#and the hood did that 'shadows the entire face except the eyes' thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wukong-s-only-wife5000 · 5 months

Note

Hey I hope your doing well! I just wanted to say that I loved how you wrote my Request, and I’d like to show the boy some more love so can I Request First Date for Lego Monkie Kid Macaque? Have a fantastic day btwsss👋🏼👋🏼✨

First Date: Macaque.

Word Count: 2494.

Rating: Fluff.

Content/Trigger Warnings: N/A.

Authors Notes: Say.less. This came out way longer than I expected yet left rushed? Hope you enjoy it!

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“You're here early,” the voice scared you… it felt like a déjà vu moment, but you shook it off and focused on him.

“I didn't wanna be late,” you looked at the emo monkey boy in human form and smiled a bit.

He wore his usual puppet master outfit, but something about it this time seemed more… well-kept? Groomed, even? Right now, he had the hood down. Like last time, he looked a bit weird to you since you were more used to seeing the emo monkey boy and not emo human boy. He was handsome nonetheless, though.

“You look gorgeous,” he said as he got a look at you and you to him.

“So do you,” you said without thinking and smiled nervously. “I mean, handsome, you-”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off with a chuckle. “Thank you.”

“R-right… so, what do you have in store for me tonight?” you smiled up at him. He just stared at you with a small smile of his own before his mind finally caught up to him.

“Right, well,” he chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, you said that you wanted it to be a shadow play… so, I, um…” he cleared his throat. “I made one for you.”

“You… made one for me? Like from scratch?” you asked in both shock and curiosity.

Your entire face felt hot from the blush that took over when he said that. You’d never expect that he or anyone would make something like a play script just for you, granted this would be the second time he did. It was definitely unexpected and most flattering if you were being completely honest.

“May I?” he asked. You looked at his hand he held out for you, that charming yet mischievous smile made your heart race as you placed your hand in his.

“You may,” you replied with a small smile.

“Are you scared, (Y/n)?” he mused a bit.

“Me? Scared? Pft- don't be ridiculous,” you waved him off, which made him chuckle as he led you inside.

“Date never killed anyone,” he chuckled.

“You haven't watched enough horror movies,” you teased him.

The theatre room was empty as he led you to and sat you down front and centre. Before you could question him on whether or not he rented out the room for just you two, he put his hood up and the lights dimmed a bit.

“Ladies and gentlemen… tonight, you're all in for a treat,” you looked at him in question before you noticed there were people in the room; you were the only one in the front. You were sure it was empty before, though, but you shook it off and zeroed in on Macaque.

“This story was made for the gorgeous creature in the front row,” he gestured to you with a grin, which made you shift a bit as people watched you. You gave him the ‘I'll kill you later’ eyes, but his grin only grew wider as his head lowered to cover his face except his mouth.

This story had everything you loved: action, mystery, tragedy, romance. It felt unlike him, but at the same time, how he told the story was breathtaking and had many on the edge of their seats. The main character was a heroine who fell in love with the villain and changed him… only for the villain to lose his life while saving her.

The story had ended with the heroine marrying the villain who had actually faked his death in order to keep her safe from his enemies. It was an entire rollercoaster of emotions and maybe because it was written for you that you were more invested in the story than you normally would be. He took your breath away and his smile when he saw how much you were enjoying it shone brighter than Wukong.

“Did you like it?” was the first thing he asked once everyone left, and he walked over to you.

“I loved it,” you smiled up at him. “I never would have thought that the Six Eared Macaque would be this good at writing,” you teased, which successfully made him all bashful and shy.

“I'm glad you liked it,” he chuckled a bit and sat to your left as he shifted back to his emo monkey form. “To be honest… I kinda made up the last part.”

“You mean you killed off the villain?!” you gasped dramatically and nudged him playfully with your shoulder. “You monster… how could you,” you said dramatically, which made him laugh a bit.

“But I saved him, don't hit me for that,” he chuckled as he put his hands up in mock surrender.

“It was still pretty good, though,” you smiled, looking ahead at the stage. “You must really enjoy doing these.”

“It’s just a hobby,” he shrugged a bit.

“Don't think you can try to be all indifferent now,” you looked at him with a smile and nudged him.

“Fine, fine… it's a hobby that I really like,” he admitted. “Especially now that I have a fan,” he looked at you with a small smirk.

“Oh really? And who said anything about me being your fan, hm?” you teased as you folded your arms.

“I had a pretty good hunch,” he said confidently. “You wouldn't have suggested our date be a shadow play if you didn't really like it… so you're obviously a fan of mine.”

“Fine, maybe I think that your shadows are pretty cool,” you smiled a bit to yourself. “I really like how well you use them to tell your stories.”

“I appreciate that,” he looked at you.

Your smiles never seemed to disappear when you were around each other. Neither of you had ever smiled so much at anyone, especially Macaque. Yet, being with you like he was now… it brought him an odd sense of peace and made his insides and outsides feel warm and fuzzy, I mean, forgetting that he is fuzzy.

“What do you wanna do now?” you asked without even thinking.

“Well, I could show off a bit more,” he said as he let a shadow clone appear on your right, which scared you at first.

“Do you get cold easily?” you asked.

“I'm covered in fur, (Y/n),” he mused.

“Touché,” you shrugged as you stood up.

You tried to ignore how cool you thought the clone was so as to not fill up his ego by letting him know how cool you thought it was. Sure, you'd seen Wukong’s clones a lot before, but that never meant that you always thought it was amazing every single time! I mean… they made clones! Yes, you have abilities too, but this wasn't about you.

“Did you want to go somewhere?” his voice brought you back to reality.

“We can go for a walk to the park, there was a full moon out,”

“Do you like the moon?” he asked with a small smile. You were too adorable for words.

“A lot,” you grinned a bit.

“Let's go for a walk, then,” he made his clone disappear into the dark void before he stood up and opened his hand again for yours. “(Y/n),”

“Yes?” you asked softly.

“Can I hold your hand while we walk?” he asked in a gentle tone that made your heart want to explode.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

That was all you could get out as he took your hand and led you out through the back exit. Your insides were on fire, but he wasn't any different. He didn't know where that courage came from, but he was glad that he asked. Your hand was small, but it felt so warm and though it wasn't very soft. It was between smooth and rough, which showed you were a hard worker and he loved that about you.

The walk down the alley to the streets was as quiet as the night before when you waited for the others to arrive… which they never did, by the way.

“Be honest with me, Macaque,” you glanced up at him.

“Sure,” he gave a nod, curious of what you wanted his honesty on.

“Did you do something to MK and the others to make them not show up yesterday?” you raised a brow. He laughed a bit and lifted your hand he was holding to kiss the back of it.

“Guilty,” he confessed, which made you laugh a bit, not minding the hand kiss even though your heart never seemed to slow down.

“What’d you do?” you asked in amusement.

“Let's just say… I called in a few favours,” he grinned at you.

“You didn't!” you laughed. “No wonder Wukong was so pissed off.”

“Well, when I heard you were coming too, I wanted to take the chance to talk to you in private,” he confessed as he looked at you. “Of course, you know that if our buddy Wukong was there, he’d have made sure I was in another theatre entirely.”

“Point taken,” you smiled a bit. “Were you really that desperate to get me alone?” you teased.

“Talking to you in person is way better than talking on the phone or texting,” he stated.

“I guess,” you chuckled and shook your head. “Such a trickster.”

“Guilty again,” he chuckled as he let go of your hand and instead wrapped his arm around your shoulders to pull you closer. “This okay?”

“Y-Yeah… it’s fine,” you said softly, face bright from all the blood rushing to your full cheeks. He smelled so good, like pinewood and some amazing cologne. His body was so warm and the fur on his wrist tickled the skin of your arm.

“You were shivering a bit,”

“No I wasn't,” you looked up at him with a smile.

“Guess my eyes aren't what they used to be,” he joked.

“Real smooth, emo boy,”

“Emo boy?” he mused.

“Yeah, emo boy,” you looked at him with a slight grin.

“If you're calling me that, then I'm freely calling you plum,” he shot back.

“Macaque,” you said, which made him chuckle.

“Nah, I'm still calling you plum,” he stated with a slight shrug before he pulled you closer to him.

“Fine,” you sighed softly. If he was anything like Wukong, he wasn't going to stop calling you that.

“Wasn't as long as I thought,” he smirked, referring to when you told him having nickname rights would take a long, long time.

“Hey, look,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “It really is a full moon,” he said and pointed to the empty sky.

You didn't know when you got to the park, mostly distracted by Macaque and his voice and his body close to yours. The view of the night sky from the park was breathtaking, you mentally thanked yourself for suggesting it.

The rest of the night was spent with his arms wrapped securely around you to ‘keep you warm’ even though it wasn't exactly cold out. You didn't want it to end, but he didn't want to keep you outside too late.

“I don't think I can teleport…” you glanced away with a small pout. Macaque smiled a bit at your adorable behaviour.

“Oh really?” he mused. “Do you want me to teleport you, then?”

“Yes, please,” you looked at him with an eager grin and a childish glint in your eyes.

“I don't know, plum…” he tried to play hard to get. “It might be dangerous~”

“Danger is my middle name!” you declared, which made him laugh.

“Alright, alright, I won't make you beg,” he chuckled. “But, this transportation isn't free,”

“Oh, really?” you mused as you folded your arms. “What's the fee?”

“One kiss for one portal,” he said as he looked down at you with a small smirk.

“W-What?” you stuttered slightly, not expecting it but not surprised either.

“What? I'm sure a beautiful woman such as yourself has kissed someone before,”

“Of course I have! But that isn't the problem,” you said defensively. Sure you've kissed people in your long life… but this felt different for some reason.

“What is the problem?” he raised a brow, his smile never wavered.

“Well…” you trailed off, not really knowing what to say.

“How about… since it’s our first official date, I give you a small kiss,” he suggested. “Sound good?”

“Okay,” you nodded, you were sure you hadn't stopped blushing since he asked to hold your hand back at the theatre.

“Great…” he held that same hand while his other hand held your chin. “Can I kiss you, (Y/n)?”

“Yes…” your voice was soft, your eyes locked onto each other like you were the only beings in the universe.

“Alright,” he smiled a bit before he leaned in close, placing a kiss on your forehead before he pulled back and let your hand go. You were… flabbergasted. You never expected that…

That tease! You thought to yourself as you looked at him as he stretched and cracked his knuckles.

“It’s really late,” he looked at you with that cocky smirk. “I’ll need your address.”

“Oh… right,” you nodded and gave it to him, you were surprised that he knew the area.

“If you're scared, I can go with you,”

“Nope,” you shook your head as he opened the portal. Your heart was beating too fast all night for you to think about him being in your home… Alone with you.

“Suit yourself,” he struggled with a chuckle. “If you're scared, you can close your eyes and jump in,”

“Okay…” you nodded… only for him to move it below you. “Jerk!” you yelled before you fell in and, thankfully, landed on your couch. You stared ahead and cupped your heated cheeks. “Stupid emo monkey,” you puffed your cheeks a bit before your left hand moved to touch where he kissed…

That dork… you smiled a bit to yourself.

He teleported you to your place with a smile, but when the portal closed, he frowned. He held up the hand that held onto yours most of the walk and narrowed his eyes at it. It felt cold now, his body felt cold, and he hated it. He mostly hated himself for opening his big mouth and sending you home. He hated himself for being this hung up on you… but he would never trade the feeling you gave him for the world. He wanted to be selfish and let you stay with him till the sun came up…

His fingers lifted to touch his lips and a small smirk formed. The warm touch of your skin still felt tingly against his lips, he wished he’d kissed your lips, but that was for another time. You were so nervous, and he didn't want to do something that would make you uncomfortable. He had to be patient with this and go slow… thankfully, he was a very patient emo monkey.

Silly plum… he mused to himself.

#request #x reader #lmk #lmk x reader #lego monkie kid #lmk x reader lmk macaque x reader #lmk macaque #lmk six eared macaque #macaque lmk #six eared macaque #lego monkie kid macaque #monkie kid macaque #macaque #lego: monkey king

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00-hawkboi-00 · 4 months

Text

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Three

Pairing; Graves x male!reader (slow burn)

WC; ~5k

Summary; reader has another episode, a childhood friend makes an appearance, and the results of the phone call.

Warnings; Implied child abuse, implied child neglect, implied domestic abuse, implied alcoholism, implied death of a parent, implied human trafficking(not of reader), dissociation, hallucinations, description of injuries/wound care, blood, blood used in a way it definitely should not be, described lead up to vomiting (as a result of blood loss)

A/n; ah, look at all those warnings. Oh, how I love angst. And still no comfort.

--- "lucky number twenty-seven" ---

Last week's bad decisions came in the form of a simple, inconspicuous helicopter landing on the worn tarmac out back the following Friday.

A few of your Shadows gathered around you now, curious faces watching the landing skids make contact with the mix of tar and gravel with thinly concealed interest. Likely wondering who the hell was here at five o'clock in the morning; there had been no meeting or announcement of an incoming visitor.

You hadn't told them. Hadn't deemed it necessary to. Not yet.

Only you knew what resided in that cockpit.

Or, rather, who.

That information had come in the form of an encrypted email. Not that there was even much intel to glean from that PDF document—a form containing more black lines than it did useful information.

Looking at those records had nearly made you sick; talking about the person within the file as if he were some type of experiment. A thing.

Clean cut and clinical; the most sterile ‘resume’ you had ever seen. Displaying simple, base facts about the ‘subject’. Anything that wasn't the man's birthdate, sex, gender, medical history- et cetera, was completely blacked out.

Details regarding past operations? Blacked out. With the exception of the date it was started and, as was with every entry, a bold stamp of COMPLETE at the end of each row.

You aren't entirely sure why everything was marked out, it was all in Russian anyway, nothing you could read.

There wasn't even a name. Just a number and prefix.

Predator-27

Predator. You'd thought she had been kidding when she said she had one of her predators—Predators—infiltrating the 141 TF. It made the idea of said Predator having its claws in the team that much more impactful.

And that much more satisfying.

The door slides open and a man steps out, at first you assume that this man was the one she'd sent. He certainly had the height and build one would expect of someone who had been raised into war; tall but not excessively so, wide and strong. Built like a damn tank.

Then the man steps to the side and out comes another man, this one shrouded in black—and you thought your outfit was a bit much.

This man was clearly built for speed and agility, though any indications of muscle mass was hidden by a long, dark cloth—was that a fuckin' cape??

This now felt more like some poorly written self-insert than the serious situation it actually was.

Maybe half a foot shorter than you from what you could tell, covered head to toe in black that likely concealed any tactical gear or weaponry, a cowl wrapped around his head, swathed over like a hood and lifted to hide his lower face as well.

The only thing that stood out amongst the rest of his outfit was the small sliver of flesh revealing the skin below his eyes and the bridge of his nose—you couldn't tell if the rest of the upper portion was covered by shadow or simply more cloth. His eyes were locked on you, unmoving and watching.

Piercing, as if looking through your very soul—or obvious lack of.

The man, Predator-27, doesn't stop walking until he's within a foot of you. Still staring up at you with those same dead, emotionless eyes.

“Lieutenant.” He rumbles, unblinking.

He seems to have no regard for personal space, and as the professional you most certainly are, you somehow find it within yourself to not take a much needed step back.

“Predator-27?” You ask instead, trying your damnedest to keep your voice level. He was here because of you, this was the consequence of your own actions. The least you could do is not treat him like some kind of thing.

Predator-27 merely gives a rough grunt in turn, still standing so close. Not looking away. Not even blinking.

You can feel your Shadows’ eyes on you, their curious gazes burning holes into the sides of your masked face. But, just as the man in front of you, you don't even glance at them. Don't provide a reasoning, not a single ounce of context.

Instead you give a small dip of your head, then a tilt back towards your base. As soon as you turn to leave you feel Predator-27 following behind you,

Not hear.

Predator-27 is a strange man, you've realized. He follows every word that leaves your lips without a second of hesitation. Sometimes you don't even have to verbalize what you want, simply point or gesture and he gets the hint.

He also doesn't leave you alone.

If you want alone time while in your office? You have to order him out, even then he just sits guard outside your door. Simply walking down the halls? He's right behind you. More of a shadow than your own teams’ namesake.

The only place you don't allow him to be by your side is when you visit Viper Shadow 0-9. You don't even grant him permission to wait for you outside the door; dismissing him an entire corridor before the medical wing.

You don't want him anywhere near him.

You tell yourself it's for Shadow 0-9’s safety.

You don't want him to know what you've done.

How you've failed him.

Failed all of them.

Darkness plays at the edges of your vision, shadows curling over walls and laminate floors. Bleeding through the faded white brick of the sterile room, black veins of it eating at the curtain partition.

You know what it is. Who it is.

And yet here you sit. By his side once again,

Desperately trying to ignore the swaths of black as it takes a familiar form.

Watching the faint rise and fall of his chest. To your great relief, it's much stronger than it had been. Considerably so when compared to when you had dragged his mangled body back.

If the deaths of your colleagues were your fault, so was 0-9’s current state.

If you hadn't said anything- if you hadn't told that fucker— who had the gall to say you even resembled him.

If that stupid fight hadn't happened—all over some random man, why is it always some random guy??—Viper 0-9 wouldn't be here right now. You don't even remember the guy's name.

Who has an argument in the middle of an active warzone? About a secret relationship of all things??

You, apparently. And Graves. And 0-9.

The three of you had acted like children and now were reaping what you sowed.

All except him.

“You absolute fool,” you murmur. Soft.. almost affectionate.

“You should've just listened to me.” 0-9 doesn't respond. He never does.

You sigh, looking down at his unmoving form.

Alive. Still alive.

The burns had healed, small, pink scars blossoming in their place. Only a few tiny patches that littered 0-9’s torso and arms. The fractures in his bones had been healing nicely, too, as Maria, one of your nurses, had informed you.

“All for a boy,” you muse, voice bitter. “All for a man who doesn't even know you're alive. Who likey doesn't even care.”

You didn't expect a reply, you never got one. You told yourself it was just because of the tubing shoved down 0-9’s throat. Not the fact that he was in a coma.

He'd been a mess when you had pulled him from the wreckage; a mound of support beam infused concrete, linoleum, and glass. It had been a surprise he was even still breathing.

Even with his extensive list of physical injuries, the main concern was his head. 0-9 had suffered immense damage to his frontal lobe, something about swelling and further wounding sustained to his hippo-something or whatever.

Memory. That is what you had picked up on most out of what your medical staff had told you.

It was bittersweet; you both wanted him to remember—isn’t that what makes a person who they are: memories?—and didn't.

“I doubt he even remembers who you are,” you scoff, eyebrows pulling together slightly, thinking. “Those bastards never consider anyone but themselves. Too worried about each other to look at the bigger picture.”

On one hand, if 0-9 did remember, that meant he would also remember what you did. It was selfish, you were fully aware of that, but you didn't want him to.

It was your fault, yes, but 0-9 didn't need to know that.

“He's going to blame you one way or another.” Those shadows creeping in finally take form. A child, standing just to your right, only barely out of your peripheral—not more than ten years old.

It's not real.

“I know that.”

And yet you always respond.

“Then why do you pretend?”

Always just out of sight,

“Go away.”

Never enough to get a full view.

“You know I can't do that.”

It wasn't anything new,

“I know.”

But it happens so much more often now.

“Then stop being mean to me.”

Ever since that damn accident.

“I'm not-” you sigh, shaking your head. “Then be quiet, at least.”

The child doesn't leave, but he doesn't speak either, so you ignore him and return to 0-9.

Back to those scars, back to those bandaged limbs. Back to that what-if.

Back to your mistake.

You decide that's enough for the day and stand, making your way for the exit, dropping off the snack wrapper on the way.

The child follows.

Out of the medical wing you have to pass by him—you don't even glance at the Shadows you have guarding his door. Then further on you collect Predator-27 just after that—you didn’t want her to know about him either—and he is by your side without a word.

It wasn't clear just how much she knew about you and your little pretend family, but you couldn't risk her knowing who you had kept as a prisoner. If she had ties to Price’s group of nobodies, had a rat in there gathering intel, there's no telling what could slip through the cracks. No telling what could become that self-centered teams’ asset by her influence.

You had to keep your new pet asset on a tight leash.

It's not until a week later that you finally introduce Predator-27 to the rest of your Shadows.

Gathering them in the large open field in the heart of your facility, standing at attention in neat rows and columns before you. Predator-27 stands only a foot away and to your left, silent as ever.

You address them as any commanding officer should; back straight, chin high, and hands clasped firm behind your back. The way you are subconsciously counting each finger with a tap of your thumb over and over again is entirely irrelevant.

The blurry and familiar child-like shape positioned far out behind your grouping of soldiers was also inconsequential.

“You all are probably wondering why I have brought you here,” you begin. “Probably also curious as to who this Batman-wannabe standing beside me is.”

That gets a few amused huffs from the crowd and you find it a little easier to breathe. Said DC comic lookalike doesn't even blink, but you can feel his eyes on you. Cold and detached, no feeling behind that gaze.

“This is Predator-27 and he will be staying here, with us, for the foreseeable future.” There's no reaction to that so you keep going. You'd be pacing if doing so wouldn't reveal the nervous tick you've hidden behind your back. “He is here to offer advanced teachings of stealth and hand to hand combat. As I'm certain you all know, you cannot always rely on your weapons to cooperate and your uniform to keep you hidden.”

The child is closer, no one else can see it. You need to wrap this up.

“Per your contracts, you all do not have to accept his mentorship and will not be reprimanded for denying it. That being said, while 27 is here you will treat him just as you'd treat one of your own. You have no grounds to take my word for truth, but I do implore you to put aside any qualms you may have and search out his teachings.” Closer. And if your gaze flicks away for a moment, no one acknowledges it. “Predator-27 is a skilled and excellently trained man, I guarantee that there is something he will be capable of teaching you. Even the best of us.”

Weary looks shift into curiosity.

“Now,” you need to get out of here. “Any questions?”

If there were birds and this was some god awful sitcom, there would be chirping.

“Good. Feel free to ask if you have any later down the road.” A nod. “Dismissed.”

There's a chorus of ‘sirs’ around the group of your soldiers and then they shift to talk amongst themselves.

You settle a little now that all eyes aren't on you. Sure, you've commanded your fair share. You and him had started this little company together, and had split the responsibilities equally.

In the beginning.

But that had shifted in him taking over the majority of the responsibility when it came to addressing your little army all at once—when it became apparent you weren't exactly the most.. socially inclined in large organizations. Leaving you to do more of the one on one exchanges or small groups.

That was then and this was now. And right now you need to get out of here before those shadows get too close.

You feel Predator-27 moving to follow you when you turn, so you look back, giving the other man a small, half-smile under your mask.

“Why don't you stay right here?” He tips his head a little to the side and you specify, “my shadows may have questions or concerns, may even want a demonstration from you.”

When it becomes clear—somehow, in those depthless eyes—that he's still not quite understanding what you're getting at you give a direct order.

“Stay here. Get to know my shadows. If they ask for a demonstration of your skills, give it to them,” well.. “but do not cause harm. If they ask to be taught, accept. Got it?”

“Yes.” Predator-27 responds immediately, a hint of something—maybe clarity?—passing through his dull gaze.

“Right.” You gesture vaguely with a tip of your head towards your soldiers. “Get to it then, 27.”

He leaves and you let out a breath of relief.

The child is at your hip now.

He's the only one that follows you when you leave the courtyard.

You were six when he first appeared.

You'd been sent to your room only minutes prior, the familiar ambiance of your parents shouting in the kitchen barely muffled by the hollow wood door—the scratch marks and dried blood at the base of it a story for another time. Curled up on your bed—a small, old mattress in the corner of the room, which had seemed bigger when you were little—, bundled tight in your tattered blanket. Trying your hardest to block out the increasingly distressed shouts outside.

