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writing-in-april · 4 years

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Georgia Peach

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (Spencer POV)

Summary: Spencer sees Reader eating a peach and goes a little crazy.

A/N: this was a long time coming- ive been writing this oneshot for forever and I finally finished it! The original prompt is from @imagining-in-the-margins and I also incorporated a request for a pearl necklace from @sunlight-moonrise This fic was also written for @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff so I could give them some gender neutral smut! Most of my fluff is gender neutral but until now I hadn’t dived into writing gender neutral smut. I’ll definitely be writing more in the future- I like writing stuff that is as inclusive as possible! There shouldn’t be any mistakes in terms of pronouns- I had a ton of people look at it, but if there is please message me!If you live in Georgia don’t forget to vote in the Georgia state runoff elections!

Warnings: Sub!Spencer, Topping from the bottom, Very slight food play, Face Fucking, Pearl necklace, Pubic sex (sorta), Unprotected sex

Main Masterlist Word count: 2.9k

I was pretty sure I was going to explode just from looking at Y/N. They weren’t doing anything that was infuriating, annoying, or even anything that most would consider sexual in nature. They had decided that a peach brought in by one of the Georgia detectives was the best way to relieve their parched mouth caused by the blistering heat. The mundane act of eating a peach combined with the deep v neck that adorned their figure was apparently enough to make my slacks uncomfortably tight.

Get it together Spencer.

My inner voice was slapping me upside the head repeatedly, trying in vain to break me out of the daydream I had found myself immersed in. I swept the sweat off of my brow while continuing to unabashedly stare at Y/N. I knew that I needed to draw my eyes away from Y/N and focus on the case file that was sitting on my lap. But, just as I was about to tear my eyes away from them they took a large bite of the delicate skin of the white peach causing juice to dribble down their chin.

I’m screwed.

Subtly was not a strong suit of mine. That became painfully obvious when my eyes widened to the max in an attempt to see every detail of the erotic picture I was painting in my mind. The picture became clearer in my mind as another bite was taken out of the supple fruit. The juice escaped their mouth again, however this time a new path was taken when the liquid fell past their chin. The drop of nectar slid down past the juncture of their collarbones, falling perfectly down the point of the v on their shirt, almost as if it was carefully planned and executed. My mind wandered further than I thought possible when images flashed before my eyes of Y/N covered in something different, but similarly sticky. I was so transfixed at the sight that I didn’t notice the coy smile being flashed my way from across the room.

“You alright Dr. Reid?” I could hear the coquettish voice but it sounded like it was 1000 miles away. Everything had become muffled, the only sound I could clearly hear was the thrumming of my heart beat in my ears. I gulped hard, trying and failing to distance myself from my thoughts.

A loud snap in front of my face from the culprit of my dirty thoughts cleared my mind just enough to refocus on the person in front of me. The visage of Y/N still had me in a haze of lust that I couldn’t shake but, I did find some strength within myself to respond, “Y-yeah I’m alright Y/N just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nnn-Nothing, don’t worry about it.” My tone had risen to a high pitch and that along with my stuttering instantly gave away that something was brewing in my head. And, Y/N was good at reading me, they’d always been able to pick out how I felt in a few sentences or less. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d picked up how turned on I was right away.

Yeah, I’m totally screwed.

It was now so silent you could hear a pin drop. I tried to slow down my breathing that had picked up some minutes ago due to the mounting tension in my trousers. Sadly, despite my efforts I could not calm down, my trousers still felt way too tight and now everything felt hot. My face was probably bright red right now from the burning heat coursing through my veins, which would just end up being another signal to Y/N that something was amiss.

I tugged at the edge of my collar trying another way to reduce tension in my body as now the skinny tie I wore felt too tight on my neck. Immediately my mind jumped away to- I wish their hand was on my neck.

During my efforts to ease the tension in my body I must have failed to notice the fact that Y/N was still staring at me. A shudder was sent down my spine when I finally peaked my eyes up from the hands that held the peach to their eyes which felt like they were boring into my thoughts and reading everything.

I wanted to crawl into a hole and never leave. There was no doubt in my mind Y/N had sensed my arousal by now and I’m pretty sure I looked even brighter than a cherry as I started to stumble out an apology. I couldn’t even get one full word out before they had set down the offending fruit and made their way over to me. The chair that I had been sitting in was a swivel chair which Y/N took full advantage of by spinning me around to face them. Their chest was bent over to come down to my sitting form but instead of focusing where their face was my eyes were firmly fixated again on the sliver of skin still glistening with the juice from the peach.

I just wanted to lick it off.

My mind had again been so lost in lust that I didn’t notice that they were now so close to me that I could feel their breath mixing with my own and all my mind was focused on was tasting the sweet nectar that I knew still sat on their tongue. Like a man possessed I tried to lean forward hungrily at Y/N to relieve the undeniable but silent tension we had created. However, suddenly my arm was being pulled out of the conference room by them leading me down the path to the archive room. The city we were stationed in for the case was definitely behind technologically, so much so that they still kept all their files on paper. The old files from cold or closed cases were then schlepped into this forgotten archive room that I was being led to like a lost puppy by Y/N.

I stumbled in after Y/N into the archive room that was pitch black. They dropped their hold on my hand as soon as the door shut behind me making me grope around in the dark looking for some guidance. I heard the distinctive click and their skin was then illuminated by the glow of the singular lightbulb that hung in the center of the small room that Y/N turned on.

“Do you want this Spencer?” They said while strutting over slowly to me, I apprehend the offer of being able to back out but it was an offer I would definitely not be taking. As soon as my head nodded in agreement their mouth was on mine in the most blissful kiss I had ever had the pleasure of taking part in.

The taste of our tongues intermingling was overwhelmingly peach as I was finally able to get a taste of Y/N. Their movements were much more calculated compared to my sloppy desperate attempt to control the kiss. With practiced ease they dominated and I willfully surrendered to whatever Y/N wanted me to do to them. A shudder came into my bones as Y/N pressed me up into the nearest walland then untucked my shirt to run teasing little circles with their left hand over my hip bones.

The kiss was cut way too short in my opinion as they released my lips and then teasingly put their thumb into my mouth. I swirled my lips around their thumb with an intense pout, I tried to look as pitiful as possible, trying to coax them to stay right there with me. Unfortunately they pulled away from me altogether and then sauntered over to where the short filing cabinets were sat in the room, making my pout deepen further then I thought possible .

“Aww- don’t pout you’ll get what you want.” They said before leaving me, the mocking tone in their voice only making me pout harder. Any complaint I had died in my throat when they pushed their pants and underwear down swiftly. They obviously had a better understanding of the fact that this tryst had to go quickly- and hopefully quietly. The closest filing cabinet to Y/N then became a prop for them to balance so they could bend over seductively. And with a simple crook of their finger I was over behind them ready to service them the best I could. My pants undone and pulled down enough to pull my cock out, jerking myself slightly so I was fully hard and ready to wrap them around me.

Wait. Was this really happening?

I questioned myself as I pushed into them from behind slowly wanting to savor every moment I had with Y/N wrapped around me and- also to also convince myself that this wasn’t a wild figment of my imagination. However, my long drawn out thrust was cut short by Y/N pushing their hips back against me taking me all the way down to the hilt. As soon as I was fully sheathed inside of them I started to rock my hips into theirs with little whimpers falling from my lips. If I had been in a different state of mind, one that wasn’t desperately trying to seek release, I would have probably flushed red in embarrassment at the noises I was making.

“Oh! Good Boy, Spencer.” They groaned out as I picked up the pace, my hands then briefly left their hips to pull them back so their back was flush against mine. The change in angle of my thrusts seemingly made Y/N’s pleasure skyrocket, the praises that they had been giving out to me being muddled down into moans that they muffled with their hand. I could tell their release was close when they let their head drop backwards into the crook of my neck and began to meet my thrusts vigorously.

A deep guttural groan came out of my chest as Y/N wound their other arm around behind them to tug on my hair as they came to their release. Pure bliss fell across Y/N’s face along with a lazy smile while they rode out the waves of their release. I kept rocking my hips forward to prolong their pleasure but my own release was beginning to brew within me.

Y/N reached behind to rest their hands on top of mine, they had been gripping into the sides of their hips roughly enough that there were sure to be bruises. They had me pull out, I almost thought they weren’t going to let me finish and began to beg with a long drawn out whine. Y/N flashed me another one of their devilish smirks, no doubt in response to my whimpers. Another pathetic beg slipped past my lips before my mind went completely blank as soon as they dropped to their knees.

“Fuck- Spencer I want you to fuck my face.” A sharp and sudden groan tore through me at their words, I swear Y/N was going to be the death of me. I bobbed my head up and down nodding as quick as I could, probably a little too eagerly but, I couldn’t find it within myself to care. “Like I said- you’ll get what you want.”

Y/N then spit in their hand and started to jerk me off slightly- I could honestly cum like this and be completely satisfied. But, then they moved forward and licked up the length of my shaft before slightly sucking on my tip.

The feeling of their mouth just enveloping my tip made me feel like I had died and gone to heaven.

Holy shit this was really happening.

A choked moan started to fall from my mouth before I quickly tried to stifle it by biting into my fist. My other hand was manipulated by Y/N to rest at the back of their head, a nonverbal queue to let me know I could start doing what they wanted and fuck their face.

The thrusts I started off with were quite soft and shallow, even though they had requested that I do this to them I still never wanted to hurt them.

I almost pulled them off of me when I heard a soft gagging as the tip of my dick hit the back of their throat, but they held their own throat down on me making a high pitched whine that didn’t sound like it could come from me came falling from my lips.

After getting the chance to fuck Y/N and now their mouth was around me, I was going to finish embarrassingly quickly. My thrusts started to falter, I could feel my release in the base of my spine, threatening to spill at any moment.

“W-where can I-” I tried to stutter out before finishing, though I failed miserably, my approaching orgasm stifling the words.

Luckily, Y/N understood perfectly and pulled off of me to answer, “I want you to cum on me my chest, face, neck- wherever you want.” A deep seated groan rumbled through my chest at their words while they jerked my length. Y/N worked kisses up my thighs bringing me teetering on the edge about to fall into a pool of euphoria. When they pressed a kiss to the tip of my cock I fell into my orgasm and became blinded by the pleasure. I was fortunately still able to keep my eyes open to see Y/N get covered with the fruits of their labor. It was a filthy sight that made my eyes widen and my pupils blow wider then they had ever been before.

A few moments passed as we both caught our breath, each for different reasons. My gaze was still fixated on how my release had fallen over Y/N. Specifically I fixated on the spot where some had fallen down their chest right down where the v of their shirt had been before- right where the juice had slid down.

“Well I should’ve thought this through more… I don’t have anything to clean myself up.” Y/N gasped out in giggles breaking out of the dominant role that they had fallen into earlier which broke me out of the daze I had been in. I looked at them with endearment, I loved every facet of Y/N’s personality.

“I-I’ll be right back I’ll find something.” I stuttered out while basically stumbling back into my clothes. Before tripping out of the room to try and locate some tissues I did my best to make myself appear presentable again, taming my curls, smoothing out my shirt, and tucking it back into my slacks.

“You forgot something.” Y/N called out to me just as I was about to scurry out. Still naked and unclean, they held my belt up by one finger and had a teasing little smile on their face that was nothing but trouble. I walked up and quickly snatched the belt back and began to loop them through my slacks. My head was tilted down, suddenly growing shy at the sight of Y/N even though I had been the one to make them look so depraved in the first place.

“Now come on Spencer, stop being so shy. You weren’t shy 2 minutes ago.” The way they bit their lip at the end of the teasing remark made me want to get down on my knees and worship them. Sadly, work was calling both of our names pulling us out of our own little world that we had created in this dark, small- and slightly dusty archive room.

I gained back a little bit of my lost confidence and moved forward to envelop Y/N in a kiss, one that was much softer than our previous ones. The taste of the kiss still felt like a drop of golden sun from the peaches, albeit tainted with something a little more salty now.

“You taste good.” I said with a shy but knowing smirk before biting my lip. “You look good too but- you also look like trouble.”

“Yes, but you quite like trouble” They remarked in amusement before shoving me closer to the door, “Go on now, I can't stay naked covered in your cum for the rest of the day.”

“It would be a pretty sight though.” I said cheekily, slipping out of the room quickly to avoid one of their shoes being thrown at me in fake annoyance. As I left the room to hunt down something to clean Y/N up so we could go about the rest of our work day I came to a conclusion.

I quite enjoy trouble- and peaches.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #mgg #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler fanfic #matthew gray gubler smut

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otonymous · 5 years

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Time After Time: Victor’s Firsts (MLQC NSFW Headcanon)

Hey everyone!

Thanks to all who voted in my Twitter poll to see whose NSFW “Firsts” headcanons they wanted to read next. 💕Victor was the undisputed victor (haha!) over Kiro, so I hope you all enjoy my longest headcanons to date...ALL 18 MINUTES OF IT! (these totally got out of hand, for whatever reason LOL) 😵😆

Warning: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language - reader discretion is advised.

Naughtiness ensues after the cut!

A Time To Learn: Your Relationship With Victor:

A battle of wills and wits that gradually blossoms into a relationship founded on mutual trust and admiration, learning and growth

Your relationship with Victor isn't easy, especially at the beginning when you are learning about each other and how to mesh with one another — it will be a hard-won love, but one that’s absolutely worth the payoff in the end

Victor is very logical, pragmatic, stubborn, domineering and - especially at the beginning — overprotective (tends to withhold information from you if he feels it would hurt or harm you in any way). While his intentions come from a good place, it will annoy you to no end to be sheltered like this

But as the relationship progresses and Victor comes to fully understand that you are a grown woman capable of holding her own and making her own decisions, he will gradually cease this type of behaviour

Initially, it will be hard for you to know where you stand because of Victor's reluctance to let his poker face slip and reveal his emotions. But when you finally see him crack a smile, or hear the soft chuckle of his deep laughter followed by a muted exclamation of “dummy” or “idiot,” you’ll feel like you’ve won the lottery, becoming addicted to doing whatever you can to see the corners of those lips tug up when he thinks no one is the wiser

When you first defy him, Victor is pleasantly surprised: he's used to getting his way personally and professionally because his overwhelming presence, business acumen and instinct usually lead him in the right directions, so he has rarely ever encountered opposition. While he is initially taken aback by your bravado, he’ll find your attitude refreshing, amusing even. His cock will too (more on this later) 😆

This is the type of relationship where one person fills in the gaps of the other: you'll soften Victor’s hard edges, temper the manner with which he interacts with others, and make him laugh harder than he ever thought possible. You are the figurative sunshine in his life, the warmth he has been missing for so long.

On the other hand, Victor lends you his unflappable confidence, his expertise and experience, the will to stick to your guns and really fight for the things you want. He is your safe haven, champion and protector.

Talk is cheap for Victor, who prefers to show love and affection by way of action: brewing medicinal soups when you’re sick (with a spoonful of caramel pudding at the ready to chase away the bitter aftertaste), tucking a cozy throw over you when you’ve fallen asleep on the sofa yet again, cooking your favourite foods when he knows you’ve had a rough day, waiting outside your office in the pouring rain to drive you home when he knows you’ve forgotten your umbrella

He also loves to high-key spoil you: whisk you away on his private jet for spontaneous weekend getaways at Lake Como or Bali, beautiful bouquets arranged on your desk Monday mornings at the office just because, an impromptu Champs-Élysées shopping excursion when you mention needing a new winter coat…THAT BLACK CARD THOOOO

Victor is a steadfast lover: reliable, responsible and always, always there when you need him. He is your rock, a solid foundation from which you are emboldened to jump and reach for the stars…forever knowing he will be there to catch you if you fall

He often anticipates your needs, sometimes even before you realize them. And as your relationship progresses, the ways in which he offers help will become less overbearing and more sensitive to your feelings and your right to make an informed decision

Victor is most expressive in the bedroom. For all his emotional reservedness in his everyday life, the passionate nature he keeps buried deep inside is finally given an outlet through sensual pleasures

As with everything else in his life, lovemaking is serious business for Victor. He is an intense lover who wants to be the very best, the one to erase even the tiniest shreds of whoever came before him. He needs to leave his mark on you, physically and emotionally. Even if he wasn’t your first, he’d be damned if he’s not your last.

Ever the epicurean, Victor is the pussy-eating champion. Thoroughly devoted to exploring you orally, the man would go for hours if you’d let him, taking care not to miss a single inch of trembling flesh. Obsessed with numbers, Victor is not satisfied to move on to something else until he’s given you multiple orgasms with his tongue alone.

The man is humming(!) in pleasure as he eats: lips, chin and cheeks shiny with your arousal and his spit. This will be the only time you see Victor with less than impeccable table manners

Victor considers it a point of pride and responsibility to bring you to your climax well before he reaches his own

The man also loves to see you in elegant silks, satins and lace and will surprise you with the most beautiful lingerie

In all honesty though, garter belts, stockings, stilettos and nothing else are this man's jam when he really gets down to business

Needless to say, Victor’s super fit and muscular physique translates to stamina for days...

The First Kiss:

Having spent an exhausting day ironing out the minute details of your proposal with Victor, you slump onto the leather sofa in the corner of his office, meaning to take a 5 minute power nap to recharge while Victor leaves the room for a bathroom break

“The man is a machine…” you think to yourself, stealing a quick glance at your phone before the weight of heavy eyelids finally shepherds you to slumber: 9:15 pm

You are out cold. Dead to the world. You don't even hear the click of the door as it opens, or the soft approach of polished Oxfords when Victor quietly crouches to bring his face level with yours, gazing at your sleeping form, undisguised tenderness completely transforming that stoic visage

Victor is smiling, one large hand curling into a loose fist before it rises to cover his mouth — the side of his index smoothing over his cupid’s bow in an unconscious bid to satisfy the desire for physical contact

Jet black eyes sweep from disheveled hair to the delicate silver chain around your neck, pupils widening as they trace the line of your collarbone upon which the sapphire pendant lay

Then…slowly….as if caught in the pull of some hypnotic tide, Victor moves even closer, Adam’s apple prominent in his throat as he swallows. Paying no heed to the heat gathering beneath an increasingly tight collar, the man continues studying your face, intent on mapping every smooth contour onto his mind for posterity

It is only when he feels the warmth of your breath on his cheek that he stops, breaking out of his trance and mentally chastising himself for almost losing control. For losing himself in the sight of your soft lips parted in slumber

Just when he makes to stand and cover you with his suit jacket, your eyes fly open to lock onto his

Time stops. Lost in the intensity of the gaze, neither of you dare to even breathe, let alone speak, lest the sanctity of the moment is broken

The sheer proximity of Victor Li has you captivated: cedar wood and pine wafting subtle from burning skin, long lashes softening dark eyes that blazed with hunger, lips that trembled ever so slightly with longing until you couldn’t help but become famished for just one taste…

And before you can even make sense of what you’re doing, you've propped yourself up on one elbow, bridging the gap between your lips and his — plush, soft and slightly parted

Victor’s eyes widen for a moment, a thousand different emotions silently brewing inside that busy mind until the slide of your tongue into his mouth blankets the chaos with a quiet calm. Only then does the LFG CEO yield completely to the warmth of your lips and the fire in his soul, eyes closed as he finally allows his body to take what it wants, what it has yearned for since the day you challenged him

And when he gets to this point, Victor's kiss deepens, becoming more and more aggressive until you’re forced to pull back for a bit of air before diving in for a second round

Confession Of Love:

This man is not the type to throw the word “love” around lightly, so when he tells you he loves you, he MEANS IT. It’s not lust. It’s not like. It’s a Ride or Die type of commitment.

Victor Li leaves very little to chance. The first time he tells you he loves you, he will have planned it…WAY in advance

The man knows timing is everything (haha!) and will choose the very special occasion of your birthday to make his confession

He rearranges his work schedule (and yours) for the special day, flying you out to Paris on his private jet

At exactly 1:14 pm, he’ll present you with your gift at the very top of the Eiffel Towel: a ladies’ version of the Patek Philippe timepiece he himself wears

The back will be engraved with both your initials and the numbers 1-3-1-4. You'll start shaking the moment you see it.

1:14 pm, 13:14, 1-3-1-4: all essentially meaning "forever" when pronounced in Chinese

Honestly, it will feel like a proposal and in a sense, it is: once Victor is absolutely certain about someone, he will never let them go. His love is for life.

You are absolutely speechless, hands trembling so hard that Victor has to hold them steady before he slips the watch onto your wrist

Then, after taking a moment to savour the sweetness of having a shared token of love, Victor bends to place a kiss on the back of your hand, the most tender look in his eyes when he finally looks up to say, “I love you. Happy birthday.”

Doesn’t that sound much nicer than "dummy"?! 😆

The First Night

Despite all the impossible deadlines Victor sets for you in the course of your professional collaborations, the man is incredibly patient when it comes to matters of the heart

Until Victor tells you he loves you, he will not have sex with you (much to your horny chagrin)

This is actually specific to you and not his personal code of conduct per se. In the past, the man has had no problems bedding women he’s had, at most, lukewarm feelings for

But YOU are a totally different breed, worlds apart from the starlets and socialites that threw themselves at his feet

Victor is fascinated by your honesty: the frankness of your words, your artless behaviour. Mesmerized by the fact that he can read you like an open book (which is why he is so keen on protecting you from those who would use that to their advantage). Touched by the genuine kindness and consideration that guides much of what you do. Impressed by your tireless spirit in fighting for the people and things you care about

In short, he has never met another person quite like you, especially in the cut-throat world of business and high society where he has learned to excel — a place where poker-faced people keeping their cards close to their chests are the norm and not the exception

Holding out on sex is as painful and torturous to Victor as it likely is to you; the man is incredibly attracted to you, and has been since the day you dared to challenge him to secure funding for your company. Deep down, Victor knows you had him ensnared the moment he saw the fire burning in your eyes (not like he’d ever tell you though LOL)

And each time work brought you before him, the man couldn’t help but notice something new to admire: the way your hair fell in soft wisps — begging to be gently tucked behind the shell of your ear, the captivating flutter of lashes as tired eyes blinked back fatigue, the pleasing lilt of your voice even as you laced your words with sarcasm

It wasn’t long before Victor found his thoughts drifting to you, haunting his nights and sneaking up on him during the day…especially when he was in the shower, eyes closed and moans amplified in the wet heat as his large hand reached down to stroke the length of his cock — imagining your legs wrapped around his waist, your tongue nimble on his shaft

In spite of all this pent-up tension, Victor doesn't rush into sex because he wants things to be done right. You are the most important person in his life and he feels the need to eliminate any possibility of things going wrong

In short, he won’t treat you like the women who came before because there’s absolutely no comparison: no one has ever made him feel the way you do

That being said, it doesn’t mean you and Victor won't get up to some extreme heavy-petting: grinding on his lap in his Bugatti, palming him through his dress pants at the office, a hand slipped beneath your skirt when you’re bent over wiping kitchen counters at Souvenir as payment for your meal

So when Victor gives you the ultimate birthday gift of finally telling you he loves you, the two of you are hightailing it back to your penthouse suite at the grandest hotel in Paris, bodies already flush against each other and kissing as the French do in the privacy of an ascending elevator

BUT Victor is the king of deliciously unhurried love making. It is his preferred modus operandi. After all, the man really knows how to enjoy the finer things in life: food, wine, your body and every single reaction of bliss that can be teased out of it.

You can bet that Victor will fuck you nice and slow and thoroughly.

PREPARE TO BE PAMPERED LIKE A QUEEN

Strains of Duke Ellington & John Coltrane's “In a Sentimental Mood” are being piped through built-in speakers as Victor approaches you from behind, notes of pine and cedar accompanying the heat of his body, wafting in gentle waves to make the fine hairs of your skin stand on anticipatory end

And as you watch the sun kiss the horizon through a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows — orange rays setting the Eiffel Tower ablaze in a sea of luminous fire — fingertips are trailing up your bare arms, Victor gently gathering your hair to sweep it over one shoulder before pressing his lips to the nape of your neck, eyes closed and inhaling deep, trying to hold on to the subtle sweetness of your skin

His hands, incredibly dextrous despite their size, easily tease apart the knot of your halter dress and you tremble under the intensity of his gaze over your shoulder as they watch satin trace every curve — your dress dropping to pool on cool marble at your feet

There is something especially exquisite about seeing the City of Light laid out before you as you’re slowly laid bare by Victor. And just when you start to blush at standing stark naked before the fully clothed CEO, he places your hands on his chest, seductive command permeating that deep voice when he says, “Undress me.”

Sliding your palms over the broad expanse of his pecs, you palpate the rhythm of his heart, caress the lines of hard muscle beneath that perfectly starched dress shirt

By the time your fingers are unbuttoning his collar, his Adam's apple is already bobbing in his throat, the deep breaths he’s drawing to rein in desire amplifying the rise and fall of his chest

When the last button is undone, the sight of Victor’s gloriously perfect torso erodes the last of your frayed patience and you’re practically tearing the shirt off his muscular arms, wrestling with his belt. And although you are dying inside from your lack of finesse, Victor is secretly thrilled that you want him that badly. Full marks 😆

Finally….finally….that beautiful body is revealed in all its glory: sculpted from innumerable laps in his olympic sized pool and so genetically blessed below the belt that your mouth is watering at the sight

BUT FIRST, a bath! Blue balls be damned, Victor Li will enjoy this moment to its fullest. He knows that a slow seduction can build up to the most explosive sex. Clearly.

The man will absolutely insist on bathing you, don't even try to fight it. He gets an acute sense of satisfaction from taking care of you in every sense of the word. Also, there’s nothing quite like the slippery slide of his hands all over your body

Step into the marble infinity tub and lay back against his broad chest. Soak in the warm waters as you take in the view of the city around you, the peony-scented candles, the white-petaled orchids…all meticulously planned by the man soaping you from behind, gentle hands exploring

Lose yourself in his touch: fingertips trailing after bubbles that glide over the swell of your breasts, large hands submerging to wrap around your waist until they cross at the navel, moving down to rub languid circles between your legs until you tremble — Victor’s lips finding yours when your head falls back against his shoulder in bliss

And when you reach behind to feel him - long, hot and hard - his soft groans will drive you to the precipice of madness until you’ve got him sitting on the edge of the tub: face a mask of ecstasy to feel your lips on him, your greedy mouth never seeming to get enough of his delicious flesh

Best believe that Victor almost has a heart attack when you let him slip from your mouth when he begins to twitch, observing him with innocence in your eyes as you pump him to completion, teasing the tip of his cock with your hardened nipples while he coats your chest in his release

The man is DONE when you finally look down at your breasts as if surprised, gathering up his cum with the tip of your index and bringing it to your lips for a taste, coy smile blooming all the while on your face

Jaw tightens. Cock hardens. And suddenly the world around you slows to a stand-still as you’re lifted so quickly you barely have time to think before his hands are coaxing your legs around his trim waist, your body wet and slippery against Victor’s as he carries you to the bedroom

Laying you upon the king-sized bed, Victor’s lips seek the heat between your thighs — lapping fast, tasting slow, drawing out slick pleasure to coat his tongue and wrench his name from somewhere deep in your throat

Nothing gets Victor Li hotter, faster, than the sound of your voice, desperate and needy for him. The man is addicted to it. You can bet he won’t be emerging from between your legs until his cheeks and chin are so shiny it’s obscene, and you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve convulsed against his fingers and tongue, orgasms bleeding one into the other like sweetly turbulent waves

And when he finally rises — your flavour faint on his tongue as his lips find yours — he’ll swallow your moans as he finally pushes into you: gradual, gentle, savouring every searing twitch of muscle adjusting to the welcome intrusion of his long, thick heat

Hips moving fast, swaying slow…pelvis grinding in circles to hit your clit because he can’t get enough of the way you shudder against him, or the sting of your teeth sinking into the flesh of his shoulders (mark him up, Victor LOVES it)

EDGING: Victor will hit that spot with expert precision over and over again till you’re on the verge of exploding…only to pull away, rhythm slowing to a grind to leave you hyperventilating and dizzy with need as this torturous pattern repeats

When he finally lets you (and himself) come, you are a sweaty, screaming mess, nails scratching to leave crimson welts on Victor’s back that will make the man smile to see in the mirror the following morning

Victor likes to remain buried deep within you for a bit after his release, holding you in his arms as he peppers you with kisses: on your lips, cheeks, forehead and eyelids

Afterwards, you can bet that the CEO will have a full spread delivered to the suite, where the two of you will spend the rest of the evening feeding each other in bed in between rounds of passionate lovemaking. Remember? Victor has stamina for DAAAAAYYYYYSSS and has to make up for lost time 😂

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#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mlqc smut headcanon #mlqc headcanon #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc firsts #mlqc victor smut #love and producer smut #mlqc victor firsts #my writing #q&a #anonymous #all request line

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cagestark · 5 years

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Hi I saw you wanted some prompts and how about Hades!Tony and Nature God! Peter fluff. Them Meeting for the first time and falling in love. Them in Tonys Dark castle having dinner. And Then Tony Not going to be so Peter has to make him. Maybe even some smut ;) ALL OF DIS IN ONE. ( Some Daddy Kink. ) P.S I saw you dont write Dark!Tony so just make Tony normal but he's still Hades. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ cause you don't need to be dark and mean to be the king of hell.

