#all these furrows and little knobs around the articulations!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

god1ngs · 2 years

Text

╭៹ꜜ # c!punz: aus and fanfic tropes ༉

summary: falling in love (or being in love) with c!punz in different aus and fanfic tropes

warnings: description of wounds, blood, angst, fluff, messy writing, swearing, masc terms for reader in one of the aus, jealousy?, implied death

notes: i've been in brainrot for him. also i swear i'll write something other than hcs one day. double also the last one is short sorry </3

— SOULMATE AU

soulmates feel each other's pain.

your soulmate gets hurt, a lot. you've always got some kind of ache on you, usually your hands. they're covered in small scars from who knows what.

you could only assume that your soulmate was rather clumsy.

however, whatever they were doing, it seemed to be dangerous. there were scars that they got lucky they even survived— the worst one being what you could only assume was an arrow piercing through their shoulder.

you can still remember how it burned so badly and the excruciating pain when they pulled the arrow out. the scar is still there, one of the nastier ones as well.

you've never really thought about who your soulmate could be though. with as many wars that have happened, it was only natural that a lot of people got hurt; you can't exactly pin point who has what exact injury.

unless you watch the fight happen.

now, punz was someone you had little knowledge of. he never seemed to be out of his tower, and sometimes he wasn't even in there. you've whispers about how he was greedy, his desire for riches replacing his morals. he was an enigma.

you happened to catch sight of punz and sapnap sparring. they both were good fighters, easily avoiding the hits from the other. however, you can see when punz scowls as sapnap's blade tears through the clothing of his jeans, blood dotting out.

time felt as if it had stopped once sapnap's blade cuts through punz's jeans, the fabric darkening with blood. it's only a moment that passes before you have the same burn in your thigh, the same cut where punz's was. your hand brushes the wound, blood on your fingers. you look up again to see punz staring at you, clearly able to see the same exact cut on your thigh.

you scurried off quickly. punz was intimidating and, even if he hadn't seen the wound on your thigh that replicated his own, you were still scared to face him. you've heard enough stories of how good he is at fighting to steer clear from him.

however, later that night, you caught a glance of blond hair outside of your window. getting a better angle, you could see that punz was standing outside of your house.

you went outside, your door clicking shut behind you. you were face to face with punz, alone, in the middle of the night; what a cliché. "is there something you want?" you ask, keeping your hand on the door knob, just for a safe exit. punz narrows his eyes at you, eyes trailing down to the bandage wrapped around your thigh. "where'd you get that from?" they asked, arms crossed over their chest. you didn't expect them to be so blunt, silence sweeping over the two of you. "well... i didn't," you paused, trying to find a way to articulate your words. "technically, i didn't get it— you got it."

the silence was suffocating. you could practically hear the cogs moving in punz's head, brows furrowed as they process what you said. you never thought your soulmate would be punz. the two of you had never even interacted, besides the passing glances that only lasted for seconds.

punz shifted on his feet, his hand falling from the hilt of his sword.

"so, what you're saying is you're my soulmate?"

you answer his question with a nod, nervously fiddling with the hem of your shirt. it was natural to be nervous about this kind of thing, right? it's not every day you meet the person you're destined to be with out of chance.

you're not the only one nervous though; punz is too. he'd lost all hope for finding his soulmate ages ago. he was a mercenary, a soulmate had no place in that type of business. however, they've met their soulmate now— is it too late to want to try to work it out?

punz outstretches a hand towards you, the same small scars on your skin matching his. sharp blue eyes meet yours and suddenly the wind's been knocked out of you. has he always been so pretty? when he's not fighting, you're able to take in much more details: such as his messy blond hair, or the scar just above his eyebrow. he clears his throat, bringing your attention back to him.

"let's have a new beginning," he murmurs. "i'm punz."

"i'm [name]."

the last person you thought your soulmate would be was punz, but maybe with a fresh start, you two can work something out.

— FRIENDS TO LOVERS & HIGH SCHOOL AU

you grew up being friends with punz. even as a kid, he was protective of you: usually sticking by you, even when you were more than safe. he was always more serious than the other kids, never quite fitting in with the other crowds.

you remembered how he'd usually be by himself, ignoring the other kids' weird stares and not so quiet whispers about him. it hurt you to see him get treated like that, even if you didn't know him at the time.

it led to you sitting with him in the grass. it was mostly you talking, but you didn't mind. he never seemed to be the talkative type anyways. you showed up every day to the place he usually was at; the same grass field that was secluded from the other kids.

the first time he talked was the third time you sat down with him. you were rambling about how you couldn't get the science you were learning, mindlessly picking at the grass below you.

"it's just so difficult. like, why make science that hard, you know?" you ranted, rolling your eyes as you leaned back into the grass. the usual silence from the blond never bothered you, already used to it, despite how little you have visited them. "i could help you, if you want." they muttered, hands shoved into the pockets of their white hoodie. you grinned at their voice, happy to have finally gained a response. "i'd like that."

after that day, they had become more open with you. you two talked and talked, all up until graduation. one of the only times you've seen their genuine smile, and not the cocky grin they'd usually give you, was in the picture you two took at your graduation. you liked their smile (you had no clue that they liked your smile as much as you liked theirs too).

punz wasn't at the school you went to in your first year of high school. you missed his presence, even if you acted like you didn't. however, in your second year of high school, you had transferred to a different high school.

there, right in the middle of the hallway, was punz. he was taller now, less meek and more confident. he was actually talking with people, laughing with that cocky grin you adored years ago. he caught sight of you, eyes widening— you both recognized each other.

"hold on, guys," you heard punz say to his friends, making his way over to you. you could cry with how happy you were, smiling as you looked up at him. "punz? is that you?" his name coming from your mouth made a smile twitch on his lips, nodding. "yeah. [name]?" you nodded, and he felt his heart begin to beat faster. his hand ruffled your hair, grinning down at you. "you still look the same, shortie." you laughed; it was good to know that he was still the same punz, albeit more confident.

you learned that he was popular now too. he was a linebacker on the school's football team, his grades were good (even if he told you he skipped class on the daily)— punz had grown so much more than you thought he could.

from then on, you two were practically inseparable. all his friends teased him, especially one of his teammates that you knew by the name of sapnap. he was usually flirting with you, usually to mess with punz.

punz hated it too, they'd always get protective of you, telling sapnap to lay off. it didn't exactly escalate until sapnap had flirted with you a bit too much.

"you come here often, sweet thing?" sapnap teased, leaning closer over the table to you. you shook your head, laughing. "we're in the cafeteria, sapnap," he kept flirting with you though, making teasing comments that made you roll your eyes and laugh. punz wasn't as amused as you were though, their gaze burning holes into sapnap with each teasing comment the boy made. "lay off of them, sap." they snapped at the other after another teasing comment he made. sapnap wasn't afrid of punz though, a cocky grin highlighting his features as he whistles. "what? you jealous, punz? i don't see them having a partner." you began to cut in, not wanting them to argue, but you were cut off by punz. "fuck off," they snapped, looking at you. "you gonna let him keep flirting with you, or can i kiss you in front of him?" the fondness flashing in his eyes showed that he was serious about his question, wanting to have your consent before he did anything.

needless to say, sapnap never flirted with you in front of punz again, not after they kissed you in front of him.

— ROYALTY AU

you were one of the most well regarded prince's in the land. you were respected by your citizens, treating them with care. you even treated your servants and maids with as much kindness as you could, even if most people of royal status didn't.

one of the many servants you had went by the name of punz. he was gorgeous, for a better lack of words. his voice, his smile, his eyes— everything about him stood out to you. it wasn't that much of a surprise when you fell for him.

their respectful attitude and pretty face was what drew you towards them. you began calling them to your room more often, honestly just wanting to see that pretty face of theirs.

"you wanted to see me, your highness?" he said clearly as he stepped in, his blue eyes piercing into yours. his blond hair fell in his eyes as he bowed to you, brushing it out of his face moments later.

over the months he worked for you, you twk began growing closer. no speaking turned into respectful wishes towards each other which then turned into speaking regularly and now playful banter.

it was common for you to be around punz now too. you were usually seen with them, disguising it as needing something from them. it made you share a glance with punz whenever someone would ask why they were around you, holding back the smiles from your faces.

each night, you'd sneak out to meet punz in the flower garden. sometimes he'd have a flower in his hand when you got there, tucking it behind your ear. you loved each night the two of you shared.

punz carefully tucked the flower behind your ear, his hand cupping the side of your face with a smile on his own. you were sure that yours was just as big as his. "gorgeous." the blond muttered.

that's how yours and punz's relationship started.

everything was going smoothly until your parents had found out about you and punz. they didn't want you dating a commoner, a servant, when you had so many good princes to choose from. you didn't want them though, you wanted punz.

therefore, after sneaking out to the garden again, punz proposed a plan to run away. he held your hands as he spoke, blue eyes staring into yours.

"it'll be perfect," punz told you, their thumb caressing your hand. "we can get out of here and make something for ourselves. wouldn't that be nice?"

you couldn't deny how nice it sounded. you had spent your entire life behind guarded walls, cooped up in the kingdom ever since you were little. the outside world was only a mere dream that you were never meant to have. maybe, just maybe, it could be different with punz.

late in the night, you grabbed a small bag of necessities and left the kingdom with punz. you'd finally get to see the outside world.

it wasn't until later in your adventure did you find out that punz was not a commoner, nor was he a servant— punz was a mercenary, and his latest target happened to be you.

— ONLY ONE BED

the weather had been especially bad recently, storming and windy to where you could barelt go outside. how cruel fate must be for this to have happened while you were at punz's house.

they glanced out the window of their tower, humming in disapproval. "looks like it's gonna rain. it'd be best if you stayed here for the night."

you didn't mind staying with punz for the night, there was just one problem— where would you sleep?

the issue hadn't been brought up until it was time to head to bed. you felt bad asking, standing there while punz stood beside you.

"uh, i only have one bed, so..." the blond trailed off, nervously scratching at the back of his neck. you didn't want to intrude, already feeling bad for staying here for the night. "i can just sleep on the floor or something, it's no big deal—" you were cut off by punz's sharp glare. "you're not sleeping on the floor," his eyes softened. "are you okay with us sharing the same bed?"

and that's how you ended up on the edge of the bed, as far away from punz as you can be. you didn't want to make him uncomfortable, even if you had always wondered what it'd be like to be cuddled up to him. you slept peacefully that night, the warm comfort from punz allowing you to be lulled to sleep earlier.

however, when you woke up, it was a different story.

you had noticied how much warmer you were when you woke up. you snuggled into the warm thing under you, scooting closer as to get even warmer. your eyes fluttered open after a few more minutes, immediately catching sight of a chest— punz's chest. you could feel your entire body burning with embarrassment, immediately attempting to jump away from him, yet to no avail due to the arm around your waist. punz groaned, shifting to hold you against his chest instead, mumbling out a, "five more minutes."

#bones writes #dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #dream smp x y/n #mcyt x reader #dream smp imagines #punz headcanons #punz imagines #punz x y/n #punz x you #punz x reader #punz imagine #dream smp headcanons #mcyt headcanons #punz fanfiction #punz fanfic

333 notes · View notes

bill-owns-my-ass · 5 years

Text

Daddy (part 3)

(Inspired by the GQ photoshoot)

AN: I know that waiting for me to post another chapter to this story is like waiting for paint to dry, but I really want this to be good and enjoyed by all of you so I try not to write when I’m unmotivated!