“Pssst.”

At first you had thought it was the wind whistling just outside the improperly sealed window. Then it happened again.

“Psssst,” and a voice to accompany it. “Hey! Over here!”

A hushed whisper, coming from somewhere on your right. You turn, searching. But all you can see is the haunting darkness of your room; the matted carpet stained with dark splotches of who knows what, the old, yellowed wallpaper peeling and exposing cracked, crumbling drywall.

The only personal items being the stuffed bunny you were cuddling, that flimsy cardboard box that acted as a makeshift dresser—only overflowing on the merit that the clothes had just been carelessly thrown in—, and the few toys you had crafted yourself. Made up of old plastic utensils, scraps of fabric, and too much Elmer's glitter glue—which you had obtained when your kindergarten teacher was looking the other way.

You were a kid, and the little crafts looked almost laughably unlike the animals they were designed after.

“No! Not there!” The voice speaks up again. “Over here!”

This time you hear the voice from your left and quickly whip your head to the other side, blinking in an effort to adjust your sight to the darker side of the room. The dwindling yellow light of the sun didn't reach this part of your room, the window too far away to properly provide it with much of that fleeting warmth.

But there, in those depthless shadows, you see it. See him.

He looks like you, you think. Has the same hair, the same eyes, is even wearing your clothes. The only difference is that the clothing he wears isn't as worn and frayed as your own. Instead it's as if the fabrics were brand new, not a thread out of place or a hole to see. The double you, as child you had dubbed him—your little kid mind had found it absolutely hilarious that the name sounded like the literal letter ‘W’—, was like the perfect image of what your appearance should be.

Only six year old you didn't realize the lack of scars on his body, didn't take note of the missing hues of purples and blues, of healing yellow tones that painted your own skin.

You're a kid. You don't care when the other child comes closer, don't flinch when he offers out a hand.

Because you're a child and should never have been made to fear a raised hand. Should never have had the scent of alcohol and mold clinging to your outfit whenever you went to preschool—a smell that never failed to create a barrier between you and the other kids your age. Shouldn't have been scrubbing your own blood off those yellowed walls with diluted bleach and a tattered rag at the ripe old age of six.

As a kid you only think of this ‘W’ as a distraction from the screaming match in the other room. He's with you the whole night; you two play with those shitty hand-made toys, hushed whispers of joyful banter passed between you both like secrets from the two beasts next door. Too busy with your new imaginary friend that you don't notice when the ruckus beyond that plywood door comes to an abrupt halt.

The next morning when you wake up it's not your blood you're rubbing out of those laminate wood panels—the cleanest that kitchen floor had ever looked in all the years of your childhood—, but at least you aren't alone.

A sharp stabbing pain in your knuckles is what pulls you from your stupor.

Eyelids blink in harsh, quick flutters, and the crimson-stained floors transform into a broken mirror, your shattered, masked face reflected back at you. It takes you a moment to register that you're here, standing in a fucking bathroom and not your childhood home, then another to finally make the connection between your aching knuckles and the fractured glass in front of you.

Your eyes drag downward. Down, down, down. Oh-so-slowly until they land on the mess of glass and—more fucking blood—torn fabric that is your hand.

Your palms, burnt far beyond repair, may be unfeeling on even the best of days, and you'd long since have become sort of used to the lack of sensation. But the backs of your hands? They weren't completely untouched by that godforsaken flame, but that didn't mean they were as resilient as your scarred palms.

So you actually feel more than just see the jagged shards of glass that stick out of your gloves—the thin, everyday kind, not the thick ones you use for combat—, embedded deep in your skin.

You stare down at it for a prolonged moment, unseeing. Watching that deep red bubble up from around the protruding shards and spill over, soaking into the black cloth surrounding it. For a second the thought of ignoring your self-inflicted wounds crosses your mind.

You don't feel like running down to medical for the second time today. Don't want to be questioned by the nurses there, or any of your soldiers you may run into, or, worse, have to explain this little incident to your newest member. Then he could notify her, and the last thing you needed was for someone to question your mental stability—it was bad enough when your own Shadows did it.

You don't move, don't step away from that dreadful mirror. No. Instead you must have decided that you haven't tortured yourself enough for today and look back up. Gaze into those fragmented pieces of glass and very, very stupidly bring up your uninjured hand to—god, when had you become such an idiot; wasn't one mental breakdown enough for a day?—tug down your mask.

A quick and fluid motion that you immediately regret. The fabric is only bunched up beneath your chin, you'd given yourself that easy out, hadn't even unhooked it from around your ears. But you didn't take it.

Looking back into your own reflection only garnered feelings of shame and disgust. The uneven raises and dips of your scarred flesh never failed to worsen your already diminished self-image.

It was all your fault.

Fingers find your freshly cut up hand, the tips of them dipping into the wounds like some fucked up paintbrush.

So many had died.

Your blood is the paint.

Of your team, yes, but also the hundreds of innocent civilians.

Gliding across the glass, ignoring the jagged bits that scratch up your finger pads.

And yet you had saved the same man who'd brought so many people all that pain.

Because you loved him.

Because you had to be that loyal little soldier you had always been, you couldn't leave him behind.

It only makes the rust-colored smudges more prominent. A win in your book.

Couldn't just let him burn—as he let you.

When you look into that disfigured reflection—that ‘W’—, when those matching irises lock, all you can see is that broken man.

So you correct those mistakes.

That man who failed as a leader, as a soldier, as a student, as a son.

Mend the shattered pieces of his psyche.

The little boy who had grown to be the disappointment his parents knew him to be.

One bloody line at a time.

Who his father had predicted he'd become.

And become just like his mother.

Well, before he died.

And when you meet the reflection again, she's smiling back at you.

Your mask lays discarded on the blanket beside you. You aren't certain as exactly as to when, but somehow, one way or another, you had left the adjoined bathroom and were now seated on a bed you hardly used.

In a bedroom that rarely saw use—even before the massacre; had spent all your time in his.

In your lap is your injured hand, seated atop an old t-shirt to provide a makeshift worktable for you to tend to your wounds. A first aid kit on the bed beside you. Right next to the mask.

Each of your movements are done with a practiced sort of efficiency as you pluck each little shard from your skin with a sterile pair of tweezers. Needing to remove the larger chunks of glass before you can remove your glove and gain access to the smaller fragments.

Crimson still dribbles from each slice with every pull, every tug of the glass out of your skin. Any bleeding that had stopped, that had coagulated during that little intermission spent in the bathroom, restarting once the flesh was ripped back open.

By the time you're able to pull your glove off the poor thing is soaked entirely with your own blood, completely ruined beyond repair.

You fold it, tucking the soiled thing into the small, untouched drawer of the bedside table.

You pretend, telling yourself you'll take care of it later. That you just had nowhere else to put it. Didn't want to ruin the bedsheets too.

The next step is picking out all those tiny bits of glass, and the hardest part about that is keeping your gaze focused for long enough to find the little shits who seem to be doing some kinda disappearing act.

Each shard, to the best of your ability, is now laid out on the shirt you'd place on your lap. The poor fabric now stained with blooms of red that hadn't been there before, dotted with transparent triangles of varying sizes.

Another painting.

Cleaning the wounds is a much easier feat; it doesn't take the same quarter hour that removing the glass had. The needle piercing through your now sterilized flesh isn't nearly as painful as the original injury had been.

You barely even feel it; don't even flinch when you have to restitch certain parts over and over.. and over again. More pigment for the painting below.

After that and a quick layer of antibiotic cream it's time to bandage the mess that is your poor right hand. You can't even pretend to care as you wrap the appendage in layer upon layer of that sterile white bandage. Around and around and around until your fingers, sans the thumb, palm, wrist, and up to the beginnings of your forearm look like a mummy’s limb.

When your now-mummified hand reaches over for your mask, you miss. Trying again yields the same result and the sudden chill down your spine is accompanied with a stabbing throb settling deep in your temples.

Movements sluggish, you reach again, the exertion leaving you breathless. Panting as you try again, body cold, then warm, heating up. You're shivering but your entire body feels like it's just been deep fried in a pot of fucking conola oil.

You're okay, you're fine. Just- maybe, maybe you had waited too long to stitch yourself up.

The world spins in your peripheral, cold sweat forming under your uniform.

If you could just get your damn mask-

The next attempt has you tumbling off the bed, too slow to catch yourself.

Excess saliva pools in your mouth, too much for you to swallow and doing so makes you feel like your throat is clogged up by an overweight toad.

Both palms splayed out on the military-standard carpet, you don't even register the stinging in your still very much injured hand.

Lips part, tongue trying to escape as saliva leaks from the corners of your mouth and, fuck, it's a challenge to keep it from dripping onto the fucking floor.

The moment there's a firm knock at your bedroom door is the same one when you start dry heaving on the floor like a damn dog.

You can't let whoever it is see you like this—you don't even have your mask on!—, especially when you continue to act like a fucking mutt and crawl your way back to the bathroom. In the end you disregard the knocking and whoever's on the other side in favor of losing that protein bar—aka the only thing that had been in your damn stomach—into a porcelain bowl.

Next is viciously rinsing your mouth out with water and an untouched bottle of mouthwash, then crawling back to the bed.

The knocking has become much more insistent now and you barely manage to get on the damn mattress, slap your mask over your face, and tuck your bandaged hand in your lap before calling out a rough, “what.”

“Don't mean to disturb you, sir,” Ah, Venn. What a lovely surprise. “But.. can I come in first? I'd rather have this discussion face-to-face.”

You sigh, gaze flicking around for a spare glove before just muttering a defeated, “come in.”

She enters quickly, and, almost as if somehow knowing about your raging headache, carefully shuts the door behind herself with a soft click.

“Sorry for bothering you, I know you don't get a lot of time to yourself,” she apologizes again, to which you brush off with a small wave of your gloved and thankfully non-injured hand.

“Don't be sorry. Now, you needed something?”

“Yes.” She answers quickly, then hesitates.

“Spit it out.”

“It's about.. it's about him.” Venn finally murmurs. But her reluctance seems more like something she's doing for you rather than herself.

You don't need anyone's pity, so you grit out a bland, “Graves?” Pointedly ignoring the bitter taste the name leaves on your tongue.

“Yes.” She sounds dejected at this, her gaze flicking down to where you've hidden your other hand between your crossed legs before darting away again. It's none of her business, so Venn doesn't mention it. “He's become very.. uh, insistent about seeing you.”

“Seeing me?”

“Yes. He, uhm, said.. something.”

“Something? C’mon now, Venn, don't bullshit me.”

She winces, opening and closing her mouth a few times before simply not saying anything at all.

“What did that fucker say t’ you?” You ask, growing defensive.

“Nothing.”

Her answer is too quick. You ask again.

“Nothing- really.”

“So you came to my room, completely ignoring the fact I'm not in my office- to tell me.. “nothing”?”

Venn averts her eyes, sighs, then drags her gaze back to yours, “it wasn't about me.”

“Was it one of your teammates?” The thought of that backstabbing asshat talking shit to, or about, one of your soldiers makes last week's rage spark. Only verification could ignite it.

“No.”

“...are ya gonna tell me?”

“I don't want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because..”

“Because it's about.. about you, sir.”

That sends a wave of shock through your system, eyes widening in disbelief. “Me?”

“Yes.” Venn reaffirms. “You.”

“What about.. me?” It couldn't be anything good, that's for damn sure.

She looks away again, shaking her head ‘no’.

“You're not gonna tell me, are ya?”

“No, sir.”

“Fine.” You say, resisting the urge to groan in disappointment. “You're dismissed then. I'll.. look into it.”

She nods, and with that, Venn is gone.

And the room is quiet again, as if she were never here.

Looks like you'll need that new glove sooner rather than later.

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imaginingmarvelandeverything · 2 years

Text

Fear

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader (Convenience)

Prompts: 12. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.” and 22. “I’m tired…I’m so tired.”

Warnings: Fear toxin, injuries, needles

Word count: 2547

A/N: Finally adding another villain to the series! I am imagining Cillian Murphy as Crane, even if he’s only mentioned in this. Anyway, I hope you like it!!

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Y/N rubbed at her eyes with her wrist before blinking to try and clear the tiredness that wanted to build up. She turned her attention back to fiddling with the charger’s engine, swearing as her fingers slipped due to the oil coating her hands. She was considering packing in for the night when Bruce’s computer beeped, the noise echoing around the cavernous room as the screen flashing red. It took her tired brain a moment to catch up and realise what it meant.

“Fuck. No.” She grabbed the rag hanging off the side of the bonnet and almost ran to the desk while trying to wipe the oil from her hands. She forced the comm into her ear and switched it on. “Bruce? Bruce what’s wrong?” She pulled up his location and hit the emergency button that would wake Alfred. “Bruce?” She felt herself starting to panic as she once again got no reply. The little red dot on the map showed he was not moving, or at least his panic button was not moving. She did not know if that was a good or bad thing.

“Y/N?” Alfred’s voice came through the comm.

“He pressed his panic button and I can’t get a hold of him.” She said, so quickly she was surprised he caught any of the words. “I’m going out.” She pulled on the coat that Bruce had left on the back of the desk chair before darting over to the shelves that held her various inventions and starting filling the pockets with things she might need.

“Y/N-” Alfred started.

“I can’t leave him there!” She walked back over to the charger and dropped the bonnet.

“It could be a trap.”

“I know.” She said, taking a breath and pulling a ski buff out of the top desk drawer. She slipped it over her head and walked back over to the car. “I’ll keep the comm in and keep you updated, I promise.” She climbed in and gunned the engine.

“Be careful.” Alfred sighed in resignation.

***

“It’s an abandoned warehouse.” Y/N told Alfred as she pulled the charger to a stop outside the building.

“Y/N-”

“Be careful, I know.” She told Alfred as she pulled the ski buff over her mouth and nose and climbed out of the car. She made sure the car keys were secured in the inside pocket of the coat and pulled her hood up. “I didn’t come unarmed, you know.”

She heard Alfred sigh but he did not reply.

She pulled a pair of gloves out of her pocket and pulled them on. They did not quite fit right because she had made them to Bruce’s specifications, but she knew the tasers in the fingers would do the job well enough if it came to it.

The outside of the building looked like the one the Joker had kept her in and it took her several minutes to unstick her feet enough to walk forward. The streetlights outside provided just enough light through the cracks in the buildings walls for her to see the basic layout of the room. But she was not as used to this as Bruce and she knew people could be hiding in the shadows and she would not clock them.

She carefully moved further into the building, glancing around in an effort to try and figure out where Bruce might be.

“B?” She whispered, unwilling to use his full name in case someone was listening. “B?”

She heard the movement behind her in time to spin and face whoever it was. But in a flash they had her pinned against the wall. She froze when she found herself face to face with Bruce. Except she could tell he was not entirely… there. His pupils were blown wide, his jaw was locked and his eyes were wide with fear. “B?” She clawed at his arm as it pressed further against her collarbone; hard enough she knew it would bruise. “It’s me, it’s just me.”

He stepped back from her abruptly, causing her to drop to the floor coughing. He fell to his knees in front of her, his whole body shaking, and she pieced together the symptoms.

“Alfred, he’s been dosed. The new drug he’s been investigating..” She leaned forward, intending to rest a hand on Bruce’s arm but he flinched away from her.

“You need to get him back here.”

“Okay.” She turned her attention back to Bruce and pushed herself to her knees. “B, you’ve been drugged. We need to get you home. I don’t know what you’re seeing, but B, it’s not real.” She pulled the gloves off and stuffed them into her pocket before reaching out to him again. He flinched, but not as much as before and she was able to rest her hand on his arm. He let out a pained noise from the back of his throat as she moved into his space and cupped his jaw, rubbing her thumb along it like she always did so he knew it was her. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.”

He leaned into her touch before his hands locked on her hips and he pulled her flush against him. The cowl dug into her neck as he buried his face in her shoulder. She gave him a minute, running her fingers over the exposed skin of his neck and face that she could reach.

“B, we gotta go.” She tried to pull away to stand, but his arms locked around her. “B, I can’t help you until we get somewhere safe.”

He took several deep breaths, as if to steel himself, before he stood, keeping her flush against him.

“It’s okay. We’re both okay.” She repeated over and over as she led him out of the warehouse and to the car. She made sure he was inside before speaking to Alfred again. “We’re on our way back.”

“I’ll get everything ready.”

***

Alfred was waiting when Y/N pulled the charger back into the station. She ripped her door open and ran around to Bruce’s side. His entire body was still shaking, his eyes screwed shut. He flinched away from her as she rested a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s me, it’s just me.” She assured him as she moved her hands to free the cowl from where it was attached to the suit. She pulled it away, letting a cascade and black stained tears free to run down his cheeks.

“I need a blood sample.” Alfred said, looking at Bruce with worry clear on his face. “He had the antidote mostly synthesised, he just needed a fresh sample.”

She nodded and moved her attention to Bruce’s arm. She unclasped the gauntlet and pulled it off before doing the same for the rest of the plates on his arm. “Alfred’s going to take some blood, but you’re safe. I promise, I’m right here.” She rolled his sleeve up and moved to the side so Alfred could collect insert the needle and collect the sample he needed.

Alfred walked over to Bruce’s bio lab and Y/N turned her attention back to Bruce. “Do you think you can get up for me? I need to get you out of the suit.”

He kept his eyes screwed shut, but he let her pull him out of the car. He swayed unsteadily once he was standing and she pulled his arm over her shoulder as they made their way to the sofa. She stripped the suit from him, piece by piece, before she let him sit down.

“Alfred?” She called as she walked over to the desk to grab the make-up wipes.

“It’s forty percent done.” He replied.

“Y/N?” Bruce said her name almost like a sob.

“I’m right here.” She rushed back over and took his face in her hands, rubbing her thumb along his jaw. That seemed to relax him slightly but the tears did not stop. She gently wiped the make-up from around his eyes before wiping away the black streaks that had run down his neck.

When she was finished, she balled up the wipes and tossed them into the bin before sitting down on the sofa next to him. He curled into her almost immediately, burying his face in her neck and taking deep breaths as he pulled her flush against him. She ran her fingers through his hair and pressed her lips against his forehead.

“Alfred’s nearly got it. I just need you to hang on a little longer.”

“Keep talking, please.” He whispered into her skin.

“Dick’s getting ready for his gymnastics competition next week. Grace keeps trying to imitate him which means me and Alfred have to have an eye on her at all times. I took a video, I’ll show you later.” She smiled softly. “I think Dick has finally let go about his parents killer and helping you. I know he’s not going to forget, I don’t expect him to. But at least I think he now understands why he can’t help you at twelve. And I’ve got a few years to get used to the idea of him going out with you, and to figure out even more ways to keep you both safe. Starting with gas masks of some form to stop this happening again.” She glanced back to find Alfred still waiting for the machine to finish synthesising the antidote, so she carried on talking.

“Lucius Fox keeps calling and leaving messages with Alfred. It’s mainly invites to go and tour the R and D department, but he also says he has some projects that he thinks might interest me. And I don’t know what to do. It’s been nearly nine years since I worked in the industry and I don’t know how much has changed. Probably not the best time to be bringing this up, but I don’t know what else to talk about.”

“It’s done.” Alfred said walking over to them. “I think we’d be better getting him into bed before we administer it.”

“Okay.” She said, standing and pulling Bruce up with her.

It took them much longer than usual to get Bruce upstairs because he still would not open his eyes. But eventually they managed to get him into bed and Alfred injected him with the antidote.

“I have no idea how long it will take to work. I’ll keep the children occupied for the day, it’s been a while since we’ve been to the park.”

“Thank you.” She said as Alfred walked out.

Bruce had curled up on his side under the duvet. She climbed into bed behind him, exhaustion settling in her bones, and pressed herself up against his back. She wrapped her arm around him and buried her face between his shoulder blades, the tightness in her chest easing as he reached up and threaded his fingers with hers.

***

Bruce was in and out of consciousness for the next day and a half. Y/N and Alfred took shifts staying with him in case anything happened, but he mainly just slept and mumbled incoherent sentences.

“Is he okay?”

Y/N looked up from her book to find Dick stood in the doorway, her fingers still running through Bruce’s hair as he had fallen back to sleep with his head in her lap. “I thought you were getting lunch?”

“I finished. Alfred asked if you wanted anything?” Dick walked over and sat on the end of the bed.

“I’m okay.” She smiled softly at him. “Bruce is going to be as well.”

Dick nodded and stared at is hands. “He got hit with that new drug, didn’t he? The one you were both working on stopping?”

“Yeah. But he had almost synthesised the antidote and Alfred was able to finish it.” She glanced down at Bruce. “When he’s better, he can take the antidote to Gordon and the Enterprises should be able to start mass producing and distributing it. Hopefully Bruce and Gordon will be able to catch the guy before he changes up the formula.” She smiled. “How’s training for your competition going?”

His face lit up. “Great! I’m almost ready! Actually, I was going to practice this afternoon.”

“You better get going then.” She watched him with a smile as he bounded out of the room.

“When’s his competition?”

She almost jumped out of her skin as Bruce chuckled and pushed himself up to sit against the headboard next to her.

“How long have you been awake?” She stared at him.

“Not long.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “How long have I been out?”

“You got dosed about forty hours ago, Alfred estimates, and you’ve been in and out since we gave you the antidote about thirty six hours ago.” She told him, watching the way his face fell.

“That’s longer than I expected.”

“Alfred thinks he exposed you to a bigger does than the others. He’s kept a blood sample for you to analyse. But that can wait until later, how do you feel?”

“Tired…I’m so tired. I feel worse than I did after we had Grace and I started falling asleep at crime scenes.” He gave her a small smile as she turned her whole body to face him. The movement shifted her loose t-shirt, exposing her collarbone, and his eyes dropped to the bruises forming there. Before she could stop him, he reached out a hand to move her shirt to get a closer look.

“Bruce-”

“Did I do that?” He pinched his eyebrows together and she could tell he was trying to remember what had happened.

“It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t recognise me.” She said as he shot her a look. “You were terrified and I startled you. I was wearing your big coat and a buff, Bruce you didn’t know it was me. And I’m fine, they’re just bruises.”

“I’m sorry.” He sat back and tipped his head back against the wall, screwing his eyes shut.

“What did you see?” She asked quietly, shifting into his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

His arm wrapped around her automatically as he sighed. “I don’t really remember, it was all over the place. He called himself the Scarecrow. Had a mask like the one the other victims mentioned.”

“The antidote is ready, anyway. I thought you could take it to Gordon and then the Enterprises could offer to distribute?” She stared at her fingers, twisting her engagement ring around.

“That’s a good idea. Not tonight though, I don’t think I can walk.” He gave her a half smile which she returned. “You should go for it.”

“Go for what?” She asked.

“Lucius’ offer to tour the R and D department and help out on some projects.” He leaned forward and bumped his nose against hers. “You’d be good at it. Even if you’ve been out of the industry, you’ve had plenty of practice.”

She laughed softly. “If that’s what you want to call it. You can remember everything I said?”

“Most of it, it’s clearer than everything else.” He said with a smile.

“Okay then, I’ll call Lucius back. And Dick’s competition is next Thursday afternoon.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch.10

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9

The day shift gives you ample time and opportunities to walk around the castle. Within a week, you come to know every chamber and pathway you hadn’t previously crossed, intimately.

At first, you pictured making your escape through a weak point in its fortification. The walls are ancient; You would have bet money on one of its parts having given out in the passing of centuries and gone unnoticed. Now, you know such a thing doesn’t exist. It doesn’t really surprise you that Alcina has made sure the exterior is in the same excellent condition as the interior.

But it is a problem.

The walls are too big for you to scale. If there are any stepping points, you can’t see them from within. You tried over and over to at least peak out into the back yard, but the shrieks and growls of monsters had you immediately changing course.