You asked for *some* smut and *some* daddy kink but it really just…jumped right out. It got carried away with itself, I was just stuck along for the ride. I hope this is remotely something that you asked for and that you enjoy! Leave a prompt anytime, this was a joy. And it definitely needs a pt. 2…

Hades!Tony is dying. He picks up Dionysus!Peter, because that’s the perfect cure. Or at least, the best way to die. Some notes here: I know little about Greek mythology, but I do know that everybody is everybody’s relative. Not in this. Consider familial relationships to be explicitly stated, and if not stated, then non-existent. No incest here. Peter is, like, ancient too. Probably still too young for the antis. I really made the mythology my own too lmao. Sorry.

Read here on AO3.

5k. Daddy Kink, ahoy!

Everything comes to an end, and thinking that he would be the exception had been a very mortal move.

Tony, who is sometimes called Hades, stands looking into an ornate mirror. The room is dimly lit, but the evidence is impossible to overlook: there is gray in his beard and at his temples. He turns his head this way and that to see it from every angle, frowning deeply. When had those lines begun to bracket his mouth when he smiled or frowned? It must have happened gradually for him to have not noticed before, subtle like sands slipping down an hourglass.

He’s been in this general form for five decades now. Being nearly as old as time itself can get dreadfully droll if stuck with the same appearance. Like most of his divine kin, he likes to switch it up every century or so. Illusions can help, but even without the extra influence, a deity’s appearance changes over time. Humans evolve in that way, their brow bones receding, noses thinning and figures lengthening. In many way, the gods evolve too.

This carefully cultivated visage contains no illusions and was the result of centuries of time leaving their influence on him, an amalgamation of his preferences and his personality. The eyes, dark, as he prefers. The hair, soft and thick and (previously) black. His lips are full, fit for seductive smiles and sinister snarls. And even if, as the years had past, this face had grown—not older, he won’t say older, let’s say more mature—it was just a reflection of his changing disposition. Even the god of the Underworld had to put away childish things sometime, he told himself.

Except now, something about his disposition is turning him gray. It’s giving him crow’s feet and joints that ache. Some part of him, even if subconscious, is getting old.

He is dying.

When he steps out of the ground at the base of Mt. Olympus, it is hot and dry and so fucking bright. The tinted glasses he wears do nothing to diminish the sunlight that blinds him for several long moments, no matter how he tries to blink himself used to it. Illusions are firmly in place to disguise his aging appearance.

The acropolis is visible once his eyes have stopped stinging: it’s large and ugly, and the stables smell like shit because even immortal horses defecate. The horses in the Underworld don’t—they’re dead and lovely.

Everywhere he goes in the palace, someone tries to stop him. Seeing his brother in the flesh is an entire affair, and he hasn’t sent any message announcing his arrival. It’s been centuries since he’s even set foot above ground, so he tries not to sniff indignantly that no one recognizes him. Sick of being interrogated, he makes himself invisible (it’s a crime though—he looks so cut and handsome in his three-piece suit) and strolls leisurely all the way to Zeus’s chambers.

Zeus has a handsome mortal man in his bed, as he is wont to do. They make a lovely picture, both muscled but one blond and the other dark and long-haired like mortal women prefer. Tony is jealous, standing over their naked, entwined forms while they slumber. It looks comfortable. But how ever do they keep from sweating all over each other?

The snap of his fingers ends his invisibility and startles Zeus into wakefulness. The last time he saw his brother, the god looked nothing like this. Now he is the picture of mortal desirability: blond with cornflower blue eyes, a well-shaped face. Is it an illusion he wonders—but no, not possibly. They can’t maintain illusions while they sleep or lose focus.

“Must you break in every time you visit?” Zeus asks. He stands to dress himself, and Tony gives him the privacy by seating himself on a solid-gold armchair and unashamedly ogling the brunet still sleeping in his brother’s bed.

“Did I break in last time? I distinctly remember knocking—”

“You knocked the door off the hinges.”

Tony scoffs. Nearby is a golden platter of grapes. He knocks the grapes to the floor and tucks the platter into his suit jacket, all while Zeus’s back is turned.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? I like the facial hair, by the way. You always were a quirky one.”

He waves away his illusion. Zeus flinches as if instead of a middle-aged mortal there is now an ancient hag sitting in his bedroom. Tony hates this. Hates the blow to his ego and vanity. He attempts to conceal his embarrassment with sensationalism: “I am dying.”

They sit together, knees nearly touching. The room is quiet though all the windows are open letting in a breeze and endless sunlight that is beginning to give him a headache. Despite all they have been through together (and trust him, it is a very long and sordid history rife with jealousy and violence), they are brothers. This is familiar. It is comfortable.

“Why, Hades?”

“It’s Tony. I go by Tony.”

“You and your aliases. Tony is positively mortal.”

“You should try it. Shall I call you Steve?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Quit avoiding my question.”

Tony sighs. He uses a trembling hand to rub at his eye beneath the glasses, trying to stave off the growing headache. There isn’t any clever quip he can give, so he just tells the truth. “I have no idea.”

“No idea,” Zeus mocks flatly. “The only way we can die is by choice.”

“I am aware.”

“You are killing yourself then. Slowly. Dramatically—though I’d never expect you to do anything expected. So tell me why you want to die.”

“To my knowledge…I don’t know. Whatever this is, it goes deep. I haven’t made any conscious decision. I have of course been bored. Doing anything for a millennium could take the joy out of it. It’s not necessarily a happy job, the one that I have. But I don’t—I don’t think I want to die. And yet,” he waves a hand at himself.

“We have healers here, well versed in magic too. Maybe you’ve been cursed. Spend some time here, we will get to the bottom of this.”

“I’d rather not spend a moment more in this sunlight than I have to,” Tony says honestly. “But it seemed responsible, to tell someone. To get my affairs in order. Someone else will have to rule the Underworld when I’m gone.” The thought gives him a strange relief.

And maybe that is why he’s dying.

When he goes to leave, Zeus catches his arm. Despite his own reputation as the drama queen of the family, Tony can testify that Zeus is a close second, proficient in tortured expressions. “Brother. Please stay.”

“No. But thank you for asking.”

“Then—take some time off. Something!” Zeus calls after him.

On his way out, he doesn’t bother turning himself invisible again, only replacing the illusion of youth—let the guards know that he slipped past them. It’s good for their egos to be taken down a notch. Just as he’s passing the stables, he nearly collides with a smaller figure. Looking up at him, nearly drowned out by the sunlight, is a lovely mortal-looking boy with a wreath of gold curls, skin golden and freckled. He’s dressed in typical Olympus fashion, a light and loose tunic secured by a belt around his trim waist.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry—” the boy says, turning red as a pomegranate. His voice is fragile and cracking. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“A bad habit,” says Tony. He licks his lips. “Tell me you aren’t on your way to my brother’s bed. He’s already got a lovely little cock warmer up there, and I’d hate for your feelings to be hurt.”

The boy’s mouth opens and closes several times like a fish. “Your—brother?”

“Tall, blond god? Always looks to be on the verge of tears?”

“You’re—Hades.”

“Tony.”

“That’s a mortal name.”

“Nothing about me is mortal kid.”

“Oh—I didn’t mean to insult you,” he says. “I quite like it. To be—well, honest. I like the name Peter. It’s much less of a mouthful than Dionysus.”

Tony nearly removes his sunglasses. This sweet, soft little creature hardly looks like the god of nature—but to be fair, they have run in different circles for, well, ever. “My apologies, Peter. I mistook you for a mortal.”

Peter’s smile is beatific, bright as the sun. “That’s alright. It’s the curls, isn’t it? I can’t quite get rid of them. I’m not very practiced at illusions, really. I spend most of my time alone or with the animals, and they don’t quite care what I look like. To be honest, I’m just glad to be rid of the horns I had eight hundred years ago.”

“Horns are so twelfth-century.”

Peter laughs, and no wonder this boy is in charge of all the cute woodland creatures. Tony’s pretty sure that there are butterflies—at least, a particularly large species of moth, something with wings—fluttering around in his gut just as the sight of him. In the back of his mind, he still sees Zeus and his lover, pressed chest-to-back, sleeping peacefully. Peter looks like he’d be easy to hold: a head smaller, thin and willowy.

“Peter, not to be annoyingly cryptic, but I’m a little short on time to properly woo you. How would you like to slip through a nice cozy hole in the ground and come home with me to warm my bed?”

The young-looking god looks aghast. One finely-boned hand clutches at the neck of his tunic. “You mean—to the Underworld?”

“That’s the one. Great garish gates, lots of unworthy souls lying about. Not in my castle though, I keep a clean place for a bachelor—”

“I. Well. Yes. I’ve seen nearly all there is to see above ground. Are there plants, there? What is the geography like?”

They link arms. Peter’s skin is warm from the sunlight even through Tony’s suit. They could not look more unalike in dress, and the looks they receive from other patrons and deities as they leave Olympus are wary at best and malicious at worst. Tony isn’t fazed: most creatures hate him. Animals. Mortals. Gods. It’s a tough line of work.

And he feels so tired.

The kindness of Peter’s touch rejuvenates him though. They make small talk that Tony can barely concentrate on. He’s too busy contemplating the positions he might bend Peter into, the noises he might make, how Tony might spread him out over the massive bed in his estate and worship him. Pun intended.

They reach the hole Tony sprung from. Here is where Peter gets nervous, trepidation naked on his face. The boy bites his lip rosy, crossing his arms like he is cold in the sunshine.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Tony says. He winks. “Bit of a tight fit though. Might have to hold on to me.”

They wrap their arms around each other. Peter is nearly the perfect height for Tony to rest his chin on the boy’s crown on curls, and up this close he sees its absolutely threaded with flowers and clovers. The pollen makes him sneeze, but he hardly minds when there is an attractive body pressed against him from chin to chest to hip. He can’t even remember the last time he was touched—when Zeus grabbed his arm in passing, but before then? Ages. Lost in his thoughts, he hears Peter muffle his gasp against Tony’s suit as they sink underground.

It is much cooler here, where the sunlight doesn’t reach. All light is dim and flickering. From the earthen ceiling hang a myriad of roots reaching their tendrils down towards the sprawling domain of the damned. They are just outside of Tony’s castle—more of a mansion really, much more modern and stylish than those gaudy human monuments of stone. A river, water like ink, runs around the perimeter, silent.

Peter stands looking all around. He is very handsome when lit by flame, skin even more golden, eyes so dark they look black. The roots from above absolutely tickle him and he reaches a hand up absently as if he could grow tall enough to reach them. The flesh on his bare arms and legs prickles from the cool temperature, nipples pebbling under his thin tunic.

“Is this the Styx River?” Peter asks, mouth agape.

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“No. This is actually the Lethe—don’t touch the water.” His stern voice has Peter snatching his hand from the surface of the river, clutching it to his chest. Tony softens. “I’m sorry. But while you’re here, it’s safe to say that most things aren’t good for you to touch. Or drink. Or eat. When in doubt, just ask me.”

“As you wish,” Peter says. Even in the flickering light, Tony can see he is blushing, head hanging like a scolded child.

“Would you like to go inside?”

If Peter was awed outside, he seems even more floored by the interior. The ceilings are vaulted. There is artwork from every era in solid gold frames to decorate the walls, because Tony considers himself a patron of very nice things. The floor is of black marble that glistens in the candlelight. The general opulence is probably excessive, Tony thinks, especially to a god who lives simply in nature.

“This is incredible,” Peter breathes. “It’s nothing how I thought it would be. There are stories, you know. About how the Underworld is a terrible place and Zeus will banish you here if you misbehave.”

“To be fair,” Tony says, guiding Peter up the winding staircase. “You’ve only seen a fraction of the domain. It is probably just as terrible as all the stiffs up-top make it out to be. But—to be honest—”

The words catch in his throat. He’s never found himself wanting to be so honest before.

“Yes?” Peter prompts.

They are stopped outside Tony’s bedroom door. He decides he has nothing to lose by opening up to the other god, and if he doesn’t, it’s entirely liable that when he dies, no one will ever have known him. “To be honest, I try to avoid it. Tartarus, the Mourning Fields. Places where the souls suffer. It gives me no pleasure. I guess I’m a poor excuse for a god, here.”

“Not enjoying someone else’s suffering—that doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me,” Peter says. They are standing nearly chest to chest, Peter staring up at him with huge, naïve eyes. His thin lips curve into a soft smile. When Tony reaches up to tuck some curls behind his ears, the ears are just barely pointed at the tips. Peter shivers, like it tickles.

“You’re wrong,” Tony says lowly, turning the doorknob and throwing open the door. “But I appreciate you saying it anyway.”

Tony’s bedroom is befitting a dark prince. The bed instead is a huge four-poster, golden, with silks and a canopy so fine and sheer it looks like black spider silk. When Peter sits there in his tunic, flowers in his hair, he could not look more like a lamb being willingly led to slaughter. He looks fit for debauching.

Underneath is there is a sense of urgency for Tony. He thought he had all the time in the world, but now he knows he doesn’t. If things were different, he could take his time. Woo the nature god, win his affection and then his body. But now things are different. It calls for boldness. “Are you interested in sex with me, kid?”

Face red: “You keep calling me that. I’m thousands and thousands of years old, Tony.”

“You’re right—would you like to have sex with me, Peter?”

Peter’s blush deepens but he nods, already half-hard. Divine libidos.

Tony loosens his tie. His honey eyes track the dark god’s every movement. “Can I tell you how this is playing out in my head?”

Peter nods again.

Tony removes the tie and folds it gently over an armchair with four chimera feet sculpted out of onyx as the legs. “I want to take my time and take you apart. I want to taste you, suck on your hot little tongue, leave bruises on your neck. I’ll kiss and mouth every last inch of you except for your cock. Then I’ll put you on your elbows and knees and eat your little ass.”

Peter is panting silently, eyes half shut while he examines every inch of skin exposed as Tony unbuttons his shirt. The tunic does nothing to disguise how hard he is, and one soft hand reaches down to palm himself, to Tony’s immense pleasure. He undoes his cufflinks, tony gold seeds, sitting them aside. “I want to tongue you open until you’re wet and soft, until your cock aches so much it’s fit to burst. I’m going to worship you. Destroy you. I will be your god, all before I even get my cock inside you. How does this sound so far, Peter?”

“Goooood,” he breathes, tilting his head back. His eyes close but then open, wider, like he’s afraid to miss a single moment of what’s in front of him. So fucking adorable.

“Then I’ll open you up with my fingers, very carefully. Slowly. I won’t lie to you Peter, it will be very hard. For me. Having my fingers inside your tight little ass will probably have me wanting to blow my load as it is. It’s going to take incredible self-restraint, but don’t worry,” Tony says, unbuckling his belt. “I think I’m up for the challenge.”

Peter groans, dropping down to recline back on one elbow. His other hand is no longer jerking himself off through his tunic, is instead just clutching at himself, face twisted in the sweetest pain. “Please don’t stop,” he begs so sweetly.

“The same goes for you. Keep touching yourself, Pete. It’s turning me on.” Like it pains him, Peter whines as he resumes, much slower than before. The sound Tony’s belt makes as it comes free from the loops is almost sensual and then he sets it aside. “Once you’re ready—past ready—I’ll put my cock in you. Maybe I’ll let you decide how you take it, whether it will be on your hands and knees or maybe on your back, pressed in half, nowhere to run or hide from me. Maybe you’d like to ride me. Could you be brave, darling? Could you sit on my cock?”

Peter says something unintelligible. Tears slip from his eyes, glinting in the candlelight.

“What is it?” Tony asks, tender.

“Can—May I please cum?”

Tony coos. “You sweet boy, asking daddy for permission. Lift your tunic, rose. Let me watch you.”

Face burning, Peter lifts his tunic. Beneath is his cock, of decent girth and length, flushed and wet, the head nearly purple with desperation. One soft hand reaches down to cradle his balls, and the other resumes jerking himself off, moaning unreservedly at the first touch of skin-on-skin.

“Go on. Cum on yourself.”

Peter does, reclining flat on the bed, back arching into a lovely bow. His cock spurts endlessly, the god’s mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy, toes barely long enough to touch the floor and scrabbling to find purchase as he shakes and shivers.

It’s the most beautiful thing Tony can remember seeing, and he’s seen almost everything. By the way the boy is panting, Tony wishes he had some water to offer him; however, he knows that anything he eats or drinks will tether him here to this dark world. And if there’s any other thing he knows besides, it’s that Peter belongs above in the sunlight.

“I’ll never tell you no,” Tony admits, shedding the last of his clothes as the boy recovers, body jerking belatedly. “But I have to admit, I do enjoy the way you ask to cum so prettily. Can you ask me in confidence, darling? Could you ask your daddy, your god, to let you cum?”

“Anything,” Peter pants. His long fingers scramble to undo the belt at his waist and then he sheds his clothing in one fell swoop. Underneath he is all golden skin and tight muscles. His cock is half hard, cum glistening on his abs like the tears on his face.

“A terrible thing to promise,” Tony says, kneeling up into the bed. Hand flat on Peter’s chest, he ducks down to lick a flat line through the cum on his abs, groaning at the taste and the way Peter’s cock twitches. “Where did I say we would start, little rose?”

Peter doesn’t even blush, eyes half lidded with pleasure. He rises up onto his elbows, mouth open and ready.

The kiss is absolutely filthy, tongues entwining, the taste of cum between them. Tony licks into the softest, sweetest mouth he’s ever known, tangling his fingers in dark curls. He tugs a little and Peter’s head tips back with a soft whispered groan, the pliancy going straight to the dark god’s cock. It’s like all the strength is sapped from the boy who just holds his mouth open obediently while Tony explores it with his tongue, running it along the teeth, pulling back to suckle and nip at his lips.

Tony takes his time, as promised. He kisses and sucks at every inch of Peter’s golden body, tonguing the nipples into tight, pleasurable points and sucking at each abdominal that appears when the boy tenses. Lovingly, he cleans the stiff cock of its previous load of cum, perfunctory, before moving on. He sucks bruises onto the tanned thighs and kisses the delicate inside of his wrists.

“Roll over, darling,” Tony says. “Up on your knees and down on your elbows, for me. Spread your legs—a little more—yes just like that. Show me that pretty ass.”

Peter rolls at the first spoken word, movements languid. The expression on his face is blissful, and Tony might mistake it for sleepiness if the hard cock hanging between his thighs wasn’t dripping down onto the black sheets. His submission is so lovely and complete, Tony falls in love with him a little.

Then he spreads the god open and licks a broad stripe over his opening, letting the saliva pool in his mouth to lubricate his journey while he tongues at the tight little opening, coaxing it to submit as sweetly as its owner. The noises Peter makes go straight to Tony’s cock: whimpers and whines and breathy exhalations. Tony lets one thumb rub at the boy’s hole, barely slipping in while he ducks down further to mouth at the sensitive balls. He lets his thumb massage and catch on the rim, tugging gently, while he pulls back briefly. The puddle beneath the god is obscene. Peter’s cock looks downright painful.

“Why aren’t you touching yourself, little rose?” Tony asks. “Your little cock looks like it hurts.”

“I—May I?” Peter asks, turning his neck so that he could flash his dark eyes towards Tony’s.

“It’s your cock, Peter, you don’t need to ask me. Or is it mine now? Does your cock belong to daddy?”

Peter rocks back, fisting at the sheets. “Yes,” he groans. “Yours, daddy. May I touch it? Please?”

Tony shuts his eyes. He has never been lucky. In his first game of chance, he got the losing lot, receiving domain of the Underworld. But what luck he must have had today, to bump into this sweet doe. He can hardly believe it to be true. “Please, touch yourself. As fast or slow as you like.”

Peter chooses fast as Tony’s goes back to licking him open. His hips don’t know what to do—fuck into his fist or press back towards the hot tongue inside of him. Tony sinks a finger inside, and it slips in easily. The god under him keens high in his throat, deciding yes to arch his back more and give the dark one more access, content to just grind into his own palm.

The second finger doesn’t go in as easily, but it seems that Peter enjoys it more. Perhaps he likes the burn of being stretched open. One soft crook of those fingers has him nearly shrieking, asking for permission.

“Of course,” Tony says. He wants to shut his eyes, it all feels so good, so overwhelming—but he doesn’t want to miss an instant of the boy beneath him. He leans back to watch Peter’s mouth slacken in ecstasy, breaths stuttering as he grinds to completion against his own hand, hot cum slipping through his fingers. “Beautiful,” Tony says, pressing a kiss to the boy’s back. “Absolutely beautiful.”

This time, Peter draws his own hand to his mouth and licks the cum away, humming contentedly. Tony’s own cock aches, desperate for the slightest pressure, but he ignores it, softly fucking his fingers into Peter, drawing them apart to prepare him for a third. When he presses in, Peter sighs joyfully, looking absolutely fucked out, smiling at nothing and no one.

“How do you want me, Peter?” asks Tony. “I promised you that it would be your choice.”

“Let me ride you,” Peter mumbles. Tony’s cock jumps—just the answer he wanted to hear. He’s not sure however that Peter has the strength; he’s looking more asleep than he is awake.

“Are you sure? We can rest now.”

Peter perks up, a little alarmed. “What? No—please. Please, may I ride you?”

Tony groans, smiling. His heart feels soft, like a fruit left to rot. That gentle, cracking voice could ask anything from him, and he might be obliged to agree to it. As it is, he lays prostrate, watching with greedy eyes as Peter climbs above him. The god’s golden thighs are shaking already, but his expression is still blissful as he kneels up, reaching down for Tony’s cock. The first touch after such lengthy neglect has him hissing, pressing his head back into the pillow. Then he feels the unbearable warmth, the wet pressure as Peter lowers himself.

The nature god’s face looks wrecked, mouth open, eyes squinted shut. He presses down but then rises up, chest hitching with breaths before lowering himself again, taking just a little more at a time. By the time his ass touches Tony’s thighs, Tony feels liable to burst, and Peter is hard again.

Then he begins to move, thighs flexing. From his mouth come the most pitiable little sounds: breathy gasps, chants of yes, yes, yes daddy, thank you—please!

“So polite,” Tony says through gritted teeth, trying to prolong the moment. The sleeve around him is so tight it borders painful, but it is a line that Tony loves to skip along. Most arousing is Peter, the obvious pleasure he’s experiencing, the openness in his face and body. He is beyond censorship, beyond self-doubt, and it is the most beautiful and honest thing the dark god has ever seen.

It is exactly what drives him to the edge, and he barely has breath in his lungs to give Peter a warning before he is cumming, head pressed back into the pillow, groaning deep in his chest. Peter makes a wrecked noise, like Tony’s orgasm feels good as his own, pressing a palm on the other god’s chest to give himself more leverage while he rides the cock inside him.

“May I?” Peter pants, legs shaking.

“Yes,” Tony breathes, his eyes closed. This way, he focuses on the sensation: the warmth and wetness around his cock as it pulses with Peter’s orgasm, the hot splatter of cum on his abs, the way he feels warmer in this bed than he ever has before.

He never wants Peter to leave.

He wants to leave with Peter, and never return.

He does not want to die—

And then, Peter is gasping, a sound that can’t be mistaken for pleasure. The warm body on top of him moves away swiftly, and when his eyes crack open, he sees the horror on Peter’s face. Tony sits up, chest tight. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You—you’re—” A golden hand comes up to stroke beside one of Tony’s eyes, fingertips brushing his temples. And oh.

Oh. His illusions must have fallen when he came.

The younger, more attractive persona is gone. Instead, his true form is left: hairs turning gray, face lined. It’s obvious why Peter is horrified. It can’t be pleasant to go to bed with someone and have them turn into—well, the same person, only twenty years older. Surely, Tony must be a terrifying sight. Or at least ugly.

“Tony, you’re older,” Peter says. His face is softer now without the fear.

“I’m—dying.”

“That—no. You can’t be. You’re—like my god.” The large brown eyes fill with tears that balance there only for a moment before tripping down his cheeks. The sight makes him feel like Charon has taken his ferryman’s pole to Tony’s chest, striking him as he is wont to do with leisurely souls. The tears are white hot when he brushes them away. “Tony, I don’t want you to die.”

He swallows, gathering the smaller god into his arms where he curls and weeps against Tony’s bare chest. Tony runs his fingers through the curls, flicking away a clover with far too many leaves that clings to him. There is a lump in his throat, like he might cry as well—only he knows it’s honesty. “I don’t want me to die either. Except for when I’m here.. The Underworld is no place to spend eternity. I feel—like one of the damned.”

“Then come away with me,” Peter cries. “You don’t need to stay here. The whole earth is my domain, and I say that you are welcome there. Please, Tony. Come and stay with me.”

His hand pauses its ministrations while the cogs in his mind whir. What would they do…what would anyone do if he disappeared? The souls would continue to filter in—but Tony isn’t the one who decides the unworthy from the worthy, and he isn’t the one who determines punishment or delivers it. Without him there, the Underworld is likely to continue on just as it has since the beginning of time.

And maybe he can continue on, too. Elsewhere.

“You know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to those curls. “My brother did say I should take a sabbatical.”

#starker #greek mythology #steve is zeus lol #peep bucky in zeus’s bed

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arcanemoody · 5 years

Text

Gotham Secret Santa

Title: Songbook

Author: arcanemoody Tags: Season 5, post-S05E07: Ace Chemicals, Bickering Like an Old Married Couple, Referenced Past Trauma, Pre-Slash, Developing Relationship, 78prm, Happy Ending Summary: Whatever Ed needs, he can have. Oswald isn’t sure how he can make that any clearer.

For @ckatattack for the @gotham-secret-santa. I hope you like it!

Oswald sorted bolts at his ally’s behest. He helped push the tables together in the library, cleared the combined space so that his partner could work on the engine of the submarine while maintaining a clear view of each schematic. All while humming to himself and emptying boxes of scrap on the side table designated for his work; filing bolts, screws, and other detritus into separate piles and compartments for easy retrieval.

Contrary to the accusations Edward liked to throw at him, he hadn’t intended for his old friend and enemy to be doing the majority of the work -- conceptualizing, working from schematics, redesigning schematics. Oswald himself found none of this intuitive, and had hoped by making himself scarce, Ed's progress could continue uninterrupted. His 10th-grade shop teacher had said once, with a screwdriver in his hand, Oswald Cobblepot was essentially a gremlin. He couldn’t even wire a lamp from a kit; couldn’t sand or carve the blocks used to make a simple standing clock. And his lack of technical acumen was matched only by his inability to commit to physical labor. A submarine was seriously outside his expertise. Seeing to their cargo and procuring the niceties and basic needs his colleague eschewed in favor of managing his labor was much more his speed. He checked on (and added to) their pile of treasure. He made sure Ed had decent food and untainted water. He sorted bolts. He worked very, very hard to tamp down any indignity he felt in each task.

"Are you humming Dinah Shore?"

It took a moment for him to realize that Ed was addressing him. "What?"

"That song. What are you humming?"

Oswald shook his head, slightly dazed. "I-I don't know. It's just something I remembered… maybe from one of my mother’s records? Put it in a box, tie it with a ribbon—'

“...would surely fill the deep blue sea,” Ed finished in his gentle tenor. “That's Dinah Shore.”

“Is it?” Oswald shrugged. “Huh. Well, if you're that desperate for me to not sing it, I think I must have the actual record somewhere.” Ed’s brow furrowed.

