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yoonpobs · 3 years

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bad boy good thing xviii. | m [last chapter]

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: sad and happy tears, growth, so much cuteness, smut, face-sitting, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, jk's body o-o, mentions of a quarter-life-crisis, the END ;(

words: 15, 628 (!!!!!)

summary: a series of drabbles where you’re confused and jungkook’s confusing

a/n:

oh my god!!!!!! we're finally here. the last chapter of bad boy good thing. honestly, it feels surreal to even say because I couldn't ever imagine it getting this far, especially with the love and support that it's gotten along the way. I've grown attached to the characters, especially since I was essentially writing them through each chapter and it's nice to see that they've grown along with the story.

i wanted to end the story in a way that's both satisfying and necessary, and I really enjoyed writing this chapter despite it being the last one for bad boy good thing :(

thank you so much for everyone who has read this story and has shown so much love and support that I frankly don't know if I deserve or not. i hope you enjoy this chapter, and find it as pleasurable to read as it was to write.

[and on another note, I'll be opening up an Ask My Muse for bad boy good thing, so please drop any questions that you have for the characters in my ask! I'll release it all as a separate post at a later date 🥰 happy asking!]

- pobbie <3

What people don’t ever tell you about change is that you can never plan it. No matter how stringent you claim yourself to be in following timelines and the zero hour—life will work out in the way it’s supposed to and you’ll have absolutely no control over how things will play out. Usually, these thoughts unsettled you. Your routine was the most important aspect of your life because it never changed. It was always to keep up with how you’ve got by so far, kept the people you were already comfortable with close—and never do things that you were uncomfortable with. A routine was perfect—for you. Not for the people around you.

To a certain extent, you couldn’t even fault people for saying that you had a stick up your ass. Though there were definitely far more constructive ways of pointing it out—you knew that people were simple yet utterly complex creatures. Often, they made split-second judgements in scenarios that required more thought and care. While on the other end, simple decisions were decided with rigorous usage of your brain muscles that lead people in creating unreal, unsolvable and frankly—uncomfortable—problems.

But complexity was unnecessary and unhelpful. Especially when your heart and mind are on two completely different pages. Yet, they remain the two organs that play the most vital role in keeping you alive and sane. People are aware of the internal conflict that most face when it comes to making rational decisions, though verbalising these exact sentiments never come easy. How do you accurately depict a struggle that is both so universal yet so personal all at once? It’s a paradox that only continues, and as humans, we add fuel to that already blazing fire.

You suppose that time did indeed dictate all. It was linear, continuous, and perhaps a social construct. Nothing worked out in a timeframe, yet we adhere to strict rules of day and night, do or don’t yesterday and tomorrow—we followed time because that was the only thing that allowed us space. You didn’t understand when people said that things will just feel right, because how could something feel right? Right wasn’t tangible. It wasn’t just a direction, it wasn’t just the socially acceptable option—it was a multitude of things. But like most things in life, they only become real when it happens to you.

And today, it felt right. It felt like time.

It could have felt right a week ago when you first got your tattoo. The impulsive yet not-so-impulsive decision felt right. It felt uncomfortable, terrifying and frankly—stupid—but it didn’t for one second, feel wrong. But somehow, the tattoo being right was the only thing that you could truly feel. The apology you owed? Not quite.

Not even when your friends carefully gauged your reactions to let you know that Jungkook was joining your group for lunch a few days back. You missed him, your heart definitely did—but your mind did tell you—it wasn’t right. So, you let them know. The right time will come, but until then, you’ll do your part and allow time to dictate your next steps for you. They didn’t pry, though you could tell Jimin was curious while Namjoon remained concerned. You didn’t need to explain anything. What would you say, anyway? Your existential thoughts were candidly absurd to be comprehended by most. It was things that ran through your mind, not necessarily needing to be shared.

You don’t know if it’s the tattoo, or if it’s Jeonghan, or if it’s Jennie, or if it’s Jungkook—of if it’s just you—but there was something that you buried deep down in your chest for a long time, and it finally felt big enough to leave. To let go.

Maybe it’s because you officially turn a year older today. The impending doom of a quarter-life crisis washing over you while you frantically decide that you didn’t want to take the mindset you and in the first twenty-five years of your life along with you into the next chapter. It could be a multitude of things. But you woke up today, weary yet determined—and you knew that it was the right time.

“Happy birthday!”

You’re welcomed with an overexcited Yena as she topples into your body in giggles and grins while she wraps her arms around you. You stumble back but catch yourself before the both of you fall over. Though you’re surprised, you can’t help the smile that makes its way to your face—sincere and happy.

“Thank you,” you laugh, hugging her back as you rest your head on your shoulder.

She hugs you for a while longer, as if you were going to head anywhere but into the apartment, you rang the doorbell to. You don’t complain because you know she likes this. It’s her way of telling you that she’s happy and glad you’re here. You understood her well enough to know that the way she clings to you is her love language and you appreciated that.

When she pulls away, she’s still beaming. It’s almost comical to see Yena so happy. Not that she wasn’t on a daily basis. But her facial expressions were usually limited to her usual stoic appearance and misleading resting face that intimidated people. This Yena was a cheerful puppy waiting to be played with.

“Very Gemini of you to turn up late,” she says snootily, eyeing you up and down as you roll your eyes.

“By five minutes,” you clarify.

“I’ll let it pass only because it’s your birthday,” she pinches your cheeks as you nearly bite her finger off at her attempt. You’re about to finally enter the apartment but her hand on your shoulder stops you from getting far. “New outfit?”

Her question makes your eyes dart down to your attire. You take in the relatively risqué apparel you opted for today. But in reality, it was simply just a cropped tank top and a pair of high waisted jeans that showed a little bit of your skin. You weren’t thinking much when you reached for the outfit, your only intent was to show off the tattoo you got. But now as Yena ogles you further, only do you realise how different it is from your usual style.

“Yeah,” you breathe, even if your heart rattles a little in anxiety, “Is it okay?”

Yena grins.

“You look gorgeous,” she compliments before she’s gripping you by your arm and dragging you into Jimin and Taehyung’s apartment.

You stumble forward, and you’re greeted by blown up balloons that wish you a happy birthday, along with streamers and party hats that adorn your friend's heads. They’re all beaming at you, eyes crinkled into thin slits as you laugh at their keen endeavour.

“The birthday bitch is finally here!” Yena hollers, queuing the loud horns of streamers that Jimin and Taehyung attempt to deafen you with as Namjoon slams his hands un-rhythmically against a tambourine.

Your eyes soften ever so slightly when they finally rest on Jungkook, who’s slightly tucked away from the rest but yet still carries a sincere enough smile on his face. You know him well enough that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and your heart clenches for a split second when you recall the reason. But you hear the birthday song be led by Taehyung, and you’re snapped out of the mini-stare off you and with Jungkook.

“Happy birthday to you!” He all but shrieks, drawing closer as you wince, “Happy birthday to you!” Taehyung ditches his instrument to wrap an arm around you while the rest of the circle you like prey as you laugh at their antics. “Happy birthday to ____, happy birthday to you!”

Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling, and your heart feels content with the way your friends continue to huddle around you, squeezing you until it hurts to breathe. In the best way possible.

“Is this what icon treatment feels like?” You snort.

You spot a grimace on Jimin’s face, even if you know it’s a light-hearted jibe. He rolls his eyes but tugs you to his chest fondly anyway, his arms immediately providing you with a sense of warmth in a friendship that’s lasted for over a decade.

“Don’t get used to it,” he warns, “I think I’ve exercised all my festive spirit this year.”

“My birthday is in September, you know,” Namjoon interjects.

“Then celebrate it by yourself,” Jimin sticks a petulant tongue out that Namjoon gapes at.

“It’s my birthday month too.” And for the first time, Jungkook speaks loud enough that it has all of your heads turning to him. The millisecond of silence is loud enough for you to hear, and perhaps to everyone else too. Your cheeks heat ever so slightly, but Jimin—ever the observer—picks up on this immediately.

“Hm, no wonder the two of you are so alike,” Jimin mumbles off-handedly, a glint of mischief painting his tone.

You don’t miss the insinuation behind his words as you shoot him a glare that you hope isn’t as obvious to the rest as it is to him. He smiles innocently before ruffling your hair, hopping away towards the table of assortments that they likely prepared for the celebration.

“Happy birthday!” Namjoon walks over with a dimpled grin, arms immediately open for you to lean into as you giggle at his exaggerated expression.

“Thank you, Joonie,” you beam up at him.

Namjoon gives you a tight squeeze before he reaches his arm towards the couch where you only notice the small box that lays atop of it. Your eyes follow his arm where he subtly (or not so) hides it behind his back that makes you shoot him an unimpressed look, your heart immensely thankful but the gesture still flustered you.

“I got you something,” he mumbles.

You whine, “Joon.”

“No, none of that,” he scolds, “I wanted to get you something, okay? Just let me gift the birthday girl.” He adds on playfully.

You scowl but receive the gift anyway, wrapping an arm around his waist as you admire the pretty mint colour the box was embellished in.

“You didn’t spend too much money, right?” You ask sceptically.

“And if I did?” He retorts.

You scowl.

“Namjoon.”

He sighs, “Okay, it was a decent amount of money but”—he stops you from returning to gift into his arms as he shoots you a stern look that you pout at—“I told you. I wanted to get you something. You’ll make me really happy if you accept it.”

You know he’s baiting you with his puppy eyes and you sigh at your resolve dissolving at his attempt.

“Fine,” you accept, “Thank you, Namjoon.”

He waves you off with a bashful smile as he urges you to open it. You abide as you carefully unravel the meticulously tied ribbon (that you’re kind of sure that he got help with) as you wonder about what he had gotten you. Namjoon was always a thoughtful person and you were really warmed by his consideration—so you knew that whatever he got you, you’d love.

Once you finally reach the end, you lift the lid as you gasp—an intricate ceramic planter that mirrored your favourite animal—a cute rabbit that peers up at you with wide eyes. It’s a pale yellow, with a red ribbon carved around its ears as your face crumbles in adoration.

“Oh my God,” you marvel, “It’s adorable! Thank you so much, Joon.”

He grins at you as he leans forward to admire the piece with you.

“It’s a customised order by one of my favourite ceramic artists,” he tells you, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nod your head vigorously as he chuckles at your awestruck expression.

“It is,” you breathe, “God. It must’ve cost a lot, didn’t it?” You accuse playfully with narrowed eyes as he rolls his own at you.

He brings his finger up to his lips to mimic a lock before he throws away the key, smirking at you when you huff petulantly. Nevertheless, you were touched and you absolutely loved the gift. It was very Namjoon and very representative of what you liked—and what he did.

“Thank you again, Joon,” you murmur, engulfing him in another fond hug that he returns with equal affection.

You’re not sure if it’s bad taste to hug someone like this when they had feelings for you. But Namjoon was a great friend and a great person in general. But when you peer up at him with gentle eyes and he returns the gesture, you know that despite it all—he’s a friend that you’re willing to fight for.

Before he can get another word in, the presence of another person hovers by your side as you feel their shadow loom over you. You release Namjoon from your tight hug, and his eyes briefly dance across the guest as he smiles knowingly to himself, shooting you an equally implicative glance that makes your throat clamp up. You recognise it intimately; and even if you didn’t. You knew that only one person would induce this type of reaction, especially in the current setting.

“I’ll … I’ll leave you two to talk,” he smiles, and that’s when your head finally turns, face facing Jungkook who stands awkwardly by your side with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Namjoon squeezes your shoulder to bid farewell for now, but you know the implication runs far deeper than it did. “Hope you like the present.”

Namjoon leaves with a smile before you can muster a thank you. He leaves you with more than just a gift, but an empty space waiting to be filled. The person was right there, Jungkook hovering quietly as he awaits your introduction. You knew you knew that it was you who needed to take that leap of faith. His silence or perhaps his patience was a queue for you to take that.

Not here. But you’d do what you could with what you had.

“Hey,” you say breathlessly, offering a gentle smile to Jungkook.

He returns the gesture but his eyes aren’t settled on your face. They’re on your shoulder, or more specifically—your upper arm and on the comprehensive detail that marks your skin permanently.

“Hey yourself,” he replies equally as breathless, then he looks up at you with the same gentle eyes that you grew up with, that evokes far more than a sense of familiarity but thunder in your chest. “Happy birthday, by the way.” He says softly, knocking your elbow in a way that’s both friendly and hesitant.

