#to me they feel like ones he'd listen to while sitting on a balcony in selvadorada | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cheollipop · 2 years

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love you goodbye

navi | taglist

pairing: park seonghwa x fem!reader

w.c.: 2.7k

tags: smut, angst, lots of angst, and even more angst

when seonghwa received a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, he all but threw himself at it—except, he had to leave you behind. with his plane ticket sitting idly on his bedside, he bids you one final goodbye.

warnings: breakup sex, unprotected sex (boooo 👎🏼), creampie, lots of crying (a LOT of crying), lots of L bombs too bc they're still very much in love and life SUCKS, nicknames (hwa, pretty girl, sweet girl, darling, love, sweetheart)

A/N: I feel the need to issue a formal apology for this one. once I started it, I just couldn't stop —I originally planned it to be around 1k words... but, well. ehem. anyway. this was kind of inspired by 2521 too, soo... enjoy? haha.. ha.

nsfw under the cut - minors dni!! 🔞

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You knew from the start that Seonghwa was hiding something from you, but you decided not to address it, not until he was ready to approach you on his own. He was never good at keeping secrets—a rush of nervous energy taking over him at the mere thought of it. He'd stutter when you'd question him, struggle to meet your eyes, fiddle with his thumbs—all telltale signs that he was a crumbling mess on the inside, guilt and anxiety eating at his very soul.

The signs started early this time, and yet, you pretended not to notice. How his mind would wander into unknown territory while you spoke about your day, his attentive eyes and curious nods replaced by a blank stare while he feigned engrossment. How he closed his laptop as soon as you stepped foot into the room, claiming he was suddenly tired and wanted to go to sleep when you questioned him. How he lied awake in bed hours after turning the lights off and kissing you goodnight, tossing and turning and exhaling deep sighs while he wrestled with his thoughts.

You remained patient, still set on waiting for him to take the first step. But when Seonghwa got into bed just before dawn reeking of cigarettes, the stench so strong you had to wash your sheets the next day, you couldn't sit still anymore. Especially so after seeing the ashtray on your balcony filled to the brim with the squashed buds—despite having emptied it two days ago—with two empty cigarette packets thrown haphazardly beside it on the small table.

"They offered me a job in Paris, and it's… it's a really good job," he'd answered when you finally confronted him. Once in a lifetime, he had described it. His dream job; something he had been working towards since before he'd met you. And so, who were you to ask him to stay? To ask him to let this opportunity go, simply to keep him for a little while longer? Before he began to hate you for it, before he realized that he shouldn't have listened to you—that he should have let you go when he had the chance.

So you told him to take it, pushing back the tears stinging at your eyes and plastering a smile onto your face—you could only hope it looked convincing. And yet, Seonghwa didn't look pleased. Quite the opposite, he began to cry, hot tears streaming down his face while he yelled and screamed at how unbelievable you were—letting him go so easily.

In spite of that, Seonghwa listened to you, accepting the offer. You knew you had to be supportive of his decision despite the burning in your chest when he stopped fighting against the idea of leaving you. Part of you hoped he would stay for you and still love you all the same, but it seemed like those two statements could never exist together.

You felt cruel for the satisfaction you felt at his hesitance while you sat down to book his plane ticket, locking in the decision the both of you dreaded. But still, you had to be supportive, even if that meant booking the ticket yourself because Seonghwa's hands wouldn't stop shaking. The breath of relief he exhaled after the confirmation screen loaded made your stomach stir, your dinner mixed with bile and pure despair inching their way up your system and collecting at the back of your throat. You swallowed them down and threw on your best smile, blinking away the tears threatening to fall.

"We should set a time to call. By the time I wake up, you would be at work, but if we-"

"Seonghwa," you interrupted, the lump in your throat growing bigger the more you heard him speak about the future.

You knew the second he told you about the job that you wouldn't be able to handle a long-distance relationship. You had been living together for over a year, dating for several more; having him more than ten meters away from you for longer than a day would be too absurd to comprehend. Seeing him less than three times a year? You'd be more convinced with a UFO outside your window.

"What? I promise I'll find the time, I just need to adjust my schedule and-" he continued and the throbbing in your chest almost made you double over in pain.

"Let's just end it all."

–

The slow ticking of the clock on the wall across from you, the suitcases packed full of Seonghwa's belongings, the insistent shuffling of bodies against the sheets—they all wrote themselves into the memory of his last day with you.

Seonghwa stilled above you, the sheen of sweat covering his body reflecting the moonlight where it peeked through the window. His eyes took in your expression, your features, and everything about you; all the while, his hands ran over the curves of your body, stopping momentarily to tweak at your nipples before wrapping around your waist.

"Hwa, please move," you whined and rolled your hips against him, his cock sheathed inside you.

Seonghwa slid a hand down to your hips, stilling their movements before leaning closer to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. He trailed kisses down to your jaw, then back up across your cheeks to your temple. His hips ground against yours, pressing against the gummy spot that made your eyes roll back.

"H-hwa, more," you took your bottom lip between your teeth, your nails digging into his biceps.

"Shh, there's no rush," he whispered against your skin, still placing kisses wherever he could.

You knew there was no rush. The way he made you fall apart on his tongue and fingers over and over again for what felt like hours was enough proof of that; but perhaps part of you was in a hurry to get this over with, this final goodbye that you'd been dreading for weeks. Seonghwa had looked at you with those big eyes, wet and glimmering as he spoke, "Can I have you? One last time. Please, let this be the last thing I ever ask of you." You had to pretend that his words did not shatter your heart, the pieces piercing through your insides every time he looked at you with anguish staining his features.

He's had you in every way possible, but this felt different. The slow grinding of his hips against yours, his cock heavy between your walls—still, he moved slowly, as if chasing his orgasm was the last of his concerns—his feathery touch raising goosebumps all over your skin. It was intimate in ways you never wished it to be, in ways that tore your heart out of your chest and left you bleeding out.

"How am I supposed to just let you go?" He breathed out against your neck while his hips continued their grinding, his pelvis brushing against your clit.

Your hands eased around his biceps, wrapping around him instead and pressing into his back. A bitter smile curled the corners of your lips. "I'm sure you'll find a pretty French lady as soon as you land-"

"But I want you," he pulled away from your embrace to look you in the eyes, his own heavy with tears. "I need you, (Y/n)."

Your eyes burned as hot tears gathered along your waterline. "You need to let me go, Hwa," your voice shook, barely over a whisper.

He wasn't oblivious to the facade you had been hiding behind, concealing your hurt to support his decision so he wouldn't beat himself up for leaving you. Perhaps he willingly chose to ignore it, finding it easier to believe that he was the only one bearing an aching heart. It was only now that he became conscious of his selfishness—leaving you to deal with your sorrow and grief alone rather than being there for you. Rather than being there for each other.

Seonghwa knew he couldn't go back to fix his mistakes, so he resorted to focusing on making you feel good, watching as pleasure overtook your features with every roll of his hips. His hand cupped your jaw, and his lips slotted against yours. You reciprocated, pressing your lips against his, and at that, Seonghwa almost let out a sigh of relief. The kiss was soft, gentle, paired with the easy twist of tongues.

In the few hours he had left with you, he wanted to have you in every way he could think of. Seonghwa wanted everything about you to forever be engraved into his mind—from your features and how they reacted everytime his cock pressed against your favourite spot, to the blush on your cheeks when he told you he loved you.

Seonghwa drew his length halfway out of you, sinking it back into your clenching heat, feeling your legs twitch against his hips as you took him inch by inch between your pulsing walls.

"Hwa, h-hwa, please just- ah," your nails dug into the soft skin of his back and you rolled your hips to meet his slow thrusts.

He reveled in the feeling of your cunt squeezing around him, sucking him in down to the base and refusing to let him go. He sucked a bruise under your jaw—something to remember him by; as if you could ever forget.

"Sweet girl," he kissed you, a gentle brush over your lips. "I love you so much."

His words sent a jolt of pain through your chest, tears pooling in your eyes once again. "Seonghwa…"

He ignored the strain in your voice. "Let me take care of you." He kissed away the trail of tears running down your temple. "Will you let me love you one last time?"

You brought your hands to Seonghwa's face, wiping away the wetness staining his precious skin. You nodded, a broken sob escaping you while you spoke, "one last time."

You held each other, bodies flush while Seonghwa pounded his cock into you, grinding his hips into yours before going back to fucking you at a relentless pace.

His eyes never wavered off your face, and he denied every request to change positions—he wanted to see you, to take you in fully, to write you so accurately into his mind he could draw you with his eyes closed.

"Nghhh, Hwa. Fuck- I'm so close," you moaned against his mouth before he muffled your sweet melodies with his lips.

He pressed his hand onto the underside of your thigh, spreading you open and allowing him to stuff you full of his cock with every thrust. Your legs trembled under his touch, a breath away from coming undone.

"Shit, you're squeezing me so well, my love. Oh, my pretty girl, I'm going to miss you so much," he nuzzled his nose against yours while he molded your lips together, swallowing all your moans.

The look in his eyes—so full of love and grief—was the last thing you remembered before you tipped over the edge, your body seizing up under Seonghwa as pleasure rushed through you like a shockwave. His fingers found your clit, rubbing circles around it while he continued to pump his cock into you.

"Hah, J-just a little more, a-ahh," he blew heavy breaths into your open mouth, his tongue slipping out to lick over your top lip. "Where do you want me, sweetheart?"

"I-Inside, please. Fill me up, Hwa," you clawed at his back, eyes shut tightly as the pain from overstimulation mixed with pleasure, Seonghwa's cock punching against the spot that made your back arch.

His hips stuttered, managing a few more sloppy thrusts before spilling his seed inside you, warmth spreading through your abdomen as ribbons of white decorated your walls. A series of I love you's streaming from the both of you as you rode out your highs.

Something hot dropped onto your cheek. Opening your eyes, you were met with Seonghwa's own, bloodshot and glassy with overflowing tears dripping onto your skin. His broken sobs pierced through the stillness in the room, shaking his whole body as they ripped through his chest, and the pain squeezed at your heart so tightly you thought it might arrest.

You held him against your chest while he cried, his softening cock still stuffed inside you. Rubbing slow circles into his back, you waited until his breathing steadied before you spoke.

"It's the right thing to do, leaving," you muttered, afraid to speak any higher.

He sniffled, burying his face further into your chest. "I know," he whispered, voice nasally and hoarse.

A few seconds of silence passed before you spoke again, your bottom lip wobbling as you tried to get the words out.

"Hwa, please be happy-"

"(Y/n), don't."

"Just let me- p-please, I need to-" your voice broke, tears falling into his hair and wetting the soft strands.

Seonghwa remained quiet, and you took it as a sign to continue.

"T-take care of yourself, and make sure you're not s-skipping meals," you sniffled, pressing your lips to his temple as you spoke. "Make friends so you're not alone there, and go out with your coworkers, but don't get t-too drunk because I won't be there to take care of you-" You felt his shoulders shake against you, wetness dripping down your collarbones. "I won't ask you to forget about me, I don't want that either. But at least try to find love, Hwa. I-I want you to be happy," you placed kiss after kiss against the side of his face, carding your fingers through his hair. "Are you even listening?"

You smiled against his temple when he nodded, his voice rough from crying, broken with sobs.

"I'm going to m-miss you so much."

–

Seonghwa lied awake for hours after you had tucked yourself into his chest, breathing out a final I love you before succumbing to the grip of sleep.

He heard the early birds singing outside your window, and yet the joyful melody did nothing to ease the harrowing ache in his chest. He stayed there long enough for them to leave their nest, soaring across the sky in celebration of the new day. But Seonghwa stayed there, lying on his side with his arms secured around your figure, storing every last detail about you—every last blemish scattered across your skin—into his mind. For hours, he studied the angle at which your nose sloped, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the way your fingers squeezed at his skin in your sleep, how the first rays of sunlight peeked through the open blinds to cast shadows over your features. He wondered how long it would be before he'd begin to forget certain things about you—the scent of your perfume, the way the corners of your eyes crinkled when you smiled, your favourite songs, your usual café order. He also wondered whether moving across the globe would even matter, if it made a difference, or would everything that made you so uniquely you be etched into his mind forever?

"Wake me up before you go," you'd told him before you fell asleep, but he couldn't bear having to say goodbye again. So he turned your alarms off, watching your peaceful expression and wondering what you were dreaming about. He hoped it was something nice, something other than him.

Quietly rolling his suitcases outside, Seonghwa walked back into your once shared bedroom, memories dripping off the painted walls. He crouched by your bedside, his eyes finding your face, resting calm and placid on your pillow. He pressed his lips against your forehead, keeping them there for a few seconds and inhaling the scent of your shampoo.

"I hope you get everything you've ever wanted, my love," he whispered against your skin, eyes prickling with tears. But I hope I never hear a thing about it, he added silently.

As Seonghwa closed the door behind him, his keys left behind on your kitchen island, he finally allowed reality to seep into his mind. He was leaving, and you were letting him go. He walked down the hallway while he tried to process the emotions rushing through him, his plane ticket sitting idly in his coat pocket.

There was no place for you and him in this world, not if the both of you wanted to be happy. But perhaps in another life, you would finally get your happy ending.

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#park seonghwa #seonghwa #ateez #seonghwa x reader #ateez x reader #park seonghwa x reader #ateez fanfic #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #ateez smut #ateez ff #kpop #seonghwa x y/n #seonghwa angst #ateez angst #seonghwa imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez seonghwa

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idlestxrs · 1 year

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Alone in winter | Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Summary: After Geto's spiral into madness, Gojo began to grow more cold towards you every passing hour. Your once happy trio is beginning to feel more and more like...just yourself. That is until one snowy evening, a familiar face lights a fire in your heart you never realized you had before. Genre: friends to lovers, angst to mild fluff Notes: Inspired by (G)I-DLE's song "Hann (Alone in winter)"

"Satoru?" You looked up at him as he stared off into the night, sitting on the balcony of the apartment you both shared. He simply turned to look at you, not making a sound. "I'm glad you're still here with me." You spoke softly to him. The only sounds that could be heard were that of the cold wind of the winter blowing softly in the night. He nodded his head at your comment and went back to spacing out. Ever since Suguru had gone off the deep end, nothing had been the same. Especially not with Satoru Gojo. He mentally blamed you for not being able to save Geto from himself, however deep inside Gojo knew you he was more guilty than you ever would be. He had been the one to lash out at Geto after getting frustrated with him. You'd always pull Geto aside to comfort him when his mind became troubled and actually listened to him, as opposed to Gojo's one track mind of trying to get him back on track to becoming the strongest sorcerers in history. Gojo wanted to say you enabled Geto's thoughts by consoling him when they'd get bad, but in reality Gojo was just bitter he hadn't been as good of a friend to him before he eventually spiraled the same way you had. Now he was pushing you away too. He'd rather forget about Geto all together and carry on, and you were a constant reminder of the missing piece of what used to be a perfect trio. Three best friends, all broken in one way or another by a world that failed them all. The colder Gojo got, the closer you felt like wanting to run away too in hopes of finding Geto. If you did find him, would he kill you? You really didn't care. Everything around you felt like it was crumbling into into pieces. Gojo was going to lose you too if he didn't get his act together, but you never had the nerve to say anything to him. His coldness only made it harder to speak with him, someone you use to be able to tell anything. "I mean it Satoru. I'm really happy we still have each other." You repeated yourself hoping for more of a response, but he still continued to ignore you. You got up from your seat next to him and went inside. You stormed into your room and grabbed your phone before grabbing some shoes and a jacket to go outside. Sure it was late at night, and cold, but you didn't really care anymore. Staring at the stars while walking, you noticed how some twinkled brighter than others. It reminded you of yourself. You used to be one of those brighter stars, but you knew your light was beginning to fade. The cold metal bench Gojo, Geto and yourself used to sit on seemed to taunt you as you sat down on it, reminding you even more of why you were hurting so much. The bone chilling feeling didn't only come from the temperature, but from the memories that were flooding back so rapidly. Good and bad. A doleful feeling washed over you and you thought back to the day you remembered all too well. The day you witnessed Geto break. You brought your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around your legs, resting your head on them as you sat on the bench and cried. The wind whistled as snow began to fall from the ground. You didn't care if it was cold outside. You were used to it. Closing your eyes, you pictured a time when you were happier in your head as the chilling wind blew your hair around. Suddenly, footsteps began to approach the bench and you felt that someone had sat down next to you. As you opened your eyes, you almost couldn't believe them. Did you just fall too far into a daydream or what?