You don’t know what those things are and you’re not eager to find out. According to the older maids, there are more of them deep in the dungeons. It is only a rumor, of course, since nobody has ventured down there and returned to tell the tale.

Which, taking the window bars into account… leaves only one way out.

The front door.

You are aware that Lady Dimitrescu and the daughters all have a key on them. You know from Cassandra those are the only copies. Nothing enters or leaves unless one of them allows it.

There is not a snowflake’s chance in hell you’re getting Alcina’s key. She will murder you on sight. Bela won’t do anything to disappoint her mother, so that rules her out, as well. Daniela is the one most likely to misplace it or be persuaded to give it to you, but the girl is as unpredictable as she is sly and you won’t risk your wellbeing for a distant chance.

That means…

Cassandra is the only way out, isn’t she…

You lay low and await an afternoon where the cold is downright bone-piercing. As warm as the castle is, with fireplaces burning everywhere, you can still feel the stinging kiss of the outside frost every time you so much as go near a window.

And it all comes full circle right back to the start; You in front of Cassandra’s bedroom door, trembling with anxiety like the very first time. It is oddly fitting, in a way, that the story of the two of you ends where it began.

For a moment, you almost marvel at how long ago it feels, now. But there is no time nor space in your heart for sentimentality anymore. You stand at the point of no return.

And you cross it as soon as you turn the handle.

Cassandra’s bedroom is softly illuminated by the dying embers of the fireplace. You walk forward cautiously, slowly, almost as if you’re expecting a landmine to go off at a single misstep. Except –well. A mine would be far more merciful. Just an explosion and then nothing. If Cassandra wakes…

You try not to think about it, lest your muscles lock in place.

Underneath the heavy covers of the bed, you see her, cocooned, pale fingers clutching tight at the blankets. It is too early for her to wake. She is deeply asleep, you tell yourself, simultaneously praying she doesn’t open her eyes.

You make it to her vanity, soundless. Her amber-jeweled choker and the necklace she and her sisters wear are neatly arranged, yet the key you’re looking for isn’t with them.

Shit. You inwardly curse, your hand shaking from the nerves. It means she’s put it in the drawer of her bedside table. It means you have to go next to her, to literally put your fingers in the sleeping wolf’s parted jaws and hope they don’t clamp down.

Easy, right?

An unsteady exhale later, you move further in and carefully kneel by the small furniture. Keep your eyes on the prize. Keep—

But you make the mistake of looking to the side.

Cassandra’s expression is not relaxed in sleep like how you remember it from the time when you would wake her up. Instead, her brow is furrowed, the line of her mouth pressed thin. She’s shivering, you realize, either from the cold or a nightmare or both. Shadows dance across her beautiful face.

Your first instinct is still to reach over and soothe her. You hate it, but you’ve accepted you won’t be over whatever it is you feel for her in quite some time.

It is not your place anymore to touch her, you remind yourself. You cannot ease her through her fears now that she has become your own.

With a clenched jaw, you force your body through the motions of opening the drawer and taking the key within.

At last. Your freedom is in your grasp.

And yet.

Shouldn’t you be happier about it?

Cassandra’s voice nearly knocks the air out of your lungs when it reaches your ears, faint. “No… please…”

You forget how to breathe for a couple of seconds. When your wide eyes shift to her, though, you realize she’s merely talking in her sleep.

Leave. Leave while you can.

But your chest constricts when you hear her sob. “…don’t leave me here… please…”

And out of all the possible things she could say, she utters those words and smashes your glass heart with a sledgehammer into a trillion pieces. The shards cut into you and it hurts—

You pause at the door. The corners of your vision have started to blur.

And then the world snaps, sharply, back into focus when her tone changes;

“…Alexia…?”

Your eyes lock, hazel to amber-grey, for a split second.

You run.

You don’t think you have ever ran this fast in your entire life. But it’s different now that it is about your life.

Adrenaline rushes throughout your bloodstream. You’re not thinking, just acting. Just fleeing.

Death, in the form of a black swarm, closes in on you with every rapid heartbeat. Cassandra is faster –she can fly and you’re only human—and at this rate you won’t even escape the corridor, much less the castle.

Flies break ahead of the rest and attach themselves to you. The sting of their bite at your nape and arms nearly has you howling in agony. She meant it when she said she would kill you herself. Not that you doubted it. Not for a second.

Because if Cassandra can’t have you, she will make sure nobody will.

You didn’t want to hurt her back the first time, but the stakes are too high now. You grab the nearest solid antiquity in your panic and throw it with all your might against the nearest window.

Glass shatters and the temperature plummets with it. Over your shoulder, you hear her scream. More out of rage than pain.

The flies biting at you drop to the floor, grey and paralyzed. You hear her shout pierce through your eardrums like a gunshot as you dash towards the turn—

“You won’t ever get to that door, Alexia!”

From the corner of your eye, you notice a blur coming towards you and instinctively drop down. A heavy thump later, your frantic eyes fly to the wall to see her sickle embedded halfway through a painting. If you hadn’t reacted in time, that would have been you.

Still, she can’t cross the hallway now, so you scramble to your feet and run while she takes the long way around. Question is, will you make it to the front door before she does?

It becomes a race where the winner takes all.

You practically jump down entire sets of stairs in your struggle for survival and you have no clue how you do it. You just know you can’t slow down for even a second.

The castle feels ten times as large as it actually is. By the time you descend the last staircase and the sound of buzzing insects grows in volume, the entrance is within sight.

You reach for another decoration and smash another window. Cassandra slows down, forced to materialize out of the swarm before she can’t will her body back together at all.

You shove the key into the lock and turn it.

Cassandra fights through the rush of frozen air, taking step after weighted step towards you—

“I won’t…let you leave here…alive.” she hisses, her teeth bared at you, skin growing too pale yet eyes blazing.

“I’m done being your prisoner.” you say back, voice hoarse and raw…

And you open the door. Steps taken backwards carry you away from her faster than she can make it to you. You can see her pain and her frustration, but they cannot compare to your own.

Your wounds ache from the frost.

Cassandra seems just about ready to leap at you even if it will certainly mean something very bad for her—

Until a black blur shoves her a dozen meters back. Bela’s back stands between you and Cassandra’s cracking form. Daniela soon lands off to the side, looking between the two of them.

“Get out of the way, Bela!” Cassandra snaps.

“It’s over.” Bela replies, a grave finality to her voice.

Your breaths are coming out in harsh puffs of smoke. You still have trouble believing that you did it. That they can’t follow anymore. You did it.

“Nothing’s over!” Cassandra snarls and lunges for her elder sister.

The blonde, deadly calm, grabs her by the neck in a choke-hold and drags her closer to the nearly-extinguished warmth of the fireplace. The way Cassandra thrashes in her arms is downright heartbreaking.

Daniela looks at you, almost saddened, then back at her sisters.

“Shh. Calm down, Cassandra. Let go. Mother will be here soon. Don’t let her see you like this.” Bela says. “If you’ve any parting words to say to Alexia, say them now.”

You’re shivering. The cold nips through every layer of clothes you’re wearing to bite straight at your flushed skin. But you don’t move further away. You wait. Why am I even waiting, though?

Realization slowly sinks in, you can tell from Cassandra’s expression. Beyond the wounded pride of the apex predator losing a fight to a rabbit… she understands that she will never see you again.

Bela releases her and steps away, adjacent to Daniela.

“You’ve earned your freedom, Alexia.” Bela speaks under her hood. “Nobody’s ever managed to escape, before. Respect.” In another life, maybe her and you could have been friends. Maybe.

“So you’re really… leaving?” Daniela’s lower lip is slightly jutted into a little pout. “I… who will I use to get on Cassandra’s nerves, now?”

“I’d say it’s been nice, but.” you speak up between pants, birthing forth puffs of smoke. “I was taken from my home and sent here as a slave, so.” You can’t help the bitter grimace.

Cassandra’s chest is heaving, yet she isn’t looking at you. It doesn’t look like she has anything to say to you, either. But you have words for her, because you need to get this out at last, you need to be free of this weight or you will never really have escaped this nightmare.

“Even as your captive, you know what I fucking thought? You three can be so beautiful when you toy with the idea of basic human empathy. I don’t know what you saw our time as, Cassandra, but I was genuinely attracted to you. I wanted to be together with you. At some point, I was even happy!”

You’ve inhaled so much icy air your lungs probably won’t be doing great for very much longer but God, this is so cathartic. And so enraging that she’s not meeting your eyes now, at the very end of it all.

“Look at me! I care for you, deeply, but I can’t do this anymore! I don’t want to live in a cage as a pretty sacrifice, with you as my jailer. I can’t. You don’t know how psychologically destructive it is. You don’t know what it feels like!” you end with a hitched shout.

You hear the ominous sound of heavy heels hurriedly descending the staircase. “By Miranda! What is going on— Cassandra?!”

All three daughters freeze up for a moment.

Then Daniela touches her head as though she’s having a migraine and Bela shuts her eyes tightly, shoulders tensed. And Cassandra… drops on her knees to the floor, gasping for oxygen, clutching at her temples.

Bela shakes her head to snap out of it. Daniela still looks dazed and afraid… but Cassandra is nearly crying—

And then, in her panic attack, she whispers; “Don’t abandon me like they did, Alexia.”

You don’t know who she means or what you’re doing, until you’ve dashed back inside and gathered her chilled form into your arms, tight. You keep her there like you wish someone had held you during your storms. It doesn’t matter that you’re so much weaker than Cassandra, when what haunts her is too powerful even for her to face.

Alcina extends her claws as she advances on you.

You could probably still get away if you make a run for it, but where will you even go, when your heart is right here with the woman in your arms? The world beyond the village died for you a long time ago. The village died in a literal sense.

You wanted to be free. But freedom and being with her aren’t mutually exclusive. Why did it take me this long to figure it out…?

Alcina is too close now. You turn to kiss Cassandra’s hair for what may be the last time. You do not let go.

Bela and Daniela step in front of you.

Alcina gives them a warning, narrowed look.

“Uh— you know what, I just stepped forward because I saw Bela move. Haha, nevermind.” The redhead retreats once more. Maybe you’d roll your eyes at her if you weren’t bracing for your execution.

“Bela… step aside.” Lady Dimitrescu’s tone leaves no room for disobedience.

The eldest daughter lowers her head and hesitantly opens the path, as well.

Alcina casts a deep shadow over you in her massive height and giant claws. You lock eyes with her briefly, with the last, flickering cinders of your courage. Then you shift your face down into Cassandra’s shoulder and prepare to be skewered through. Her fingers clutch you almost painfully close to her.

“As for you…” there’s a growl in Alcina’s voice that makes you cower in terror.

Except...

The horrible pain you expected takes a little too long to come.

“…you have backbone, little human, I will admit.” Is that… is that a smirk you hear in her tone? “And my daughters do seem to want you around…”

…What?

Cassandra slowly pulls away from you to look up at her in disbelief and you dare to open your eyes. The claws are still uncomfortably close to your face.

“I will take responsibility for the damage, mother. Just, please, let her stay with me.” Cassandra says.

“…Hm. Very well. I expect the windows repaired by dinner.” Alcina gracefully pivots and just like that, takes her leave.

You and the sisters are left there, unbreathing, unmoving, wondering what just happened.

“Too cold. See you at dinner.” Daniela is the first to speak up. She rapidly waves and disappears like she’s being hunted by an army.

Bela glances at you, then at her middle sister. “We need to talk. But later. For now, defrost.” She, too, disperses in a swarm of flies.

Cassandra, uncharacteristically vulnerable, looks into your eyes and brings a crystalline hand to your cheek. The soft way she does it, it may as well be the apology she is too proud to voice. You both lean towards each other, resting your foreheads together.

You have a lot to talk about. But there is time.

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x oc #resident evil village #fanfiction #writing #we're almost at the end of this guys #thank you for all your sweet support #hope group therapy won't be needed

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bokettochild · 3 years

Text

A Hero Protects His Own - Part 1

Ao3

AU is by @ryssbelle I just write for it!!!! Go check them and their awesome AU out!!!!

..........................................................................................................................

Loud.

It’s loud and the camp is overwhelmingly tense as Legend screams harsh words in a language Twilight doesn’t understand. The others sit in silence, either burying their heads in their hands or trying their hardest to ignore it while Sky stares cold and impassive at the vet.

He shrinks back into his hood.

He’s fought the worst of the worst; monsters, evils, shadows and nightmares from realms beyond what the others will ever know, but somehow hearing his brothers screaming at each other like this is what it takes to make him shiver and shrink back.

Or maybe it’s the steel in Sky’s eyes.

He’s tried to separate them, tried to stop Legend antagonizing the Chosen Hero, and for a while he even thought it worked! Sky and Legend had bonded some after what the three of them refer to as “the bunny incident” Legend with a fierce blush and Sky and himself with grins and teasing. The vet would tease them, stand at their side and back them up, and they would do the same for him. That’s just the power of secrets, sharing them makes you closer to other people.

But then they’d been dropped in Legend’s world. They’d come to the veteran’s Hyrule and spent a day at his house and gone out to the forest with Ravio to investigate something strange that the merchant had seen. When they'd come to the cozy cottage, Sky had been teasing Legend and receiving playful jabs in return, but the next morning when everyone woke up there was stone cold silence between the two, Ravio overcome with nervous energy that, to their collective shock, had earned him some rather sharp words from the Skyloftian when the merchant had gotten them lost in the woods.

From there it got worse.

Legend and Sky are almost always at each other's throats now, icy blue and raging indigo burning into each other as Time has struggled to keep them separate, neither willing to explain their spat and Ravio to overcome to even attempt it.

The bunny merchant clings to Warriors even now, their scarves wrapped over the both of them and tying them together as Warriors paints the merchant’s nails, speaking softly and recounting adventures the two had apparently shared in an attempt to distract him from the shouting that fills the camp and the heated stares being shot between two heroes.

Sky’s hand grips the hilt of the Master Sword where it lies in his lap and Legend’s fist at his sides while he stands over the older hero, face twisted up in an ugly expression as he spews words Twilight knows he doesn’t want to understand.

“Make it stop.” Four whimpers, head buried in his side as the smithy’s shoulders tense further with each word. “It hurts.”

“Guys-” He tries, he really does, to be firm, but when there's so much anger already in the air, he knows that yelling will only do so much good, and when Sky’s sharp eyes meet his, usually so gentle and dreamy but now flashing with lightning and shadowed in thunderclouds, it’s all he can do to keep his voice low enough to not worsen things for Four.

“You’re hurting Four.” Time scolds.

Legend’s mouth snaps shut, Sky’s hands twitching as the two both look over the miserable bundle against his side.

“Fine.” Legend snaps, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Apologies.” Sky nods.

It’s easy to believe Sky will be a king one day when he acts like that. There’s no doubt that their usually sleepy friend can rule and command when he sits poker straight, actions clipped as his words and tone deep enough to rival times when he speaks. Gone are the gentle words and reassuring smiles, instead replaced with regal nods and flashing silver eyes. The war cape that usually warms shivering heroes on cold nights is a cape, and the halo cast over the Skyloftian’s honey-hair is a crown in the firelight.

Twilight has to shift in his place.

Thank Ordonia the two both have a soft spot for the smithy, otherwise they’d be here all night! And, while he loves the wolf that nestles inside of his heart, he also hates how the wolf’s senses affect his own. Legend’s shrieks might be annoying to the others, but to himself and Four, they’re agonizing.

Then again, he has to muffle a strained chuckle as Legend stomps past on his way to his bedroll, which is as far as possible from Sky’s without Time raising his brows, rabbits do scream rather loudly, don’t they.

“Are they done?” Four’s eyes actually have tears in them when he looks up, face flushed and miserable as he peeks up out from under the tail end of the wolf pelt.

“Yeah.” He has to keep his voice low as he answers, Four’s headaches are well known to be absolutely awful, and he can’t help but gently pet the smithy’s hair in an attempt to comfort him.

Baby.

Twilight has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Four’s nearly an adult.

Baby. The wolf in his soul rumbles, and Twilight has to mentally restrain himself from pulling the little smithy into his arms and absolutely suffocating him with his fluffy pelt and arms as he holds him as tight as possible. He thinks Four once explained why they want to squeeze babies and small things so much, but he can’t be bothered to dig through all of the smithy’s rants about Hylian behavior in order to remember it.

It was something related to eating though, and the thought makes him wrinkle his nose.

“Good.” Four sighs, flopping fully against him and tugging the pelt over his eyes. “They do that again and I’m gonna slap them both. Jerks.”

A laugh rumbles through his chest as the wolf growls in approval.

Fierce baby. The Wolf laughs.

He’s close to our age. Twilight reminds himself. He jist looks small and young.

Never mind that the smithy has his childish moments, eyes glimmering red and warm as he laughs along with Wind as the two watch some prank or another play out. It’s always hard to tell if Four is just laughing at their misfortune or if he’s the reason for it and is reveling in his genius, because when questioned the smithy always looks so childishly innocent or entirely unimpressed. It’s a difficult thing to pin the blame on the smithy, and they’ve all quite given up. Except Sky.

Sky, who can read Four like a book and is currently shooting worried glances in the smithy’s direction, all fire and rage gone from crystal eyes when the Skyloftian catches sight of the smithy curled up beside him, only his legs and stockinged feet visible beneath the pelt. “Is he okay?”

Twilight nods. “Exhausted, fightin’ a bad headache, but he says it ain’t quite a migraine.”

The other hero nods with a wince. “You got him then?”

Oh definitely. This is his little brother! Of course, he can take care of him! “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

He’s feeling guilty.

They are close, he prob’bly just wants to help.

“You good, Sky?”

Crystal blue meets his slowly, a pained smile on his brother’s face as Sky settles down on his other side, reaching over quickly to gently pat Four’s knee before answering. “Yeah. Legend just-” Sky answers, running a hand through his hair with a huff of his puffed-out cheeks. “Vet’s a Hylia Blessed piece of work somedays!”

Laughter spills from him this time, and he can’t stop it even when Four pokes his side irritably. “That has got to be the nicest way I’ve e’er heard someone call another person an ass! Did you just say ‘Hylia blessed’?”

Sky rolls his eyes. “I love Legend same as any of you guys, he’s just...” Another heavy puff of breath, one that he didn’t know Sky could even manage with his asthma, billows out, ruffling the Skyloftian’s bangs as he motions to where Legend is sat with his back against Warriors, Twilight would almost dare to say that the vet is pouting as War reaches over to gently ruffle the vet’s hair fondly while Ravio chirps something nervous and encouraging at him.

“He can a bit difficult.” He finishes, but Sky shakes his head fiercely.

“That’s not it! I deal with difficult people all the time! My best friend was the biggest ass I knew before he stopped trying to one up me and started to actually help. I can handle a bit of sass and snark, I mean, look at us!” Sky exclaims, motioning to the camp and everyone in it.

“Keep it down!” Four hisses. “Headache!”

“Sorry.” He choruses with Sky as the smithy glares up at the both of them before retreating back underneath the protective shade of his wolf pelt.

“It’s not the grouchiness, or the snark.” Sky explains softly, blue eyes pained as they glance at Legend. “We’re just. We have very different opinions about some things.” He’s about to say something when Sky cuts him off, eyes glistening softly in the fire as he stares across at the pouting vet. “I get that he doesn’t care for the goddesses. I’m not happy with it, but I can respect his opinions; they’re valid as much as mine are, and he has his reasons to feel the way he does. But some things-” The Skyloftian shakes his head fiercely, eyes going stony again. “Some things aren’t open for discussion like faith and beliefs. Hard, cold facts can’t be denied, no matter how much Legend would like to.”

There’s a bite in Sky’s voice again, and it makes him flinch back. Beneath his pelt, Four’s fingers clench his tunic, the smithy stiff as a board again. He sneaks an arm around the younger hero, squeezing gently in reassurance as he follows Sky’s gaze to the trio opposite them, where Legend is glaring at a laughing Warriors while Ravio giggles softly along, the three melting back into their seamlessly antagonistically friendly behavior around each other.

“Legend’s smart. But he’s also blind.” Sky bites out bitterly. “And it’s just gonna get him hurt.”

He’s about to ask what Sky means, but at that very moment Wild jumps up from sitting beside Time, ears pricked and eyes wide as a hoarse-shout rings from his cub’s throat. “Monster attack!”

Monsters.

The growl rumbles in his chest as he pulls himself to his feet, Four following with a groan and Sky already sprinting across the camp with the Master Sword drawn and in hand.

The monsters are on them before most of them even have a chance to draw their blades.

Mindless beasts swirl about, blocking his vision of the others as he dances through them, fending off any headed towards the suffering smithy while simultaneously trying to carve a path for himself and Four to where the others are.

“Eyes out for the black one!” Warriors voice rises over the din of blades crashing and monsters squealing, all of the playfulness of the moment before replaced with the practiced calm and clipped tones of a soldier.

“Aye Captain!” Wind shouts back, followed by Wild and Time, the only one’s accustomed to a soldier’s commands, as they thrust themselves into the battle.

The monsters swarm thicker and thicker, but in every spare second, he keeps his eyes open, searching the crowd for the black lizalfoes that’s been the source of so much of their trouble lately. Nothing can be seen save monster after monster of the normal sort, their blood streaking red across the dirt, thin and weak as bodies fall with more ease than any of their previous battles.

“These ‘blins are red blooded!” He calls out. “Keep your guards up! They strong one’s are prob’bly holdin’ back!”

The Ordon Sword sings through the air, but despite his own warning, the monsters are already starting the thin. More stream in from the forest, but they runabout wild like any old ‘blins and lizards, none of the intelligence or strength of their corrupted cousins making an appearance so often recently. The same can be said of the black lizalfoes; no one can spot it, there’s no flash of black in the crowd save for his own pelt as he spins and stabs, dancing easily along to Warriors’ side.

“Any sign?” The captain pants out, parrying an enemy blade and thrusting forwards to skewer the moblin before him.

“None.” He heaves back, raising his shield against his own opponent and pushing back against the spear that embedded it inside. “Have you seen Four? I lost him in the mob?”

The words are hardly out of his mouth before a scream, all too harsh and broken sounded across the field. “Sky!”

Midnight meets royal blue as soldier and rancher lock eyes for all of a moment before swinging out with all their might at their enemies, razing them low and clearing their vision long enough to stare over the field.

Four is clutching at his sword arm, eyes wide and staring as they looked to where Sky has been cast onto the ground a few paces away, thrown by the force of a blow that no doubt had been headed for the smithy himself. No ordinary monster could land a blow on Sky unless he was rushing to someone else’s rescue, and the guilt already filtering into the smithy’s eyes was all that is needed to confirm the thought.

The Master Sword lies on the forest floor, to far from Sky for the knight to grasp it as he pulls himself to his knees, enemies already baring down on him from all directions.

“Sky!” Twin voices shout.

Flying-Heart!!!! The Wolf screams inside of him, pushing his feet forwards to charge to Sky’s side.

Red flashes before him, swirling fabric, the color of aged blood and wine, a hood like a poe’s drawn up over a being’s head, a single blackened hand reaching out from beneath, red swirling over clawed fingers as Sky’s breath comes heaving from his lungs, side bleeding from the blow that had downed him.

A voice, neither high nor low but pitched in such a way that none could hear quite what was being said, murmurs something as the power on the blackened hand pulses.

Monsters rage around the hero and poe-like being, but none step closer to Sky, although their eyes trail to him eagerly every so often when Heroes, desperate to save their brother, aren’t hacking through their numbers.

A moblin rises before Twilight, blocking his vision for precious seconds before a roar built in his chest and his sword cleft the being in two. The second was enough though. Sky’s scream sounds over the field, harsh and grating and agonizing! The wolf throbs inside of him, tearing at the walls of his mind as he attempted to press through the creatures keeping him from his brother.