Warnings: strip club, alcohol, oral, dirty talk

—

You stood uneasily from your seat, your hand firmly placed on his palm. What did he have in store? To be honest, you were frightened, maybe even sick about this whole situation. Although the whole atmosphere gave you negative suspicions, that didn’t keep you from following him through the large and tangled up crowd of people into a scarcely lit hallway. There were a few doors scattered here and there, each one painted black with a high shine gloss. The doorknobs were crystallized and resembled something you would see in a luxurious mansion. You found yourself once again admiring the interior of this palatial never ending feral house. His feral house. The man definitely had a sense of style himself, the only times you ever saw him he was wearing expensive suits and clothing. Anyone who knew him knew all too well there wasn’t a day that he didn’t look dashing.

“Up these steps..” he instructed. If you hadn’t snapped yourself back into attention, you would’ve missed the flight of steps at the main end of the hallway. They were also black, matching most of the furniture and garnishings inside. You noticed an obvious theme. You happened to catch a glimpse of the time on his watch around his wrist. If whatever he had planned didn’t hurry up, you would be absolutely dead when you got back. You couldn’t afford to be in trouble. You watched the back of his large body as he stepped one by one to get to the top. The harsh and sickeningly strong scent that filled the downstairs area seemed to falter the higher and farther you got. You were met with a simple black door and crystal lights hanging on the wall beside the door when you got to the top.

“What is this?” You questioned him, your brows furrowed. A fragment of a laugh left his precious lips, you were too curious for anything good to come of it, he knew that. He stepped to the door and stuck a pair of keys that must have been hiding in the pocket of his slick pants into the knob. It entered with a crisp click and the door was unlocked. You watched the door open to reveal an apartment flat. It was nice. Very nice. The atmospheric light in the whole place was warm, ever inch of it illuminated by candlelight. His furniture was sleek and clean, showing that he was a very neat person. You could see just by the way things were placed he worried about his space looking presentable. Or maybe he cleaned up the place just for you. Maybe he made sure things looked nice because he knew you were coming. Maybe he could read you like a notebook with one of those broken clips that are supposed to keep it shut but it’s been wore out. You stepped inside after a bit of prodding from his hand on your back. It felt like ice even though his skin couldn’t actually be felt over the soft material of your clothes. It smelled good too, much better than downstairs. You wondered why he was always hanging around downstairs if he had such a nice and comfortable place up here to be in. Before you could ask that exact question, the sound of the door clicking shut distracted you. You turned, looking at him timidly.

“Sit down, babydoll..” his voice could coax you into anything. There was a velvetness to it that was relaxing and kept you in such a euphoric state it was impossible to say no.

“Ok..” you did as he pleased, taking a seat in one of the leather chairs he had in his living room by his matching couch. He was busy pouring a glass of something you weren’t familiar with into a short glass with ice in his kitchen that was open to his living room.

“Don’t be nervous.” He said blatantly. He could feel it. He could practically hear your heart in his own ears. Your eyes snapped to him. Nervous? How did he know?

“I-I’m not..” you lied through your teeth like a child to their parent. He smirked, a smirk you’d never forget and little did you know, come to see frequently. “What?” You asked, your voice in a questioning tone. He admired your childlike wonder.

“You don’t have to lie to Daddy..” he spoke with a small voice, comforting you. By this time he was getting close to you, close enough for you to make out the scar in his cheek and the exact color of his transfixing green eyes. “I know a scared little girl when I see one.” He stood between your legs and taunted you. At least it felt like taunting. He was so tall, he made you feel like an ant. You looked up to him, trying to keep your eyes from shifting nervously.

“I’m not scared.” He was amused by your sudden tone. You were playing an indestructible, secure role, but he would dig underneath that facade and take you as the little girl you were. He knew you, although you had no idea how naive you were being. Hell, you haven’t spoken more than 10 things to him and he already had you up in his apartment.

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

His hands were finding their way to your cheeks as they blushed a soft red. The foreign feeling of his skin resembled a warm and invasive tenderness you hadn’t ever been introduced to. “If you aren’t scared, you won’t mind me doing this.” His right hand started to slip from their stance and drift down to your jaw. What was this? What was he doing? More importantly, what did he have planned? You were silent, eyes glued to his face.

“No...”

“Or this?” lower and lower his hand went. Every inch and piece of skin he stumbled upon rose with chills. You bit your lip, the actions taking place made it harder for you to look him in the eyes, so you took the ladder and looked down. He noticed you become apprehensive, so he continued, more confidence filling his head. By this time he was groping at your thighs, threatening to spread them apart. The blush on your cheeks more visible now as he abruptly split them, knealing down. You tried to speak but nothing was coming out, only small gasps and heavy breaths. He leaned down, kissing at your knee, your dress pushed up at your hips from his hands shoving it back. He looked up to you with bright green eyes, devilishly darting around your face and observing as you tried to relax. “Such pretty skin..” he whispered, his lips now on your inner thigh. You gripped at the handles of the chair tightly when he slid your panties to the side, getting a good view of your wet center. “Look at you,” he began, inching closer. You spread your legs wider for him, inviting him in. “You’re so wet.. practically dripping for me.”

“I want it..” you told him in the most innocent voice. He stopped his gawking and looked up to you.

“And what is that little one?” He asked you, a condescending tone leaving his lips.

“Y-You..” you regretted calling out to him in such a needy manner. You felt weak, as if you weren’t already in the role of a small ant.

“Oh baby, I know..” with that he tucked his head down and away between your legs, his tongue finding it’s way into your warm, body sticky entrance. You threw your head back in ecstasy. You had never been touched like this before. He licked a long stripe up your sweet spot, right up to your sensitive nub. You jolted, a small squeak leaving your lips. He must have enjoyed it by the way he looked up to you with those pretty green eyes and smiled. His tongue drew circles around your clit, causing you to shake and squirm under his hold. You could’ve died at the sweet noises he was making between your legs. Each lick and stimulate against your precious sex had you moaning and whimpering for him. He could get off at the sound of you alone. There was a pool of pressure swirling around in your tummy and you were ready to bust any minute, he could tell.

“I’m gonna-“ You whimpered, but before you could finish your sentence you were arching your back and letting go all over his face. He closed his eyes and listened to your weak voice go ballistic in bliss. Your juice was in his stache as well as all over his lips and chin. He looked like an angelic demon knealing there between your legs with the passion of sex over each of your faces. He grinned in satisfaction, standing up and looking down to you while he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. Good God, you’d never pleasure yourself again knowing what euphoria could be done. The sound of a belt buckle perked up your ears. You looked to him in confusion. He looked through the articulation on your face and only gave you a smirk and chuckle.

“Oh honey, did you think we were finished?”

—

Tag List

@army-crawl-andersen

@mblaqgi

@dabi-is-fine-as-wine

50 notes · View notes

9uk · 6 years

Text

Let Me Stay Close To You : part 3

⌲ summary : you were finally free from the worst nightmare of your life in high school. the doors of college welcomed you with open arms, you were set on living your best life in here, away from the toxicity back at home. that shimmer of hope in restoring your life, was somehow effortlessly crushed by a tap on your shoulder. “Hey Y/N, why don’t you say we catch up for a moment?”

⌲ pairing : bully!jungkook x reader

⌲ word count : 4.7k

⌲ genre : angst, pinch of fluff

⌲ warnings : battling of demons and mild suggestive terms, mentions of torture, other than that enjoy.

⌲ a/n : hehe hope you guys enjoy this, it’s kinda draggy for me (i feel) but it plays a huge role to character development. thank you all for patiently waiting, & like always, feedback is more than welcomed ;>

part two > part three > part four

“So,” She props her elbows on the countertop and begins, raising her cheeky brows and lips curling up in mischief. You aimlessly scroll through your dusty twitter feed, nothing in particular that lures your undivided attention to it.

Tossing your phone onto the couch, you grab to hug a pillow as you switch on the television instead, and absent-mindedly wait for your roommate to finish her sentence.

Sooyoung, however, has quickly spun around with her back facing you, placing all attention on the pot of boiling soup on the stove without a word—pretending that she never said a word in the first place.

Brows furrowed in confusion, you thought you could be aid to remind her of where she left off just a few seconds ago.

“Um, carry on..?” You shift your gaze back to the television, heading for Brooklyn 99 instinctively and almost immediately, heart craving for a series of laughing fits.

You might be too stressed out ever since the beginning of the term—today being your first day of classes—and it just couldn’t turn out any better with the unridable stench of Jeon Jungkook.

A small scream breaks into your ears and—

“Goddammit Y/N! Can’t you see that I’m trying to salvage this pumpkin soup right here?”

The loudness of her voice makes you jump, her words of despair shattering the quietness of the entire room apart.

Sooyoung looks like she is about to rip off all the hair on her head in pure frustration—with a smell akin to a burnt pumpkin soup diffuses into the living room and into your nostrils.

Oh no.

“Oh my god, hurry turn the stove off!” And the sight before you is a major trigger to your anal retention: your poor friend bends to look at the gas knob, hair almost catching on fire, hot soup on the ladle she’s holding dripping onto her wrists and the orange liquid in the pot bubbling violently, threatening to spill onto the kitchen floor—which you had just responsibly mopped earlier in the morning—at any given moment.

In sheer luck, she manages to put the life-threatening, disastrous situation under control—hand coming out to switch the stove fire off, everything settling into a silent aftermath of a warzone.

Both of your fearful and panicky states dissolve into a huge sigh of relief as the pumpkin soup retreats back to safe home— amused chuckles of disbelief erupting from the two of you.

“On the bright side, this serves as a gentle reminder for you to not ever try make soup again.” You raise your brows at her with arms crossed.

“And that I didn’t burn down the kitchen.” Sooyoung adds, smiling gleefully. You can’t believe she’s real.

“You had something to say to me?” You inquire again, blowing onto the soup that was quite surprisingly, not half bad after all the hassle.

Sooyoung narrows her eyes hard, at the bowl of pumpkin soup, trying her best to recollect her intentions of speaking just a while ago.

“Ah!” She points a finger in the air when she manages to hook onto that piece of memory floating away.

“What were you doing with Jeon Jungkook during the party yesterday?”

The question drops onto your tense body like an atomic bomb.Your hand freezes, soup dripping from the spoon back into the ceramic bowl. You open your mouth to answer Sooyoung, but how exactly were you supposed to explain that?

“Erm...” It was all you could manage while you figure out the best way to articulate your relationship with Jungkook to her.

Where should you start?

“Well..” Sooyoung leans foward on the countertop in unnecessary anticipation, looking at you with sparkly expectant eyes.

From the day you made him fall face flat to the ground?

“You see...” You drag for as long as you could, not so sure how to put it, at least in the most decent manner possible.

The thing between you and Jungkook—if it’s not obvious enough already—is a bully and a victim. There’s nothing worth bragging about that relationship.

And no, you’re definitely not trying to victimise yourself or anything of the sort. It’s a fact as clear as day that you have accepted long ago. Or too used to belonging to the title ‘victim’ in this whole bullying situation. There’s also nothing much you can do honestly. You were destined to live life this way, having a father who has a financial fraud vandalised on his records forever, a mother who wakes up before the sun does to brew coffee for the people setting off to work— making the child of aforementioned people inferior to the child whose parents own one of the top three largest companies in the entertainment market.

You were inferior to Jeon Jungkook.

Power and money-oriented society, remember?

Something between a scoff of resentment and an unamused chuckle leaves your lips to the thought of the awful past life you have finally abandoned (sort of). But Sooyoung seems to lack the ability to interpret your tone well, eyes lighting up at the sight of your teeth.

“No way, don’t tell me you guys left the party to make out at the front porch.” She gasps in shock, eyes widening and hand flying up to cover her mouth.

No way.

You immediately deny her absolutely outrageous and almost laughable guess.

