moan out once again. Last time, you two left some unfinished business, and he would make sure that would not happen again, not when you were so deliciously giving yourself to his touches.

Soon after, the man was taking out all his accumulated frustration in you. Namjoon tore your jacket from your body, throwing it away and holding at your sides as your legs wrapped around his muscular figure once again — he pulled you upwards and pressed you against the cool metal, giving you the support you necessitated to fully press your center against his. He left behind the paradise of your mouth, assaulting your neck with kisses and bites, feeling the blood shoot down to his cock every time his name dripped from your parted, red-bitten lips. You were the hottest thing he had ever seen, and you were driving him absolutely insane with every small exclamation of pleasure.

With a sudden movement, he lifted you dress up to your waist, one of his hands caressing the insides of your bare leg, dwelling in the smoothness of your skin. Any other occasion, he would do his best to tease you with slow, patient movements; would find pleasure in the manner you flinched away from the stimulation of his touch, at the same time complaining and wishing for more: begging for him. However, at that delightful instant, Namjoon simply wished to feel more of you, to drown in the pleasure of your embrace — fuck, he just wanted to be inside you, feeling your walls tightening around his hard member as you cried out his name.

Just that simple thought made him moan against the wet-kissed skin of your neck, fingers going towards your pulsating core, “Fuck, baby, you’re soaked already,” he groaned, massaging your clit over the humid fabric. You bit down on your bottom lip, closing your eyes in an attempt to contain your needy whines — he knew every damn part of your body like a map, was aware of how to touch you oh so perfectly, “Don’t hold back, baby girl, I want to hear you screaming my name,” he almost ordered, cutting your thoughts short of stamina. “I want everyone in this goddamn city to know you’re my fucking queen.”

And who were you to ignore an order from the king himself?

What departed from your lips what a conglomerations of syllables that resembled his name, their meaning lost in a current of moans and whines. Still, some part of your mind was focused on something else, for, before he could fully have you for himself, you desired to treat him just as well, “Namjoon,” you called out the second that his fingers pulled the fabric of your underwear aside. Your only response was a low hum against your jugular, “S-sit down, I wanna give you your prize,” you barely got out before another whine left your mouth.

Even if bothered by the separation of your bodies, Namjoon did as requested. Unbothered eyes accompanied your own eager ones as the man sat down on the bench, legs apart and erection visible through the thin fabric of his shorts. You swore you could drown in that image: his abs rising and falling with the rapid progression of his breathing, his wet strands of hair pulled back allowing for you to see the beauty of his features.

And then there were the cuts — god, the cuts. You did not know what it was, but some part of you burned at the mere glimpse of his white scars, or the fresh vermillion cuts that torn out his skin. From the bruises that bloomed in violaceous and ruby to the lines of crimson down his face, it all combined to form a person so magnetic and compelling that you could not help but allow for your lust to take hold of your body.

Quickly after, you moved close to him. As Namjoon’s irises met your actions with almost savage need, you started placing small kisses down his neck, fingertips outlining the curvature of his tense shoulders. Gradually you began trailing a path downwards, sucking and biting his skin. The response he gave you were subdued and throaty grunts; moans that continuously perished in between his lips, “Fuck, (y/n),” the fighter cursed when your hands circled around his waist and you knelt between his open legs, fingernails clawing at the base of his spine.

Your name sounded so dirty that you had to hold back a suspire of sheer devotion. Your hands descended even further, surrounding his hip bones as your lips found the elastic hem of his shorts. Without hesitation, you planted a kiss on his clothed erection, feeling the man’s body tremble underneath your diaphanous touch, his hips slightly moving towards your face. Looking at you like that, Namjoon felt he was reaching the limit of his sanity, “Babe, you’re gonna make me cum in my fucking pants if you keep doing that.” he warned. The idea did sound appealing.

Ignoring his requests, you patiently hooked your fingers around the hem of his shorts, pulling them down and leaving only his underwear. Your hand cupped his fabric-covered member, squeezing and massaging it lightly as you felt it twitching under the cloth, “You feel so hard.” you trailed off, forcing your voice to resound without a trace of desire.

Namjoon bit his lower lip, staring down at you with hooded eyes, “Stop teasing me.” his tone, however, was covered by a thick blanket of lust.

“You’re a little too... impatient,” you remarked, looking up at him with false innocence, “quit ordering me around and enjoy your little present.” you told him.

Before he could protest, your lips returned to his underwear, kissing his cock one last time before taking off his last piece of clothing. His dick hit his abdomen, hard and pulsating with need. You enjoyed the image for a moment, wasting no time as you began to kiss the inside of his thighs, slowly spreading his legs wider with the palms of your hands. Namjoon was breathing hard above you, unable to concentrate on anything but the impulse to feel your mouth around him, “Shit, baby, I need you.” he practically whined.

Humming, your mouth kissed the path up his leg, your lips slowly touching the base of his member. Such simple contact was enough for the boy to moan out your name, hand flying to hold onto your hair tightly. Your tongue gently licked his cock, savoring his salty taste and moving up his length. Just an instant before reaching the top, you stopped, your fingers curling around him, slowly beginning to pump his thickness. Namjoon needed a lot more, and he had already moved beyond the point in which his pride kept him from vocalizing his wishes, “Fuck, (y/n), p-please…” the man tried again.