“Get back you-” Legend’s words are cut off sharply by Time’s scream of rage as the biggoron sword swings and fells three monsters at once. The Master Sword gleams in Legend’s hands as he launches himself at the being, teeth set and eyes flashing as he swings down, making the red-cape dart back as the pink-haired hero came to a halt between hero and monster, Sky’s weakening breath ringing over the field.

The vet’s eyes flash to meet his for only a moment. “Kick ass! We need to end this!”

A firm nod, the wolf is already raging inside him and he gave it full control as his blade and shield fend off and fell enemy after enemy, their screams and blood running over him like the air itself, so little he cares for them. His only job now is to beat back the monsters, give Legend space to work, keep Sky safe.

Beat the monsters.

Give Legend space to wreak havoc.

Protect Sky.

Beat the monsters.

Give Legend space to wreak havoc.

Protect Sky.

Beat the monsters.

Give Legend space to wreak havoc.

Protect Sky.

Like a dirge of war, the wolf’s thoughts swirl with his own, red clouding his vision as the Ordon Sword severs limbs and head and cleft bodies in two. Feet dance the war stomps of bloodlust as eyes flash with the golden of the wolf.

“Portal!” Wild screams over the din of the monsters falling. “Hylia’s!” His pup sounds strained, rage and terror mixing in a cocktail of fury as arrows plunge into the enemy and weapons fly loose across the Champion’s personal battle space, an area where even the monsters drew back in fear while the rest of the heroes give the youngster ample space to cause chaos.

Sure enough, the portal’s golden power is sweeping across the field, the faint brush of feathers over their cheeks and shoulders and the whisper of warmth and honey as the goddess’s strength flows over the field.

“Legend, watch out!” Hyrule’s cry cuts through, and Twilight only has enough time to see the blackened hand swing forwards and catch hold of Legend’s tunic before the golden glow of the shift swept it all away.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #devine beast sky #devine twili beast sky #raven of sky #lu sky #lu legend #lu twilight #lu four #idiot writes angst #danggit! I forgot to tag Ravio on ao3!!!!#uh... yeah #lu ravio #lu time #lu hyrule #lu warriors #lu wind #lu wild #ryssbelle my beloved

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yanderenightmare · 3 years

Note

hie!!! just read you're dragon warrior bakugo where he turn into a literal golden dragon, DUDE it was so dark and so poetic I loved it, pleeeaase part two?

I’ve actually had this in the works for some time but didn't think that many were interested hehe, thanks for proving me wrong<3

dragon warrior king ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

goodiebag WARNINGS: trauma, slavery, kidnapping, condescension, anxiety

PART ONE

MUTE AND NUDE - PART TWO

THE KING AND HIS NEW TOY

Floating, flying, dreaming. She felt reality tug at her every now and again, trying to pull her into consciousness, however she was pleasantly drifting with her eyes tightly locked. The smell of mountain daisies in the breeze, she could almost taste the salt of the sea that wafted up there, not entirely sure it was all in her mind. How she wished to see the sea up close once, and not just from afar. To feel the sand between her toes, to laugh nervously at the vastness of it all, all the secrets buried down there, sometimes washing up on the shore like treasure. Her vision trailed the stripe of sand she could spot from her village in the mountains, suddenly imagining herself down there, with a great shadow looming above, the water turning red and thick and boiling before catching fire, she heard screams, cries, the smell of metal and the taste of death, death, death.

She awoke abruptly. Flailing in the air like some knocked lantern. The pixies dodging her kicks and whips, holding onto the gems and paints midair. Currently hand sewing her customized dress, bejeweled with rhinestones and gold, cold smooth brushed lining her skin with art.

They knew the procedure, Bakugo had a new toy, and she were to be dressed accordingly; royally.

The pixies swung around her like bees around their beehive, small squeaky voices simmering about and buzzing in her ears. One caught her eye and her flailing subdued then, as the tiny brown-haired brown-eyed fairy blew sickly-sweet dust into her face, nerves somehow forcefully brought to their knees. “I’m sorry.” It seemed to her that the utterance had multiple meanings, as the look on the fairy’s face contorted into one of deep sorrow, as though in mourning for the unfortunate soul that had fallen into Bakugo’s greedy attention.

Not much dawned on poor girl after that, and if it did, she didn't seem to mind the foreign things happening around her. How she was fussed around with, spoiled even, with flowers and gems and fabrics, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Fitted to perfection and adorned with a small tiara made up of flowers, poppies if she were to guess with the limited knowledge she had through books, as the harsh environment of the mountain doesn't allow for such frail things to grow.

Her doe eyes; softly fluttering every now and again, barely even feeling it, when her feet hit the ground, still bare. Perhaps she didn’t even realize they belonged to her, seeing how they were robbed of their red mud and clay. More and more, steadily coming back to her senses, she remained calm under the pressure of her strange surroundings. Creatures she’d never known existed, colors she hadn’t ever laid eyes on, perfumes that stung her nose in a pioneering act. She remembered death, she remembered fire, and the burning cold of sharp, deadly eyes. She feared that it was those same red eyes she was being prepared for.

Her mouth remained shut. Her silence casting a confusing spell onto the guards, however unaffected the busy pixies swirling about her in a working frenzy. The sounding of a horn didn’t shake her either, however seemed to dismiss the ones nitpicking at her ensemble, as well as signal the guards.

They didn't touch her, but their eyes did well in escorting her to the havoc outside. She didn't see much except for fire and shadow. Yet, mismatched tones of gold seemed to unsettle her even more than the different shades of red.

She was guided to his side, gestured to sit down on the throne next to his. She didn't faze too much upon her surroundings, managing to keep somewhat of a respectable composure, even as girls and boys from her village caught her eye. They hadn’t murdered everyone it seemed, not the pretty ones at least. They were putting on a show, inexperienced in the art of dance, but no less amusing to the hooded ravagers, she guessed.

She held her tongue and assumed an aura of harmony, therefore not accepting anything given to her. Drink, food, trinkets, they were swarming her as if she were some shrine. She supposed she, more or less, was just that, which was more than what she had been before, but somehow less at the same time.

The nerves trembled beneath her skin, as she did her best to calm her frightened state. She searched the spread sprawled out before her, wanting to accommodate to the new scenery. However, it proved to be quite difficult, as she felt the intense stare of the boy on her right, his eyes singeing and freezing her all at once. Having not dared look to him yet, the pressure of meeting those eyes of his, too much of a scare.

Sharp jewels stuck into her skin, and although she was used to gravel, they still managed to achieve her discomfort. “Not enjoying yourself?”

She cleaned up nicely. He could see her complexion clearly now, soft and smooth glowing skin between what raked scratched and gashes marred it. He wanted to pull Kirishima’s teeth out as punishment for biting her arm so ruthlessly, but knew that would be foolish as neither of them could have known of her importance. It could very well have been him who had printed his fangs into her, yet it would more likely have fallen off then.

It took her longer than she’d like to admit before she understood the question was meant for her, and although she could speak, the thought of answering seemed so far out of reach. She didn’t know how he would want to be acknowledged either. What do you say to a King who massacres entire civilizations? What do you even call such a person? The title tyrant came to mind, but it seemed distasteful.

Even if her hesitance angered him, he didn’t let his temper prove it. And when her eyes flickered ever so slightly in his direction, his annoyance more or less faded away; replaced. “You’re thinking of what time will be the best to escape, aren’t you?”

The hairs on the back of her neck rose at once when she heard his voice again, realizing the moment to answer his previous question had passed, and how he, this time, was accusing her not of ingratitude, but of deserting.

“Wondering where you will go, where you even are?” She could spot the eerie smile from the corner of her eye. At least his teeth were wiped clean of gore this time, yet… they still managed to make her ears shift in discomfort. “Hmm...” He scoffed, then chuckled a laugh that somehow sounded like thunder, like barking. “Let me help you.”

He shifted in his seat, leaning in closer to her. His fingers grazing her forearm, causing her to lightly gasp. Claws ever so slightly digging into her skin.

“You could make a run for it through the foliage of the trees.” She felt the earnest, wanton pressure in his touch, furrowing her brows in both confusion upon his words and in a plead for mercy. “But I should warn you... the forest is much denser and darker and deadlier here, than it is in the mountain.” His voice; so very casual in its threats, the voice of a King. “Even if I felt so generous as to give you a head start, we would probably catch you before the night let up. It wouldn't be much a game for me, but you are welcome to give it a try if you want.” He was taunting, haughty, stroking her arm... almost lovingly. “Besides, any attempt at running in that dress will be a show.” His hot breaths hit the side of her neck in waves, as she felt the still foreign need to say something linger on her tongue, but she swallowed it. “What’s your name?” This was a question she needed to answer, yet… it was also the one question she had no answer to.

“I-”

That was the first time she’d ever spoken. Sure, she’d sung for him… but that wasn’t her, that was… something else… something inside her, her but not her at all at the same time.

She didn’t quite know the words, know them as in being comfortable with them. She’d heard them, she knew what they were supposed to sound like, but… they still seemed so foreign on her tongue as she rolled them around in her mouth, teeth grinding together.

To his surprise, to his complete shock, she turned her head to look at him, face wiped clean of… well… blood, and alongside what panic displayed on her features there was also a look of something he couldn’t quite place, but almost as though she was asking for his help, or his patience as she pieced together the words. He nearly gasped as she placed her small hand over the calloused knuckles of his where he was digging his fingers into her arm, the action so parallel to his intentions, looking up again to be met with her soft eyes as she spoke with even softer words. “I- I ha-ave no na-ame…” She looked awkward, as though she’d bitten her tongue and was preoccupied with the metallic taste of her own blood, looking at him, eyes asking if she were at all understandable.

“Right… no point in giving a mute a name.” His tone was brisk, without anger and it helped with establishing confidence in her as it also aided in answering her question if she was understood or not.

“Wh-” She started, this time seemingly a smidge more confident in her determination. “What do I call you?”

He would be lying if he said it didn't take him aback. And he wasn't one for telling lies.“You’re not like the others.” He announced, small quirk playing on his lips. “Katsuki.”

She was unsure whether she should give it a try or not, trying to mouth it under her breath so he not hear her. “Ka- katsu- ki.”

He gave a sound of acknowledgement, a grunt of some sorts, an eyebrow raised in suspicion at her, watching as her gaze shifted onto the ongoing festivities before the two of them, her chin slightly raising, eyes flittering to perceive things he was sure was for the first time. Her hand remained on his, velvet against sandpaper, as though she found comfort in it, a safety of some sort. He enjoyed the gesture as well as that thought; sinisterly so. Her chastity so desperate in need of corruption, in his eyes.

He made to stand, bored of the display before him. This girl posed more entertainment than anything the circus could give him. “The air is thinner in the mountains…”

He reached out a hand, gesturing for her to take it. Reluctantly, or rather anxiously, she agreed, wondering what purpose hid in his words.

“The change of climate will be overwhelming for you.”

Slightly provoked by his words of condescension, she made to stand her ground, but felt an overbearing weight nest in her mind.

“You’ll get migraines.”

She looked confused now, staring at him, a crinkle between her brows.

“Your body isn’t accumulated to this environment yet.”

Her mouth suddenly felt dry, as she stumbled slightly. He locked her arm with his, helping her down from the podium.

“The effects will come soon. Blood pooling in your feet, weighing you down and dragging you to the ground, blood leaving your head, nausea and unbalance.”

He didn’t seem all that effected by what he was saying. Not exactly nonchalant, but amused.

“Could be you can’t even walk!” He grinned, chuckling when she whimpered, almost falling to her knees. “Your muscles, bones even, not strong enough to carry your own weight.”

Wincing as he pulled her to a carriage. She couldn’t remember if it were the same one she woke up it. But, something about the atmosphere told her it wasn’t, something about the invasive smell of burnt sugar.

“You’ll feel the ache in your limbs soon, gravity isn’t generous.”

Before she knew it, she was placed in a bed, his hand stroking her cold forehead.

“Especially when you’ve hardly ever felt the full might of its power.” He sounded sympathetic, and in her state she couldn’t tell if it were sincere or not. His hand traveled down her cheek, stroking a thumb over her lips. “There were more things I wanted to establish, but I underestimated the toll the descent would have on your health.” Scarred fingers stroked down her throat. “You’ll have to survive the sick before anything.” Tracing her collarbones. “If you’re strong, the fever will pass before we reach our destination.” Down her chest, as though holding back in savory, where if her eyes were able to focus she’d see him lick his lips. “But... the up and coming days will probably be hell for you.”

She didn’t feel much of anything after that, except for the foreign warmth accompanying her in her slumber, two large arms tightly locked around her midriff.

#yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #bakugou #bakugo #bakugou katsuki #katsukibakugou #bnha bakugou #katsuki #katsuki bnha #Katsuki Bakugō

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

dire, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: One fateful night. That was all it took for Jeon Jungkook’s world to turn upside down. One mistake, one lick to the face, and something between biology? a spell? and now he’s horny as fuck for a Dire Wolf. Who needs catgirls when you have doggirls, right?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, world building, mentions of death, blood; eating raw meat; mentions of (species) discrimination and prejudice; violence; smut (fem reader, too much m-masturbation, m-receiving oral (ish?); saliva everywhere lol); non-idol!AU - werewolfAU; werewolf!reader x blond, human!Jungkook; switches between Jungkook’s POV and your POV; is JK a furry? you decide

tried to keep it fast paced during the world building, hopefully it doesn’t feel as long as it is haha and yes there’s a rap line cameo slipped in there hehe inspired by YOASOBI - 怪物 (Kaibutsu)

He shouldn't be out so late at night. He had lost track of time, stayed out too late, and now he was paying for it, running, trying to stay swift and quiet, keeping out of the streetlights. The sky was pitch black, oppressively towering over the city. The moon was high above him, thick and full.

A howl tore through the darkness.

The hair on the back of his neck raised. His breathing shallowed and he tried to move quicker, hiking to the tips of his sneakers, trying to avoid the fallen leaves. There was no one walking around. No one else would be crazy enough to be out this night. The wind swirled around him, as if it too was afraid, hurrying him along. Another howl followed.

And then another.

And another.

Panic rose within him, breaking out into a full out run, not caring anymore about being silent because there was scraping now, claws on asphalt, insatiable huffs mixing with growls.

This was why they had curfew on the nights of the full moon.

He was going to die.

Anyone in their homes was off limits. But he wasn't in his apartment, he wasn't home, and he was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to–

Strong arms grabbed his body from the air, dragging him into an alleyway. He almost screamed, but a hand clamped over his mouth, grip like iron.

A human hand.

He was slammed against the alley wall, brick cutting into his thick hoodie, pain shooting up his back, tearing it up as he was thrown down onto the dirty sidewalk. The body followed, flattening over his. For such a strong grip, the weight was not as heavy as he expected. The stranger was wearing a dark hoodie as well, incredibly oversized, similar black jeans to his, but it was obvious they were several sizes too big, swamping the legs inside.

He whimpered as his head was pushed into the brick.

"Silence, human."

The hand was still over his mouth but his eyes widened. The voice was low, grating, yet distinctly female. The other hand, her left, popped up and he saw the tattoo on the back of her hand, a number below a wolf symbol.

Stay away from the Dire.

The Dire were the reason he was running. The Dire were the reason he was going to die. The Dire were the wolf people that lived among them, too many to not be members of society, but hated for what they were. Essentially werewolves, but not as romantic as the folktales like to make them.

She reached up and lowered the face mask.

He could smell it on her breath.

Blood.

He was going to die.

He started at her teeth, sharp, pointed, a true carnivore, almost too big for her mouth. Still, he was surprised to see her mouth was mostly human, full lips, smooth skin. He thought all the Dire were forced into wolf form during the full moon.

"Stay still."

She licked him.

His eyes went wide, unexpectedly seeing her lean over, long tongue extended, slobbering on his cheek, all the way to his temple. It coated his face, the scent of blood and something else – thick, intense, and heady, unlike anything else he had ever felt in his life. His eyes rolled back in his head, entire body shuddering at the touch, thighs quivering. Her hand pressed harder against his mouth and she drew back, turning her head, waiting.

The snarls neared, then stopped.

"I swore I smelled human here."

Heavy, thudding steps. His eyes snapped back to see the shadows dancing on the wall. Huge, misshapen shadows. Multiple ones. The fear rose within him, but she pressed her hand down on his lips, shaking her head just barely. Her body was still on top of his, covering it. He was very aware of her weight now, firm, solid. He heard more noises. Rustling. Harsh sniffing.

"Ugh, let's get out of here. I smell a claim," came a deep, disgruntled grumble.

"We can take them." Higher pitched, a little annoying.

"Smell it, you fool."

A snorting whiff.

"Fuck, you're right. Let's get out."

Then the heavy steps bounded away, claws clacking on the concrete.

She waited until the night was silent for a full minute before removing her hand from his mouth. His face was still covered in her saliva. He raised his hand to wipe it off, but she growled deep in her chest. The sound tingled throughout his nerves, igniting them.

"Do you want to die, human?"

He froze at her cold tone. She backed up, hood falling.

Suddenly, he forgot how to breathe.

She had tall, pointed ears, fur silvery in the moonlight, with black tips. Her hair was wild, the strands probably thickened from the full moon. Whatever her usual eye color was replaced with bright yellow, flashing as she scanned the area outside the alleyway. She had a mole underneath her right eye, near the inner corner.

She sighed, standing up. A bushy silver and black tail poked out from under the hoodie. Despite her smaller frame, there was sheer power in her stance, an unmistakable predator.

"W-Why aren't you in wolf form?" he wondered out loud, breathless in awe.

She turned her head to look down at him. Something flitted in her eyes. Then her gaze hardened.

"How close is your home?"

He swallowed, shakily standing up, aching all over. He pointed. "A block from here."

She stepped back, ticking her head. Her silvery ears were straight up, tufts of white hair sticking out of them. They looked soft, pretty.

"Go home, human. The world will be yours when the sun rises."

She left quickly, light steps in her wake.

You shadowed him until he entered his home.

He didn't notice.

Dumb human, almost getting himself killed.

The Dire wolf people lived among them. Some had good jobs, worked hard, and even had respect from human society. But most had low-paying jobs, poor reputations, and were behind bars. Because at the end of the day, they were carnivores. They hunted. They ate meat. Most of the time they hunted animals in the forest, with one exception. Any human out during the full moon was free game, no reprimand. Any other time was considered murder, but the full moon was theirs. That was the deal between the Dire Alpha and the nation.

It was not a great deal, but that was the deal.

Even though the Dire looked human most days, a few things gave them away. The ears, the fluffy tail, the teeth. Some Dire had them removed, clipped, or filed, for style, in shame, whichever. But every Dire had the tattoo on their left hand, complete with the identification number. If you didn't have a left hand, the national government put it wherever it could be visibly seen.

That was also part of the deal between the Dire Alpha and the nation.

If you asked Jeon Jungkook, he tell you this deal was absolute shit, but there really wasn't anything anyone could do about it.

No one except the Dire Alpha and the government.

We all know the old ones are set in their ways.

"How much?"

Jeon Jungkook raised his head at the familiar voice. It wasn't as grating or rough as before, but it had a distinctive raspy huskiness to it that he recognized instantly.

It was the middle of the day, at the local butcher's shop. The air was frigid, mostly to help keep the meat fresh. The prices were cheap here, definitely cheaper than the supermarket chain.

He looked up to the counter to see a huge bag of meat sitting on the scale. Raw, red, bloody. The figure was wearing a dirty oversized black hoodie and jeans that were about four sizes too big, swamping the legs. Not that imposing, but there was something about that voice that made it imposing.

The left hand slid out of the hoodie and sat on the counter. Wolf tattoo, numbers. Nails painted black, a wolf ring on her middle finger with glittering, opalescent stones for eyes. Her pinky had a simple silver band. She hasn't been wearing those rings on that night.

The butcher curled his lip and stated the price.

Jungkook could see the weight from here. He did a quick calculation and furrowed his brows, marching up to the counter.

"That's twice as much as you charge me."

The butcher looked startled that Jungkook had cut in. The hooded figure was wearing a face mask but there was no mistaking the mole under the inner corner of the right eye, even if she had her normal eye color now.

"It's... it's higher quality meat!" the butcher sputtered, alarm rising in his throat.

"Oh, shut up," the woman spat, reaching into her hoodie and dumping bills onto the counter. "There's no need to lie. Dires can do math as well as you, human." She grabbed the bag from the counter, growling. The butcher crawled back in fear, hand fumbling for the knife behind him.

"Keep the change."

She yanked the bag off the counter and stalked away. Jungkook stared at the bills and shot the terrified butcher one last glare before he rushed out to follow. She wasn't that hard to find. The bag of meat was huge. It bulged against the thin plastic, almost breaking. Jungkook ran up to her, skidding on his sneakers and grabbed the bag from below, hoisting it up.

The Dire turned her head, raising an eyebrow.

"It'll fall," he explained, swallowing. She released her hand from the bag. The black face mask covered her expression but her eyes were visible. Careful, intense, not to be messed with.

"Do you want it, human? Is that why you're bothering me?" she asked. Her tone wasn't condescending or rude, mostly impartial.

"Uh, what? No, no, I was worried that the bag would break and the meat would fall to the ground and then you wouldn't be able to eat it..." Jungkook trailed off in his explanation. His nerves felt like they were on fire when she looked at him, even if they weren’t the same yellow color as that night.

Those eyes sparked with something unknown, squinting in amusement. There was a single bark of laughter, her chin lifting and hood sliding back a little, revealing some of her hair.

"Silly human, everyone knows dogs can eat off the floor."

She said it lightheartedly, but there was bitterness, piercing like venom.

Jungkook frowned.

"You're not a dog."

She raised an eyebrow. Reached up with her left hand, lowering the face mask. The wolf hand tattoo gleamed, dark despite probably having it for most of her life. The government probably forced her to touch it up every so often. His eyes widened as her face was revealed, nose, lips, chin. He remembered the intoxicating feeling of her tongue on his face. The way his whole body reacted, falling into it. Her mouth opened, white teeth sharp and pointed, but not as large as they were during the full moon.

"Are you sure?" she growled.

It was the middle of the day. Lunchtime. Her right hand lifted, reaching into to the bag. Jungkook's eyes grew wider as her fingers closed around a hunk of meat, blood seeping onto the silver rings she wore on this hand, an intricate skull with a snake coming out of its mouth on her index and a silver band with script on it on her ring finger.

It read...

FEED.

She gripped the slippery meat and pulled it out of the bag. Brought it to her lips and sank her teeth in, tearing at it. She even turned her head sharply to the side, ripping the uncooked muscle to shreds.

Chewed.

FEED.

Chewed slowly, staring.

"Best stay away from the Dire, human. They are not nice like me."

"Thank you," Jungkook blurted.

He did not know why he said it now. Now, as she was literally eating a chunk of raw meat in the middle of the fucking street, blood dropping down and seeping into the face mask on her chin. She was eating like an animal, probably on purpose to scare him, but all he could remember was arriving home and looking at himself in the mirror, her saliva stuck to his cheek and temple.

She blinked, slowly.

"Thank you for saving me."

She shoved the last bit of meat in between her lips. She looked thoughtful as she swallowed. Something seemed to be different now.

"You're welcome, human. I'm glad you're safe."

She held her bloody hand out.

"I need to feed. I would like to do so in peace, if you don't mind."

He jumped, holding out the bag of meat. She gripped it from the top and placed her left hand under it, supporting it as she took it from him.

"Um."

He lowered his hands. She looked at him with impassioned eyes.

"My name is Jeon Jungkook."

She tilted her head, a curious puppy gaze.

"What... what's yours?"

You told the human your name.

Not your full name. Just your given name.

Part of you still wanted to refer to him as the dumb human.

But he did say you weren’t a dog.

That was nice of him to say.

Maybe he should have been disgusted, watching her eat raw meat like that.

Then again, maybe he was desensitized, because many Dire ate raw meat out in public. At restaurants and such. Usually with some sort of utensil though, and not with their hands.