You laugh softly, “You can ask you know.” You say teasingly, an attempt to defuse the situation. He was too tense. It was odd because it was definitely a switch in your roles. But you supposed it was necessary, the only way that you could grow and learn.

“Oh, I definitely was about to,” he snorts, “A tattoo, huh?”

You nod, twisting your body ever so slightly so that he gets a better glimpse of the artwork.

“Yeah,” you smile, sincerely pleased with the choice you made; albeit spontaneous and driven by the inherent need for change. “I took the leap of faith.”

He catches on your double entendre, and a small smile twitches on his lips as he nods his head slowly. He leans in closer to observe the work, and his eyes squint as if he was taking the time to appreciate the beauty of it. You suppose it’s the artistic side of Jungkook that pushes him to do so. He was talented, in more way than one. He knew what looked beautiful, how to create beautiful things—and definitely how to appreciate them.

“The line work looks familiar,” he peers up at you, “Did you get it done at the tattoo parlour by the book shop?”

Your eyes widen at his spot on pinpointing. Was it that familiar? Or was it just a tattoo-lover thing?

“I—yeah,” you nod, “How did you know?”

His eyes harden along with his jaw but he shakes his head off-handedly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I recognise it. Got some of mine done over there,” he mumbles, “Maybe not anymore.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to, especially when the second part of his sentence comes in as you freeze. You nibble on your lips, chest needing relief on the truth behind your tattoo. But you’d settle for the surface level honesty before anything else.

“Jeonghan did mine,” you blurt, “Maybe that’s why you recognise it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, next to his brows furrows, clearly displaying his confusion when the words leave your lips. You don’t fault him for his confusion, especially when the last interaction you had with him turned out more sour than pleasant—all at the hands of someone who apparently gave you your first tattoo.

“You—?” He starts, brain gearing to piece the information together. “He gave you your first tattoo?”

You nod your head, firm and resolute. You muster a smile, one that you hope tells Jungkook that it was far more than just him giving you a tattoo. It was a needed sense of closure that you didn’t plan for but somehow needed.

“Yeah,” you murmur, eyes peering up in a gentle and calm way. “I think it’s exactly what I needed.”

Jungkook accepts though you can tell he’s still slightly perturbed by the information. He still stares at your tattoo, though. He smiles ever so softly that you almost miss it, but you’re highly tuned to Jungkook’s every reaction. The smallest change of mood is easily picked up on, and you know that he likes it. That’s all that mattered to you.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he says softly.

You flush, fiddling with your thumbs.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you say in a low whisper.

He shifts his weight across both his heels, hands still stuffed tightly into his pants pocket in a way that shows his restlessness. You can tell he’s thinking of something else to say, but can’t quite find the exact words. The situation is all too fresh, you suppose. You don’t blame him. You wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to feel that way, that you were done running. But you don’t think now is the time and place—not with the cackles of your friends as the background music, or with the promise of cake to be devoured.

He settles for a tight smile before he turns to leave, but you stop him before he gets far—your shaky hand wrapping itself around his wrist. Jungkook stops, head-turning over his shoulder with a raised brow as you clear your throat to prepare for the next words that leave your lips.

“Can we talk?” You ask, and Jungkook’s eyes widen. You realise the lack of context immediately as you flush in embarrassment. “After. I mean. At your place—or mine. Wherever works for you.” You stammer out nervously.

Jungkook’s gaze rests on you for a tense second as you nervously wait for his response. You almost think he’s about to say no, but a small smile makes its way onto his face that immediately soothes your nerves.

“Mine. It’s closer anyway,” he says, “Happy birthday, again.”

He stuns you by pulling you into an unexpected hug, chin resting on the top of your head as he squeezes you tightly but holds you contrastingly soft. You immediately melt into his hold, missing the warmth of his sincerity in the short yet long time away from him. You smell him, and he smells familiar. He smells safe. You sigh contentedly when he doesn’t let go, and neither do you.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you repeat.

“I—” He’s about to say something but cuts himself off immediately. He pulls away, ears slightly flushed as he shoots you a brief grin before shaking his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

Your head tilts to the side, but you don’t question his vague statement. You allow him to leave with a tender grin. You had things to tell him yourself, too.

“Hey, you,” Yena bumps into your shoulder with her own as you turn your head to face her. Her head cocks to Jungkook’s retreating figure where he joins the rest of the boys in an attempt to devour the assortments that you hadn’t had the chance to dig into just yet. “Everything okay?”

You smile gratefully at her before bringing her into a hug, surprising her ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” you murmur, “It is.”

And for once, you mean it.

“Sorry about the place,” Jungkook apologises when the two of you step into his apartment.

He’s referring to the pile of clothes sprawled across his couch and the numerous amount of art supplies that take up the floor space. You wave him off with a smile.

“Don’t mention it,” you say, “Your room, then?”

Jungkook raises a brow at you before you blush ever so slightly, catching the insinuative tone before you’re offering a meek smile and a correction.

“To talk.”

He nods his head in understanding before returning the gesture with a small grin of his own. He helps you with your stuff and sets it aside, as well as your shoes because Jungkook was meticulous about things like that.

When the two of you approach his room, you take a few moments of silence to get your thoughts in check. It’s terrifying, knowing exactly what you want to say but having no idea how to say them. You always told yourself that honesty is the best policy—but your mind races at a hundred miles per hour whenever you’re around Jungkook, and you don’t know if you have it in you to be eloquent.

His room is the same, and so very much like him. It’s neat and it smells fresh of laundry. He’s nothing like the stereotypical college student that dumps his laundry in one big pile (though the mess outside suggested otherwise), but you’ve always remembered Jungkook to have been a fan of tidy spaces.

He’s like this with his habits too. Strict and clean, always going the extra mile to ensure that his comfort was maximised in a cosy environment. And his room clearly represented this habit and goal of his in mind.

He gestures for you to sit on an old beanbag you fondly recall from your younger days where you’d sprawl across when you hung out with him. You know he took it with him to college for that very same reason. Well, before everything that has transpired between the two of you anyway.

Though things are not quite the same—you don’t wish it to be. You don’t want to be the same person you were just a week ago, let alone years ago. You wanted to be the person you were meant to be now. And that meant doing things you would’ve never done but should’ve done a long time ago.

Before you can plan out a speech like you usually do with any events you considered important, your mouth moves faster than your brain does.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook’s eyes shoot up from where it laid on his lap as he eyes you with a wide gaze.

“Why are you—?”

“I know you don’t think I need to apologise, but I do,” you say with a sad smile, “I owe you an apology, Jungkook.”

Jungkook purses his lips, hinting that he wants to say something but decides against it when he recognises the determined expression that lingers on your face. It’s the same one that you have when you really wanted to do something. Or at least had a plan on what to do.

He doesn’t interrupt that momentum, not when you take another deep breath.

“I’m sorry for not choosing you.”

He flinches, head drooping to his lap while he fiddles with his fingers.

“I’m sorry for not choosing you the first time,” you repeat, and his head glances up with a furrowed brow, “I’m sorry that it took me this long to realise that all I needed … that all I needed was you—not anyone else.”

“It’s not your fault.” He interjects softly.

“Maybe,” you shrug, “Maybe it is. But that’s not the point,” you say softly, “The point is that I was searching for answers everywhere else but where I could find one that mattered. I looked for answers in people, in the words of others—as if what they said somehow would change the way things were.” You murmur. “It didn’t.”

“Then why look?” Jungkook asks, the question heavier than it sounded. You know it’s because he wonders, too.

“It’s because I was afraid,” you confess, “I was afraid of so many things that I didn’t even know what I was afraid of anymore. I kept on making excuses for us—because that was safer than … than choosing. Because choosing meant there was a wrong choice and I didn’t want to make a wrong choice.”

Jungkook looks at you with a solemn expression before you begin to fiddle with your thumbs.

“My tattoo means a lot to me,” you tell him.

“Well, it’s beautiful,” he murmurs quietly.

“It means I’ve grown,” you continue, “I-I always wanted a tattoo. I just—I never got around to getting it until recently.”

He nods his head in understanding as he eyes the piece once more. He takes it in gently, not judgementally, and you can feel his smile than see it when your eyes dart to your lap.

“I’m glad you finally did.”

“Me too,” you say. “I’m glad.”

“But …” he trails off, “Jeonghan did it—right?”

You can hear the edge in his voice when he brings up a name that should’ve evoked a sour feeling in your chest. The discomfort is there, but just like anything in life—it would always exist. It was just a matter of what you focused on and what was your priority in that moment.

And now, when you see Jungkook, you know it’s not yourself—but it’s Jungkook who’s your priority.

“Yeah,” you breathe, “It didn’t matter, though.”

He raises a brow, “Really?”

You nod.

“He doesn’t matter,” you say softly.

You hope Jungkook gets it, that this is you letting go of the fear of judgement that took away such a huge part of your happiness—for the both of you. But you knew that speaking in riddles wasn’t what he deserved. He deserved to hear it—to feel it.

“Why not?” He asks, just as softly.

“Because no one else matters but you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook freezes, but you don’t let that deter you when you look up at him with gentle and resolute eyes.

“Because you were the only thing that should’ve mattered,” you say more firmly, “Because …”

You swallow when you realise that Jungkook’s staring straight at you.

“Because I love you.”

You don’t know if this is the first time you’ve said it. But it’s the first time you’ve allowed yourself to truly feel the way that you do. There’s no more judgement from your end. No more critical words on how other people may talk. There was nothing. Nothing but pure, unadulterated love.

“Is that enough?” Jungkook asks.

“It is,” you smile softly, “You are.”

Jungkook smiles, gentle and calm when you allow yourself to just look at each other. And for some reason, his face makes your throat clamp shut and your eyes water. It’s more than just him—it’s what had happened.

It’s the fact that you’ve been stalling for so long, hurting each other in the process when you could’ve just been honest. When you could’ve just chosen him.

You should’ve chosen yourself, too.

“Hey, why are you crying?” Jungkook asks softly, even though you hear a small smile in his voice.

He’s a distance away, yet you feel his sincerity, his concern. And that makes you cry harder.

“I’m sorry,” you choke, “I-I’m so sorry.”

You don’t leave your spot, too flustered to do anything.

“It’s okay,” he returns gently.

“I want to be with you, Jungkook,” you mumble, “I want you.”

Your second statement returns with much more determination, even through your puffy eyes that you’re sure made you look ridiculous. But you can’t think of anything more than you wanted—that you’ve prepared for.

“Me too,” he smiles, “I want to be with you.”

For the first time, you feel like your feet takes you further where your heart yearns to be. One moment you’re sat in the small beanbag that Jungkook keeps in the corner of his room, and the next you’re toppling over his startled frame and onto his plush bed. The two of you land (more so him than you) on his bed as his palm rests on your waist to catch you.

Your arms are wrapped around his neck while you helplessly sniff into the crook of his neck. Your heart lays easy and your body feels light. There’s still a fear in you but it doesn’t matter. Not when he laughs, clear and loud as you whine against him.

“Stop laughing!” You hiss, and your words sound clogged due to your stuffed nose, which only makes Jungkook laugh harder.

His hand squeezes your hips when you don’t bother to pull away, even with the potential of suffocating Jungkook to death with your body atop of his.

“Sorry,” he snickers and his apology is half-hearted at best. “You’re just—you sure you’re okay?”

His hand leaves your hips, much to your disappointment, but reaches up to your face to force your cheeks to peer up at him. He chases your wandering eyes playfully when you avoid his wide smiles, eyes still unalterably puffy from the tears you shed earlier. You were sure that the tip of your nose was still red and that your cheeks were tight with your dried tears. But he doesn’t relent, even if you threaten to bite his fingers off.

“Stop looking at me,” you snap.

He shoots you a toothy grin, “But you’re so cute. How can I not?”

You tuck your face back into his neck and make a noise of frustration, mostly because you were so flustered that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Jungkook seems to enjoy your demise, however. He was definitely far better at the teasing than you were—that enough was obvious, especially when he coos onto the crown of your head while you pinch the skin at the back of his neck in warning.

He yelps, shooting you a playful glare that you return with you sticking out your tongue.

“Don’t be mean, baby,” he husks, and you’d be lying if the term of endearment didn’t make you squirm, both under his hold and his intense gaze.

“You were being mean first,” you pout.

“But that’s because you’re too cute,” he retorts smartly, “All I wanna do is be mean to you and see you blush.”

Jungkook’s grin is nothing short of mischievous as you gawk at his blatant admission. He doesn’t look embarrassed, that was your job. His job, was just as he said, to be mean to you and see you quiver.