"Long time no see, Y/N." The man spoke. His voice was a bit raspy from the cold, but his dark eyes and long black hair were unmistakable. "Is it really you?" A desperate tone echoed through your words. "Would I be sitting next to you so closely if it wasn't?" Geto chuckled. His voice sounded like pure honey. You stood up off the bench and he did the same. He pulled you into a hug. "What are you doing out here all alone?" He lowered his voice. He was still on the run after all and he would never risk getting you put in harms way. Ever since he left Jujutsu society a year ago and became who he was now, he never showed up much. There were times you swore you saw him in public, but this was the first time actually seeing him. You cried into his arms. Everything had been so hard without him. You hated him for what he'd done, but it was merely a hate for his actions. You could never hate him. As you both pulled away from the hug, Geto sat back down on the bench and gave you a warm, inviting smile. You laid down on the bench so that your head was in his lap. He looked down at you and you looked up at him, both smiling at each other. After talking to each other for hours about life on the bench, catching up with one another, he noticed the feint light of the sun. "Want me to walk you home?" He offered. He knew the dangers that would follow if he was spotted, but he didn't care. He'd die for you if he had to. Overtime he realized the feelings he had for you too, yet neither of you had mentioned them yet. "No." You spoke with a smile on your face. "You can take me anywhere, just not home." Your words threw him for a loop. "What exactly do you mean, Y/N?" He thought he knew what you meant, but he had to make sure he wasn't assuming things. "I want to go with you." You said bluntly. Selfishly he wanted to tell you to come along, but he knew for your safety it wasn't a good idea. "As much as I'd love that, you can't. The higher-ups will start hunting you down if they catch wind you ran off with me. I can't let you put yourself in harms way for me." He hugged you tightly and a tear fell down his cheek. He didn't want to let you go, but he had to. "I don't care. I can protect myself, and you. Just like I know you can protect yourself, and me." He heard the determination in your voice. It sounded to him like you had already made this decision a long time ago. You were just waiting to find him again. "But what about Satoru?" He posed another question he thought would challenge you. Instead, it pushed a button he had no idea was there. "I don't care about him anymore. I tried to be there for him but he ignored me. He doesn't care about me either. Trust me. I did my best, but it wasn't enough for him. Ever." You snapped. Geto looked shocked, but ultimately, tried to be understanding. "Well. There's no talking you out of this, huh?" He chuckled. "Then come on. Let's get going before the sun comes up." He placed a kiss on your cheek and gave you another quick hug before leading the way. He was looking forward to living with you.

#jujutsu kasien #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #suguru fluff #geto fluff #friends to lovers #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satoru angst #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #suguru geto x y/n #suguru geto x you #jujutsu kaisen x you

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mammalsofaction · 4 months

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Don't Leave Me Here Alone

Rating: E

Relationship: Heinz Doofenshmirtz/Perry the Platypus

Tags: incredibly emotional smut, fuck or die, human Perry, talking Perry, bath sex which is incredibly inadvisable considering Heinz's age specifically, a Perry that is so so whipped for his nemesis

Summary:

I need you, he thinks. Loudly, loudly, never loud enough. "Heinz," he says instead, and Perry realizes he has said short of nothing else since he has arrived, as if he scantly remembers any other words. The heat has travelled; flushing and concentrating in his system into points beneath his breastbone, his throat, and most urgently, his groin, and he refuses to look up for fear of Heinz seeing him bleeding tears as hot as magma. When he presses his face into the pudge of Heinz belly, lips brushing the small scant of skin along the line of his belly, Perry does not mistake the sharp intake of his breath. I need you, Perry thinks again. "If-you need me to leave, I-," The hand on his nape fists, tight-but-not-quite pulling, and Perry shuts his mouth with a click, for fear of moaning. Another hand brushes down the side of his face, and the sweat that sticks up the front of his temple. And Heinz says, equally quietly; "Come on."

He's burning.

Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated is dark when Perry lands on the balcony of Heinz's laboratory, and Perry shucks off the straps of his jet pack from his shoulders with a vengeance. Distantly, he notes that it must be the hours right before dawn; Heinz's sleep disorders and insomnia often translate into working well into the witching hour, and he wakes by 7 or 8 to begin his schemes.

Perry had left for his mission on Tuesday, right before Sundown. How many hours would that make before he could crawl his way here? 8? 12?

Perry itches to tear his own skin off.

He gets to the kitchen, lights left unlit which leaves him scrabbling the drying rack for a cup, a mug, a bowl, anything. He could not tell if he was making a ruckus, and he is not entirely sure he cares. The sound of running water from the desperate twist of the tap was akin to the angel's choir, and the first gulp to drink was nirvana. Tap water spills down the front of his shirt, mixing into various chemicals, sweat and blood, and he is abruptly overcome by the need to take them off, off, off.

He refuses to stop drinking while he does it, no doubt tearing the garment into rags as he pops all of his buttons with his head dunked down beneath the running water of the sink. Perry feels irrational. He feels mad. Like a snarling, sick thing.

"Who is that?" Demands a voice from beyond the kitchen. "If you're here for my money I'll have you know I have this place armed to the teeth. I'm an evil scientist, you know, I've got this umbrella and I am not afraid to use it. For violence reasons, and not the weather."

The familiar, nasally tone--one that does not sound as sleepy as it should be--makes him smile, despite himself. His insides churn with a nauseating rush of emotions; warmth, bliss, heat, relief, hunger, need. Perry clenches every muscle in restraint, his jaw, his biceps, his muscles. The joints of his fingers dig painfully into the stonework surrounding the sink, and it creaks in alarmed protest. Perry does not answer. The light flicker on with a soft click, and Perry does not turn around from the sound of Heinz's disbelieving gasp.

"Perry the Platypus ?" Heinz demands, as if it isn't obvious. Who else could it be? "What did they do to you?"

What did they do, he asks, and not what are you doing here? How did you get in? Do you even know what time it is?

Heaven, Earth and every listening God, Perry has missed him.

He feel a gentle touch to the back of his shoulders. Perry stiffens, before he unclenches, all at once, and he slumps into the flooding sink. Heinz swears, and Perry lets the man manhandle him as he'd like, pulling and tugging and pushing and sitting him down into the straight backed wooden chair of the dining table. He leans into the headrest as Heinz fusses, muttering to himself as he pats Perry down, clinically checking for wounds.

He knows how Perry made his way in. He knows why, too. Perry's told him months ago, when he demands an explanation for having found him beaten and bleeding into his love seat by the fireplace. I don't have anywhere else to go.

Heinz knows who did this to him. Or rather, he knows who let them do it. Knows there is no talking Perry out of his career choices.

Heinz was, first and foremost, a scientist, and for all his fondness of talking and mumbling and asking, it is so that when time comes he knows all the right questions to ask.

What did they do?

"Heinz," Perry mumbles, when he feels the man checking over his cranium for injuries, and investigating for concussions no doubt. Heinz doesn't answer. "Heinz," he calls again, louder. and finally the man stops, eyes wide and alarmed and blue as a baby's bassinet.

Perry doesn't quite know what to say, now that he's gotten the man's attention. He had unconsciously grabbed for his wrist, and he makes his grip gentle. "I'm fine," he tells him, and Heinz scoffs, straightening.

"You are very clearly not fine, Perry the Platypus." He argues, fuck, and Perry loves that, loves his stubborn fire, how much he cares, the way his codename rolls straight off of his tongue like butter on a hot pan. "You're burning up for one." The penchant for stating the obvious is less attractive, he won't lie, but it's an impressively accurate deduction to make without tools and bionic arms, Perry thinks. "Sheiße, and your pupils are huge, Perry the Platypus, were you drugged? Are you high right now?"

High? Is he high? Was he drugged? When was he drugged? Was it the food his captors had fed him? Something in the bullets they used when they captured him? A gas released in the air when Perry had trashed their laboratories?

Had something spread through contact of the girls he had been sent to save, feverish and shivering in cuffs and manacles strapped to dirty beds and locked rooms? A residue from the skin rubbed off as he carried each one of them to safety?

He doesn't know. It had not felt so important to think about, at the time. He had just felt so angry. He had thought of the burning heat in his chest as rage, but here he was now, leaning into his nemesis' touch in the man's kitchen at dead o'clock in the morning hours later, fantasizing about sucking the man's kind soul through his cock.

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#phineas and ferb #heinz doofenshmirtz #perryshmirtz #human perry #choice of fic #perry the platypus

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faerunsbest · 4 months

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A follow up to this

When rolan realizes he's been inattentive that his partner, his lover, heart believes they're not actually important to him. Not next to his work.

It breaks his heart and leaves him feeling miserable. When finally he looks at them, top to bottom, he notices so many little things he'd been too busy to see before.

Tired shadows under their eyes, nails dull, uneven and cracked, stains on the knees of their pants and the hair that used to be glossy and smooth was now a bit dull wrapped up in a messy bun.

He wasn't taking care of them at all, what a mess. Rolan pulled them close against him, pressing kisses to them before dragging them back up stairs to their room.

" I haven't been caring for you, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, let me fix it please."

They go upstairs, he makes a point of running a bath, oils and bubbles and his favorite shampoo and all those hair things she used to use. All the while his lover still looks at him with deep worry once the bath is ready he guides them feeling increasingly guilty that his sudden attention makes them nervous.

Had he truly been so neglectful? While they sit in the bath, it apparent that they can't relax. Though they don't let go of his hand while he sits by them.

"Rolan...what's going on?"

He let's them reach up to touch his face, hands now a bit rough. He sighs against them while taking their hand in his, kissing their knuckles.

"I just...I haven't been thinking, and today I was talking about pulling your own weight and realized... I've just been letting you do everything. I haven't been taking care of you like I promised I would. I've been so awful I let you think you're not important to me "

His love sitting the bath, listening to his voice crack as he speaks. They lean over to kiss his forehead.

"Would you sit with me? It's lovely in here..."

He just looks over a bit glum

"Please?"

He isn't going to refuse a single request, he swears to himself. He's going to make it up to them. Rolan strips to climb into the bath and sit with them, feeling his loves body on his lap, resting on his chest. Rolan held them close, letting them lay and finally relax against him.

He spent the remainder of the day spoiling them, giving them all his attention, and when finally they lay in bed together they were pressed up against him. Rolan mused that he would have to rearrange his entire schedule to make sure this didn't have a chance to happen again.

And he would.

One year later, he's home at 4 in the afternoon, hurrying into the tower with a pastry box in hand. Today is his favorite day, the night before rest day. He grins as he heads into the kitchen to see his love there making their part of dinner.

He sneaks in to press a kiss to their cheek, loving the way they lean back against him. As they do, he holds out the box for them.

"They made it again!?"

"I made a special order."

He plops it into their hands before taking off his outter robe and nudging them out of the way so he can take over dinner.

Together they bustle about until it's time to scuttle up to the highest balcony with their dinner, pastry and wine. Tonight they've got a got a date to sit out for dinner and watch the nearby festival put on its fireworks show.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #rolan #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #tiefling #romance #life gets better #he loves his person so much #makes such a point to show how nich he loves them

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antiromanticbaby · 11 months

Text

Black Lotus - Satan

Prince!Satan x GN!Reader

[✧] ー we need more Victorian era themed stuff of these characters :( happy late birthday, Satan <3

Summary: Satan's birthday ball had been quite suffocating, he wanted a break. And who else better than the masked stranger on the balcony to strike up a conversation with? Similar to: roses - lucifer beware: I'm trying to write something historical (just tad bit) so correct me if any title was wrong alright? It's kinda hard keeping it gender neutral ;-; You can listen to: undecided for now, any classic song goes well. my recommended song is merry-go round of life Not proof read

TO think he would be stuck here of all places. Yes, Satan appreciated the fact that his brothers had gone as far as throwing a full blown ball for his birthday, but it was so unnecessary. Uncomfortable in his own skin, hidden behind a mask and smile. He would much rather sit in the silent library, without all these eyes on him, as he enjoyed a roller coaster of adventures with his beloved books. These restrained smiles, two faces now turned three, laughing and enjoying a birthday he wasn't. The big reveal was yet to come. The plan was for him to communicate with other nobles without them keeping themselves back just because he was the fourth born prince. Hence why masks covered everyone's faces. But Satan would much rather do the communication with what the others deemed as peasants than nobles. After all, many of these nobles were of no interest to him. They were just puppets, thinking they were the puppeteer, unaware to all the strings his brothers had attached to them.

He could read these nobles like open books, yet they thought a smile would protect them from Satan's sharp mind and eyes. While this ball did boost his ego (and was his chance at meeting suitors), he wanted a break. There people hired by his brothers to look like the 'prince', and converse with others so they would be distracted from the actual prince. Satan glanced at where all the gifts where.

All these and yet no books? How disappointing.

He needed a break, didn't he? He was tired of keeping up this act. Unfortunately for him, as he approached his favorite spot in the ballroom -the balcony- someone was already there. At least it was one person, not a group of drunk nobles. Whoever this person was, they seemed to be silent too. Good for him. But if this other guest also wanted a break from these nobles, perhaps they could get along. So he decided to approach them, you. He was the prince, he could break rules anytime.

"Good evening, sir/miss. You know, there is an indoor space with couches and tables, correct? Surely your grace wouldn't want to catch a cold." Satan spoke, keeping his distance. Neither of you knew each other's identity and he wondered just how he should address you. You probably had no idea. He decided he would speak about this matter later tomorrow with his etiquette teacher.

You turned around, unbothered by his presence. Of course you were, you viewed him like any other noble guest here and not the prince. "My sincerest apologies, my lord. The ball was getting quite suffocating, so I came to the balcony for some fresh air."

"I know how that feels," Satan replies, his tone of voice still sounding dull. He couldn't help but agree. All night, nothing had grabbed his attention and that was boring him to death. He was tempted to sneak out and back to the library but knowing the annoying eldest, he'd be dragged back in no time. He frowned. Usually nobles came to balls with a partner, so where was yours. "Please disregard my question if it seems to invasive, but are you alone?"

"Yes unfortunately, I couldn't find a suitable partner for the night." you spoke. "If you do not mind answering, how about you, my lord?"

"Hm… I was here by force, this day is more of a celebration for my brothers than myself. I never took a liking to such events, people, conversations." Satan is rather blunt about this. However he made sure his statues are hidden. "What a coincidence, that we both find ourselves in the same predicament." he pauses, then adds, "You are very mysterious, I've never seen you before."

"What a coincidence, that you speak the same lines as the forbidden book 'Black Lotus*', the tale of a musician and a blind prince who only realized he had fallen for a man once the musician was executed." You hummed, smiling. It was the same predicament of the book too, only that none of you were blind. And that you hadn't expected him to be the prince.

"You are quite the bold one, admitting that you have read a forbidden book." Satan pauses for one moment before speaking, "But I must admit, I have read it too. I can't say I feel any sympathy for the blind prince, if only he could've seen the man who he loved, maybe it would've been a different story."

His expression, rather cold from the outside, is warmer than usual as he speaks. You nodded, speaking up. The sudden shift in Satan's attitude hadn't gone unnoticed by you. "And of course, the musician could see. The piece he had written out for the prince and him only... the piano sheets were written in the book and I am truly amazed at how beautiful it was." You sighed dreamily. "For our tale will never end in love. The name of the ballade was… fairy tale, right?"

"Yes, I believe 'fairy tale' is the name of the ballade. As if fate was mocking those who read it. Quite the wise of choice of name if I may speak." If it wasn't for the expressionless and masquerade mask, it would be possible to tell exactly how intrigued Satan actually is by the conversation; he might have even chuckled.

"Quite informant, my lord. I wonder how vast your library and how powerful your connections are." You chuckled, teasing him just the slightest. If the noble in front of you could have his hands on a forbidden book, you wondered what else he could do with his power. He raised his eyebrows, however the action was hidden beneath the mask. "Are you impressed by such things?"

"Who knows, my lord." You turned away from his prying eyes, a smile pulling up to your lips. "A wise and knowledgeable man such as you must have travelled a lot, am I correct?"

"Yes, my lord/lady. However, I have only travelled a little." he shook his head bitterly. "I live quite the secluded life, you see, I have been on a couple of... diplomatic missions. However, the most I've travelled is in and out of the palace library. I still read about distant lands and people and learn of their ways and customs. Though I am no longer allowed outside of our kingdom or this castle." he looks rather saddened by this comment. "My family has quite the power, and after my oldest brother, I would be the most suitable to take over. If he were to somehow die, I would be the first in line to take over our family, based on our parents' will. That would put a target on my back so my mother and father don't allow me out of the castle and our kingdom anymore."

"What a bitter tale, my lord. This reminded me of the tale of the magician who escaped the life of nobles and once his family took a hold of him again, he was forced to live a life of isolation until he was in power. And until then, his only escapism of this cruel reality were books." Your frowned at that. "And yet, all along, he knew that these books could only give him a semblance of reality."