“78RPM? Red label? Columbia logo?”

“I think so.”

“That‘s my record, Oswald!” he shouted, taking a large step forward.

His brain froze up in the way it tended to do nowadays any time Ed leveled an accusation at him, grappling with whether it was warranted and whether the vehemence required a match in tone. This did not. He took a deep breath.

“Technically speaking, it’s my record. I bought it.”

“Yeah, along with the rest of my records, my books and my clothes,” Ed shot back. “Well, excuse me for wanting you to feel at home when you got out of Arkham!”

The lot at the police auction had been purchased through an intermediary -- the same intermediary that made a hefty donation to the policemen's union under the name of the Van Dahl living trust. Oswald had known that if the GCPD had felt free enough to use his name to trap Edward into a confession, they would probably be vindictive enough to refuse his name on a purchase order.

"And anyway, since you left them all at the manor, I'd say that still makes them mine.”

“Technically speaking,” he replied, mimicking Oswald’s earlier tone. “I didn't leave.” “You certainly weren't living there when I got back!” The air in the house had been stale the day he and Fries forced the front door open. Only the kitchen had maintained its normal, spotless, lived-in atmosphere, due to Olga’s continued employment, salary operating on an automatic deposit. The rest had fallen into a cluttered disrepair that illustrated the descent of Riddler’s madness.

“I wasn't not living there.”

“Of course not. You were on the run. Well, you were 'not living there' just enough that I gave Ivy your room.'

“No you didn’t.” Ed’s statement was dismissive rather than outraged. Not an accusation; a fact. Confirming that he had evidence to back up his claim.

“How do you know?” Oswald asked, curious.

“Because when I went there in March, my room was as I left it.”

March.

Two months before Sofia had been taken out for good.

When Riddler had broken him out of Arkham, the purple panel coat with the fur trimmed collar (flattened now and in desperate need of dry cleaning) had been slung across the passenger seat of the truck. The coat he had left in Ed’s apartment after Galavan’s murder, the coat he’d subsequently gotten back after the GCPD delivered the lot from the auction. He had been too preoccupied at the time to question its presence or how Ed might have retrieved it when Oswald himself had changed the locks a year earlier.

“You broke into my house!” “It was hardly breaking in — the windows weren’t even locked,” he paused at Oswald’s shocked expression. “I never did it when you were home. Just after you were arrested and, later, when you were squatting at Falcone’s place.”

“Right, because that makes it better! What were you even doing there?”’

“Looking for my things, mainly. I wore the same suit for months and it wasn’t like I had a lot of loose change to throw around, even with Lee’s help.” “So you turned to house breaking. How clever of you.”

“One house. And I didn’t take anything that wasn’t already mine.”

‘Just as before.’ Oswald flinched at the thought, turned away. He shook his head, rubbed his eyes, refrained from upturning the table with all of the bolts he’d sorted. One could afford to pick one’s battles during a long-form escape attempt. .

“Well you can go back for your precious record collection any time you like! If the front door is still on the hinges, I’ll even loan you my key.”

Said key disappeared from his keyring two days later, around the time Oswald found the library work space empty.

-- He did not turn up to sort bolts, shuffle schematics or retrieve provisions for Edward the next day.

Or the next day.

He arranged trades. He drank wine on Barbara’s sofa, listening to her talk through the physical transformations of her second trimester and Lee Thompkins’ warnings about high heels being a fall risk and, therefore, a risk to the fetus.

“As if I would ever fall,” she scoffed.

He refrained from stating the obvious, pouring himself another glass to avoid grinding his teeth.

On the third day, he turned up to an empty room. He sat waiting in the empty library long into the evening. The sun was setting, filling the room with an orange glow when a member of his security team turned up, an anxious expression on their face.

“Boss.”

“Where is he?”

-- First Bank of Gotham. A historic granite and lime building measuring half a city block on the edge of the industrial sector on the north side.

The Court of Owls had done a good job of hiding their centuries-worth of dirty work in plain sight. Post-No Man’s Land “restructuring,“ the alley where he and Edward had made their bloody escape two years earlier was on the edge of Firefly’s territory, frequently disputed by Fries’ minions staking a claim. The odds had been in Firefly’s favor recently and Bridgit, to Oswald’s surprise, allowed him to pass through with barely a nod of encouragement.

“String Bean entered through the southwest staircase. My scouts say he’s been there a while,” she lifted her mask, giving him a pointed stare. “You’ve got an hour, Pengy.”

Oswald nodded, leaving his guards under his former housemate’s watchful eye (and flamethrower). This was Firefly being sentimental. He knew it wouldn’t last long if they overstayed their welcome.

There were more stairs than he remembered. Each floor opened onto a circular hall of doors with the door knobs either broken or missing, papers and files scattered, the mundane facade of an centuries-old evil organization that still needed three floors of pencil pushers to move their assets and occasionally serve as cannon fodder. Oswald remembered their holding cells being on the sixth floor, close to the roof. The trip to the ground level had been a whirlwind of improvised carnage -- guards, personnel, people in uniforms, people in office wear, he and Ed and tore through everyone on their way out, before crashing onto the pavement outside, covered in the blood of violent rebirth.

He found Edward on the fourth floor, door ajar on what had once been a holding area, dilapidated desks and disabled security gates, loose wires where key panel locks had once been. Long legs folded into a too small office chair, eyes downcast, his friend’s visage brought a lump to his throat.

“Reliving old memories?” Oswald asked, annoyed even as the fear and agony he’d been holding in check all day melted from him.

Ed didn’t look up.

“Edward?”

Another long moment passed before he finally spoke.

“I found my overcoat,” he said, gesturing at the pile of green plaid slung over the crook of one arm and draped over his lap. Nearly two years in dark storage, no doubt covered in mildew, dust mites, and other unspeakable things.

“Were you looking for that recently?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I hadn’t even thought about it, or this place in quite some time. I was looking for scrap steel for the outer panels, maybe some extra supplies... I took a notion once I realized where I was. Have I been gone long?”

“Six hours.” Eight, though Ed didn’t need to know just how early Oswald had turned up to the library.

“I couldn’t find any of your stuff. Or anything that looked like it might be yours. Sorry.”

Oswald did his best to contain his reaction, that Ed had done something thoughtful. For his sake. He winced against the ripple of familiar warmth, butterflies. Things he could not afford in the midst of a long-form escape attempt.

“It doesn’t matter. Are you ready to go now?”

Ed nodded, walking half a step behind as they descended back down the stairs.

“How long were you their prisoner?” He asked, after they had crossed the perimeter, doubling back twice to avoid whatever shadows Ed seemed positive were following them. The sun had long since set and what little light they had was from the security teams flanking them, throwing long shadows on the broken pavement.

“Before you arrived?” Ed shrugged. “A few weeks maybe? I was interrogated before they put me in the cage. It was difficult to keep track but not impossible. It wasn’t like Arkham -- their objectives involved keeping me alive. Though what keeping me alive meant in a city they wanted to destroy is anybody’s guess.”

Probably holding his sage intellect in storage for future endeavors, as Barbara had. Oswald felt angry on his old friend’s behalf as well as himself. He hadn’t been interrogated -- just sedated, stripped, and thrown in a cell. For the formerly missing mayor of the city, it was beyond insulting.

Ed wasn’t finished.

“They gave me haloperidol so they could question me. That was bad. I was still detoxing at first -- that was worse.”

“From what?”

“Amphetamines, mostly. And whatever psychotropics Tabitha gave me. Withdrawal symptoms ideally shouldn’t last as long as those did. I tapered off to avoid complications with my heart muscle, adrenal glands...”

Oswald held his breath.

Following Riddler’s progress after his death had been difficult from the distance of Ivy’s greenhouse hideaway in Bludhaven. Even after returning home, tracking headlines and articles stopped at a certain date, bleeding into coverage of the mayor’s disappearance. One of those articles included a grainy shot of Ed leaving a press conference at city hall, face a mask of composure, but for the downward cast of distressed brown eyes in rubbed gray newsprint.

He knew Ed had tripled his original kill count in less than two months. And that he’d kept the authorities on the run right up until Jim Gordon decided handing him over to a cabal with designs on child abduction and mass murder was a charming notion. That Ed himself had crossed that threshold virtually without a fight.

“...why?”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Uppers tends to do that--”

“I didn’t want to sleep,” his tone took on a sharp edge and he was glaring at Oswald again. “I don’t even know why you’re asking me. You know exactly how long I was there. You went to Jim first. You always go to him first.”

That jab… felt oddly personal. Oswald wondered what he was missing in that accusation— the narrowed gaze and the resentful pinch to his mouth. Never mind that Jim Gordon was the one who arrested and subsequently reported the “Riddler’s” escape and Ed, a forensic investigator, should have known the importance of following clues.

“If I could gauge what Jim knew, I had a bead on what the rest of the GCPD knew and I could plan accordingly. So, yes, I went to him. And he lied to me and I knew it -- just like I always know when he lies to me. The man has a terrible poker face.”

“So do you.”

“So stop playing with me,” he said, choking up. Having his own methods questioned was galling. And it wasn’t as though his talent for shallow subterfuge hadn’t fooled him once— back when Ed cared about him and a blind spot was established. Memories that brought a salty weighty to the back of his throat and behind his eyes. “Did you even find out ‘who runs Gotham?’”

The question was flippant, almost cruel. Ed’s answer was not.

“That and more,” he replied, somber, almost pensive; enough to deflate Oswald’s ire.

“Well. Good for you, then.”

“There are things they told me,” he said, serious now, neither chiding nor angry. “...I can’t talk about it. Not yet.”

Oswald kept his eyes on the dark path ahead, tried not to think about what could be worse to talk about than his anguish over the deaths at Haven or the almost blissful oblivion of his first murders. A distant part of his brain reminded him that it could be still another play, but he had seen Ed devastated enough over time to recognize truth from fiction.

“Okay,” he nodded.

“Things that involve you.”

“I understand. Save it if you want, Ed. You can tell me whenever you want to or hang onto it forever. I don’t care.”

The walk back to the library seemed longer than before. Oswald was surprised that Ed continued to shadow him even as the streets (what had once been streets) diverged and he headed in the direction of city hall.

“Don’t disappear again.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re not capable of scaring me!” he said. Patently untrue and Ed knew it, too. “Anyway, I thought you might have gone to the manor.”

“I tried that first,” he replied, producing his keyring from the pocket on his boilersuit. “Yesterday.”

“And?”

“I want to say the front door is still on the hinges, but I couldn’t get more than a few yards away to look. Nature seems to have taken back a good portion of your father’’s estate and... some of it was not happy to find me there.”

“Ivy. Well, it’s good to hear that she's kept up her hobbies,” he laughed, breathlessly. Guilt was rare and pulsed dully in the same pained spot in his stomach where heartbreak loved to dwell. The teenage plant maven had kept Oswald company when he had wanted no one near him and he’d rewarded her generosity of spirit with contempt and vitriol. Forgiveness was, as ever, too high a price to ask for. He’d have to settle for just knowing she was alive.

“Hang on to the key, anyway. We may need it eventually.”

If they ever went back (and if Ivy killed him on sight), Ed would still need to get inside the house.

—

After the bolts and the sonar, after Penn’s arrival and subsequent dispatch, aborted departures and new arrivals and scrambling to recover what they could from the bottom of the river, they managed to fight through the vegetation and rehome the manor.

Oswald arrived with lunch one afternoon and found a 78rpm in a battered paper sleeve on the dining room table. He reached out to touch it, wondering briefly if it was a trick of his remaining eye.

“Ed?” he called out.

“I found your record,” Ed said, closer than he’d initially guessed, initially in his blind spot and then moving over to his left side. No longer disputing ownership. “Not here. It turns out the library’s music archives weren’t completely depleted.”

Oswald smiled, turning the record over, noting the red label, the Columbia logo.

“Do we still have a working turntable?”

Ed smiled, amused, offered an arm to guide him.

“Back here.”

It took more than a few breaths to blow the dust off both record and player, more than a few minutes to turn the crank on his father’s old gramophone without overwinding, and finding the appropriate place to drop the needle. The voice that warbled out was familiar in a way that conjured images of his mother’s living room, frying onions in the kitchen, the sharp bite of paprika and heavy salt in the air… none of which echoed Ed’s place in his mind.

“This isn’t Dinah Shore.”

“No, it’s Doris Day,” he replied, a hint of amusement breaking through what, no doubt, had to be a heavy sense of injustice (Ed’s impeccable brain turning on him yet again). “I got the song and the label right but the vocalist wrong. Such an obvious detail to miss.”

Oswald shook his head, reaching out to take his partner’s other arm, squeezing lightly.

“It’s an easy mistake,” he replied, his non-bandaged eye focused on his dearest friend’s shifting expression; dark eyes misty, a hint of a smile. “No worries, my friend.”

Oswald watched Ed swallow, feeling an answering squeeze on his arm. The two of them leaned against each other, swaying, almost in a dance. Oswald hummed. -- A/N: The song Oswald sings is “Put ‘Em in a Box, Tie ‘Em With a Ribbon,” sung by Doris Day. Ed’s thinking of “Love That Boy” sung by Dinah Shore (and actually misremembers it with a lyric from “Mad About Him, Sad Without Him”). Both were released by Columbia in 1947, Doris is singing about taking romance and chucking it in the river, while Dinah is still in the bloom of loving someone from afar, alternately delighted and miserable.

#gotham secret santa #nygmobblepot #my writing #my fic #happy solstice

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ask-de-writer · 5 years

Text

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 1 of 21

Return to theMaster Story Index

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DARING DO and the

ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE!

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck) @ask-de-writer

And

Carmen Pondiego @askcarmenpondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

Writing begun 08/26/15

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Daring Do was sitting at the bar of the Adventurer’s Guild, sipping her coconut milk and pineapple juice. She was still steaming about the Royal Museum’s Acquisition Committee trying to put her last find, the Golden Necklace of Pharow Underrock, through “the routine process.”

The routine process gave them the possession of the neckalce for over a year before she could see any return on the difficult, expensive, and dangerous expedition to obtain the priceless artifact.

Her recovery of it from Count Umber had involved a physical altercation. The memory made her sweet drink taste sour.

Glancing into the back bar mirror, she casually placed a hoof on her pith helmet. A business suited pony approached her, proffering a card. Instead of taking the card, Daring Do swiftly lifted her pith helmet. A knife, aimed at the suited pony stood quivering in her hat, sunk deep into the cork.

She pulled the knife out and flipped it casually back. The thump of it striking hilt first was followed by the collapse of the silken robed pony who had thrown it.

She turned toward the shaken business suited pony who had just paled three shades of yellow green lighter. Brightly, she said, “Well, that was a few moments of rollicking fun! What do you have for me?”

With a shaking hoof, he proffered a card. “Please call us at your earliest convenience. If you wish, I can take you to the appointment."

Daring Do raised an eyebrow. “Appointment? You would make an appointment without asking me? A bit arrogant, aren’t you? I have some personal business to take care of first. I will call later, after it is done.” She turned her back and pointedly resumed her drink.

It tasted better, for some reason.

She sat at the bar until she was sure that he was gone, sipping her drink, the case with the Golden Necklace of Pharow Underrock safely in her saddlebag. Daring Do hated what she had to do next.

She and her mother, Carmen Pondiego, master thief and head of V.I.L.E., did not see eye to eye on ANYTHING. However, her mom’s advice was the best that she was going to find. Daring Do steeled herself and pulled out her magic net mirror. She tapped the code that she could not forget and hated.

The glass shimmered before a dark, redheaded figure with a gleaming grin answered the call. “City Morgue, you kill ‘em, we chill ‘em. Oooh! Look who is finally dropping a line.”

Answering in a gritty voice, Daring Do spoke low. “Uncle M, I’m trying to get a hold of-” “Yeah yeah, I know. Don’t go ruffling your feathers. Hey Red! Yer kid is on the line!”

Daring rolled her eyes as the view shakily changed to the beaming visage of a khaki colored unicorn mare dressed in red, her pale green eyes throwing a piercing glance at Daring Do. “Adora!! I am so glad you called! How was your trip? I hope you haven’t come across too much trouble. You know I will send some agents to help you if you ever need it.”

Daring Do rubbed her brow, “Mother, you know I hate that name, and no I don’t need your lawless agents. I… I just need some advice.”

A soft chuckle arose, “Of course, Daring dear. Now what seems to be the trouble?” Carmen lifted her brows as she calmly smiled, and the young pegasus held back a scoff. The thief seemed too friendly and eager to help, but why?

“Listen, its not trouble, I just want your -honest- opinion.”

Carmen pouted playfully, “My dear, you wound me, I have always been truthful to you.”

Sourly, Daring Do replied, “I do know that, Mother. That is the only reason that I am calling you now.

“The expedition went well. I even got the legendary Golden Necklace of Pharow Underrock. The assorted traps didn’t even cause much damage to the Pyramid of Keychops.

“The Royal University would not and will not underwrite the expedition but they want me to DONATE the necklace. They even threatened my tenure in the Chair of Antiquities to get it for free. The Royal Museum was almost worse.”

The face of Carmen in the mirror nearly lost it with hilarity. “The Royal Museum!? It takes over a year to sell them a glass bead! Then they will try to push you into letting it go for less than half of your price!”

Resisting a twitch in her eye, Daring Do cleared her throat, “Listen, Ma, what… Would you LEGALLY do if you didn’t get paid for a job that you did over a year ago?”

The thief took a moment to think. “Do you really want to go through the whole legal mess of suing said offender? Of course it would make it easier if you actually had a written contract.

“Heavens knows you don’t use the office here that I gave you and you bounce around from location to location so often without a home base so I don’t have any idea where you would keep such a document anyway…”

Daring’s grip on the mirror tightened. “Mother… I DO have an office. It is in the Royal University! I am the Chair of Antiquities!”

“Right. Well, I would collect whatever you agreed on selling and take it elsewhere.. Are you needing my help with that?”

Daring Do’s grip on the mirror tightened even more. “Mother … Mother. I have already taken it back! I also know that V.I.L.E. makes a ton of money on the, um, resale of assorted goods.”

Dryly, Carmen pointed out, “In spite of our REPUTATION, we have NEVER been caught doing or been convicted of ANY CRIME.” Her face twisted to a cheerfully sideways smile as she added, “Give me a few moments to check our inventory of PERFECTLY LEGAL buyers.”

Instead of “hold music” the recorded image of her uncle Marehem's blue furred, orange maned visage appeared giving the commercial message, “Allstable Insurance, You are in good hooves with Allstable! Please feel free to inquire about our customized policies and truly reasonable rates!”

Daring Do’s teeth grinding together would have been sweet music to any dentist!

Carmen’s cheerful face came back to the mirror in time to save it from being tossed across the room!

One eyebrow raised in amusement, she poked, “Adora, my sweet. I COULD move the necklace for you. V.I.L.E. does have to be paid for their efforts, of course. How does 20 percent sound? I am only offering such a good rate because you are family, no matter that SOMEPONY managed totally destroy all records of her connection to her MOTHER.”

Carmen grinned as Daring Do’s teeth ground together again. Regaining her control, she asked her mother, “Oh, another thing. Do you know anything about the ROT law offices? They offered a card, I think they want me to find something for them.”

Silence came over the mirror.

“Mom?”

Carmen sighed, “Daring, if being an outlaw taught me anything, its presentation. If you are shady, you pick a shady name for intimidation, for greater intimidation one would use a completely harmless and cheerful name, though that is rare.

“I don’t know much of them but if their name means anything, I would use extreme caution if dealing with them. It could be a bluff or it could simply be an acronym, it could mean that they are rotten to the bone. Are you sure you don’t want me to send someone…?”

“I AM FINE BY MYSELF, MOTHER. Thank you.”

“Alright, Adora, dear. If you are in the area, we’re having lasagna at 7:00,” Carmen shrugged, blowing a motherly kiss.

“I’ll be sure to miss it..” Daring Do groaned, turning off the mirror. She rubbed her forehead, fingers running through her monotone mane.

Daring Do was just getting ready to leave when the unconscious pony in the silken robes started to stir. He fumbled for and recovered his knife.

Setting eyes on her he got up, made a formal Far Eastern bow and said, “Miss Do, if I may be permitted to say so, that was most ill done. That pony and a few others with him are treacherous liars and wish to steal a priceless thing to which they have no right.”

Daring Do returned quietly, “It was very bad form of you to try murdering him here, in this club. The alley or even the street outside would have been better.

“As for his character, I already know that much of him and his associates. What more can you tell me?”

Haughtily he dodged her question. “You knew of his evil ways and still chose to listen to him? Perhaps I have misjudged you.”

She made a formal Far Eastern bow to him and replied in perfect X'ibian with an ancient proverb. “The failure to listen is the greatest cause of Ignorance.”

The pony’s eyes flew wide and his face fell. “I have erred greatly by my precipitous action. Be sure to listen with wisdom.”

He took his leave, robes making a slight swishing sound against the carpet of the Club floor.

Daring Do followed him out but he was nowhere to be seen. Consulting the card, she trotted up the street.

The building itself was not even hard to locate. It had a flagpole hanging over the street with a flag of pale off green with gray letters outlined in brownish red. “The Legal Team of ROT, for all of your legal needs!” was flapping in the breeze.

She entered, thinking ironically of the old joke, “pony walked down the street and turned into a drug store. After five sales, he bought what he wanted and changed back into a pony!”

She walked up to the receptionist and proffered the card. The receptionist looked down her nose at Daring Do and pronounced, “You are late for your appointment. You will have to wait for at least an hour.”

Daring Do gave her a return snooty stare and retorted, “No, I do not. THEY made the appointment without consulting me. I informed them that they would have to wait until my business was done.

“I am only marginally interested in whatever they want me for. You may inform them that they can call me at their earliest convenience to set a mutually agreeable appointment.” She tipped her pith helmet and turned to leave.

Frantically, the receptionist called after her, “Miss Do! Please take the elevator with the bronze doors! The Partners will see you immediately!”

“That is better, Horstense!” Daring Do entered the elevator, which had an earth pony operator. She serenely pulled a large, double edged knife and began to carefully trim her left hoof. Conversationally, she mentioned, “If this car gets stuck between floors, you get stuck too. Not seriously, of course. You will become qualified for a higher paid job, though. Castrato in the Fallen Pony Choir.” He paled at the thought. The elevator ride was uneventful.

She stepped out into a foyer with big glass doors at the far end. They had black and gilt letters proclaiming, ROT, the firm for all Legal Work.” Beyond the doors was an office with three desks placed in a U shape with a single hard chair at the focus of the U. The desks were not occupied, so Daring Do checked to see if the doors were unlocked.

They were. With a grin, Daring Do entered and quickly leaped across the desk at the center. She first lifted the comfortable, padded swivel chair out and replaced it with the hard chair. Checking the desk itself, she found a large flagon of expensive pomegranate juice and a snifter. There was only one door that they could enter from. She took their waste baskets and put them where the door swinging in would just miss them. Checking the other desks yielded an assortment of documents, a number of them were maps with X'ibian characters instead of Equestrian words.

She settled herself comfortably, far back, near the doors, away from the focus of the desks. She leaned back, smiling, and poured a healthy shot. While studying the maps, she started sipping.

Looking closely at two of the documents caused her to pull out her Magic Net mirror and make several urgent calls.

NEXT ==>

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#DARING DO AND THE ADVENTURE OF THE X'IBIAN VASE #part 1 of 21 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 6 years

Text

J.B.B. (9)

Bucky x Reader

Content: angst to some level, welcome to the best country in the MCU btw.

Warnings: none, really. Just a passing mention of the death of a character.

Word Count: Enough to make me wish a country like this existed for real. And turns out bad throat hurts more than a full-blown common cold.

(I love you all for the love you’ve been giving this fic. Just want to say thank you so much. This has good nine chapters- and more to come- mostly because of your enthusiasm.)

MASTERLIST

^J.B.B., ^Part 2, ^Part 3, ^Part 4, ^Part 5, ^Part 6, *Part 7, !Part 8, ^Part 9, ^Part 10, !Part 11, ^Part 12, Part 13

"Are you sure about this?"

The glass walls of the Quinjet let the sun rays flood in everywhere, lighting up not only the interiors of the astounding Wakandan technology but the innocent eyes of the men who had not seen the beauty of the African lands that unfolded in front of them. The mountains were waking up to the morning winds that washed the misty clouds away, the grassland was being painted a pleasant hue under the new light, the animals were being drawn through the natural crevices of young hills and the forests were bleeding in bright greens with the first unfiltered golden streaks. Steve and Bucky stood in awe as the layers of nature's untouched artistry unfolded with every brighter minute in front of their eyes. The Quinjet was headed straight for a range with its occupants when Bucky had raised the question. He had been too busy looking at the incoming mountain generously covered in green to notice the smirks on the faces of the royalty- and his personal bodyguard cum pilot- he and his best friend were travelling with. For a moment he thought the worst, never taking his eyes off the trees, waiting for a collision at any moment, his flesh arm at ready to shield himself from the impact. "Welcome to Wakanda," was all T'Challa said.

Just like that the greens and mountains disappeared, a visage being taken away layer by layer as a whole new scenario stood in front of them. A full-fledged city was thriving in here. Buildings, houses and skyscrapers stood over the land with inherent, native allure. Vehicles moved by beneath them, hovering over the roads. Dots beneath them, that were this country’s people, went on with their daily lives, not really moved by something the Brooklyn boys were taking in with pure admiration, as it was their normalcy. Steve couldn't help but turn towards T'Challa with bewilderment written all over his face. "I thought you were the Prince of a third world country?" T'Challa didn't even take a breath. "And I thought you were the most powerful nation's face of justice." Bucky stood there basking in the speechlessness of his friend for a moment before Steve nodded his head with an air of 'touché'. The Quinjet touched down at heart of Wakanda, the home of late king T'Chaka, opening the gateway in welcome of the foreign men, who were greeted by a small army of armed women clad in what seemed like a traditional attire of combat for them. Just as T'Challa took his first step on the ground, the army greeted him by crossing their arms over their chest, making an 'X'. The woman leading them came forward. "My prince." "General." Bucky and Steve could see by her disposition that she indeed had the look and experience of a warrior. "Okoye," T'Challa addressed her before turning towards the men behind him, "I believe you have already familiarised yourself with who Captain Rogers and Sargeant Barnes are." Okoye turned her gaze towards the two men, never shifting from where she stood, "Captain. Sargeant." "Ma'am." The men said in unison. "They are our guests. And Sargeant Barnes is our priority." Okoye nodded. "The medical and technical team are already at the laboratory." For a moment her gaze turned soft. "Shuri is waiting for you there." Bucky could feel the air get a little heavy around T'Challa. "And mother?" the prince finally added in a low voice. "She is preparing for the final rites, my prince. She is expecting you and the princess to join her soon." T'Challa never broke his composure as he took one lasting breath. "Take us to her."

The meeting between the siblings had been a bittersweet affair. Bucky and Steve stood outside the laboratory, allowing the brother and sister to mourn the untimely death of their father in private. Steve and Bucky had been allowed to clean themselves of the recent battle at the more than decent quarters provided by the royal family with a change of clothes that was suited to their usual taste. Even though their bodies and wounds were clean of the grime of the inevitable conflict and regret, their minds were still heavy and exhausted by the choices they'd made and broken pieces they'd left behind- both literally and figuratively. Steve felt the heavy bruise on the left side of his face with his fingers, trying to measure the depth of the injury. His gaze never left Bucky, who shifted his weight on his legs as he took the sight of the advanced technology surrounding him in, making the blonde smile at the familiar awestruck blue eyes before a little wince came out of him. Bucky turned to his friend to find him touching his wounds to see where the fresh blood was coming from. "Stop it," he said out of reflex. Steve turned towards him with innocent eyes, "'Was just checking how deep the wound went." For a moment Steve thought Bucky had been distracted by something behind him before realising his friend's gaze went farther than the boundaries of Wakanda because when Bucky turned back to him, his eyes had a distant look as they announced, "don't touch that," huskily, making him wonder if Bucky was talking to him or someone else. His doubts were strengthened a bit when Bucky turned away to look outside the glass walls and ran his hand through his hair before closing his eyes to try and focus on a face that seemed like a dream. A good dream. The only dream that mattered.