“Shut up,” you scowl.

“No,” he smiles, and before you can get out another retort, or shove yourself off of him, he pushes the two of you up until you’re straddling his hips. Your head spins at the sudden movement as your arms leave Jungkook’s neck to scramble for balance, but the one arm around your waist is enough to keep you comfortably rooted into position—right on his lap.

Just as you’ve recovered from the sudden whiplash, you’re about to give him an ear of expletives until you realise that he’s yet to shift his gaze away from you. In fact, Jungkook’s just staring. Soft and gentle, yet wickedly all at once. Your faces are so close, and despite the heartfelt moment the two of you shared just moments prior—you still can’t help but get flustered at the proximity.

When you’re this close, you can see all of his pores. You see the freckles adorning his cheeks that he never quite grew out of, despite his whines. You see the scar on the top of his cheekbone, a permanent reminder from his rough-house days with his older brother. You knew he grew up to accept it, and you found it adorable. A necessary part of Jungkook that made him him. The slope of his cupid's bow is more apparent than ever when you’re basically pressed against his body, and foolishly, your eyes dart down.

You feel his breath on your lips, yet neither one of you moves. It’s intimate like this, just being held. You wonder if this is what you could’ve had if you weren’t too caught up in your own thoughts. You wonder if there was an alternate world where you weren’t as selfish.

“Hi,” he murmurs, breaking you out of your thoughts as your eyes snap back to his.

His eyes are still gentle, especially when the arm around your waist tugs you impossibly closer until you’re all but flushed against his chest, hands looping around his neck as the only space available for you to leave them.

“Hi,” you return shyly.

He’s gentle when he brushes the hair out of your face, fingers trailing across your cheek and down your face until it’s softly gripping your jaw. This time, his thumb rubs across your cheekbone and all you can do is melt into his touch. You’ve never felt so accounted for. As if you were being studied by someone who wanted to melt your feeling into memory. And the fact that it’s Jungkook giving you this attention makes your heart uncontrollably flutter.

“This is real, right?” He asks in a soft whisper.

“I am in fact, very real,” you joke, even if you know what he’s implying.

He rolls his eyes, squeezing your jaw in warning as you swallow. The heat in your stomach is soft, but definitely brewing. It didn’t help that you were precariously placed in Jungkook’s lap, where your hips could just inch—

“Don’t be a smartass,” he sighs before leaning closer to you, “Makes me want to do real mean things.”

Your body heats, but you’re empowered by some sort of confidence that you only get when you’re intoxicated with Jungkook’s warmth and scent.

“Then do it.” You challenge.

Jungkook’s jaw ticks and you note that he doesn’t relax the hand clasping your jaw. You teasingly rub your cheek against his thumb, hips slightly inching forward. And as observant as ever, Jungkook’s other arm that was wrapped around your waist stops you as his fingers drop down to your hips—squeezing in another warning that has you anticipating for more.

“I don’t think so,” he shakes his head as you frown. The expression he gives you isn’t one that’s saying no. Instead, he still smiles. “You deserve a tender kind of love.”

When he whispers those words to you, you literally melt into his hold. Your mind and heart can’t take it anymore. They make the decision for you to lean forward, crushing your lips against his as you chase for that euphoric feeling that only Jungkook can evoke in you.

Jungkook grunts at your force and uncoordinated movements. You don’t think too much about how there are more teeth than mouth, but what you do focus on is how Jungkook taste. He tastes like the strawberry chiffon cake from earlier mixed with cherry whine. It’s addictive—and you wonder if this is what love tastes like.

“Calm down, angel,” he whispers onto your lips, briefly pulling away.

Your eyes are half-lidded and dazed when you watch the string of saliva that connects your lips. He sees it too. His eyes darken significantly as you tug on the collar of his shirt, a whimper stuck in your throat as you peer up at him with your best version of a bedroom gaze.

“Kiss me,” you all but demand, “Kiss me stupid.”

Jungkook looks at you filled with lust before he’s recapturing your lips with his own. This time around, he leads. He’s by far more experienced in dragging out the experience and heightening all of your senses when he plays with the pout of your lips, purposefully dragging his teeth over the creases and nudging your lips open with his tongue.

He’s especially good when he groans into your mouth, low and husky as it pulls out a whimper from you. His hands explore your body, running up the curves of your waist, over your hips, and unconsciously pushing you forward on his lap.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, kissing down your jaw as you tilt your head up to give him more space to work with. When he looks up for a brief second, your breath hitches at the way his lips are swollen at red. His gaze is dark, and you suppose it’s because your lips are likely the same. “So fucking pretty.”

You whine in embarrassment, approaching to cover your face with your hand but Jungkook stops you with a firm grab to lock your wrists together. His look is enough of a warning, and your lower body clenches in response.

“Don’t,” he warns, “Wanna see your face.”

What else could you do but comply?

You nod silently, and all your senses are in overload when he returns to laving at your neck, tongue darting out to soothe any bites that he’s left. All you can do is helplessly gasp as he sends goosebumps all across your body, growling into your skin with a purpose to drive your mind wild.

You never imagined making out to be this pleasurable. But you suppose it’s both because of Jungkook’s skill and your ardent feelings for him that makes you crazy. It’s the same feeling that makes you want more, that makes you grind your hips in a slow circle, right on his crotch.

Jungkook’s hand stutters as well as his mouth, probably not expecting the sudden onslaught of pressure on his lower half. He groans, tucking his face into your neck as you continue your ministrations, your own bundle of nerves stimulated with each grind forward.

“What are you doing?” He hisses.

He looks up and his eyes are completely blown up. You swallow, the fire in your chest already slowly starting to erupt into flames. His palms are unconsciously splayed across your ass, and you just know he’s tempted to push you forward.

“Wanna—” you croak, emphasising your point with another grind that has him hissing in pleasure. “Wanna feel you.”

“Don’t start a game you can’t finish, baby,” he grits, eyes fluttering shut as you continue rutting against him; your own breathless whines escaping your lips.

You shake your head frantically, “N-No!” You deny, and suddenly you’re darting forward as your foreheads clash. You wince in pain, and so does he—but the clumsiness of it all only makes Jungkook smile fondly at you, briefly dropping the persona he’s admonished. “I really—I really want you. All of you.”

Your desperate pleas don’t go unheard by jungkook. In fact, his arms completely still, as if he took a whole out of body experience to process your words.

“Really?” He smiles playfully, a look that has you softening into his hold. “You want me?”

You nod your head, “Y-Yes.”

Jungkook nudges your nose with his before he’s kissing you again. You whine, frustrated at how he still insists on kissing you. Sure, you loved his lips on yours—but you were undoubtedly wet right now, and you felt the telltale signs of his cock pressing against your inner thigh.

“Jungkook,” you whine, pushing him away as you scowl at him, “I want you.”

You’re aware of how petulant you sound, and it’s almost embarrassing when you shamelessly rut your hips forward. Jungkook laughs with a small smirk, and you’re about to chew him out for laughing at you when he was clearly hard! There was nothing amusing about the fact that you were so wet that you could die and he was doing absolutely nothing about it.

“My pretty girl wants me?” He croons, pulling you flush into his chest until he’s plopping back to the bed. You shriek, falling forward as you all but gracefully crash into his chest. “You want me?” He teases.

You scowl, suddenly more irritated than horny.

“Oh my God, do you have comprehension issues?” You snap, glaring at him when he grins cheekily at you from where you tilt your head up. “I said I want you!”

He hums noncommittally, “You gotta be more specific than that baby. Use your words.”

The way he shifted from such an alluring and … dark tone to such a light-hearted jibe that still makes your stomach clench is stupefying and impressive. But this Jungkook seemed more collateral with an easy smile marring his face, arms wrapped around you in a relaxed way as if he had all the time in the world.

“I-I—” you stammer, cheeks flushing embarrassingly red, “What part of I want you do you not get?” You opt to scowl at him further, glaring at him with your red cheeks.

“Let me help you then,” he murmurs, shifting backwards ever so slightly until his head was perched upon a pillow, right against his headboard. He looks at you with lazy eyes that has your core clenching unconsciously. You blush, unsure if he felt. If he did, he doesn’t say anything but smile. “Tell me how you want me.”

You blink.

“H-How?”

He nods, hands resting around your hips as he nudges your body upwards until you’re the one fully straddling him while he lays down, comfortable and casual as he rests his arms behind his head.

You gape at him, especially at the relaxed state he was in. As if he hadn’t riled you up in a way that has you wanting more while he awaits your answer as if you were just having an ordinary conversation.

“Yeah,” he nods, “You’re always complaining, right? Use your mouth and tell me then, and maybe if I’m feeling nice I’ll give you what you want.”

You still completely above him, legs resting at the sides of his hips while you stare at him like a deer caught in headlights. You were unsure where he was going with this, but you liked it. Despite the sheer mortification you felt at the insinuation of the fact that you had to verbalise what you wanted, the wetness pooling in your panties definitely told you that you were enjoying whatever Jungkook was playing at.

Especially when he sighs as if you were taking too long. The inherent need in you wanting to please him was overpowering your senses, even the one where you feel embarrassed.

“I,” you clear your throat, eyes looking away with red cheeks. “I want you to … I want you—to—t-touch me.”

“It’s rude not to look at people when you’re asking for something,” he snaps.

His voice suddenly startles you into looking back at him. He’s frowning at you, and your heart suddenly drops.

As if he senses your hesitation, the gentle look replaces the bored one almost immediately, hands darting out to grab your hands.

“Are you okay? We can stop—”

You shake your head immediately. You were way too worked up to stop right now and Jungkook looked too appetising with his cold expression. You knew that you’ve come to a point where your feelings for each other are known and that you are his as much as he is yours. It was nice, to have the coldness—it’s almost shameful to admit. But you thought it was hot. And the fact that you knew it would go away right after this was done made the situation even more arousing.

“N-No!” You deny, “I-I’ll be good. I promise.” His eyes widen at the sudden breathlessness of your voice. “Sorry.”

You duck your head down, and Jungkook gauges your expression for any hint of discomfort or uncertainty but doesn’t find any. He almost chuckles at how eager you seem, all innocent and doe-eyed when you struggle to find the right words.

“I forgive you, baby,” Jungkook husks, thumb rubbing a circle against your hip before his arms return to the back of his head. “You remember, right? Use your words and focus on me.”

You nod your head obediently, swallowing the saliva in your mouth as you shift around on his lap, unconsciously trying to relieve the pressure in your lower region. Jungkook’s lip twitches in a smirk at your semi-frustrated expression but doesn’t comment on it. He’s enjoying this way too much, and it was taking him more self-restraint than ever to not give in.

He knew what you wanted. But he wanted to be sure. He could wait for years if that meant having you fully be ready. This playfulness that he adopted was a first too since he was usually a one-and-done kind of guy. It wasn’t something he was proud of but it worked. It worked with women he didn’t care about. But you weren’t just a woman he cared about. You were the person he’s in love with. The woman he’s been in love with for the last decade of his life and the only other woman that wasn’t his mother or grandmother that he loved.

And you seem to be enjoying it, even if you’re a little unsure. It only adds to the sexiness of the entire situation. Even with your flushed cheeks and wide eyes, he thinks you’re stunning.

When you decide you’re ready, you clear your throat and establish unwavering eye contact with Jungkook, even if you felt like your face was the surface of the sun with how hot it was.

“I want you,” you say softly, yet your voice is firmer than before. “I want you to—touch me. To t-touch my body.” You say breathlessly, leaning forward ever so slightly as your hair dangles in front of your face. Jungkook clenches his jaw at how you’re progressively getting breathier, almost desperate as the manic look in your eyes surface.

“Where, baby?” He prompts.

You flush harder but swallow.

“My b-breasts,” you whimper, embarrassment painting your face, but Jungkook nods in contentment, cocking his head for you to continue. “M-My … my …?”

You didn’t even know what to call it. You knew it was your vagina—you weren’t stupid. But the lewdness of all other alternatives made you want to quiver into a hole and never return. It sounded good when Jungkook said it but what if you sounded awkward? What if he thought the way you pronounced its synonyms was unsexy—?

“You want me to touch your pussy?” He finishes for you, voice low in a whisper as your eyes widen.

You nod shamefully, still maintaining eye contact as you unconsciously find yourself nibbling on your bottom lip while you gauge his expression. Jungkook’s eyes immediately dart down, as he licks his own lips in response.