"You mean 'The Mad Magician'? Were you aware that this book has been written based on true stories?" He asked, interested. You knew so many books didn't you? Perhaps you were more interesting than you let on. And in that moment, the mask on your face was looking more like an obstacle than anything else. What a mystery you were.

"There are days I could relate to that story." He pauses, a bittersweet smile forming on his face. "Sometimes I dream about leaving the castle, running away with nothing but the clothes on my back and whatever books I can carry, and never look back." he laughs, but there's a sadness to it.

You frowned at that. You knew how strict most royal families were, but to this extent? Perhaps if you knew more about his title and just who he was, you could have a better grasp. Before you could speak up, he did. "I often think of what would happen to me if my eldest brother is gone, will my life be any better? And as much as I try to despise him, I imagine that I would feel empty without him. The imagination of not having him is quite saddening, as much as I hate to admit it."

"You know, my lord," You paused, wondering how to word it. "Perhaps one day we can go on adventures together, and remake our favorite scenes in books."

"That sounds… appealing… we could explore the world and escape, even for a little while." Satan's eyes lit up. "To be free from our duties, our restrictions and to just explore… it's an alluring prospect, indeed."

"And perhaps, we can begin by sharing our full names, by taking our masks off." A smile tugged up to your lips. "After all, we have spoken of forbidden book and romance, this wouldn't change a thing, would it?"

You were caught off guard as Satan stepped closer, closing the distance between you. He grasped your hands in his and brought it to his mask, a smile finally gracing his cold demeanor. He allowed you to take it off, relishing in the way your eyes widened. You were talking to the prince all this time and only now you understood. "If our secrets are to be told, then I believe we should start with our faces. Now may I see yours, my lord/lady? What is it that I ought to call you?"

Your mouth fell agape and your hands went to your mask, but before you could take it off, hurried footsteps approached. A deep voice spoke up, and you could identify those intense red eyes anywhere. The crown prince, Lucifer. "It seems that you have taken your mask off before the due time, Satan." He gave you a passing glance before motioning for Satan to put it back up. "No matter, come with me quickly, it is about time we reveal who you are."

There was no room for objection as Lucifer walked back inside the ballroom, expecting Satan to follow. Just as things were going well, the eldest had to ruin it for him again. He put his mask back on, giving you a warm smile and nod of the head before leaving. That night, you left a black lotus in the balcony where you stood. And going home, you thought he would never know you.

Little did you know, you didn't go home alone that night.

But as time passed, you would notice lotuses appearing on your balcony. Each time on top of a new book, sometimes even forbidden books. Perhaps the ball wasn't as fruitless as it seemed, because soon enough, letters arrived too.

happy birthday Satan, our little ball of wrath.

Black Lotus: I came up with this book very randomly and chose this name because black lotus symbolizes death, and rebellion.

p.: And after two weeks of receiving endless flowers, a majestic carriage stopped in front of your castle/palace/mansion/place. You can decide how it went :)

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pettypuppy-jonghyun · 2 months

Text

Masked Dream *Rewrite*

Summary: Felix transmigrates into a world where he falls in love with queen!reader but tragically has to say goodbye when he decides to go back home

Notes: remake of my fantasy au (in hopes that this one makes more sense)

Warnings: angsty

The masquerade ball that was held in your palace that evening kept you busy enough that you didn't dwell in your thoughts. Though, the ache of the goodbyes you previously shared with your lover was hammering against your heart, making it difficult to enjoy the event. You could only sit atop your golden throne, searching the ballroom for a familiar pair of eyes among the masked faces.

As the Queen, you held a ball annually to keep up with the demands of the nobility beneath you. To show your support of both them and the commoners, you opened the palace one day a year so both can intermingle freely. However, because of a certain someone, things had begun to change. Little by little he started to pick apart the structure of the life you'd grown accustomed to, opening your eyes far more clearly than they'd ever been. It started off with small things like changing the kingdom's latest fashion trends to giving a new spark to the music. Now, all that he changed became a new tradition to share even at the ball, and he wasn't there to experience it.

Your attention briefly wandered off when the musicians started to play a melody that man taught them. It was a different style of music that the people of your kingdom were beginning to become accustomed to due to your lover's influence. The man you fell so deeply in love with had such an impact on your way of life, just by telling the stories about his hometown. He'd gush about his family and the memories he shared with all of them, and every time it seemed as if he would grow farther and farther away from you. As if he was from a whole other world, changing yours all the while.

You recalled his confession he one day blurted out to you, about his hometown. How he knew deep down inside that he wasn't supposed to be here. You never realized that meant wherever he belonged was too far from you. When he finally decided to part ways, the goodbye had caused far too much pain in your heart. Now you were at a ball, longingly staring at the people before you in hopes he changed his mind. In hopes he wanted to stay.

Suddenly, your eyes met his. The black, smoothly designed mask covered the top half of his face, but you could recognize those brown eyes anywhere. Surprised by his presence, you leaned forward on your throne to get a better look. You felt as if it was a trick of the light, seeing him standing in the crowd. But it only lasted a second before he drifted out the back doors to the garden, slipping away quietly.

The rush of adrenaline filled your body as you quickly gathered a handful of your gown in your grasp, racing down the stairs from your chair and through the ballroom. You squeezed past everyone dancing, following your lover's path out the balcony doors and into the garden. The cold air nipped harshly at your skin as you ran, never once looking back.

When you rounded the corner of tall bushes, you saw Felix sitting on a stone bench waiting for you. You cautiously walked to him, watching as he removed the black mask to spare a sad smile for you. He patted the other end of the bench, encouraging you to join him.

"Why have you come back?" You asked him breathlessly, feeling hesitant to even question it. You felt the flame in your heart bursting through your chest just by looking at him, reminding you of those pitiful goodbyes you had already shared.

Felix turned his legs toward you, reaching a hand to your own to place in his lap. "My dearest love," he spoke softly. His left hand moved to caress the side of your face. "I don't have much time left to explain this. Will you listen?"

"Why must you hurt me more?" Your voice was soft as you watched him stand. He offered his hand to you once more, helping you stand before him. He placed a tender hand on your cheek, watching you lean into the warmth of his palm.

"Would you grant me a dance before I confess my troubles?" The weak smile he managed put your heart in more pain than you could ever admit. Still, you were only able to accept his request.

"If this is the last thing you'll ever ask of me, then I have no choice but to listen," you whispered, following his lead as he began to dance. It wasn't the proper ball dance you were used to seeing---no, it was something new that he taught you. He brought your arms up to wrap around his neck, his own hands finding their place on your waist. Slowly he began to sway you back and forth, your feet barely grazing across the stone pathway.

The intimate position made you long for the moment to last forever. The way his deep brown eyes gazed into your own, so many thoughts swirling behind them. He had reached a hand to the loose tendrils of your hair that fell from the tight hairstyle, tucking it behind your ear in a way that was far too sweet for you to bear. Your own hand found its way to the back of his hair, the soft bunch of hair gliding through your fingers as you played with it.

All too soon the quiet hum of music from inside the palace became silent as the song ended. Even more so than before, you could feel your heart beating harshly against your chest. You began to count the beats to ensure they were regular. You quickly turned away from Felix.

"My Queen," he whispered, maneuvering himself to remove the purple mask from your eyes, gently placing it on the bench. "There are so many things I must explain, like who I am and where I come from, but I don't have much time left."

You swallowed the horrible sadness that began to build in the back of your throat. "You do not need to tell me anything anymore-"

"No," he cut you off, shaking his head. "This is something I must do before I live to regret it." His tone was desperate and it twisted part of your already aching heart.

Having no other choice, you finally agree to hear him out. "If you feel so strongly about this, I will listen."

"I want you to know that everything we have felt together has been real. My love for you, my actions, my words---all have been true. Real. But I'm afraid, that is not the case for you."

Felix's voice was cracking. The tears began to well up in his eyes as he gazed so lovingly at you. You frowned at his demeanor, suddenly feeling uneasy. "I don't understand," you said quietly. "I have always been true to you. I have always been honest with my love for you."

Nodding, he breathed out heavily, "I know. And I will always remember you for that. But I have realized now the truth that I have been missing. It is not I who is from another world, but you. You are not real. You are a figment of my own imagination, and will be gone when I go back."

You were astonished, mouth parting slightly in confusion as you stared at him. The tears began to pour down his cheeks like a river stream. You wanted to reassure him. You wanted to wipe away those fretful tears and beg him to come to his senses, but you couldn't bring yourself to say anything.

"I am so sorry," he cried out.

"Felix," you tried to call his name after a moment. "Please, I don't understand what you are trying to say to me. Why must you cry so terribly? Your tears are breaking my heart."

He shook his head now, turning so he didn't meet your gaze as his sobs resounded in your ears. You were feeling panicked at his strange and sudden confession. The unease didn't settle as you watched him cry to himself, never taking the chance to explain any further.

What he told you didn't make sense. Felix appeared out of thin air, crashing into your life and spiralling out like a storm. He turned your entire life upside down, made you long for someone like you never had before, and he chose to leave to go back home. Now he stood before you, telling you that it wasn't he who was a dream, but you.

"I should have known better," he whispered into the cold night air, those beautiful brown eyes meeting yours again. "Someone as perfect as you couldn't possibly exist."

When Felix opened his eyes again, you were gone. His eyes met the inner walls of his apartment instead and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. The feeling of your body against his was still vividly there as he wrapped his own arms around his chest, almost as if to savor it. The tears were still falling, the only real part that followed him back from the dream.

"I loved you."

#lee felix #felix imagines #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz feliz #lee felix fluff #lee felix oneshot #felix au #skz angst #skz oneshots #skz au

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firefly--bright · 2 years

Text

Sight.

jean kirstein x gender neutral!reader, modern au

inspired by this song :)

summary : jean's eyes were always a sight to behold

warnings : use of the word "eyes" way too much

a/n : i should be studying history but this is what happens when i listen to one too many bollywood songs and yearn a bit too much. enjoy :)

taglist : @mrsnobodynobody

✿ main masterlist is in the navigation pinned on my profile! ✿ enter my taglist ✿ requests are open! ✿ engagement is deeply appreciated! ✿

jeans eyes were always something you found yourself looking at unintentionally. in the middle of a conversation about him telling you of the many antics Sasha and connie had partaken in that day, you found yourself not being able to pull away from his eyes.

and you couldn't blame yourself either; you'd seen many other people being incapable of pulling away from his gaze while talking to him. everyone thought jean was a heartthrob for a reason.

but what you never noticed in his eyes was the love they held for you.

everyday would be the same - he would sit beside you in your class or in the library on on your couch and you'd play with the same line you had of being in between friendship and something more. his eyes would either be locked with yours or on his books or on his notes or on the screen playing a dumb rom-com infront of you. (jean denied ever liking them even though you knew it made his hopeless romantic heart pound with yearning).

and when jean paused the movie or took a break, his eyes would find yours again, waiting intently for him to start talking just to look into his many hues.

his unfairly long lashes blinked with liveliness that was only shown towards you. they framed his eyes perfectly; just like the skin around them. they looked like something a great sculptor would use as a reference, only for the carvings to come out pale in comparison of the real ones. and as his stories or the recollection of his day would end, yours would start.

his eyes said more than his words or hands could. even while being a creative (his art was something your own eyes would amaze upon), his art could never make his feelings and emotions as tangible and real as his eyes did. you didn't know if it was just you or if everyone could read him so openly like this, but you could tell when a compliment would actually be heard or if he would shake it away with a cocky smile. you could tell because you were the one giving him those sweet coments, because only someone as close to him could see something he did and find it endearing instead of annoying or overused. his eyes would widen slightly and blink a little when he comprehended your rare and specific compliments, but he would recover quickly with a shake of the head and a scoff. ("i knew that already" he would say. he didn't know that already. you could tell.) and just as happy as you'd seen his eyes, they would also be the ones to blink back his stubborn tears when his crush kissed that brunette with a much different pair of sea green eyes than his brown ones.

you'd see his eyes then, as he rushed away from them and towards the balcony, how he tried to conceal his real feelings in order to protect himself. but he couldn't hide from you, and when you made your way to him and lay your hand on his back, his eyes blinked the silent tears into existence.

"i feel like I'm always the second choice." he said. his gaze was directed towards the city down below.

"not to me." you said.

his teary gaze now locked into yours - sincere and concerned and warm.

the corner of them wrinkled. he sniffled as quietly as he could, not letting you see how much you won him over. but you could tell.

you were sure some painter had looked into his soul and decided to transfer all it's feelings into his vision. he'd argue they were nothing special but you never told him how much they were. they were small, the skin around them wrinkled with all the years spent smiling under the sun, a little rugged. but the colours and the intensity of them was much more than special.

in the sun they'd be different. in the summer they'd be a brilliant pot of honey, almost a halo gold. they'd squint under it's harshness and he would grumble about the heat but his eyes remained the shade you adored.

in the winter they'd be darker under the cloudy skies. almost the same as them in the rain, this time a little darker. they were like barks of the trees in the forest you found yourself lost in, and it didn't help that his left eye had some green specks that his right eye lacked. you were sure they held a world in there, you were sure there were planets that looked exactly like his pupils, swirls of light browns and dark greens.

why wouldn't anyone swoon over the honeyed words that matched the sweeter gaze he held? if they were in your position and looking into his eyes while he pleaded with you about the ingredients of the cookies, how could you refuse his sight? how could you deny that yes, sprinkles might taste good baked into the cookie than sprinkled on top?

(they didn't. the sugar in the sprinkles melted and made a goopy mess around the cookies, but it was worth it because sweet was still sweet and the pair of you stayed up late at night on a sugar rush talking nonsence that noone would understand.)

and you knew it was cheesy to think this, to know that even if you didn't believe in a god or in a higher being, you'd still thank them for the one thing you had seen more times in your life than your own reflection - jean's eyes.

you rested your head on your fist and resisted the urge to yawn as the professor droned on about the different perspectives and their importance in drawing and how to improve upon them. a passive aggressive lecture, since he kept mentioning that some of his students knew nothing about the horizon line and drew with no importance to the reality of the spaces.

jean supressed a long and exhausted sigh. he'd known this topic since he was ten, and how someone could fuck it up in a university lecture baffled and bored him. if only he wasn't suffering from a major art block, he'd draw his way out of this boredom that clung to him.

his shoulders slumped forward as he gazed towards you, arms crossed over his chest, ready to whisper a snarky comment in your ear that you were sure to laugh at, but he stopped midway. his eyes widened as he saw you.

drenched in the afternoon sunlight from behind you (you insisted on sitting near the large windows, not wanting the florescent lights to illuminate you), the lower half of your face was covered by a closed fist, he could almost feel the warmth of your hands against his. your cheeks were highlighted by the gold from outside. but the real sight were your eyes.

he'd seen into your eyes countless times. the times you tried to hide your emotions from him, claiming you didn't want to bother him and the times you were too exhausted to do so, the times you wiped away your tears from the corner of your eyes after laughing a bit too hard, hell, even the times your eyes remained closed with your cheeks pressed against your forearms as you napped while procrastinating and your eyelids fluttered sleepily. none of those times could compared to this.

jean was close enough to you, his plastic chair next to yours, your shaking knee rubbing against his. he could see the outline of the sun's harsh glare softened through the rim of your pupils. your gaze was bored yet it retained the life in them that only you possessed, the liveliness that he grew so used to loving. your slow blinks made him see your lashes bathed in sunlight as well, and if he wasn't sure about his love for you before, then he was sure of it now.

through your eyes, he saw his own. through your eyes, he saw his melt away into almost nothing but the warmth that you provided him with. and in that warmth, a surge of inspiration found him a new muse that helped him rid his art block- your eyes.

when he walked you home that night, with a promise of an ice cream later, he saw your eyes sparkle under the streetlights, and he swore that he'd seen the same look in his dreams somewhere. he swore that his daydreams of living a comfortable life (one that his father failed to provide him with) would only work with the rythm of your heart against his, of your eyes looking at his and of your hands grazing his own.

when he went to his own dorm that night with a wide smile and an empty ice cream cup in his hands, finding marco waiting up for him, slumped over his book and a half eaten bagel, his freckled friend said only one thing to him with the roll of his own eyes, "finally you realise it."

jean wondered how marco knew what he knew, but he didn't question it. marco usually knew what jean would take years to figure out. thankfully this time, it didn't take him years.

a panicked frenzy followed the next couple of weeks as jean found himself constantly wiping his sweaty palms on his pants if you leaned in a bit too close. he found himself averting your attentive gaze as you listened to him stumble over his words. had you always been this pretty? had your eyes always looked at his like that or was he going crazy?

and a few weeks turned into two months and jean figured he had enough. he wasn't always the best with words, always thinking too much and saying too little and hoping too hard. but for once, he knew he didn't have to be good with his words.

sat on your bed, waiting for the pizza to arrive, his eyes searched yours intently. no words were spoken. they didn't need to be. for once, jean found out that you could see him the same way he saw you - infinitely and understanding.

his breath hitched when you smiled, your eyes showing the happiness and warmth your lips couldn't portray. how could anyone not fall for this?

but the bell rung with a harshness that ruined the moment jean thought he had intricately created and your sight was broken from his as you scrambled to get the door. jean tried not to show the disappointment and desperation in his eyes, but you could tell because yours showed the same.

the next week, however, jean had vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to create the same moment and improve upon it.

but the moment was not created, not again. his car parked infront of a mall where you were to meet sasha and mikasa and shop for historia's birthday party - her own rite of passage. and there they were again, your damn eyes that shone under the same sun that made him realise his rapid heartbeat.

you looked at him from the passanger seat, unclasping your seatbelt. yet you refused to leave. you looked at his eyes, softened at the corners, as they looked at yours like you were the only thing worth looking at. you found the paths to all your questions there, any that you were unsure of since a week ago, and his found the courage to look at your face, your lips and your nose and your eyes as he leaned in, erasing the distance between your bodies. his eyes didn't close like you expected them to and therein lay a question for you to answer. your heart picked up it's pace, the noon sun slanting it's rays as if to only frame his eyes and they once again turned into clear rivers in the forest. you leaned in, giving him the answer he was looking for.

your noses clashed and his lips chased yours. you could feel his lashes flutter against your cheek as he tilted his head. they were soft and less chaped than yours and your hands reached his cheeks, fingers resting on his jaw.

and when he pulled away and his eyes opened and bore into yours, you felt a part of yourself mend.

he looked into your haze and he swore he saw nothing but you, nothing but the dew on the flowers you pointed to him the one time you went on a hike with your friends. you smiled and he swore you'd breathed directly onto his beating heart.

he smiled.

you were sure the stars would be shy under his gaze.

you smiled.

he was sure you were one of the stars he had naively wished upon as a kid.