Jungkook wasn’t sure what came over him to be honest. He just kept thinking about her tongue. The smell. The saliva. The two Dires hunting him had called it a claim. He wondered what that meant. He took to the internet.

The internet scared him.

He put down the internet.

He stared at his phone, reading the words that he had looked up in the web browser. What is a claim? That didn’t work. What is a Dire claim? Jungkook found the answer on a communal website that defined slang words.

A claim is when a Dire wolf claims a piece of property as theirs via marking them with their scent. Usually, that property is a mate or a human used as a sex slave.

The internet was scaring him. That can’t be right. She didn’t have sex with him. She didn’t even attempt to or try when they met again afterward. She had spent the time eating raw meat in front of his face. She didn’t even give him a phone number.

“I don’t have a phone,” she said. “Such things are of no use to me.”

Who didn’t have a phone these days? He thought that was weird.

“If you want to find me, I can smell it off you. I will come. Or I will not.”

That was also weird.

But she was a wolf. So. Maybe not?

Jungkook did not have many interactions with the Dire. He met a banker once when he was withdrawing some money. Saw them went he bought groceries or went to amusement parks. The Dire didn’t really interact with humans. The Dire even went to different schools than the humans, so he wasn’t exposed to their customs. The education system didn’t focus much on Dre history or culture.

Also.

Sex slave???

Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about it.

They must have been mistaken.

You could smell the human. He was thinking about you.

What was his name again?

Jungkook.

He was horny.

You snorted and went back to your shower.

Jungkook was in the middle of gripping his dick when he realized.

If you want to find me, I can smell it off you.

Was there a radius? A limit?

The words sex slave kept flashing in his head.

Could she smell him now?

He stroked his cock, slowly.

Maybe?

He kept going.

You were in the middle of drying off when you smelled it.

You raised your eyebrows.

You went back to drying yourself off.

Your tail was drenched with water. Sigh. Perhaps you would have to blow dry it before sleeping.

Oh dear.

He made a mess.

Could she... smell it?

No way, right?

“I can smell it, you know.”

Jungkook shot up out of his bed. He was shirtless. Fuck that, he was pants less too. He only had his underwear on, and the female Dire was standing in his bedroom, hood down, head cocked. His window was wide open, curtains flapping in the wind. Her fluffy silver ears were ruffling in the breeze.

It was nearly noon.

The next day.

After, well, the night he jacked off to thinking about her tongue.

She was fully clothed, in a giant gray hoodie and loose black pants, far too big for her. They looked clean, compared to last time they met. There was a black face mask under her chin, squishing her cheeks a little. As usual, her voice was a little raspy and husky, if not monotone.

“H-How did you… g-get in?” he sputtered, grabbing his covers and yanking them over him.

She raised an eyebrow. “This window, obviously.”

He stared at the window. How…? He was on the fifth floor.

“O-oh…?”

Her ears twitched, up and down. He watched them with fascination.

“Well. I just came to tell you that. That’s all.”

She turned around and placed her hands on the sides of his window.

“What are you–”

She turned back, lifting the hood up and over her head and ears.

“Good afternoon, by the way.”

And she launched herself out the window.

Jungkook’s eyes widened and he bolted out of the bed, scrambling to the window. He stuck his head out, looking down. Her sneakers deftly tapped windowsill after windowsill and she dropped down, landing on the sidewalk. She seemed to feel his gaze and looked up.

Tilted her head.

Then pulled the face mask up her nose and walked away as if nothing had happened.

I can smell it, you know.

He turned fifty shades of red and yanked his window closed, locking it, and drew the curtains.

The human had a clean bedroom. Shades of navy and dark wood. Pretty. A lot of speakers. Records. Did he actually play them or did he only have them for aesthetics? You knew humans these days loved aesthetics. It was trendy. That’s all they cared about, really.

So, why did the human do that last night?

You wondered.

Maybe he was desperate or something.

No.

He wasn’t that ugly. And, even ugly humans these days could attract mates. With personality. And such.

Maybe he was a freak or something.

Ah.

Yes.

Sexualizing the Dire.

There were people like that.

You nodded, accepting this as your answer and went on your way.

Jungkook stood at the counter of the records store.

He worked here most days as the cashier. The manager was rarely here. At this point, it was basically Jungkook’s store without the actual responsibility of paying the rent for it. Jungkook was fine with that. He liked talking about music, not fighting with landlords about the raising rent prices.

There were a few people in the store. A guy with dark hair and cat-like eyes, frowning as he looked even though he probably wasn’t upset by anything. He was probably just frowning because that was his default expression. Another guy with colorful clothes and an equally brilliant smile was browsing through the ’80s section. He looked quite cheerful. There was another tall guy with an inquisitive face that was inspecting the artwork on every single record. He nearly dropped them six times.

Jungkook was a little worried about him.

Also, he couldn’t stop thinking about how the Dire said she could smell his orgasm.

Or rather, his orgasm as he thought about her.

Maybe if he just…

Did it without thinking about her.

But that was impossible.

If he tried not thinking about her, then he would end up thinking about her. That was how ‘The Game’ worked and, fuck, now he just lost that too.

Sigh.

“Could I buy this?”

Oh, thank God, please don’t drop it again, Jungkook thought as he pleasantly rang up Kim Namjoon.

Should you eat the cheese?

You ate the cheese.

It was very delicious.

Maybe you should buy more cheese. You father did not like you eating human food. Every meal was only raw meat. It was fine, but boring. You could digest human food, but only in small portions, and still had to eat meat. You didn’t really have much chance to eat human food anyway. But you had bought this cheese out of curiosity. It had smelled interesting.

So, you ate it.

And it was good.

The human was horny again.

The human really needed to stop this.

You rubbed your chin. Perhaps it was the claiming. Still, he shouldn’t have noticed what it was. Humans couldn’t smell it like other wolves could. Maybe he was starved for intimacy. Maybe no other human had licked him like that. You frowned. Why not? He seemed attractive. Long, ashy bleached hair with strong features and pouty lips. He had moles too, one under his lip, one on his nose, and one on his cheek. You only had one on your face, the one under your right eye. He had tattoos, an entire right sleeve, all the way up to his shoulder. You liked the red eyeball one. That was interesting.

You ate another piece of cheese.

You wouldn’t have marked your scent on him, but it was meant to mask his human one. He was going to die if you hadn’t. You didn’t need to do anything other than the simple lick. You had a strong scent, only outdone by the Dire Alpha.

Your father.

You ate another piece of cheese.

The human was really wanting you.

Should you have saved him? You had saved humans before. You did it often, on full moon nights. You never had to mark a claim though. Every other time, all you needed to do was drag them to safety. They sometimes thanked you and sometimes screamed in fear before slamming their doors in your face. Odd. Some thought about you afterwards, but not like this. You father would not like you saving the humans, but you didn’t really care. You father was an ass to the humans.

He was kind of an ass to you too, but he was less of an ass to you than to everyone else, so you accepted it. You were his only daughter, after all.

The human was having a good time.

You raised an eyebrow and ate another piece of cheese.

Let him be.

What if he just…

“This is the third time this week.”

Jungkook jumped, throwing himself into the wall. He was standing in his kitchen, and the window was opening, the female Dire sliding in, hands first, then legs, too much fabric. She must have had a smaller body than her clothes showed, because the window was not that big. The hood of her blue hoodie fell back, revealing her silvery pointed ears. She was still wearing her black face mask. Dark brown pants. Dirty white sneakers all over his countertop.

“H-Hey!”

“Stop jacking off thinking about me.”

“What?”

She slumped down on the counter, legs hanging off the edge. Her ears flickered back and forth. It was early evening. He had been trying to decide on whether to make dinner first or, well.

The other thing.

Her tail slid out of the bunched up blue hoodie, slapping against the gray countertop. Silvery fur, tipped black. It looked really soft. He kind of wanted to pet it. No, he very much wanted to pet it.

“Human.”

Jungkook snapped to attention. He did not really know how to feel about her breaking into his apartment like this. He wasn’t mad at it. Just didn’t understand how or why she kept doing it. He could have opened the front door for her. She didn’t lower her face mask.

“You are distracting me with your constant masturbating, so I would appreciate it if you watched some other porn and did it to that.”

“E-eh?” He swallowed. “H-How would you know?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I know. I told you, if you want to find me, I can smell it. What more want is there than sex?”

Jungkook blinked at her.

“Are all Dires like that?”

She tilted her head.

“No.”

Finally, she reached up and lowered the mask. Her voice was now less muffled, still husky though.

“Only strong Dires can discern who desires them. And most can only smell it when it’s sexual desire, driven by the need to mate. My nose is a little more sensitive.” Her fluffy tail thumped. “I can smell you if you are simply wanting my presence.”

She didn’t move from the counter. Just kept talking to him as if this was normal.

“Humans do not usually desire Dires. It is typically the other way around.”

Sex slave???

“And Dires frequently simply use humans for fun.”

Jungkook’s brain was still fixated on that weird definition he had found on the internet.

“But, in any case, pheromones are usually not compatible, so therefore most humans don’t even realize they’re not physically attracted to Dires. Which is probably why the segregation is so strong, even now.”

She was giving him a biology lesson and his dick was wondering is he was going to get any action.

“Anyway,” she finally said, raising one of her sneakers to place it on his counter. Jungkook winced. So dirty. He would have to deep clean that counter the second she left. “Go get laid or something.”

“I tried.”

She looked like she was about to get up and paused. Her head turned; wolf ears perked.

Jungkook’s cheeks burned hot as he shifted his eyes. “I tried earlier this week. I wasn’t… masturbating.”

No expression.

She raised her face mask to cover her nose and stood up.

“Human.”

Jungkook looked up at her.

“That’s weird.”

And she slithered out his kitchen window.

He didn’t even bother to see if she made it safely. He could hear her deft sneakers touching the wall before the heavy sound of her dropping down to the sidewalk.

From now on, you ignored it.

Humans were peculiar.

Maybe he was just… weird?

Jungkook leaned against the at the counter of the records shop, hand on his chin tapping his cheek. No one was in the store.

He never really thought about his sexuality much. He just did stuff when the opportunity arose, mostly because he was horny and the chance was there. He never noticed that everyone who was interested in him was human or even those he had a minor interest in were human. Why was that? Why didn’t he think about Dires sexually until that female one licked him like that?

And now she was all he could think about, which was weird because he never really thought about them like that at all.

The wolf people weren’t well liked by society and Jungkook, while not going along with it mindlessly, was definitely influenced by popular opinion. He stayed out of their way, took more care when he noticed a group of them congregating at the sidewalk, and did not have idle chat with them like he would with a human.

He bit his lip thinking about it. He did not like that he only noticed this now.

It took lust for him to realize that he had innate prejudice.

That was a little fucked up.

But better than never noticing?

Jungkook slumped onto the counter. Maybe she could tell. Maybe that’s why she acted so aloof and indifferent. Could she discern his emotions when they were close? He didn’t really know what was fact or fiction when it came to the Dire wolf people. He knew the Dire couldn’t turn humans like the stories. That was just a fable. They could eat them though. That wasn’t a fable.

He wondered how genetics worked. Could they have children?

Was he seriously speculating if be could have children with the silvery female Dire right now?

Jungkook blinked slowly.

Oh, fuck, what if he was weird?

You slipped your silver rings onto your aching fingers.

The wolf one.

The silver band.

The skull with the snake.

The FEED ring.

And now, a large opalescent gem inlaid with a star design around the stone, onto your right thumb.

Around your neck was a medium-weight silver chain, carrying the symbol of the family of the Alpha. The jagged diamond shaped like the full moon with a platinum plum flower pressed into the center. The pendant was over ten centimeters wide and hung like a weight under your collarbones.

This was a stupid tradition.

Still, you put it all on because your father insisted. You were proud to be his daughter, but this shit was unnecessary in your opinion.

You licked the back of your forearm, sighing. You were cleaning the blood off. The gash was deep, but it would heal. It was clotting quickly.

Unlike the other times you were outside, you had been previously dressed in a tight, short, sleeveless robe. Silver, with a black sash, and black shorts. Your tail out and proud, not hidden. Ears up and well brushed, hair braided back. There wasn’t much other clothing, because it all immediately got ripped off.

That’s what happened when you changed into wolf form.

You always wondered why the wolf form was always such a contrast to your human form. It made life somewhat inconvenient.

This tradition was stupid, but it was what your father wanted, so you did as you were told. And besides, you hadn’t wanted to marry the other Dire anyway.

You looked down at the silver rings.

The symbols of each family that had tried to present their suitors to your father. Five in total you father accepted to the ritualistic arena. And all five you defeated, now adorned on your hands. They were all different, from rich to poor. The simpler ones were from the poorer families. Your father didn’t care about family background, at least. He wasn’t classiest. Was that a good point?

Your father only cared about one thing.

Power.

If you were to be Alpha, then you needed to have a strong husband.

The point of the ritual wasn’t for you to be defeated. It was for you to be matched. If you didn’t want the match, you had to defeat your opponent.

Which usually meant kill, but you infuriated your father by only breaking bones until the other Dire begged for the ritual to end. He really hated that, but you didn’t care. The Alpha tried to kill them himself, but you always pinned him down, stopping him.

Your father never told you he loved you. You only knew he did because he let you pin him down and stop him, even though he could probably fight you tooth and nail and win. But not without killing his own daughter and he would never.

“They are strong, Father. You let them in this arena. The pack needs strength.”

It was fucking stupid to kill the strongest men in your pack on the sole basis that they wanted to marry you. Again, why this ritual was stupid. Your father saw reason, but not without losing his temper first and trying to kill them.

Again, why your father was an ass.

You checked the gashes on your naked body. They were clotting fast, a result of your Dire blood and Alpha family strength. They were nothing more than flesh wounds. The other Dire male was strong, but slow. He hadn’t been able to get a good hit on you and make you submit.

One day, you might have to kill your opponents.

You had killed before, executions for those that transgressed the Dire law. If a Dire broke human law, they were tried by the humans. But if they broke Dire law, they were tried by the Dire. And trial by Dire usually meant death. Your father made your carry out the executions, because you didn’t like killing. You felt a little less bad about it because those Dire were seriously twisted.

But once you were Alpha, you would have to fight those who challenged your rule.

Would you kill them?

Or would you let them live and allow them to keep challenging you?

You sighed. That would be very tiring.

It would be much easier if the Dire could listen to reason, but they mostly only listened to strength.

Why couldn’t you be courted like humans? Clumsily falling in love, doing silly romantic actions, nervously picking out gifts. Actually, most Dires were like that too. You were the exception because you were the Alpha’s child. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were male or female. The difference in strength was negligible when it came to the Dire. Your people were not like the humans.

You sat on your bed. Your room was black, with accents of silver. Black furniture with carved images of wolves everywhere. A high canopy bed, with velvet curtains tied back with silver rope. You had never untied them in your entire life. What was the point of them? Too ornate and too frivolous for your taste, but you didn’t pick out this décor. The Alpha did. You didn’t have much interest in interior design anyway. The velvet duvet underneath you warmed your naked body.

You settled down, resting your chin on your hands, legs curled around you.

You did not hate being your father’s daughter, but sometimes you wished your biggest problem was being horny and constantly annoying a Dire with your insatiable lust.

You breathed out and your head tipped over, slowly falling into sleep.

The human was still going at it.

Jungkook was pretty sure he was going to die.

Last time he thought he was going to die, he was saved.

But this time, it was not the night of the full moon and he was already ganged up by five Dire males who decided mugging him and kicking his ass was a great idea on this random Tuesday night.

Should Jungkook have given them the money outright? Yeah, maybe, but he had a bad day, snapped at the first guy and told him to fuck off, only for two guys to grab him by the armpits and drag him into the alley where two more were waiting and they were currently beating the shit out of him. He was fighting back, kicking and twisting, but it was still five guys and he was rapidly losing strength despite the adrenaline. He was a good fighter and he got a couple of good hits, but a couple kicks to the solar plexus and he was seeing stars, gasping, pain all over.

“Stupid human,” one of them cackled. “You should have listened like the weak species you are.”

Fucking shit. Was a rib broken? He didn’t know. His vision was clouding and his lungs were on fire. Why was no one helping him? No one could help him. He was going to die in this dirty back alley.

Don’t let her see me like this.

The roar tore through the night.

Like bowling pins, the Dire males were scattered, flung aside suddenly by a strong force. Jungkook crumpled, unexpectedly let go. A pained shriek left his throat as he hit the floor, his battered body further injured by the concrete. He could barely see, hazed by pain. The only thing he could see was a huge silver blur. He could hear better.

The sounds.

Gashing of teeth, vicious growling, the sound of ripping flesh as claws tore in, violent smacks of bodies being thrown around. Cries of immense pain as the five were thrown around like rag dolls by the massive silver figure. The voice, booming and intense, with the distinctive huskiness.

“Weak, pathetic creatures,” came the snarl, pure authority to the whimpers of the beaten. “Do you think you are strong, ganging up five against one? You insecure imbeciles, I will show you what true strength is.”

“P-please, it’s just a human!”

Another roar and there were the sounds of a slap and a yelp.

“You embarrass the name of the Dire. Get out of my sight or your families will have one less member to feed.”

Teeth snapped savagely and the five males scrambled away, whimpering and sobbing as they rushed out of the alley on all fours. Jungkook could hear the large form letting out huffs of rage and exertion. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. Silver fur tipped with black. Obvious, rippling muscle underneath the layers of fur, down to a bushy tail and canine legs, far too large for a domestic dog. There was a pattern on the wolf’s back. Some of the fur was white, creating the shape of a large crescent moon that went from the shoulder blades to the small of the wolf’s back.

The wolf turned around.

Large silver ears with black tips, elongated snout. A black nose, far too many teeth, and yellow eyes, with a tiny patch of black under the right one, disturbing the otherwise perfectly silver fur. Anthropomorphic, but with long, wicked black claws tipping each finger. Around the neck was a necklace with a circular pendant, jagged diamond with a platinum plum flower pressed in the center, five rings slipped onto the chain. A wolf with opalescent eyes. A silver band. A skull with a snake. A script one that read, FEED. A large opalescent gem with stars. The pendant and rings looked small on the furry chest, but Jungkook suspected it was because the wolf was huge.

He had never seen a fully transformed Dire in real life before.

The wolf bent down, breathing out. Hot, heavy, intense.

“Human,” the wolf said, voice deep but still recognizable.

Jungkook whispered her name, pain overtaking him.

“You should have called for me.”

He woke up.

Everything hurt.

He was in the hospital.

He tried to lift his head and look around, but he couldn’t focus on anything. It was like his eyes hadn’t been opened in years and they no longer knew how to process light. All he saw was a black blob at the end of the bed, furry silver splotches twitching at his movement.

Unconsciousness took over once again.

“You’re free to go.”

His parents picked him up from the hospital. They asked him so many questions, and Jungkook struggled to answer with his limited memory. He was worried for them too, asking about the medical bill, wishing he hadn’t been so stupid and put such a burden on them, but they blinked at him, confused.

“The nurses said everything was paid for already.”

What?

“They said someone brought you to the hospital and an anonymous donor paid for everything.”

You father found out you saved the human.

The five wolves had babbled, the little shits.

He was angry at you, but also proud you smacked around the five Dires like the bitches they were.

Still, you used his money to pay for the medical bills.

So.

He had you kill each one in front of their parents.

It was very unpleasant.

You told him that wouldn’t earn you much favor with the pack if you were killing them over a simple human. Your father told you that was your problem for saving the human. You could have let the five Dires kill the human and let them be persecuted by the humans instead of saving him and letting the Alpha decide the fate of the Dires.

“But then the human would be dead.”

“So?”

Your father was an ass.

“How are you, human?”

Jungkook mumbled in his sleep. He squinted and blinked as he heard the raspy voice. It felt a little cold. He could feel a slight breeze. He turned his head and opened his eyes.

The female Dire was looking down at him.

He jumped, but she pressed a hand to his chest, steadying him. Pain shot up his torso from the sudden movement. Her black hood was pushed back, revealing her hair and her large wolf ears. Face mask taken off, hanging by one ear. The hand on his chest was her right. Three rings. Gem on the thumb, skull on the middle, FEED script on the ring finger.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

His window was open. Of course.

She looked solemn. Worried. Tired.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked.

She removed her hand and brushed his hair away from his face. He hadn’t been able to upkeep the blond well because of his injuries. It was getting a little brassy. His mom came over every week for a few hours to help him out with house chores, but he bathed alone. He could still do it, slowly. His parents lived in a different province, after all.

“I am a bit disappointed you didn’t think of me immediately,” she said quietly with a small smile. “Am I only interesting to you when you’re jacking off?”

His cheeks heated. “U-uh…”

She lowered her hand to the bed. “Then again, you were probably too busy thinking about survival.”

She looked sad for some reason. Jungkook frowned, watching her look around his room.

“Have you been getting by well? Do you need monetary help?”

“Was it you?” he questioned.

She turned back. She seemed to know what he was referring to. “It was me.”

“Are you rich?”

She tilted her head. “Something like that.” Amusement flitted in her eyes. “Is that it, human? You want money?”

Jungkook looked into her eyes.

“Why do you always think you know what I want?”

The female Dire paused. Jungkook had been thinking about this for a while now. She seemed to have a fixed opinion of who he was, not bothering to learn more. She came and went as she pleased, as if she owned the place. She was not without some sense of entitlement. He didn’t know why that was, but he had accepted it because of his initial attraction that was still very much there. But he too, was disappointed. He was disappointed that she didn’t try to get to know him and simply observed him and assumed things.

She smiled a little. “I suppose it is because of the way I grew up.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

She chuckled. “No, human, it is not.”

“I have a name, you know,” he pouted.

Her smile widened. It was pleasant, not teasing or mean.

“Yes, Jungkook, I remember.”

“Why do you only come through the window?” Jungkook complained.

She crawled through the opening, hands touching the floor first before swinging her legs in, removing her sneakers and placing them on the towel next to the window.

“Because,” she said, patting down her gray hoodie. “I don’t like the door.”

“Why not?”

“The humans will see me enter.”

Jungkook pursed his lips. “It’s the same.”

“It is not,” she retorted. “If I enter by the door, your neighbors will have reason to question you, judge you, hate you. If I enter by the window, then they will only find out by being nosy and they cannot display this obvious prejudice to your face.”

“Someone will think you’re breaking and entering and call the police.”

“I will handle it then.”

Jungkook frowned. “Who cares if they hate me?”

“I do.”

She pushed her hood back and made eye contact with him.

“I care.”

She looked down at the laundry he was attempting to fold.

“You are terrible at that.”

“You have another ring.”

“Yes.”

It was a black stone with a bone pressed into it as the silver band.

“What do they mean?”

You looked down at it. It was on your left index finger. You were wiping the blood of the gash above your left eyebrow in his bathroom. He looked much better now, the human. Fuller, less broken than the last time you saw him. You saw some bruising on his ribcage, but he was mostly healed now. In contrast, you ached all over, wrapped up underneath the large blue hoodie you wore. The gash on your eyebrow had reopened when the girl in his bedroom had thrown one of his Bluetooth speakers at you when you entered from his window.

Well, to be fair, you had thought he was masturbating.

He made this confusing sometimes.

“I think I scared her.”

Jungkook laughed. “You did. She fucking ran.”

“Are you going to explain?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I could, but she was pretty drunk when she got on top of me, so I don’t even know if she will remember.”

He was naked at first, but he yanked on some underwear after you appeared. The first couple times you visited him, he cared more about his appearance, but as time went on, he seemed to care less and less. He was more worried about your cut that was already clotting.

“What do they mean?” Jungkook asked again, pointing to the rings.

“They’re trophies,” you replied, flecking away from dried blood into his sink. “From defeating the suitors trying to woo me.”