Jungkook smirks at you, suggestive and devious while he rakes his eyes all over your body. Your outfit is different from usual, but still nothing to rave about. Yet, with the way he ogles you, you feel almost naked. And, an even more absurd realisation comes across you when you note that you don’t mind.

“You gotta say it, baby,” he sighs as if he were disappointed in you.

Your confusion only spurs him further, cock straining against his pants when your mouth moves to get the words out, the lewd term still feeling foreign on your tongue.

“I—I want you t-to touch my—” the breath you take is shaky, but as always, you were always a determined person by nature, especially when something you wanted was on the line. “—want you to t-touch my p-pussy.”

When the words leave your lips, you hear Jungkook groan under his breath, eyes fluttering shut as his hands twitch behind his head. His obvious satisfaction causes a deep sense of pride to swell in your chest, the humiliation being overpowered by the innate desire to have Jungkook make that sound again.

“Please touch my pussy,” you beg, almost whiney when you look down at him.

Jungkook’s using all the restraint in him to keep himself level-headed. Where in actuality, he’s both baffled and thanking the Gods above for having you in front of him like this. He’s never allowed himself to delve much into his fantasies, even if he’d shamelessly admit that he had one too many of these same scenarios play out in his mind. It sounds sweeter on your tongue, almost verboten when you whimper those words out.

The usually kept together version of you is slowly unravelling, and Jungkook never thought he had a corruption kink—but he definitely did. Or, maybe it was just you. He wasn’t going anywhere else to find out.

“What a good girl,” Jungkook murmurs, hands teasingly drafting across your thighs as the lower half of your body twitches ever so slightly at the touch.

He smirks at your eagerness, but there was a devious part of him that wanted to drag this further. To see you completely be his, even if he knew where your heart laid.

“Take off your clothes, then.”

You were just about to rut against his crotch desperately, the heat in your body almost searing uncomfortably as you feel the fabric of your panties sticks against your folds.

“M-Myself?”

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek, “Do you see me helping?” He asks with a raised brow.

You don’t, in fact. Jungkook’s completely still, perched snugly under you as he continues to draw lazy glances over your body, awaiting your next move. Your cheeks are still on fire, and every inch of your skin is begging to be touched. It’s almost hysterical at how Jungkook’s managed to reduce you into an absolute desperate mess without even needing to touch you—directly, that is.

He’s fully clothed, cock hard—and he commands you to his will. And you obey.

You’re about to push yourself off his lap, but he stops you before you can get any further.

“On my lap.”

His authoritative tone makes you whimper, almost frustratedly begging for him to do something. To touch you. To kiss you. Anything.

When people spoke of sex, you always thought that they just got to it. Sure, there was foreplay that was enjoyable, but sex has never been something that you found inherently desirable. That’s one of the reasons why you still hadn’t had sex yet. It’s because you never saw the appeal.

But you suppose you’ve never had a reason to. Not until now, at least. Because Jungkook makes you want him. Makes you want to feel his cock in you while you moan and cry. It’s a part of you that you’ve never seen, but you imagine has always been there. You wanted him—and that was still as scary as it was the first time you realised it.

You hesitantly start at the hem of your tank-top, fingers stuttering when you realise that Jungkook’s just staring. It’s different this time. His eyes are dark and purposeful, trained sternly on your upper body that still remains covered.

“L-Like this?” You ask hesitantly, lifting the fabric ever so slightly.

You realise that you’ve never been fully naked in front of Jungkook before, despite him being somewhat familiar with your intimates. The thought makes you nervous, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel sexy. Like you were capable of making him push himself over the edge.

“Touch your body, baby,” he directs.

You follow his instructions obediently, albeit a little stiffly. You try to channel your inner seductress out when you graze your fingertips across the panel of your stomach, the sides of your body and up your breast. It’s so intimate, especially when Jungkook’s looking at you so intently while you attempt to map out your body. It’s funny how it’s been twenty-five years, yet this is the first time you’ve properly felt your body. That it’s the first time it’s felt like a home.

“You’re doing so good,” he encourages you softly, eyes raking over your breast when you give them an experimental squeeze. Your hands are small, but they do the job of alleviating some form of pressure. You gasp, eyes fluttering shut when it starts to feel more natural.

Jungkook’s praises spur you on, as you finally decide to tug at your tank-top, slowly and steadily as you attempt to teasingly lift it up.

“You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?” He murmurs, smiles apparent in his voice as you slowly peel your tank-top off, your heart beating with the adrenaline pumping through your system at the prospect of Jungkook seeing your body for the first time.

It’s both terrifying and arousing. You wonder if he notices the flaws you see when you undress at the end of every day. You wonder if he likes your body—more than you—or less than you. Though, it’s even exponentially more terrifying to think if he liked it less than you did. You’re nervous, especially when he hasn’t said anything and you’re fully topless, with the exception of your bra that covers the last bit of modesty across your chest.

What if he didn’t like your boobs? Did they look awkward in the bra? It wasn’t … sexy. You weren’t trying to get laid tonight. But you don’t know if Jungkook preferred the extra get-ups, or not. You didn’t know at all. And you definitely didn’t know what he was thinking when he continues to stare at you, face surprisingly blank.

“J-Jungkook?” You whisper, voice nervous.

Then, his eyes flutter shut, as if he was defeated before you hear him mumble a low fuck under his breath.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and before you can do anything else—he stares up at the ceiling as if there was something he needed to contemplate before you proceeded.

“You’re gorgeous.”

You don’t know how to react, especially because his works sound almost pained when he chokes it out. He wasn’t even looking at you—so you were rightfully confused.

“I—thank you?” You say slowly.

“I love your tits.” He blurts, eyes suddenly returning to zero onto your chest.

You blush at his vulgar words, hands immediately rushing around to hide your chest despite the fact that he continues to ogle.

“Don’t,” he whines, suddenly turning into the regular Jungkook that you know and love. Your eyes almost widen comically at the duality of the man in front of you, especially when he petulantly tugs at your hand to reveal your cups back to him.

“Did my tits really break you out of your persona?” You snort, finding the situation both funny and stimulating.

There was something about breaking a joke with someone during foreplay that made the build-up to sex much more enjoyable, and your heart nearly flies out of your chest when you realise that you’re experiencing this with Jungkook.

“I’m sorry but if you’re finally seeing the main character of all your teenaged wet dreams in person then I think you’d react the same way,” he snaps back.

You gawk, “Y-Your teenage what?”

He scoffs as if he can’t understand your disbelief.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he sneers accusingly at you while you continue to gape at his sudden confession, shirtless and all. “The number of things that I did on your tits—” And what makes it worse, wasn’t that you were turned on, but was when Jungkook’s eyes fluttered shut as he groans—as if he was picturing it all over again. “—fuuuck.”

“Jungkook!” You shriek, slapping his chest as he sighs, a dopey smile on his face.

“Promise me you’ll let me.” He begs.

You look at him dubiously.

“Let you what?” You ask carefully.

“Cum on them. Fuck them. Suck on them.” He shrugs. Your jaw is slackened when he says them so casually. You also note the jump in his pants, his cock twitching against your core as you gasp.

“J-Jungkook!” You say, scandalised.

(Though your panties are definitely drenched.)

“Please take your bra off.” He croaks, hands finally reaching out to grab at your hips.

You roll your eyes at the desperation in his tone. Even if Jungkook had done some growing up, he was still such a boy. You find his fascination with your tits almost amusing, especially when his eyes darken even further when you reach out to unclasp your bra.

You feel empowered on top, even if you know that ultimately, Jungkook calls the shots. It’s the way that he groans beneath you when your tits finally fall free, cups thrown carelessly aside as you smile bashfully at him.

“I’m going to die,” he groans.

“Just because you saw a pair of tits?” You snort, “Hm, maybe you really aren’t as impressive as I thought you were, Jeon.”

Jungkook immediately snaps up to look at you, eyes narrowed at your amused grin painting your phase. You’re about to continue jibing at him, but you realise that his eyes are hooded and menacing when they stare straight into your soul. Your face slowly drops when you realise he doesn’t respond with an equally light tone.

“I-I was just—”

You can’t even get another word out before he’s interrupting you.

“Pants off, baby.”

He doesn’t ask this time. He’s demanding.

You don’t argue this time. Even if you’re excited at the way he so effortlessly switches back into his first persona—you didn’t want to piss him off. Yet.

Fed with more confidence than earlier, you trail your hands up your thighs until they reach the button of your jeans. Jungkook’s still watching you intently, face void of any emotion that you can read as you begin to undo each button until your panties are peaking through the slit.

You slip your jeans off, a little unseemly, but it gets the job done. You aren’t sure if you can keep up being patient this way, especially when you return to settle down onto Jungkook’s lap, you feel the roughness of his jeans press against your clit as you gasp.

“So fucking wet, baby,” he smirks, “I didn’t even do anything.”

“Jungkook please,” you beg, hips jutting forward to chase anything. This time, without the barrier of your jeans, it feels so much better. So much more raw as the bump of his zipper nudges against your clit, your wetness lubricating the movement. “Do something.”

He stops you from moving before peering up at you with dark eyes and a warning expression. You immediately halt, the same fear returning as you whimper in a desperate tone.

“On my face.”

You blink owlishly at him as you attempt to process his demand.

He quirks an eyebrow up at you, impatient when he clicks his tongue.

“Did I stutter?”

“I’m sorry but did you just say—your face?” You ask incredulously.

Jungkook sighs, annoyed.

“Yes, my face. Hurry up before I get mean.” He warns.

You almost tell him that you wouldn’t mind, but the demand finally settles in as you gape at him in horror.

“I-I can’t sit on your face!” You snap, “I’m going to crush you.”

“I’m a big boy,” he rolls his eyes, “I can take it.”

You don’t think you can.

“Jungkook, you’re literally going to suffocate and die.” You deadpan.

“I’m not,” he drawls as he shoots you an unimpressed look before he’s pulling your hips forward. You nearly stumble off if it weren’t for your palms that press against his headboard. You turn absolutely red when you realise that you’ve hovering above him, cunt in his face as your scent essentially surrounds him.

“Fuck. You smell so good.” He groans, sniffing your pussy in an obscene manner that has your cheeks burning.

“J-Jungkook—“ you say nervously, attempting to shuffle back in embarrassment.

“I’ll be fine.” He snaps.

“I really don’t—”

“Why do you have to be so bratty,” he sighs with an irritating tick to his brow when you peer down, “Even if I die—I’d be happy to go by your pussy.”

You flush even harder at his crude words.

“Jeon Jungkook!”

“What?” He says defensively, “Do you need it in black and white in case I do? I’ll write you a contract if you—”

“Oh my God,” you huff in exasperation, “You’re unbelievable!”

“Unbelievably hard and horny so if you mind I’d really like for you to sit that pussy on my face,” he retorts snappishly.

You sigh to yourself, still embarrassed. You’re still confused at how Jungkook’s able to switch from one personality to another, and you suppose it’s just the many faces of Jungkook you’ve yet to learn about.

“Jungkook, I really—Jungkook!”

Your complaints are interrupted when he quite literally rips your panties off of you, the sound of the fabric tearing filling his room as you gasp.

“Jungkook what the hell?!” You shriek.

He doesn’t placate you with a response until he’s tugging your hips down to his face, his mouth immediately latching around your clit as you fall forward at the first lick. You never stood a chance.

“F-Fuck!” You scream, loud and unabashed when your lower half seizes in pleasure.

Jungkook immediately laps you up like he’s parched for water. You don’t even know where to look, especially when your body is inevitably hunched forward due to the onslaught of pressure relieved at your lower region. Your eyes eventually wander downwards and you’re welcomed with an equally as erotic sight with Jungkook’s purple hair between your thighs, his own eyes shut in pleasure as he laps at your pussy like a madman.

You’re undeniably flushing and beyond wet. That enough is clear when the wetness of your cunt is audible enough in between your gasps of pleasure while Jungkook keeps his arms wrapped around your thighs.

“J-Jungkook—oh my G-God—“ you mewl, the heat in the lower half of your body sending you into overdrive, especially when he’s dead-set on making a home between your thighs. “Oh, oh.” You’re moaning lewdly at this point, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he pushes you further onto his face. “I-I can’t—!”

Your hands reach out to grab on his hair, startled when you realise that you’re almost fully sitting on him.

“You can and you will,” he snarls against your pussy, the sound muffled by the wetness and the way he doesn’t bother to even take a breather as he drags his tongue across your folds to gather all your wetness and centre it around your throbbing bud.