(his wish came true.)

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x you #aot #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

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elfwitchtrickster · 2 years

Text

Maverick x reader Part 2

Part 1:

Part 2:

Rooster tries to help you get Maverick

_______________________________

🕚2 months later 🕟

"You know sitting here and staring at him isn't gonna make him like you" Rooster said, following your gaze that was fixed upon a certain auburn-haired captain. "Talking to him isn't gonna help either" Y/N grumbled. "It will, just try" Rooster said but Y/N brushed him off.

"Plus you know what happens every time I try to talk to him" she whined. "I stutter and mumble and my voice gets really high and" she groaned not bothering to finish. "What if I talk you up to him then?" Bradley asked taking a sip of his drink. "Won't that just make him think I'm a nervous weirdo" she asked.

"No, Maverick loves feeling confident, and I'm sure he'd love to know he can still pull a woman, after 60-" he was cut off when you elbowed him in the stomach. "My point is, he's not gonna think you're a weirdo, he thinks you're super smart actually" he said and Y/N's grew wide.

"Really?" She asked and Bradley nodded. "Yeah, you know that stunt you pulled the other day when we were practicing dog fighting, Mav was super impressed, said he wouldn't even have thought to use it himself" Rooster said, oblivious to Y/N's jaw dropping.

"Maverick was impressed by me?" She asked, unnaturally shrill. She pressed a hand to her throat, cheeks tinted pick. "You see the problem" she said and Bradley nodded understandingly. "Don't worry, your wingman is here to do all the work, all you have to do is fly off into the sunset" he said, throwing an arm around her shoulders and mimicking a plane flying into the distance with his hand.

He clapped her on the shoulder before he got up and crossed to the other side of the bar where Pete was playing pool with Coyote and Payback.

She sat for about 20 minutes, watching the two chat, ignoring the side glances from Maverick she'd get every once in a while. Eventually Rooster came back and ordered another drink. "So?" She asked anxiously as he slowly sipped his coke.

"Go outside and see for yourself" he said, flicking the water droplets on his glass with his finger. Y/N carefully slipped of the barstool and balanced in between hers and Rooster's chair. She took a deep breath, downed a shot and strode out to the balcony. She knew she was walking rather fast but she was afraid if she slowed that she wouldn't go at all. She made it to the doorway and paused.

There was Maverick, leaning over the railing staring at the sea with a beer in one hand. The wind was blowing his hair and she could see a glint of gold in his eyes from this angle. Her foot felt like it weighed 100 pounds as she stepped out of the Hard Deck and onto the balcony. Pete turned around at the sound of her footsteps. No turning back now.

She stepped forward timidly, joining Pete at the railing. He smiled at her and she turned to face the other way, faking looking at the beach. Neither one spoke for a couple minutes before she heard the sound of Pete's voice.

"You know one day, a long time ago" he said with a chuckle. "Back when I was in top gun, my plane went down" he said and Y/N turned to listen but now it was him that was looking away, staring at the ocean. "We landed in the ocean. I was fine but" he paused. "My RIO didn't make it" he said quietly.

Y/N's hand covered her mouth in shock. "When I swam over to him, the whole parachute was covered in blood" he swallowed thickly. "He was my best friend. After I lost him I basically had no one" he exhaled slowly. "I cut off my girlfriend at the time, cut off everyone. It took everything in me just to get in a plane for months" he said.

Y/N reached her hand out and placed it upon his. He didn't look at her but he looked down at their hands and smiled softly. "I ended up pushing away anyone who got too close" he continued. "I mean I had friends, a couple pilots from my top gun days, students that I taught.

But I never let anyone get too close. Because I realised..." he squeezed the edge of her hand. "That I'd never experience that type of pain again, if I never let anyone in. And I was fine with it, lived like that for about 30 years. And then you came along" Y/N's eyes widened at his words.

"It's been a long time since I've felt this way for anyone. And that scares me... a lot. But I've been talking to Rooster and it took a while but" he paused. "I've given this a lot of thought and I really want to give you and me a try" he said in a low voice.

Y/N could feel her breath quickening, and her whole body grew hot. Her ears started ringing as she replayed Maverick's words over in her head. 'I really want to give you and me a try' echoed in her mind. She replayed it again 'I've been talking to Rooster and it took a while but' then she was confused.

"What do you mean it took a while" she asked. "How long is a while?" Maverick smirked at her softly. "About five months" he answered and her eyes widened. "F-five months?" She asked open mouthed. He nodded with a chuckle.

"Sorry it took so long" he said, Y/N was still in shock. "So what do you think? Wanna give us a shot?" Y/N knew what she wanted to say but the words struggled to make their way out of her mouth. "Wait- how did you know I liked you?”

Maverick's smirk grew wider as he looked down at her. "Sweetheart, it was obvious" he said and her cheeks flushed pink. She was silent for a second trying to make sense of everything that had happened before she blurted out a response.

"Yes- I- yes!" She practically jumped into Pete's arms wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She buried her face into his neck as he rubbed her back gently. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head as he pulled her close. She pulled back slightly, but Maverick didn't let her go. He brought a hand up to stroke her cheek as she played with the hair on his nape.

They stood there like that for a while before Maverick spoke "We should probably go inside" he whispered. "I think Rooster's gonna break a window, with how long he's been staring at us" he said nodding behind her at the moustached man who ducked out of view when he realised he had been caught. They laughed and walked inside hand in hand, earning cheers from the rest of the dagger squad.

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astradreaming · 2 years

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Why'd it have to be him?

Pre-Marble Hornets :) Song: Him - James Marriott. Notes: Fem! Reader. Y/N = Your/Name. Y/F/S = Your/Favourite/Show. Word Count: 1,215 A/N: First-ever song fic. ♡ Hope you enjoy it! Have a good day/night lovely's ♡

masterlist

Why'd it have to be him?

I'd say you let me down

But he's been here before

And come back around

The sounds of a tv commercial bounced off the walls of the apartment living room. It wasn't unusual for the three friends to be up so late even if they had classes the next day. Tim, Brian, and Y/n all sat around on the couch, takeout napkins and leftovers on the coffee table in front of them.

Brian had started to tell Y/n an overexaggerated story of his and Tim's class earlier that day, how the substitute teacher was nothing but a grumpy old man who made the class that much slower. During said class, while the grumpy substitute was busy Tim accidentally knocked his coffee cup over, which spilled all over his paperwork. In Tim's defense, the cup was on the edge of the table right next to his own seat, Brian thought it was hilarious. Yet somehow Brian was able to charm both Tim and his own way out of detention and even got out of a long lecture from the man.

Will he take you to the same place?

One more hardback in your bookcase

You've got that look in your eyes

I'm blind

Tim decided he'd heard enough of the story, going out to the balcony for a smoke. Lighting his cigarette, leaning on the balcony railing looking out on the streets below. Deep down he knew it wasn't the story he couldn't stand listening to. It was who was telling the story and the reactions he was getting from her.

He fought with himself. He knew he could never truly hate Brian. He was his first-ever friend. He was the first one who actually believed in him. The only one who made him feel normal. But she was his first-ever crush. First unrequited love. His only other friend.

Tim threw the end of the cigarette down, falling on the pavement below. Pulling the sliding door open and appearing in the living room once more.

Have you ever seen

Ever seen a guy with moves like that?

Makes me wonder how I've been so bad

My head turns when the lights

Go dim

The sight in front of him made his previous argument futile. The commercials ended, and Y/f/s played once again. Y/n focused on the tv drowning in a blanket that was wrapped around both her and Brian. Y/n's back against Brian's chest, his arm around her. Sour-lipped and bitter he stomped into the kitchen grabbing a glass of whatever was closed in the fridge.

"C'mon Tim, you're gonna miss the best part of the show" Brian's voice echoed in Tim's head. Why'd Brian have to be so... Brian. Tim sighed as he came back into the room, sitting on the side of the L-shaped couch. Twisting himself around so he could fake interest in the tv. His head reeled.

Reeling into his thoughts once more he thought of something he learned in class he thought y/n would like. He turned to look over. Y/n was asleep, face smooshed against Brian's collar. Brian was too focused on her sleeping form to notice the range of emotions on his friend's face. Brian softly smiled to himself as he pulled the fallen blanket back over her shoulders. Turning back to the tv the pair of boys sat in silence.

Take my mind for a spin

You don't believe in that shit anyway

How long has it been

Since I came down?

Gave up on New Year's Day

He remembered the party Brian had forced him to go to. Honestly, the only reason he truly went was that he'd overheard you excitingly ranting about it to brian, how you'd wanted them to be there. The New Year's party didn't seem too long ago until he checked his phone... May 11th. Maybe it was a while ago.

It seemed that party was the only chance he had and he fumbled it. Too nervous. Too shy. Too broken.

Walking through the tree-filled woods, Tim and Brian finally found the so-called party. It was more a large gathering of college kids around a bonfire than a party. Then her voice carried through the chaos of all the others, inviting the two over to the spot she'd saved for them.

After a while of being introduced to her friends and her friends friends, they all began talking in their groups around the place. A few kids from another college found a lake a few minutes away from the main spot, taking a couple other kids whose laughter slowly drowned out as they got further away.

Someone had set up a foldable table behind the seats in front of the fire. Brian got up deciding to get a drink for the three of them. His figure wove in out around other kids their age, slowly disappearing from view in the crowd.

Tim had decided that it was now or never. How true that would turn out to be. Her name fell from his lips, sounding just as beautiful as she looks. She turns her full attention on him. She looks over at him, eyes full of sincerity, her smile wide. He fumbles with his words. Cursing at himself, since when did he ever stutter like that? Her smile faltered, face slightly scrunched in worry. He remembers her gentle voice asking if he was alright. He remembers her soft hands grasping his in comfort, his name falling from her lips. He remembers thinking his name had never sounded so sweet.

Conceal that smile on your face

I've only packed a suitcase

Leave the future defined

If you don't mind

He also remembers that the soft moment was cut short. Brian came back with three drinks in his hand. Passing one over to Y/n, his hands became colder her hands left his. Grasping the drink, passing one to him.

Brian sat beside the two, sitting closest to the flames of the bonfire. Y/n looked down at her drink. Head snapping towards Brian, her wide smile back again. Her eyes filled with glee. Tim noticed she was trying to hide how big her smile was. Her cheerful voice questioned Brian about the drink in her hand. Brian had remembered her special cocktail of sodas. Brian had remembered but so had Tim...

Was it when you looked at him?

Was it because he thought he could be

Much more than I've ever been?

Was it because he wasn't me?

Soft snores pulled him back from his memory. Tim turned. Brian's head rested on top of hers. Sound asleep cuddled into each other. Tim often wondered if he wasn't so caught up in his own head, he could of be the one bringing you the weird cocktail drink, he could have been the one holding you close. He could have been the one.

Standing up he reached down for the remote, turning the tv off. He picked up the messy half on the floor blanket, placing it on top of the pair. He flicked the lamp closet to the couch off and opened the sliding door again. Lighting his cigarette, and sitting down on the old wooden chair while he watched the cars pass by.

Why'd it have to be

Why'd it have to be him?

#i hope this is okay !#marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #tim wright x reader #tim wright #brian thomas #brian thomas x reader

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stargazer-sims · 11 months

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Epilogue (Journal Entry #62)

Postscript (Journal Entry #61) // STORY INDEX

Victor

I have everything I've ever wanted.

Not many people can say that, and I feel exceptionally privileged to be among the lucky few.

I know we said we weren't going to use our journal any more, but earlier tonight as I was packing up for our flight home, I was struck by the feeling that I needed to record one last entry. To be honest, I haven't even thought about our journal in over six months, not since our anniversary trip to Sulani, but I remembered something Yuri said to me during our visit to the islands and I kinda wanted to share my feelings.

He asked me if I'd ever felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be in life. At the time, I’d said no. I told him I wasn't there yet because there were still things I wanted.

The funny part is, I just realized today that I'd misunderstood the question. I thought he'd been talking about tangible, definable things like good health, a nice home, a job, or the support of family. And yeah, maybe that was part of it, but what I think he really meant was something less easy to measure; confidence, self-worth, happiness, and the knowledge that we really do have an impact on the world and the people around us.

I should have said yes. Sitting there on the balcony of our Sulani rental cottage, gazing at the sea with my brave, beautiful, intelligent husband by my side, I could easily have said I had it all. I was happy, secure and loved, and everything seemed perfect. But, unfortunately, I hadn’t viewed the question that way because my mind had been on all the things I still wanted to accomplish, such as going to university, finding a new job, and of course getting back to competing in my sport.

Now I have all those things too, and more besides. If you've got a minute to stay and listen, I'll tell you all about it.

Maybe I should've mentioned from the start that we're currently in Switzerland, 'cause it probably isn't obvious from the inside of this hotel room. Like, it's an upscale hotel, but it's pretty generic as far as hotels go and I don't think there's anything particularly Swiss about it.

We've been here for the past week, for the FIS World Snowboarding Championship, and let me just say, it's been an absolute whirlwind of travel, activity and excitement. Tonight's been the first opportunity I've had to stop and process it all, and I think I'm going to need a while for some of it to fully sink in.

As you guys already know, last season ended catastrophically for me, but it wasn't as epic a disaster as I initially imagined. I was doing really well up until my accident, with top-three finishes in a handful of qualifying competitions. As it turned out, my wins from last season plus my wins from this current season were enough to qualify me for two events at Worlds this year, super-G and my best event, parallel giant slalom. I may have mentioned it before, but the world championship competition for snowboarding is held every second year, so if you’re confused about why last year’s points counted, that’s why.

I was thrilled about qualifying, needless to tell you, and so was Davey, my coach. I've qualified for Worlds twice before, but didn't do as well as I'd hoped on either attempt. This time, I was confident going into it, and I was ready physically as well as psychologically.

That's not to say I wasn't nervous. I think a person would have to be crazy not to be at least a little nervous about hurtling down the side of a mountain at seventy-five kilometres per hour with nothing but a helmet, wrist guards, and the grace of the Watcher to protect them. But, alpine snowboarding isn't a sport for people who don't know how to conquer their fear. Out there on the mountain, fear could literally kill you. Any kind of distraction could, and every time I think about my crash last January I'm reminded of that, and of how lucky I am to be back on my board and still able to compete at this level.

Anyway, seven days ago me and Yuri boarded a plane for Switzerland along with Davey, his partner Lindsey, and their sign language interpreter Kayley. Having travelled with Davey before, I knew what to expect, but I think it was jarring for Yuri. Davey and Lindsey are both super loud, and it's not entirely because they're deaf and can't hear themselves properly. They're just... extreme. Like, they bring the party with them wherever they go and it’s never a quiet affair.