“Huh.” Jungkook watched you rinse off your eyebrow. “You can’t just get drunk and fuck?”

“I can. I just have to viciously beat the living shit out of them if they want to marry me.”

“Damn, every Dire has to do that?”

You lifted your head, water dripping down your face.

“No.”

You suddenly felt very heavy.

“Just me.”

Jungkook stared at you through the mirror. His blond hair was more well-kept now, ashy and light.

“Why?”

You wiped the water off, shaking your hand onto the sink bowl.

“Because of tradition.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like that tradition sucks ass.”

You chuckled. “It does.”

He scratched his nose. “Uh, so… Why did you come?”

You stared at the drain of the sink.

“Because you wanted me.”

You could hear the embarrassment in his voice. “But you, uh… never come during the act.”

You kept staring at the drain.

“You have a nice life, Jungkook.”

“Huh?”

You lifted your head, exhaling tiredly. You were aware he was watching you, but you were looking at yourself, at the cut above your eyebrow, at your own eyes, hours before bloodthirsty and violently gold, at the pointed teeth and the furry ears and the everything, the fucking everything and for some reason you hated it all, you hated it and wanted to be human, just like Jungkook, just be human and do dumb shit like have drunk sex with a stranger, but instead you had just competed in some primitive combat ritual with some male Dire who thought he was hot shit and wanted to be the Alpha’s partner.

You wanted to scream.

“I wish I could just get drunk and fuck.”

Jungkook blinked at you.

“Well, uh… I have some soju… and a dick, so…?”

He was relentless. Why? Was he even aware of it? You suddenly narrowed your eyes.

“Why are you turned on by me?”

Jungkook blinked faster, cheeks flushing pink.

“Uh… I don’t know?”

You frowned. “It shouldn’t be possible.” You turned around and tilted your head at him, inspecting his anxious, self-conscious expression. “All this, since that night. Since the claim.” Jungkook stiffened, but you figured it was because you were verbally analyzing the situation. “But the claim is my scent painted on you. It is a possessive action and should have no effect on the way you feel about me.” You placed a hand on your chin and walked out of his bathroom, still thinking. “Unless for some reason you reacted to my scent. But how could that be? You’re human. Sure, humans sexualize Dires, but it is more of a fetishization in most cases.”

You spun around, standing in his bedroom, where, ten minutes before, he had been in the middle of getting head from a stranger.

“Did you react to my scent?”

Jungkook’s eyes darted from side to side. “Uh.”

You waited.

“I don’t know what that means.”

You waved a hand impatiently. “The scent of the saliva. Is that what you think about when you’re getting off?”

Jungkook shoved his hands in front of his boxer briefs. Your eyes darted down at the action. Then you lifted your gaze.

“You reacted.”

“Uh…”

You moved your tongue in your mouth, producing the saliva enriched your scent. Then you opened your mouth and breathed out, tongue extended and glistening.

Jungkook crossed the room instantly like he was pulled on a string.

You shoved your tongue back in your mouth, startled.

“You do react.”

His body collided into yours and his hands gripped your arms, pushing your body into his. He was breathing hard, right into your face, eyes glazed, lower lip quivering.

“Wha… what happened?” he gasped.

You frowned a little, cocking your head. No one had ever reacted so strongly to your scent before. Sure, all the male Dires were supposedly attracted to you, but that was because you were the Alpha’s daughter and all of them wanted to be the Alpha’s partner. But Jungkook’s reaction was completely pure, because he had no such external desires that drove his attraction.

Just one weird night where you licked him in the face.

She was so close.

So fucking close.

And Jungkook could smell it, feel it, needed it.

“Uh… I know you’re trying to break down the science of this, but I’m really fucking horny right now.”

Her silvery ears flicked upwards and she raised her head to make eye contact with him. Was it his imagination or did her irises become flecked with gold?

"Oh, right. I suppose you are."

He frowned at that. She seemed to be contemplating something. Then she removed her arms from his hands. He let go, but the feeling in the pit of his stomach remained. Like he was possessed, like all of his blood was calling him to the Dire.

"Jungkook," she said slowly in that husky voice of hers. "Today is not a good day to see my body."

I beg to differ, he wanted to say, but she cracked her neck, holding up her left hand, the black stone on the index finger gleaming.

"I had a fight today, so I've got some cuts," she clarified. "Don't want to bleed all over your sheets and stuff."

"Oh." Right. He wondered how bad it was. "Are you in pain?"

She tilted her head, one ear flattening. Fuck. She looked so cute.

"No. Well, I am, but it's familiar so it doesn't seem too bad."

The ear raised again and she breathed in, eyes on him once more. No, he wasn't going crazy. There was definitely gold laced in her iris color.

"Let me smell you, Jungkook."

"Uh... sure?"

She leaned in, sniffing his neck. Jungkook was suddenly aware that he was mostly naked, but there was no time to think about that as her breath wafted against his collarbone, her silvery wolf ear brushing his jaw. Oh! It was furry. Well, yeah, duh, it was obviously furry, but he hadn't expected the contact. He stiffened as she bent down, sniffing his chest, tilting her head this way and that, not touching him except for the soft huffs of breath on his skin. It was not making him any less horny. In fact, it was making it worse. Hopefully she didn't–

She dropped to her knees and took a huge whiff his crotch.

Oooooookay, now that wasn't what Jungkook thought was going to happen, but he wasn't exactly complaining, but also it was kind of embarrassing because he was pretty damn hard now–

She shoved her nose into his clothed cock and inhaled.

He moaned.

What?

He couldn't help it! He was already horny, was midway in getting a blowjob from some random girl he picked up at a bar but spent the entire said blowjob thinking about her tongue, and then the female DIre interrupted by arriving, and after that she did that weird breathing thing that made his body all hot and bothered, and now her face was all up in his dick!

She nuzzled around, either ignoring or not caring about how he was grimacing, trying to muffle his lustful groans behind closed lips. Did he maybe have a preference for blowjobs over pussy now because of the whole lick-on-the-face thing? Maybe. Okay, yes, absolutely. Was this probably turning him on too much?

Yes. Yes, it was.

Jungkook looked down. Oh, fuck. It made him harder, seeing her face pressed into his crotch, eyes closed, nose buried in the crook of his cock and balls, silvery ears perked with interest. Her bushy tail poked out of her hoodie, swaying from side to side.

Was her tall... wagging?

She inhaled sharply and one of his balls pressed against the fabric, right to her soft lips.

His hips bucked into her face.

She made a disgruntled noise and pulled back, rubbing her nose.

"Sorry! S-sorry, it's too... a-are you okay?" Jungkook sputtered, very disappointed in himself.

She made a strange noise, hurrrmph, and sat down on the floor, pushing her sleeves up. He saw the scratches on her arms, cut up and slashed, but all clotted and dark. Did she heal quicker than a human? Her hands glinted with the various silver rings.

"You smell different than a regular human," she murmured. "Do you have wolf blood in your family?"

"Uh... no? At least, I don't think so?" Jungkook scrunched up his face. He didn’t remember any Dire present at his family reunions.

She pursed her lips. "Maybe it's a genetic mutation."

He wished she would address the fact that she had made a giant tent in his boxer briefs instead of trying to break down the biology of his desire for her.

"Maybe I'm attracted to you too? Maybe that’s why you smell different," she pondered. "But I can't really tell until I smell your orgasm."

Please, you're driving me crazy.

"Well, uh, that could be arranged... in probably less than a few minutes..."

She raised her eyebrows and looked up at him.

"Okay."

She placed her hands on her lap and sat up, opening her mouth. Pink tongue sliding out, white pointed teeth visible. Wicked, sharp, definitely capable of chewing on flesh.

Oh.

No.

This wasn't turning him off.

"Um... should I just...?"

"Onto my tongue, mhm," she said with her mouth open.

What?

"Er... this is kinda awkward..." he said, even though his dick was screaming at him to fucking do it.

She closed her mouth. "Do you need encouragement?"

Jungkook felt his face heat. "Uh..." He watched her tail sway slowly. "Maybe?"

"You seem hard enough."

He swallowed.

"You also have casual sex with strangers."

Yeah, his face was definitely on fire.

"So, what's the difference?"

I don't know, maybe because... the reason I have casual sex with strangers is because I can't stop thinking about your tongue and saliva???

Then it hit him again.

The feeling, the need, rising, all encompassing, like a flurry of desire overtaking him. Jungkook snapped his head back to see her tongue trace her teeth, coating them with saliva, the scent, the scent. He could smell it and rousing him instantly, suffocating the embarrassment.

"Y-You're cheating..." he moaned, his fingertips touching the waistband of his underwear, cock throbbing uncomfortably.

A single eyebrow raised. Playful. Ears perked, tall rising, eyes flecked with gold, the mole underneath her right inner corner a little scrunched from her smile. Mouth open, tongue glistening.

She breathed out.

Jungkook had a split second of – how weird does this make me? – before he realized he didn't give a shit and shoved his underwear down, right hand clasping his stiff length. Oh, fuck, it felt so good, even if he was only touching himself, because he could see her, her face, her tongue, smell the scent that had covered him that night. He stroked himself right in front of her face, grasping his cock firmly and pumping it, wincing at the lack of lubrication.

"C... closer, please..."

Her eyes traveled down. She slid closer, hot breath on his hand and the swollen head.

"Move your hand," she rasped.

He whimpered and lowered his hand to the base of his cock, holding it in place.

"A-are you going to...?"

Her eyes flickered upward. Smirk on her lips.

"You look like you need some assistance."

Then she collected the saliva on her tongue and let out drip down onto his swollen cock.

Ho-o-oly shit.

Warm, wet, thick, saturated with her scent, so erotic that his hand slid up to catch it and spread it all over him, his length, his balls, fucking everywhere. His head was clouded, his core was on fire, his cock was slippery, and her eyes were on him, blazing gold.

"Better?"

The scorching rasp faded on his equally hot skin.

Jungkook was gone.

His hand was moving automatically, closing around him and pumping fast and hard, breathy gasps leaking from his lungs, instinct taking over and consuming him, completely focused on chasing his release, staring into gold and peeled back lips exposing sharp teeth and strings of saliva clinging to the insides of her dark pink mouth and tongue. He whimpered in desperation, her name drifting out of his lips like smoke.

Her tongue lowered, dripping spit onto his bedroom floor.

"Jungkook."

Like a rumble, deep in her chest, a command.

The fire inside him exploded and he gasped, grabbing her head and shooting straight into her open mouth, coating her tongue, teeth, and lips. The force was so strong that his entire body shook, fingers grasping one of her silvery ears, pleasure shooting up his spine like lightning, racking his ribs. She growled low, tongue scooping it in, swallowing in large gulps, voracious grunts as she leaned forward, swiping her tongue on the head to collect the last bits dribbling from the tip.

O-oh, fuck, it was pure elation and ecstasy.

The high was so high that Jungkook momentarily forgot he was standing and fell, tanged from his underwear still around his knees, yelping as strong arms caught him and brought his shaking body to her chest. Almost possessive. Her breathing was coming out in harsh puffs, tongue still licking her lips.

She reached up and brushed his blond hair out of his eyes. The gold streaks in her irises still seemed so strong.

"Are you okay?" she chuckled. "People don't usually fall over."

"Uh... yeah..." His face heated at their closeness but, somehow, he didn't want her to let him go. He was much too large to fit in her lap, but she held him easily as if this wasn't awkward for her at all. "I don't usually, uh... fall over."

She hummed. Jungkook started as her fluffy tail brushed against his legs. So soft.

Silence.

Her breathing calmed, the gold fading. Her left hand on his leg raised and she swept back her hair, rubbing the ear he had yanked at.

"Oh, sorry... sorry about that..."

Her right hand was around his back and upper arm. She turned her head, face right next to his. He gulped. She lowered her left hand, placing it on his chest.

"Don't worry. I doubt you could do any real physical damage to me," she chuckled, caressing his skin.

Their faces were so close. If he just...

"So, uh... what are the results?" Jungkook whispered.

Her eyes weren't giving him any hints. He kept staring at the mole underneath the inner corner of her right eye.

"Hm?"

"Uh." Mole. Eyes. Mole. Eyes. An amused spark as she noticed. His eyes dropped down to her lips. "Are you... attracted to me?"

Wait.

She tilted her head.

The lips were getting closer.

"Unfortunately for you," she whispered. "I am."

And then she kissed him, soft and warm, a resigned sigh in her chest, her hand holding him close. She still tasted a little bit like his cum, but he could also taste the unique flavor of her, sensual and addictive. His hands found her hoodie and he righted himself, pressing back into her lips. She smiled, backing up a little. He whined, tugging her back, but she was stronger, unmoving.

"Jungkook," she said gently. "Maybe calm your insatiable hormones for a second and think about what I am."

He opened his eyes, gazing at her through his lashes.

"You're a fucking tease, that's what you are," he hissed, grip on her hoodie tightening. "You can't just give me a taste and not expect me to want more."

Her smile was frisky, but also rueful.

"Ah, I admit I probably shouldn't have done that." She placed her hands on his, silver rings cool in his hot skin. Prying his fingers open one by one, releasing his grip on her. "Perhaps my curiosity got the best of me."

Jungkook frowned. "You're not a cat."

She laughed. It was like a bark, a little husky, but lovely, full of life. It sounded genuinely happy, fading into light chuckles.

"Not tonight, alright? I'm all beaten up." She pointed to the cut above her brow. "It's worse under these clothes, believe me."

"I can be the judge of that."

She flicked his chest. He winced, rubbing the sore spot. Damn. She had a mean flick.

"Give me some time." She stood up, looking troubled.

"Okay."

He yanked his underwear back up as she went over to her sneakers, slipping into them.

"But don't take too long or I'm going to relentlessly jack off thinking about you now that I have more material."

She was halfway out the window but stopped, looking back at him with a raised brow.

"Jungkook."

She pulled up her hood.

"You're weird."

And then she jumped down.

"Yeah, yeah, don't keep reminding me," he mumbled, shoving the window closed and drawing the curtains.

part ii

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #jk x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook scenarios #jk x you

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maculatas · 2 years

Photo

CHAPTER 3: blight ; \ ˈblīt / : a thing that spoils or damages something.

Frank doesn’t remember much else that happened that night. It was that fleeting rage and then the immediate action to do something that held no rational thought. An impulsive move led to someone dying. He remembers how it felt when the blade connected to the man’s back, a high pitch ringing in his ear. Maybe it was Julie’s screaming or the man’s. Frank shut his eyes and all he can see is black.

The red spilling from his hands, his hooded face, the single eye from the shadows exposing his widened, thrilled look. This awoke a feeling in him. It was this feeling of an odd, indescribable sense of calm that washes over him. It was all of his years of rage, displacement, and emotional instability blooming in this moment.

His group’s faces were all in distress. Joey had yelled at him. “Frank! Dude–! What did you do?” Frank felt entirely lost. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. His friend’s faces had blurred together. Susie was crying. Julie had her mouth covered in horror. He had to act fast.

He had to.

Frank led himself down a rabbit hole. He made them feel guilty that if they don’t all finish him, this man will suffer a fate worse than just a single stab.

The groans coming from this man were nauseating. Frank felt his mind buzzing like tv static. It was all a mess. It was all a big, bloody fucking mess.

Frank had to do everything. He had to bark out the orders. Frank had to force their hands. It was Frank, who was the king, leading his pawns on the defensive. All the while, this man who was like them was dying. Frank had never felt so terrified and divine all at once. Here he was, holding this man’s metaphorical heart in his bare hands. The decision was ultimately to kill him, to hide his body and then to never speak about it again.

So the realization that Frank would have to return to Mount Ormond made it all the wilder.

That stimulation of the kill, of feeling like the boss in a mafia, never once faded for Frank.

He spent the entire time thinking about the sensations. The way everything felt so overstimulating, but it all fell into the correct place. For him, it was a rebirth; it was an awakening into feeling godly.

Here was this young adult carrying life and death with equal measure into both palms. He was the judge, jury, and executioner. It was retribution for all the shit he had to face.

He found his calling.

When he arrives at the old ski resort, he inhales the sharp air of winter. The wind chill wrapped itself around his body. It was like home.

He could make out the familiar shapes of his old friends inside, their shadows sort of stilling around, and the smoke drifting through the cracks of the wooden building. He really didn’t want to see them. But at some point, they were all going to ‌talk.

They never came back to fix this place up like they were supposed to. That was an old promise they had made.

Finally, he makes his way into the rickety building. The desolate areas of the resort seemed to hold a certain aura of mystery. It looked the same as he had left it.

The last time they were there, they were slightly tipsy and emotions had slipped over. He thinks of the man still buried out there in the snow. No one had found him. There were no missing fliers, nothing made for the body for people to look for him.

The man was a stranger with no family. Nothing.

Just like Frank.

If he were to die, would anyone else possibly care? Clive wouldn’t even notice. He never did. The only thing he did right was give Frank somewhere to stay.

He thinks of his friends. Each one would probably feel free once he’s dead. He’s probably ruined every bit of freedom they had. Every sense of safety they had left was damned to hell because of his poor choices and them being with him by association.

No wonder they held a resentment towards him after the situation.

They all wanted to do things with their lives; except for Frank. Frank wanted to brood. Frank wanted to remain stagnant.

All the faces that took care of him came flickering through like an old movie camera in his brain. These people didn’t love him. They didn’t care. They wanted the government cut on doing the one good thing people should do with lost teens.

And instead, they spend it all on their own fucking selfish reasons.

Then your face comes up in the final film reel. It’s you he sees. You, who have waited for him, who have held an interest in him and have stuck by him for months. He’s a fucking dick to you, and you stay.

His chest feels warm, and in his stomach there’s a pit.

What is there to it? You make it too easy.

You’re just the easiest sort of woman he could have found. His favorite. His— what? It’s not like he’s in love with you, but he holds you close for many reasons.

Soon enough, though, you’ll know.

“What the hell are you doing back here, Frank?” Julie asks. Her blue eyes seem to blaze at the sight of him. Susie seems to hide in the back, and Joey’s crossed his arms in front of him as if tense. They all look on the defensive.

“I’m here to talk is all,” Frank tells them, his arms up to show he’s not a threat. Never to them. He actually does like his friends most of the time.

When they’re not treating him like he’s the only bad guy here.

Julie frowns, looking behind him. “Where’s your pet?”

Susie’s eyes flicker up. “The girl?”

Frank spits off to the side. “You won’t be seeing her.”

Julie snarls. “If she’s going to be another body count for your sick as hell games, we will not be a part of this.”

“She won’t be,” Frank swears.

Joey snorts in the back. “You’re full of shit man, you’ve got something planned.”

Frank laughs dryly. “Well, whatever you all think, it’s none of your business, regardless.”

“It is,” Julie steps in. “You’re a sick bastard. The way you treated us! You manipulated us. We fucking killed for you!” Her voice rises sharply. Julie, still beautiful, still sharp with all her edges. Frank misses her sometimes. He misses them.

“We’re still friends, Julie.”

“We’re not. We never were.”

Frank feels a brief pang. He looks at all three of them. The way they look at him like he’s a stranger. When his friends didn’t even come in and check on him after everything. They had drifted apart. He didn’t want to acknowledge that.

“So, whatever you have planned for that girl–you will not involve us, Frank,” Julie spits. She throws a bottle at his face, and it cracks against his cheek, but he doesn’t even flinch. She’s a little tipsy. Usually, when she is, she becomes a belligerent mess.

Susie comes up to her, trying to soothe her, but Julie looks like she’s on a mission and stalks up to size Frank up.

“You involve us or your little girlfriend in your fucking games. I’ll kill you myself.”

His laugh is hoarse. “I’d like to see you try, Julie. You couldn’t.”

Julie’s gaze is intense, her eyes carrying a promise in the depths. “If I don’t get to you first, that girl of yours will do it herself.”

A warning, a future promise. It was everything Frank didn’t want to hear. He stomps out into the night, away from the resort, and into the cold.

He feels his fingers flex. He wants to break something.

His fingers ache against the chill, and beg to pick apart flesh.

Frank returns to your house. This time, he comes through the side window with a warning. He texts you a simple: Hey. U up? Can I come in?

The thrill of letting him in combined with the anxious energy about it is enough to dissipate the nerves when you see his current state.

He looks freezing, his cheeks red, his clothes sopping wet, and there’s a few cuts on his face. Where did he even go?

You decide not to grill him, and just let him be for ‌when he browses around your room. He looks like a raven during spring time. Your room is all colors, vibrant and bright. Frank might as well be the antithesis.

The events that led him here and him being able to find you as a safe space. You love to think that you're his anchor. You ground him, you hope; and that’s enough to make you giddy. So, to distract him from whatever is on his mind, you ask him about something else. It’s always been on your mind, this question.

“Did it hurt?” You inquire. You walk up to him and trace the tattoo that’s across Frank’s neck. A skull with flames as its backdrop. You inspect it, wondering when and how he got it. He doesn’t move away from you, but you can feel his tension forming. He’s undecided of what to say, but he shifts.

Frank exhales raggedly and you catch onto that. You peer up at him worriedly, but only smile.

He swallows and shuts his eyes; as you continue to trace his tattoo. Your fingers glide against his skin smoothly. You want to press your lips there so tenderly and move them up to his chin. He’s electrifying, and he smells heady.

“Not so much,” he responds finally, startling you out of your fantasy. His eyes still closed. He seems to want to sleep and you think to yourself that he's like a cat leaning into the warmth of the sun.

“When did you get it?” You’re so fond of him. You think that love couldn’t be any better than this? Despite Frank’s oddball nature and how confusing he may seem, there are moments like these that make everything seem worth it somehow. Just being with him is enough.

Frank cracks open a single eye, peering at you for an exceedingly long time before answering. “I was about sixteen. I was in a shithole down south of here before finally ending up at Ormond.”

You tilt your head. “Shithole? What was wrong with it?”

Frank suddenly moves away from you to stand over by your desk. Sometimes, he thinks, you ask the dumbest fucking questions. “It was fucking everything. It was all the people, even. The place; everything sucked ass.” Frank sucks in his teeth, pulling out a cigarette from one of his pockets.

You don’t know when he was so short with you. His patience is fleeting at random times. You regret even asking anything at this point. Frank’s chaotic emotions have been bringing you through the wringer. Everything with him had been so incredibly complicated. He goes from the most loving, patient partner to a Mr. Hyde incarnate in the flesh.

He casts a glance over at the look on your face. It’s your familiar frown, your pensive eyebrows. Frank adores seeing that on you. It’s hard because the way it happens is deplorable. Frank’s the cause of it. The reason your expression looks so beaten down and confused. How did it come to this? He thinks you must ask yourself. Where did I go wrong? He wants to laugh.

It’s your fault.

The way Frank sees it. He wants you to feel you're spiraling. That everything you could do right is wrong. The image reel pops into his head again. Who will care about you when you’re dead, Frank?

You look at him then. His eyes seemed to have sharpened into knives.

He makes a move to grab your face, his thumb and middle finger pushing your cheeks. “Listen, I’m not mad at you. Don’t make that face.” He’s back to the reassuring boyfriend. It’s always a new one with him.

You move away from him, the stubborn prickling of your eyes. You don’t want to cry in front of him. You haven’t at all yet. But you don’t know how else to feel. It’s like nothing you can do is right.

Is it insanity to be with someone who makes you go through the five stages of grief?

“You’re so fucking unpredictable, Frank,” you murmur, wiping your eyes. He looks at you with a glint in his eye. His interest in seeing you angry; it was new and wonderful. He wants to kiss your face, the powerful urge to keep you close always.

He wants to be your last; your forever and always. You would care, wouldn’t you? He says to himself.

Frank has never felt so alive when he’s breaking you down, getting to see every bit of your character you offer him. The ones that were new and old, exhilarating.

He leans forward to press his lips close to your temples. You gasp. “You’re beautiful, you know that,” he mumbles against your skin.