“J-Jungkook, I’m g-going to crush you!” You cry in the middle of a moan, “Jungk—fuck.”

On Jungkook’s end, he’s positive he’s already dead and in heaven. All he can smell, taste and see is you. Your face is contorted in pure pleasure when he licks across your slit, tongue fucking into you with a sense of purpose that drives you insane. You taste so heady and sweet. All for him. Especially when he gets to see your tits from below.

“Fuck,” he growls into your pussy, the vibrations making your thighs shake at the side of his face. Your hands were the only things supporting your weight right now, and even then, they were close to giving out with how good Jungkook was making you feel. “Ride my face baby.”

Your eyes widen, immediately darting down to shoot Jungkook a stupefied expression. Too bad he doesn’t catch it because he’s too busy shaking his head, tongue following his motions as he presses it firmly against your clit. You let out an embarrassingly loud cry and a moan, your hand immediately reaching to clamp over your mouth in embarrassment.

“Don’t,” he complains, “Wanna hear you cum, pretty girl.”

You all but melt into him further at his term of endearment. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably at the way he refuses to give you a break. You feel the coil tighten further and further, so close to release especially when your body gives out of you—the weight of your body resting on his face as you unconsciously grind your hips across his tongue.

And fuck. Does it feel good.

“O-Oh, oh—J-Jungkook—fuck, you’re so good to me you make me—feel so—good,” you ramble manically, heading dropping forehead to rest on his headboard as you grind further onto his tongue, uncaring if he’s crushed. Jungkook lays there at your disposal, tongue out for you to use as he continues to hum into your pussy like a personal vibrator.

“Come on baby,” he encourages with a growl, “Cum for me, yeah? Gonna prep you real good for my cock. You want it, don’t you? Deep in your pussy while I make you scream? Cream my face for me, baby.”

His dirty words make you gasp, your hands tightly pulling at his hair as you shamelessly chase your hair. Your face is completely pressed against the headboard, and Jungkook can only admire the way your face is morphed into an expression he never thought he’d be able to get out of a girl—let alone seeing the girl of his dreams all desperate and wet for him like this.

You feel so filthy like this—in more than one sense that wasn’t just your sweaty body and malleable limbs—but the way he digs his nose further, occasionally brushing against your pelvis as you grind against his tongue. Your body is moving on its own, the innate desire to chase your high is the only thing your mind can register. All sense of poise and modesty out of the window when Jungkook lets you use him.

“J-Jungkook—” you sob, “I-I’m c-cumming—!”

“Cum for me baby,” he purrs, “Cum on my tongue.”

Just as you’re about to cum, Jungkook makes a split-second decision to roll you over until your back is pressed to his bed. He loves having you on his face, but he loves this. Seeing you squeak in surprise while you continue to mewl in pleasure, your back arching off the bed as you gasp for air.

He buries his face impossibly deeper, speeding up the way his tongue rolls against your clit. You’re moaning out incoherencies, hazed to absolute pleasure as your thighs quiver by the side of his head.

“Oh—!”

You cum loudly and messily, your pussy clenching and unclenching rhythmically as Jungkook laps up all of your essences, continuously tongue-fucking you through your pleasure. You almost blackout at how intensely your body was shaking from that orgasm, your thighs clamping shut around his head in oversensitivity when he continues to slurp at your pussy in an obscene manner.

“J-Jungkook—” you whine, attempting to push him away as he finally relents, parting from your cunt with a soft kiss to your clit that has your legs jumping.

Your back is absolutely damp with sweat, and sore the sheets beneath you as you attempt to catch your breath. Your chest is tight with the lack of oxygen while the room spins. You feel more than see the sheets ruffling by your sides, and Jungkook slowly inches up your body with wet kisses against your skin.

You all but let out helpless whimpers, absolutely spent—yet frantic for more.

“You did so well,” he coos, gently kissing up to your stomach, your ribs before his hands are capturing your breasts in his large hands. He squeezes them, evoking a gasp from you, body still tingling from your orgasm. “So good for me. Don’t deserve you.”

You can barely register his words, especially when his mouth attaches itself to your right breast, immediately delivering kitten licks to your nipples that causes your back to arch into his hot mouth. You mewl in pleasure when he doesn’t keep himself soft, instead, it’s wet and loud and desperate when he looks up—eyes dark as you whimper.

“Oh,” you exhale when he plops off with a pop, sending you a smile that’s far more gentle than how you feel. For that split second, you feel your heart melt, shooting him a weak smile in return.

“Can’t believe you’re here,” he sighs dreamily into your left breast, peppering kisses around your peaked buds before squeezing it between his fingers. His eyes are honest when they maintain eye contact, the gesture too intimate for you to handle as you bashfully look away. “Can’t believe this is happening.”

“It is,” you say softly, “I’m here, Kook.”

The nickname causes him to groan, his head resting on your breast as your hand finally finds the strength to instinctively wrap your fingers between his locks, delicately scraping through his hair as he sighs.

“You know I never thought I was good enough for you,” he abruptly confesses.

Your eyes widen.

“What? Why—?”

He doesn’t respond, instead; he kisses up your chest until he’s inches away from your lips, his face carrying the weight of your words as you search for an answer.

And it’s scary that he looks so much like himself. The Jungkook you’ve known for long loved for just as much—but were only brave enough to accept recently. He’s always looked youthful, though he definitely grew out of his round edges. He’s more defined, carved by years of experiences and mistakes that made him the person he was today.

He looks hesitant for the first time this night. As if he’s mulling over the next things he’ll say.

Jungkook looks at you, eyes holding more than just your gaze but the magnitude of his heart. You wonder how long he’s looked at you like that for.

“You’re amazing,” he finally says, and it’s against your lips.

“You are too,” you say with a soft gaze.

He shakes his head, and it’s probably an odd conversation to have while you’re fully naked and Jungkook’s yet to shed off a single piece of his clothing.

“I’m good at things, there’s a difference,” he sighs, “You’re … you’re it, you know? I don’t think you know how great you really are.”

“Jungkook …”

“No, really.” His eyes are suddenly wide as if he was afraid you wouldn’t believe him. Yet, you found it hard to truly trust his words, the part of you that feels lacking refuses to. “You’re driven and you’re passionate. You care so deeply and profoundly that it’s impossible not to love you. You just—how could I ever deserve someone like you?”

Your eyes soften as his eyes dart away from yours, his eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. You know he’s caught up in his own thoughts. The expression is too familiar to you because you’ve been there. You were just there, and it took a long time for you to recognise that sometimes—we won’t ever know what we deserve or do.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, hands reaching out to hold his cheeks and guide his gaze back to you. His eyes are unsure, and all you want to do is reassure him. So, you do. “Look at me. Please?”

He does, albeit hesitantly as you offer him the gentlest of smiles.

“It’s insane that you think that because I wonder how I could ever deserve you,” you throw his words back to him with a small smile.

His jaw drops, “No way—!”

You giggle, shushing him with a gentle peck to his lips that has him melting into your touch.

“My point is,” you continue, never breaking eye contact with him. “We’ll always feel lacking in some way because we always will be. We’re human. We’re bound to make mistakes and we’ll never be perfect. But I wouldn’t have you any other way. I fell in love with this version of you, and I’ll love every version of you that I’ll be blessed to learn about.”

Jungkook stares at you, awestruck as you continue smiling lovingly at him. Whatever you had just said was the truth and you’d tell him that over and over again if it meant he’d trust your words just a little more.

“Do you understand?” You ask softly, “I love—”

He shuts you up by smashing his lips to yours, causing you to gasp in surprise at the ferocity of the force. He’s pushing you into the sheets, not enough for it to hurt but enough to show you his intuitive want for you at that very moment.

His hand reach up to cup your cheeks, the other one already making its way down your body until it's cupping your mound.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, eyes dazed as you tilt your head to the side, “Take off your clothes.”

You emphasise your point with a tug to the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans.

He doesn’t argue with you, quickly pulling his shirt over his head from the back, exposing the firm expanse of his chest. The intricate design of tattoos trail up his arm and onto his shoulder, emphasising each slope of his muscles.

You really can’t close your mouth as you’re blatantly ogling him. You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless many times, it’s a given since he basically lived at the gym and was comfortable enough around you and in his own body when he lazily throws off his shirt when it got too hot. But you’ve never seen him like this. So close to you, panting in desire while his carnal eyes rake over your completely bare body while he’s in the midst of undressing.

“You’re staring,” he smirks.

You scoff, cheeks flushing even if you know it’s nothing but the truth.

“Pants. Off.” You demand, lips in a pout as he laughs, bending down to give you a quick smack before he shoots you that charming grin of him.

“Want to help?” He cocks an eyebrow up, licking his lips as you feel your pussy flutter at his tone.

Really, Jeon Jungkook was too hot for his own good.

You roll your eyes, yet you find yourself already shifting forward, despite the shake in your legs from your previous orgasm as you make your way towards the button of his jeans, fingers already working their way to undo it.

Jungkook observes your eagerness, especially when your eyes occasionally drift upwards as you search for his approval. All Jungkook does is rub a soothing hand over your head as you continue your ministrations. You help him tug his pants down, his briefs not doing much in covering his bulge that practically stares you straight in the eye as you swallow.

You’ve seen it once, had it in your mouth—yet, the thought becomes more appealing the longer you ogle.

Your hands are already reaching out to cup him through his briefs, your state of horniness throwing all hesitancy out of the window as you hear Jungkook suck in a deep breath before his large hand closes on top of your own.

“Next time, baby,” he murmurs, “This is about you.”

You roll your eyes at the cliche phrase, and you can’t help the indignant tone that travels through your chest and out of your mouth.

“And what if I want to suck your dick?”

Jungkook shoots you a pointed stare before pushing you down back onto your back as you squeak in surprise.

“Don’t be a smartass,” he sighs, “Besides, I’m the hardest I’ve ever been in my entire life and there’s no way I’m going to last if I have your mouth on me. The only place I wanna feel is your pussy, got it?”

Your eyes widen at his blatant words, and your gaping face may have thrown Jungkook off as his expression suddenly mimics yours.

“I-I mean—that’s if you’re still—we don’t have to have sex—”

You interrupt him by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

“Jungkook,” you mumble against his lips, pulling ever so slightly to shoot him a serious look, “If you’re not going to fuck me then I’m going to be really disappointed. Or—maybe I’ll just go find someone who is going to fuck me—”

Jungkook growls, hands delivering a pert smack to your right asscheek as you gasp at his actions, his gaze dropping to yours in a hooded gaze.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he snarls threateningly as your face drops, “I’m going to love you so good—you got that?”

Somehow, his rough tone is contrasted against his gentle words, especially when his eyes soften on your face.

“I’d really like that,” you smile.

Before you can say anything else, Jungkook already has his hands trailing down your abdomen once again to cup your mound. You gasp, squirming under his touch as you whine.

“Jungkook,” you whine, “Just—please just stick it in already.”

You realise how whiney you sound, but you were still really worked up and your previous orgasm along with Jungkook’s spit has provided enough lubricant for you to take him. At least that’s what you think.

“There’s no way my cock’s going to fit if I don’t stretch you out,” he says pointedly, “Even if your pussy’s all sloppy.”

His words make you whimper, thighs clenching in reprieve to relieve the pulsations in your lower abdomen. You can’t even imagine how it’s going to feel like—and you know that Jungkook isn’t average-sized by any means. It was already a struggle to have him in your mouth and you could somewhat contract and relax it voluntarily. Your pussy on the other hand? Not quite.

“P-Please hurry,” you beg, eyes peering up desperately.

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something but decides against it at the last minute, likely too worked up to do so. Rather, his fingers immediately gather the wetness from your pussy to your whole, causing you to mewl in expectation.

His index finger prods your hole before it slips in, as he peers up to gauge your expression. At this point, anything that Jungkook did would evoke a whine from you because you’ve already been riled up enough. He curls his digit, the pad of his finger immediately reaching deep in your wet cunt.

You gasp, head falling back onto the pillow as Jungkook smirks at you.

“Already?” He teases, “How are you going to take my cock if one finger gets you like this?”

You glare at him through lidded eyes.

“Would you prefer me to shut up and take it like a starfish?” You can’t help the spite that escapes your mouth, throwing back the familiar yet painful words back to him.

Jungkook’s eyes widen, mouth falling agape. You weren’t trying to be mean, in fact, it was more so that you were frustrated than anything else. Your heart has healed, but there was no harm in teasing—right?