“What? No! We were just-“

Suddenly, the memories of his calloused nail-bitten fingers and soft palm on the side of your face aggressively fights to replace every brain cell that you have, causing all the pores on your skin to vibrate as you quiver at the feeling. It almost seems like it was a mere hallucination of your drunken state of mind, not until Sooyoung brings it up again in your face to remind you that it was real. It did happen. Jungkook had caressed you.

“just…” Your voice drifts off, the electricity of pretence flowing through the tiny tangled wires in your head, smoothly making their way to light up the bulb in your mind. “..talking!”

You already feel bad for lying to her.

“About making out?” Sooyoung is not one to concede defeat to your lame, clearly-made-up excuse, the picture of you and Jungkook sucking off each other’s faces sticking onto her suspicions like gum on the bottom of a shoe. The direction of her imagination is going polar opposites from your initial fear of the revelation of your devastating past—to which you softly sigh in relief to.

“About whatever you think of, detective.” You try to lighten the mood, sending a cheeky wink her way and escaping the conversation—the perfect resolution to avoid spilling the truth and fabricating more lies.

She scorns at your open answer, leaving her only to imagination to take control of her doubts out in the air, wandering freely as she sulkily stirs at her soup.

You giggle at the cute pout beginning to form on her scarlet lips and slowly drain the warm pumpkin delight from the bowl into your stomach.

You would tell this kind and lovely lady about everything—from something as simple how a Corgi barked and wagged its tail at you while on the way to campus, to your deep inner conflicts between your passion and confidence and the dire situation of your family, and how you’d really missed the way things were when you were still in pigtails playing with doll—but not the major happening in your history.

The story of the scar on the left side of your temple was something you had never want to dig up and elaborate on to your friends. Once they have a whiff of your pitiful side, those eyes that currently look at you with admiration and adoration will very quickly turn into unwanted sympathy and abomination—and your pals will gradually drift away from your side, knowing that they can do so much better than having a true loser stick around.

So you would never disclose the truth between you and Jungkook to her. You could never do that.

Nothing felt more suffocating than standing outside an extravagant yet simple looking bungalow. The darkness of the sky cannot further accentuate the black matte walls of the exterior of this home. The hazy moonlight shines on the stagnant turquoise pool, topped off with the stationary shrubs along the perimeter of this whole compound, flaunting the estate’s overall tranquility. This house looked like it belonged to some clean freak who never steps foot in or out of it through the front door and owns about eleven Dobermans. If you were a passerby, you would have never guessed it belongs to a boy currently studying in college. You clasp your hands together, fingers locking onto one another —a little too tightly— for emotional support and courage.

His fingers lift the heavy material with ease, as he watches you through the gaps of his curtains from his bedroom.

You were about five minutes away from meeting Jungkook. Alone in a room most likely. As the number of steps you take increases, with an angry-looking security guard escorting you on your way, you can feel your heart hammering hard against your poor ribs, teetering on the edge of rupturing out of your chest there and then.

Finally, in no less than a blink of an eye, you were in the chilly immaculate bedroom with Jungkook. You aren’t even exaggerating when you say that the man in black had practically threw you in like a fresh piece of meat flung into a lion’s den—waiting to be ferociously devoured by the beast himself. At least, that was how you felt.

The slamming of the grand double doors echoed through the room and you scan your surroundings.

Why were you even in his bedroom?

Did that mean he doesn’t even have a study room in this uselessly big house?

Your eyes fall onto a small desk at the corner of the room. Yep, the both of you were going to work on that.

Finally, they fall onto the main subject of this room, standing at the window, gazing out to the night sky. You stared longer than you wished, no that you can help it because—he looked so innocent and normal like that, watching the stars and moon quietly in appreciation.

Your breath hitched when Jungkook suddenly turns around to face you. Releasing the curtain from his hand, they flowed close again, effectively blocking out the the pitch-black sky. He looked you in the eye, before his lips curl up into an amused grin.

You are mirroring his emotion as well—that you’re actually alone in his room for no other reason than a homework assignment—but the limelight of amusement is stolen by the overpowering terror and anxiety. Jungkook could quite literally kill you and feed your body parts to his dogs—if he even owned one, but that isn’t the main point. The main point is that he could do anything he want to you right here and right now and his guard, instead of helping you, would probably help Jungkook lock the doors. He could easily tie you up and use you as a sex slave or hold you captive in this plain bedroom, abusing you as and when he liked.

You hate yourself for coming, but you knew that worse could happen if you hadn’t obeyed. You feel a trace of ease when you are reminded that now, you have actual friends who would call the cops upon the realisation of your disappearance.

Stay calm and stop overthinking, gosh.

Avoiding his gaze, you begin fishing out the worksheets and your laptop from your backpack. “We should start on it-“

“No, no, no,” He waves his hand in disagreement and walks over to you. His long legs bring him across the wooden floor swiftly reaching you within a second.

And subconsciously, your hand movements halt as you retreat a step back.

“Before we start on that useless assignment,” You narrow your eyes fiercely at him, putting up a brave front. He exhales, “I think you have the answers to the many questions in my head right now.”

Stunned, your eyes hastily search the white walls of the room for answers. You visited his house for nothing else but one cause—and that is to finish the planning on the whole anatomy project, leave in one piece and hopefully never to come back ever again. You weren’t here for an unwanted session of questioning—and you weren’t about to give him the answers that he wanted. You will not allow him to have you at the tip of his fingers again, for you have become a strong, firm and fearless women. Whether he had plans to slaughter the fuck out of you here, is now placed in the back of your mind for a moment.

Seeing as to how petrified you look—your whole face going pale as paper, Jungkook feels as if he’s some kind of monster to you.

Maybe he was, but he most definitely isn’t now.

He purely just wants you to answer a few questions of his before the both of you can start on the project—which is why he was rather confused at why you seemed so afraid of him.

You were never like this, even when he mistreated you and committed those unscrupulous acts on you, you would show zero emotions, to only ignore him and see his entire existence as irrelevant—so why were you look so scared now that he was standing so close to you?

Nonetheless, Jungkook wants his question marks to be depleted.

“First of all-“

“No.”

Shut. Him. Out.

“We either sit down and start the planning, or I’m leaving.”

You feel a gush of confidence breeze past you, your heart hardening and a side of you never known before appearing. Wow, did you really just stood your firm to Jeon Jungkook, the guy who bullied you for the past 4 years? A heavenly warmth of pride runs through your blood.

Jungkook is momentarily perplexed, mouth halfway open as the remaining words are stuck to his throat. He gulps and blinks repeatedly, absorbing what you had just said in disbelief—that you’ve noticed.

Call it a bipolar disorder, because you too, have no idea how your pyroclastic flow of nerves transformed into a solid indestructible mountain of rock in a snap. It was either you were too determined to protect the life you have now, or that you’re beginning to catch the smear of vulnerability in his eyes. You really have no clue.

With a tilt of his head to the side—a habit he hasn’t got rid of since highscool, be it from confusion, rage or happiness—he mumurs an approval. “E-Erm, okay.”

Success.

Parallel universe, indeed.

Nothing is going through his head right now—not as you speak and point to the various ideas you have come up with for this homework, not as you explain which idea is the best and start listing the pros and cons of it, not as you ask him to do the mindmap for the planning.

You notice that you’re speaking tons of words more than talkative, nonsensical-blabbering Jeon Jungkook, and he was being unusually quiet. Maybe he was thinking of ways on how he was going to torture you later on. True or not, you wanted a high grade on this assignment.

Be professional, the rational side of your brain puts your drifting thoughts back on track.

“Hello. Are you there.” You slap a hand so close to his face right infront of his big doe eyes, and he doesn’t even blink. He’s staring so hard at the crotch of the human body diagram you printed—probably doing it unintentionally amidst busy building sandcastles in the air—and you try not to laugh at the sight of him doing that.

“Jungkook!” You finally decide to yell in his ears and he flinches away hard, flying up from his seat.

“What! I’m right here!” He shouts back in the retaliation of being shocked, rubbing his earhole and you irresistibly laugh at his reaction.

Wait what, you laughed at Jungkook?

This felt so…strange, yet it is a very typical interaction between two friends. Maybe that is why, solely because it is a normal conversation between the both of you—a duo that have never experienced an ordinary interaction before, other than the occasional rubber band shots and verbal attacking of your outer appearance.

Hold up, did you just say friends? Impossible.

Your bright and smiley face falls into a blank expression at the sudden realisation faster than a flash. Jungkook’s face mirrors the falling of yours too, but his features drains from something a bit more—something like actual fondness— to scepticism and worry.

Clearing your throat, you turn to face the splayed out papers on the table.

“Let’s um, start on what we’re supposed to do.”

Jungkook slowly, warily sits back down to join you, staring at the laptop screen, lost.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Namjoon would have seriously made a better project partner. Now you would have to repeat your instructions, something that you hated.

Sighing in complete impatience, you start from the top again.

“Of course you’re right here.”

Silence.

It blankets the both of you squeezing two chairs into the desk made for one, quietly doing your individual parts in utmost concentration. Add on his vigorous smashing of the keyboard and the rough flipping of the pages of the handout (because you can’t wait to get out of here.)

It wasn’t unacceptably uncomfortable, but it wasn’t particularly settling and peaceful as well. The tension between the two of you is almost palpable—when the undesirable memories of the past sporadically appears in each other’s minds—one’s heart filled with guilt and the other filled with ache.

Up to you to figure which is who.

You are extremely thankful for how complexed and meticulous the planning of the project is, allowing the both of you to fully immerse in doing the annoying details well and answering the challenging questions.

It is also silent because—none of you had dare speak to each other unless it was involving the task at hand.

The clock ticked to ten and with the shut of both laptops and the zipping of your pencil case, the papers gathered in a neat rectangle stack_it was time to face reality again.

Jungkook breaks the silence first.

“Can I ask my questions now?”

It was weird. The way Jungkook was asking for your permission to do something as simple as firing the burning questions in his mind. If you were him, you would not even be able to stay one bit focused on the mindmap creation, only able to ponder about how the girl beside him had changed into someone…so different.

It was weird because you weren’t used to Jungkook speaking nicely (normally) to you. There was an absence of irritation and danger in the tone of his voice, which made his words seem too kind to be true. It never fails to send you into a stupor when a swear word is missing from his sentence to you. Maybe, for the better or worse, in the fleet of eight months, Jungkook has changed. Maybe, and just maybe, it was time to view him in a different light.

“Yeah, you can.” You easily give him consent.

“Okay first question, why were you sitting next to Namjoon in anatomy lecture?”

Was that really all he had wanted to ask?

You shoot him a look of bewilderment. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it definitely did not include who you sat with in lecture.

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“What-“

“You do know that he is a pervert that goes after girls whenever there’s a chance right?” Jungkook warns you, and you are at a loss for words.

Namjoon wasn’t someone like that, and you strongly believe the impression you have of him.

“Listen, he’s actually a really nice guy okay?” You counterattack his assumption. Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief, scoffing as you speak.

“That’s what everyone says.”

You actually felt like believing him. Jungkook is effectively inserting doubts about Namjoon into your head, and you’re actually starting to question the guy Namjoon really was. Did you not know him well enough? Was the low self-esteem just a plain act?

No, you have no reason to trust Jungkook—who was capable of manipulation and you were one to know best about this.

He seems to be able to sense the distrust from you to his claim, but what he said was true. You weren’t the first girl Namjoon has tried approaching. But you were the first to accept him.

“It’s really up to you whether to heed my advice or not—which is to stay away from a guy like that,” Jungkook puts his hands up in surrender, “but I’m just giving you a heads up, lest you fall into his trap of feelings or get taken advantage of... you know.”