“You just want to be forgiven easily,” you grumble, stubbornly refusing to look at him.

Frank lets out a laugh, a puff of hair tickling the hair behind your neck. “If it’s you, I would do every sinful act just to hear you say my name.”

He nuzzles close to you, cigarette long forgotten as he twines his arms around you. They’re like serpents slithering to hold you down. “I want you to be my forgiveness,” he says.

You try to resist, but with him it was so hard to. He did everything with a calculation. You knew with him it was easy to fall right back into that cycle. There would be a minute of kindness, fondness and then suddenly a switch of anger and resentment towards you. It was all so hard. Although when he holds you like this, his lips grazing against your skin, it makes everything fade to the back.

The brutality of Frank's was his tumultuous emotions.

Frank stays over at your house, which you don’t mind at all. You’d rather him be here than his house since he mentioned to you that his heater had broken down. He said he had moved into a shitty old apartment down on the outskirts of Alberta. He had sent you a picture of what it looks like and it looked to be like something out of a horror movie.

Still though, one of these days you wish he would just invite you over. You let him borrow sweatpants and a t-shirt from your father's drawers.

Frank makes a face when you hand him the clothes to wear.

“What is it?” You laugh, questioning why his face is looking so peculiar at the garments.

“It’s not really my style,” he mentions. The worrying wrinkles on his face seem so comically out of place in his usual moody boy appearance.

He takes them without another word and shuts himself in the bathroom. You knock on the door, reminding him he can take a shower if he needs to. He’s already a step ahead of you when you hear your shower head already turning on.

You relax a bit, happy that someone is there with you at the house. You’re glad it’s Frank. The last time he had come to your house, you thought he was an intruder ready to steal from you, but at that point in time, he had left out of courtesy. Even though his explanation of how he got into your home raised a bit of suspicion for you.

You decided not to think about it anymore.

As you fluttered about your room, getting it cleaned and picking up clothes to be folded away. You wanted to be a little risky, and wear something a lot more loose fitting. A silk camisole and short pajama set you had gotten from a cute boutique back during the summer.

Suddenly, your ears focus on the sound of the shower stopping. The excitement builds up in you as you finish putting away the last bit of your laundry.

He comes out of the bathroom, rubbing his head. The way his hair has grown back, thick at the top, you’ve never seen it so natural. Typically, Frank styles it away from him, or usually it’s a mess. This way, though, he looks so at ease.

His tattoos show through the leanness of his muscles. He’s still unbelievably handsome.

When Frank spots you, he smiles. You just have that emotion welling up inside you of feeling absolutely complete.

“Hey,” you say quietly. Frank moves towards you. He smells fresh.

His hands come up to your arms, and his fingers trail up your back. He hums, pleased with how much skin he can feel. You’re so impossibly warm.

You jolt slightly at the ticklish sensation. It’s unreal, honestly. In your mind, though, you want to believe that this is forever. That Frank and your relationship is a true, honest thing. If he asked more from you, you would give it to him. All of it.

Frank kisses you gently on the lips. When he pulls apart he sees that you’re leaning in close. Your nipples harden through the silk of that camisole, and your eyes flutter.

He licks his lips. It’s too easy. There’s no way you can be this open with him, after everything he does.

You make the move, though, much to his delight. Your arms wrap around him as if you’re molding against him and you kiss his neck. “I’ve been thinking about doing that since you came here,” you admit.

His heart rate skyrockets. Shit.

“Oh, yeah?” He rasps. Frank’s hands lift up the camisole, his fingers going to the dip of your waist, tickling their way up to the wings of your back. You moan quietly.

“Please,” you beg him. Your thighs are quivering. You want more than this. “I want you,” you whisper softly into his chest.

He frees his hands out of your shirt to rest them on your hips. “You sure about that, baby?” You look at him, his eyes are darker than you ever have seen them before. You feel a familiar wetness. The same one you get when you think of Frank late at night in your bed, and you toy with your clit. Your fingers tracing through your labia, making the motions of his hands and how you imagine them.

You want this to be real. You’ve wanted him since you’ve met him. It’s final then, you press your forehead against his, exchanging a few breadths. “Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

It’s all you can really say. You can’t think of any other magical word to get him to show you all of him. The feeling of danger when he groped you roughly, you try to imitate exactly his movements whenever it’s you, your fingers and your imagination.

But it’s never enough.

He’s real.

Frank swallows dryly. A part of him is unsure of what to say.

You huff quietly, pulling away slightly. The resolve in you, the hunger, this desire shows exactly who the hunter should be.

You catch him off guard by kissing him voraciously; all lips and teeth, your fingernails scraping against the back of his head. You try not to let him catch his breath.

The sensations you wanted to be lost in. Frank himself seems completely caught in a snare. You make him entirely lose himself in the feeling of you straddling his lap, kissing him, and making those tiny noises that drive him mad.

This was too much. His senses were in overdrive. He wanted to be lost entirely in the feeling of you.

Your mouth molds into his and he gently slips his tongue around yours, tasting you like you’re the sweetest wine. It dips deeply, trying to morph together, and you feel yourself become lightheaded. How is Frank so? So what? No adjectives. Nothing comes to mind except the delicious numbness he pulls from you and the power of his lips.

He finally breaks apart, his nose brushing against yours. “You’re dangerous,” he mumbles, pressing his face against the crook of your neck.

You laugh breathlessly. “Not as much as you are.”

His hands drift to brush against the waistband of your shorts and your breath hitches.

You feel daring, impossibly bold, so your hand goes to touch the bulge in his sweats. His hand suddenly startles you, gently gripping your wrist.

“Watch yourself,” he warns, a humorous glint in his eyes. “Don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”

You bite your lip, trying to make him see you’re more than ready. You want to be with him. In every single way. The rawness of what transpired between the two of you and being in the quiet of your home. You craved the closeness, especially with him.

“Maybe another time,” he finally says. He even doesn’t believe what just came out of his mouth.

You nod, a little disappointed. You have read before that being with someone, men, would be more than willing. But maybe Frank just feels things too intensely. Maybe he wants to make you happy first before going onto the next step.

You really wish he would’ve just done it. Frank leans over and kisses your temple. “Let’s get some rest.”

How could you possibly rest after the most stimulating experience with your boyfriend, but you let it go? You stay close to his arms and he kisses your neck. His fingers trailing against your skin like embers from a flame.

He had told you nothing really about what the next day was going to be like. So really, you were in the complete dark about where you both were even going. He gave vague hints and kept backtracking.

Really, why is it your boyfriend is the biggest walking red flag? Good thing he’s handsome.

He kept waffling on the information, and even when you persisted, he would not relent.

“I could take you to my place, princess. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to go there, though.”

Driving around places together was a usual favorite pastime. Frank, though, had damned this evening to hell.

You cross your shoulders with a baleful glance at Frank, who doesn’t seem to notice your displeasure, or could just be ignoring it.

“I’m just saying,” he continues. “You won’t like where I take you.”

You shift in your seat, puffing out a breath. “How many times do I have to tell you? I want to be wherever you are, Frank.” The silence that came along with you saying such a thing was deafening.

Frank seems to study you in a ‘amoeba inside a petri dish,’ type of way. “You say that now, but you’re going to regret it all.”

“I won’t regret being with you ever,” you say. He smirks then. Today he seems more ravenous. He has something planned and you’re unsure of where he’s taking you. You think positively, despite all the red flags. You’re very excited. It was going to be the best weekend away with each other.

He wanted to take you to his special, secret place for the time being.

Frank had described it as somewhere in the mountains at some resort. You tried to look it up the other night, but nothing really had come up in your search. But Frank had quelled your questions with something he had built and created.

So you were very curious what exactly he made as a surprise for the both of you. Only he really knows the location of where you’ll end up.

“So this place, have you stayed before with anyone?”

“I have,” he answers honestly, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. But then he smiles, wide and broad. “But it’s going to be different with you.”

“With me?”

His eyes glint mysteriously and he leans in. “Yeah. I can’t wait to show you something big.”

You laugh, albeit a bit nervously. He’s acting a little weird, but nothing you haven’t seen from him before. Maybe the both of you will share something intimate and nice being alone together.

Hopefully this time, you’ll be able to be together with no interruption of emotion.

Maybe this time, he’ll let you in. He’ll be able to open himself up for you to crawl yourself inside the smallest corner of his heart.

#frank morrison x reader #dbd imagines #frank morrison x you #the legion dbd

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vizowrites · 3 years

Text

That’s One Hell of a Resume

{Set during the Harvest Moon Festival competitions}

~*~

To Blitzø’s great surprise, the Harvest Moon Festival was actually turning out to not be a fuck fest invite after all.

He honestly hadn’t been sure when the games initially kicked off. The horde of imps that had come to compete for the title of “the roughest, toughest, bastard in Wrath” had a proclivity for violence that could easily--and not inaccurately--be described as a passion. Then of course there was Stolas, watching him thirstily from atop his fancy seat underneath his fancy tent, cooing and cheering out “Blitzyyyyy!!'' at every opportunity he got to speak. Yet the honored owl prince somehow still managed to keep his pants on throughout each and every event--and even more impressively managed to keep his degrading sweet talk void of any sexual obscenities. He hadn’t even been able to manage that much on a day trip to a theme park with his daughter. Yet somehow...this wasn’t even the best part of the festival to Blitzø. It was up there to be sure, but it wasn’t the toppiest top. The “dom of the disco”**, if you will.

No, the BEST part of the festival--and the thing that kept the imp grinning from ear to ear throughout the entire competition--was that this honkytonk battle royale was shaping up to be the perfect opportunity to show off and be recognized for just how much of a boss-ass bitch Blitz actually was: 2nd to absolutely fucking none.

Well...maybe with ONE slight exception.

“I gotta say, you just keep on impressin’ me every chance you get,” that one slight exception said with a smirk, the tip of his tail flicking forward into a small curl. “No wonder your killin’ biz is so successful. You do every kill single-handed there, Boss Man?” The two were standing off on the sidelines together during one of the many interims inbetween contests, where the first round winners had already secured their victories and now were stuck watching the remaining shitty losers battle it out to find out which of them would end up being the absolute shittiest loser. It was taking a stupidly long-ass time, a hell of a lot longer than Blitzø would’ve normally had the patience for, but with his present company leaning up against the bleacher stands like that.....there were definitely worse ways he could be spending his down time right now.

“Nah,” he answered with a small flick of his wrist, gesturing vaguely in the general direction of where he’d last seen Moxxie getting his ass kicked and Millie sitting in the stands watching it happen. “I know he’s not doing a great job of showing it right now--” he said just as Moxxie got elbow dropped by a shark “--but Moxxie’s not completely useless. He did get me shot on a job once while he was in the middle of being a little bitch, but as soon as he finally found his balls again, he got things back under control pretty fast. And Millie’s just a straight up badass. If her parents had allowed her to play in the games, you’d have gotten your ass handed to you three rounds ago.”

“That so?” Striker’s lips drew back into a slight smirk, just enough for the light to catch on the very tip of his fanged gold tooth. “Because I seem to remember a certain someone else bein’ the one to get themselves all roped up in a hogtie about three rounds ago.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but it sounds like complete bullshit.”

“That’s kinda what I was thinkin’ myself to be honest after that first relay run--” Those snake-like eyes raked in every inch of Blitz’s annoyed face, feeling the corners of his own pleasantly sting as his grin spread even wider. “Right up ‘til I saw some o’that nice red color risin’ up in their face--”

“IT’S HOT--THERE ARE FUCKING VOLCANOES NEARBY OKAY!!” Blitz realized, very quickly, just how loud and defensive those words sounded, but he also realized just as quickly that there wasn’t anything he could do to take them back now. Instead, he straightened himself up, cleared his throat, pretended that there wasn’t some of ‘that nice red color’ in his face now, and said in what he thought was a much more nonchalant voice, “Anyway, I’m starving, and since these last few dipshits are taking forever to get their asses kicked, I’m gonna go find something deep-fried to shove down my throat. Catch you at the awards ceremony or whatever the fuck they do around here to finish themselves off.”

The I.M.P. Head made it a grand total of two steps before the unmistakable crunch of boots sounded behind him, followed by a faint scoff of a laugh and the distinct rattling of a tail as Striker joined him at his side.

“There’s a whole row of food stands back there behind the stage,” he said with a nod, meeting Blitzø’s stride and starting to veer them off in that direction. “And now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind grabbin’ a bite. Besides--I feel like I might owe you one for bringin’ up such a tender subject.”

The unrepentant but non-malicious smirk he sent Blitz’s way wasn’t at all softened by the wink that accompanied it, but it somehow brought a slight smile to the smaller imp’s lips all the same.

“You got fucking lucky and that was it,” Blitz insisted with a sharp flick of his tail, not having the faintest fucking clue why he was smiling about this in the first place but subconscioiusly hoping that swatting at Striker would be distracting enough that the taller imp wouldn’t notice. “And besides, I could’ve gotten out of it if I had really wanted to.”

“Oh, so you wanted to be all tied up like that?” The grin that spread across Striker’s face was even wider than the first, his razor sharp teeth now on full display. “Well now, if that’s what you were wantin’ you could’ve just asked. I’d’ve been happy to oblige right from the start.”

“Ha! Like I’d ever make it that easy for you,” Blitzø retorted with a challenging grin, his eyes dancing with a truly impish gleam of delight as he and Striker rounded the stage together, his earlier thoughts of the food shacks that waited beyond almost entirely forgotten as they were overtaken by memories of their constant back-and-forth scuffle throughout the festival. “You beating me fair and square is one thing--even though you still totally just got really fucking lucky and also it definitely never even happened in the first place. But if you were actually going to beat me...you better believe it’s not gonna happen without a fight. I don’t just bow out like some sloppy bitch who can’t figure out where they put their car keys and has to take the walk of shame back to their shitty apartment at 4 in the morning. If you wanna come out on top over me, you better fucking work for it.”

The black tip of his pointed tail flicked up to poke Striker once in the center of his chest, punctuating the word ‘work’ perfectly.

Striker’s tail, on the other hand, began to rattle.

“Yeah?” he said, his earlier easy tone starting to become weighted with something softer, but deeper. Neither he nor Blitzø made any indication that they were aware that he was guiding them both right on past the front of the stand that they had originally been headed toward, and instead had them disappearing into the shadows behind it. “You’re okay with not coming out on top so long as whoever does earns their place there?”

“I mean...” Blitzø trailed off a bit as he casually leaned up against the back of the stand, folding his arms over his chest as he eyed Striker with that lingering gleam in his own gaze. “You have been able to keep up with me in all the other games...so I guess it might be possible for you to get the upper hand on me for at least one of them.”

“Just me?” The rattling sound intensified.

“Well there sure as fuck wasn’t anyone else who was able to keep up,” Blitzø rolled his eyes in annoyed exasperation at just how much everyone else truly sucked in comparison to the two of them, before he slowly looked back up at Striker--and realized that the snake-like imp was suddenly a lot closer than he’d been before. Much closer.

“...Striker?”

“Yeah, Blitz?”

“Please tell me we’re not actually talking about the fucking games anymore.”

A short, soft laugh was the initial answer, followed by that still rattling tail coiling around Blitz’s slender waist as Striker propped himself up on one arm against the structure behind them, his hand splayed just to the side of the crimson imp’s right cheek.

“I haven’t been talkin’ about the games since you got me with your tail, Darlin’,” he whispered, his hooded eyes narrowing to glowing slits of pale gold as he leaned in almost close enough to touch. “But I don’t know if there ain’t somethin’ to be said about that “fuckin’” part yet...”

Blitz’s words came back to him then, ringing in his head as clear as when he first said them:

“...Well if you promise this isn’t some fuck fest invite...”

“.....You gonna work for it, Cowboy?”

“Yessir, Boss Man.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So...lemme get this straight--” Blitzø finally shifted his weight, easing it off of Striker and rolling to rest his back on whatever podunk concession stand they’d spent the last ten minutes fucking up against. “--You tie me for first place in the games, you ride around on the most majestic fucking horse I’ve ever seen, you take down a hell hog with a single stab while completely and mercilessly humiliating one of my employees in front of his in-laws at the same fucking time, and you called me “Sir” when we first met? AND you’re a great fuck??”

The quirked eyebrow and smug gold-toothed grin he got in reply said more than words ever could, especially when accompanied by the satisfied rattling of that long, spiked tail.

“That’s one hell of a resume you’ve got there.” Blitzø didn’t even realize his own face had split into a grin until he saw it reflected in Striker’s eyes, hypnotized by the sheer reckless abandon he felt ignited between them. “Want to join I.M.P.?”

Striker couldn’t help but laugh, reaching up to adjust the brim of his hat from where Blitz’s tail had nearly knocked it off, his unwavering gaze sparking into an infernal glow.

“Tell you what,” he said, his tone a warm rumble of amusement meeting temptation. “You and I head on back to the stage, revel in our well-deserved glory, and--once we’re satisfied it’s been rubbed into the faces of those sorry ass losers enough--I’ll head on back up to the farm and have a little talk with Miss Mildred’s folks about finishin’ things up around here for the season. Maybe see if they can find another set of hands to join ‘em for the next one if mine are gonna be occupied with--” His hand found its way down to Blito’s face, the sharp claw-like nail of his thumb pressing under the shorter imp’s chin to tilt it up towards his own. “--other things.”

“Believe me, Cowboy,” Blitzø’s eyes were burning, twin embers of eagerness that ran so deep he could feel the heat of it vibrating through to his very core--and his vocal chords. “You’re not going to find a more hands-on job than the one you’re gonna get if you come and work for me. ESPECIALLY in that order.”

Striker’s tail snaked its way up and along past Blitz’s hip, the pointed tip flicking over his chest as it’s rattle joined in the chorus of that deep, heated purring.

“Don’t mind if I hold you to that, Sir.”

“Oh fuck me--”

And Striker did. Again.

~*~

Random Notes:

**My counterpart to the phrase “the belle of the ball”--”the dom of the disco”. I think I’m way funnier than I actually am. :D

ANYWAY tho I really hope y’all like it!! This is the first fanfic I’ve posted anywhere publicly in a hot minute so I hope it’s not a bad kickoff to something I’m hoping to really get back into!! I have plans to post the full fic of this--with the non-censored sex scene to my AO3 oohlala--so if that’s something you’d like to see, feel free to lemme know here and I can get right on that!! Otherwise have a great day, thanks for reading, and if anyone wants to hit me up for some lovely BlitzStrike talks, I’m always open to messages!!

Thanks again Lovelies!! <3

#BlitzStrike #Striker x Blitzo #Blitzo x Striker #Helluva Boss fanfiction #Helluva Boss #vizowrites

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starlightrows · 3 years

Text

2 — The Bounty Hunter

The Queen of Tatooine Masterlist

← Previous - Next →

Pairing: Boba Fett x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Brief description of injury

Summary: A change in the weather brings back a familiar face

Warm summer nights fade into crisp autumn days. You spend your days tending the garden behind your inn, working to make sure you have enough dried and canned goods for the coming winter, providing room and board for whoever happens to pass through and can pay for it, the shadow cat that likes to hang around your property has a litter of kittens. And you continue to think about Boba Fett, the supposedly fearsome bounty hunter with a kind smile.

You often find yourself wondering if he will come back. Perhaps he would come in later in the season, when the snows have fallen and clung to the trees, when a good fire in the hearth and a bowl of hot stew is all a person craves in the world. You could provide those things. You would be happy with those eyes again, glinting in the fire light while he speaks of far off places and grand adventures.

You have to snap yourself out of these thoughts, focusing your attention back on wet stone sharpening your kitchen knives. Most who pass through your door do not return. Either bounties who are caught are brought to their justice or travelers choose not to venture out so far again. Occasionally you get bounty hunters who return to catch new bounties trying to disappear into the mountains or large game hunters returning each autumn- just passing through on their way further up into the mountains where the herds of black ram and lone bears roam freely.

You do not actually expect to see Boba Fett again, and when you do it is nothing like you’d imagined in your head. A storm is brewing, not yet cold enough to bring snow, but rain, freezing rain that will flood the streets and drown out your remaining autumn plants before the first frost comes. That’s when there is a pounding on the front door in the middle of the night. No one is staying at the inn tonight… perhaps a traveler has gotten in much later than they intended… you get up and throw on a house coat… making sure to have your old hunting blaster in hand, just in case.

When you unbolt the door the howling winds try to slam it back shut, a dark figure slumps against the frame. Not a comforting sight.

“Who are you? What do you want?” you call out to the figure, trying with all your might to keep the door from whipping open all the way. The figure does not answer or perhaps they can’t hear you against the wind whistling through the trees.

Whoever they are, they’re taking too long and you’re freezing. With one hand you reach out and tug on their cloak, dragging them inside and slamming the door shut behind them. They slump back against the door, and you can hear their ragged breathing.

“There aren’t many I turn away from my inn, even when there isn’t a storm raging” I say “But if you intend to stay you’ll need to remove your hood and show some credits”

“I have credits on my ship” comes the deep rolling voice… you know that voice. Without thinking you reach out and pull back their hood. Revealing the same hard lines in his face, and those kind dark eyes. Boba Fett.

“It’s you!” You gasp “You came back”

“Wanted to see you again… and… I need your help” he grits out, wincing in pain.

“What happened?” You guide him by the arm to sit at one of the dining room tables

“Blaster bolt to the side” he groans “It’s mostly fine, just need somewhere safe to lay low for a day or two”

“Will they be coming after you?” You ask bringing him a pitcher of water

“Can’t, they’re dead” he answers, accepting the water and gulping it down thirstily. Well at least you won’t have to worry about others trying to break down the door coming after him.

“Let me take a look at that” you say indicating his wound

“Suppose someone needs to” he grunts getting up from the table. He winces when he steps, and you fall in to catch him before he lists over to the side.

“Come on, there aren’t too many stairs” you manage to get out, as you help him towards the old wooden staircase.

It’s a struggle to get him up the stairs and into the first guest room. He’s a lot weaker than he’s letting on, a good chance he’s more injured as well. You get him to lay back on the bed, and he groans.

You sit beside him and reach for the hem of his tunic and give it a gentle pull “May I?” He nods. Removing the tunic is less difficult than you imagined it would be, it’s shredded from the blaster bolt.

The wound is ugly… and you shudder just looking at it. But it’s not as bad as you were afraid it might be.

“I’m going to wash it out and wrap it with a bacta salve. A few days rest and a hot meal and you’ll be alright” You go to get up and start getting the items you’ll need together to clear out the wound, but before you can turn away he catches your wrist in a gentle hold

“Thank you” he says softly. You smile, and gently pull away.

It takes some time to actually clean out the wound, it’s painful for him and he strains to not howl with the wind as you work to clean it out. Finally you get him bandaged up, and wipe your hands on a dry cloth.

“That should do it” you say wiping your brow with the back of your hand “Please rest, and call out if you need anything”

In the morning you bring up a tray laden with tea, toast, and warm oatmeal with dried fruit and honey. To your surprise he’s up and out of bed, looking at his injury in the small mirror on the wall.

“Good morning” you say, setting the tray down on the bed… which you’re even more surprised to see is fully made. “I don’t normally do room service, but for the injured I make an exception… though you could fool me right now”

He turns to look at you “Wouldn’t even consider myself injured anymore” he says, showing you the scar left by the blaster bolt. He sits on the bed and invites you to join him. You hesitate for a moment… there’s a lot you need to get done today, and you don’t make a habit of spending time alone with your patrons. But he’s been kind thus far, and to be honest you could use the company. So you sit next to him and pour him a cup of tea.

“So tell me, what happened that you landed up on my doorstep last night?”

“I’ve been tracking down something that once belonged to me. Something that is very dear to me” he explains

“Am I allowed to ask what it is?” You smile accepting the second cup of tea he’s poured you.