“I—well”—he gulps, eyes comically apologetic as his face crumbles while his finger twitches in your cunt—“Baby you can’t do this to me.” He whines.

You roll your eyes.

“Then how about you get to it,” you smile sweetly at him, patting his cheek as he pouts, “Stretch me out so I can take you good.” You purr.

Jungkook nods his head obediently as if caught in a trance and you almost want to laugh. You quite liked the hold you had over him, even if it was just momentarily. You don’t dwell on your thoughts for too long because Jungkook’s slipping another digit in, your pussy acclimating to the stretch.

He thrusts his fingers into your pussy, digging deeper each time as you feel the tell-tale signs of your stomach clenching in desire as you moan softly.

“Does it feel good?” He asks.

You nod your head, eyes fluttering shut as he speeds up his fingers, your pussy throbbing around the digits. You were still wet from your previous orgasm, and still as sensitive—so you felt every inch of his fingers reach your walls and it felt heavenly, especially when Jungkook was pressed so close to you that his body warmed you up.

“So good,” you whimper.

“Can you take another?” He murmurs, the third digit already testing the waters.

You nod your head.

Once he gets your consent, he inserts his last finger as you wince at the burn. His fingers were long and girth enough to make you feel the stretch. He stills ever so slightly to catch your expression as he shoots you a concerned gaze.

“You okay?”

You nod your head, whimpering ever so slightly when he shallowly thrusts his fingers. Your pussy stretches to accommodate the new girth, and it’s both pleasurable and uncomfortable—but the way that Jungkook begins to press his lips to yours distracts you from the burn.

You feel his palm bump into your clit every time he thrusts harder, fingers curling expertly into the spot that has you moaning into his mouth, fingers clutching his hair in desperation to ground yourself. You think he’s just here to stretch you out, so you don’t expect much—but suddenly, he’s snapping his fingers into your pussy so rapidly that you catch yourself in a cry of pleasure.

“J-Jungkook—I—w-what—?” You ask manically, your voice high pitched as you clutch his arms while you feel your pussy clench uncontrollably around his digits.

“Cum for me again,” he grits, eyes narrowed in focus while he watches the way your wetness coats his fingers.

He scissors your pussy and you barely feel it, purely because your wetness makes it so much easier for him to thrust his fingers in and out without any barrier. It’s loud and wet, the way that your pussy squelches each time the heel of his palm purposefully drags itself across your clit.

“I-I’m going—ohohoh—please don’t stop please don’t stop,” you sob, head thrown back.

“So wet,” he growls, “Wanna see you cum again. Will you do that for me?” He whispers into your cheek, your whines caught against his mouth as you feel yourself reach the very edge. “Come on, you’re doing so good for me. Aren’t you? The prettiest and best girl.”

His praise makes you clutch onto him harder while he doesn’t stop the brutal thrusts into your cunt. And with one particularly good drag of his fingers on your g-spot, you cum—and it’s a silent cry that you let out while your lower half shakes.

Jungkook continues finger-fucking you through your orgasm, even when it begins to burn in oversensitivity as you whimper, body spent for the second time that night.

“That’s right,” he coos, “Always so beautiful for me.”

When you come down from your high, you slowly blink at him while you catch your breath. Jungkook’s already staring at you, and even if he’s yet to receive any direct stimulation, he looks equally as fucked out as he breathes, chest rising up and down while his eyes remain trained on your body.

“Jungkook,” you croak, throat raw from your moans. Your hands trail to his briefs as you tug on them, still desperate for more if it was from him. “Please fuck me.”

You don’t recognise your voice or your tone. You don’t think you’ve sounded this desperate in your life, but yet—you don’t feel ashamed. You don’t feel as embarrassed as you thought you would be. Instead, you feel even more desirable because of the man in front of you that gave you two mind-blowing orgasms while his cock strains against his briefs.

“You sure—?” He raises a brow at you as you whine.

“Jungkook please,” you plead, “I want you. All of you. In every way possible.”

The words are so similar, and Jungkook can’t stop the smile that threatens to appear on his face when he recognises it immediately. It’s the same words he’s reassured you with, and here you are throwing it back at him. You don’t realise the honest intention, but Jungkook does.

And he has to press another soft kiss to your lips before he’s quickly shrugging his briefs off, his cock springing free. It stands long and hard against his abdomen, the pre-cum undoubtedly leaking from his tip as you feel your mouth turn dry at the sight.

Jungkook was an attractive person but he was absolutely ethereal bare. His natural state, sweaty and flushed—only makes your pussy clench in expectation as you let out a tight groan of your own.

“You’re so hot,” you complain, “How are you so hot?”

Jungkook snickers leaning across your body as he reaches towards his bedside table. You briefly snap out of your horny daze as you furrow your brows at his gesture.

“What are you doing?”

Jungkook hums noncommittally before expertly dragging his drawer open to draw out a—

“Condom.”

You blink at him.

“You don’t need it.”

Jungkook freezes, hand still gripping the foil as he peers down at you with wide eyes.

“I don’t—?”

“You know I’ve been on birth control since high school. Acne and stuff.” you say pointedly, “Unless you’re not clean?”

Jungkook tosses the packet aside immediately before he’s hovering above you like a sweaty God.

“No,” he blurts, “I mean yes. I mean no, I’m not—I don’t have anything. Yes. I’m clean.”

You giggle, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close, just enough so that his lips are fanning across your own.

“Then,” you lower your voice seductively, “Make love to me, Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks at you before he’s letting out a groan of himself, looking to the ceiling for one second before his gaze returns to your own.

And the events of the entire night have been leading up to this moment, the way even Jungkook trembles when he lines up the tip of his cockhead to your hole as your heart beats vigorously against your rib cage.

It’s this. The way that Jungkook looks at you so softly while you bite your lip in anticipation. It’s this. When he finally breaks through the first barrier of your pussy as you feel the tip enter. You gasp, and he grunts, your fingers tighten against the sheets as you shut your eyes.

The burn is unpleasant. It’s expected. But Jungkook’s keeping a thumb on your clit the entire time to soothe any displeasure.

“Are you okay?” He whispers.

You nod, afraid if your voice would fail you.

Jungkook searches for any hesitancy before he continues slipping each inch in. It’s intimate this way when you see him clearly and he sees you. He watches your expression closely, even kisses away the frown lines on your forehead when you’re grimacing at the way your walls attempt to take him.

It’s when he licks his tongue into your mouth that he bottoms out completely. You gasp, feeling so wholly full and filled, even if the burn becomes more intense. It’s not painful, just … uncomfortable. But it’s almost mixed with the fact that he presses against your walls so well that there’s a fuzzy sense of pleasure that erupts in your lower abdomen.

“F-Fuck,” Jungkook chokes, his head dropping to the crook of your neck, “You feel so good.”

It strokes your ego that Jungkook looks absolutely destroyed right now. His face tight and eyes shut while he breathes heavily into your neck. You can tell he’s holding himself back because he’s scrunching the fabric of his sheets so tightly next to your hips, cock throbbing between your hot walls.

You can feel every inch of him like this, and you’re sure he does too. It’s because you get wetter just thinking about him fucking you, finally making you his while he becomes yours. The intimacy, the love, the years of pining finally bottoming out.

“You can move,” you whisper, running your hand through his hair.

“Are you sure?” He asks sceptically.

“Please, Jungkook,” you reply softly, “I’m okay.”

Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief before he tests the waters, pulling out completely before he thrusts back into you. At the impact, your body hikes up as you gasp, the pleasure tripling due to your sensitivity and the preciseness of his cockhead brushing against your sensitive spot.

“O-Oh,” you gasp.

“Baby, I need to warn you,” he says through a hitched breath, “I don’t think I’ll last long.”

You shake your head with a small laugh, your voice interrupted by your mewls when he starts to build up a rhythm of his own, thrusting into your pussy. You don’t care about anything else, except for the fact that you feel all of Jungkook. The heat and the desperation, all while he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.

Jungkook grunts and groans above you, hips slapping against your own when he grinds his cock deeper into your cunt. He’s not rushing, and you suppose that the pace doesn’t need to be hard or at super-speed when you know what you’re doing. And in this case, Jungkook’s managed to master the art of your body and what you liked by just gauging your expressions.

His hand reaches out to intertwine his fingers with your own before bringing them to the side of your head. The gesture is so intuitively intimate and romantic that you unconsciously clench your walls around his cock, causing Jungkook’s hips to falter ever so slightly before he shoots you a playful glare.

“Don’t try and kill me now,” he warns teasingly, face leaning closer to yours as you smile brightly at him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply.

He catches himself and begins snapping his hips harder against your own, his cock brushing against your g-spot with every thrust as you moan in pleasure. The sounds of skin slapping on skin reverberate against the walls of his room and you feel yourself burn from the lewdness of it all.

But it’s worth it when Jungkook groans against your lips while you feel his sticky chest pressed against yours when he hikes up your legs with his free hand, the other still dead-set on holding your hand.

“I’m going to cum,” he warns in a breathless tone, “I’ll get you off later—”

You don’t allow him to continue until your hips are moving at their own accord, chasing his thrusts as he chokes at your sudden proactiveness.

You don’t care if he gets you off later or not, not when he looks like this above you, feral and desperate as he chases his high. His thrusts get more intense and desperate, and especially deeper when you feel his cock throb inside of you.

“Cum in me,” you murmur against his lips.

You hear Jungkook mutter a string of curses under his breath before he shoves his cock impossibly deeper into you and stays in place, all while you feel his hot seed pour into your cunt as you gasp.

Jungkook cums like he’s on a mission to milk himself dry. He doesn’t leave your lips either, mouth continuing to receive open-mouthed kisses from you while you hold him close. He shallowly thrusts into your pussy, his cum pooling at the entrance of your cunt as you whimper at how erotic it feels.

When Jungkook finally comes down from his high, chest heaving, he does so by pressing a kiss so passionate that it makes your head spin and your heart grow ten times larger. He keeps himself in you, despite the way he’s softening.

“Fuck,” he laughs, eyes crinkling, “You’re really going to be the death of me.”

You smile cheekily at him, even though you feel the exhaustion suddenly hitting you like a wave.

“Nice doing business with you, Jeon,” you giggle.

He rolls his eyes and finally slips out of you with a wince, while you immediately snap your legs shut—not wanting to stain his sheets.

He raises an eyebrow at your gesture before you’re blushing.

“So this is what this was?” He pouts, “A business transaction?”

Now, it was your turn before you’re rolling your eyes.

“Don’t be dumb,” you scold, but it’s light.

He sighs contentedly and brings you close by wrapping his arms around your sweaty body. He rests your head against his chest while you listen to your heartbeat.

You’ve always imagined having sex for the first time to feel a lot more … desolating than this. Perhaps it was the unhealthy mindset that you associated having sex for the first time with losing a part of you. A part of you that somehow was someone else’s to claim. But with Jungkook’s breathing and your own intermingled together, it doesn’t feel like you’ve lost.

“Hey,” he whispers, catching your attention as you look up at him.

“Yeah?”

“You know I love you, right?” He asks.

You grin from ear to ear before leaning up to kiss him.

“Yeah,” you nod, “And you know that I love you too, right?”

Jungkook laughs, tired as his eyes threaten to shut.

“Yeah. I do.”

When the both of you fall asleep, sticky and honestly, gross. You feel anything but discomfort. You feel content. You feel happy. And most importantly, you feel at home.

746 notes · View notes

fade-and-loathing-in-thedas · 3 years

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I'm still stuck in my house and going stir crazy. So, I've decided to put together a list of Dragon Age OC asks. Anyone who reblogs from me will get an ask about their OC (it will be from @strixgirl since this is a side blog). Feel free to send me one if you want, but not required. So if anyone is looking for an opportunity to rant about their OC, this is it. Also feel free to use this as an open oc ask list for your followers.

Relationships

Does your OC have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with

What is/was your OCs relationship with their mother like?

What is/was your OCs relationship with their father like?

How does your OC behave around people they like?

How does your OC behave around people they dislike?

Has your OC ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

What does your character like in other people?

What does your character dislike in other people?

What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

How quick is your OC to trust someone else?

What relationship/s have had the most influence on them?

Companion they are closest to, and why?

Childhood

What kind of childhood did your OC have?

Did they feel a sense of rejection or affection as a child?

What was your OC's favorite toy/item as a child?

What was your OC's favourite memory from their childhood?

What is their least favourite or most embarrassing moment from their childhood?

Personal Beliefs and Morality

How does your OC feel about religion?