By the time we reached our destination, all Yuri wanted to do was hide in our hotel room. He said he'd had enough of interacting with other people, and told me that he wouldn't mind if I wanted to go hang out with some of the other athletes on my own. I decided to stay with him because my first event was on the following afternoon, and I like to get lots of rest the day before I compete. As much as I enjoy a good social gathering, I didn't want to break my ritual. Athletes can be superstitious, and it'd be silly to try convincing you I'm an exception.

So, you're wondering how I did in that first event, right? I came in third, which earned me a bronze medal. That was the highest I'd ever placed at any event at Worlds, and even if I didn't win anything else, I would've been totally satisfied with that.

But, there was still my second event. In the middle of the week, I made it through the elimination races, and the final for the men's parallel giant slalom was yesterday morning.

I woke up early, too excited and full of adrenaline to sleep as much as I should have. I slipped out of bed and headed for the shower, trying not to wake Yuri as I went. My efforts were in vain, however. I was only in the bathroom for about ten minutes, and when I exited it, I saw a very sleepy-looking Yuri sitting up in bed and talking on the phone to somebody. The second thing I noticed was that he had my phone.

"Yes, I want to tell him, but I'm not sure that's a good idea right before his event," Yuri was saying. He was speaking English. "Maybe we can call you after—"

"Who are you talking to?" I asked.

Yuri looked up, clearly startled. "Oh! Victor, I didn't hear you coming out. It... it's your mother. I'm sorry. I saw the caller ID, and I decided I'd better answer it."

"It's okay," I said. "Can you put it on speaker?"

He lowered the phone from his face and touched the speaker button as I flopped onto the bed next to him. "You're on speaker now, Dr. Grace," he said. "Victor's right here."

"Hi Mom," I said. "What's up? Everything okay? It's like, the literal middle of the night where you are, isn't it?"

"Yes," Mom said. "I think you're five hours ahead of us."

I glanced at the time display on the top of my phone screen. "Mom! It's one-thirty in the morning over there! Why aren't you in bed?"

My mother laughed. "Excuse me, sir. Which one of us is the parent in this relationship?"

"Sorry," I said, but I was relieved she sounded so upbeat. I told myself that her reason for phoning couldn't be anything too bad, or she wouldn't be joking with me. "Seriously, what's up?"

"I checked your mailbox after work today. You got a letter from the university."

"Really? What does it say?"

"I wasn't about to open your mail, was I?" she said. "But, I knew you'd want to know straight away."

"And you waited until it was morning here, so you could tell me as soon as possible?" I met Yuri's gaze. "And you didn't want her to tell me before my event."

"I didn't want you to get distracted," he said. "I thought it'd be better to wait until later."

"I guess I can't get mad about that," I conceded. "I mean, it makes sense, and I'm glad you were looking out for me, but now I'm going to be distracted if I don't know what it says."

"What if it's not good news?" Yuri asked.

"Either way," I said.

"I have the letter," Mom said. "Do you want me to open it and read it to you?"

"Yes, please."

We could hear her opening the envelope. Yuri reached for my hand.

The university's application deadline for the nursing program had been the first of November, and I'd gotten everything submitted on time. According to the admissions website, applications would have one of three decision statuses — rejected, accepted or waitlisted — and decision letters would start going out around the end of March or beginning of April.

Now, here we were at the very end of March, and we'd arrived at the proverbial moment of truth.

"Okay," Mom said. "Are you ready?"

I nodded, mostly because I was too worked up to speak, and Yuri said, "He's ready."

"Dear Mr. Okamoto-Nelson," my mom read. "After a careful review of your application, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Bachelor of Nursing program. We will be pleased to welcome you as a new student in the fall semester."

There was more, but I didn't take in anything after the first couple sentences. Yuri flung himself into my arms with a little cry of joy, and we nearly rolled off the bed in our excitement. Poor Mom was trying to explain something about registration fees and student health insurance, but we weren't paying attention.

When we finally composed ourselves, I apologized and asked Mom to keep the letter for me until we got home. I knew there would be things to do and deadlines to have them done by, but at that moment, the competition was priority one. I couldn't lose sight of why I was here in the mountains of Switzerland. As overjoyed as I was about the news that I'd gotten accepted into nursing school, I couldn't let it take my focus away from what I was doing today, not so much because I wanted to win, but because of what I said before. Distractions can be deadly.

"I'll let you go for now," Mom said. "You can call me later and let me know how the competition went."

"We'll definitely call you," I said.

"I'll be looking forward to it. Good luck, and be safe."

I thanked her, and then we said goodbye and hung up. It took me a while to calm down after that, and Yuri had to help me do some concentration exercises.

Once I sorted myself out and we were both dressed and ready, we met Davey, Lindsey and Kayley for breakfast. After that, Yuri and I went back to our room to collect Elsa and the rest of my gear, and then we all headed to the venue.

When we got there, I tried not to look around too much, but it was hard to ignore the huge crowd that had already gathered to watch the competition. We hadn't even started yet, and people were already cheering, using noisemakers, and waving flags of various countries. I think the flags were mostly Swiss, but I spotted lots of others. There were even a few Canadian red maple leaves among them.

It was obvious that even with the help of his hearing aids, Davey was struggling to hear amid the ambient noise from so many people. I was the one competing, but he looked extraordinarily stressed. I was sure it was the confusing jumble of sounds that was upsetting him more than thoughts of the competition though, and I couldn't help wondering how he coped with it when he was still a competitor himself.

I soon found out. Lindsey poked him to get his attention, and then signed something to him. He grinned at her before deftly tugging his hearing aids out and putting them in the front pocket of his coat.

He gave us the thumbs-up, and then practically yelled, "Yes! Sweet silence!"

I lost it.

Laughter did the trick. I instantly felt more relaxed, and although I knew Davey hadn't been trying to be funny on purpose, I still offered him one of the few ASL signs I know. "Thank you."

He signed something to Kayley, and she told me, "He says you're welcome, and also he's going to leave his hearing aids in his pocket. I'll come up to the top of the run to help you." She paused while Davey signed something else. "Because he wants to give you the best damn pep talk ever."

"Sounds good," I said, and when Kayley interpreted that for Davey, it was his turn to laugh.

"Okay, my dude, let's get up there!" he said loudly. "You're gonna crush it!"

"Here's hoping," I said.

I turned to Yuri, and just like at every competition he attends with me, he put my helmet on me. He stood on tiptoe to give me a kiss, and then while our heads were still close together, he whispered. "I love you."

My heart was full with that simple phrase all the way up the mountain, but at the top of the run, it was a different story. I don't know if you've ever heard athletes or performers talk about being in the zone, but it's like this intense state of hyper-focus where nothing exists except the task in front of you. I don't experience it every single time I compete, but most of the time I do, and this morning I was totally in the zone.

I was in the middle of the start order, and there were about eight riders ahead of me. When it was my turn, there was nothing in my mind except the mountain and the snow and the course of red and blue flags stretching out in front of me. I was aware of every muscle in my body and every breath and each beat of my heart. I snapped my boots into Elsa's bindings, and waited for the starting buzzer.

I barely remember the run itself. All I know is, it was fast. Elsa and I were flying, and it felt glorious.

I didn't even realize I'd won until Davey found me later at the bottom of the run. He was screaming in my face about a record-breaking time, and I honestly wasn't sure if he was talking about me or somebody else.

In fact, the reality of my victory didn't truly hit me until the event was over, and Davey was dragging me towards the area where the medal presentation was taking place. They presented the bronze medal to a Swiss rider, and the hometown crowd cheered their hearts out for him, so much so that we could barely hear the recorded national anthem playing as the FIS official placed the medal around his neck. A Norwegian guy won silver, and he got a pretty healthy cheer from the supporters too.

Then, over the slightly crackly public address system, I heard. "And now, the presentation of the gold medal. Please congratulate your FIS World Champion in men's parallel giant slalom. Representing Canada... Victor Okamoto-Nelson!"

For a second or two, I didn't move. Davey nudged my shoulder and urged me forward with a not-so-subtle, "Dude, go!"

I was simultaneously crying and smiling when the official put the medal around my neck. As O Canada played on the speakers, I searched the crowd for Yuri. He was right there in front with Lindsey beside him, and they were holding up a huge Canadian flag between them. I have no idea where they’d gotten it from, but the sight of it and Yuri's brilliant smile ensured that the happy tears didn't stop running down my face until well after the anthem finished playing.

The only way I can describe it is: Best. Day. Ever.

As I was putting my stuff in my suitcase this evening, I kept glancing over at my medals on the nightstand. They were going in mine and Yuri's shared carry-on bag, and I wanted them to be the last things I packed. Not gonna lie, I was tempted to leave them there on the bedside table until morning so I could see them when I woke up, but I ultimately decided not to do that. There'd be plenty of time to admire them when we got home.

After I finished packing, I picked Elsa up from the floor and placed her on the bed. Yuri never used to like it when I put my snowboard on the furniture, especially the bed, but he seemed to change his mind about it after my accident last year. I lay down next to my board and rested my hand on her. Her smooth surface was cool against my palm, and her bright blue and yellow paint job stood out in contrast against the muted beige of the hotel bed's duvet.

"We did it, Elsa," I said aloud. "Sometimes dreams really do come true."

That's how Yuri found me several minutes later when he'd finished enjoying his bath, lying curled on my side and idly stroking my snowboard. I must've looked ridiculous, but he didn't say anything about it. He just climbed onto the enormous bed with me. Wrapped in one of the hotel's luxurious bathrobes and smelling of chocolate from the fancy hotel shampoo, his presence was warm and sweet.

He cuddled against my back and slid an arm over me, trying to be the big spoon despite his tiny size. His voice was soft, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I said. "Just thinking."

"Anything you want to share?"

"I'm going to nursing school."

"You are," he agreed.

"I won a gold medal. A World Championship gold medal."

"You did," he acknowledged. "And a bronze one."

"Yeah." I closed my eyes and let myself soak in the comforting feeling of his little body pressed close to mine. "You know what's weird?"

"What?" he said.

"I'm happy about it and I'm proud of myself, but like... I don't know if it's the medals that're important, or something else."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You wanted to know what I was thinking about," I said. "I was thinking about Sulani, and how you asked me if I ever had the feeling of having everything I ever wanted."

"I remember."

"I said I didn't, but I think I missed the point of what you were asking."

"Oh?"

"You weren't talking about things, were you? Like going on a trip or getting accepted at university or winning a medal."

"No, I suppose I wasn't," he said. "It was more abstract than that."

"I get it now," I said. "It's not about doing stuff or getting something. It really is more abstract than that. It's like, being satisfied with where you are and with what you've accomplished so far, and just... being content with your life and the way the people around you make you feel."

"Yes," he said. "That's what I meant. I felt that in Sulani. I feel it right this minute."

"Me too," I said. "I felt that way in Sulani too. I'm sorry I didn't understand."

"It's all right," he said. "I'm glad you understand now."

I do get it now, and maybe it's gonna sound strange to say that it took me winning the most important competition of my athletic career to figure it out, but there it is. I'm thrilled about the medals and I can't wait to show them off, but they're not what I value the most. My biggest source of pride is in the fact that I battled my way back from one of the lowest points in my existence to make it to this place. Last January, I thought life as I'd known it was over. For a while, I lost sight of everything; my goals, my hopes and dreams, and even my will to go on. Yet here I am today, a world champion.

A world champion.

And I couldn't have done it without Yuri or my mom and Julian. I couldn't have done it without Sakura, Davey, and all the other friends and family members who love and support me and who never gave up on me. I'm a champion thanks to them, but more importantly I'm happy and I know that I'm valued, safe and loved.

So yeah... I have it all, and I know I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

#writing #victorsworldadventures #victor nelson #yuri okamoto #stargazersims

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furious-rogue-stuff · 4 months

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A Feral Interlude, Chapter 11: Savage Return - Part 1

Pairing: Victor Creed x Isabela Montecristo | Sabertooth x Vipress

Disclaimer: This series will have canon-accurate and heightened levels of violence, adult themes, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and graphic descriptions of sex. *Post-Origins movieverse.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word count: 12,000+

Series Summary: Victor Creed's reputation as the Sabertooth proceeds him. He clashes with a mysterious feral woman, an enigma and anomaly to everything he knows. What began as a hunt becomes a dance between like-minded predators.

🚨Warning: Explicit sex, adult situations, implied rape, graphic imagery, feral power play, slight dub-con/non-con overtones and undertones, descriptions of bloody gore and sadism, and a pinch of angst. I do not own any aspect or character of the Marvel Universe nor elements of the X-Men Origins movieverse.

A Feral Interlude Masterlist

A Feral Interlude, Chapter 11: Savage Return - Part 1

She watched the throngs of people mill like colorful moving grains, her gaze looming from halfway above the city in the glass bastion of a hotel. The party happening around her was raucous and glamorous, seedy and debauch. She ignored it all, focusing on the tiny masses congesting the streets of Time Square, braving the cold weather for the New Year.

Gazing down with her hip precariously pressed against the glass and metal railing, she watched as the Crossroads of the World buzzed with excitement and merriment. She could barely hear the rumble of the crowds from so high up, and the atmosphere around her faded under the sound of the wind that blew about her.

Isabela didn't mind the bitter cold clime; could barely perceive her shivering.

Her latest target was dead on the bed behind her, and the door was locked, so she figured she could afford to get lost in thought for a little while. No one would miss them in the chaos of coke, sex, and hob-knobbing. It was just as well.

She wanted to be left alone. Swinging over the railing, she perched herself on the cold metal and sat effortlessly as if she was simply dangling her legs over the side of a bar.

Her shimmering black cocktail dress fluttered in the breeze, dozens of stories from the ground. She brushed her hair from her face and watched the crowd absently.

"You make me nervous, Valkyrie…"

She shut her eyes at the voice echoing through the recesses of her memories. Exhaling her breath in a puff of steam, she opened her eyes and ignored the memory of her dangling off the balcony over the Berlin alleyway. She ignored looking back at the man she knew would not be there.

Unbidden, she suddenly thought of Victor. She felt the heat reach her face as she remembered him gazing down at her after coupling for the last time. His cold eyes had blazed like gunmetal from the light of the fireplace. Brushing her numb fingertips over her lips, she could swear that she could still feel the warmth of his mouth there. Remnants of rapture…The press of his fingers over her body, the bite of his claws, and the weight of his palms would tantalizingly skitter across her skin in a series of phantom sensations; a wayward shudder she couldn't help. It'll pass…

And that was what made Eirik come to the surface of her thoughts. Her eyes glazed over as the memory washed over her.

She'd been sitting on a balcony rail, kicking her legs out coquettishly and listening at the tell tale sounds of boots marching down the cobblestoned streets off in the distance. The waxy moon peeked between the clouds, and she felt the cold wind dance about, playing with the waning waves of her hair.

"You make me nervous, Valkyrie…" He'd said from behind her. She could feel his gaze on her as he slowly prowled over onto the balcony.

"Why do I make you nervous?" She'd murmured, ignoring her impulse to look at him over her shoulder. She watched the night below in the streets of Berlin, and wondered if it was as caustically serene before the war.

"If you fall, I can't catch you."

Isabela shook her head, snapping herself out of the memory and almost forgetting she was dangling dozens of stories up. Her hands gripped the railing behind her as she stood on the ledge of the railing and leaned out. If I dropped from this high up, could I catch myself from falling? Would I end up ruining all the tourists' New Year? She tilted her head and gazed down at the crowd as her dress whipped about in the wind.

With a laugh, she flipped herself backwards onto the balcony and leaned on her folded arms against the railing. Victor would've dove after me. She couldn't help but smile at the thought. Eirik would've grabbed me before I'd even tried it. The thought made her smile wane.

Turning from the balcony, she went back into the room and grabbed the half-empty bottle of champagne and went back out to gaze down at Time Square.

Her mind forced her to remember the first time she'd met Eirik. Memories that had only stirred hurt now felt…soothing, compared to the loneliness of her time without a certain vicious cub's companionship. She stifled all thought of Victor, admonishing herself for acting like a jilted lover when she'd done the jilting.

Taking a long drink, Isabela gazed down at the world. Those memories of the war weighed on her as the world buzzed and watched the glowing ball make its ascension before it would inevitably drop. Drinking straight from the bottle, she docilely waited for the world below and around her to explode in jubilation while she nursed her forever sober thoughts…

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His clawed fingers burrowed into the tiled wall, an irascible snarl catching in his throat as he whipped his head back from the shower spray beating down on his face. The shiver that had blazed across his body to well lust in his gut snapped him out of his reverie. He stopped himself from sliding down in the stall, letting the cold water beat his chest as he gritted his teeth and tried to hold onto the ecstasy of her phantom touch. His skin was scalding, pulse racing and his arousal was throbbing beseechingly in his hand while his other palm pried out of the wall to snake down his muscular thigh.