"Ma'am," Steve and Bucky greeted the princess, who, according to them, seemed quite young to be heading the entire research and development of a technology so advanced even Tony Stark had not seen, let alone had the chance to work on, in his lifetime. The sixteen-year-old smiled at them. "Captain. Sargeant. I see the scientists here helped detach and disintegrate your broken metal on your way here, Sargeant Barnes." Bucky looked at his left side, the metal was gone, no longer weighing down his body like any other time. The only scrap shining through was the remains of the conjunction embodied with his nerves in his shoulder. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you for that." "The team would require your blood samples and brain scans. Rest of the diagnosis has already been done when you were coming over. For both of you." "Shuri," T'Challa closed his eyes, his arms still behind his back. "What? You brought these white boys here in my lab. I'm going to be thorough with any and all people I'm fixing up. And their friends too." Shuri snapped before firmly adding "And don't Shuri me again. Right now you're just here to look pretty in front of them." Bucky and Steve's brows shot up to the sky as they looked at the perfectly confident Shuri sweeping the floor with T'Challa's exhausted but dumbstruck gaze- unexpected but never not welcoming for these white boys. They stood there, burying the surprise under a sheet of emotionlessness over their features, trying to be as invisible as possible.

"Steve. There is something you need to know." "What is it?"

“...There is something you need to find." "What?" "My journals. They have the names, places, experiments, anything and everything that HYDRA did...that I did for them. Find those people and make sure their madness doesn't get to see the light of the day."

Shuri, T'Challa and Okoye had gone away to complete the final rites of the King's passage, leaving Bucky and Steve in care of the handful of scientists working around them efficiently to ready the cryogenic capsule all the while evaluating the crux of HYDRA's programming. Bucky's distant look was back. Steve could see a hidden pain behind the still ocean- the tides that ran in the deepest pits, eroding the submerged lands in the darkness but never visible from the surface above. He had seen them before- the waves, though they were not of the same kind, they both were born from the same thing: fear- in the brown eyes of the man he'd come to respect the most recently; the man he left for the dead cold in Siberia. A few minutes passed before he spoke again. Steve waited patiently beside him, a slight worry passing over his face. "Steve, I need you to find someone." Steve's worry changed into confusion before taking the face of resolve. Bucky saw the transformation and something somewhere in the back of his mind rang an alarm. "Who is it? Who do I have to find?" His burning eyes waited for a name. "Steve. No. There is someone you need to find...and make sure she's safe," Bucky corrected. Every stone cold muscle in Steve's body melted as he let the words sink in. After a few moments, his lips found this hint of a smile filled with curiosity and relief over them. "Is she...are you...did you two..." "Please don't say-" "Fondue-d?" Bucky groaned before his face turned red and a delicate laugh left his throat. Steve followed. "What's her name?" Steve was genuinely curious to know about this woman. "Y/N. Her name is Y/N." The light illuminating his eyes was hard to miss. "Where is she?" "In Bucharest." "Not anymore." A figure way too familiar to Bucky entered the lab, altering his soft expressions within seconds. "Kalisha."

After having narrated all that went down after Bucky's disappearance from your life, the green-eyed Wakandan spy apologised for the inconveniences caused by her actions. "But just so you know, Sargeant Barnes, my apology is in no form a regret of any sort of having you deliver to the prince in whatever way necessary." Bucky nodded in agreement. "I understand. Do you know where she is right now?" Both Kalisha and Steve could measure the evident concern in Bucky's eyes and voice, both absorbing it with reasons of opposite polarity that concerned them. "No, I don't. But I can track her down before she gets herself caught up on the wrong side of things again." Kalisha's smaragdine orbs burned with a newfound will. She gathered herself before admitting, "She has always considered me her friend. I would like to return the favour." Bucky's smile found his way back. "But I cannot do this alone." Steve turned his gaze from his friend to Kalisha, "You don't have to," he declared. "I respect your enthusiasm, Captain, but we would be needing more than just one spy and one people's hero gone rogue." "I know some people. Good people. But they're really not in the position to help us unless we help them first." Kalisha smirked at the turn Steve had taken her to. "I know. It's hard to miss the news of a prison right in the middle of an ocean kept for people with a very specific skill set. I'll ask the general if we can borrow a Quinjet." "I'll have a word with his highness." The captain and the spy did a firm shake before he escorted her out of the lab.

"Are you sure about this?" Steve finally asked Bucky as he was being readied for the cryo sleep. "I can't trust my own mind," he forced out a weak smile before it faded into the air around him, "so until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing." "For everybody," he added. Steve heard all the layers of the statement his friend made.

The monotonous pacing had been disrupted by an unusual silence. The number of guards patrolling the prison cells had grown thin- almost negligible. The pacing came to a stop at the glass encasing the cell as a figure came out of the shadows, bringing a victorious smirk on the prisoner's face. "Took you long enough." Sam Wilson announced as Steve got him out.

"So where exactly are we going from here, Captain? We can't really walk back into the country." Sam questioned, climbing aboard the Quinjet, gladly taking in the inside of aircraft rescuing them. He didn’t miss the unfamiliar green-eyed women piloting it. "Barton? Lang?" Steve answered with a question. Clint got Wanda out of her restraints, allowing her to finally move her hands and emanate a release of her energy around her. "I don't care. I'm going back to my family. I'd rather disappoint my kids in person right now," Clint declared. "As much as I'd love to go with you, Captain, I'm with Barton on this one." Steve nodded. "I've contacted Fury. He and Hill have assured me their people will try to take care of this as best possible. And as for the two of you?" he turned towards Wanda and Sam. They looked at each other before turning back to Steve. "Do we have a mission?" Sam asked, his hands going behind his back. "More than one." "Good," Wanda announced, "when do we start?" Steve reciprocated their determination with his. "As soon as we get an old friend out of her exile." Clint laughed. "She's already waiting. I can feel her cursing and wondering what's taking you so long."

^J.B.B., ^Part 2, ^Part 3, ^Part 4, ^Part 5, ^Part 6, *Part 7, !Part 8, ^Part 9, ^Part 10, !Part 11, ^Part 12, Part 13

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bewarethelivingwra · 5 years

Text

After the Invasion (Paege - Flashback)

Paege Ravenswood-Gladwynn stood at the edge of the upper tier of Acherus, the meeting place for the Ebon Blade and Death Knight order. For a moment she leaned against the railing, surveying all below that they had worked so hard to cleanse these last few months. They had a particularly good view of the Broken Isles, staging ground for the invasion of the ever-threatening Burning Legion. She knew work would continue for a while, regardless of victory, as there were always things to wrap up after any battle. Others would return home to families and friends to relax and bask in their glory. They'd share songs and drinks and tales. Still others would return home in boxes, or as just memories.

Paege, as a Forsaken, was somewhere between those states.

With nimbleness that belied her heavy armor and slim form, Paege hefted herself upon the railing and sat cross-legged, balanced perfectly as she peered off over the horizon.

Any moment now.

She heard a forced and purposeful cough and smiled slyly before turning her head, cautious of her positioning, so as not to fall off into the abyss below and upset him.

“Sam,” she said softly to her fellow Death Knight, this one hooded with only the blue of his imbued eyes visible to her at the moment. She knew the visage below very well, however. He dropped his bag and gripped the railing beside her, leaning forward as if to see what she was staring at so intently.

“It'll all go to hell again, you know,” she said, finally breaking the silence. He offered just a grunt in reply, removing his coif. She glanced over, a bit concerned over her expression, worried she would look like an enamored schoolgirl. Taking a different tack, she smiled again, this time more subtle. “My husband would have been so jealous. He could barely grow a beard in life, and you kept yours.”

“Benefit of being human before this,” he said, offering her a rather nice smile in return. They had become fast friends, being utilized by acquaintances to skirt the lines between Horde and Alliance. He had apparently taken notice of Paege and her husband, Aarden, during their training when Acherus floated over the Plaguelands. Aarden had found true death ages ago, but communicating between families had brought these two old soldiers together, and Paege had felt this strange little spark of hope ever since, foolish as that was.

“I won't lie, I'm a little jealous myself,” she said softly, staring out. He chuckled.

“Beard wouldn't suit you,” he quipped and she laughed. It was usually boisterous, but she tried to be quieter around others, as the voices of Death Knights had been warped along with their forms when raised (and in her case, raised twice).

“Damn, there go my plans,” she said dryly. “I could have joined the Darkmoon Faire and gotten away from all of this.”

“Oh, but why would you?” he asked, leaning on just his right arm this time to look at her, his expression strangely playful. “Don't you love going to new and exciting places, and then slaughtering all those who disagree?”

“A bit less these days,” she said with a sigh. He expression shifted to one that was more thoughtful, and he nodded. He turned again to grip the railing with both hands and Paege lifted one hand from her lap, covering only part of his gauntleted hand with her bare one. He glanced down at the pale, worn hand upon the saronite and chuckled.

“You're as subtle as a mace to the face sometimes,” he said, but removed his gauntlets and took her hand anyway. They stared over the lands they would be abandoning soon, the hall they'd likely not be able to return to as frequently. The air was so thick with tension, even Paege could feel it through her dulled senses.

“How many of these moments do we have left, do you think?” she asked, looking at him. They may be in very similar states, but he had been accepted back into the Alliance, while she was left in the Horde. Both, however, had their ties with the Ebon Blade that would never be fully severed, making these little moments possible.

“Who knows? There is always something for one of our dear leaders to get a nose out of joint about,” he grumbled. She worried he would get annoyed at her ruining the moment and move his hand, but he didn't. It surprised her.

“We'll always have here,” she chuckled. He smirked.

“Indeed.” She leaned against him at that and sighed softly. It felt strange to feel a bit like a young woman again, one who had hope and love and all of that in her life. It felt false, but it also felt unfair. He let go of her hand then, and put the now free arm around her. Neither felt the odd neutral coldness of the other's form, even through heavy gear and clothing, and it was novel to get such attention, at least to Paege.

“You will write?” she asked. He nodded.

“I'll leave things in the same spot,” he said quietly. “You?” She nodded against him. She had spied a loose brick in a small alcove that was unused where she could work it free and stuff things behind it. She had hollowed it out as well, for more space. She would smudge the front with a bit of coal when something was behind, and he'd wipe it off when he picked up the items, or mark it himself when he left something. It had worked well when both had been fighting on different fronts and couldn't catch up with one another. It had worked previously as well, when communicating between their factions.

“I want to meet in Halfhill someday,” she said wistfully. She could feel him bristle a little, maybe at her tone, she wasn't certain. Halfhill, a neutral town on the continent of Pandaria, which had reemerged several years ago, had been where she tried to escape before the voices returned and called her to fight the Legion alongside her brethren.

“Someday, we should,” he said. “Poor Pandaren wouldn't know what hit them if too many of our kin were to decide we were done with the foolishness and wanted to grow turnips instead.”

She laughed loudly at that this time and she felt him shake slightly with amusement as well.

“Nothing would be more of a slap in the face of our creator than to take the 'gifts' given to us and use them to plow fields,” she chuckled. She moved to sit back up, but he stopped her by putting a hand on each side of her face so she had to stare into those blue lit eyes, much like her own. His skin was still ashen, but darker than hers, and unlike the lanky long black hair she possessed, his was short, neat and clean, just like the beard he incongruously still had.

“I will hear from you within a few weeks, yes?” he asked. She smiled and nodded. He kissed the tip of her nose dryly.

“Send your daughter my love,” she said quietly, and he nodded.

“Same for your sisters,” he said. He kissed her forehead and released her, gathering his gloves from the railing. He hefted the bag he had dropped upon stopping. As he walked away, he turned back toward her. “And remember, Paege. He would want you to be happy. Whatever happiness you can have in this form. At least content.”

She nodded. “He would have liked you, knowing you better.” He smiled.

“Same for my Shira,” he said, speaking of his wife, who had not been as fortunate as he. With that, he shifted his bag into a more comfortable position and left, likely taking the maintained portal to Dalaran and back to Stormwind.

Paege turned once more to take a last glance at the isles below, realizing she needed to do the same. There was always something around the next corner, and there was no avoiding it when one didn't need rest.

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ibitchytimemachine · 6 years

Text

The Story of Us

Ok, so I had a really hard time with these prompts also, and decided that maybe I would combine the three remaining days into one chapter, since lets face it they are pretty kinky and all kind of go together. I have a few more chapters planned for various events in their lives, but updates will come less frequently, as Smutfest week is (almost) over and I HAVE to do something other than imagine up smut and light fluff for y'all.

My submission for Days 5, 6, and 7 of the @tpthvegebulsmutfest!

Pegging, Titty Fucking and Rimming

Vegeta

Today was August 17th, one day before her birthday. Bulma had been very insistent on a big party on, of all damnable things, a boat with all her “friends”. She was also quite determined to try something new in the bedroom. Vegeta was nervous, in all his years he had never though of his own ass as anything but exit only, but this woman had severely whipped him, enough to make Vegeta bend to her wills. Over the years they had been together, Bulma had proven her adventurous spirit in many ways. She had always told him of her conquests taken when she was a child, Vegeta scoffed at her tales, they were truly the adventures of infants. Then Vegeta remembered how the woman had journeyed to Namek, stood up to him, invited him into her own home, seduced him over many weeks. Then when Freiza showed his face on Earth she had the gall to show up just to see his fearsome visage. The womans frail form was nothing compared to her nerves of steel. She never backed down, pride and determination burning behind her blue eyes. Yes, you could say Vegeta was whipped, and excited. Each time Bulma convinced him to attempt something horrendous sounding, he enjoyed it almost more than she did. He remembered the day she made him dress up in a suit and tie and pretend to be her college professor. She had called him Dr. Ouji and made him quote vector calculus to her. Whenever she got an answer wrong he had to spank her. He didn’t know if the answers were wrong or not so he just spanked her after every question. He really liked that night. He remembered the way her red plaid skirt rode up her thighs as she crossed her legs at her desk. She hadn’t taken off her thigh high white socks as he fucked her, the cotton rubbed on his legs, the friction of the material in his body warmed his thighs and scratched an itch Vegeta never knew he had. One night they watched all of their “home movies” together and Bulma moaned the play-by-play into Vegeta’s ears as she ground on his cock. Her breathy groans caressing his ears and the filthy descriptions of what they were doing and how it felt inside of her almost made Vegeta spill himself before he speared her. No in reality, Vegeta had enjoyed many of the adventures Bulma had taken him on. Poles, handcuffs, swings, blindfolds, all excited him to no end.. oh and food. Fucking hell when the woman had Vegeta eat off of her body or drink liquor from her form… Vegeta was usually so excited on these days he could hardly contain himself. Some mornings after they fucked like that, he could hardly look her in the face while eating breakfast, because he could feel the redness slipping up his face and feel his dick hardening in his pants, just remembering the combination of two of his three favorite things. On days when Vegeta was especially good, not only would Bulma let him drink liquor from her tits, eat fruit and cream from her silky skin and fuck her into a jelly, but she would also hit him. She didn’t hurt him, she wouldn’t have the strength, but the ferocity she put behind the attacks, the anger and vitriol gods… now those nights were the best. Yes food, fighting and sex all combined, nothing could be better. Vegeta needed to calm down. He was working on a birthday gift, and was worried the he would not have time to finish if he stopped what he was doing to indulge in his memories. He had never given the woman anything, but noticed how she constantly doted on the people around her. Gods she was perfect. Beautiful, smart, great mother, kind (most of the time), generous, and a hell cat in the bed. No, no, no - change the subject Vegeta he pushed the thoughts away from the forefront of his mind. He looked down at the wire in his hand. Several years before Vegeta had been gifted the most amazing gift of his dead civilizations cultures. There were digital copies of great Saiyan paintings. He become entranced with one of his Grandfather and Grandmother. Their ageless faces stared down on all who dared to look upon them. Vegeta routinely looked through the contents of the scouter, and would always find time to regard this particular photo. Bulma had asked Vegeta about this one, why he loved it so much. It took Vegeta a while to realize what he loved so much about this picture, but one day it hit him like a ton of bricks. Standing there, was his fathers father, the whole line of Vegeta looking eerily similar. Where his father had a bushy goatee, his grandfather had none. There standing in royal garb, was what Vegeta would have looked like, had the planet not met its demise. His grandmother was a beauty. Her strength was not doubted, although her body was thin, and gentle looking. Her eyes and hair were lighter than the average Saiyan’s, and her lips were turned up in a cocky smile. Vegeta could see his own woman in his grandmothers eyes. This was the picture that should have been of him and his wife, and imagined what Bulma would look like in the royal dress. Bulma also loved this photo, she liked seeing into Vegeta’s history, even though he had never even met these particular Saiyans. She had it printed on canvas and it hung in their ensuite study. When Vegeta went to read and contemplate he would often quite literally look to his ancestors for their guidance. Bulma had fawned over the composition of the portrait, and her eyes fell on the royal jewels. Vegeta’s grandmother was historically known to have impeccable taste, and Bulma quite agreed, raving over the large pendant Echolette wore around her neck. It was silver wire, bent and twisted over itself weaving the likeness of the Great Moon of Vegeta-sei. This symbol was holy to Saiyans, conveying strength, femininity, power, rage and fertility. Bulma saw a pretty moon around Vegeta’s grandmothers neck, Vegeta saw the symbol of the great Saiyan priests. Vegeta had battled himself for many months about this. He wanted to give her something, nothing could make up the insane amount that she had given him, but he needed to show her what she had meant to him. So he made up his mind, he was going to give her the moon. He contemplated having it made, but wanted this to be something with his own touch, after all it was the tradition for the King to craft the Great Moon himself for his bride. Vegeta had forgone this tradition, mainly because he had no mentors around to guide his hand. So, three months ago, Vegeta had momentarily put his pride aside and asked 18 where he could learn metal crafting. She helped him track down a jewelry smith, and Vegeta had taken weekly lessons learning the craft. Now he was down to the last hours before Bulma would receive her gift. The Great Moon was traditionally given on the eve of the winter moon, but Vegeta was going to present it to her on the eve before her birthday, tonight. They were having a family dinner, Mom (the matriarch insisted he call her such) was making a feast, then Vegeta was going to present Bulma’s gift and let the woman have her way with him. He just had to finish it!

Bulma

She was too excited to eat. God, Bulma was ready for tonight. Vegeta had been so secretive lately, jumping and scurrying away whatever he was working on each time Bulma had ventured into their bedroom study. It was exciting to see him so nervous. He was planning something, Bulma was wondering who would have the bigger surprise tonight, him or her. So she ate lightly, enjoying some time with her parents before they split ways for the night. Bulma had set it up with ChiChi to watch Trunks and bring him with her and Gotten to the boat in the morning before the party. So Bulma chatted with her family and played footsie with Vegeta under the table. Her foot reaching toward his crotch. He hated when she did this in front of the family, he said it was inappropriate, but Bulma yearned to feel his skin any time she was near him. SO she sat here leg reaching out and foot caressing his ankle, shin, thigh, up, up, up… Vegeta’s eyes darted from his plate of rice to meet hers. One brow cocked up and his head shook side to side. She could feel him chastising her Not here. They finished out dinner and bid her parents good night. Vegeta walked on to their room as Bulma reminded Trunks of her expectations of his behavior. She knew she couldn’t really make Trunks mind her, but dammit Bulma was not going to let him go terrorize poor ChiChi without at least the threat of bodily harm if he stepped out of line. And if nothing else there was always Vegeta who would whip the boy into shape. Bulma bid her son goodnight, reminding him one again to fly straight to the Son residence and to not get into trouble. Then she turned and tread to her room. Butterflies danced in her stomach, this was a fantasy she had for a long while and now she was going to live it. She had been preparing Vegeta for a long while, it took lots of convincing, but the first time he came while her finger was pressed to his prostate, he was hooked. She knew he wouldn’t admit just how much he liked it, but ever since then they had been more adventurous, eventually leading to toys. Vegeta even had his own prostate massager. Bulma stopped at the entrance to their room. She swallowed, and took a deep breath in, slowly letting it out before she opened the door. Vegeta had been busy in the time she was gone. The lights were off, but what appeared to be a hundred candles gracing each surface in her room flickered with the rush of air as it entered the room. Vegeta had changed clothes, wearing charcoal slacks, a ruby dress shirt and matching charcoal sport coat. He stood leaning against the curtain that separated the bedroom and study looking down at a velvet box in his hands. A gentle melody wafted through the air, Bulma recognized it as Ella Fitzgerald, one of her mothers favorite musicians. It was music that reminded Bulma of her youth eating dinner while her mother canoodled her father at the table, much like Bulma had done to Vegeta just a few minutes prior. Vegeta’s eyes met hers and he walked to the center of the room, hand out stretched. A smile darkened Bulma’s face as she strode over to her lover and crashed into his arms, swaying to the gentle crooning of the master musician. Vegeta wrapped his arms around her waist and brought Bulma close to him, feeling his heat pressed against her body. His lips pressed to her temple and he lowered his mouth to her ear. “I have something for you my love.” He exhaled the rest of his air towards her ear. “would you like to see it?” She pulled back, looking towards her husband, her lips curling over her teeth in a smile “you have something for me?” “Is it not traditional on birthdays to give a gift?” Bulma reached her hands to Vegeta’s cheeks and placed a kiss to his lips. He pulled her to the bed and they sat on the edge. He looks nervous“Here” Vegeta said as he presented the navy velvet jewelry box. Bulma felt her heart skip a beat, Vegeta never gave her anything, and now jewelry? Whoa. She had hoped that her mother had finally let Vegeta in on the tradition of giving your bride a ring. I mean, sure it was several years too late, but especially with Vegeta you never knew if you were ever going to get to experience the traditional Earth customs. Damn Saiyans are weird. This box was obviously not a ring box. It was much too big. Her fingers fumbled with the lid and after a moment it hinged up revealing a tangle of wire, circled around themselves, weaved in and out of crevices, creating what appeared to be a moon. It hung from a simple silver chain. “It is custom for royal brides to be given the Great Moon on the eve of their first anniversary of mating. It is a handmade relic, each King weaving one for his mate. It takes deftness of fingers and a high level of ki control to mold the metals of my homeward in such an intricate design. This is only for the Queen to wear. It is a testament to the prowess of her King. The technique is passed down from generation to generation, no commoner knows the process. I had to improvise, but know I will pass this knowledge to Trunks when the time comes.” Bulma stared into his ebony eyes as he spoke. Almost before Vegeta could finish what he was saying, Bulma reached to his face and placed a kiss to his lips. “This is just like the one your grandmother wore in that painting isn’t it? What was her name?” Bulma began contemplating the name. It was a beautiful name…”Echolette” Vegeta replied. “With some help I found a maker of jewels who had knowledge of ancient jewelry making, they were able to guide my hand from a photo of the pendant as I created this for you.” He grabbed the necklace from her hands and stood to move behind her. The pendant was wrapped around Bulma’s neck and she could feel Vegeta clasping it together. He returned, placed a finger to her chin lifting her head up. Bulma could feel Vegeta’s eyes igniting her skin. His stare glided over her face, neck and the crook of her collarbone where the pendant hung. “Now you truly look like the Queen you are.” Bulma wasn’t sure when the next steps happened. She was dazed by the headiness of what Vegeta had done and said, yet she allowed herself to be laid down and her clothes one by one slipped off her body. Vegeta took his time with her, gently unclasping items and removing, careful to plant kisses and playful nips at her skin on the places his hands roamed. Her breathing was already labored, as Vegeta lowered his head toward her womanhood. He lapped at her, steadily, hungrily, all the while his eyes remained locked to Bulma’s. The excitement of day coupled with the intenseness of the last bit, became too much for Bulma and she came on Vegeta’s open mouth, waves of pleasure crashing over his tongue. Her hands gripped his hair and pulled him to her face her lips greedily finding his, eyes still locked on one another. His were lidded in lust, her juices dripping from his face. She gently rolled him over so she was on top. In control. “Vegeta, I need your clothes off.” She had sat him on the edge of the bed. She gathered her equipment for the night, and grabbed the lube bottle raising it over her head and squeezing a generous amount over her breasts. He hands kneaded the oil over her skin, letting Vegeta watch as she massaged her slick torso. Then she descended on him pressing her voluptuous tits together around his giant cock and began pumping him up and down. She loved watching him watch her, her eyes examining his facial features as they twisted in pleasure over her slippery dance. Her tongue snaked out and licked at his tip eliciting a throaty groan from Vegeta. The next time she went down, her mouth covered the head of his cock and sucked. Her hands pressed her tits together still stroking his shaft, Bulma licked and sucked over Vegeta’s head until she began to feel the familiar tensing of her lovers body. A few more strokes and sucks, she felt him begin to release, to which Bulma gripped his dick with her hands and stroked him to completion all over her chest and shoulders. “Now you’ve given me two necklaces tonight.” She purred as she dipped a finger into his seed and placed it in her mouth.

Vegeta

She was a demon, sucking the life out of him one pleasurably vile act at a time. Immediately after she had finished him she began hitting him, commanding that he roll over to his stomach. Oh gods, here ti comes Vegeta thought nervously. He felt her hand place themselves on his bottom and then to Vegeta’s surprise her felt her mouth descend on his most private area. No one had ever thought to put their face there, and yet here was the ever surprising woman face planted fully between two of the universes most deadly cheeks grinding her tongue to his asshole! It almost tickled, which surprised Vegeta who never thought about what a tongue would do there. He felt her back away and then heard her spit and felt the warmth drip down his ass and coat his balls. Her face then planted itself back, tongue darting around him face moving side to side in a dance with the crooning jazz that continued to play. He felt her hand reach through his legs and gently tug at his balls. Her tongue and hands massaging two parts of Vegeta most forgot existed. She pulled away and he heard the lubrication spurt out of the bottle. Then he felt her pressed over his back, “Baby, you have to relax,” She said as she nudged the tip of something to Vegeta’s exit. He breathed out some tension and before he could breathe back in he felt his bottom stretch, a foreign object breaching his body in a piercing, yet not entirely unenjoyable way. Slowly, giving Vegeta a chance to adjust to the new sensations, Bulma pressed the entirety of her way into his backside. Vegeta felt stretched to the fullest extent his body could go. Bulma pulled slowly out, then began to push in again. She pumped into Vegeta excruciatingly slowly. Then her hips adjusted and scraped across a spot on Vegeta’s inner walls that took his breath away. “Oh gods!” He turned his head to the side to catch a view of the woman. She towered over him, eyebrows knit together, biting her bottom lip and kneading her breast with one hand. Her other was gripping Vegeta’s skin and he could see the whites of her knuckles. Sweat beaded from the nape of her neck. She noticed him looking and smiled mischievously. “do you like this?” She asked him. Vegeta was not sure. It was not as bad as he thought it would be, but the sensation was intense, painful but not in a way that it hurt, which kind of confused Vegeta, and the pleasure was so much that it almost hurt. “Fuck woman!” he moaned as she picked up the pace, nudging his prostate with each thrust. He saw white when he felt Bulma’s body descend over his, thrusting into him. She reached around his waist, grabbed his dick and began to pump it with the ferocity of her own thrusts. Vegeta was teetering on the edge of his climax, incomprehensible noises bubbling out of his mouth, then she bit into his shoulder, right at her love mark and Vegeta spilled himself over her hand. He collapsed to the bed too weak from his release, the waves of pleasure overtaking him and lay. He felt Bulma slip out of him and heard her taking off the contraption she was wearing. She approached him and gently placed a hand between his shoulders. Pressing her lips to his searing hot skin. “You seemed to enjoy it. What did you think?” His movements felt like they were hindered by honey. Each limb groaning over the agony of movement after such an intense release, almost as if he had been in battle and just barely made it out with his life. Maybe that had happened, he wasn’t sure at this point. Once he was on his back he looked to her face. She wore an eager grin awaiting his answer. “Bulma, I think you found something I do not wish to repeat.” Her face darkened. “ok, it was worth a shot, thank you for indulging me.” She answered. He could tell she was disappointed. “It was not.. unenjoyable.” Vegeta relented. That evil smile graced Bulma’s face once again. “So you are saying there is a possibility of me fucking your ass again?” Oh Gods! What a dirty vile fucking little slut she was. “Don’t push your luck woman.” was all she got in return.