Blinking, you take ten seconds to administrate what he told you into your mind. For what exactly, was Jungkook being so kind towards you for?

You don’t have the answers to that, you think it is because he only wants you to himself to bully—and not share that privilege with Namjoon.

“I just..hope you don’t get hurt, again.”

And then once more, you were wrong about him.

The word ‘again’ reminds you of how bad he had hurt you physically, and emotionally, placed humiliation above your name and put you down to rock bottom. Everyday you would emotionlessly stare at yourself in the mirror and see a girl full of flaws and insecurities. A girl so unhappy and afraid to do anything she truly liked and follow her dreams. A girl who built up in four high walls around herself and not let anyone in, scared to feel the pain of losing someone again. A girl who was so, so tired of living. The undeserved death of your late bestfriend demolished the happiness in your soul, and Jungkook further crushed all its shattered fragments into fine dust—which made you become that girl.

However, the Jungkook you knew all those years back was gone—that you’re still trying to register—and he had changed. Not his face, which was still the same old handsome Jungkook back in highschool, but his heart had turned into something like pure gold.

It may not be every part of him, but one thing you were sure as of right now, was that Jungkook had a kind side to him that was just never shown to you before. For all you know, he may have grown well from that immature brat in the past and became someone who’s trying to repent from his mistakes.

“Um, sure..” You’re not sure how to respond to such words coming out of his mouth—were you supposed to say thank you ?

Jungkook hesitates for a split second, before shooting the next question.

“Second thing, why did you act like you didn’t know me at the party?”

The thing is, did you really know him though?

It was harmless to attempt to keep him out of your life. It was also harmless to not have Jeon Jungkook in your happy new life.

“I’m not answering that.” You strictly follow the initial plan and Jungkook doesn’t seem too pleased at your answer.

“Are you sure you’re not gonna answer me?” He steps closer and the gap between your faces shrunk so much, that you can feel the fanning of his breath on your cheeks. He was riled up, threatening tone rebirthing and fury dripping in his eyes. Jungkook cocks a brow up, challenging your stand.

This was the Jungkook you knew.

He is a breath away from grabbing the collar of your shirt and slamming you against the wall and you flutter your eyes shut and squirm away from his menacing form. Witnessing how you switched into someone so fearful of him, he lets out a groan of disappointment.

Instead, all you hear next is the string of curses coming out of his mouth and you slowly open your eyes to see him running his fingers through his thick hair and pulling harshly at it in frustration.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit-fuck!”

It was like, he was trying to stop himself.

As he slapped himself back to the better of his senses, you realised that everyone had their own demons in their head. And Jungkook was no exception. At that moment, you felt pity for the guy who stood before you battling his detestable old self. His demons were overpowering, and just when you thought Jungkook excelled in manipulation, you thought wrong again—it was the demons fucking with his head, and Jungkook didn’t know how to properly deal with them, resulting in outbursts of physical and verbal abuse—the only way Jungkook knew to express his pain.

What did Jungkook go through, that made him the monster he was?

“I-“ He starts again, cautiously speaking to you this time.

His breaths quickened and he grunts, exasperated at the failure of his words. You keep quiet as you wait for him to settle from the fit with his arms on his hips. Calming down, he turns around and suggests.

“It’s late, let me just send you home, okay?”

He was being so thoughtful for you—something you were still getting used to.

You felt so useless, standing at the side to watch him helplessly fight his inner conflicts—and being the main cause of his struggle.

The fear you felt at first has evaporated at Jungkook’s effort to not hurt you in the slightest way possible. You saw it in his eyes the first time he stroked his finger along your scar and heard it for yourself when he cared for your wellbeing.

It is in fact, time to see him in a different light—a better one.

Jungkook drives you safely to your dorm, a short and quiet journey given that his house is around the area. You wouldn’t have a peace of mind going back to campus alone through the dark alleys and streets—so you were rather grateful for the ride offer.

You mutter a ‘thanks’ before carefully exiting the grey Lamborghini you didn’t dare to cause a tiny scratch on. You speedily walked towards the entrance of your dorm building, before you hear the door of the sports car clicking open, followed by hurried footsteps.

“Wait Y/N!” Jungkook yells out and makes his way towards you.

His footsteps slow down as he reaches your patiently waiting form.

His eyes drop to the road, followed by a tilt of his head. He was nervous.

Scratching the back of his head in strong apprehension, Jungkook forcefully gets rid of all nerves and puts his words into correct place. And it goes way back when he clears his throat, bringing him to the time he faced the mirror and practiced this for a couple of dozen times.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t even have to question what for, because he has a lot to be remorseful and repentant about.

You can tell that it took a lot from him to say these three words, especially for someone who didn’t have to apologise to anyone with all that money and power. He wasn’t obliged to give you an apology. And so, he didn’t have to go through the trouble of apologising to you for what he has done. But here he was, handing you his words of redemption wholeheartedly. You were appreciative of his gesture, but you weren’t so prepared to readily forgive him just then.

“I’ll..see you around?”

Jungkook continues after your silent reply.

“Yup.” You smile assuringly.

And your answer itself sufficed for him.

#jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #bts angst #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts fan fiction #bts fanfic #bangtan

979 notes · View notes

redgillan · 7 years

Text

Guess Who? - part 2

AU!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Based on Clue. You are invited to a strange house where you have to cooperate with the staff to solve the murder of one of the guests.

Word Count:1,942

Warnings: Language, Drinking

Guess Who? - Masterpage

“Is he dead?” Miss Scarlet asked, clutching Captain America’s arm.

Professor Iron pushed Doctor Green forward. “You do it, you’re a doctor.”

Green tugged his arm free and narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m a scientist, not a coroner.”

You took a step toward Hawkeye’s lifeless body and poked him with the thin heel of your shoe. The guests grimaced as you randomly poked at the dead man.

“Looks dead to me,” you finally concluded.

Mrs. Black let out a little cry as she fanned herself with her hand. When her legs started wobbling, Mr. Lang rushed to her and encircled her with his arms.

“Fall into my arms,” he told her. She slipped right through his arms and ended up lying flat on the floor as Lang stood above her, hugging thin air. “Sorry.”

“I demand to know what’s going on. Why have we all been dragged up to this horrible place?” Scarlet asked, still hiding behind the Captain’s broad shoulders.

“How did he die?” Mr. Winter, your husband, asked.

Stepping over her passed out body, Lang faced the crowd. He gripped the door frame when he almost tripped over Hawkeye’s body.

“I DON’T KNOW!” he started shouting, frustration and fear lacing his voice. “THAT’S WHAT WE’RE TRYING TO FIND OUT! WE’RE TRYING TO FIND OUT WHO KILLED HIM, AND WHERE, AND WITH WHAT!”

“There’s no need to shout,” you told him.

“I’M NOT SHOUTING!” Lang replied, still yelling. You cocked an eyebrow at him and he took a deep breath. “Alright I am! I’m SHOUTING, I’M SHOUTING, I’M SHOUT-”

When he closed the restroom door, the candlestick placed above the door fell and hit him on the head. Lang dropped to his knees before he fell forward and landed with his face firmly rammed in Hawkeye’s crotch.

Iron puffed out a breath. “Alright, I suggest we take all the dead bodies and passed out people into the study.”

You, Scarlet and Maria took care of Mrs. Black’s body while the others carried Hawkeye. When Lang joined you, he was holding an ice pack to his head and the candlestick in his free hand.

“Careful, I don’t want blood on the sofa,” he told the group of men who had carelessly plopped the corpse onto the sofa.

Monsieur Falcon moved the dead body around so that it looked like Hawkeye was casually sitting on the sofa. He opened his mouth to speak when he noticed Hawkeye’s dead eyes staring at him. He made a face of disgust and closed the man’s eyes.

“We should call the police.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard tonight,” Iron fired back as he sat between Hawkeye and Mrs. Black who was still unconscious. He made himself comfortable and slung his arms over their shoulders. “One of us a murderer.”

“That’s exactly why we should call the police,” Falcon replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We cannot call the police,” Lang chimed in. “You just moved the body and my fingerprints are all over the candlestick. If this was the weapon used to kill him, they’ll think I’m the one who did it.”

“And what if you are the killer?”

“I’m not.”

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“How do you know I’m not telling the truth?”

“What?”

“Are you telling the truth?” Falcon articulated, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I’m lost,” Lang said, rubbing his temples.

Falcon walked over to the bar where he poured himself a glass of whiskey before turning to face them again.

“Okay, fine. Why are we here? I think it’s safe to say we all received a letter, an outfit and an alias.” He looked at the others who nodded confirmation. “Why does the master of the house want to see us?”

Lang plopped down in the armchair near a large painting of a woman lounging on a sofa. He let out a heavy sigh before he raised his head and saw the others staring at him.

“My boss knows what you’ve all done,” he revealed. “You’ve all committed a crime and got away with it. This is why you are here today.

“My employer and I were going to expose your crimes and call the police, but things got out of hand... way out of hands. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be, so I wrote everything on a piece of paper. It must have fallen out of my pocket after dinner.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, now the list he had found on the floor made sense.

At this moment, he decided to keep his mouth shut. He thought it best to be one step ahead of everyone else, especially since he had to protect you.

“I don’t want to stay here any longer,” Falcon said as he put his empty glass down on the desk. “I will admit that I have done things I’m not proud of, but I am no murderer. The best thing to do now is to solve this mystery on our own. We’ll catch the murderer, call the police and get out of here before they show up.”

“Hang on, Velma.” Professor Iron stopped him. “How exactly are we going to solve a murder when the murderer is likely one of us? Personally, my money’s on the Black Widow.”

“She literally fainted when she saw the corpse,” Green pointed out.

“Maybe she’s faking it,” Iron said with a shrug.

Maria rounded the sofa and hunched over Mrs. Black, giving the rest of the guests a nice view of her backside. She slapped Mrs. Black across the face so hard that the redhead woke up.

“What was that for?” Black screeched, holding her bruised cheek.

“Nap time is over,” Maria replied as she adjusted her apron. When she noticed everyone’s dubious expression, she shrugged. “Someone had to do something.”

“Right,” Mr. Lang clapped his hands once. “Now that that’s settled, let’s split up and search every inch of this house.”

You took a step back, your face screwed up in an incredulous expression. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Lang is right,” Green agreed. “Mr. Hill never joined us. There’s a chance he might be in the house.”

“Have any of you seen a horror movie before?” you asked rhetorically. “There are rules; don’t have sex, don’t drink or do drugs and never say ‘I’ll be right back’.”

You had already broken two of these rules.

“Suppose that one of us is the murderer,” you continued. “If we split up into pairs, whichever one is left with the killer might get killed!”

“Then we would have discovered who the murderer is,” Lang replied calmly.

“But the other half of the pair would be dead!” you screamed.

“What other choice do we have?”

“None,” Scarlet sighed.

“I need a drink,” you mumbled.

Falcon handed you a glass and the Captain, Iron and Scarlet joined you.

“Fine,” Bucky said, moving closer to you. “If we’re doing this, I’m taking Lady Dazzle with me.”

Iron scoffed. “Yeah, you wish.”

The two men stared daggers at one another, then Lang took a box of long matchsticks from the mantelpiece.

“I suggest we draw lots for partners.”

He cut ten matchsticks into five different sizes and turned around while he arranged them to hide their length. Once he was satisfied, he faced the group again.

“The two shortest search the cellar, and so on up. Agreed?”

You all hummed your response and took a match.

Yours was short, definitely shorter than Bucky’s. You shared a look, knowing you were not going to be together.