His voice sounded hoarse and defeated, inciting a familiar heat to spread through the base of your spine, wetting your panties even more. You moaned against his cock, causing the boy to hold your hair even harder as he buckled up his hips. Without warning — the surprise was always the most delicious part — you took all of him in your mouth, coming down until it reached the back of your throat. Namjoon threw back his head, a loud, deep grunt reverberating all around you, “Oh my god, babe, yeah, fuck—” he cried.

There was something incredibly hot about having someone as powerful as Kim Namjoon completely helpless beneath your touch, and you were delighting yourself at every second of that. Patiently, you lifted your head, almost taking his cock out of your mouth, before moving down again. Your cheeks hollowed, sucking him, keeping a slow pace. You listened, core throbbing, as the boy repeated your name over and over like a empty prayer, somewhat unaware that he was doing so.

Namjoon pulled and pushed your head, making you take him whole every time you lowered your body, his tip hitting the back of your throat, “Just like that, baby girl, fu-fuck—” one specially breathless grunt interrupted his own sentence. You moaned against his length, adoring his reaction, yet feeling the discomfort spreading between your legs at an alarming pace. Precum was already taking over your mouth, and you knew he was close to reaching his edge, “Your mouth feels so good, babe, don’t — ah, fuck— Don’t stop…”

His sounds became more and more frequent, fingers guiding your head with precision as his hips moved to meet your movements. One last time, you felt his cock twitching inside your mouth before he came undone, repeating your name in between shattered groans and overwhelmed, breathless prayers.

After you had swallowed down on his release — something he could not help but praise over and over — you removed his member from your mouth and looked up to see the mess you had done. As you did so, your body was unable to capture a stubborn whine from departing from your chest, a sound so needy that even you grew surprised at its echoing connotation. Painted on the astounding canvas of his desire, every singularity of that scene seemed to blank your mind: Namjoon’s head was thrown back, eyes closed in concentration and small droplets of sweat gracing his face. His breathing was heavy, his mouth half-open and teeth pricked in the purest expression of pleasure. A vague rufescent hue had been casted over his cheeks, overlooked by the shadow of his frown. God, he was the very image of lust.

Lackadaisical, his head moved back straight, then slightly leaned down. The man opened his eyes and, before you could fully comprehend the sheer concupiscence that pulsated within his hollow gaze, a murmur that that resembled something like, “lie down for me, baby,” interrupted your contemplations.

What followed that request moved far too rapidly for you to fully recall. Trapped in a foggy cloud of your salaciousness, your body moved on autopilot, the forms and shades of the room around you turning into an abstract conglomeration of nebulous elements. It only regained its focus once you found yourself trapped in between Namjoon’s body and the wooden bench — just as expected, it was the right size if you wished to lie down — merely registering the white fabric of your dress being thrown to the ground.

Foul, a long moan escaped you as Namjoon’s mouth attacked your breasts, tongue prowling your erect nipples as the other was massaged by his large hand. He had completely lost control over his own senses by seeing you moaning and squirming beneath him, he could no longer handle his most primordial instincts. He desired you like nothing else in that goddamn world.

Impatient, the man left your chest, mouth delineating the way down your figure and towards your legs. He was quick to position himself between them, hands on your ass so he could lift your hips up for better access. He bit down on the sensitive skin of your thigh, going towards your core with lascivious explosions of carnality. Just as you did with him, he took off your underwear — too — patiently, eyes shimmering with aphrodisia as he saw the way you were ready for him; panties absolutely soaked.

Without a single second of vacillation, his swollen lips met your clit, sucking hard on the bundle of nerves. Your back lifted from the seat instantaneously, hands flying to his head and fingers curling into fists on his hair. Namjoon moaned against your touch, causing the vibrations to spread through your lower body, “Oh-Oh my god, Namjoon, please—” you whimpered.

He did not answer. With a single movement, one of his hands left your ass, playing with your wet folds and teasing your entrance — slowly, then eagerly. The fighter’s name came out as trembling breaths, and you found yourself unable to think of anything but the fantastic sensation of his mouth working on your core, licking and sucking all your wetness.

The second his face moved away from you so he could speak out, you felt the tingling sensation of your upcoming release starting to creep up on you, “You taste so fucking good,” he grunted, practically speaking those words to himself. He was like a man hypnotized, a marionette to his deeper cravings, “I could eat you out all day, baby...” he trailed off.

With that, he slipped two fingers into you and moved back to lick your sensitive spot, groaning as you lifted your hips, grinding against his face. Your high was approaching, he could feel it the way you clenched around his fingers, “Namjoon, I’m—”

“I know,” he interrupted. And oh, how he knew, “cum on my face, baby. I wanna taste you,” he ordered, his voice hoarse from the desire that consumed his spirit.