#tpthvegebulsmutfest #day5pegging #day6tittyfucking #day7rimming #bulma #Vegeta #light fluff #This is so dirty #save a spot in hell for me y'all

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frostandbanners · 6 years

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Curiousness and Ambition go hand in hand: Part one

“What do you mean I can not enter the barracks?” Daelas questioned furiously as the guards to his own fortress refused to let him enter. ‘We can’t General Frostmancer, we’ve received orders that your ranks been suspended and we can not let you on military property.’ Furious, Daelas narrowed his cold gaze and snarled as he stared at the two soldiers loyal to their post. Without another word Daelas swallowed his pride and turned to take his path back towards the closest city Silvermoon. Walking through the glades, the roar within the sky was heard as Icewing remained over head. He tried to keep his distance, though the risen drake made sure Daelas remained in site. The woods were just as dark as usual, the erie sounds popping and groaning in the woods wasn’t far off from a regular day here and Daelas hadn’t the care as to what could be within them. Passing the cross path, he glanced to the remains of the city and small town. “I still wonder what all this was worth.” He’d ponder allowed, though as his next few steps were taken it was as if he reset where he was, being ten paces back he passed the sign again. Even in his brooding mood he noticed the misplacement of his position and he stopped on a dime. Standing there in his casual military attire, armorless and vulnerable he awaited his new guest. Folding his arms over his chest, he noticed the familiar family’s magic start to wisp and creep along the ground. This wouldn’t of been alarming at all, but he hadn’t felt his twins presence in the slightest. “You sure are taking your time to expose yourself, Shadow.” Daelas said casually and calmly as he kept his composure as per usual, the soldier in him was unmoved. ‘Are you always in such a hurry?’ The voice called out from all directions; Daelas’s gaze was unmoving, kept straight forward as the long ears perked and his head shook slightly. “No, I can’t say I’ve been in much of a hurry recently. I just don’t like un-welcomed guests who won’t show their face.” A faint chuckle was offered and the voice called out once more with amusement licking its tone. ‘You believe I’m unwelcome in a place that isn’t your own? I thought your brother was the arrogant one.’

The wisping shadows merged as they crawled in front of Daelas, merely a few feet from him as the man’s figure surfaced. Heavy, runic armor was the first thing Daelas noticed as the shadow-like warrior appeared. Cowl hiding his visage, Daelas couldn’t make out a face nor was the voice familiar. His own posture relaxed, even if it were a false sign of body language as Daelas hid the few small defensive instincts he had. Taking his own wrist with his right hand, his thumb rubbed into his left wrist as he truly began to miss his runic bracelets now more than ever. ‘I must say you grew up to be quite the man, Avitu.’ The name the warrior called him was more than enough edging to get his heartbeat racing and not in the most warmth way. ‘But I see you’re lacking your key component are you not? Where are you little bracelets..’ Daelas refused to acknowledge the name he was called. “I wasn’t aware you had any impact on my life to know what trinkets I’m missing from my person. It seems you know me rather well, who are you?” Yawning as he tried to appear to be bored with the man, the unmoved figure before him didn’t seem bothered at all. ‘I’m Aquinmourne, I’m afraid when our people were relevant we lacked family names.’ Confused by the context Daelas rose a curious brow. Leaving nothing to his mind he spoke it in the same stern and dense tone. “How ancient are you if you lack a family name?” The Shadow-warrior chuckled again, amusement was still in his tone. ‘I’m older than you but not that old. We never found a need for family names in our kind until recently. It happened due to a marriage but that’s here nor there. May I ask you something Avitu?’

Daelas refuses to acknowledge the name once again, but offered a very slight nod. “You may. “ With that the red glow of the mans eyes under the cowl became apparent and curiousness filled his tongue. ‘Have you ever felt like your out of place? To powerful even? That no one around you understands and when you finally start to feel like yourself it’s incredibly devastating to others? Do you feel like a god, Avitu? I know your power has hurt the people around you before has it not? Hadn’t it caused rifts with ones you felt close to, made them feel lesser than you?”

Daelas believed at the start this was nothing more but a way to get a reaction out of him, but as the questions piled up and dug deeper and deeper into his past the relevance was all to known. Memories, something both him and Phlare could equally say they weren’t the most fond of. But this was a bit deeper than that, all soldiers suffer in silence and this was exactly what caused his suffering. The memories of the civil war within his original regiment was something he repressed greatly. He didn’t want to accept why it even started, or the out come and all the events in between. After all, who would be proud of slaughtering his own battalion over a game of politics?

But that’s when Daelas truly felt the way the man described. That’s when he felt he was far more powerful than those around him, that’s when he felt like a god and truly when he noticed that whenever he feels empowered, everything around him is turned to waste and rubble, friends, companions and bonds are lost and turned into nothing but fodder for someone else’s cause. Daelas didn’t answer the man, the soldiers unmoving stern stare remained as if the question held no weight at all. ‘That’s what I thought. That’s because you don’t belong with these people Avitu, you belong with us. We understand you, we can help you. Where else do you have to go now?’

The pause remained, Daelas hadn’t actually thought of a place he could stay. The thought of staying in taverns for the time being wasn’t the most enjoyable. As dense as usual, Daelas shook his head and eventually the stern tone broke its silence. “I’ll be just fine on my own. As much as I appreciate you extending your hospitality, I’m not one to accept gestures as such unless I’m desperate, and frankly I’m not a desperate person nor will I ever be. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” As Daelas went to move, his entire being refused. Only able to shift his gaze he noticed the faint discoloration to his figure as the shadows held him still. ‘You’re defenseless, Avitu. We can’t have our kind in such a state. You have yet to even ascend.’ Daelas couldn’t even attempt to understand what the man meant by ascend, at the end of the mans words the same feeling surfaced along his flesh of his armor being summoned to his figure. This time, it wasn’t his own as he lacked both runic bracelets. The spell had faded, and Daelas began to glance over himself; this armor wasn’t as form fitting, nor was it as cold as his other two sets and above all? It wasn’t as light either. Spikes adorned the red-ish brown plate encasing his body; the coloring was correct, but it looked and felt far more savage than the man actually was. ‘We’ll let you borrow this for now. Don’t expect it to be like your most recent suit, it’s more along the same lines as the first suit that was gifted to you by your family. The major difference is, your frost abilities will be more lacking, this suit is designed for.. Other traits, traits you rarely tap into.’ Finally able to move, Daelas narrowed his gaze and his right arm extended outward. The man did say it worked like his other suits, and before the man could continue speaking the unholy rune on his palm illuminated and the death energy within the armor began to arc from his palm. Summoning a two handed blade, Daelas rose it to the mans neck. “I, am never defenseless. I don’t know you, nor your people and as greatful as I should be for obtaining this temporary gift you’ve given me; if by some odd chance you believe with this you’ve gained the upper hand in some malicious and wasteful scheme, I will send you and your people to whatever nirvana you believe you’re creating.” The shadow’d warrior just stood there, unmoved by the blade. Speaking softly, the whole world began to change around them. ‘If that’s what you wish, that is what you wish. For once though, little Avitu.. Stop being the one who sacrifices for others and better yourself. We’ll be waiting.’ Just as his words ended, the image of where they were had shattered and Daelas found himself outside the gates of the capitol city. “Wonderful..” He’d mutter. “Brother, what have you been hiding, and why are you in hiding..” He thought outloud as he made his heavy plated steps into the city walls.

#armor set three #two sides to the same coin

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rhetoricandlogic · 6 years

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Foxfire, Foxfire By Yoon Ha Lee

Issue #194 - Science-Fantasy Month 3

, March 3, 2016

AUDIO PODCAST

EBOOK

(Finalist, WSFA Small Press Award, 2017)

If I’d listened to the tiger-sage’s warning all those years ago, I wouldn’t be trapped in the city of Samdae during the evacuation. Old buildings and new had suffered during the artillery battle, and I could hear the occasional wailing of sirens. Even at this hour, families led hunched grandmothers and grandfathers away from their old homes, or searched abandoned homes in the hopes of finding small treasures: salt, rags, dried peppers. As I picked my way through the streets tonight, I saw the flower-shaped roof tiles for which Samdae was known, broken and scattered beneath my feet. Faraway, blued by distance, lights guttered from those skyscrapers still standing, dating to the peninsula’s push to modernization. It had not done anything to prevent the civil war.

I had weighed the merits of tonight’s hunt. Better to return to fox-form, surely, and slip back to the countryside; abandon the purpose that had brought me to Samdae all those years ago. But I only needed one more kill to become fully human. And I didn’t want to off some struggling shopkeeper or midwife. For one thing, I had no grudge against them. For another, I had no need of their particular skills.

No; I wandered the Lantern District in search of a soldier. Soldiers were easy enough to find, but I wanted a nice strapping specimen. At the moment I was posing as a prostitute, the only part of this whole affair my mother would have approved of. Certain human professions were better-suited to foxes than others, she had liked to say. My mother had always been an old-fashioned fox.

“Baekdo,” she had said when I was young, “why can’t you be satisfied with chickens and mice? You think you’ll be able to stop with sweet bean cakes, but the next thing you know, it will be shrimp crackers and chocolate-dipped biscuits, and after that you’ll take off your beautiful fur to walk around in things with buttons and pockets and rubber soles. And then one of the humans will fall in love with you and discover your secret, and you’ll end up like your Great-Aunt Seonghwa, as a bunch of oracle bones in some shaman’s purse.”

Foxes are just as bad at listening to their mothers as humans are. My mother had died before the war broke out. I had brought her no funeral-offerings. My relatives would have been shocked by that idea, and my mother, a traditionalist, would have wanted to be left to the carrion-eaters.

I had loved the Lantern District for a long time. I had taken my first kill there, a lucky one really. I’d crept into a courtesan’s apartment, half-drunk on the smells of quince tea and lilac perfume. At the time I had no way of telling a beautiful human from an ugly one—I later learned that she had been a celebrated beauty—but her layered red and orange silks had reminded me of autumn in the forest.

Tonight I wore that courtesan’s visage. Samdae’s remaining soldiers grew bolder and bolder with the breakdown in local government, so only those very desperate or stubborn continued to ply their trade. I wasn’t worried on my own behalf, of course. After ninety-nine kills, I knew how to take care of myself.

There. I spotted a promising prospect lingering at the corner, chatting up a cigarette-seller. He was tall, not too old, with a good physique. He was in uniform, with the red armband that indicated that he supported the revolutionaries. Small surprise; everyone who remained in Samdae made a show of supporting the revolutionaries. Many of the loyalists had fled overseas, hoping to raise support from the foreign powers. I wished them luck. The loyalists were themselves divided between those who supported the queen’s old line and those who wished to install a parliament in place of the Abalone Throne. Fascinating, but not my concern tonight.

I was sauntering toward the delicious-looking soldier when I heard the cataphract’s footsteps. A Jangmi 2-7, judging from the characteristic whine of the servos. Even if I hadn’t heard it coming—and who couldn’t?—the stirring of the small gods of earth and stone would have alerted me to its approach. They muttered distractingly. My ears would have flattened against my skull if they could have.

Superstitious people called the cataphracts ogres, because of their enormous bipedal frames. Some patriots disliked them because they had to be imported from overseas. Our nation didn’t have the ability to manufacture them, a secret that the foreigners guarded jealously.

This one was crashing through the street. People fled. No one wanted to be around if a firefight broke out, especially with the armaments a typical cataphract was equipped with. It was five times taller than a human, with a stride that would have cratered the street with every step, all that mass crashing down onto surprisingly little feet if not for the bargains the manufacturers had made with the small gods of earth and stone.

What was a lone cataphract doing in this part of the city? A scout? A deserter? But what deserter in their right mind would bring something as easy to track as a cataphract with them?

Not my business. Alas, my delicious-looking soldier had vanished along with everyone else. And my bones were starting to hurt in the particular way that indicated that I had sustained human-shape too long.

On the other hand, while the cataphract’s great strides made it faster than I was in this shape, distances had a way of accommodating themselves to a fox’s desires. A dangerous idea took shape in my head. Why settle for a common soldier when I could have a cataphract pilot, one of the elites?

I ducked around a corner into the mouth of an alley, then kicked off my slippers, the only part of my dress that weren’t spun from fox-magic. (Magical garments never lasted beyond a seduction. My mother had remarked that this was the fate of all human clothes anyway.) I loved those slippers, which I had purloined from a rich merchant’s daughter, and it pained me to leave them behind. But I could get another pair of slippers later.

Anyone watching the transformation would only have seen a blaze of coalescing red, like fire and frost swirled together, before my bones resettled into their native shape. Their ache eased. The night-smells of the city sharpened: alcohol, smoke, piss, the occasional odd whiff of stew. I turned around nine times—nine is a number sacred to foxes—and ran through the city’s mazed streets.

The Lantern District receded behind me. I emerged amid rubble and the stink of explosive residue. The riots earlier in the year had not treated the Butterfly District kindly. The wealthier families had lived here. Looters had made short work of their possessions. I had taken advantage of the chaos as well, squirreling away everything from medicines to salt in small caches; after all, once I became human, I would need provisions for the journey to one of the safer cities to the south.

It didn’t take long to locate the cataphract. Its pilot had parked it next to a statue, hunched down as if that would make it less conspicuous. Up close, I now saw why the pilot had fled—whatever it was they were fleeing. Despite the cataphract’s menacing form, its left arm dangled oddly. It looked like someone had shot up the autocannon, and the cataphract’s armor was decorated by blast marks. While I was no expert, I was amazed the thing still functioned.

The statue, one of the few treasures of the district to escape damage, depicted a courtesan who had killed an invading general a few centuries ago by clasping her arms around him and jumping off a cliff with him. My mother had remarked that if the courtesan had had proper teeth, she could have torn out the general’s throat and lived for her trouble. Fox patriotism was not much impressed by martyrs. I liked the story, though.

I crouched in the shadows, sniffing the air. The metal reek of the cataphract overpowered everything. The small gods of earth and stone shifted and rumbled. Still, I detected blood, and sweat, as well as the particular unappetizing smell of what the humans called Brick Rations, because they were about as digestible. Human blood, human sweat, human food.

A smarter fox would have left the situation alone. While dodging the cataphract would be easy, cataphract pilots carried sidearms. For all I knew, this one would welcome fox soup as an alternative to Brick Rations.

While cataphract-piloting didn’t strike me as a particularly useful skill, the pilots were all trained in the more ordinary arts of soldiering. Good enough for me.

I drew in my breath and took on human-shape. The small gods hissed their laughter. This time, when the pain receded, I was wrapped in a dress of green silk and a lavender sash embroidered with peonies. My hair was piled atop my head and held in place by heavy hairpins. The whole getup would have looked fashionable four generations ago, which I knew not because I had been alive then (although foxes could be long-lived when they chose) but because I used to amuse myself looking through Great-Aunt Seonghwa’s collection of books on the history of fashion.

I’d hoped for something more practical, but my control of the magic had slipped. I would have to make the best of it. A pity the magic had not provided me with shoes, even ugly ones. I thought of the slippers I had discarded, and I sighed.

Carefully, I stepped through the street, pulse beating more rapidly as I contemplated my prey. A pebble dug into my foot, but I paid it no heed. I had endured worse, and my blood was up.

Even in human-shape, I had an excellent sense of smell. I had no difficulty tracking the pilot. Only one; I wondered what had happened to her copilot. The pilot lay on her side in the lee of a chunk of rubble, apparently asleep. The remains of a Brick Ration’s wrapper had been tossed to the side. She had downed all of it, which impressed me. But then, I’d heard that piloting was hungry work.

I crouched and contemplated the pilot, taut with anticipation. At this distance, she reeked worse than her machine. She had taken off her helmet, which she hugged to her chest. Her black hair, cropped close, was mussed and stringy, and the bones of her face stood out too prominently beneath the sweat-streaked, dirty skin.

She’d also taken off her suit, for which I didn’t blame her. Cataphracts built up heat—the gods of fire, being fickle, did an indifferent job of masking their infrared signatures—and the suits were designed to cool the pilot, not to act as armor or protect them against the chilly autumn winds. She’d wrapped a thermal blanket around herself. I eyed it critically: effective, but ugly.

No matter what shape I took, I had a weapon; there is no such thing as an unarmed fox. I wondered what the magic had provided me with today. I could feel the weight of a knife hanging from my inner sash, and I reached in to draw it out. The elaborate gilt handle and the tassel hanging from the pommel pleased me, although what really mattered was the blade.

I leaned down to slit the pilot’s throat—except her eyes opened and she rolled, casting the helmet aside. I scrambled backwards, but her reflexes were faster, a novelty. She grabbed my wrist, knocking the knife out of my hand with a clatter, and forced me down.

“Well-dressed for a looter,” the pilot said into my ear. “But then, I suppose that goes with the territory.”

I had no interest in being lectured before my inevitable addition to a makeshift stewpot. I released human-shape in a flutter of evanescent silks, hoping to wriggle out of her grip.

No such luck. Almost as if she’d anticipated the change, she closed her hands around my neck. I snapped and clawed, to no effect. I had to get free before she choked the life out of me.

“Gumiho,” the pilot breathed. Nine-tailed fox. “I thought all your kind were gone.”

My attempt at a growl came out as a sad wheeze.

“Sorry, fox,” the pilot said, not sounding sorry in the least.

I scrabbled wildly at the air, only half paying attention to her words.

“But I bet you can speak,” she went on as I choked out a whine. “Which means you’re just as likely to snitch to my pursuers as something fully human.”

She was saying something more about her pursuers, still in that cheerful conversational voice, when I finally passed out.

I woke trussed up as neatly as a rabbit for the pot. The air was full of the strange curdled-sweet smell of coolant, the metal reek of cataphract, the pilot’s particular stink. My throat hurt and my legs ached, but at least I wasn’t dead.

I opened my eyes and looked around at the inside of the cockpit. The blinking lights and hectic status graphs meant nothing to me. I wished I’d eaten an engineer along the way, even though the control systems were undoubtedly different for different cataphract models. I’d been tied to the copilot’s seat. Cataphracts could be piloted solo if necessary, but I still wondered if the copilot had died in battle, or deserted, or something else entirely.

The cockpit was uncomfortably warm. I worked my jaw but couldn’t get a good purchase on the bindings. Worse, I’d lost the knife. If I couldn’t use my teeth to get out of this fix—

“Awake?” the pilot said. “Sorry about that, but I’ve heard stories of your kind.”

Great, I had to get a victim who had paid attention to grandmothers’-tales of fox spirits. Except now, I supposed, I was the victim. I stared into the pilot’s dark eyes.

“Don’t give me that,” the pilot said. “I know you understand me, and I know you can speak.”

Not with my muzzle tied shut, I can’t, I thought.

As if she’d heard me, she leaned over and sawed through the bonds on my muzzle with a combat knife. I snapped at the knife, which was stupid of me. It sliced my gums. The familiar tang of blood filled my mouth.

“You may as well call me Jong,” the pilot said. “It’s not my real name, but my mother used to call me that, after the child and the bell in the old story. What shall I call you?”

I had no idea what story she was talking about. However, given the number of folktales living in small crannies of the peninsula, this wasn’t surprising. “I’m a fox,” I said. “Do you need a name for me beyond that?” It wasn’t as though we planned on becoming friends.

Jong strapped herself in properly. “Well, you should be grateful you’re tied in good and tight,” she said as she manipulated the controls: here a lever, there a button, provoking balletic changes in the lights. “The straps weren’t designed with a fox in mind. I’d hate for you to get splattered all over the cockpit when we make a run for it.”

“So kind of you,” I said dryly. Sorry, I thought to my mother’s ghost. I should have listened to you all those years ago. Still, Jong hadn’t eaten me yet, so there was hope.

“Oh, kindness has nothing to do with it.” The cataphract straightened with a hiss of servos. “I can’t talk to the gods of mountain and forest, but I bet you can. It’s in all the stories. And the mountains are where I have to go if I’m going to escape.”

Silly me. I would have assumed that a cataphract pilot would be some technocrat who’d disdain the old folktales. I had to go after one who knew enough of the lore to be dangerous. “Something could be arranged, yes,” I said. Even as a kit my mother had warned me against trusting too much in gods of any kind, but Jong didn’t need to know that.

“We’ll work it out as we go,” she said distantly. She wasn’t looking at me anymore.

I considered worrying at the bonds with my teeth, even though the synthetic fibers would taste foul, but just then the cataphract shuddered awake and took a step. I choked back a yip. Jong’s eyes had an eerie golden sheen that lit up their normal brown; side-effect of the neural interface, I’d heard, but I’d never seen the effect up close before. If I disrupted the connection now, who knew what would happen? I wasn’t so desperate that I wanted the cataphract to crash into uselessness, leaving me tied up inside it while unknown hostiles hunted us. Inwardly, I cursed Jong for getting me involved; cursed myself for getting too ambitious. But recriminations wouldn’t help now.

For the first hour, I stayed silent, observing Jong in the hopes of learning the secrets of the cataphract’s operation the old-fashioned way. Unfortunately, the closest thing to a cataphract pilot I’d ever eaten had been a radio operator. Not good enough. No wonder Great-Aunt Seonghwa had emphasized the value of a proper education, even if I had dismissed her words at the time. (One of her first victims had been a university student, albeit one studying classical literature rather than engineering. Back then, you could get a comfortable government post by reciting maxims from The Twenty-Three Principles of Virtuous Administration and tossing off the occasional moon-poem.) The ability to instantly absorb someone’s skills by ingesting their liver had made me lazy.

“Why are they after you?” I asked, on the grounds that the more information I could extract from Jong, the better. “And who are they, anyway?”

She adjusted a dial; one of the monitors showed a mass of shapes like tangled thread. “Why are they after anyone?”

Not stupid enough to tell a stranger, then. I couldn’t fault her. “How do I know you won’t use me, then shoot me?”

“You don’t. But I’ll let you go after I get away.”

Unsatisfying, as responses went. “Assuming you get away.”

“I have to.” For the first time, Jong’s cheerfulness faltered.

“Maybe we can bargain,” I said.

Jong didn’t respond for a while, but we’d entered a defile and she was presumably caught up making sure we didn’t tumble over some ledge and into the stony depths. I had difficulty interpreting what I saw. For one thing, I wasn’t used to a vantage point this high up. For another, I couldn’t navigate by scent from within the cockpit, although I was already starting to become inured to the mixed smells of grubby human and metal.

“What bargain can you offer?” Jong said when she’d parked us in a cranny just deep enough in the defile that the cataphract wouldn’t be obvious except from straight above.

I wondered if we had aerial pursuit to worry about as well. Surely I’d hear any helicopters, now that the cataphract had powered down? I knew better than to rely on the small gods of wind and storm for warning; they were almost as fickle as fire.

Jong’s breathing became unsteady as she squinted at a scatterfall of glowing dots. She swore under her breath in one of the country dialects that I could understand only with difficulty. “We’ll have to hope that they’re spreading themselves too thin to figure out which way we’ve gone,” she said in a low voice, as though people could hear her from inside the cockpit. “We’ll continue once I’m sure I can move without lighting up their scanners.”

Carefully, I said, “What if I swear on the spirits of my ancestors to lead you where you need to go, with the aid of the small gods to mask your infrared signature?” This was a guess on my part, but she didn’t correct me, so I assumed it was close enough. “Will you unbind me, at least?”

“I didn’t think foxes worshiped ancestors,” Jong said, eyeing me skeptically. She fished a Brick Ration out of a compartment and unwrapped it with quick, efficient motions.

My mouth watered despite the awful smell. I hadn’t eaten in a while. “Foxes are foxes, not gods,” I said. “What good is worship to a fox? But I remember how my mother cared for me, and my other relatives. Their memory means a lot to me.”

Jong was already shaking her head. A crumb of the Brick Ration fell onto her knee. She picked it up, regarded it contemplatively, then popped it into her mouth.

A ration only questionably formulated to sustain humans probably wouldn’t do me much good in fox-form, but it was difficult not to resent my captor for not sharing, irrational as the sentiment was.

“I need a real guarantee that you’ll be helpful, not a fox-guarantee,” Jong said.

“That’s difficult, considering that I’m a fox.”

“I don’t think so.” Jong smiled, teeth gleaming oddly in the cockpit’s deadened lights. Her face resembled a war-mask from the old days of the Abalone Throne. “Swear on the blood of the tiger-sages.”

My heart stuttered within me. “There are no tiger-sages left,” I said. It might even have been true.

Jong’s smile widened. “I’ll take that chance.”

When I was a young fox, almost adult, and therefore old enough to get into the bad kind of trouble, my mother took me to visit a tiger-sage.

Until then, I had thought all the tiger-sages had left the peninsula. Sometimes the humans had hunted them, and more rarely they sought the tigers’ advice, although a tiger’s advice always has a bite in it. I’d once heard of hunters bringing down an older tiger in a nearby village, and I’d asked my mother if that had been a sage. She had only snorted and said that a real sage wouldn’t go down so easily.

Tiger-sages could die. That much I knew. But their deaths had nothing to do with shotguns or nets or poisoned ox carcasses. A tiger-sage had to be slain with a sword set with mirror-jewels or arrows fletched with feathers stolen from nesting firebirds. A tiger-sage had to be sung to death in a game of riddles during typhoon season, or tricked into sleep after a long game of baduk—the famously subtle strategy game played upon a board of nineteen-by-nineteen intersecting lines, with black stones and white. A tiger-sage had to consent to perish.

We traveled for days, because even a fox’s ability to slice through distance dwindled before a tiger-sage’s defenses. My mother was nervous than I’d ever seen her. I, too stupid to know better, was excited by the excursion.

At last we approached the tiger-sage’s cave, high upon a mountain, where the trees grew sideways and small bright flowers flourished in the thin soil. Everything smelled hard and sharp, as though we lingered dangerously close to the boundary between always and never. The cave had once served as a shrine for some human sage. A gilded statue dominated the mouth of the cave, lovingly polished. It depicted a woman sitting cross-legged, one palm held out and cupping a massive pearl, the other resting on her knee. The skull of some massive tusked beast rested next to the statue. The yellowing bone had been scored by claw-marks.

The tiger-sage emerged from the cave slowly, sinuously, like smoke from a hidden fire. Her fur was chilly white except for the night-black stripes. She was supposed to be the last of the tiger-sages. One by one they had departed for other lands, or so the fox-stories went. Whether this one remained out of stubbornness, or amusement at human antics, or sheer apathy, my mother hadn’t been able to say. It didn’t matter. It was not for a fox to understand the motivations of a sage.

“Foxes,” the tiger rumbled, her amber eyes regarding us with disinterest. “It is too bad you are no good for oracle bones. Fox bones always lie. The least you could have done was bring some incense. I ran out of the good stuff two months ago.”

My mother’s ears twitched, but she said only, “Venerable sage, I am here to beg your counsel on my son’s behalf.”

I crouched and tried to look appropriately humble, having never heard my mother speak like this before.

The tiger yawned hugely. “You’ve been spending too much time with humans if you’re trying to fit all those flowery words in your mouth. Just say it straight out.”

Normally my mother would have said something deprecating—I’d grown up listening to her arguing with Great-Aunt Seonghwa about the benefits of human culture—but she had other things on her mind. That, or the tiger’s impressive display of sharp teeth reminded her that to a tiger, everything is prey. “My son hungers after human-shape,” my mother said. “I have tried to persuade him otherwise, but a mother’s words only go so far. Perhaps you would be willing to give him some guidance?”

The tiger caught my eye and smiled tiger-fashion. I had a moment to wonder how many bites it would take for me to end up in her belly. She reared up, or perhaps it was that she straightened. For several stinging moments, I could not focus my vision on her, as though her entire outline was evanescing.

Then a woman stood where the tiger had been, or something like a woman, except for the amber eyes and the sharp-toothed smile. Her hair was black frosted with white and silver. Robes of silk flowed from her shoulders, layered in mountain colors: dawn-pink and ice-white and pale-gray with a sash of deepest green. At the time I did not yet understand beauty. Years later, remembering, I would realize that she had mimicked the form of the last legitimate queen. (Tigers have never been known for modesty.)

“How much do you know of the traditional bargain, little fox?” the tiger-woman asked. Her voice was very little changed.

I did not like being called little, but I had enough sense not to pick a fight with a tiger over one petty adjective. Especially since the tiger was, in any shape, larger than I was. “I have to kill one hundred humans to become human,” I said. “I understand the risk.”

The tiger-woman made an impatient noise. “I should have known better than to expect enlightenment from a fox.”