Green was paired up with Scarlet, Lang with the Captain and Falcon with Maria. Mrs. Black walked up to Bucky and compared their matchsticks; they were the same length. The thought of them having to search the house together made your hands sweat.

Your partner sneaked up behind you.

“It’s you and me, honey bunch,” Iron whispered to you, ignoring your cringe.

Maria and Falcon reluctantly moved towards the cellar, which was next to the restroom. Bucky, Black, Lang and the Captain went upstairs to search the master bedroom and the attic.

You and Iron took the dining room, the kitchen and the billiard room while Scarlet and Green searched the library and the conservatory.

There was no place to hide in the dining room, but you noticed that one of the chairs was broken and a candlestick was missing. This was probably were Hawkeye had been attacked.

“Ladies first,” Iron said as he gestured toward the kitchen door.

“No, thanks,” you replied.

“I insist.”

You rolled your eyes before you both tried to open the door at the same time. You kept Professor Iron in your line of sight while you both searched the spotless kitchen.

He walked up to the island and swiped icing from the edge of the cake. He brought his finger up to his mouth and groaned as he tasted the frosting.

You motioned with your head and eyes toward the walk-in freezer. Iron put his hand on the knob and silently told you to stand behind him in case someone was hiding inside the freezer. It would be the worst hiding place, though.

You sighed in relief when you found the freezer empty. Iron continued to search through the cupboards and closets while you inspected the freezer.

You took one of the meat hooks and gasped when it opened a door at the back of the freezer. Professor Iron rushed back to you.

“It’s a secret passage,” you said excitedly. “Should we see where it leads?”

Iron shrugged. “I'll go first. I've had a good life.”

Thankfully, his watch was also a torch. It seemed to be a complicated gadget, but you didn’t ask questions. The floor was uneven, but you still managed to follow him through the narrow corridor.

When Iron suddenly stopped, you almost ran into him. He swung aside the soft wall, realizing later that it was the portrait of the woman lounging on the sofa.

“Oh,” you said, disappointed, when you recognized the study.

Iron looked around the room. “Where are Heckle and Jeckle?”

As if the alias thing wasn’t complicated enough, he had to give everyone a nickname. You figured he was talking about Green and Scarlet, so you went out into the hall to look for them.

They both left the library when they heard the sound of your high heels clipping across the floor.

“There’s a secret passage from the conservatory to the library,” Green said, gesturing with his hand towards the library.

“We found several books on the floor,” Scarlet continued. “I think someone attacked Hawkeye in the library and strangled him with the rope.”

“Maybe. They must have used the secret passage to move the body without being seen,” Iron concluded.

“But who knows about the secret passages?” Scarlet asked.

“No one,” Iron reluctantly admitted, then his eyes widened. “No one except the staff! They’re the murderers and we’re next!”

“That’s absurd,” Scarlet let out a humourless laugh. “They were with me when Hawkeye got killed.”

“I saw Winter leave the library” Green said, snapping his fingers.

“It can’t be Mr. Winter,” you replied.

The others cocked a brow at you. “Why not?”

You mentally cursed yourself. You knew it wasn’t him because he was too busy having sex with you to kill anyone. It was too dangerous to reveal your secret, so you tried to come up with a plausible lie.

You all jumped at the sound of the doorbell and panic washed over you again. You looked at each other, wondering what to do next. Whoever they were, they were going to regret ringing that doorbell.

Part 3

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagines #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #redgillan #redgillanwrites #guess who?

316 notes · View notes

diddlesanddoodles · 7 years

Text

GEMMA (Fantasy fluff)

CONTAINS: Anthropomorphic animals, magic, and humans hatching from Eggs. Yay!

PART ONE

“What’s taking so long?”

Amecius flicked his gaze up to peer over his newspaper to see the top of Useili’s head as the boy paced around the front of the cafe booth, having wholly abandoned his minced meat pasty. It sat sadly neglected on the small white plate with only a single paltry bite missing.

Amecius frowned at this, whiskers twitching.

After he had made such a fuss over it too, thought the textile merchant. Though his face remain unconcerned and placid, his tail twitched in annoyance under the table.

“It takes time,” Amecius replied lightly, soothing his natural loathing for waste by taking up his coffee cup to slurp at the rim, taking in a light sprinkling of the bitter black brew so it coated his tongue. Miss Penelope’s coffee was not to be guzzled. Besides being the most flavorful cup to be had on the north side of Hendleton proper, it was served at a temperature more suited to the melting of steel than a pleasant patron’s passive beverage. Setting the burning hazard back down onto the table, he snapped the edges of the newspaper back into straight attention before resuming his reading. “Korvisham Downs wasn’t built in a day, you know.”

Useili stopped his pacing to glance, perplexed, at the large tiger perusing the market columns. “...I thought Rorich was getting a Spirit Egg?” The Spiora asked, one thin black eyebrow raised.

Amecius’s lips quirked as he suppressed a smile. Even after five years, he still forgot that Useili was not from the world and there was still so much knowledge the little Spiora lacked that he as a native took for granted.

“It’s an idiom,” he explained patiently. “What I mean to say is that you cannot rush the ceremony or expect the Avemni to even consider it. Arumek is a stickler for tradition. So our dear Rorich will have to be patient.” He gave the boy a poignant look. “As will we. The Oratio Sanctum alone is fourteen stanzas long. Come, your pasty’s getting cold.”

“I don’t remember it taking so long,” Useili mumbled uncharitably as he rounded the side of the booth and slid onto the smooth wooden bench and scooting in small increments until he sat beside Amecius, two full heads shorter than the merchant. His head and shoulders barely topped the table even as he moved to plant his chin onto it, furrowing further into his petulant mood and staring blankly at the meat pie.

“Well, you were inside an egg at the time, presumably asleep,” Amecius reminded him. “And yes, the ceremony did drag on and on for a good while.”

“How long did it take before I actually hatched?” Useili asked, tilting his head sideways to stare over and up at Amecius in curiosity. Lowering his paper, the tiger considered thoughtfully, reaching back into his memory.

“Not long. At all. I think I was home only a few hours before you started busting out,” he said at last and then turned his amber eyes down to Useili. He smiled warmly and rested a large paw on the boy’s head, scratching lightly. “I was left quite surprised and unprepared. Everyone told me to expect to wait up to a week.”

Useili was grinning, noting the pride in his larger friend’s words. “I guess my nap was over, huh?”

“So it seemed,” laughed Amecius. “So it seemed.”

The relationship between a person and their Spiora was sacred, as everyone knew. However, there was so much more to being the guardian of a spirit egg than the normal facets that came to mind. Yes, the boost of magic was wonderful, of course it was fantastic that ones stamina was so fortified, and who could complain about the precision of magical articulation that a Spiora granted? No one, that’s who!

But it was never explained to possible candidates just how much the little buggers would claw and dig and wedge themselves into one’s heart, so deep they would never come out. In any case, what madman would want them to?

Like people, Spiora came in a myriad of sizes and shapes and colors and even ages. But they did not have beaks or feathers like the Avemni from which they came, nor did they have claws or fur like the Felis Folk, and they were sorely lacking the tell tale scales, spikes, and horns likened to the Drakire. The closest people of the world that the Spiora resembled were the Sapiens and that resemblance only went so far. They lacked tails for one and their only hair was that which grew on their head and occasionally on a male Spiora’s face. Only the bird like Avemni knew where the Spiora came from in truth, but the general belief and the one provided by historical and religious texts said that the Spiora were lost spirits, plucked from the ether by the Avemni and given to the world for her benefit.

Amecius was not one to fall for the sweeping regalia of religious poetry, but he was inclined to believe this one bit. He would not trade his Useili for anything in the world or ether or beyond. He was on the smaller side as Spiora went, with mocha skin and large red brown eyes and topped with a mass of tightly curled knobs of black hair. Useili was on the scrawny side perhaps, but was want to eat incessantly if not checked. And so his abandonment of the pasty had left Amecius slightly concerned.

“You should eat your pasty,” he told the boy again, turning back to his paper.

“...I’m saving it,” Useili replied flatly.

The tiger eyed him, unconvinced. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He was spinning the plate now. “Maybe I’ll want it later.”

A wicked idea idea came to the merchant’s mind and an equally wicked grin spread across his face. “Oh, well then if you don’t want it...”

He reached over with his large arm and plucked the small pastry from the plate. Useili’s eyes went wide and he watched Amecius bring the pie to his mouth.

“But it’s mine!” Useili whined, reaching up to grab onto his guardian's thick arm, little fingers digging into the red fabric, and looking as though he might cry. The tiger’s mouth remained open, pie paused mere inches from his lips. He raised an eyebrow at Useili and pulled the pie back away from his face.

“But you said you didn’t want it.”

“I said I didn’t want it now!”

“Well, I do want it now, so...” He opened his mouth again, long fangs glistening in the gas light of the cafe interior, tongue poised to received the treat.

“Okay, okay! I’ll eat it!” Despite his smaller stature and ostensible lack of significant muscle, Useili manages to actually pull Amecius’s arm, and the pie, away from his open maw. He had to use most of his own body as leverage, but the little guy did manage it.

Laughing, Amecius held the pie in front of Useili’s face and it was quickly snatched up and shoved into a more honestly eager, but much smaller, mouth. Munching loudly and with vigor, Useili was making short work of the pie and Amecius went back to his paper, very pleased with himself. But not before giving his small companion a friendly pat on the back.

“Try not to choke, please.”

“Hm-muph!”

Just as the last morsel of pie disappeared into Useili’s overly stuffed mouth, the door to the cafe opened with a melodic jingle and a tall Avemni walked in followed closely by a pale lithe Spiora, dressed in the traditional midnight blue mantle cloak of the Spiora and pinned closed by a familiar silver broach.

“Abram! Eli!” Amecius called amiably, waving the blue feathered man over. “Come have a seat!”

“Many thanks,” said the Avemni in return, motioning for his Spiora to sit first before following suit. Useili, mouth still engorged with pastry, half mumbled half garbled his own greeting. The pale Spiora pinched his lips together in an attempt not to laugh as he adjusted his robes as he settled. He began to fiddle with a handful of his long blonde hair.

“Hello,” Eli managed after a moment, his voice soft and airy. “Um, I think you might have some pie on your face...just there.”

Useili blinked innocently and then briskly wiped his hands across his face several times as he chewed and swallowed. He leaned over the table towards Eli for inspection. “Did I get it?”

“Yep,” the taller Spiora replied with a pleasant smile. “All gone.”

“Any news from Rorich?” The bird man asked as Amecius folded his paper up.

“Not as of yet, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I suppose it’s to be expected,” he sighed. “Arumek likes to be quite thorough when the candidate is Drakire.”

The merchant scoffed, noth bothering to feign the barest hint of surprise.

“What does he think Rorich’s gonna do to the egg?” Amecius asked with a hint of incredulity, crossing his arms and leaning back. “Eat it?”

“Arumek is old and superstitious and very much a product of another age,” Abram replied, glancing up as the portly short beaked Avemni proprietor of the cafe appeared at his side. He gave her a smile. “Hello Miss Penelope. How is your evening thus far?”

Miss Penelope’s green and turquoise feathers were not as bright as they once were in her youth, but were well groomed, straight and proper. Her eyes were a bright sunny yellow that matched her short beak and tail feathers.

“Quiet and a bit slow, I admit, but perfectly pleasant, Master Abram,” Miss Penelope replied, her winged appendages laid neatly across the front of her colorful apron of embroidered flowers. “May I interest you in some tea or coffee?”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” Abram replied. He turned to his Spiora who was already looking excited at the prospect. “Some tea, Eli?”

“Yes, please,” he smiled brightly and eagerly.