“My armor” he states

“Your armor?” You’re a bit confused “How did you lose it?”

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” He sets down his cup. You shake your head.

“No offense… but you’re just another bounty hunter to pass through my door” you admit “Well, that’s not entirely true. You’re the only bounty hunter I’ve ever undressed and stitched up”

He studies your face, and sees that you are genuine… you’re confident and self assured but there is an innocence about you. He can’t help feeling drawn to you.

“About 5 years ago, I was thrown into a sarlacc pit on Tatooine and left to die” he explains carefully “I can’t explain why I am alive today. Fate let me live. But I lost my armor, and my former position”

You nod, and listen carefully… Sarlacc’s are native to Tatooine. His… position… “You worked for the Hutt’s” you say

His heart drops, he’s disappointed you. But he won’t lie. He nods “Does that scare you?”

“That depends” you say scooting back from him. Not to get away but so you can square your shoulders and look him in the eye “Do you still condone the use of slaves?”

“No” he says quickly “I never did. It was always my intention to get close to Jabba and his most trusted advisors and usurp him. End the use of slaves. Clean up his drug trafficking. And rule over the great dune sea”

He takes your hand and squeezes it. “That is still my intention” he says “but I need my armor to do it”

“I hear Bib Fortuna rules the great dune sea now” you say “a weakling and a coward… I have no doubt you will make a better leader”

“I’ll miss your little corner of the galaxy” he says “if I asked you to visit, would you consider it?”

“Maybe. I don’t own a ship. Don’t even have a speeder. Might take me a long time to get the credits to make the trip all the way out to Tatooine” you say “but then again, if you are king of Tatooine, I can hardly refuse an invitation”

He smirks at that, “I will come back for you, Princess. I want you to visit me on Tatooine”

You shake your head, if he does successfully overthrow Fortuna, he will have his hands full ruling and dismantling the institutions he already described. He will likely forget about you, and your inn at the edge of the galaxy.

“Find your armor Boba Fett, and claim your empire” you smile “Then com me someday so I can proudly say I served tea for Boba Fett before he was king”

“You have my word Princess” he chuckles

He leaves that afternoon, with a bag you prepared for him containing home baked bread and cured meat. He promises you again that he will come back for you, and while you appreciate the thought, you won’t hold it against him if you never see him again.

Tag List: @cannedsoupsucks @otterly-fey

#Boba Fett #Boba Fett x reader #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x f!reader #The Queen of Tatooine #QT

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Stalker X Stalker, Part 8

First

Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Tim woke up the next morning, because that’s how things work.

He fought back a groan as he slowly flexed each muscle individually, making sure that everything was still working. To his surprise, it actually was. His brain stuttered to a stop. Why had he been asleep, then? He was pretty sure it wasn’t his usual sleep day…

Then, he finally processed the fact that his face was pressed to something that definitely wasn’t his pillow.

He cracked an eye open. He was laying on top of Marinette, head resting on her stomach. She was still asleep, he noted, one of her hands was thrown over her eyes and the other tangled in his hair.

He vaguely considered just staying there. He could stay in that position forever…

Except he couldn’t. He had responsibilities. He was pretty sure that if he skipped both patrols and work his family would assume he’d been brainwashed in some way.

So, reluctantly, he pushed himself up and reached a hand out to poke Marinette awake.

She grumbled a little and caught his hand, blinking her eyes open. She looked up at him for a moment, uncomprehending in her sleepy state, and he couldn’t help but smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before clambering away from their tangle of limbs so he could take a quick shower and get ready.

First, though, he started up the coffee machine. He’d known that she’d had coffee, he’d been there when she bought it... but, really, if she was worried enough to lie about it he’d at least try and alleviate those fears a little.

That done, he took a quick shower. He already had a towel and toothbrush at the house -- wow, Marinette really wasn’t joking, he had basically moved in already, oops -- so he used those.

Then he pulled on the outfit she’d made him. By the time he needed help lacing up the corset, Marinette had stumbled into the room in a daze.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello?”

She held out one of two mugs for him and he was forced to hide his smile behind his cup.

“Could you help me with this,” he asked.

She nodded and downed her entire mug before walking behind him. He felt her forehead tip forward to rest against the back of his shoulder as she worked and he was very glad she couldn’t see his face because he was sure that he was beginning to get redder than their costumes.

She pulled the lace tight and tied it off and he had no clue if the tightness in his chest was because she had laced him too tightly or because of nerves but either way he didn’t really mind. He turned back around, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll see you later?”

She smiled at him. “I’ll make some bacon for you to eat on the go. Don’t want you to be hungry.”

He considered saying no but, really, he didn’t see her all that often in the morning and he had to admit that it was pretty cute. “If you remember to make some for yourself then sure.”

She hummed a little and turned around to go make food. He’d check on her in a few minutes to make sure she hadn’t fallen back asleep while cooking.

For now, he absently checked his clothes over for bugs. It was an old habit from years of living with the bats and, had he been even slightly more awake, he wouldn’t have done it.

Except he did. And there, hidden in the cuff of his shirt, was a bug.

… he hadn’t even been this happy when Damian had bugged him for the first time. She cared about him and his well-being! He was accepted!

When he made his way back into the kitchen he made sure to give her a long hug.

Marinette was so tired. She had been working on attaching the diamonds to Cassandra Wayne’s dress and there were so fucking many.

So, when Robin climbed through her window, all she did was give a vague wave of acknowledgement.

“You need better window locks,” he informed her.

“Most people don’t know how to pick every lock in existence, kid.”

“But some do.”

She thought about whether or not she really wanted this to be the argument that took up valuable work time. The answer was no, definitely not.

She finally turned to face him, resting her cheek against the couch. She didn’t know Damian personally outside of messing with Tim when they were in their superhero identities, she wasn’t even completely sure that this was Damian (though he did match up with the measurements she had for his outfits), so there was no good reason for him to be there.

She squinted suspiciously at him. Now that she was paying attention, she could see that he had his hands behind his back.

“What do you want?”

“I saw on your lease that you are allowed to have pets in your apartment.”

Oh no.

“Please tell me you didn’t,” she whispered, her voice close to begging.

He slowly brought his hands out from behind his back to reveal a black cat with almost luminous green eyes. She rested her head in her hands, taking deep breaths to remain calm.

“I wish to coparent with you.”

“... your dad didn’t let you get another pet?”

(Yes, she knew about the pet problem. She had seen Batcow. She had seen the Batbats all over the cave that he had apparently taken in.)

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Possibly.”

She slowly lifted her head from her hands to glare at him. Unfortunately for her, he puffed out his little baby cheeks in a pout and, even if most of what she did was played up to mess with Tim, she was weak for little kids that look sad.

“Fine. But you’re paying for everything and you better actually help me take care of it.”

“She! And her name is Vanelope!”

“Van --?” She decided she didn’t care. She glanced at Damian’s still disapproving expression and rolled her eyes before leaning down to be at the cat’s eye level: “I’m sorry for calling you an ‘it’, Vanelope.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied by her begrudging apology.

“C’mon, put Vanelope down, we’re going to the pet store.”

Damian beamed. She pulled the front of his hood down over his eyes in retaliation for the dumb situation he’d put her in. Revenge achieved, she transformed and ducked out her window before she could get stabbed.

Scarecrow’s parties were always the best.

For one thing, there was the haunted house. Scarecrow took the whole ‘scaring people’ thing very seriously, it was his whole shtick, so you could always count on him to dream up the best haunted houses. Even better, he’d give out brownies laced with minute traces of fear toxin to make the whole thing just a little bit scarier.

Speaking of brownies: the food. Tim was pretty sure that some of the stuff served at the parties could rival the things Marinette and Alfred made.

Then there were the venues he picked. They had to get bigger every year, what with Bruce’s adoption problem and the Rogue’s ever-expanding roster. This year the man had rented out an entire park and the building nearby. The building had a dance floor and a kind of second floor that overlooked everyone. The park held all the people that the building could not.

Add in the fact that every single person was probably clinically insane in some way or another and you’d have the reason for why he was always excited to go.

Tim attended the party as a Red Robin employee. He had to, it was on brand.

Marinette raised her eyebrows when she saw him. She’d gotten there before him, which had been a little bit of a surprise. He’d thought she’d at least wait for a few vigilantes to come to make sure it was safe --.

Oh. Nevermind. He stifled a grin when his eyes landed on a blonde in an outfit he recognized as Cassie’s. He was pretty sure dressing up as Wonder Girl was betraying the bats but he wasn’t going to be the one to call Steph out on it. Cassie was pretty cool...

Cassie -- no, Steph -- was suddenly grabbed by the arm by an excited Marinette and pulled her over to him. Marinette was wearing a pirate costume and he suspected that the bottle of wine in her free hand was more than an accessory.

“Red Robin, yum~,” both women chorused.

He rolled his eyes. “They’ve infected you already. Soon you’ll be disappearing into the shadows without ending conversations.”

Marinette grinned, the corner of her mask (now tinted black in some places to mimic a pirate’s beard) twitching. “It’s about time you assholes got a taste of your own medicine.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Y’know, for someone who didn’t like the idea of the party before, you sure did get into your outfit.’

“Please, I put effort into all my outfits.”

“Except for the Ladybug one,” teased Steph.

She huffed. “I was on a time crunch --.”

Tim grinned. “That’s no excuse.”

“... you had thought about it for who knows how long and not only did you come up with the name Drake, but you also came up with an ugly brown outfit. You don’t get a say in this.”

Steph grinned. “And me?”

“Your outfits are okay,” said Marinette after a few second’s thought.

Tim gasped in mock offense. “And I thought we were friends.”

“Friends call each other out for their stupid fashion choices.”

Steph smirked and slung her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “And, really, you need an intervention.”

When did they start ganging up on Tim?

“Whatever. This outfit is nice, so that makes up for all past mistakes.”

“It’d be nicer if you didn’t make the same joke every year,” Steph teased.

He huffed and pouted, but then something caught his eyes. Dick had arrived, Tim could see him perched on a second floor railing in his work clothes… of course, the name tag marking him as Nurse Grayson was gone, but it was still the same light blue scrubs.

He paled a little under his domino for two reasons. The first was the instantaneous worry about their identities; sure, Gotham had many medical workers, but who knows, Gotham and Bludhaven twitter both insisted that Dick had a very distinct body. The second was Marinette was going to end up liking Dick quite a lot -- she already looked up to him for his fighting style, there was no way she was going to be able to resist the signature Grayson charm that had won over every superhero, vigilante, and villain on Earth (and a few other planets as well).

He knew that, inevitably, Dick would win her over… but he was definitely going to stall it as much as he possibly could.

So, he pulled a grin to his face. “Oh, Ladybug, you haven’t gone in the haunted house yet, have you?”

She gave him a slightly wary look. “I don’t do good with scary things.”

He grinned. “I’ll protect you.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly before sighing. “Fine.”

So, they made their way across the park to the haunted house. Scarecrow had, somehow, built an entire house in the one month since he had broken out of Arkham. It looked like it had been torn right out of a video game, with the blackened, decaying, and peeling wood and rickety steps.

Jonathan Crane smiled when he saw the two of them approaching. He was dressed as a scarecrow, but the one from the Wizard of Oz instead of the creepy one he was usually dressed as.

“Crane!” Tim greeted.

Crane held out the plate of fear toxin brownies for them. “Nice to see you, Red Robin. And nice to meet you, Ladybug.”

Marinette blushed a little, her head tipping to the side. “I’d shake your hand but you haven’t set down that tray the entire time I’ve been here. Starting to think you can’t.”

He laughed a little. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Tim smiled a little and popped a brownie in his mouth. Fear toxin tasted a lot like chili powder and, he had to admit, it was pretty good.

Marinette took a brownie with a lot more hesitance.

“Oh! Have you been exposed to fear toxin yet?” Asked Crane before she could take a bite.

Marinette looked a little worried about the use of the word ‘yet’.

Marinette shook her head, though. “No.”

“Then your immunity isn’t built up. I’d suggest just eating half of that.”

She nodded thoughtfully and broke the brownie in half. She held the halves in her hand awkwardly, unsure what to do now.

“I’ll take the half you haven’t eaten,” suggested Crane.

He set down the tray -- Tim swore he could hear a cartoon sound effect as the man struggled to unstick his hand to the metal -- and took her other half.

“Since it’s a lower dose it’ll probably take longer to take effect,” said Tim. “We’ll have to wait a bit so you can have the full experience.”

Marinette took a tentative bite and her eyes lit up. “This is really good. What’s your recipe?”

Apparently, Crane had once tried to replicate the taste with normal chili powder and had fallen short. Tim watched the two of them theorize what it could be that his attempts had been missing. It was clear that Marinette had missed living in a bakery more than she was willing to admit and, unfortunately, none of the bats were particularly good at even cooking basic meals, let alone the kinds of things she was able to do. Alfred was the only exception and, even then, Bruce wouldn’t let him near her most of the time because of Identity Reasons. Tim was glad that she had someone to talk to about it, he just kinda wished that that person wasn’t a Rogue.

Tim jolted out of watching them when Marinette started rubbing up and down her arms absently. Ah, the toxin must be setting in for her now.

“Ladybug, ready to head inside?”

She blinked and looked up from the conversation. “Oh. Sure. I’ll talk to you later!”

“I’ll try not to get thrown into Arkham by anyone else while you’re gone,” joked Crane.

Tim grinned and took Marinette’s hand, pulling her inside.

It turns out she actually wasn’t all that good with scary things. Or, at least, jumpscares. She clung to his arm, dull nails doing their best to dig into his skin.

On one hand, he kind of felt bad for telling her to come along. On the other hand he thought it was kind of cute, maybe the next movie they watched together could be a horror.

He would probably be able to enjoy it a little more if he wasn’t tripping out on fear toxin himself. There was a creepy little girl following them around and he wasn’t going to acknowledge her and her creepy little white clothes because talking to hallucinations is always bad.

But then, towards the end, she disappeared.

He didn’t like that either. It set him on edge. It shouldn’t, the fear toxin was just wearing off… but he didn’t feel like it was wearing off. He was still a little shaky and the buzzing under his skin was still present, so maybe she’d been real and something was up.

He got his answer when he heard the sound of little feet dashing overhead.

Marinette squeaked and her grip on his arm tightened, somehow.

When the end was in sight and Tim was waiting anxiously for the final scare, he heard someone running towards them. High pitched laughter echoed around them.

“Oh fuck no,” he yelped when he saw the little girl running towards them, arms outstretched, pretty white dress splattered with red.

Marinette seemed to agree with the sentiment. She nearly pulled his arm out of its socket as she pushed herself into a sprint. He stumbled awkwardly a few steps before catching his footing and returning the tight grip.

And then, like the vigilantes with nerves of steel they were, they ran from the child.

She tried to look calm when the door swung shut behind them. She was pretty good at managing her emotions, she thought (or, at least, good at pushing them down).

But it wasn’t necessary because, when they reached the safety of the outside, they were handed a framed picture of them sprinting away from the creepy little girl, horror written plainly on their faces.

She blushed, more than a little embarrassed.

Thankfully, she was quickly distracted from her embarrassment. Her eyes landed on Bruce, who was dressed as a vampire. She waved for his attention, intending to point out the similarities in their outfits to mess with him, only for his eyes to zero in on the wine bottle in her hand.

Marinette mumbled a curse.

She turned and pressed a ‘kiss’ to Tim’s cheek through her mask. “Gotta go,” she chirped, before promptly disappearing into the crowd.

Alright, time to avoid Bruce. Where is the last place she’d be? Actually, no, he’d probably check the last place...

Her eyes landed on where Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were hanging out by the drinks.

Hm... a negative (people she was wary about) and a positive (drinks!) to balance each other out. A good middle ground.

She walked over and picked up a weird drink with a lot of different candies sticking out of it. She did not know why Scarecrow felt the need to sully the good name of alcohol with American candies but, since it was apparently the only option, she slipped a straw under her mouth to drink.

The drink was taken from her fingers.

She looked at her now-empty hand, brain struggling to catch up, straw hanging limply from her mouth. Then she spat out the straw and cursed.

She slowly turned to look at the person who had stolen it from her, expecting to see a disappointed Bruce, only to meet eyes with Poison Ivy.

(Ivy had dressed up as a stereotypical martian. Marinette wondered, vaguely, if actual aliens were ever offended when people dressed up like the movie versions of them.)

“I’d like that back, thanks,” she said, reaching for the drink.

She held it out of reach -- holy shit she was tall -- and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. “You’re a child.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly: a child,” she said.

Marinette rolled her eyes. Was this how Damian felt? Damn, no wonder he was always so angry about it… but, to be fair, Damian actually was a child. She was nineteen. She had a job and an apartment. Completely different.

But, since convincing Ivy she wasn’t a child wasn’t working, she had to come up with a new approach: “I’ve been drinking since I was six.”

For some reason, this didn’t seem to soothe the woman in front of her.

Thankfully, Harley Quinn -- who was wearing a knockoff Riddler costume -- decided to take pity on her: “Let her drink, Ives, Europeans drink differently than we do.”

Marinette and Poison Ivy exchanged confused looks. Marinette hadn’t gone out drinking with anyone properly in America outside of occasionally dropping into bars to trick old men into giving her drinks and then disappearing. Poison Ivy just, apparently, wasn’t aware of the difference.

“For them it’s a social thing, they don’t really get drunk like we do.”

Ivy hesitated. “You don’t get drunk?”

“I mean… we can get drunk,” she said slowly. She cringed visibly. “I did, once. The day I turned eighteen my mom told me ‘Just this once, to see what it’s like’... the pictures… they deleted them, but I will never live it down...”

She reached for the drink again and, this time, Ivy gave it to her. She was lucky she had her mask to hide the smirk on her face.

When Poison Ivy didn’t leave after that, Marinette knit her eyebrows together. The woman blushed (she blushed green?) and Harley pushed her towards Marinette a step.

“I would like to apologize for how we met…” Ivy said slowly. “Joker was an asshole in Arkham and I’d had a fight with Harley and I guess I just…” She snapped her fingers.

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “It’s fine. It’s not the first world-ending event I’ve had to stop because someone had had a bad day.”

Harley hesitated. “That’s… different.”

She shrugged. “New city, same shit… just sometimes easier, I guess. People are actually scared of Joker?”

“Now, that isn’t very nice!” Said a painfully cheery voice behind her.

She’d summoned him.

Marinette took a long, deep breath, before turning around to greet Joker and Punchline. They were dressed as circus clowns, because of course they would. “Hey! Still alive, I see.”

Joker smiled, like he always did. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Pretty sure you’ve died more than B-man over there,” said Harley.

“No clue why they keep bringing you back.”

Marinette’s eyebrows scrunched together. The man had died? And they had brought him back? Willingly? Weird.

“It’s ‘cause I’m Batsy’s favorite,” cooed Joker.

“Favorite punching bag, maybe,” said Ivy.

Marinette, wisely, decided to back up a step so she wasn’t between the two fighting groups.

“At least people pick him as their first choice,” said Punchline.

“You’d be the expert on what it’s like to be the second choice, I guess, since you’re just me but purple,” said Harley.

“I’m you but self-aware,” Punchline corrected her.

Ivy raised her eyebrows. “Some would say that’s worse.”

Punchline almost punched her.

She didn’t stop because of some amazing show of self-restraint, of course. Nightwing had just chosen that moment to drop down between the two groups. And then Nightwing, with his all-amazing powers of getting pretty much everyone on his side, got them to declare a truce and go to opposite sides of the room.

Marinette was a little disappointed as she took a sip of her drink. It had just started getting good.

But also: Nightwing!

“Is it true that you can do a quadruple somersault?”

Nightwing smiled widely.

Tim was beginning to think that maybe Marinette was so interested in Dick because she was secretly his long lost sister or something. They had the same ability to make even some of the worst people like them.

But, no. Dick having a secret half sister or something? How stupid would that be?

Still, Tim had seen her making friends with: all of his siblings that lived in Gotham, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Dick (damn it, he’d hoped he could keep them apart just a little longer)... the only people she hadn’t gotten to like her were Punchline and Joker, and even then she was choosing to annoy them, who knows what would happen if she actually tried to befriend them… and now she was hanging out with Riddler...

He sat next to them on their bench. “I’m beginning to think you can’t make friends with anyone normal.”

She grinned. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Riddler (dressed as the gameshow host he would probably be if he hadn’t gone off the deep end) looked over at Tim with barely hidden disdain. “Red Robin,” he greeted coolly.

Marinette frowned. “Why don’t you like him?”

“Him and all the bats… they always answer my riddles before I finish telling them.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix: Red, wait until he finishes telling the riddles before answering.”

He scoffed. “Why would I?”

“For the drama!” Riddler said in a tone that made it obvious he thought it was obvious.

“Half the time you have people’s lives on the line. Lower the stakes and maybe we’ll be more attuned to the dramatic tension.”

Riddler scowled. “You bats just don’t appreciate my art.”

“You’d think that they’d be all for drama.”

“Right? They have a whole brooding cave! But I want high stakes and suddenly I’m too concerned with the vibes of things.”

Marinette grinned and leaned towards Riddler conspiratorially. “They have more than a brooding cave. They have brooding gargoyles, brooding rooftops, brooding cars… I once caught Red over there brooding on his motorbike. Who can brood on a motorcycle? It’s a motorcycle!”

Tim huffed. “I thought we agreed to keep that a secret.”

“Sorry, darling, it’s just too easy to mess with you.”

Tim started to respond, but then he realized something.

‘Darling’?

That could mean one of three things. He needed to excuse himself from the conversation to figure out which was the truth.

He sent the two of them a halfhearted glare. “I will not put up with this bullying any longer.”

“Fine, fine. If you’re going to come back, bring me a cookie.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “If I must.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, a man on a mission.

After questioning all of the family she had talked to (she had yet to meet Jason, apparently), he determined that she didn’t use nicknames all that often. When she did it was usually just to make things quicker for herself. The only people outside of him that she ever used nicknames for were Bruce (‘B’) and maybe Damian (‘kid’).

And he had a nickname like that, too, of course. She called him ‘Red’ from time to time, probably just because she was too lazy to go through the hassle of saying his entire codename.

… but ‘darling’ was different. He had a pet name. In both identities, apparently.

Which meant one of two things:

a) he was special to her in both identities

or b) she knew he was Red Robin.

He was kinda hoping for the first one, but he wasn’t about to let emotions cloud his judgement. He sought out the world’s only accurate lie detector.

He found her surveying the crowd with Jason. They looked like they’d been transported directly from the renaissance, with her plague doctor outfit and his Shakespeare costume.

Tim grinned at them despite his slight anxiety. “Nice of you to bring a Green Arrow costume back from Star City, Flamebird.”

Jason touched the ugly goatee and mustache that both of them shared before sending him a glare. “And you all wonder why I don’t come home more often.”

“Really? I thought it was because you and Roy were --.”

Jason’s face reddened with either anger or embarrassment, Tim didn’t know and didn’t particularly care as his brother left them in a huff.

He couldn’t see Cass’s face but he could feel the disapproval.

“I just… I wanted to ask you something in private…”

Cass didn’t leave, so he assumed it was okay.

“Does Ladybug know our identities?”

Cass was motionless for a moment and he wished she didn’t have such a bulky outfit because it was hard to get a read on her…

And then she nodded, tapping the side of her forehead (the sign for ‘know’) to further emphasize the point.

He looked down at where Marinette was excitedly describing something to an enthused Riddler.

He’d been anxious about her finding out but, now that she had, he found that it was a huge weight off his shoulders. She knew who he was and she accepted it.

He leaned against the railing, a smile threatening to make its way across his face.

She accepted him.

#stalker x stalker #maribat #timari #timmari #shutterbug #timinette #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin #it isn't important but #duke went as miles morales's spiderman #damian went as batman #also pediatric nurse!dick grayson lives in my head rent free

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