My mother held her peace.

“People say I am the last of the tiger-sages,” the tiger-woman said. “Do you know why?”

“I had thought you were all gone,” I said, since I saw no reason not to be honest. “Areyou the last one?”

The tiger-woman laughed. “Almost the last one, perhaps.” The silk robes blurred, and then she coiled before us in her native shape again. “I killed more than a hundred humans, in my time. Never do anything by halves, if you’re going to do it. But human-shape bored me after a while, and I yearned for my old clothing of stripes and teeth and claws.”

“So?” I said, whiskers twitching.

“So I killed and ate a hundred tiger-sages from my own lineage, to become a tiger again.”

My mother was tense, silent. My eyes had gone wide.

The tiger looked at me intently. “If the kit is serious about this—and I can smell it on him, that taint is unmistakable—I have some words for him.”

I stared at the tiger, transfixed. It could have pounced on me in that moment and I wouldn’t have moved. My mother made a low half-growl in the back of her throat.

“Becoming human has nothing to do with flat faces and weak noses and walking on two legs,” the tiger said. “That’s what your people always get wrong. It’s the hunger for gossip and bedroom entanglements and un-fox-ish loyalties; it’s about having a human heart. I, of course, don’t care one whit about such matters, so I will never be trapped in human-shape. But for reasons I have never fathomed, foxes always lose themselves in their new faces.”

“We appreciate the advice,” my mother said, tail thumping against the ground. “I will steal you some incense.” I could tell she was desperate to leave.

The tiger waved a paw, not entirely benevolently. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account, little vixen. And tell your aunt I warned her, assuming you get the chance.”

Two weeks after that visit, I heard of Great-Aunt Seonghwa’s unfortunate demise. It was not enough to deter me from the path I had chosen.

“Come on, fox,” Jong said. “If your offer is sincere, you have nothing to fear from a mythical tiger.”

I refrained from snapping that ‘mythical’ tigers were the most frightening of all. Ordinary tigers were bad enough. Now that I was old enough to appreciate how dangerous tiger-sages were, I preferred not to bring myself to one’s attention. But remaining tied up like this wasn’t appealing, either. And who knew how much time I had to extract myself from this situation?

“I swear on the blood of the tiger-sages,” I said, “that I will keep my bargain with you. No fox tricks.” I could almost hear the tiger-sage’s cynical laughter in my head, but I hoped it was my imagination.

Jong didn’t waste time making additional threats. She unbuckled herself and leaned over me to undo my bonds. I admired her deft hands. Those could have been mine, I thought hungrily; but I had promised. While a fox’s word might not be worth much, I had no desire to become the prey of an offended tiger. Tiger-sages took oaths quite seriously when they cared to.

My limbs ached, and it still hurt when I swallowed or talked. Small pains, however, and the pleasure of being able to move again made up for them. “Thank you,” I said.

“I advise being human if you can manage it,” Jong said. I choked back a snort. “The seat will be more comfortable for you.”

I couldn’t argue the point. Despite the pain, I was able to focus enough to summon the change-magic. Magic had its own sense of humor, as always. Instead of outdated court dress, it presented me in street-sweeper’s clothes, right down to the hat. As if a hat did anything but make me look ridiculous, especially inside a cataphract.

To her credit, Jong didn’t burst out laughing. I might have tried for her throat if she had, short-tempered as I was. “We need to”—yawn—”keep moving. But the pursuers are too close. Convince the small gods to conceal us from their scan, and we’ll keep going until we find shelter enough to rest for real.”

Jong’s faith in my ability to convince the small gods to do me favors was very touching. I had promised, however, which meant I had to do my best. “You’re in luck,” I said; if she heard the irony in my voice, she didn’t react to it. “The small gods are hungry tonight.”

Feeding gods was tricky business. I had learned most of what I knew from Great-Aunt Seonghwa. My mother had disdained such magic herself, saying that she would trust her own fine coat for camouflage instead of relying on gods, to say nothing of all the mundane stratagems she had learned from her own mother. For my part, I was not too proud to do what I had to in order to survive.

The large gods of the Celestial Order, who guided the procession of stars, responded to human blandishments: incense (I often wondered if the tiger I had met lit incense to the golden statue, or if it was for her own pleasure), or offerings of roast duck and tangerines, or bolts of silk embroidered with gold thread. The most powerful of the large gods demanded rituals and chants. Having never been bold enough to eat a shaman or magician, I didn’t know how that worked. (I remained mindful of Great-Aunt Seonghwa’s fate.) Fortunately, the small gods did not require such sophistication.

“Can you spare any part of this machine?” I asked Jong.

Her mouth compressed. Still, she didn’t argue. She retrieved a screwdriver and undid one of the panels, joystick and all, although she pocketed the screws. “It’s not like the busted arm’s good for anything anymore,” she said. The exposed wires and pipes of coolant looked like exposed veins. She grimaced, then fiddled with the wires’ connectors until they had all been undone. “Will this do?”

I doubted the small gods knew more about cataphract engineering than I did. “Yes,” I said, with more confidence than I felt, and took the panel from her. I pressed my right hand against the underside of the panel, flinching in spite of myself from the metal’s unfriendly warmth.

This is my offering, I said in the language of forest and mountain, which even city foxes spoke; and my mother, as a very proper fox, had raised me in the forest. Earth and stone and—

Jong’s curse broke my concentration, although the singing tension in the air told me that the small gods already pressed close to us, reaching, reaching.

“What is it?” I said.

“We’ll have to fight,” Jong said. “Buckle in.”

I had to let go of the panel to do so. I had just figured out the straps—the cataphract’s were more complicated than the safety restraints found in automobiles—and the panel clanked onto the cockpit’s floor as the cataphract rumbled awake. The small gods skittered and howled, demanding their tribute. I was fox enough to hear them, even if Jong showed no sign of noticing anything.

The lights in the cockpit blazed up in a glory of colors. The glow sheened in Jong’s tousled hair and reflected in her eyes, etched deep shadows around her mouth. The servos whirred; I could have sworn the entire cataphract creaked and moaned as it woke.

I scooped up the panel. Its edges bit into my palms. “How many?” I asked, then wondered if I should be distracting Jong when we were entering combat.

“Five,” she said. “Whatever you’re doing, finish it fast.”

The machine lurched out of the crevice where we’d been hiding, then broke into its version of a run. My stomach dropped. Worse than the jolting gait was the fact that I kept bracing for the impact of those heavy metal feet against the earth. I kept expecting the cataphract to sink hip-deep. Even though the gods of earth and stone cushioned each stride, acting as shock-absorbers, the discrepancy between what I expected and what happened upset my sense of the world’s equilibrium.

The control systems made noises that had only shrillness to recommend them. I left their interpretation to Jong and returned my attention to the small gods. From the way the air in the cockpit eddied and swirled, I could tell they were growing impatient. Earth and stone were allied to metal, after all, and metal, especially when summoned on behalf of a weapon, had its volatile side.

The magic had provided me not with a knife this time but with a hat pin. I retrieved it and jabbed my palm with the pointy end. Blood welled up. I smeared it onto the cataphract’s joystick. Get us out of here, I said to the small gods. Not eloquent, but I didn’t have time to come up with anything better.

The world tilted askew, pale and dark and fractured. Jong might have said something. I couldn’t understand any of it. Then everything righted itself again.

More, the small gods said in voices like shuddering bone.

I whispered stories to them, still speaking in the language of forest and mountain, which had no words except the evocation of the smell of fallen pine needles on an autumn morning, or loam worked over by the worms, or rain filling paw prints left in the mud. I was still fox enough for this to suffice.

“What in the name of the blistering gods?” Jong demanded. Now even she could hear the clanging of distant bells. Music was one of the human innovations that the small gods had grown fond of.

“They’re building mazes,” I said. “They’ll mask our path. Go!“

Her eyes met mine for a moment, hot and incredulous. Then she nodded and jerked a lever forward, activating the walk cycle. The cataphract juddered. The targeting screen flashed red as it locked on an erratically moving figure: another cataphract. She pressed a trigger.

I hunched down in my seat at the racket the autocannon made as it fired four shots in rapid succession, like a damned smith’s hammer upon the world’s last anvil. The small gods rumbled their approval. I forced myself to watch the targeting screen. For a moment I thought Jong had missed. Then the figure toppled sideways.

“Legged them,” Jong said with vicious satisfaction. “Don’t care about honor or kill counts, it’s good enough to cripple them so we can keep running.”

We endured several hits ourselves. While the small gods could confuse the enemies’ sensors, the fact remained that the cataphract relied on its metal armor to protect its inner mechanisms. The impacts rattled me from teeth to marrow. I was impressed that we hadn’t gone tumbling down.

And when had I started thinking of us as “we,” anyway?

“We’re doomed,” I said involuntarily when something hit the cataphract’s upper left torso—by the I’d figured out the basics of a few of the status readouts—and the whole cockpit trembled.

Jong’s grin flickered sideways at me. “Don’t be a pessimist, fox,” she said, breathless. “You ever hear of damage distribution?”

“Damage what?”

“I’ll explain it to you if we—” A shrill beep captured her attention. “Whoops, better deal with this first.”

“How many are left?”

“Three.”

There had been five to begin with. I hadn’t even noticed the second one going down.

“If only I weren’t out of coolant, I’d—” Jong muttered some other incomprehensible thing after that.

In the helter-skelter swirl of blinking lights and god-whispers, Jong herself was transfigured. Not beautiful in the way of a court blossom but in the way of a gun: honed toward a single purpose. I knew then that I was doomed in another manner entirely. No romance between a fox and a human ever ended well. What could I do, after all? Persuade her to abandon her cataphract and run away with me into the forest, where I would feed her rabbits and squirrels? No; I would help her escape, then go my separate way.

Every time an alert sounded, every time a vibration thundered through the cataphract’s frame, I shivered. My tongue was bitten almost to bleeding. I could not remember the last time I had been this frightened.

You were right, Mother, I wanted to say. Better a small life in the woods, diminished though they were from the days before the great cities with their ugly high-rises, than the gnawing hunger that had driven me toward the humans and their beautiful clothes, their delicious shrimp crackers, their games of dice and yut and baduk. For the first time I understood that, as tempting as these things were, they came with a price: I could not obtain them without also entangling myself with human hearts, human quarrels, human loyalties.

A flicker at the edge of one of the screens caught my eye. “Behind us, to the right!” I said.

Jong made a complicated hooking motion with the joystick and the cataphract bent low. My vision swam. “Thank you,” she said.

“Tell me you have some plan beyond ‘keep running until everyone runs out of fuel,'” I said.

She chuckled. “You don’t know thing one about how a cataphract works, do you? Nuclear core. Fuel isn’t the issue.”

I ignored that. Nuclear physics was not typically a fox specialty, although my mother had allowed that astrology was all right. “Why do they want you so badly?”

I had not expected Jong to answer me. But she said, “There’s no more point keeping it a secret. I deserted.”

“Why?” A boom just ahead of us made me clutch the armrests as we tilted dangerously.

“I had a falling out with my commander,” Jong said. Her voice was so tranquil that we might have been sitting side by side on a porch, sipping rice wine. Her hands moved; moved again. A roaring of fire, far off. “Just two left. In any case, my commander liked power. Our squad was sworn to protect the interim government, not—not to play games with the nation’s politics.” She drew a deep breath. “I don’t suppose any of this makes sense to you.”

“Why are you telling me now?” I said.

“Because you might die here with me, and it’s not as if you can give away our location any more. They know who I am. It only seems fair.”

Typically human reasoning, but I appreciated the sentiment. “What good does deserting do you?” I supposed she might know state secrets, at that. But who was she deserting to?

“I just need to get to—” She shook her head. “If I can get to refuge, especially with this machine more or less intact, I have information the loyalists can make use of.” She was scrutinizing the infrared scan as she spoke.

“The Abalone Throne means that much to you?”

Another alert went off. Jong shut it down. “I’m going to bust a limb at this rate,” she said. “The Throne? No. It’s outlived its usefulness.”

“You’re a parliamentarian, then.”

“Yes.”

This matter of monarchies and parliaments and factions was properly none of my business. All I had to do was keep my end of the bargain, and I could leave behind this vexing, heartbreaking woman and her passion for something as abstract as government.

Jong was about to add something to that when it happened. Afterwards I was only able to piece together fragments that didn’t fit together, like shards of a mirror dropped into a lake. A concussive blast. Being flung backwards, then sideways. A sudden, sharp pain in my side. (I’d broken a couple ribs, in spite of the restraints. But without them, the injuries would have been worse.) Jong’s sharp cry, truncated. The stink of panic.

The cataphract had stopped moving. The small gods roared. I moved my head; pain stabbed all the way through the back of my skull. “Jong?” I croaked.

Jong was breathing shallowly. Blood poured thickly from the cut on her face. I saw what had happened: the panel had flown out of my hands and struck her edge-on. The small gods had taken their payment, all right; mine hadn’t been enough. If only I had foreseen this—

“Fox,” Jong said in a weak voice.

Lights blinked on-off, on-off, in a crazed quilt. The cockpit looked like someone had upended a bucket full of unlucky constellations into it. “Jong,” I said. “Jong, are you all right?”

“My mission,” she said. Her eyes were too wide, shocky, the red-and-amber of the status lights pooling in the enormous pupils. I could smell the death on her, hear the frantic pounding of her heart as her body destroyed itself. Internal bleeding, and a lot of it. “Fox, you have to finish my mission. Unless you’re also a physician?”

“Shh,” I said. “Shh.” I had avoided eating people in the medical professions not out of a sense of ethics but because, in the older days, physicians tended to have a solid grounding in the kinds of magics that threatened shape-changing foxes.

“I got one of them,” she said. Her voice sounded more and more thready. “That leaves one, and of course they’ll have called for reinforcements. If they have anyone else to spare. You have to—”

I could have howled my frustration. “I’ll carry you.”

Under other circumstances, that grimace would have been a laugh. “I’m dying, fox, do you think I can’t tell?”

“I don’t know the things you know,” I said desperately. “Even if this metal monstrosity of yours can still run, I can’t pilot it for you.” It was getting hard to breathe; a foul, stinging vapor was leaking into the cockpit. I hoped it wasn’t toxic.

“Then there’s no hope,” she whispered.

“Wait,” I said, remembering; hating myself. “There’s a way.”

The sudden flare of hope in Jong’s eyes cut me.

“I can eat you,” I said. “I can take the things you know with me, and seek your friends. But it might be better simply to die.”

“Do it,” she said. “And hurry. I assume it doesn’t do you any good to eat a corpse, or your kind would have a reputation as grave-thieves.”

I didn’t squander time on apologies. I had already unbuckled the harness, despite the pain of the broken ribs. I flowed back into fox-shape, and I tore out her throat so she wouldn’t suffer as I devoured her liver.

The smoke in the cockpit thickened, thinned. When it was gone, a pale tiger watched me from the rear of the cockpit. It seemed impossible that she could fit; but the shadows stretched out into an infinite vast space to accommodate her, and she did. I recognized her. In a hundred stolen lifetimes I would never fail to recognize her.

Shivering, human, mouth full of blood-tang, I looked down. The magic had given me one last gift: I wore a cataphract pilot’s suit in fox colors, russet and black. Then I met the tiger’s gaze.

I had broken the oath I had sworn upon the tiger-sage’s blood. Of course she came to hunt me.

“I had to do it,” I said, and stumbled to my feet, prepared to fight. I did not expect to last long against a tiger-sage, but for Jong’s sake I had to try.

“There’s no ‘have to’ about anything,” the tiger said lazily. “Every death is a choice, little not-a-fox. At any step you could have turned aside. Now—” She fell silent.

I snatched up Jong’s knife. Now that I no longer had sharp teeth and claws, it would have to do.

“Don’t bother with that,” the tiger said. She had all her teeth, and wasn’t shy about displaying them in a ferocious grin. “No curse I could pronounce on you is more fitting than the one you have chosen for yourself.”

“It’s not a curse,” I said quietly.

“I’ll come back in nine years’ time,” the tiger said, “and we can discuss it then. Good luck with your one-person revolution.”

“I needn’t fight it alone,” I said. “This is your home, too.”

The tiger seemed to consider it. “Not a bad thought,” she said, “but maps and boundaries and nationalism are for humans, not for tigers.”

“If you change your mind,” I said, “I’m sure you can find me, in nine years’ time or otherwise.”

“Indeed,” the tiger said. “Farewell, little not-a-fox.”

“Thank you,” I said, but she was gone already.

I secured Jong’s ruined body in the copilot’s seat I had vacated, so it wouldn’t flop about during maneuvers, and strapped myself in. The cataphract was damaged, but not so badly damaged that I still couldn’t make a run for it. It was time to finish Jong’s mission.

#Yoon Ha Lee #Foxfire Foxfire #short story #actually long story

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welovekpopscenarios · 7 years

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Quietus (Ghost!Hoshi x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

When Hoshi died, he thought that was the end of everything as he knew it, and that he would be doomed to a life of isolation for the rest of his miserable existence. That was until the day you walked into his abandoned house and made him feel a little less lonely.

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Hoshi x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/blood/violence, Ouija boards, alcohol

Word Count: 4413

A/N: Hoshi is (one of) my bias and I never wrote for him before. I got inspired after the Lilili Yabbay video bc he looked like a ghost in that video, and since the spoopy festivities of Halloween are upon us, I was in the mood to write for the occasion! I put up the warnings for those who aren’t comfortable with it (obviously lol) but honestly, it isn’t that graphic or scary. It might seem a bit grizzly at the beginning, but that’s the worst of it, I promise you. That being said, I hope everyone likes this and that you have a good October/Halloween!

Soonyoung doesn’t remember the day he died. At least, not perfectly.

He remembers the unease he felt, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing up much like a cat’s when it arches its back in fright, preparing for attack, ready to strike. He remembers a large black mass entering his vision, a shadow of doom coming to swallow him whole and make him disappear from the world forever, cursed to the darkness for no reason at all other than being at home when he shouldn’t have been. Lastly, he remembers the pain, the sharp edge of a demon’s blade as it pierced the pure tissue of his heart, the searing pain crawling across his body like maggots and tearing at his skin as he struggled to fight it, fighting until he took his last breath and his body gave in to the desire of being in a painless state, turning paler and stiffer than the coldest of snows in winter.

Soonyoung doesn’t remember the day he died other than that.

But what he does remember, is waking up sometime later from that horrible, dull slumber and watching as paramedics placed his body on a stretcher and wheeled him out of his bedroom as hard men in suits held onto his weeping mother. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his father as broken in his life as he had then, his father’s eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, trying to listen to the policemen as they rambled on about possible reasons why poor Soonyoung’s life was taken so suddenly from him. But as he looked around his room that fateful night, examining the wooden floor that was now stained darker than before, examining just like the detectives that invaded his personal space, he thought it was painfully clear what had happened. He was murdered in the confines of his bedroom as his parents were out of the house late at night.

Everything after that was just a rapid blur of watching his parents cry deep into the night at the loss of their only child to standing over the shoulders of the police as they took notes, screaming at them, wondering why no one could see him despite being right in front of their eyes. But he wasn’t, was he? He might think he’s standing, breathing, but he knows that’s not the case when he watches as he’s- his body, is put into a casket in his Sunday best and lowered into his grave on a dull and wet Wednesday afternoon. He knows that he is, essentially, gone from the land of the living, no longer able to hug his parents, to wave at his friends as they walked mournfully to school, to dance as was always his passion. Yes, everything in the days following his death was a blur of sadness, regret and confusion.

But what he does remember, clear as the crystal vase his mother polished religiously and never let him touch as a child, was the day he stood behind his parents’ small forms and gazed upon the detectives as they detained the dreaded black mass that stole his life and threw him into the backseat of the police car to be locked up for the remainder of his pathetic life. He supposes it was some sort of consolidation for his parents: they had caught the man that ruined their life forever. But it still doesn’t erase the grief of his parents discovering that it was a simple robbery, that Soonyoung had just been in the way and the man panicked when he was caught, doesn’t erase the heavy hearts caused by this terrible accident, a community shocked by the loss of the brightest boy its ever seen.

But now Soonyoung is terribly alone in crowded places, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He stays at home, lies in the bed he’ll never sleep in again, guards the parents he’ll never talk to again, walks beside the friends he’ll never laugh with again. It frustrates him to no end, this isolation, the unhappiness he feels settling deep into his gut and causing him to sob tears that will never fall down his chubby cheeks. He’s never been this alone, this quiet, and it’s such a drastic change from the boy he once was that if anyone were to see him (he prays they do) they’d ask if that really was Soonyoung. Soonyoung, who was once so vibrant and enthusiastic, was now just a dull shell of his former self. And there was never a sadder sight.

He’s met a few of his kind before; other ‘spirits’, or ‘souls’ as they’d call themselves, wandering aimlessly on the streets of his hometown before moving off. Some knew how they died, others didn’t, completely in the dark and confused, afraid. It was a slight burden off his shoulders, knowing he wasn’t the only one out there. But he was still on his own, no spirit ever staying long enough to acquaint, moving on in search of the great beyond that might never come.

Soonyoung spends his days roaming the halls of his home until he overhears the dreaded words slip free from his parents’ mouths. “Let’s move away.” He doesn’t blame them for wanting to leave – he would too if his child was killed in his home. But he still feels like a little boy, even more so now, and he needs his parents by his side, needs that constant to keep him strong. But in what feels like the blink of an eye the house is emptied and his parents have left a few months after his death. Now he guards an empty home, eyes trained on the dust gathering on the kitchen counter tops his mother would prepare his favourite chicken dinners, watches the insects crawl from the cracks in the corners of the living room where his father would read the newspaper in the cushioned chair by the window.

The house looks unbearably bigger now that it’s just Soonyoung and his thoughts. Too big, he thinks, even if he’d hear his mother complaining it was too small when he was a child. Much too big for just himself. Too quiet yet the howling of the wind was too loud for his pale ears. He barely registered the strangers visiting the house that was now on the market, too busy actively ignoring the truth blaring in his face that he was slowly losing whatever life he had, piece by piece, and yet he refused to give up on this house. His home. His home that no longer felt like a home.

Except for the day you walked through the front door, freshly cut keys jingling in your hand as the other struggled to drag your packed suitcase behind you, small grin on your face as you basked in the glory of finally finding somewhere to live close to your college near five years later.

He doesn’t recall seeing you in the house before, figures he would have remembered a face as mesmerising as yours, so utterly entranced he was at your soft visage that he felt as if his scarred, dead heart has started beating again. At first, he had somewhat hated you for stepping into his home and making it your own, changing it from the safe haven he once knew and he despised that. But as you settled in, buried your head in your textbooks, sang the sweetest notes as you cooked in the kitchen, danced foolishly throughout the house in a ratty t-shirt and shorts as you cleaned the house, hoovering up that wretched dust that covered his memories, he found he didn’t mind you as much.

The company was indeed welcomed after years of silence, the house a little less lonely now that he had someone new to watch over, and you were certainly an interesting one. He’d laugh whenever you’d bang your head on the open cupboard door in the kitchen (which was always, you never seemed to learn from that) and swore under your breath as you rubbed the bump on your head. He’d raise a brow at when you went on one of your ‘creative sprees’, and you’d ruin the floor of his parents’ bedroom (your bedroom, he needs to remember that), various assortments of glitter and paints and stickers covering the dark wood in whatever creation you had in mind that day. And he’d join you as you turned up the music to prance around the room as you got ready for the day, both dancing to your hearts delight, and for once, Soonyoung felt a sliver of the happiness he’s been deprived of.

But things got even more interesting when you walked straight through Soonyoung’s ethereal form. And you shivered. And Soonyoung nearly dropped dead (if he could).

It was the first time since becoming a spirit that anybody had any sort of response to walking through him despite having done so unknowingly on numerous occasions. And Soonyoung almost, almost missed it, if not for the little sound of discomfort you made that drew his eyes back towards you once more. He watched as your body gave a slight shudder, your face contorting into a miniscule scowl before shrugging and continuing about your day as if nothing happened. But something did happen. Soonyoung saw it with his own eyes, heard it with his own ears, and it sparked the tiniest of flames inside his soul of a body, a spark of hope, something he had not had in the longest time, hope that for the first time, he would be seen.

And since that day, Soonyoung has been nothing but a pest throughout your house; moving your letters from one place to another, pots mysteriously falling from their spot on the counter to clang on the floor, random taps resounding through your walls in the middle of the dead of night. At first you were frightened, who wouldn’t be? All these strange paranormal happenings in your house would scare anyone, and while that wasn’t Soonyoung’s original intent, he was still determined to make his presence known, to make you notice him. After weeks of observation he was ecstatic to find that you no longer feared the unknown presence in your home, and instead, with your strange quirkiness and caring side that he’s come to love, you’ve accepted him, even calling out to him if he fiddles with something in your line of vision. You’ve even given him a nickname, called after the little star decoration hanging over your mirror that he pays special attention to when you’re getting ready for the day. Hoshi, you named him, and he was sure his smile could have cracked his face if he wasn’t dead, was sure that the brightest of blushes would wash over his face. Hoshi was perfect, and it was beautiful, like you, and he was proud to wear the name.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and it felt like Hoshi was stuck in the same spot; forever fiddling with things to get your attention, walking through you to earn a reaction. The flame inside his heart was beginning to dull the more time went by, losing hope that he would ever get to talk to you, to be acknowledged for once since his untimely end. He was hopeless, until one October night you held a small party with your closest friends and someone had the bright idea to bring a Ouija board to play with while you were all drunk. Hoshi thought it bizarre at first, do people just carry these sorts of things around with them like it’s nothing? But then he heard the light tone of your voice, albeit slightly slurred from the fruity drinks you’ve had, saying that you wanted to meet Hoshi, and he nearly melted. You should have been more careful, he thought momentarily, Ouija boards were dangerous and not something for drunk college students to be messing around with, but soon enough he heard your voice calling out to him, and he stood in shock for a brief second.

This was his chance, for him to finally have some way of actually speaking to you, for you to know he’s been here all along, to know what happened to him, to know how he feels, and suddenly he’s scared. After living in silence for so long he finally gets the opportunity to speak to the one person who’s brought him an ounce of joy and now he’s hesitant, his feet unwilling to move from their spot. He doesn’t understand why, his mind screams at him to make a move, but his fear stops him. But, one look at your dejected face from your friends mocking remarks about him being fake, suddenly Hoshi’s moving towards the board and placing his pointer finger upon the planchette.

“My Hoshi, are you there?” you inquire, a drunken lilt to your voice as you look aimlessly around the room, your eyes meeting his unknowingly for a few seconds before moving off. Hoshi could almost laugh at the ominous setting of the room; dark except for the few faintly lit fairy lights scattered throughout the room, fake store-bought cobwebs lining the table you and your friends sat around and bottles of drink pushed to the side to be dealt with tomorrow morning. He stared at your face, your pretty eyes wide in what looked to be slight apprehension, nibbling softly on the skin of your lower lip as you awaited his answer, and he was soon pushing his finger towards the ‘yes’ that sat in the corner of the board.

You all gasped aloud when the planchette moved, some friends quick to question each other which one of you moved it to freak the others out, but when all of them firmly denied ever even pressing hard on the planchette, it soon dawned up on you all that there was another presence in the room and it was met with mixed reactions. Some reacted in fear, wanting to put away the board altogether and go home, others in shock and awe, but you, you were the only one smiling, stretching from ear to ear and your eyes twinkling brighter than any of the lights littering the space in the room. Hoshi’s face matched your own, a heart once so dead and cold now full and bursting with warmth, so overjoyed that he could experience this moment with you, the moment he actually made contact with you. Part of him wishes to not have the intrusion of your friends on what he considers an intimate moment, but he wasn’t able to think on it too long before you were asking more questions.

“What’s your real name?”

Hoshi’s fingers moved the planchette to the respective letters of his name, spelling out S-O-O-N-Y-O-U-N-G while one of your friends wrote down the letters. Someone recognised his name, a dark tale that drifted throughout the town and city years ago, and recalled what they knew of him: a boy killed unjustly, taken too early, someone who had so much to live for be it in dancing, school or simply being the bright person he was. Hoshi’s heart deflated when your face fell the more his story was revealed to you, sorrow marring every inch of your graceful features and causing his stomach to do uncomfortable twists as if it were still a functioning organ in his body. You took a deep breath before speaking again, but this time no question was asked.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve it, and I hope the person who killed you rots wherever they are,” you said, poison lacing your honey-like voice, and once more Hoshi was shocked. He never thought he’d have those words directed at him before, never thought he’d hear it for himself than told to his parents. He didn’t know how to reply, so he said the first thing he thought was right.