“I’ll return shortly then,” Miss Penelope replied turning to disappear behind the curtain that separated the front of house from the kitchen.

Abram turned back to Amecius. “Poor Rorich. He doesn’t deserve the scrutiny I know they’ve turned onto him.”

“He’ll endure whatever they have to throw at him,” the tiger assured his winged friend. “Should have seen him when he left for the Coven this morning. Looked like he could conquer the world with the fire that was burning in his eyes. So long as he leaves with an egg, he won’t care what they chant at him.”

“What kind of Spiora do you think it’ll be?” Eli asked curiously.

“Who is to know?” Abram answered with a wistful air. “I doubt even the attendants know. Arumek may, I would think. Enough to know which egg to pair with who.”

“I bet he’s tall,” Useili supplied with an excited grin. “Like Lord Berhum’s. And strong.”

Eli frowned. “If he is as tall, I hope he’s not as mean spirited.”

Amecius chuckled, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Who ever heard of a mean spirited Spiora?”

Eli blushed and looked down into his lap. “Well, we’re hardly infallible. I’ve met plenty of Spiora who were perfectly wicked.”

Abram patted Eli’s shoulder in sympathy, recalling the certain individuals to whom the young man referred.

“Poor guardianship, I call it,” Amecius replied, sipping at his coffee. “No fault of the Spiora’s if they get saddled with an idiot.”

When a Spirit Egg hatched and the new Spiora emerged, they were wholly reliant on their guardian for everything, like any newborn. Despite some being born fully grown and quite large, they knew nothing of the world or its ways. Most were born without any recollection of their time before the egg, but occasionally, a Sporia would have vague recollections of places and people and events that they could not account for and was the main basis for the belief that they were lost spirits. Of another world.

Some hatched with the ability to speak, some took a long while to find their words, and it was not an unheard of occurrence for a Spiora to never speak at all. Within the first hour, they new being would imprint themselves onto their guardian and from that moment onwards, it was that person’s job to protect, provide for, and teach the young Spiora. In return, the Spiora became an invaluable conduit of focusing their person’s magic and their potential to rise and succeed in society. They were the great equalizers of the world. Not everyone could become a Spirit Egg Guardian, but a Spirit Egg Guardian could be anyone.

That is, if the Avemni Coven chose you as a candidate. A secretive and indecipherable process if there ever was one. Folks grew up dreaming of receiving a black scroll one day. Amecius recalled when he received his own scroll. He recalled the overwhelming joy and the equally overwhelming terror that it brought. At the end of all the pageantry and questions and endless ceremony, he returned home with a large cream colored egg, speckled with dots of red and orange and streaks of brown all secured in a wooden crate and padded with thick rolls of cotton and straw. And then he had Useili a few hours later. The memory filled him with warmth and he could not suppress the smile it brought to his lips.

“Eli didn’t speak a word his first year,” Abram remarked as the conversation continued on, glancing at the aforementioned boy and smiling.

“Yeah, that’s right!” Useili said, looking at his friend with open curiosity. “How come you took so long to talk?”

“I did try to speak a few times,” Eli replied, shifting in his seat. “But the words in my head got all scrambled when they tried to come out my mouth. It was really frustrating.”

“And you were such a scaredy cat!” Useili laughed.

“Shy,” Amecius corrected. Useili had a habit of being careless with his words and he was making strives to amend the behavior whenever it occurred. Useili would turn into a pouting mess if he knew he had offended or hurt his friend. “The word is shy, Useili.”

“Shy,” Useili repeated dutifully, smiling at Eli. “Right. How come you were so shy?”

Indeed, Amecius did recall first meeting the skinny boy. Abram had stopped by his shop for some fabric to have some clothes made up for Eli little over a week after his hatching and the poor thing had all but hid behind Abram’s wing the entire visit, despite Useili’s friendly attempts at drawing the new Spiora out to play. Eli was as friendly and pleasant a Spiora as he had ever met. But he held a pension for being meek and unsure of himself, clinging and looking to Abram for validation of nearly one of his words and actions. Abram had made great strives in teaching him to be more self reliant and independent, but Amecius had the feeling Eli would stay a duckling, dutifully and loyaly following Abram wherever he went.

Miss Penelope returned then with a small tray of two steaming cups of tea, a pot of cream, and a cellar of sugar. Eli was quick to start scooping spoonfuls of sugar into his tea cup while Abram shook his head with a resigned smile. To his own tea, he added but a splash of cream.

Just as Amecius and Abram settled into a pleasant conversation regarding business and the state of the markets, the cafe’s door was pushed open violently, the melodic jingle of the bell above the lintel inconsequential against the loud slamming of the heavy wooden door.

“MIND THE DOOR!” Screeched Miss Penelope’s voice from the back of the kitchen. However, the newcomer only looked momentarily abashed for the noise and was quick to shoot back a breathless apology.

“My most fervent apologies Miss Penelope!” The Drakire’s cheeks were flushed and his green eyes were wide and bright. He held something round and large, wrapped in a green wool coat, and clutched securely by both his red scaly arms. Grinning wildly and flashing his many pointed teeth, the newcomer made his way quickly to their table. “My dearest friends! The night is clear and I am made whole!”

Amecius was grinning and making to rise and congratulate his friend, having no doubt about what Rorich held wrapped up in his coat, but Abram’s scandalized voice caught them both off guard.

“Rorich! You brought the egg with you? Here?” The Avemni’s feathers were flared, giving the normally lithe and thin framed Abram a decidedly round and fluffy appearance.

“And just what is wrong with my cafe?” Miss Penelope demanded haughtily from the kitchen’s entrance, holding a pitcher.

“Oh, no nothing wrong at all! I just mean that...” Abram sighed and turned his ire to Rorich who was standing beside him with a dumbfounded, if not slightly guilty, expression. “You should have taken it straight home and have it swaddled up with hot water bottles and blankets!”

To his credit, Rorich did look quite guilty and ashamed. He seemed to clutch the egg a little more securely and looked down at it. “Oh. Of course. I just wanted to share the news...”

Despite understanding the truth to Abram’s words, Amecius was much less worried. He understood the Drakire jeweler’s intense joy. The man had been practically bouncing when he had received the black scroll, the glittering silver writing informing him of his candidacy and consideration for the guardianship of a new Spirit Egg. He spoke of nothing else for three weeks and the nervous energy had fueled the creation of several gorgeous pieces of jewelery including an emerald silver lace necklace, several glittering rings, and a high rimmed diadem fitted with an inlaid crest of iridescent opal. In the shape of an egg...

“You could have sent a messenger!” Abram reprimanded, his normally mellow voice cracking as it hit a high octave. As an Avemni, he was very vocal and downright neurotic in regards to the care of Spirit Eggs. Though he had declined joining the Coven for more materialistic and self satisfying pursuits, he still held the instinctual protective nature of Spiora that was a hallmark of the Avemni. “In any case, we must get you and the Egg to your home and stored properly.”

Rorcih looked a little relieved. “You’ll help me, then?”

Abram stood from the table, holding himself high, long beak erect and proud. “Of course, I will. I’d be remiss in my moral obligations otherwise.” His blue head swung around to Amecius. “We all will.”

The tiger gulped the rest of his coffee, wincing only a bit as the still quite hot beverage ravaged the inside of his esophagus before settling like lava in his belly. “Of course,” replied the merchant, patting Useili’s back and motioning for him to follow. Useili did not appear to need any encouragement as he looked almost as excited and eager as Rorich, staring at the wrapped egg. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“It’s not too cold,” Abram was saying in thoughtful contemplation. “So you couldn’t have done any lasting damage, but we need to get it settled and warmed up. A chilled Egg takes longer to hatch.”

“What color is the egg?” Useili asked, leaping off the wooden bench after Amecius to stand closer to the Drakier.

Rorich smiled cryptically and turned his body and the Egg away from the curious boy. “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

Useili visibly slumped and whined. “But we’ve been waiting aaall daaay!”

Amecius reached into the small purse at his belt and dropped a few coins onto the table. “Thank you Miss Penelope, the coffee was lovely.”

Eli was the only one still sitting at the table and he was trying valiantly to quickly gulp down the hot tea. Wincing with each overly sweetened gulp. Abram was at his side the moment he noticed and gently pulled the cup from his hands and said to his quietly, “We’ll get you some more tea, I promise.”

Eli sighed.

“Alright,” replied the blonde Spiora woefully before standing and following after the others, but not before throwing back a longing glance at the abandoned tea cup.

……………………

Rorich was banished to the chaise lounge in the corner after the third attempt to insert his authority over the settling of the Egg. Abram was full swing into his mother hen temperament and would not allow Rorich so much as touch it once he had relinquished it when they arrived at his small flat. His land lady, Mrs. Devonshire was quite indifferent to the reverence of having a Spirit Egg in one’s home and Abram displayed no shame in voicing his displeasure at her half lidded, dull expression as he attempted to impart the great significance of the event.

“All it means is that that one’ll be shoving off and I’ll have to find another tenant,” she remarked flatly. “You boys have any idea how hard it is to find a tenant these days? If they ain’t a womanizer, they’re a drunk, and if they ain’t any of them then they’re ‘prolly a politician or a lawyer. I won’t be standing fer any’a that now. This is a respectable house!”

Amecius had to take the Avemni by the shoulders and steer him up the stairs to keep him from retorting. Eli scurried on after them.

Rorich’s flat was not large, it was down right tiny, but it suited his needs. Rather, it suited his needs before he became a Guardian. Now it was far too small and it had only a little to do with the four other people crammed inside. A plush ottoman that had seen better days was shoved in front of the fire place and the Egg carefully placed on top. When the green coat had been lifted away, there were audible gasps.

“It’s...beautiful,” Abram remarked, wide eyed and awestruck. Eli nodded silently in agreement and even Useili was stunned into silence. Rorich stood off a little, preening with pleasure and pride. The Egg was on the smaller side, but not much smaller than Useili’s egg had been, Amecius mused. However, it was the colors that were striking and entirely unusual. The smooth shell was a molted tiffany and indigo with freckles of white, almost like stars set against a dark sky. “I’ve never seen on with such a vibrant shell.”

“Wow,” Useili murmured appreciatively as he walked around the ottoman, admiring the bright colors. “I thought all Eggs were white.”

“Most are white or cream with some variance in the color markings. I’ve never seen an inverted colored Egg,” Abram supplied. “I hope you can forgive me for saying this, Rorich, but how in the world did you end up with such an auspicious Egg? I would imagine Arumek would be quite peculiar about placing such an Egg and he makes so secret about his feelings towards Drakire.”

Rorich did look offended, but allowed the insinuation roll off his back. “I can’t speak for Arumek or the Coven, but he did not say anything to give me reason to believe this Egg was any less or more than normal.”

“Truly?” Abram asked. “Well, far be it for me to question his choices. I’d grow mad before I could ever decipher the meaning behind his actions.” He sighed, and turned to the Drakire. “I am happy for you, Rorich. I really am. It’s a splendid specimen.”

“I take it back,” Useili said after his careful study of the Egg’s shell.

“Take what back?” Amecius asked.

“What I said about it being tall,” Useili replied. “She’ll be short. Shorter than me. But pretty.”

Amecius chuckled, rubbing his chin and shaking his head. “So you decided the Spiora’s a girl then, eh?”

“Yeah,” the dark haired boy replied, sounding oddly convicted in his words. He turned to Rorich. “She’ll be a girl. And she’ll be pretty.”

The Drakire was beaming. “Of course she will.”

They set about wrapping every available blanket and coat and shall and even table cloth over the Egg. Or rather, Abram did and shooed away any and all help. Rorich’s flat lacked the hot water bladders that Abram would have preferred, but the thick layering of fabric would do. A small section of the Egg’s shell was left exposed at the top to allow viewing and checking for any cracks that would signal that the hatching was upon them.