Victor hissed when he dug his claws into the meat of his inner thigh, managing to stifle the need for pleasure with the edge of pain. Hoarsely growling, he lengthened his nails into the wound and kept the pressure on until he felt in control of his senses again. It had been like this sporadically since the night she'd made love with him, shimmered with rapture. Of course, he'd read about the potency of the pheromone in most who'd been touched, but the recorded duration of the aftereffects was usually a week, or less, and were nothing more than tremors of lust. For Victor, there were times a tremor would seize him and he could swear Isabela's hands were on him. The tremulous sensations would send shivers down his spine and he'd be instantly riled up. The one that had just enveloped him was scorching—It was like I could taste her on my lips. Fuck…

Shaking his head, he ended the shower and stepped out into the warm bathroom. He stood for several minutes with his hands planted on the vanity in front of the sink mirror, water dripping off his naked frame as he stared at the starved glaze in his eyes. Aside from self-inflicting himself with a measured dose of pain, his arousal wouldn't wane. Begrudgingly, he mused it was a punishment he'd had fair warning of by the woman who'd ignited the phantom sensations to begin with.

"I've never used it on another feral…I don't know what it'd be like…"

Licking his lips, Victor wondered if the stunning aftereffects of rapture were the same for her—if she burned under the phantom sensations of his touch along her scalding body. Hot flashes. He shivered again, eyes snapping shut and nostrils flaring as he licked his lips and swore he could taste her on them. After a few moments of battling the sensations, Victor went about drying off and collecting his scattered thoughts. When he exited the bathroom to enter the hotel bedroom, he blinked at the grizzly scene left on the bed.

Confusion flooded his scattered brain at the dead woman tangled in her torn lingerie and drenched in a pool of dark blood, especially since that woman was Isabela.

Standing naked and bemused, Victor cursed at himself and slapped the heel of his hand against his forehead before dragging his fingers in his short wet hair. "Oh yeah, it ain't real…M'going fuckin' nuts…stop talking to yourself!" Victor murmured before berating himself and snickering. He got his strewn clothes and put them on before approaching the dead woman on the bed. She looked exactly like Isabela, but then again that's what he'd paid for.

Leaning over the corpse, he slapped the woman's face with the back of his hand and watched as Isabela slowly morphed away to the woman's true form: a demure-looking shapeshifter. The post mortem transfiguration earned a sigh from Victor, feeling whacked out of his head for momentarily forgetting what he'd done before the hot flash of rapture's aftereffects highjacked him. He sat on the bed next to the corpse while he pulled on his socks and boots, tongue toying with a fang while he puzzled out the sequence of events that had led him to that very moment.

He'd been unbelievably horny. No, horny couldn't begin to do the crackling lust he felt any justice. He was an animal in a rut, had been since he'd landed back in NYC without his little viper. The decision to set his ticket in return to the city had been a no-brainer. Isabela was a sentimental creature, and he banked on that, figuring she would want to return to the place where her tallest tower was. Having stalked the building that housed her penthouse in the sky, Victor had found himself doubting his logic after the days passed and he never saw a sign of her. Even his contacts hadn't heard much, and Dan Dresner had skipped out on him too. Never one to give up on a trail, Victor decided to stick around on the off chance they'd cross paths sooner or later. He got bored quick, and boredom quickly advanced into unrest. Not being an idle man, Victor found himself catering to the restless animal within, and it was itching to get its claws into something.

He'd lost his target in the sea of people, the crush of smells and sounds that had become the city streets. The bustle of crowds that filled almost every block in anticipation for the New Year festivities made him crawl with aggravation. So many stupid frails clogging up the streets left him feeling like an unseen predator in the middle of a horde of cattle. Gotta wait this hysteria out…

Deciding to lay low while the commotion died down so he could hunt better, the imposing feral found himself toying with the idea of getting some carnal action to take the edge off his boiling arousal. He couldn't get his desires off of his AWOL viper, however, and suddenly the idea he'd been nursing nagged him into an establishment that would cater to his very particular tastes. The madam had ushered him into a private ante-room and like any service industry went through a list of his requirements.

Cutting to the chase, Victor pulled a picture out of his pocket and slapped it down before the woman. "I want her. Exactly as she is, 'cept wearing red lingerie," he'd curtly rumbled and fixed the woman with a stern look as she studied the picture.

Looking up from the picture of Isabela perched in her gilded canary cage, the woman smiled, "We have many lovely girls for you to choose from—"

Victor slapped down a thick stack of crisp bills onto the table and growled, "I know your specialty, lady. I want the woman in the picture exactly. I ain't gonna say it again."

Without batting an eye, the woman bowed her head in acquiescence and stood. "Understood. I will take you to your quarters," she gestured for him to follow her. "Are there any other requirements you'd like us to fulfill?" she asked as she escorted him into a posh room high above the street.

"Yeah. I'm not interested in any chit-chat. No talking whatsoever," he tersely instructed as he tossed his coat over a chair and whirled back around to see the woman nod in understanding before she exited the room.

Minutes later, the door clicked open. Victor turned and watched silently as a beautiful replica of Isabela strutted into the room in the most mouth-watering red lingerie. Even the warmth and exotic color of her eyes were just as he remembered. The doppelganger escort mutely returned his picture, and Victor placed it in his coat for safe keeping before unbuttoning his dress shirt with deft fingers. He took her in before murmuring, "It's uncanny…" looming over her to caress his hands down her shoulders to skate down and cup her breasts through the lace fabric.

He hated it that she couldn't talk—not without the risk of breaking the fantasy. The woman could shapeshift into a perfect replica of Isabela, but there was no way she could mimic her voice without having heard it. Either way, it wasn't like they'd been much for talking once the sex started, so he figured it wouldn't be too missed.

Gripping the faux-Isabela by the jaw, he pressed his lips against hers and devoured her in a hungry kiss before pulling her towards the bed. Her skin was different—not as silky smooth or cool—but he ignored it as he sat at the foot of the bed and pushed her by her shoulders to kneel in front of him. She was well trained, taking the gesture for what it was and beginning to unfasten his belt and undo his trousers. Victor watched her with hooded eyes, seeing her, but not seeing her at the same time.

She didn't smell like Isabela. Didn't taste like Isabela. When her lips wrapped around the head of his cock and her fingers stroked his shaft, vexing disappointed filled him. She didn't feel like Isabela. He stared up at the ceiling, lips parted as he panted and tried to focus on his desire. He was so hard it shouldn't have mattered!

The woman moaned around him, and while it felt good, he couldn't concentrate on anything except for the fact that he was with a fucking fake. Fisting his hand in the back of her hair, he pulled her away from her ministrations and growled, "Yer cunt better do a better job than yer mouth." He let go of her hair and leaned back on his elbows. When she gave him a flat look, he snarled, "Get the hell up and ride my cock, frail."

His hackles were up, forcing him to dig his claws into the bedding while the faux-Isabela hurriedly complied and climbed onto the bed to straddle his lap. He growled a purr when she sheathed him into her heat and began working her hips over him. Fucking finally! He let his head tip back as he closed his eyes and imagined he was with Izzie and she was riding him hard and with primal gusto, just like he liked it.

He kept his hands on the bed and bucked up in rhythm with her undulating hips, groaning hoarsely as he was finally getting lost in the sex. Then suddenly his mind halted at the sensation of fingers digging into his undershirt and soft weak nails gripping feebly to his chest. Snapping his eyes open to stare at the woman riding him and humming softly in pleasure, he felt as if the fantasy had crumbled completely around him. She didn't sound like Isabela, and now she didn't look like Isabela did when in the throes of passion.

His nails lengthened as he sat up and bared his fangs at her before he furiously rumbled, "Get off!"

The tang of fear filled the air around her as she did as she was told, but not as fast to Victor's liking. He shoved her away from him as he grappled with an impotent rage that washed over him like stinging cold water.

"Oi! I ain't into the ruff stuff!" the faux-Isabela rebuked in a Cockney accent disdainfully, her eyes flickering from the exotic hue to a brilliant yellow before reverting back.

He whirled around and grabbed her by the throat before ruthlessly slamming her down on the bed. He was beastly in his rancor, the anger flooding his brain so violently that he blacked out only to come to what felt like seconds later covered in blood, his claws still in his kill. Victor had ripped his claws out and back pedaled away from the gory scene, overwhelming self-loathing clouding his thoughts as he stripped and stalked in a haze into the bathroom to wash off the blood and the scents that were making his head spin.

Sighing, Victor shook his head at his recollections and stood, getting his trenchcoat on before stalking to the window and opening it. He took one look back at the mess he'd made before leaping out into the night.

Scaling the buildings of the city always helped him clear his head, and before he knew it, he was hearing the soft roar of crowds cheering and shouting into the New Year. He was alone, standing over the city of millions and thinking of Isabela. He couldn't muster the anger he knew he should harbor towards that fact, but he was rescind with the thought that she was doing the same. It was only a matter of time before they crossed paths again. And with that thought, he hopped off the ledge to land in a crouch in the alley below before resuming his hunt from earlier.

Stalking down into the nearest subway, he jumped down onto the tracks and disappeared into the gloom of the dank tunnels, tracking his prey to a squalid hideout and finding the shaft empty. The predator in him smiled and relished the hunt. When he climbed onto a platform somewhere down in the Lower East Side, Victor's nose told him his prey was close. He looked to the end of the platform across from his and saw the shifty Morlock punk just before the train careened from the tunnel and pulled into the station. The empty and graffiti-covered train opened its doors and Victor stepped in, his eyes peering into the few train cars between him and his prey. As the train began to move, Victor made his way through the first car, ignoring the screeching and flickering lights as he prowled closer.

When he entered the car the punk was in, the shifty-eyed mutant looked up at him from his seat and froze. Victor's vicious smirk bared his wicked fangs as he advanced towards the kid, who instinctually knew he was in trouble and dashed out of the car. Chuckling, Victor ran after him with no real rush. The kid struggled through the cars, fumbling in his fear into the last car on the train. He tried to open the emergency exit door, hissing and cursing as Victor prowled into the car and looked like a murderous specter as the lights over head flickered on and off. The punk whirled around and pleaded under his breath as he watched Victor advance under the flickering lights right pass a solitary hobo crouched on one of the train benches asleep in a drunken daze to loom over the punk whose dirty face was quivering with terror.

Glaring down at the Morlock gearsmith with a sadistic grin, Victor purred acerbically, "Happy New Year, kid. Wanna know what my New Year's resolution is?"

The kid cowered and trembled, skin blanching as he gripped the sides of his jacket.

Grin widening into a smile, Victor lengthened his claws as he answered, "My resolution is to kill more people this year, and lucky you—yer the first one towards reaching that goal!"

"No, please—!" Victor cut off the plea with an animal snarl as he brought his paw up and sliced the mutant under the flickering lights, mangling him in a quick frenzy and splashing blood and guts all over the dingy and graffiti-covered surface of the train. Leaving a heap of what was once the Morlock, Victor crouched down and dug into the kid's soaked jacket and got the prize he was looking for. Pulling the jacket up with him, the punk's half-dismembered arms fell out of the jacket with slick thuds as Victor tossed it loose of some gore and turned to head back out the way he came in.

The train began to slow down, and he glanced at the bum, who had awoken from his stupor to stare silently at him with glassy eyes. As the train stopped in the next empty station and the doors opened, Victor smiled at the hobo and tossed him the bloody jacket. "Here yah go. That's my charity for the decade. Happy New Year," he rumbled darkly and chuckled as he exited the train and hopped down into the next train tunnel over to disappear into the gloom again.

When he surfaced back onto the streets, he was close to the East River. He strolled towards an underpass where another man stepped out of the shadows and greeted him with a nod.

Victor tossed him the sack he'd gotten out of the Morlock's jacket and stood under a gutter that was dripping clear-enough water for him to rinse his hands from the blood of his kill. The other man inspected the contents inside the sack and pulled out an envelope that he held out to Victor. Victor flung the water off his hands before grabbing the envelope and stuffing it into his coat pocket.

He turned on his heel to lope away, when the other man called out, "Still thinking about my proposition?"

Pausing and shooting the man a look over his shoulder, Victor drawled, "I don't work on teams anymore."

"This ain't a team thing, Creed. Its steady work, great perks, and no sweatin' the small stuff. Got a good group of freelance professionals just like you, and there's no supervisor orderin' you around. Just the target and you. Consider it," the man stated before turning and walking back down the underpass as he offered a wave over his shoulder. "I'll call yah in a week."

Snorting, Victor shook his head and walked in the direction he came from with his hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune as he stared up at the cloudy moonlit night.

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She was the only person on the street. Only an hour before the small island had been bursting with people, only now to become a virtual ghost town with the few wayward cabs zooming past. Isabela strolled down the block, her shimmering black dress looking like it was covered in stardust as it moved in the breeze. Her thoughts were on everything and nothing as her heels clicked on the pavement of the sidewalk. Head tilting up to sniff at the breeze, she paused in step, looking around. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She could swear that within the cornucopia of scents in the air, she sifted out a very familiar and feral smell. It warmed her blood. Shaking her head, she continued on her stroll before entering her secret back entrance to her sprawling skyscraper.

Once in her elevator, she keyed in a code in the hidden panel that sent the elevator ascending one floor below her penthouse. The doors opened onto the floor that no other living person had seen and would never see. It was her personal chamber of memories and treasures that she hadn't been in a lot until recently. She walked through a long hall towards her study, where nothing but soft light caressed the alcoves of her walls adorned with mementos she'd salvaged from her first life. In the middle of the room was an upholstered velvet chair incased in carved dark wood that had once been her father's. She sat in it and gazed at the wall it stood in front of.

The oil painting of her and her brother Alejandro stared back at her, illuminated by the soft inset spotlight. Her father had commissioned the portrait and had it prominently featured in his townhouse several years before Isabela had gone through the change and her solitary portrait took its place. In it, she was sitting on the ground with her lovely dress spread out wide, her hands folded in her lap while Alejandro sat close to her, his innocent smile and cherub curls making him look much younger than the 5-year-old boy he was at the time. His little hand gripped her puffy shoulder sleeve in a possessive and teasing manner while she concealed an amused smile. Her father had admonished them for smiling when he saw the portrait, but he'd been proud of it enough.

On the adjacent wall was her own portrait, a haunting reminder of her immortality. A reminder she now looked upon after 4 centuries and felt nothing. The pain had subsided, replaced now by the leather bound scrapbook that rested on the table to her right. She lifted it and placed it on her lap before opening it. The newspaper cut outs of her and Eirik were in mint condition, as if they'd been clipped out the day before. She caressed her fingertips over his face and felt her heart sink like it had in Buenos Aires. As much as it caused her sadness, she also swelled with love for him all over again, and that love crested over when she thought of Victor. He'd reunited her with the happy memories of her past with Eirik, and she would love him eternally for doing so, even though she knew that had never been his intention. Still, she looked through the new additions to her scrapbook and thought fondly of her past for the first time in a very long life before she was flooded over by the memories that no longer haunted her.

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It had taken her a month to get the paperwork she needed to enter Berlin. Most of her contacts had fled occupied territory, and those who'd remained were seldom prepared to help her in her brazen plan. She'd been told about the concentration camps, but the rumors of mass extermination of the Jews only spurned her on to locate the Krause family.

Mischa's stubborn rationalizing of the situation had stirred her passion unlike anything before. She'd told him to get his family out—to flee while the Germans were still too preoccupied with appearances. The man that had become her confidante had relented after she'd implored him to think of his wife and son.

Isabela had grown attached to the mortal family. It had been a gradual process—one she had been unwittingly engrossed in from the moment she entered Mischa's home. Even though her visits were intermittent, each one brought her the innocent joy of Ephram and his unsurpassable curiosity towards her. The hospitality of his Yvette had been of kindness, mindful that she was a strange woman but free of ill-will or suspicion. This family had endeared themselves to her in such a way that she found herself galvanized by Mischa's farsightedness towards the state of events around the world.

"Yvette and Ephram are priority. If you cannot secure passage for all of us, you must for them…"

She'd agreed. But, time was not in their favor. A few days later, the city was emptied of the Jews. By the time she'd gotten to their home with their visas, the Krause family had been put on a train east of Paris. Only through bribing a porter had she found out that the train had been headed out of France into the belly of the beast. For the first time in a century, her heart had seized in terror.

Isabela had spent the early 1940s crafting her new persona of the Contezza, gaining favor in Berlin among smitten captains and officers, who would swoon over her in ear shot of their generals and commanders. Her shows became hot ticket items for anyone with military station and a penchant for lusting after the unattainable. Her infiltration of certain circles allowed her to piece together as much intel she could about the Nazi regime, but she was really after the procedural constellation of protocols and officials in charge of each constellation in Germany. Her aim was to reach the right person with enough clout so that she could ensnare them and use them to locate the Krause family. Once located, she intended to smuggle them out of their bondage and abroad, away from the tyranny and the impending exterminations that were quickly becoming reality.