T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U

You smiled again, the lightest of blushes spreading across your cheeks and your nose scrunching momentarily in delight. Another question came to your mind, your features taking on an inquisitive look again. “Do you want me to call you Soonyoung instead?”

Hoshi chose to ignore how your name made him feel weak-kneed for a second, and answered you quickly.

I-L-I-K-E-H-O-S-H-I

It was a bit tedious, having to spell out everything while your friends freaked out beside you, filling the room with squeals and shrieks, but his focus was only on you and your reactions. You giggled at his answer, and he laughed alongside you, a giddiness coming over him that he couldn’t control. He gave a frown of annoyance when your friends elected to take over the questioning for the night, endless dreary questions like ‘have you seen other ghosts?’, ‘have you ever met a demon?’, or the most baffling one that they spent some time talking about, ‘could ghosts have sex?’ Both you and Hoshi balked at the question, whether it be for the same or completely different reasons, but you were coughing into your hand when your friend sent an obvious wink in your direction. When it seemed like they would never shut up with their curious questioning, they eventually grew bored on Hoshi’s deliberate bland answers in the hopes that they’d turn the questioning back to you. But to his horror, everyone began to announce they were going to go home before putting an end to the connection. In his panic, Hoshi’s fingers sped over the ‘no’ in the opposite corner, subsequently stopping the group from saying goodbye. Everyone paused, staring at the bold letters silently and then looking towards you who wilted underneath their gazes.

“It’s dangerous to break the circle, isn’t it?” one said, eyes flickering uncertainly around the others who returned the hesitance to mess up the circle.

“Well,” another perked up after a beat of silence, “he doesn’t seem like an evil spirit. I guess we could take our hands off and end it there, but I say we should keep talking to him for a bit, at least until he’s satisfied.”

“What do you want to talk about?” someone asked, and Hoshi pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Y/N he spelled, and your jaw dropped.

“You want to talk about me?” you asked, a waver of nervousness in your voice as you furrowed your brows. His fingers flew across the letters again, your friend struggling to keep up with the letters as she wrote them down on the page.

I-W-A-N-T-T-O-T-A-L-K-T-O-Y-O-U-O-N-L-Y

“Oh.”

Your friends shared looks of bewilderment, looking to you for guidance on what to do. You thought for a moment, staring at your fingers that were accidently touching the tips of Hoshi’s spectral ones. “Lift your fingers off the planchette,” you announced, and slowly, one by one, your friends obeyed, their hold on the spirit world evaporating until it was just you and him left. They packed up their things and called cabs, not that you payed them much attention, keeping your focus on the board despite not saying anything, and wishing you good luck before they left, they bid their goodbyes and closed the door behind them.

The silence that filled the room was almost deafening, Hoshi waiting in anticipation of your next move, eyes trained on your face that was softly illuminated, as perfect as the day he first saw it. Licking your lips, painted a blood red hue in the spirit of Halloween, you began to speak.

“What do you look like?” you asked, and Hoshi should have expected a question like that but it still made his eyebrows raise in surprise. He thought for a moment on how he would show you, his parents long having packed up every picture you could possibly find of Soonyoung in the house. Then it came to him.

I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T. Surely the news would have put his pictures in the papers or on the article online. You made a soft ‘ah’ sound and grabbed your phone from its place beside you on the ground, searching his name as quick as you could with one hand to type. Within seconds the results popped up on screen, page upon page of his tragedy, all telling the same sad story. You ignored them in favour of heading to the images page, and your eyes widened at what came up. Multiple pictures of the same boy – no, man would be the better term, dark haired and smiling the cutest grin you’ve ever seen, causing his wonderful eyes to squint in the most unique way you’ve ever seen. Without realising, the words “he’s so pretty” slipped ever so quietly out of your mouth but it was not lost on Hoshi’s ears, who was positive said ears would be burning right to the tips if you could see him, the goofiest, love-struck smile overtaking his face. You smiled softly as you looked through the pictures, wondering how such a gorgeous and bright young man like him could ever have been so brutally murdered as he was. Life was truly cruel.

“How long have you been here?” you questioned, phone placed on the ground once more.

F-I-V-E

“Five years, wow…did you ever think about moving off? Can ghosts explore the world or are they tied to the place they, you know…died…?” you mumbled, afraid of offending him somehow. Hoshi chuckled sadly.

D-I-D-N-O-T-W-A-N-T

“Oh, you wanted to stay here? Makes sense, it was your home after all. I’m sorry I took it,” you said sheepishly, scratching your head with your free hand. “Are you angry at me because of that?”

The planchette was immediately moved to ‘no’, followed by I-L-I-K-E-Y-O-U.

He watched as you ducked your head shyly, a giggle of disbelief escaping you, all the while shaking your head. Hoshi smirked, pleased that he was able to elicit that kind of response like it was one of the old romance movies his mother used to play when he was young. He was also pleased he could relieve some of his feelings to you, despite you probably not taking it for face value, for Hoshi did like you, he really did. Probably more than someone in his situation should, what with being dead and near invisible and all, but he couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t. After seeing you every day for the past few months, learning all your quirks, joys and insecurities, Hoshi felt more a part of your life than he thinks anyone has been since you moved here. It was just an unfortunate nightmare that he would never get to treat you as well as you deserved to be, to hold you when college got too tough or laugh when you bump your head on the cupboard door again, never learning your lesson.

He sighed wearily, biting at the inside of his cheek. An unfortunate nightmare indeed, he thinks as he gets lost looking into your eyes, the colours of which he’d know as well as any dance routine he learned as a teenager.

“I like you too, Hoshi,” you gushed, and his lifeless heart felt like it skipped a beat, warming his body from head to toe. “Tell me more about yourself,” you asked, and for the next while, he did to the best of his ability. He told you about his old life and his new one, his hobbies as well as his dreams, and he learned about yours too, your wishes for when you leave college, your job, your friends and family. It felt like a date, almost – a very strange one, couples normally don’t talk through a Ouija board, but Hoshi was never as content as he was now, the one girl who made him smile in his miserable and dull world talking to him as if he were an old friend, an old lover. He never wanted it to end, but as life seemed to hate him, luck was never on his side. You yawned into your free hand, rubbing at your eyes cutely that made Hoshi ‘aww’ out loud and a smile of adoration tug at his lips.

“I’m tired, I think I’m going to go to bed now,” you explained, and Hoshi elected to ignore the disappointment sinking into his bones, favouring your wellbeing more than his. “I better lock up and stuff, make sure no burglar gets in and steals what little stuff I have,” you laughed softly, fatigue washing over you in waves like a lazy river. Hoshi began moving the planchette again, and you dragged your eyes to the letters, sleepy mind scrambling to keep up and make sense of what he is saying.

I-P-R-O-T-E-C-T-Y-O-U

You smiled a gentle, lazy smile once you realised what he had said, heart beating faster than usual for a person. “Thank you, my Hoshi. I feel better knowing you keep me safe every day,” you breathed out a sigh of content, one that made Hoshi feel lighter than a feather that fell from a dove, a sense of pride swelling his chest to the brim. He was glad he could make you feel good for such a simple act, but he does it diligently, from simple things like moving your closer to the centre of the table so it doesn’t fall off the edge to turning off hot appliances that you left on in a rush to leave the house. Anything to make your life just that bit easier and more enjoyable, he’d do it.

“I think I should buy a board for myself so I can talk to you more, I like talking to you,” you murmured, eyelids drooping as the drink from earlier in the night made you feel drowsy. Yawning once more, you stretched your back, heaving a satisfied sigh at the pops and cracks that left you feeling like a noodle. “Goodnight, Hoshi,” you said quietly, and Hoshi swallowed his sigh of disappointment, bitterness welling up in his mouth and tasting like a copper coin. There’s always tomorrow, he thinks, as he moves his pale fingers on the planchette for the final time that night. He’ll talk to you again tomorrow. And maybe, someday, he’ll get his wish and hold you tightly as he rocked you to sleep, whispering only loving things into your ears.

Hoshi moved the planchette over the letters G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T before hovering over ‘Goodbye’, and he was alone once more as sleep dragged you into its sweet clutches.

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grither55 · 4 years

Text

The Princess and the Peasant - Chapter 3 - Bruises in the Rain

Azula sat gazing out of her palace window as the thunder crackled over the distant skyline.

She reclined in her throne with her hand resting upon her chin while she sat gazing down a paper in her study.

The peasant girl had been simple to track.

As she predicted the girl was living in an alleyway.

As she sat in her study with her cold eyes swiftly over to the corner of her desk, she once more gazed upon the fire lily that sat in a small vase.

It had been a day since she had last seen the peasant girl.

With annoyance flowing through every fiber of her being she sighed heavily while pushing herself to her feet.

"I already have plenty of pets as it is. It's…not like I need another." The princess spoke in a frustrated voice as she gazed down at the document.

But even still.

She found herself sliding the rolled-up paper into her robes all the same.

Azula's eyes flickered to the fire lily once again with a frown pursing onto her usually cruel lips.

She had been so caught up in her musings that she didn't notice her friend in the doorway.

"Azula?" Ty Lee asked while blinking at her leader's back as Azula spun around to face her with a stoic countenance.

"What is it Ty Lee?" Azula replied as her hands fell to her sides while her friend surveyed her curiously.

"I was just wondering if you had any plans for today." The brown-haired woman pondered as she stood peering back at her friend.

Mai stepped up behind Ty Lee as they waited expectantly while their eyes were noticeably drawn to the fire lily upon the princess's desk.

"I have to go take care of something. I will be back shortly." The princess answered in her usual voice while they gazed at her in a puzzled manner.

The two had noticed that their leader had seemed distracted over the last day or two.

It was quite unlike Azula.

"That's a really pretty fire lily Azula! Who gave it to you?" Ty Lee conversed as Azula stepped past them while closing the door to her study with evident annoyance in her eyes.

"No one gave it to me. I picked it myself." Azula commented curtly before promptly walking down the hall with her two friends gazing after her.

"Weird. But whatever." Mai stated in her typical gloomy tone while sighing as she followed after her more optimistic friend.

"I wonder who gave Azula that fire lily?" The brown-haired woman spoke while walking alongside her friend who simply shrugged in response.

"Who knows." The markswoman replied in an uncaring voice while the circus girl continued to mull over the matter.

Sometime about an hour later…

The princess's royal carriage came to a stop as she exited into the rainy streets giving her guards the order to remain behind.

And then to their confusion they observed their princess enter the slum alleyway.

It was where the lowest of the low dwelled.

Azula strode through the alley with her cold eyes remaining peeled ahead before she came to a stop before a hunched over figure.

The small blonde sat shivering with her face hiding in her knees while stern eyes swept over her pitiful form.

"Peasant." The princess greeted as her voice cut through the air causing the petite girl to fall back in surprise.

Elle sunk back against the wall as she peered up at Azula towering over her.

Her eyes widened in shock to see that Princess Azula had bothered to track her down.

"Y-yes princess?" The blonde-haired girl stammered while the aloof woman peered down at a bruise gracing her right cheek.

"Ugh! Come with me before I change my mind." Azula ordered as she swiftly turned away with her words prompting the younger girl to fall on her knees.

"T-to where?" Elle inquired while kneeling before the looming woman's mesmerizing form.

"Out of the rain dummy." The princess snorted snidely as she placed a hand on her shapely hip while gazing down at the surprised peasant.

"T-thank you! Thank you, Your Highness!" The blonde-haired girl cried out with tears of joy streaming down her cheeks as she groveled low before the powerful young woman.

"You can grovel more later. I want to leave this wretched dump that you call home." Azula spoke with her nose wrinkling in disgust as she sniffed the air.

"I-I will not forget this kindness. I will never forget." Elle answered as she rose with her face stained with tears and raindrops as she began to follow the older girl.

"You had best not peasant. This is not something I usually do…" The princess grunted as she stopped before her carriage with her guards exchanging many bewildered looks with one another.

"D-do I step inside…with you?" The blonde-haired girl asked nervously while peering up at the princess as she took a step inside her royal carriage.

It was the equivalent of a death sentence to take a step inside Princess's Azula's royal carriage without her explicit permission.

There was only one seat inside of the royal carriage and it was a luxurious throne.

"What do you think? Just get in and take a seat on the floor." Azula commanded as she pointed at her boots while she glared at her petite admirer as the timid girl followed suit.

Elle stepped inside as the guards observed in a speechless silence while she worried that she would tarnish the interior of the beautifully ornate carriage.

And with that the carriage began to ride through the Fire Nation street while the small blonde took a timid seat on the floor.

While the tall princess sat imposingly upon her cushioned throne with her palms folded in her lap while her callous golden eyes gazing down at the commoner seated at her booted feet.

While the young girl gazed up at the looming face of the scrutinizing princess with gratefulness shimmering in her wet eyes.

"You need a bath." The princess remarked in a rude voice while gazing over the now crimson faced girl with a frown of disapproval on her features.

Though she will admit that she has seen far dirtier peasants.

It would seem that the girl had been making an effort to at least try to keep clean.

"I…know. I…apologize. I…don't have a home." Elle stated meekly while sinking back as far as she could from the powerful woman.

"You don't say?" Azula scoffed while leaning back on her cushions as she placed her palms in her lap.

Why she felt compelled to take in this peasant was beyond her…

"Not just that. I…have no one. I have no homeland…no anything." The blonde-haired girl admitted as she sunk into her knees while the young woman surveyed her closely.

"No homeland? You aren't Fire Nation? Are you Earth Kingdom?" The princess questioned with evident distaste in her voice while she leveled the girl with a harsh stare.

"Oh! No. I am not Earth Kingdom. It's…complicated. I am from another land very far away." Elle declared while peering out of her knees at the princess's puzzled face.

"There's no way that you're watertribe. Your skin…is much too…light. The Air Nomad's have been all but wiped out. Just what land do you speak of?" Azula inquired as she straightened with a sudden sense of curiosity in her voice.

"U-um…you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you." The blonde-haired girl muttered while she smiled back at her crush despite their difference in status.

"I demand that you tell me anyhow. I will be keeping you from this moment forward as my handmaid. You will hide nothing from me. Is that understood girl?" The princess remarked while gazing down at the timid girl with imposing golden eyes.

To the princess's surprise the girl fell forward onto the floor of her carriage with her face pressing into the carpet as she beamed up at her with a tear streaming down her cheek.

Suffice to say Azula was not expecting such a joyful reaction to servitude.

"Wakarimashita!" Elle cheered as she hunched over on the floor with the older girl inspecting her with fascinated golden eyes.

"I'll take that as a yes." Azula stated calmly while peering down at her new pet with an amused look in her cruel eyes.

"Sure! I'm a simple soul Your Highness. I am not much for hiding anything. Of course, I'll tell you!" The blonde-haired girl chirped while peering up at the older girl's imposing face.

"I am certain that this will be revelation that will shake the land. Go on." The princess ordered while waving her hand before her as she fixed the girl with a stern stare.

"I think I'm from another world." Elle blurted out while remaining prostrated upon the floor as she beamed up at Azula while the woman gazed down at her with stunned amber eyes.

"What?" Azula breathed in a taken aback voice while gazing down at the peasant girl with a surprised stare.

That was not anywhere close to what she had been expecting the girl to say.

"Yep! I had never even heard of the Fire Nation until about a month ago. I ran away from…home. And then I somehow wound up here." The blonde-haired girl stated as she peered up at the beautiful woman's bewildered countenance.

"…And you have no idea how that came to be?" The princess asked with an incredulous countenance while she leaned onto her knees as she scrutinized the young girl.

"Nope! I'm clueless!" Elle exclaimed as she shrugged while beaming all the while up at Azula's deadpan visage.

"I…see." Azula sighed while folding her hands in her lap with a mildly disappointed demeanor about her.

For a moment there she almost thought that the girl would possibly have knowledge that would benefit the Fire Nation's efforts in winning the war.

Though it was intriguing to consider the possibility that other worlds may very well exist.

Although it remains to be seen if there was validity to the girl's words.

If there was one thing that she could tell...it was that this peasant girl had yet to tell a lie.

In all her life she has never seen anyone this transparent!

"So, after I got wherever I was I decided to start wandering. I figured I may as well get used to it." The blonde-haired girl commented while the young woman stared down at her seemingly pleased by her prolonged bowing.

"You just aimlessly wandered about?" The princess scoffed while studying the peasant girl's nodding face.

If nothing else the girl understood that it was proper conduct to bow when in the presence of royalty.

"That's so. That is until I saw the most beautiful girl there is. I-I have never seen a woman so divine…I just had to give you a flower." Elle confessed as she turned away averting her eyes with a blush trailing down her cheeks.

Azula glanced down at the bowing girl with her cold countenance expressing traces of a rare flattery in her usually cruel stare.

Simple was indeed an apt way of putting this naïve girl.

It was both baffling and pleasing at the same time to hear that this girl put more effort in delivering her a fire lily than doing something more constructive to better her situation.

"I am aware peasant. There is no girl more beautiful than myself." The princess boasted while puffing out her chest as she smirked down at the damp peasant girl.

"H-her Highness is the most beautiful of them all…" The blonde-haired girl trailed off in a stutter that the older girl was becoming fonder with.

If one looked close enough. They would have seen the faintest signs of a blush on Azula's cheeks.

It was subtle but it was there.

"So…you chose to abandon any thoughts of returning home…in favor of gazing upon me?" Azula purred as she tilted her head with an entertained gleam in her eyes.

"T-that's so princess." Elle answered while pushing her face back into the floor as she closed her eyes expressing her reverence for the lovely woman.

'What a strange girl indeed…but once I clean her up…this peasant may make for a rather pretty pet.' The princess thought as she began to rub her chin thoughtfully.

"Listen well girl. Consider yourself fortunate that you caught my eye. I have decided to keep you as my pet." Azula announced bluntly while staring down at the small girl's kneeling form almost daring her to protest.

Though to her surprise the girl simply smiled brightly up at her.

"Sure! I'm the princess's pet now." The blonde-haired girl agreed happily while the older girl peered down at her with her lips curving into a smirk.

"It pleases me that you are quick to accept the situation. For your sake you had best hope that you never displease me. I do not like to be letdown." The princess sneered as her hands gripped her knees enjoying how the girl trembled before her.

"Yes princess. I will be a good girl." Elle assured as she returned to pushing her face against the floor while the carriage moved about in the rain.

"You had better peasant. As soon as we return…you'll get yourself cleaned up and present yourself to me within one hour. Your training begins thereafter…" Azula remarked stonily as she tapped a finger on her kneepad.

"As you say Azula-sama. Always as you say." The blonde-haired girl spoke softly while peering down at the floor.

"Azula-sama?" The princess pondered with another tilt of her head as she surveyed her new acquisition.

"It is an honorific that means Lord Azula. From one of my native languages." Elle explained while Azula glanced down with clear approval in her controlling eyes.

"Hm. I see. Very well servant. You may address me as such if you like. Though…do be sure to get that smell off of you." Azula commented as she scrunched her nose up while Elle flushed in embarrassment.

"I-I will." The blonde-haired girl mumbled lamely as she sunk into the carpet like a puppy that realized that she displeased her owner.

"Good. You smell like a wet sheep-dog. You've been playing out in the rain for far too long." The princess snorted while glaring down at her pet with domineering golden eyes.

"S-sumimasen Azula-sama. This girl is s-sorry." Elle stammered pitifully while the woman rolled her elegant eyes down at her.

"Now I want silence for the remainder of the ride…I have some thoughts to consider. Just…be a good pet and let me think." Azula sighed while brushing her hair out of her eyes while gazing down at her drenched pet.

The blonde-haired girl speedily nodded before sinking into the floor while shivering periodically due to her damp state.

Being the pet of a beautiful princess was much better than freezing on the streets.

The twinge of a blush formed on her innocent cheeks as she hid in the floor.

It most certainly was.

The princess quietly peered down at her new handmaid with cold amber eyes before gazing away through the window of her royal carriage.

The palace loomed over the horizon while she silently pondered just what it was about this peasant that somehow…drew a shred of her pity.

Azula really wasn't certain…

But she knew that she was most surely keeping her.

Yes, indeed she is.

#Azula #azula fanfiction #avatar the last airbender fanfiction #yuri #ty lee avatar #mai avatar

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elenariseventide · 7 years

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[ RP snippet between @cineas-duskhollow and I - which brought in @eleneyaeventide and @eliyon-starfury. Lemme tell you, this was fun! Sorry for posting it late!]

Cineas had wasted little time in sending the letters out to Eleney’a and Eli’yon. The stiff parchment paper had been sealed with the crimson E melted into the wax but also held the black seal that one would soon learn to be that of Duskhollow. The couple seemed quite perplexed by the request for them to join Elenaris and Cineas at the estate and Eleney’a found this to be rather unsettling. Even still, she eventually convinced Eli’yon to comply and they were packed and on their way back to the Isle.

As the two were ushered into the grand estate, Cindel greeted them and promptly guided them into the smaller dining room where a lunch had been prepared and all they awaited was Cineas and Elenaris to make their appearance. Eleney’a sighed heavily as she glanced over to Eli’yon who already seemed tense, as expected. “Surely it is for simple formalities. I can’t imagine anything else…” She shrugged, cutting a slice of cheese to place upon her plate with grapes and crackers before indulging in the wine that had been brought.

Cineas seemed rather uncomfortable himself as he sat on the edge of the bed in their chambers while he waited for Elenaris to finish readying for their lunch. His attire as of late had drifted from the elaborate robes to more simple leathers and light, linen shirts as he found his studies disrupted for continued work on the wing of the estate he was dedicating to Arrynn. It was rather hasty, but it gave him purpose in his work for now. A gentle knock at the door had signified to him that their guests had arrived and he perked slightly. “Love?” He questioned, his brow perking as he gazed at Elenaris through her vanity mirror.

Eli'yon shifted somewhat as he helped himself to the finger foods that were scattered about the table. He followed suit with Elenay’a as she served herself some cheese and had cut a much larger portion for himself. Though he declined wine at the time being, refusing alcohol was a rarity for Eli'yon but he had simply asked for chilled water instead. “Formalities,” Eli'yon said with a bit of a growl as he seemed to pick at, rather than consume the food on his plate. “I would much prefer to be back on the mainland.”

Elenaris perked at the sound of the knock, putting the final details of reddnend tint to her lips before she stood to meet at Cineas’s side. “Mm, shall we?” She said with a bit of a deep breath before opening the door and moving through it. They walked side by side, Elenaris not reaching for his arm or hand unless he offered it first. “Let us hope this goes as well as expected.”

In the dining room, Eleney’a huffed at Eli’yon and shook her head. “You knew this day would come eventually, unless you expected me to turn into just another fling.” She eyed him a brow raised and despite her words she knew they were wrong.

Eli'yon narrowed his eyes at the younger woman’s retort and finally allowed himself to bite into the cheese. “I've already met your sister. We're both aware of that. What I'm not fond of is whatever man thinks that he can come in here and start telling us what to do like he's some Lord of the house. Your sister isn't even married!” His face seemed to redden as his tone divulged his irritation and his voice was already louder than it should have been.

“It seems it's going rather well already,” Cineas remarked as he could hear louder voices but not make out the entirety of words. He stiffled a quiet laugh as he had taken Elenaris’ hand through their walk of the halls but had released it prior to their arrival to the dining room. He submitted to her as the door was opened for them and he gestured to Elenaris to make her entrance into the dining hall.

Elenaris sighed heavily as she recognized the voice even through the muffled echoes of the halls. As they came to the door and it was opened, she stepped through and made her entrance, however she paused and gestured for Cineas to take his place at her side. “Eleney’a...Mister Starfury.” She greeted them both as Eleney’a had rose to welcome her sister properly. “How nice to see the two of you again, I thank you for answering our call.” Elenaris glanced to Cineas as she introduced him. “As I am sure you are curious, this is Lord Cineas Duskhollow, it was through combined conversation that we thought it best we all come together for this lovely lunch and have a bit of a talk.”

Cineas followed Elenaris as she gestured for him to come along her side. He offered a slight bow to his company, noticing Eleney’a’s manners as she rose to greet them but also taking note of how Eli'yon remained seated. Their eyes made contact, locking in what only could be noted as a visible power struggle for the moment. Cineas quickly occupied himself elsewhere as a smirk fell over his features. His hands had moved to quickly find the chair where Elenaris was to sit, before allowing himself to take his seat next to her.

“How quaint,” Eli'yon replied as he broke off a piece of the cracker. “Elenaris Eventide in her big estate playing house with some stuffy bag of air.” He continued with a dismissive gesture to Cineas.

Elenaris nodded to her sister to gesture for her to sit as she did the same after Cineas offered the chair to her. Her gaze shot to Eli’yon with eyes that pierced his visage like daggers and she inhaled deeply before responding. “Dear Eli’yon, simply because you were denied the place at my side does not mean you have any right or reason to insult the man that rightfully holds it now.” She stated calmly as she glanced over to Eleney’a somewhat apologetically. The younger Eventide simply lowered her gaze as she went about plucking the grapes from their stems only to lay them aside on the plate.

Cineas remained quiet at the present moment, he hadn't a need to interject and felt Elenaris could defend herself in the verbal back and fourth. He had busied himself with pouring a large glass of wine for him but only half full for her as he placed the pitcher back down in the mid of the table. “It’s not an insult,” Eli'yon replied rather briskly as he took note of the man at her side. “It’s the truth. His hands appear soft with the lack of work he's ever had to accomplish and I'm sure he spends a good influx of his days accomplishing absolutely nothing.” Eli'yon continued as his eyes found Cineas’ once more. All the older man could do in response was chuckle.

The elder turned her gaze once more to Eleney’a. “You could not have taught him some manner, at least? Between your gallivanting in bars and sexual encounters?” She had quite obviously become irritated but still remained calm save for the venom spat in the form of words. “Eli’yon, there is little need to go on about the accomplishments that Lord Duskhollow has made or his prior work. What matters now is the union that we are in which agrees that he is taking the position as Lord of the Eventide household and the only accomplishment that is worth discussing is the likelihood of Eleney’a soon having a nephew.” Her chin tiltled upward as she glanced to Cineas with a proud grin.

Eleney’a seemed shocked by Elenaris’s words though she could hardly imagine anything less of her. That was how she worked, intimidation by her words. “Perhaps the insults should stop between us all. We are all quite aware that the relationship between Eli’yon and I began a bit impure but as Lord Duskhollow stands by your side, I stand by his until he wishes me to leave.” She regarded Eli’yon before her eyes widened at the new. “A nephew?”She whispered across the table to Elenaris, looking between her and Cineas.

“We do not expect either of you to leave,” Cineas finally spoke up as he took a sip of the wine. “Elenaris and I have discussed the importance of her family and continuing to be the matriarch of that family. We are attempting to make amicable solutions to all issues.” He explained and released a heavy sigh as his attention now regarded the younger man. “Lady Eventide has explained to me your affections towards her and her denial of those affections in return. I am quite sorry that you were hurt upon her honesty, but I ask that you respect our union further. As the Lady stated, I will be Lord of this home and respect is deserved.” His hands promptly folded together as he rested them before his plate while Eli'yon seemed to fume. “You dare sit there and criticize our relationship as you're already with child? What did he do? Drug you?”

Eleney’a jumped at the raise in Eli’yon’s voice. She reached her hand across the table in hopes of gaining his attention. “Stop! Stop arguing and name calling.” She asked him softly before Elenaris spoke up. “I criticize your relationship because after claiming your devout love for me you quickly turned to prey upon my sister. Now, if my assumptions based on observations are incorrect, then I apologize, however, I believe that is partially why we are here today.” She rose a hand in the air to further the silence so she could continue to speak. “But moving forward, as Lord Duskhollow said, he is Lord of this home and should be respected as such just as I should be respected.”