Eli had settled himself on a small chair on the far end of the fireplace near where Amecius was standing, twirling an ornamental paper-mache ball in his hands. “Do you have a name picked out yet?”

Rorich shrugged, as he stared at the bundled up Egg. The fire light flickered red and yellow in his staring thoughtful eyes. “Not really. Admittedly, it slipped my mind entirely.”

“It’s been a forgetful day it seems,” Abram quipped in a teasing jab.

“Better hold off on giving it much thought till after the hatching,” Amecius suggested. “Some pick their own names.”

“Like me!” Useili chirped, moving to stand next to Amecius.

“Like this one.” The merchant patted the boy’s head.

Eli looked surprised. “I didn’t know you picked your own name, Useili.”

“Yep,” affirmed Useili with pride. He titled his head. “Well, actually, I didn’t pick it. Not really. It’s just my name. Always has been I guess. I don’t get visions of before the shell, like some Spiora, but I do remember my name.” He paused and a curious expression pulled at his features. “And water. Lots of water.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Eli replied in a regretful tone, turning the paper ball over in his hands. “But some say that it’s not fun to remember stuff before the shell. So maybe it’s not a bad thing I don’t remember anything. Even my other name.” He brightened then and smiled over at Abram. “Besides, I like my name.”

As the evening drew into twilight, they had all settled around the Egg, nursing cups of tea. Eli was very content as he sat in the large wing backed chair drinking his overly sweet tea. Abram and Amecius were giving Rorich various tid-bits of advice concerning the rearing of a Spiora and Useili was trying to keep his eyes exclusively on the Egg.

Just in case it she was like him and hatched early.

“You’re going to go blind staring at it at this rate,” Amecius chuckled when he noticed how intent his little Spiora was staring at the shell. “It’s not gonna hurry up and hatch because you will it to.”

“It should hurry up and hatch,” Useili grumbled.

“I’m as eager for her to hatch, but I must ask,” Rorich said with an amused tilt of his head. “Why are you so intent for it to happen this moment?”

“Because if she hatches now,” he replied. “I’ll get to see. If she waits, we won’t be here and I won’t be able to see.”

…………………………………………

There was a flash of horrible pain that ripped pieces of her apart before the dark nothing that followed grew colder and the pain subsided to an unpleasant memory. After a time, even that memory began to lose its potency, small pieces of it being sanded away gradually by the flow of the universe. Soon her other memories followed suit until she was a blank as the nothing that caressed and buffeted her through the ether. Thoughts congealed and clumped together in a confusing mess until one thought or notion or feeling bled into the next without end or beginning or meaning.

A blossoming of warmth and light and she felt hands, large and warm, wrap around her middle and pull her down slowly, gently, through the void. Down she coasted and the cold was replaced by warmth that inched up her sides, around her feet, and above her head, encasing her inside. She curled into a tight ball, warmed through, and suddenly very sleepy.

So very sleepy…

“Calm,” came a voice. “Rest your wary spirit and be calm. You are renewed, little one.”

And she slept.

……………………………………………….

Cramped. She felt very cramped. And hungry. Hungry? Yes. That was the word. Hungry. Her middle gurgled in a way that felt familiar, but without any real context. Yes, she was hungry. Why was she hungry?

Oh, she was so cramped! Her shoulders hurt and her neck was aching and her but was asleep. Out. She wanted out. She became aware of her hands and she reached out, picking at the hard thing in front of her. When that did not yield a satisfactory result, she curled her hand into a fist and hit it. And it gave. Only a little bit, but the hardness broke. Small cracks spider-webbed away from the impact area and let in light. And air. And smells. Familiar and yet unknown. She picked at the cracks, pulling a piece of the thin hard stuff out with a finger and then a hand. She gripped the edge and lifted up and a large section of it came loose.

“A crack!”

“I already told you, Useili, it’ll probably be another-”

“No! Really! I see a crack!”

“What?”

“Dear God, he’s right!”

“WHAT?!” Sounds. She could heard sounds. Voices? Yes, voices, she decided. Those were voices. Excited voices. Loud voices. She hesitated, suddenly scared. Why were there voices? Why were they so loud? She made a sound, an uncertain sounding mewl. Nervous. She was nervous. And unsure.

“Come on, you got it,” came another voice. Soft and urging. Gentle. It sounded nice. “Just a little more.”

She braved another push at the hard thin walls and there was another crack, louder than the others, and the warmth of the inside was sucked away. Cold. It was cold now. She didn’t like it.

“Almost there, love.” There was an odd fluttering in her chest. Not unpleasant. Another push, another crack, and more light and sound and cold air and smells. So many smells. Fire and paper and...tea?

Tea. What was tea?

She lifted her head up to ease the ache in her neck and she heard the collection of voices around her all laugh. She turned her head to see, but there was only dark. And then something lifted off her head and she winced against the fire’s light. She could feel the waves of heat from the flames battling the ambient chill of the room.

And there was a face. Wholly unfamiliar, but he had very pretty eyes. He looked odd to her. His head was long and his jaw was square and he was red, but under his chin and neck, he was yellow. Not bright yellow. Creamy yellow. He was smiling, lips pulled back and his eyes squinting in unbridled joy.

And she could not help but smile back.

“Hello, love.” His hand was on her head, petting softly. It felt nice. Really nice. She opened her mouth but the words got stuck. Her mouth felt clumsy and unused. She frowned and tried again, murmuring and testing her mouth and lips and vocal chords.

“H...heh...lo.”

“She spoke!” he cried out exuberantly. “Did you hear? She spoke!”

“What...what’s wrong with her skin, Abram?” asked a voice, small and unsure. She turned around and saw others standing about. They all looked strange to her. The two smaller ones a little bit less so, but they were looking at her in an odd way.

Why were they looking at her oddly?

“Hm. I am not sure, Eli. Let’s have a look.” A tall thin blue creature bent down close to her and flinched. His small dark eyes starred at her and she mewled uncertainly, pulling back from him. He blinked at her. “Vitiligo. She has vitiligo.”

The tall blue one stepped back. He was looking at her oddly. She didn’t like it.

“It’s not something bad is it?” asked the nice person. Her person. She turned to look at him, the fear in her belly melting away in an instant. Out, she still wanted out. As the tall blue one spoke, she wiggled inside the remains of her confinement, breaking more pieces off. Her person noticed and helped, picking up the pieces and setting them aside as she broke free. When most of it had been cleared, he wrapped something around her. Soft and a little bit fuzzy and very warm. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her free, cradling her smaller body against his. Safe. Warm.

“No, it’s a mutation of the pigment in the skin,” replied the tall one. “I had a cousin who had it. It’s completely cosmetic. But...I have never seen it in a Spiora. I mean...their bodies are made from magic, so why would it?”

“I think it’s neat. And it matches her hair! See? I told you she’d be pretty.” One of the smaller ones with dark hair and large friendly eyes was standing next to her person smiling brightly. She blinked at him and then buried her face in the nap of her person’s neck. Shy. She felt suddenly shy.

Hungry. She was still hungry. Her belly gave a small gurgle and she murmured something. Not words, but implying want.

There was aloud laugh from the other end of the room that startled her.

“I know that sound,” said the largest of the people. He was fuzzy all over and orange with stripes. And his smile was nice. He waved at her. “Best be getting something in that little belly, Rorich. If she’s takes anymore after Useili, she’ll start gnawing on the furniture next.”

“I did not chew on furniture.”

“You tried to eat the sideboard. I’ll show you the bite marks when we get home.”

“I don’t remember that...”

The tall blue one was suddenly at her person’s side. “I’ll get her something. Just sit down with her. The first hour after hatching is very important.”

Her person leaned his head down so his chin rested on her head. “Thank you, Abram.”

Her person sat down, still holding her in his arms and she felt so comfortable. She murmured in pleasure and nuzzled her face up into the underside of his jaw. Felt his chest shake with a laugh and he nuzzled her back.

“Affectionate little thing, ain’t she?” said the fuzzy one.

“She’s perfect,” said her person and she hummed appreciatively. “Absolutely perfect.”

“What about her name?”

Her person pulled her away from him and she looked up into his eyes. “Do you know your name?”

Name. Name? Name...nothing. When she thought of her name, there was a void where she was certain it should be. She shook her head. No name.

“May I give you one?”

Give? Gift? Gifts were presents, good things. She liked good things. She nodded. Yes, she would like a gift. A name.

“Gemma,” her person said. “Your name is Gemma.”

……………………………………………………………..

Gemma ate three bowl of porridge, a peach, and five mints before falling quite thoroughly into the throws of a food coma. Rorich wrapped her securely into some more blankets and sat her in his lap, watching her snoozing little face. The new Spiora was a little smaller than Useili, but more so in height than weight. An unkind person might have even called her pudgy. Her tawny skin was marred by lightly peach colored blotches all over body; hands, legs, abdomen, and even her face. Almost like spots. And her short hair lacked any pigment whatsoever, falling about her face in white translucent clusters. Despite her irregularities, Rorich took to little Gemma as hard and fast as anyone did to their Spiora and he watched his new charge sleeping with such a look of joyous contentment, Amecius was almost jealous.

After demonstrating a clear inability to satiate his incessant curiosity over the new Spiora, Useili was planted next to Eli in the wing backed chair and instructed firmly to sit, eat some porridge, and shush.

“This moment’s not about you,” Amecius told him firmly but gently. “Let Rorich and Gemma get to know each other. There will be plenty of more chances for you two to play.”

Sensing he had overstepped his bounds, Useili did as he was told without complaint and contented himself with talking excitedly, but quietly, with Eli about their future shenanigans.

As he gently rocked Gemma in his arms, Rorich could not keep a persistent and insistent thought from his mind. He would have to call on his father within the coming weeks. Within the first week would be best as waiting any longer might give offense. Lord Beckwith would be at his summer home here in Hendleton with his wife for the season. Possible ways in which his father would take seeing Rorick’s Spiora did not make him feel an ounce of regret over her appearance. She was adorable and round faced and small and just...perfect. But he did feel righteous indignation on her behalf on his imaginings of what his Lord father might say about her. He was careless, cruel, and blunt with his words. Wealth such as his granted him the liberty of an unchecked vocabulary and the authority to wield it.

And then there was the matter of the money. With a Spiora, Rorich would receive a cash award from his Father, but it was far too easy for him to imagine Lord Beckwith reneging the offer on the grounds that his Spiora was faulty. The promise, made to a bastard son some ten years ago, could easily be construed as being in jest. A way to get his do nothing son to become more than another title-less urchin. His father did not view his profession as one befitting someone of his lineage. A silly idea, Rorich thought. He adored the craftsmanship and elegance of cutting and setting jewels into carefully crafted rings and necklaces. And with a Spiora, he could branch his business further into charms and enchanted items, embedding spells and magic into the pieces. No Jeweler in Hendleton had a Spiora. But now he did. Even if his father never allowed him to see a penny of the promised award, Rorich was certain he and Gemma would do just fine for themselves.

#GEMMA #Rorich #Amecius #Useili #Abram #Eli #anthromorphic #anthro animals #fantasy story #cute #fluff #people hatch from eggs #magic #Spiora #avemni #drakire #felis folk #dragons #tigers #birds

7 notes · View notes

malereflections · 4 years

Text

Crossing a Different Line

In my personal journey from straight, married heterosexual to bi male I discovered along the way that I was aroused by women’s lingerie. It started with trying on a pair of my wife’s silky nylon panties. The feel of the material and the sight of how it fit quickly brought an erection. I used another silky pair in my hand to jack myself off, being careful not to get any cum on the panties. The orgasm was unusually powerful.