Entertainment was the only industry Germans outsourced, and the only venue through which Isabela could extend herself without attracting the wrong attention. So, she'd become Isabela Contezza, a glorified and fawned over performer in the club districts of Berlin. Her alluring notoriety gained her the fame and attention of every hot-blooded man from Warsaw to Paris, and men of rank were especially taken with her pro-Nazi shows and the patronage of high-ranking officials—married and single alike—that would request her presence at all kinds of events.

Most of her nights were spent putting on a show on stage for Nazi troops of all ranks while they swilled liquor, howled and hooted from their chairs and tables, and threw roses and gifts onto the stage. She'd met tons of supposed members of rank, only to find herself dealing with a chain of command that was as fickle as its Fuhrer was unstable. Procedures and the men in charge of them would change without any course, leaving Isabela with little choice but gamble with her life in the hopes of finding the answers she needed.

It was just another night of wearing a red corset, black stockings, and a Nazi officer's hat when she met him. He'd been another man in the crowd, gazing at her like a hungry wolf, biding his time until his prey would be his. She'd noticed him in the crowd as she played the piano, her eyes catching his briefly before she closed hers and crooned the song that she only sung on occasions she felt bemused. When she got to the chorus, she'd tossed her hair after hurling the officer's hat out to the crowd, belting the words with fiery zeal,

I'll never talk again Oh boy you've left me speechless You've left me speechless, so speechless

As she battered the ivory keys, she swung her legs so she could straddle the piano bench as she sang,

And I'll never love again, Oh boy you've left me speechless You've left me speechless, so speechless

He had watched her for several nights. His incandescent presence had stayed to the shadows, but this night he wanted her to see him. He wanted her to lay gaze on him so he could gauge her. She was unlike any other female he'd ever seen in his very long life. He sensed from the sheer electricity around her—the way she carried herself and the preternatural glow of her green eyes—that she was like him.

The crowd of men in uniform roared and shouted proclamations of love to her as she lowered her sultry voice into a provocative croon,

And after all the boys and girls that we've been through Would you give it all up? Could you give it all up? If I promise boy to you That I'll never talk again And I'll never love again I'll never write a song Won't even sing along I'll never love again So speechless You left me speechless, so speechless Will you ever talk again, Oh boy why you so speechless?

You left me speechless, so speechless?

She looked out to the crowd and noticed the tall and azure-eyed officer standing in the middle of the raucous crowd, arms crossed and features chiseled as another man with similar blue eyes talked into his ear. When he noticed her looking across at him, he smirked at her unlike any man had ever done before. It had sent a chill of excitement down her spine as she played the last bars of the song and purred into the microphone,

Some men may follow me But you choose "death and company Why you so speechless? Oh oh oh

She played the last keys and tossed her head back as the spotlight went out and was followed by the thunderous sounds of stomping feat and applause, catcalls, leering howls and whistles. Throwing her robe around her once back stage, she loomed behind the cover of the curtain as the houselights came up and the audience of horny men milled about for more liquor; some men sang drunkenly the chorus of her song while superior officers railed at them to shut up. Isabela stealthily looked out to the audience, but the tall SS-officer was nowhere to be seen. Still feeling the tickle of excitement at the back of her neck, she went to her dressing room, waving the whole thing off.

Wearing an off-the-shoulder crimson cocktail dress, black pumps, and birdcage veil, Isabela exited the theater out of the stage door, adjusting her grey wolf fur shoulder wrap after she pulled on her black silk gloves.

"Fräulein Contezza?"

Isabela turned to see a behemoth of a German corporal flanked by two other men in disheveled uniform as they walked hurriedly towards her in the alleyway. Plastering a serene smile, she tucked her pocket book under her arm and fingered the fur wrap. "It depends. What do you boys need?" she murmured with a cocked brow, adding, "It must be brief, I'm afraid. I have an engagement elsewhere—"

"Brevity? Surely you'd make an exception for your fans, no?" the red-cheeked corporal interjected, looking at his partners as he smiled and added, "We are great fans of yours, and would like to treat you to drinks, in your honor. Please, let us unworthy men escort you—"

"Unfortunately, gentlemen, I must decline. I'm running late for my prior engagement, so if you'll excuse me—" Isabela coolly cut in and attempted to exit, but the flanked men refused to let her step by.

"Quite a chilly reception you give your fans! You're not in Italy anymore, signorina. Entertainers here are happy to oblige their fans—!"

"The Contezza is not mere entertainer."

The men turned to look back at the darkened mouth of the alley, glaring drunkenly at the two officers who strode commandingly towards them.

Isabela looked around the bulk of the three to catch sight of the two officers as they stepped into the light given off by the lamp above the stage door. When the man who spoke was illuminated, Isabela realized it was the blue-eyed officer with the wolfish gaze from earlier. Next to him was the dark-haired and chiseled-featured officer who'd been talking into his ear.

"Is there a problem?" the behemoth condescended as they remained at ease in front of the men of rank.

"Do you forget yourselves, or are you too stupid to salute rank!" the dark-haired office snapped in a Scandinavian-accented growl, his body language showing that he was spoiling for a fight.

"We don't see any rank here, Norse dogs!" the drunken behemoth slurred with a disdainful laugh.

"What did you say?" the dark-haired man fumed between clenched teeth and took a step forward to advance on them when the other officer clamped his hand on his shoulder and held him at bay.

"You heard him, Norse dog—!" one of the lackeys snidely retorted, while the other punched him in the shoulder and snarled, "Shut up! They're rank, idiot!"

"Bite your tongues before I rip them out of your mouths!" the officer snarled. Isabela quirked a delicate brow at the officers in turn before smiling coldly; she used the opportunity to covertly pull her gloves off and shimmer herself with stillness, unsure of how to proceed and waiting for her first opening.

"You three should stand away from the ravishing Contezza. Sullying her by breathing in front of her is a slight we won't let stand," the tall blond smirked contemptuously, his eyes glancing at Isabela for a predatory appraisal that left her feeling a rush of heat.

"This little tart's ours, dogs. You can wait your turn—!" the cocky corporal barked as he whirled around and grabbed Isabela by her arm and was instantly seized with paralysis, falling to the ground at her feet. She wasn't prepared for the behemoth when he shouted and rushed at her, nor was she expecting seeing him hauled back and punched in the jaw by the ruthlessly debonair officer.

Prying her arm free from the paralyzed man's grip, Isabela looked up just in time to see the tall officer move with deft speed to brutally thrash the behemoth, who managed only a few pathetic swipes at air before his head was slammed against the wall from a crushing blow. The dark-haired officer moved just as quick in to beat the shit out of the cowardly corporal, making short work of the man before scraping him off the ground for one bone-shattering punch to the face. Isabela watched riveted as the two officers brawled, a cold chill shooting down her spine when the tall officer punched the behemoth so hard that his head snapped back and he fell limply against the wall and into a boneless heap.

Isabela was snapped out of her staring by the corporal who was pathetically fighting stillness and grabbing at her ankle. Pitilessly glaring at him, she jerked her ankle away and swiftly kicked the man under his jaw, lethally cracking his neck and leaving him dead in the grime at her feet.

"Not mere entertainer, indeed."

Isabela realized the two officers witnessed what she'd done. The tall officer smiled at her as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at his blood-smeared knuckles before tossing the handkerchief over to his partner. She let stillness ebb away as the blue-eyed officers shared a glance. For whatever reason, she suspected that the two weren't planning on doing her harm.

"I've seen you before," she stated coolly, glancing at the chiseled-jaw officer when his expression shuttered in and glared over at the enigmatic officer who smiled at her and was busily combing his fingers back through his hair before replacing his officer's hat and righting his uniform.

"And we you, Isabela. That is the name fit for a queen," he murmured with a puckish zest in his steely Scandinavian accent, adding conspiratorially, "Were you named after a queen, Isabela?"

"Ivan!" the dark-haired officer barked warningly.

Ignoring him, the confident man loped closer as he spoke, "You have proved my suspicions correct, Isabela. I have admired you from afar, waiting for the right moment. A brawl wasn't what I had in mind—"

"Ivan! We did not agree to this!" the other man snapped.

Pausing and flickering his gaze over his shoulder, he murmured firmly, "Brother, make sure we have a moment of privacy?" For a terse moment, the man glared at him, but eventually relented with a grunt and stalked down the alleyway and disappeared in the dimly lit penumbra. The blond man huffed amusedly before returning his attention to her. "Apologies. He is cross with me, but his insolence comes from a good place—"

"Speak plainly. I am late for another occasion, and do not care to spend the night in this alley!" she cut in crisply, pointedly stepping over the body at her feet to cut the distance between them.

His blue eyes lit up with a joie de vivre warmth as he smiled wolfishly at her. "For a fellow immortal, you have not gained much patience I see." Freezing, Isabela stared bemusedly at him. His teasing tone rattled her for several reasons, but the primary one was because she could smell his earnestness. Smiling at her bemusement, the officer stepped close enough to loom over her so he could murmur, "I can sense it around you, Isabela. It vibrates in the air around you—you are not mere mortal. Neither are we. I—"

"Ivan! We've got to go!" the dark-haired man shouted between clenched teeth as he stalked hurriedly back towards the two.

"—I would like to see you again. Not in such a sullied place—"

Flustered with anger and impatience, the dark-haired man barked, "Eirik, we must go! Now."

Frowning for the first time, the handsome man reluctantly turned to his brother and calmly muttered, "Willem, do not rush me—"

"If you've not said enough, then save it for another occasion. We must go; there's a patrol coming," Willem cut in and gave Isabela a stare.

Exhaling irritably, the man supposedly named Ivan turned back towards her as he backpedaled and confidently stated, "I look forward to speaking with you again, Isabela. I hope we have not held you too long from your engagement. Goodnight."

Befuddled, Isabela simply watched as the two men stepped into pace with each other as they exited the alley and disappeared into the night, without so much as a backwards glance at the mess they'd left her in. In the distance, she heard the echo of footsteps approaching the street just off the alleyway. Hesitantly, she looked around at the mayhem around herself and knew she had to make a quick retreat, so she ran down to the back of the alley where there was a stone wall that was blocking off the path and effortlessly vaulted over it with her preternatural agility, clearing the distance before landing gracefully on the other side. Righting her fur wrap and gripping her purse, she glowered around herself to make sure she wasn't seen before pulling her gloves back on and making a quick exit of the area.

Her mind had been whirring feverishly, replaying the event in her head obsessively as she made her way to the lavish event that promised her the opportunity to stalk the military official she was sure would bring her closer to locating the Krause family. She was wary, but beyond anything else, she couldn't still her nerves. The idea that there were others like her made her lightheaded. She wondered why she didn't sense it in the two men, and if they were like her in more than her indestructibility.

"Fräulein Contezza?"

Isabela turned, snapping her thoughts away and plastering a ravishing smile as a captain flanked by other German higher ups in the army approached her. "Captain von Braun? It's so good to see you again," she spoke serenely and offered her hand so the man could kiss the back of her palm.

"Ah, the pleasure is all mine. Forgive me for not greeting you sooner. Seems I must play host for the moment," the handsome captain offered her a dashing smile before remembering his guests. "Gentlemen, let me introduce you to the talented and enchanting Isabela Contezza—"

"Von Braun, as if the woman would need introduction," the beefier man wearing a crisp tuxedo with a Nazi pin on the lapel cut in as he kissed the back of her hand. The men exchanged introductions and blatantly engaged in a flirting match over Isabela, who coquettishly played coy and laughed at all the horrible jokes that were made. Soon the men escorted her around the lavish ballroom introducing her to whomever was hard-pressed to speak to her and complement her beauty. She bared it all, hoping von Braun would introduce her to the lieutenant-colonel she was planning to seduce for the information she needed.

"-And this is my superior, lieutenant-colonel Brandt."

Her eyes fixed alluringly on the man with the thinning hair and scar on his chin. The man smiled and kissed her hand. She needed to get him engrossed in conversation away from the other men, so she spoke in a continued hushed tone in the group of boisterous talking, knowing the man would excuse them for conversation in a more secluded area of the party. Isabela's plan would've worked had she not been unwittingly thwarted.

"Fräulein Contezza. What a coincidence."

She'd meant to glance coolly at the greeter, but she ended up freezing when she saw the devilishly blue eyes and roguish smirk. The lieutenant-colonel glanced at her and then shot the officer a snarky look. "What is it Walküre, something?" the man bit out.

Unfazed, the officer smiled wider at Isabela. "I'm quite taken with the Contezza, sir. I've come by in the hopes I could ask her for a dance?"

The man opened his mouth to object, but a hard hand clapped him on the back. "Lieutenant-colonel! May I have a word?" the dark haired and chiseled-jawed brother of Ivan Walküre announced.

"Anselm, don't you and your brother see I'm quite busy—!"

"Sorry sir, but there's a matter in the east district that requires your attention," the supposedly-named Anselm Walküre interjected.

Irritated, the lieutenant-colonel excused himself from Isabela's company and stalked off with the other Walküre officer, who shot his brother a glance over his shoulder.

"Twice in one night. The fates must approve of our meeting, don't you think?" the blond officer smirked and offered her the crook of her arm. "Now, about that dance?"

Reluctantly, Isabela took his arm and let him escort her to the dance floor. The ballroom orchestra was playing a Debussy number that left many couples waltzing docilely. Isabela and the officer joined the crowd once he placed his large hand on the small of her back and swept her into the rhythm after clasping her other hand in his.

"Ivan Walküre?"

"Isabela Contezza?"

She pressed her lips together and shot him a fierce glare. "Who are you, really?"

Smiling down his nose at her, he leaned in close to her ear and husked, "I'm just a warrior, and so is my brother."

"Don't you mean a soldier?" she seethed and had her breath catch in her throat when he squeezed her against him.

"Can't you feel me?" he asked in a sober murmur, his frown back on his boyish lips as he continued to lead them in the waltz.

Isabela's patience was frayed raw, so she dug her nails into his shoulder and hissed, "The only thing I feel is your arousal against my thigh. If you don't start explaining what the hell you're doing, you'll be missing that appendage very soon!"

He suddenly dipped her in the waltz, his fingertips pressing firmly into the base of her spine as he leaned close enough to husk hotly, "You're impatient, Isabela. Your threats are…sexy, but I cannot be distracted from my purpose this evening." Pulling her back and continuing the waltz, he continued, "You are immortal. You feel old—"

"Excuse me?" she hissed under her breath and balked at him.

"-Like a goddess touched only by the sun. Not like a mere mortal, who feels like blood and tissue. If you could sense, you would feel the same in me, and in my brother."

Gripping his hand, she stiffened in her poise as they danced like a simple couple. "Eirik is your true name. His is Willem?" she murmured, her preternatural eyes fixed to his glacier-blue depths as he nodded and gave her a more puckish smile.

"Those other names were…appropriated. The true holders of the name Walküre and the ranks are permanently indisposed. Isabela is your true name, is it not?" he murmured in her ear, his lips dangerously close to brushing her skin.

"Yes. I always keep my first name. Contezza is the means to an end of mine…how can you feel me?" she whispered as the song ended and people clapped for the band.

Eirik took the opportunity to lead her to the nearest terrace away from the crowd and the men of rank. Once alone in the chilly night air, he turned to her and took her hand in his, feeling her pulse in her delicate-looking fingers and turning her hand palm up so he could see the black talons camouflaged with red nail polish.

"My clan could sense the life force in living creatures. We are not true empaths; merely sensers of what hides beneath blood and flesh. Willem and I are all that's left of my clan…the only immortals since I sensed you days ago, standing under that spotlight," he explained in a steely tenor and raised her hand to his cheek. "You are primal, Isabela. I can sense it in your life force. Not human. Not mortal. Raw power and heat…you really can't sense it?" he gave her an intense look that left her bare before him.

She cupped her hand to caress his cheek, fingertips brushing his cheekbone before working down to his jaw and down to his throat, where she could feel the powerful beat of his pulse. His skin was hot—several degrees hotter than the skin of humans. Other than that, she couldn't sense anything different about him.

"No. Not like you sense. I can smell you and feel the heat of your blood under your skin. You're not human…" he shook his head, confirming it to her, so she continued, "how long have you been on this earth?"

He took her hand again and pressed it against his chest, over his heartbeat. "Over a millennium." Her breath caught in her chest and he pressed closer to her, caressing her face into his calloused and impossibly-warm hands as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. "You have not met another?"

"No…I've spent centuries alone. I didn't even understand what I was until the last decade. Even then, I still don't really know anything," she murmured, staring into his eyes and feeling some kind of rapport between them.