The cue was clear, and you were happy to take it. Combining with a terminal call for his name, your voice metamorphosed into continuous moans and whines; your orgasm overtaking your body with each passing second. You could feel your knees growing weak, your fingers losing fraction on the strands of his hair; reality slipping away from your grip. It felt so fucking great, you wished you could prolong that moment just a little bit more.

However, Namjoon barely gave you time to recover before he was attacking his lips one more time, his hands gripping your body tightly, your own taste invading your mouth as your tongues danced together in a messy, uncoordinated waltz. You felt his erection moving up and down between your folds, your wet juices embracing his throbbing member. Still sensitive, you sighed against his mouth at the contact.

As low as it was, that sound was what it took him to make up his mind — it was time to quit with the foreplay, “I need to be inside you before I lose my damn mind,” Namjoon hissed, voice drunk on ardor. “get up for me, babe, I’m gonna fuck you against the lockers.”

You could not tell how, but your legs managed to hold you up, even if your movements were slightly slower with weakness. Behaving well, you moved closer to the lockers and watched as the man accompanied your movements, his lowered eyebrows showing that you were doing something wrong, “No, no,” Namjoon trailed off, one of his hands moving to grab your arm. Firmly — but not in a manner that it would hurt you — he turned your figure around, pressing your breasts against the cold metal, “I want your back to me, baby girl.” he whispered.

Once again, who were you to disregard an order from the king? Especially when he asked so kindly.

His chest found the skin of your back, pressing you further against the long line of cabinets. Namjoon’s hands caressed your ass with strong touches, making you stick out your lower body in an attempt to find some kind of friction, “Arms up,” he requested.

You obeyed anew, feeling as one of Namjoon’s hand gripped your fists into place, right above above head. In a single movement, his other hand circled your hip, working on your clit. The contact made you lift your ass again, and, with that, his member moved past your folds, hitting deep inside you, “Shit, (y/n), you’re so tight,” he murmured, lost in his own reveries, “so fucking wet for me...”

“P-Please—” you could not help but beg, it was all becoming too much.

Oh, and there it was: the melodious symphony of your fragile voice resounding in his heart; the bargains of someone who could not take much more of that delightful torture, “Please what?” Namjoon inquired, his harsh voice tickling the curvature of your neck.

Of course you knew exactly what he needed to hear — what he desired to. You could have said it many minutes ago and avoided the mouth-watering prolongation of your relief, but both of you were aware of the effects that simple word had on him. It was quite fun, but it was even better when you waited for the right second, “Please, daddy, fuck me…” at last, you said it.

Namjoon froze for a second, feeling your words shoot through his body in inhumane speed. The next second, he was not the same. With a savagery that was almost unfamiliar to him, the grip on your waist grew stronger as he began pumping in and out of you with force; groaning every time your walls clenched around you in oversensibility, “You like this, baby girl?” he asked after a particularly deep thrust.

And, God, how much did you adore it, “Yes, daddy, please,” was all you could say, pleasure completely taking over your senses as the repetition of that name only increased the force in his actions. You could already feel the muscles of your thighs beginning to shake, your second orgasm approaching with ferocity, “Daddy, don’t stop, daddy—” you cried.

Namjoon groaned out, ignoring the constant sounds of metal every time your figure was pressed against it, “You take my cock so well, shit,” his mumbles continued, his mind lost in the trance that was your body moving against his own. He had almost forgotten how absolutely delicious you felt as you stretched around him, screaming his name with all the strength left in you, “baby girl, fuck, I won’t last long.” the man warned.

Your only response was a whine that resembled his name, your words lost in the exhilliating midst of everything you were feeling, every sensation of absolute pleasure that overtook your mind and soul, “C-cum for me, daddy, please.” you breathlessly requested.

Who was Namjoon to ignore an order from his queen?

“F-fuck,” he grunted, his movements getting increasingly sloppy. He released your hands, holding down on the cabinets as the pressure inside him grew more and more. Namjoon was pounding deep inside you, feeling your walls get ever tighter until, at last, he released inside you, your name leaving his lips like a mantra. With a few more faint thrusts, you came undone around him, clenching and turning into a pleading mess; moans so loud you were sure the whole town could hear.

Hearts pounding with the rhythm of your infatuation, the sounds that filled the room were only the heavy breaths that followed your release. As the world progressively returned to substantiality — the coolness of the lockers, the clouds of heat that were sent down your spine — you felt as Namjoon’s lips met the curvature of your neck, placing a love-filled kiss against your sweaty skin. Soon after, his fingers came and pulled your hair away from your face; his kisses resumed. There it was again: the calmness after the storm; what that you once found so strange, now felt just right. Over time, that was an aspect of his persona that you would get used to.

Mayhaps one day you would fully understand Kim Namjoon. Perhaps the time would come that you would discover why, among so many people, he had chosen you to be his one and only queen. Regardless, all you knew was that, as he caressed your skin with the tip of his fingers and held your body gently against his, dwelling in the afterglow of your pleasure, you could not be happier to reign at his side.

You could not be happier to be his queen.

#bts fic #bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon fic #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #reader insert #namjoon x you #boxer namjoon #bts x you #bts #bangtan boys #kim namjoon #smut #fluff #angst

3K notes · View notes