In the weeks following, I pursued my newfound curiosity, particularly with my 18 year-old stepdaughter’s underwear. Looking through her dirty clothes hamper, I was surprised by the amount of erotic underwear she wore, ranging from tiny bikinis to V-string thongs. Besides trying them on myself, I also slipped them over my head with the stained, crusted crotch over my mouth and nose. I would masturbate as I enjoyed the musty scent and tasted the dried vaginal secretions, once again resulting in strong orgasms.

I had not previously spent much time looking at pictures or adult videos of cross-dressed males. However, as I explored by growing interest in lingerie, I found myself growing more and more aroused by cross-dressing and shemale porn. These soon became a regular part of my frequent masturbation fantasies. I eventually acquired a small (carefully hidden) wardrobe of my own erotic things, including thongs, boyshorts, stockings, bras, breast forms, miniskirts, and camisoles. Whenever I was able to have some private time by myself (like on business trips), I would dress up and enjoy the look and feel of the sexy lingerie. I rounded out my assortment with high heels and wigs. With a slim build, I actually considered myself rather attractive when dressed as a woman. I even adopted a female persona by the name of Mona.

Not surprisingly, it was difficult to reconcile my interests in such things with my normal life. Those who knew me would have regarded me as an upright family man, respected in both my profession and at church. No one would have ever guessed that I harbored such a secret.

It was as if I had developed a Jeckyll and Hyde personality. To those around me, I was a straight-as-an-arrow family guy. But, when I dressed as Mona, I was a different person entirely. I was a wanton and lustful woman, who wanted to be taken and ravished by a manly suitor. I longed to be the submissive object of pleasure for a strong, well-endowed, long-lasting male with an insatiable sexual appetite.

Of course, lacking a real male partner, I resorted to the next available thing, which usually took the form of a large cock dildo. While dressed as Mona, I impaled myself fully and repeatedly on an oversized dildo, moaning loudly and begging my imaginary lover to fuck me. I would continue the deep prostate stimulation until I would experience a hands-free orgasm.

These virtual reality dressing sessions continued from time to time until I attended an out-of-town retreat for company executives in Atlanta. I had some free time after dinner, so one evening I went to a nearby upscale theater that featured adult films, among others. I was feeling adventurous, so I left a small sticky note in a stall of the men’s restroom with my phone number and interests (bi-male CD). I don’t know what came over me, as I would not normally do something so risky.

I honestly didn’t expect an answer, much less from someone whom I would consider a suitable partner. So, I was surprised (and cautiously thrilled) when I received a call in my hotel room from a guy who had seen my note. I was relieved to learn that is was not the theater management, calling to complain about the note. Rather, it was an articulate guy with a mid-Eastern accent. I briefly explained my interests, and invited him to come by my room. He replied that he had never been with a CD, but that he was nonetheless interested. He accepted my invitation without further hesitation.

I prepared and dressed in my finest and sexiest black lingerie outfit in anticipation of his arrival, getting squeaky clean and primping to make myself as attractive and alluring as possible. Otherwise, I was a nervous wreck. My heart was pounding, and my hands were clammy. I had never been with a man while dressed as a female.

The knock at the door came after what seemed an eternity, and upon opening it, I was greeted by a distinguished-looking gentleman wearing a very expensive suit. I invited him in and welcomed him, introducing myself as Mona. He told me a little about himself, not taking his eyes off of me. He was a business executive in town for a client meeting. I guessed he was in his mid 40’s, with black hair, moustache, dark complexion, and stout build, clearly of mid-Eastern descent. The first move is always awkward, so I walked by him over to the bed, gently touching his crotch as I passed by. Once on the bed, I lay back and assumed a seductive pose, and suggested that he get more comfortable. He began removing his coat and tie, and unbuttoning his shirt. As he was doing so, I sat up on the side of the bed in front of him and unbuckled his trousers and fly, dropping his pants to the floor.

I was very pleased at what I saw – a very prominent bulge in the front of tight, stretch type undershorts. I looked up and teasingly stroked it, causing it to grow to the extent that it could no longer be contained under the fabric, exposing the bulbous head. I leaned forward and licked it as I hooked my fingers in his waistband and pulled down, releasing his magnificent organ.

It was all I could have dreamed of – big and hard, with large flanged head and pronounced veins running down the shaft. I took as much of it into my eager mouth as I could (only about half), and from the sounds of his response (mumbling something in a foreign language), he was enjoying it. I looked up and ran my hands over his furry solid chest as I continued sucking. He was so manly, so desirable.

He lifted me up and led me over to the sofa. He sat down and reclined against the back, motioning for me to approach. I climbed onto the sofa, straddling him with my knees on either side against the back and my feet on the seat. He pulled my panties down, reached around with his hands on my ass, and pulled me into his face, taking my cock (which was tiny in comparison to his) between his lips. I moaned as I felt his hot mouth engulf my hardness. The feel of his heavy mustache against my pubic area added to the erotic sensations. As he sucked, I felt a hand slip down to my shaved furrow. I gasped as his finger teased my puckered rosebud, then slipped inside my prelubed hole. I expressed my pleasure as explicitly as I could and encouraged him to continue, as though he needed to be urged on. I was very glad that he accepted and wanted that part of me. It left me free to be the woman that I desired to be.

He pushed me away, and slowly lowered me to his lap until my knees rested on the seat on either side of him. Our eyes locked once again as I continued to lower myself. I felt his engorged knob, now slippery with precum, moving back and forth over my hungry orifice. I had no condom, but I was so aroused at the thought of being taken as a woman, I didn’t care. As I sat down, my anal sphincter yielded and he slipped inside, burrowing into my eager cavity and eliciting a load moan from me. My head tilted back and my eyes closed as I bottomed out on his lap, fully impaled on his rigid manpole.

After a moment of adjusting to his girth, we began to move together. I raised myself up and down, sliding against his masculine chest. On each downstroke he would lift his hips to meet me, so as to bury himself completely in me. The pleasure of being filled by him was so intense that I could not keep quiet, even if I wanted to. I moaned and cried out with every deep penetration of his magnificent procreative organ. I was responding as a submissive female, and I wanted him to breed me and impregnate me with his thick fluid.

I would have been happy to continue this indefinitely, but he had other ideas. He pushed me up and slid out from under me, still leaving me on my knees on the seat of the sofa facing the back. He stood behind me and lifted my miniskirt to expose my smooth ass, which was at just the right level for being taken again. It was at this point when I turned my head back to look at him that I noticed that I had not drawn the window drapes, which were more than half open. We were on the ground floor, so we were visible to any outside onlooker, even in the subdued light. I didn’t have time to change the situation, though, as he grasped my hips and drove his bare mid-Eastern cock balls deep into me in one powerful thrust.

I cried out in ecstasy as he violated me from behind with unbridled animal passion. His furry hips slammed against my smooth feminine ass, and his heavy, virile ballsack slapped my shaved furrow with each wonderful thrust. He worked his hard muscle like a powerful piston, driving relentlessly against my sensitive male P-spot, bringing me to new heights of pleasure as I played the part of a woman in heat.

I was soon racked by a powerful anal orgasm, causing my ring of rectal muscles to constrict around his throbbing member in uncontrollable spasms. Strands of semen splattered across the sofa as my cock swung back and forth. This brought him over the edge too. He pulled me against him in one final thrust and held me tight as his cock erupted inside me, filling me with his hot foreign seed. He stayed embedded in me for a moment until his ejaculations subsided, then slipped out. I tightened my anus as he did so that I could retain his cum. (I was sure I was gaping after such a pounding.) I sat down on the sofa in front of him, looked up, and took his ass-fresh cock into my mouth, carefully cleaning him of any residue from our copulation.

While he dressed, he asked me if I had occasion to be in Atlanta very often. I answered that, regretfully, I was rarely in town for an overnight stay like this. Following this, he thanked me with a manly hug, and left. I cleaned up both myself and the sofa, still feeling the lingering aftereffects of the anal assault. By now, it was getting late, and I needed to call home and check in with my wife before she went to bed. Before I could make the call, however, I received a call on the room phone from another room in the hotel. I was a little puzzled, since no one acquainted with me was aware of my room number. Upon answering, the caller (an older-sounding guy) told me that he had happened to notice the activity in the room a short while ago, and that he couldn’t help but stay and watch from a discrete distance.

My heart was in my throat, for I feared that he might have secretly recorded everything on his cell phone and was somehow going to use it against me to my ruin. Choking out a reply, I explained that I had forgotten to close the drapes, and I apologized profusely for our lack of discretion. He responded that no apology was necessary, and that on the contrary, he had really enjoyed the show. He then asked if I was interested in some company. I took his offer to mean (in crude terms) sloppy seconds.

My mind was still grappling with whether or not to accept the unexpected proposition, when my mouth suddenly blurted out, “Sure, that would be fine.” Too late to retract my ill-considered consent, I simply added that I needed a half-hour or so to freshen up and call home. He understood, and the call ended. I busied myself with making ready for him, chiding myself over such a hasty decision. He arrived at my room as agreed, and I introduced myself as Mona. I could tell from his expression that he liked what he saw. He appeared to be in his mid-50’s, with slightly graying hair, neatly-trimmed goatee, and a few extra pounds. After exchanging some initial greetings, I led him over towards the bed, whereupon he pulled me to himself and kissed me on the mouth. Our tongues intertwined as his hands caressed my lingerie-clad body.

He pushed me back on the bed and pulled down my thong. Kneeling beside the bed, he spread my legs, leaned forward, and devoured my cock, eliciting an approving moan from me. He raised my legs up over my head, exposing my shaved balls and smooth furrow. He alternately sucked my balls, then licked down to my well-used opening. The sensation of his goatee moving along on my bare crotch was exquisite. His tongue teased my still-hungry orifice, moving me to beg for him to take me and eat me. The sensation of his hot tongue burrowing past my sphincter into my rectum brought a load groan from me, along with more vulgar encouragement.

The first taste of my previous partner’s fresh cum spurred him on even more, and he went into a feeding frenzy, felching every last drop of semen that would drain from my anal canal. Needless to say, I was deliriously pleased with his oral assault, and told him so in no uncertain terms. He raised up, climbed over me, and kissed me, sharing the remnants of his dining experience. That had only wet his appetite, and now he was ready for the main course.

Still holding my legs back over me, he lined up his bare drooling cock with my hole and drove forward, burying himself in me in one swift motion. Both of us were so wet at this point, no lubricant was needed. He began humping me like a male dog with a bitch in heat. It became clear there would be no pausing to extend the pleasure. He had one thing in mind, blowing his pent-up load deep inside my transgendered form. I could tell by his grunts and gasps that he was nearing his goal.

Having already cum, I could not experience another hands-free orgasm, but I was nevertheless enjoying every second of being Mona for him. I looked like a woman; I felt like a woman; and I was being passionately fucked like a woman. I cried out, begging him to fuck me harder, deeper. My wanton response was more than he could stand, and he drove his throbbing pole into my bowels and held it there, pumping me full of hot manseed for the second time.

After his ejaculatory spasms subsided and he came down from his climax, he slowly withdrew. As before, I sat down on the side of the bed and gently cleaned his sticky wet organ with my mouth. He thanked me, dressed, and left.

By now, it was really getting late, and I still needed to call home and check in with my wife before she went to bed. As we caught up on the day’s activities (well, not every activity), my thoughts drifted to what had just taken place. It dawned on me that I had crossed yet another line in my personal journey of sexual self-discovery. It was the beginning of a new chapter, and I couldn’t go back.

0 notes