Lips pursed as Cineas seemed rather disgusted at the entire manner. The younger man was going on like a child had typically and he found his gaze dropping in slight embarrassment for him. “I never claimed devout love for you, Elenaris, I claimed an abundance of caring for you. That I wanted to one day be that for you. Now it seems in a short period of time, you've forgotten anyone that protected you, was there for you, or consoled you and found yourself carrying some silly Lord’s spawn.” Eli'yon was seething, it could be felt as his chest rose and fell with his breathing but he couldn't help but jump as Cineas slammed his hand down on the table and rose to his feet. The sound of yelling and slamming had attracted Ebonheart as he kept his silent watch outside but he hadn't done more than enter the dining hall with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“The Lady need not ask for your cooperation on the matter any longer.” Cineas spoke as his tone was stern but his voice remaining quiet. “You are embarrassing yourself and your lady at this table in my home. You are disrespecting my future wife and you are insulting my son and heir.” Cineas continued as his eyes narrowed in the direction of the blonde male. “If you continue to act as a spoiled child I will prevent you from ever seeing Elenay'a and lock you in the dungeon myself.”

Elenaris found herself resting her head into her hand, the tips of her finger holding her up. “I must agree with Lord Duskhollow on the matter. I was hoping the four of us could come together without quarrel but alas, seems you seek trouble in everything you do, Eli’yon.” Eleney’a took a large sip of wine from her glass and sighed heavily as she set it down. “I think we should simply get to what we came here to discuss and move on. While I respect you, Lord Duskhollow, you must understand the surprise that all this news comes to me as. It was hardly to be expected and as Elenaris will stand for you, I must say that I do not appreciate assumptions being made of me and Eli’yon. So perhaps now that the harsh words have been thrown, we can move beyond this?”

Eli'yon seemed to quiet for the moment and Cineas had retaken his seat as the only thing to be heard was the sound of his chair moving forward once more on the marble floor. “And now that we've all settled,” Cineas concluded as he indulged himself in a rather large gulp of the wine. “The main purpose of you both being here in our presence is to discuss your relationship entirely. As Elenaris and I find ourselves to be traditionalists.” He took a breath as he placed the glass down and once more returned his attention to Elenay'a. “You sister does not make false assumptions on the matter. It is clear and evident that you and the Mister Starfury have a relationship of nature. You are living with him. I am simply requesting that some committed factor occur or I request you return to the Eventide Estate.”

A heavy sigh was released through Eleney’a’s nostril. “My residence is no longer the Eventide Estate, Lord Duskhollow. It hasn’t been for some time since I left with my brother in his travels.” She then looked to Eli’yon, feeling a bit unable to speak for the two of them because even she was unsure of their status and goals. “There has not been talk of union or plans of marriage between the two of us, as it stands we enjoy our relationship the way it is. Simple, without expectations really.” By now Elenaris had lifted her head, the maid came by to refill the glasses of wine and for once Elenaris denied as her fingers rubbed her temple softly.

With his attention on Elenaris, his hand moved to lightly rest within his lap. “We will discuss more important formalities later,” he concluded regarding the younger pair’s relationship and he indulged himself with another glass of wine. “Your sister has been under immense stress lately and we wish to not jeopardize Arrynn in any way. If we can all act like adults, let us eat otherwise Ebonheart will show you to the stables to eat with the animals.”

Elenaris shook her head, smiling over to Cineas as he seemed concerned for her health. “I’m okay, this needs to be taken care of… it is only a headache, it will pass.” She replied before Eleney’a spoke up in a softer tone. “Arrynn?” The younger woman’s gaze lowered to Elenaris’s midsection, a gentle smile gracing her features. “After our brother.” Elenaris looked to her sister and nodded once, understanding that Neya’s connection with Arrynn was short lived but hers was one of the deeper relationships she had with anyone. “Yes, my pearl, after our brother.” She then looked over to Eli’yon as he had become rather quiet. “So, are we able to discuss this properly or will you be taking Lord Duskhollow’s latter offer?”

Cineas watched the exchange of the women in regards to the name they had settled on for their son. While it held sentimental meaning to Eleney’a and Elenaris, Cineas simply regarded it as that being his son, his heir. Though his attention flicked to the younger male as he awaited his response with a certain sense of curiosity. “I do this for Neya’s expense and not of either of your own. I don't care for your flaunted relationship or child.”

“We are not here to flaunt anything, Eli’yon, truly. Simply we need to gauge your intentions and go from there but it was necessary to make grounds with Lord Duskhollow to ensure we were all on the same page of understanding who he is and who he is to become. Now, what are the two of you planning?” Elenaris continued on, lifting a glass of water to her lips before she licked the somewhat chapped skin due to her stress.

Eli'yon glanced across the table at the younger woman as he huffed loudly. “We have not seriously discussed marriages or unions,” he spoke as his gaze refused to indulge either Elenaris or Cineas. He sat back in his chair as his arms folded across his chest tightly. “With the possibility of me suddenly being requested to Argus such things did not seem right.” Cineas pursed his lips as he took another sip of his wine and gestured for his glass to be refilled. “So, just so I am correct, you two are uncommitted, engaging in sexual behaviors where the younger Eventide could wind up pregnant but you see no justification of marriage because of impending war.” Cineas seemed irritated as he spoke but just huffed to himself.

Eleney’a looked across the table to Eli’yon as he spoke, her brows furrowing at the mention of his leaving to Argus and she, too, huffed. “I would say as adults, consenting adults, we have the ability to do such things if we wish to. There are ways around pregnancy and we take care with such things.” Elenaris looked between the two for a moment before she spoke up. “Have you considered the possibility? Many couples marry even with the likelihood of the male leaving to war. Let’s be honest, here, Eleney’a… you are becoming beyond of age to take your husband, do not even consider throwing my age at me as we all know my situation was different. If the two of you care for one another, you at least get along, is it not better than an arranged marriage that could land you in the arms of someone you couldn’t even stand? What other plans do you have, Mister Starfury? Surely your father wishes you to marry a rather higher ranking noble, hm? And with your elder brother taking Patriarchy of Starfury, what else does that leave you?” Her questions were not harsh but realistic, thought provoking perhaps.

“Are you insinuating that Eleney’a will be arranged to another noble should I choose not to marry her here and now?” Eli’yon finally piped up in an irritated fashion as he glanced between Elenaris and Cineas. He seemed angered but growing tired of his anger, his responses were not as sharp or as loud and his tone seemed to be at its normal octave. “That had not been considered, no.” Cineas replied before Elenaris could, his tone short and honest. He motioned for the servants to bring their plates of lunch to them as he grew tired of the finger food and took an anticipated sip of his wine. “However it is not outside the realm of possibilities here. Let us continue to be honest. Noble homes need continuation and what better way to cement our place in the registry books than with an extended, powerful noble family?” His brow rose in the direction of Eli’yon and his features seemed rather flat. Almost as if these were simple matters to Cineas. However, Eli’yon remained with his jaw clenched and his gaze unflinchingly on Eleney’a.

Elenaris had parted her lips to reply but was cut off by Cineas, inhaling deeply as she looked over to him. “Let us be realistic here. Should the two of you not wish to marry, yes it will be considered she marry another, but as Cin- Lord Duskhollow mentioned, it does not entirely mean that you must fall to a knee at this moment. All we ask if that you take Eleney’a’s station into to consideration when it comes to her future.” She paused, looking over to her sister. “We are already caving in on some of our traditions in simply allowing the option of a marriage to a lesser nobleman in general let alone one that does not embrace his nobility to any extent.” Her gaze slowly turned to Eli’yon and while her words may have seemed harsh, her tone was calm.

Cineas seemed rather relieved when the servants had returned with what was prepared for them for lunch. It seemed more akin to a dinner as he glanced over the finely cooked roast with brown gravy, potatoes and vegetables. “Lady Eventide is correct. We all need to be realistic within our situation. The Eventide family has had considerable changes within recent years due to many factors. You, as it is my understanding, are the sole remainder of this family and need to carry on that weight.” Cineas’ words were rather blunt though he continued on with his honesty as he glanced between the two younger ones. “Do your traditions also include becoming with child before marriage or do you find yourself caving on that tradition as well?” Eli’yon finally asked in an accusatory manner.

Eleney’a looked across the table to where Eli’yon sat, her features sweeping over him in a manner of understanding of how Elenaris may have made him feel. Just as she was about to speak, her sister piped in. “That tradition is none of your business as a child conceived out of wedlock simply a few months before the possible marriage is much less of an offense than the lack of marriage in general.” Eleney’a looked to Cineas and Elenaris with a clenched jaw before finally opening her words to them. “We will discuss the possibility of our union, together, just the two of us. I feel you can offer us at least that. Once our decision is made on our options, we can move forward.”

“An offense no less,” Eli’yon replied as his gaze fixated on the older woman. “So you sit here and condemn me and us for our actions yet you have a bastard in your belly?” Eli’yon managed to chuckle lightly at the hypocrisy but quickly dropped the manner when Cineas had glared at him fiercely. Something seemed to change in the blonde male, and if one could see under the tunic of Cineas, they would see that the purple runes were illuminated dimly. He was not looking for memories or wishing to destroy them, he was simply forcing the man into a place where his tongue would not get him killed. Cineas did this merely out of respect for Elenaris. Beads of sweat could begin to be visible on Eli’yon’s brow as the process became painful and uncomfortable. Cineas made a slight noise with his mouth opening and closing as his hand retrieved the fork and he let Eli’yon be. “I think we can oblige your request, young Eventide.” He spoke in a rather amused fashion as he picked at the food.

The two women overlooked the exchanged between the men, Eleney’a soon looking to Elenaris with pleading eyes to get Cineas to stop. Nothing had to be done as the elder man seemed to be through with his ploy over the younger. Elenaris nodded to them all as she too picked up her fork and went about picking at the food. “Eli’yon, we are not condemning you, we are simply asking that you hear us out and guiding you into a favorable situation.” The Lady had lowered her gaze to her plate as she allowed the rest to continue talking. “ Eli’yon… I think we can oblige them and take time for us to discuss it. I see no harm in that.” Eleney’a said as she reached across the table toward him, resting her hand nearby.

Eli’yon had taken note of the extended hand and while he hadn’t moved his to find her own, his hands were still balled into fists with the whites of his knuckles exposed, he nodded at her to inform her silently that he was alright and that he agreed with her suggestion. What exactly had Cineas done to his mind anyways? He felt rather queasy and pushed his plate away, simply requesting water. Cineas paused in his movements to allow himself a sip of the wine from his chalice and glance between the pair. “I do believe it to be rather good that you two are agreeable to our requests here. Punishing either of you was never an intention. This was to be a...happy meeting.” Cineas spoke as he moved a hand around in gestures as he spoke.

Elenaris slowly sipped from the glass of water she had in hand, placing her fork down upon the plate as she looked to Cineas. “Yes, I agree. Somewhats the things we wish for simply are not meant to be but we have to accept them. In your case, you are being given the option to make what isn’t meant to be become a reality.” Eleney’a had barely touched the food, her glass emptied of her wine and she quickly requested for more. “Despite the rise in tensions, I believe Eli’yon and I do understand the position you both are coming from. Though, I will not agree to anything but discussions and from there who knows. “

Cineas seemed to be the only one that was entirely eating and had finished most of his plate save for a potato or two. He placed his utensils on the plate and pushed it forward as he gestured for his plate to be taken away and his glass to be refilled. “Discussions are all anyone can have though I believe Mister Starfury does understand the gravity of such discussions. We are simply looking out for you, Miss Eventide and do not wish your...reputation to be called into question at all.” Cineas’ words were quiet and feigned a somewhat genuine manner. While he was honest in what he said, he was concerned about what could have possibly already been hinted at with her reputation.

The youngest nodded to Cineas once. “Somehow I doubt that is the entire truth however the sentiment is appreciated.” She stated before pushing from her seat with glass still in hand. “I believe I am going to retire for a bit of a rest. It was a rather large lunch..a lot of food and too many words.” She said coolly before looking to Eli’yon. She wouldn’t tell him to come but instead her features held the offer nonetheless. “Of course…” Elenaris replied, nodding to her and then to Eli’yon. “You may go,too.”

Eli’yon quickly rose from the table, almost as soon as Eleney’a had. He had wanted to be out of that dining hall the moment he had arrived and with her seeking solace outside of the room, he would follow her. Eli’yon would follow her just about anywhere at this point in time. He quickly met her at the end of the large table before he ushered them out of the dining hall with a large huff. The pain within his head was beyond throbbing at this point. “He will prove to be difficult,” Cineas finally stated as he continued to pick at the platters of finger foods. He was still hungry.

“As I had imagined…” Elenaris sighed as she rose a brow at him. “What has you worked up such an appetite?” She asked as she reached over for his chalice to take a sip of his wine which seemed to calm her demeanor instantly. Sliding the glass back over to him as she waited to hear his slight scorn, she placed a hand before him on the table. “My sister will work her magic, surely. I have little doubts in her if this is what she wants. Even if marriage is not in her books, she will do it to keep him...I wish I could place where this headache keeps coming from. That conversation did little to quell it.”

“I just find myself to be hungry,” Cineas replied with a shrug of his broad shoulders. Though her words were not scolding, he found himself pulling away from the platter and sitting back into the large seat more comfortably. He watched as she drank the wine though surprisingly he did not reply verbally and merely gestured the servant over to refill both of their glasses with the crimson liquid. “Do not say I never gave you anything,” he jested as he leaned forward to reach for his glass. “That conversation did more than cause headaches, I can assure you but the boy will do little in interfering with us any longer. I can assure you of that entirely.” His brow rose as he allowed himself to take a pull of liquid from the glass. “Perhaps my son is already showing his power over his mother?”

She smiled, the wine glass coming to her lips as she took a small sip only to set it aside as a hand came to rest up on her stomach. “Perhaps so…” She mused as she looked downward to where her hand laid. Her brows furrowed together, however as she looked back to him. “What did you do? ...Or plan to do?”

He chuckled quietly as he found himself comfortably settled into his seat with his wine in hand. The soothing feeling of the cool, crimson liquid entering his mouth had washed a wave of relief over him and his features resembled pure ecstasy as he settled upon swallowing. “I simply toyed with his mind somewhat,” Cineas replied with a rather evident smirk. “He is still quite fond of you. Loves you perhaps.”

Elenaris stiffened slightly as his words came and her gaze averted. “You say this out of assumption or from something you felt whilst dealing with your talents on him?” She picked up her fork once more as she seemed to fidget and poke around the food that was left on her plate before dropping it aside and pushing the plate away even further. “Despite that, I care little of his feelings or thoughts of me so long as he holds a respect towards me and my family, which includes you and our son. He has already faltered on those, save Eleney’a...though if he truly respected her, he would not hold her back from a life without union.”

“It was what I felt while in his head.” He replied as he sucked slightly on the inside of his cheek. He sat for a moment prior to allowing himself to continue to sip the liquid. “Or rather, such truths were revealed to me while I forced him to submit.” His weight shifted somewhat as he watched her actions and motions. Her averted gaze and picking at the food had caused him to grow curious but he hid that reaction quite well from her. “You still have care for him.” He spoke rather dryly as he finished his wine.

Her eyes returned to him with a soft exhales. “Care is a very endearing term and a bit too much for how I regard him.” She began as her hands came to rest within her lap. “I find it difficult, sometimes, to throw away those that may have at one time quite literally risked their lives for me. I don’t trust people often, and to trust with my well being is even less frequent, but I trusted him in both senses. Though now, I am mostly concerned with Eleney’a… if she cares for him enough to forsake her family, she’s truly fallen for him.. Perhaps not all the while knowing his feelings for me remain...and if she does know -” Her features saddened as she swallowed hard. “It is even sadder…”

He drug his tongue over the front of his teeth as he appeared to be in thought for the moment. He wasn’t sure entirely how to begin to word what was formulating itself in his mind and he simply leaned forward once more to place the empty glass onto the table. He pushed himself from the chair to begin his familiar pacing, his hues glancing around the elaborate hall. “And if he were to die?” Cineas asked as he turned to look at Elenaris. “If he goes to Argus, he will die. I am sure you are aware of that bit of information. And what of your sister then?”

“Of course I am.” She held her gaze forward even as he paced around the room. “If he goes to Argus and falls to the Legion then he will not be an issue. She will be heartbroken but she will live on. She’s done it once before. What are you getting at?” She asked, finally pulling her gaze away from the oblivion before her to find him.

He clasped his hands behind his back as he continued his pacing, though he stopped as he got towards the end of the hall. His eyes bore into the fireplace as he watched the flames rising and falling and the crackling of the wood as it burned. “How much do you love your sister?” He finally asked her as he turned to stare at her from across the room.

Slowly she pushed from the table and hesitantly began walking toward him. “Cineas,” She began, stopping just a few steps from him. “What are you getting at?” She asked in a concerned tone.

Cineas shrugged his shoulders as he turned around to face her, the feeling of the warm fire against his hands rather soothing. “What I am getting at is rather simple. The boy goes off to war, will obviously die in attempting to prove himself to something or someone. You maintain communication with Eleney’a enough to know when he leaves for Argus and the day after he does depart, we arrange a marriage to another Lord. One who takes the values of marriage on a serious note.”

“Cineas… it won’t be that simple. What if he doesn’t die? Plenty have returned alive from Argus.” She stepped closer with a sigh. “Perhaps we begin the discussion in search of another marriage but until his death is confirmed, I see no reason to make that decision. What if they come to us tomorrow having spoken to one another and agreed to a marriage in the near future?”

Cineas shrugged at her question somewhat, his features were flat and reflected little emotion. He had no dog in this fight. While he would care for Eleney’a as his own, he didn't have a reason to bend to her wants or desires. “It is that simple,” he replied in a simple manner. “Men with his attitude are the first to fall. I've sent many to their deaths and have observed many deaths myself. However,” he paused somewhat to raise a brow at her. “I am most perplexed about your...calmness regarding this whole thing. Both with your care for him and your sister.”

“Calmness? Why would I be otherwise? I have already spent my time raising my voice and concerns in regards to them. You told me I was to alleviate stress where can be and this one of those situations where it can be avoided.” She now stepped directly to his side but turned to face the roaring fireplace. “I see little reason to question me.” She stated sternly.

“I am merely observing what I see and feel,” he commented as his head turned to the side so that he was able to watch her. The way in which her face was illuminated with the fireplace had enhanced her beauty and he softened somewhat as he turned so that a hand could rest against her stomach. “I will fetch a physician to examine you regarding the headaches.”

She held her gaze upon the dancing flames as he spoke, a large rise in her chest gave way to the sigh that followed. “I’m sorry.” She said lowly and shook her head before looking at him. “I do not mean to disagree with you. Let us take this one step at a time and see where it leads us. Have plans to follow up on but only after one step at a time.” Looking down to her stomach where he rest his hand. “I think I just need to lie down...but you can send for Pyrenious if you wish to.”

Cineas softened his gaze that lay upon her stomach as his hand moved back and fourth in a comforting manner. There was no child yet, at least confirmed to them, but acting as such made him feel all the more relieved. “Ebonheart,” Cineas called loudly as he waited for the large knight to enter the room. “Please accompany Lady Eventide to our quarters and fetch Cindel as well as Pyrenious.” Cineas spoke as he gently leaned forward to press his lips to her temple. “I will check in on you shortly.”

His call had startled her slightly as she seemed to have nearly fallen asleep in a sense as she eased into the warmth of the fire. “Very well, my love.” She leaned into him slightly as he kissed her, lingering a moment as it seemed she didn’t entirely want to leave his side but did so anyways to disappear into the hallways and eventually to bed.

#The Lady and the Raven #Pearls and Wolves #Eli'neya #Cinaris #Eventides Starfurys Duskhollows oh my #late post #Sorry it's long #but hey it's a fun angsty read

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charley1979 · 7 years

Text

Possessed

Bobby gets hurt on a hunt. Crowley comes to the rescue. Talk about ‘getting closer’. This one’s based off of a couple images from @gorlassar.

Crowley had possessed Bobby to save him from the werewolves. The little bastard had found him laying down, bleeding out. Bobby hadn't even been able to see the demon as Crowley ran over to him, sliding to his side. Just too damn tired from blood loss. He felt lips on his and then his mind was enveloped in a thick, red fog. Bobby took in the litany of curses the demon flung his way as he watched what the demon did with his body.

That had been surreal. Watching as his hands gutted the first werewolf. Watching as Crowley took both of his hands and ripped the second one in half. The demon was still giving Bobby the third degree as he homed Bobby's body in on the third one. That one tried to run at the absolute carnage the old man was doling out, but Crowley was having none of it. He pounced on top of the third one. He must have sensed how unsettled Bobby was getting, though. Suddenly, Bobby's attention was taken from his hands pulling the werewolf's ribs out through its own back to a smoky form in his mind that kind of solidified into Crowley's shape.

"I didn't realize you'd become so squeamish, luv." Crowley said snidely, but there was an undercurrent of concern.

"I'm not." Bobby growled. "Just not used to taking a backseat in my Own. Damn. Body."

"Now pet," Crowley cooed, "you weren't doing so well. And, really, I am enjoying you on this plane of existence. There's no need to rush down and be with me just yet."

Weirdly, even with the demon in his smoky state, Bobby could easily tell that Crowley was actually upset at the thought of him dying. Stranger yet, was the absolute fury the demon was pointing at the werewolves that had injured him. Of course, the obvious tell had been that the demon had been swearing at him as he'd possessed Bobby.

"Getting a little possessive, aren't ya princess?"

The sarcastic lilt in the hunter's voice was not lost on the demon. Bobby got the distinct impression that the smoke was glaring at him. Then it moved closer. And was growling.

"Didn't say that I minded." He assured the irate demon, cocking an eyebrow and holding his ground ... in his own head. God, this was all sorts of fucked up.

But, let it never be said that Bobby Singer would pass on a chance to learn something.

Crowley focused in at the look on his face.

"What are you hatching in this head of yours, Robert?" The demon smirked.

Bobby huffed out a laugh at the absurdity of that statement and then held the demon's gaze.

"Can ya show me yer true form in here, Crowley?"

Crowley seemed taken aback and actually hesitated. Though, Bobby was guessing part of that pause was Crowley taking care of the last of the werewolves.

"Don't care for the smoky look, darling?" Crowley eventually purred, deflecting.

Bobby glared at the demon's avoidance.

"We done here, or you just gonna camp out for awhile?" He growled.

Bobby turned, as best as he could tell, to see what his body was up to but felt Crowley come up behind him.

"Is this strictly research or do you truly want to see?"

Bobby looked over to the side at Crowley. The way the demon asked that, he felt ... off, maybe ... nervous? Bobby turned to face him.

"I want to know." He told his demon. "Was Dante dead on or is it a little more new-age?"

Bobby swore the smoke gave him an unimpressed look.

"Little more Dark Ages, if you must know." Crowley sneered. "New-age is what we have the meatsuits for, sweetums."

Bobby checked and could see Crowley's meatsuit lying at his feet, and knew that the demon was going to smoke out.

"Can I see it?"

If Bobby hadn't currently been having an active conversation in his own head with a being currently possessing him, he would never have believed it when Crowley froze. Flat out froze in place. The smoke literally stopped just as Crowley was going to smoke out and slooowly turned to him. That the demon was tense was a major understatement. His smoke was as rigid as stone.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Robert?" Crowley asked, this time the hesitation was blatant. "Meat brains tend to short out and run driveling and screaming."

"Kinda the point, ain't it?" Bobby grunted, a little gentler than normal given the demon's obvious nervousness. "And yeah, figure this'll be the only way I can really see you without actually going to your Infernal realm."

Crowley just seemed to hold his gaze for awhile, and then nodded slowly.

"You won't be able to unsee this."

At Crowley's tone, Bobby got the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the demon was nervous. Nervous about Bobby's reaction and what it would be. As if Crowley didn't think that Bobby would still want to be with him after he got a good look at the demon underneath the pretty meatsuit. It was rare to see anything like self-consciousness on the normally cocky demon, but there it was.

Only one thing to do for that.

"Not going anywhere, Crowley." Bobby told him quietly, stepping up to the smoke. "I know you're a demon. I know that meatsuit ain't you. I'm not gonna take off running just cause you got horns or whatever-the-hell."

"Ahh..."Â Crowley signed, seeming to lower his eyes for a second before raising them back up to Bobby's. "More like whatever-the-Hell ... bollocks, why not? Don't say I didn't warn you."

A form began to emerge and solidify in the smoke. Two horns protruding from a skull. Then more took shape, and Bobby could see flesh pulled tight over the skull and sewn together right down the middle of the forehead. A muzzle full of pointy teeth lay beneath the hole where a nose could have been. Two long, pointy ears were below the horns. The red eyes of the Crossroads glowed out from the eye sockets.

The form solidified some more and Bobby could see ligature marks around Crowley's neck. There were narrow shoulders and arms, leading to bony hands with sharp claws. The sternum was covered in flesh, but that looked to have been removed from the lower chest and torso. Bobby could see the shadow of ribs outlined in the glow of hellfire that burned down into the pelvic bones. The rest stayed obscured by smoke and Bobby was certain that even this was edited a little. Not being in Hell, the true horror couldn't be fully revealed. But it was enough.

Bobby hadn't been totally unprepared. Dean had given him a rundown of the true forms he had seen during his forty years.

The visage standing in front of him did help Bobby remember why the little bastard was the way he was, though. Crowley had been demonized. His soul had been burned and ravaged by centuries in the Infernal realm. It had been twisted and reshaped into the form standing before him. Of course, it did help Bobby fully understand how different the demon was from his brethren, also.

"See anything you like, darling?" Crowley asked, and even though he had the snark, Bobby could see the doubt.

Bobby raised his eyes up and met the glowing red of Crowley's. Yes, the image wasn't quite jiving with the voice, but this was Crowley. This was his demon, and it was fully sinking in how much trust this had taken for Crowley do. There was no way in Hell Bobby was gonna let him down. He held Crowley's gaze, took a step closer, looked up, and then smirked.

"So, now I know you're a horny devil." He rumbled out, lifting one hand towards the horns.

The demon's muzzle actually fell open a bit, and Bobby smiled at Crowley's obvious shock. He didn't actually touch the other, not sure if he could or if it would be wise, but wanting Crowley to know that this didn't bother him. It certainly didn't make him want to leave the fool demon, which Bobby was sure was what Crowley had thought would happen.

Bobby maintained the eye contact until Crowley got over his shock, and some of his cockiness returned.

"Oh, now you're just flirting." Crowley purred as one of those bony claws raised up slowly and teasingly rubbed very gentle circles on Bobby's chest. "Care to see how two souls get it on without a body involved?"

Bobby huffed a laugh, his face getting hot at the thought.

"How 'bout when we're not standing out in the open, without any wards?" He replied, smirking at the surprise he got for that statement. "Should check on Rufus and get our bodies back to the motel before something gets nosy."

"Ah well," Crowley sighed and the demon melted back into smoke and was gone.

Bobby shook his head, and it was fully his, and took in his surroundings. The mangled corpses of the werewolves lay strewn about, hunks and pieces missing. He did a quick check of his wounds, finding that the major ones tingled and ached like healed burns, but were otherwise fine. Some of the minor scrapes were still stinging but nothing he'd even need a band-aid for.

One more thing to add to the he's-different-from-other-demons pile.

Looking around, though, Bobby didn't see Rufus anywhere. He turned to Crowley to ask and saw the demon getting on his feet, brushing the dirt off his suit, and casting a hungry look back at Bobby.

"I did assure Mr. Turner, when I brought him to the motel, that we would be checking in shortly," He continued, "after we collected my meatsuit."

"Ta prove you weren't still possessing me?" Bobby smirked, taking in the demon's put-out face.

"He did make the usual threat of exorcism, post-torture, if you didn't show up sans the 'ride-along'." Crowley sighed, but the smirk was firmly in place.

Bobby just shook his head as he stepped over and gathered Crowley in his arms.

"How's about we go prove my humanity to the cranky bastard." He said, giving Crowley a solid squeeze. "And then, you take us home. Don't want to be interrupted by any noise complaints. And the no-body thing sounds ... interesting."

The last bit rumbled out and Bobby knew his pupils were dilated at what the demon had insinuated. Crowley's eyes were almost completely black except for the whites, and his smirk was so predatory it had teeth. That didn't mean that Bobby missed the tiny bit of relief still in those eyes. Or the way that Crowley clung a little tighter when he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers.

#crobby #bobby singer #crowley #crowleyxbobby #@gorlassar

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