Eirik brushed his thumbs along her cheekbones before whispering against her lips, "Do you trust me?"

She wanted to protest, and push him away, but she remained in his grip and speechlessly stared into his earnest and handsome face. He leaned in and closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers with unabashed heat in the gesture. Isabela gasped and at first resisted, until she noticed movement from across the terrace. Slowly, she kissed him back, her lips molding to his and encouraging him to trail his hands down her body and hold her against him. She dragged her hands up his biceps to interlock behind his neck, kissing him with a flutter of breath between them as the kiss deepened. She could feel his hard and muscular body pressed against her; he felt like hot skin stretched over solid marble. His body heat was amazing, radiating through his officer's uniform to such a degree that she wondered how he would feel completely naked against her.

Just as the thought made an ache flutter inside her, the person who'd walked onto the terrace spoke deliberately, "The lieutenant-colonel is looking for her."

Unhurriedly, Eirik unlocked his lips from hers with a roguish smirk before glancing at his brother over his shoulder. "Cannot stall him for longer?"

"Hell no." The dark-haired man crossed his arms and eyed Isabela before shooting his brother a knowing look.

Isabela felt like she was out of the loop, and she didn't like it. Pushing Eirik back by the shoulders, she brushed a rogue lock of hair that had escaped her up-do and gave him a biting stare as she declared, "I'll say my farewells. You've encroached on my plans for the evening, and as such, you owe me more of an explanation. I have a suite at the Golden Eagle. Meet me there in an hour."

"Having two gentlemen callers asking for you at the front desk so late would besmirch your reputation, Isabela," he teased. "How will we know which suite you're in?" Eirik mused and smiled sardonically at her as he caressed her arms.

She yanked her arms away and stepped past him as she replied icily, "Why don't you just sense me out. Now, if you'll excuse me."

With that, Isabela strutted away from Eirik and past Willem, leaving the two brothers to watch her go.

After saying her goodbyes to several patrons and the host of the event, she headed for the coat check to collect her belongings, mind whirling feverishly and thoughts in a jumble. As she set her birdcage veil in place and wrapped her fur pelt over her shoulders, she was approached by the lieutenant-colonel.

"Leaving so soon, Fräulein Contezza?" the man remarked crisply, but his gaze was voraciously committing her curves to memory.

"Yes, I'm afraid something has come to my attention—"

"Pity. I'd have liked to finish our conversation," the man spoke with little regard for her reasoning.

Eyes intensifying on him, Isabela looked over his shoulder in order to distract him so he would follow her gaze. She used the distraction to shimmer a low dose of rapture over her skin. By the time the man turned his attention inquisitively at her, she stepped close and brushed the back of her knuckles along the scar on his chin. "That looks like it was painful. Such a scar must've been received during a heroic feat of valor?" she purred, staring alluringly into his eyes and watching rapture heat his pale gaze.

"Yes…in the service of the motherland, during the first war."

Smiling, she decided to cut to the chase before cutting her losses for the night. "I've heard you're the person in charge of designating the placement of deported Jews?"

Frowning, the man forlornly declared, "Alas, I was, but the Fuhrer has restructured that branch of affairs. The position has been destabilized and broken down to cabinet members from each governing district of the occupied territories. Those who oversee the camps have more autonomy now, so my office was eliminated."

Isabela set her jaw, the rage boiling inside of her as she soberly caressed the back of his hand and shot so much rapture into his system so she could instruct him to go on with his night and forget about their conversation. The haze and aftereffects of rapture undoubtedly left the lieutenant-colonel assuming the encounter was nothing but an imagined fluke.

As the man left in a daze to return to the party, she let rapture ebb away and pulled on her gloves, exiting the party en route for her suite. An hour later on the dot, a swift knock rapped on her door. She opened it and looked coolly at the two officers standing in her doorway before silently turning from the door and walking into the parlor. They walked in and shut the door after themselves, following the enigmatic woman who'd changed from her crimson cocktail dress to a black silk synched frock with matching chiffon robe with a wrist-length bishop sleeve. She looked ethereal, her movements graceful and sinuous as she moved towards the fireplace and glanced sidelong at them.

Running her red-painted talons through her flowing hair, Isabela remarked, "I trust it wasn't much trouble sensing me out."

Eirik chuckled gruffly, but his brother Willem's muted scowl didn't let up. He stalked across to the inset bar and helped himself to a glass of brandy and poured another for his brother before stating, "Since you two don't seem preoccupied with anything but entangling yourselves on a balcony, I'm going to cut to the chase. What the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing in Berlin?"

"Willem—!" the blond man warned icily.

"No, Eirik. I've tagged along silently for long enough! I told you I didn't want to get involved with her. She's dangerous—!"

"I can't deny that."

Both men glanced at her, watching her smile as she turned to faced them both and crossed her arms gracefully before gesturing for them to take seats. Willem chugged down his glass of brandy before joining Eirik on the divan and handing him a full glass of the amber liquid.

"I'm not here to answer to you, but, because I have no choice to believe what you told me…I will divulge what I feel necessary. I expect that and more from the both of you," she stated firmly before sitting across from them and crossing her long legs. "I was born Isabela Saavedra, on the island now called Puerto Rico in 1525," she confessed, her tone guarded as she read their expressions.

Willem differed a stoic look towards the other man, who was staring at Isabela with a smile in his eyes as he snickered and took a long drink from him glass. Licking his lips, he placed the glass on the nearest table and leaned forward. "I was born Eirik Northwolf, in the year 798 A.D. in what is now known as Norway." He watched her eyes blaze with surprise while the rest of her countenance remained cool.

She was shocked. She did the math quickly, and realized that he was over a thousand years old. Her heart leapt into her throat, but she managed to suppress her tumultuous feelings to ask, "Your clan?"

The dark-haired man saw the way she was looking at Eirik, and how attuned his brother was with her. It made him wary, so he interjected, "We are what remains."

Glancing at Willem, Eirik chose to elaborate, "The Northwolf clan were Viking. Warriors bred for battle in blood and spirit."

"Are you what is left?" Willem asked her, referring to her own bloodline.

A lurch of anger threatened to narrow her gaze towards the man, but instead she glanced away, focusing on the waxy moon outside her window. "I have been the only immortal of my kind I've ever known. I—" she paused, clearing her throat to look at them levelly as she stated, "I am immortal and part animal."

"You are cold-blooded."

Isabela stared at Eirik, her hand twitching in her lap as she suddenly glared at him. "You can tell that from touching me?"

"I can tell a lot about you, Isabela."

Snidely, she drawled, "Because you're an empath, the two of you?"

"Empaths we are not. We do not sense your emotions, nor do we know anything of your psyche. We are sensers. Being part animal, you should understand the difference," Willem remarked, his scowl fighting the lopsided smirk tugging on his hard-set mouth. "You have a heightened sense of smell, no?"

"Willem, mind your tone." Eirik snapped and stood, crossing towards Isabela before kneeling on bended knee and taking her hand. "Like I said before. Your life force is what I sensed. It is different—fierce and primal, but elevated from mere animal and human. When we sense, it's like a feeling here," he took her hand and pressed it against his chest as he continued, "like pressure. Like how the world feels different after a rain, or when the snow comes. It is a shift that only we can feel."

Like barometric pressure. She could sense and smell shifts in the atmosphere. Her senses were superior to animals and humans, able to pick up on the scents of death from an ill person, or sense a creature's body heat without ever having to touch them. She realized that they were sensers of a different nature: she organically and they consciously.

Isabela stared into his blue eyes as she grabbed his jaw and pulled him closer. The other man's hackles rose, but he stopped himself from interfering when all Isabela did was caress her nose along Eirik's exposed throat. "You are very cock-sure, Eirik. And hot-blooded. I wonder what it would taste like," she purred and tipped her face to glance at him from the same angle he was staring at her.

Eirik chuckled darkly and stood, pulling her up with him. "Why are you in Berlin, Isabela?" he searched her eyes before adding, "Why are you pimping yourself out for the fucking swine here?"

Glaring into his unabashedly charming expression, Isabela could not believe how unfazed he was by her. There wasn't a hint of trepidation or fear in his scent. Not even a glimmer of concern shone in his eyes. If anything, he looked enlivened by her vicious nature.

Glancing away from him towards his tense brother, she said, "I could ask you two the same thing. What are two Vikings doing in the German army?"

Leaning close, Eirik whispered in her ear, "We are warriors. We go where the war is."

Snickering under her breath, she pulled away from him and loped back to the fire place. "We, we, we. Do you two come as a set, or can't either of you think for yourself?" she mocked and shot them both a berating look, lingering on Willem.

Instead of the deathly glower she expected, the dark-haired man's expression became a cold mask of hateful humor. His lips managed to smirk while his eyes narrowed crossly on her as he stood and sneered, "I certainly can think for myself. For example, I think you are not worth us sticking our necks out for, and I sure as hell don't give a damned about you. The idea of revealing our true natures to you is incensing to me, but I trust my brother," he paused, then snidely added, "There is a loyalty between us that goes beyond blood. Clearly you know of no such thing." Looking to his brother, Willem managed to keep his stare challenging—a very difficult feat with how livid Eirik was with him—as he groused, "I have heard all I care for. I won't wait up." With that, the brooding man departed without a backwards glance.

After the door shut, a tense pause lingered in the room for several moments, until Isabela strutted away from Eirik towards the window. "I see you inherited all the charm," she mused to the man without looking away from the moon.

"He's insolent at times…you never answered my question."

"That's none of your business."

Grunting with humor, Eirik walked around the parlor room with his hands in his pockets. "You're angry with me," he declared with a smile in his tone.

She whirled and glared deftly at him. "If I was, you'd be dead by now. I'm processing. I'm…overwhelmed. I don't know if I can trust you—"

"You can," he stated with irrevocable command and in two long strides he was by her side. "You might not be able to sense like I, but you can smell if I'm being false, surely. You know I'm not lying." He took her hands in his and brought them to his chest. "You want to know everything. I can see it in your eyes. Just ask."

She hesitated, surprised by how much she gravitated to him; couldn't and didn't want to shy away from his imposing touch. Isabela looked at the hands that encircled her wrists, noting the small cuts along his knuckles from his earlier thrashing. Her eyes lingered up to trace his masculine jaw, already lightly stubbled with blond whiskers, and committed his features to memory. His handsome face was that of a man full of life and a love for living, with a sadistic and impish quirk to the corners of his mouth and the set of his eyebrows. Eirik didn't look a day over 30, and his body felt god-like.

Isabela was fiercely attracted to him.

"Don't you get overwhelmed? Surrounded by people and being bombarded by their life forces?" she finally spoke and stared into his glacier-blue eyes.

He let his hands trail up her arms, fingers possessively caressing her through the chiffon fabric before cupping her shoulders. "Like every environmental factor, you learn to block it out. Around mere mortals, it's no different than feeling city traffic. Only when something extraordinary is present do I have trouble focusing and pushing the rest out. Even then, it only feels as if rain was pelting me from all angles. It's not an unpleasant feeling…" he explained as he stepped so close to her that she had to caress her hands up his chest to encircle his neck in order to keep their gazes connected.

"What do you feel now?" she murmured, her breath hitching when he encircled her waist and pressed her against him.

"Pounding. Like I am holding onto thunder…Isabela, you rattle me to the very marrow", he husked and kissed her, stealing her breath for what felt like a fleeting eternity.

When they parted from the kiss, she stared into his hooded gaze and humorlessly smiled at him. "I'm a monster. You don't fully comprehend—"

"Neither do you. Just trust me, Isabela," he gruffly murmured and kissed her, this time, the gulf of his desire for her tantalizing. His mouth moved from hers to trail fire along her jaw and down her throat. "Tell me I have your trust, or I will depart and leave you be," he promised in a hoarse whisper, his mouth suckling on her pulse while his hands clutched her passionately.

"You do that, and you won't make it to the door," she warned in a sigh, her hands gripping him before moving to hurriedly unbutton his jacket.

He groaned and held her hands away. "Your threats are so fucking sexy, Isabela, but for the length of Odin's cock, would you trust me?" he grumbled hotly and framed her face in his hands.

Isabela blinked at him, the hunger in his tone and the viciousness in his eyes exciting her as much as the sauciness of his remark.

"Tell me everything, and I'll trust you completely."

Setting his jaw, Eirik tipped his head to an angle and furrowed his brows. "Couldn't you give me a break and acquiesce? I want you now, and I'm too aroused to wait until after I tell you everything."

He'd declared that to her so earnestly that she couldn't help but laugh. "Forgive me, but I simply must insist," she retorted with a flirty smile.

Eirik swore and began to pace like a provoked wolf, running his fingers through his blond hair before fisting the locks and growling at himself. He turned and gave her a hungry once over before prowling towards her and grousing, "Compromise?"

Smiling, she brushed her fingers over his chest before popping a button open. She asked a question and looked up at him through her lashes. Exhaling through his parted lips, he answered her with genuine sexual frustration. Humming approvingly, she popped another button and asked another question. Eirik quickly realized her game and answered with more gusto, smiling suavely when she undid another button on his jacket as she asked yet another question. Unspokenly agreeing to her version of a compromise, the two immortals undressed bit by bit with every one of her questions answered. Before long, Eirik was stripping the last undergarment away from her supple and silky skin before caressing her into his embrace. Isabela was content to be naked in his arms, most of her pertinent questions answered and all others quieted as she got lost in the heat of his skin pressed against hers. Leaving a path of clothes strewn in the direction of her bedroom, they ended up making love passionately. Eirik's sensual ardor was scintillating, leaving her hungry and pliable under him as he rocked her into a fierce climax. He moaned and joined her in bliss soon after, his hands and lips possessively caressing her as she clung to him.

The world melted around them. It was unlike anything either of them had ever felt. Once the lust subsided, she found herself marveling over his body. Scars etched his torso, some light and hard to notice, others ragged and worn by time. On the side of his right pectoral were scratches similar to claw marks; they raised his pale skin. She traced them with the four fingers of her right hand, marveling at the smoothness of the raised flesh. His most jagged scar was along his left bicep. The claws of the animal had torn into his flesh, slicing deep. She caressed the massive claw marks and looked up at him through her lashes. He was watching her, something sensual and rugged glimmering in his eyes.

"War wounds?"

He'd noticed the scar on her womb, and had wondered the same thing. "You could say that. Got that for my warrior rite. I think it would be called a…coming of age ritual," he smirked, but it didn't quite reach his blue eyes.

"Oh really. A rite of passage? Did you have to wrestle a polar bear?" she quipped sultrily, fingers still marveling over the marred muscular bicep.

"No. A Direwolf."

When she blinked at him, he grinned boorishly at her and elaborated. "My father went through it…all Northwolf warriors had to earn their warrior rite. They would not be considered men otherwise, let alone warriors in blood and spirit. So...on my 15th year of life, I entered the gauntlet. It was an arena set at the mouth of a cave. All clan members watch as you enter and fight the clan symbol—the Direwolf. Of course, the beast was widely extinct and not indigenous to Europe, but my greatgrandfather was one of the first Vikings to travel to Northern America. He captured many Direwolf and bred them over many generations. The gauntlet was between man and beasts. One Direwolf, to symbolize the clan, One Greywolf, for reliance, and a Redwolf for the blood a warrior must spill."

He paused, staring into her captivated eyes. Caressing the claw marks on the side of his chest, he remarked, "The Greywolf gave me this. It was a majestic creature; distracted me long enough for the Direwolf to give me this," he brushed his fingers over his scarred bicep. "Seeing my own blood and the thirst in the wolves' eyes made me go berserker for the first time. I managed to run through the Redwolf, and by then, I don't remember anything until I…became a warrior in the center of the arena, the beasts slain and my clansmen cheering me. I skinned my kills and made regal pelts out of them. They were my pride, and the envy of all those not warrior."

Lowering her eyes to the scar, she brushed a kiss over the marred flesh before leaning up to kiss him. "That makes a lot of sense." He chuckled, tipping her face towards him and gave her an amused look, raising his brow inquisitively at her. "You remind me of a wolf. You smell like a dirty wolf too," she provocatively teased, and earned a laugh from the blond Viking before he rolled over and claimed her fiercely with his body, his mouth loving hers with intoxicating desire.

When she awoke the next morning, she found her bed empty. Bemused, she wrapped the bed sheet around herself before heading into the parlor. His clothes were gone, but on the center table stood a vase filled with crimson roses. A small card was tucked into the bouquet. She read the note and smiled. There were only 3 words written in his bold handwriting:

I Trust You.

To be continued...

____________________

Read Chapter 12: Savage Return - Part 2

The song Isabela sings in the club is "Speechless" by Lady Gaga.

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