Thoughts on the mage/Templar conflict?

Thoughts on the Dwarven caste system?

Thoughts on mage rights?

Thoughts on Elven oppression?

Thoughts on the Dalish?

Opinion on the Chantry?

Opinion on Tevinter?

What biases does your character have? (This can be in favor of or against)

Under what circumstances do they find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?

What character alignment would you consider your OC?

Personality and Quirks

What are your OC’s weaknesses?

What are your OC's strengths?

How does your OC react in stressful situations?

Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

How do they respond to new or unfamiliar situations?

What do they like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?

Is your OC self-aware? Do they know their strengths, weaknesses, idiosyncrasies, are they capable of self-irony?

What are your OC’s gestures like? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish?

What about their voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

What is their prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

Is your OC street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted or a combination?

How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations?

How does your OC normally deal with confrontation?

How quick or slow is your OC to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

Is your OC more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

Miscellaneous

Does your OC have recurring themes in their dreams?

Does your OC have recurring themes in their nightmares?

In what situation was your OC the most afraid they’ve ever been?

In what situation was your OC the most calm they’ve ever been?

What demon would your OC be most susceptible to and how would the demon best tempt/manipulate them?

What is your OC's biggest regret?

What is your OC's proudest moment?

For You, the Creator

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

What is your least favorite thing about your OC?

Would you hang out with your OC if you met them in real life?

How have your OC changed since you created them?

What do you consider the biggest themes in your OCs, if any?

Did you create the OC's to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

How did you come up with your OC?

Three songs that make you think of your OC and why?

A gif that reminds you of your OC?

#oc ask meme #oc asks #dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age: origins #dragon age inquisition #others lovely ocs #i'm bored send help

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pengychan · 3 years

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 24

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: the problem with Ernesto’s murderous plans is that they tend to only have a 50% success rate. Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit

***

“... And you killed how many Villistas?”

“Ah, I lost count. At least thirty.”

“Five, more like!”

“Shut up! Maybe some were just wounded, but I killed no less than twenty of Villa’s bastards, at any rate.”

“Sí, sí, and then you wounded Pancho Villa himself. One would think that with such a warrior among us, getting through the Zapatistas on our way here would have been a child’s play. I didn’t see you hit a single one. Did you forget how to shoot in the meantime?”

“Ah, shut up. They fought better, is all. Everyone knows Zapata and his followers are twice the mad dogs as everybody else, and I did hit one!”

“Your own shoe doesn’t count, pendejo.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“You’re so full of--”

As an argument broke out, Héctor watched Gustavo sigh and fall back a few paces with his horse. His attempts at buttering up the soldiers to get any sort of useful information had amounted to nothing, when they hadn’t straight-up started an argument like that one. The only question he was able to get a real answer to was why Commander Hernández hadn't allowed them to spend the evening and night in Santa Cecilia before setting off.

“Ay, he won’t hear of it,” a soldier had replied. “He heard of a battalion that was decimated like that - they stayed in a village overnight, but turns out it was chock-full of traitors and they called their friends in during the night, and the men were slaughtered before they could grab a gun. So he’s paranoid about that.”

The expression that crossed Gustavo’s face for a moment, that of a man who just sucked on a lemon, had been enough to tell Héctor that was very much something he had hoped to pull off in Santa Cecilia. Unaware of that, the man - “call me Chucho”, he had said - had added: “It’s a myth if you ask me, more likely all of them just got sick of this shit and deserted.”

“Can’t blame them,” someone had muttered only a couple of paces behind Héctor, only to be immediately shushed by no less than ten of his comrades.

“Shut up, idiota!”

“You want the commander to nail you to a telegraph pole or what!”

“He’s off ahead scouting anyway,” the man had muttered, and promptly fallen in a sullen silence. Morale was low, Héctor had quickly realized; he had been aware of the fact the war was not going all that well for the Federal Army, but this was the first time he saw its effects on the troops. All things considered, he got the distinct feeling most of those men didn’t want to be there a hell of a lot more than Ernesto had.

Only that Ernesto had seized his moment to escape, and they were still stuck.

“-- shoot that cigarette off your mouth from a hundred paces, and if you don't believe--”

“Amazing, think you can hit the men attached to the cigarettes every once in a while, too?”

“If what you're asking is a bullet through your brain--!”

“Brain might be a big word there…”

“Shut your mouth, Nachito!”

As the argument continued, Héctor did his best to tune it out and reached into his saddle bag for the water. They had been warned the water rations were scarce and he had been trying not to drink too much, but they had been riding under the sun for hours, he’d been sweating half his body weight, and there seemed to be no moisture left in his mouth. At least the sun was starting to get lower at the horizon, evening not too far away.

Héctor wondered how they’d spend the night. Would they make camp? Just sit around fires, rifle in hand, and try to shut their eyes for a few hours before they kept marching on? Surely someone would stand guard, were the revolutionaries really going to catch up as Gustavo seemed to think they would? Would there be a battle? How many would come? Or would they decided a few men off Santa Cecilia was not a big enough loss to bother--

“Water?”

“Huh?”

Héctor looked up to see a man riding next to him, holding out a flask of water. He seemed about his age, maybe a little younger, an attempt at a mustache on his upper lip and an uniform almost as ill-fitting as his own. He tried to smile, grimaced at the heat, and awkwardly avoided his gaze at the same time.

“You, uh. If you want water.”

“Ah. I’m getting mine, don’t worry. I don’t want to take your ration.”

“... Right,” the young man muttered, and kept riding by his side. Héctor took a couple of sips from his flask, just enough to make his mouth feel a little less like an entire desert had moved in, and glanced back towards the man. He seemed to hesitate, but as Héctor rather expected he finally spoke again. “So you are, uh, a novice?”

“I… I was, I suppose. I suspect leaving the parish to join the Federal Army means that’s going to lapse,” he said, trying to smile like the idea was funny. The man didn’t seem amused, and Héctor cleared his throat. “... My name’s Héctor, by the way.”

A nod. “Alejandro,” the man replied. “Look, me and the others - several of the others, we… I mean, back there, when the commander shot the gringo-- I mean, the priest, I would have never,” he finally blurted out, holding onto the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Ah.

Héctor had barely looked at Father John’s body on the cobblestones, focused as he was on the fact that man had Miguel, but the mental image had still been lingering in the back of his mind ever since they left. The pool of blood, the way it got into every crack, the sticky warmth of it through his robes when his knees hit the ground.

Some men had taken him away to get him help, he knew, and the Federales had allowed it, but Héctor had no idea if any help would even be possible. He was probably dead, for trying to reason with someone utterly unreasonable, for trying to save Miguel.

He found his martyrdom, at last.

Something in Héctor’s chest ached; the gringo was not a simple man to get along with, easy to despise and quick to judge, but he had tried to do the right thing and he did not deserve a bullet for it. Perhaps taking note of his pained expression, the young man fidgeted.

“Maybe God will save him,” he murmured, and swallowed. “I… we wanted to ask… do you think God will curse us for this? For shooting down one of His servants?”

Why ask me, Héctor almost replied, but then again it was the sort of question one would ask to a priest and he was the closest thing to one those men had at hand. Part of him wanted to believe God would indeed curse them, all of them, Huerta’s damn Federales - but as he looked around himself now, those men who’d seemed to terrifying looked so tired, dirty from days of travel, many of them young and probably wearing their uniforms no more willingly than he did.

How many had been taken the way they were in the first place?

“There is no mercy in war,” he remembered Ernesto saying when he was found out and they confronted him. “They die or you do. On and on, day after day, until you forget you’re looking at humans because it gets easier if you get that detail out of your mind.”

“... The Church says that as long as there is regret, all can be forgiven,” he found himself saying instead. Alejandro nodded, but he looked far from reassured and just fell silent as they rode on towards the top of a hill they were never going to get past.

***

“Those bastards were supposed to come through San Luz!”

Arms still aching and palms burning from the friction with the rope, Sofía made it down the belltower and to the churchyard just on time to hear the frustrated shout. Right before the church were maybe twenty men and women on horses, all of them armed, being filled in on what had happened by a few very confused bystanders who likely had no idea what was going on but were relieved that these new visitors were not Federales at least.

As Sofía approached with quick steps, the man turned his horse to face her. “Gustavo--” he began, and trailed off. He blinked. “... You’re not Gustavo.”

Sharp as a knife, this one. Nice to see we’re in good hands.

“Gustavo went with them. He told me to call for you,” she added, pointing up to the belltower, where the bell still swung slowly. “He said I should tell you to follow the trail.”

The man seemed taken aback, then he nodded. “Very well. What direction did they--”

“They took the road west, through the hills.”

Imelda’s voice rang out suddenly, causing several heads to turn. She was riding an aging horse that had belonged to her family for years, but that was not what made Sofía raise an eyebrow.

The robes were gone, replaced by a gown and a blouse, a belt at her waist with ammunition and the pistol they had taken from Ernesto’s room. Her head was uncovered, her jaw set; the man stared at her a few moments before he tilted his head in recognition.

“... Sister. I was hoping to meet you again in better circumstances than this.”

“José. You probably already gathered as much, but the Federales that took our men outnumber you, at least three to one. I assume you could use an extra pair of hands.”

“We could,” one of the women spoke up. She spurred her own horse closer to Imelda, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her hair was braided back, showing a still healing cut on the side of her head. “How much practice did you get with that pistol?”

Imelda met her gaze. “Not much. I’ll have to hope what practice I could get will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I die. Not the first or last.”

The woman smiled. “Very well. We’ll need someone to tell us what men not to shoot, after all, in case Gustavo can’t,” she added, and turned to look back at the man she’d called José. At this point, Sofía suspected she may have been mistaken in her assumption he was the leader there. “They can’t have gone very far, with the supplies and carts they took. We can catch up with them. Gabriel, you and I go ahead to dispatch anyone guarding the back of the column. If we don’t take them by surprise we’re fucked.”

“Well, you heard her, everyone. Let’s get going!”

As they kicked the flanks of their horses to get moving, Imelda looked back, and her gaze met Sofía’s. “... Sister,” she said, “I should mention this marks the end of my novitiate.”

Something gripping her throat - don’t die out there, she wanted to say - Sofía managed a smile. Trying to talk Imelda out of her plan, she knew, would be absolutely fruitless. “About time,” she said instead. “Go take back your stupid fiancé.”

The smile Imelda gave was sharp, telling her clearly that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not that Sofía had doubted that even for a moment.

“You can be certain I will,” she said, and kicked the flanks of her horse, riding off.

“Ay, a novio,” one of the men muttered as he rode past. “And my heart breaks already.”

We had enough heartbreak as is for the day, Sofía thought, but said nothing. Instead she turned away from the galloping horses and let her gaze wander across the parish grounds. A few men were running off to grab what horses and hunting rifles they had and join the rescue party, but no trace of Ernesto. He’d returned, she knew, but no one had seen him since.

Where in the world is that idiota hiding now?

***

Following the trail left behind by the column of Federales - the imprint of hooves, the wheels of carts, the cigarette butts they left in their wake - was easier than finding gonorrhea in a brothel.

Well, at least Ernesto supposed it was; he wouldn’t really know, as he had never in his life had gonorrhea or needed to resort to a brothel for pleasurable company in the first place. His good looks and charm had served him well enough with men and women alike, as Juan could testify.

Except that Juan was dead, shot like a dog in the middle of the plaza, what little color he had on his face draining away along with the blood; Ernesto had not seen it happen, but he could imagine it all too well each time he closed his eyes against the merciless July sun.

Juan could never testify anything anymore, nor roll his eyes or start a lecture whenever Ernesto said something outrageous. He was far enough from Santa Cecilia that he could barely hear the bell anymore, but its toll was still ringing in his head, in every thudding beat of his heart.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

I want them dead.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks, or so he told himself. Ernesto kicked the donkey’s flanks to make the stupid animal go faster, the reins of the other clutched tight in his hand, and wiped his forehead, teeth clenched hard. He clung to his fury, allowed himself to bare his teeth in something resembling a smile as his gaze fell on the caskets of wine. Holy wine, plus a special ingredient courtesy of the parish’s old rat problem.

He would see them dead. He would see them writhe and suffer, and he’d let them know it was by his hand; Juan would probably disapprove, that stupid stuck-up gringo, but he was no longer there to talk him out of it. He was no longer there to disapprove of him, and someone had to pay for it. How gracious of God’s church to provide the means to make it happen. Perhaps it was his will, after all, and who was he not to help along divine will?

Todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina, Juan had said.

Todo modo. Todo modo. Todo modo.

Ernesto let the words echo in his head until they drowned out all noise from the bell, or perhaps it had stopped ringing, or he simply got too far for its sound to reach him anymore. He pressed on through the dusty path and up yet another hill until finally, finally, he saw it just below: a long column of men who were not long for that world. A few men at the back were looking up towards him, surely there to guard against rear attacks. But they saw no rebels there: only a priest, far more charming than the one they’d shot dead in Santa Cecilia.

Ernesto stared for a few moments, and finally let out a long breath, relaxing his frame. He wiped sweat off his face, opened his eyes, and smiled. A real smile, not a grimace; the easy, charming expression that got him in the good graces of men and women alike oh so quickly.

Who would refuse a blessing in those difficult times? Who’d turn away a friendly face? Who wouldn’t accept some holy wine to wash down the dust and dirt? With some luck, it would be the last thing they’d do before they got to confess their sins to San Pedro himself.

Good luck explaining away the murder of a man of the Church, Ernesto thought, and got the donkeys moving down the hill as quickly as he could. No turning back now, not anymore.

The thought did cross his mind for the briefest moment - what if they see through me, what if they recognize me - but it hardly even registered. At that point he was one deserter among thousands and he’d left his battalion as it headed north, with no plans to go back down towards Oaxaca. Chances any of those men came from his battalion were vanishingly thin, he thought, and to be fair he was almost entirely correct in that assumption. Just almost.

Ernesto de la Cruz kept clambering down the hill on top of his donkey, with the smile of a friendly priest eager to deliver a very special blessing to the heroes of Mexico.

***

He wasn’t there, either. The slippery bastard wasn’t anywhere.

Santiago kicked his horse’s sides again, hands clenching on the reins. He had gone off ahead, ostensibly to scout for any sort of possible ambush, but truth be told it was only an excuse to be alone with his storming thoughts for a time.

He already knew there would be no ambush: the idiots were still waiting for them in San Luz, or had given up waiting and were drinking themselves into a stupor, which was just as likely. A few more miles, and then they could circle back to take them by surprise in the middle of the night.He’d toyed with the idea before, but it was not the current plan: he and his men were expected in Yucatan within days, which left them short on time.

But it was… tempting, nonetheless.

We could get some scum out of the way. And maybe de la Cruz is hiding there, or passed by. Someone might know something. Someone might talk.

Santiago closed his eyes and lifted his head, letting the sun beat down on his face. It had been a scorching hot day when he had found Alberto’s body, too, shot in the back of the head and left to feed carrion birds by the monster who’d greeted them that morning with a smile before they went off on patrol together.

It should have been Santiago out on patrol with Ernesto de la Cruz that day. It was his turn; it should have been him to fall face down in the sand with his brains blown out. But he’d pulled a muscle in his back the previous evening, riding felt like having hot rods pushed into his spine, and Beto had offered to take my place.

Said I owed him a drink. What wouldn’t I give to pay back that debt.

Monster, the gringo had called him. What sort of beast, he had said, but the idiota knew nothing of monsters and beasts that must be put down for everybody’s safety. He, at least, didn’t feign friendliness. He didn’t hide behind a smile. He warned before he shot, stated his terms and delivered on his promises.

If it made him a beast himself, very well; perhaps he was. Perhaps trying to take the child had been a step too far - but he’d sooner be a lion than a snake hiding in the sand.

I cannot turn back anymore. No way to go but forward.

But first, San Luz. If he’s there, I’ll smoke him out.

Santiago Hernández stopped his horse on a rocky outcrop and reached into the saddle bag to pull out his map, so he could work out the best route back for a quick attack. He opened it and studied it under the merciless sun, waiting for his men to catch up

It took him a while to realize it was taking them much too long.

***

“Oye! Come here!”

“There’s a priest!”

“We’re getting blessed, muchachos!”

��And we’re getting wine!”

“... Huh?”

As word travelled fast up the column, causing men to halt their horses and turn, Héctor glanced around in confusion. He looked over at Gustavo, but he seemed about as lost as he was at the notion of a random priest walking into marching Federales to offer blessings and wine. Where did he even--

“He says he’s the parish priest of the hole we just left,” someone added, and Héctor’s blood ran cold, something clenching in his stomach.

No, no, no, no. What is he doing here? They were looking for him. They’ll kill him.

“Padre Ernesto?” Francisco, a young cobbler who’d been taken with him that day, blurted out. Sidling up to Héctor, Gustavo elbowed him in the ribs.

“What’s going on?” he growled under his breath. “Why is he here, and why did you get almost as pale as the gringo just now?”

“I…” Héctor swallowed, unable to force words out. Gustavo didn’t know, and this really was not the time to explain him everything. He needed to get to Ernesto immediately, warn him to get away while he still could, so he ignored Gustavo’s questions and spurred his horse to go back, towards the end of the column. The men there were already starting to gather, dismounting their horses… and passing around caskets of wine.

Héctor braced himself for the moment someone would cry out in recognition and every man present would turn against Ernesto, but there was no such cry; the men were none the wiser as they talked and laughed, took the wine and kept gathering, all semblance of order gone.

Above all, Héctor heard a familiar voice.

“... And once I realized I had entirely missed your arrival, well, I had to catch up with you,” Ernesto was saying, all charm and smiles as he helped unload the caskets of wine. “I couldn’t let my parishioners leave to serve this country without giving them my blessing, you understand. And you, of course, it is the least I could do - careful there, it’s heavy…”

It was like an impromptu party, but it was soon clear not everyone was simply in the mood to celebrate. Héctor did his best to approach, but he got knocked back by several men gathering around Ernesto.

“Padre!”

“Can we have your blessing, Padre?”

“I have not had confession in months--”

“Haven’t heard from my family since March, I don’t know if they are well, pray for them--”

“What happened to that other priest-- the gringo, we did not--”

“Our commander lost his temper, a man of God, I would have never--”

“We would never--”

Ernesto turned to the men, and his smile wavered for only a moment. But then it was back, full of understanding. “... Padre Juan was a man of principle who did not always know when to hold his tongue, but he is with God now,” he said, and Héctor’s stomach sank. So he hadn’t made it. He was dead, and Ernesto showed no sign whatsoever of being affected.

“His soul is safe, and I know he would want me to take care of yours,” Ernesto was going on, and he lifted his hand to impart a blessing, speaking loudly to be heard by all. He spoke in near-perfect Latin John Johnson would have been proud of, giving everyone present absolution before crossing himself. Many of the men mirrored the gesture, relief plain on their faces. Alejandro was among them, looking close to tears.

The blessing done, absolution given, Ernesto smiled and spread out his arms. “Now, let us all drink the blood of Christ and--”

“Padre!” Héctor finally cried out, pushing his way to the front, and Ernesto’s gaze turned on him. His smile grew even wider.

“My child!” he cried out, and pulled him into an embrace. “Ah, what a relief, having reached you on time to absolve your sins and give you the Lord’s blessing!”

Face smashed against Ernesto’s shoulder, Héctor barely managed to whisper. “What are you doing--” he began, only for Ernesto to turn his head and almost snarl into his ear, his voice so full of seething fury it made Héctor’s heart skip a beat in his chest.

“Saving your scrawny ass so I can kick it myself. Don’t drink the wine, none of you. Tell the others.”

“Wha-- Ernesto, wait, they’re--”

“Not a drop,” Ernesto hissed, and pushed him off before anyone realized they had spoken to one another, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Go to the others, tell them they have my blessing and that the parish will look after their families,” he added, and before he could add another word Héctor was almost ejected from the small crowd, reeling.

What does it mean? What has he done to the wine?

He looked around to see Alejandro taking one of the opened caskets, saw the wine flowing and men drinking. Héctor wanted to stop him, tell him not to - he was not a bad person, he could tell; many of them were not bad people - but he knew he couldn’t do so without alerting them all, and in the end he had to back away.

Guilt twisted in his gut, but he knew he had to ignore it and move quickly. The wine was being passed around so fast, and he had to warn Gustavo and the others not to drink it before it got to them. Regardless how tempting it was not to tell Gustavo, of course.

No one has recognized him. Maybe it will be all right. Maybe whatever plan he has is going to work. Maybe it will make them pass out, no one needs to die, Héctor thought, and with one last glance towards Ernesto - he was positively holding court now, men around him laughing at something he said or crossing themselves and asking for a prayer - he ran back to where he left the others from Santa Cecilia, trying to reach them before the wine could.

Whatever Ernesto had done with it, he knew none of them wanted to find out the hard way.

***

What got Santiago to lift his gaze from the map and realize his men really should have caught up by now was a very distant sound, one he did not recognize at first. He put away the map with a frown, focusing, and for a moment he thought what he heard were distant screams. It made his blood run cold and his hands clench on the reins.

Had his men been attacked? Could it be? Was there an ambush - had he walked right past the enemy without realizing as much? Heart hammering in his throat, Santiago spurred his horse to trot back, straining to listen… and finally he realized what he was hearing were not screams.

Well, they kind of were, but those were no cries of distress; there was a rhythm to it, all voices rising up together and then falling, then rising again, like… singing? Was that bunch of idiots singing at the top of their lungs?

Have they all gone mad?

Stunned and furious at the same time, Santiago kicked his horse’s flanks to spur it into a gallop back the way he had come. He knew those men’s discipline was almost non-existent, but that was ridiculous. He would see them punished for it, he’d make them march through the night, he--!

Insortaron a Cortez Por toditito el estado: "Vivo o muerto que se aprehenda Porque a varios ha matado!"

Soon he was close enough to hear the words and, after turning a bend, he could see that the sorry excuses of soldiers he’d been leading were off their horses and standing around or sitting in the dirt, drinking and singing like they were off duty in a damn cantina.

He opened his mouth to shout at them, demand to know what was going on in their empty heads, but another voice rose up loud and clear and Santiago’s own voice died in his throat.

Decía Gregorio Cortez Con su pistola en la mano: "No siento haberlo matado Al que siento es a mi hermano..."

He knew that voice; he heard it before in the barracks, at campfires, whenever a comrade picked up a guitar. He never missed a chance to sing, turning each break in a performance.

Alberto had found it endearing; he’d found it annoying. Now it made him feel as though the sweat on his skin had turned into frost.

Still atop his horse Santiago turned slowly, very slowly, towards the source of that voice. He had not expected the priestly robes, and he’d had a beard when he’d last seen him, but he would recognize that despicable face anywhere; he’d dreamed of it almost every night, grinning down at him as he kneeled over Beto’s body.

And now he was there.

How or why he had come to be there, let alone in a cassock and singing along with his men as they guzzled down wine, Santiago had no idea nor he cared to know. All that he knew, all that mattered, was that he was there within his grasp, and that he would never escape again.

Santiago Hernández bared his teeth, and reached for the pistol at his hip.

***

BANG.

The gunshot was distant, reverberating through the hills, impossible to mistake for anything else. It made Imelda’s blood run cold, but she didn’t slow down; her horse was in full gallop, right at the heels of José’s own - which, come to think of it, looked an awful lot like Ernesto’s own missing horse - and she spurred it to go a bit faster, just enough to sidle with him.

“Was that one of yours? Did you prepare an ambush?” she yelled to be heard through the rushing wind and beating hooves, knowing full well what the answer was but still hoping against hope to get at least some explanation for the gunshot.

José shook his head, his expression grim. “No such thing. There may be insubordination among them.”

“Does it happen often?”

“All the time. But we’ll only know when we catch up,” he added, and spurred his horse again. Imelda could only follow, and hope for the best.

If he gets himself killed, she thought, I’ll have to kill him again.

***

The gunshot was deafeningly loud, and close enough to make Héctor cry out - him, and several other men - and the singing to stop abruptly. There were confused cries, men jumping on their feet and dropping their cups of wine to reach for their own guns, turning around wildly to find out who’d shot.

They didn’t have to look far.

“Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Still on top of his horse, pistol raised in the air, Commander Hernández stared at Ernesto with enough hatred to make Héctor tremble. He was vaguely aware of Gustavo and another couple of men from Santa Cecilia talking to him under their breath, asking what the hell was going on, but Héctor was unable to speak, dread gripping his throat.

He found him. It’s over.

He wanted to cry out for Ernesto to run, to do something, but there was nothing for him to do and he could only stand there, staring in horror. Ernesto had stilled, realization beginning to dawn on him that he’d been recognized, and that he was trapped.

The soldiers around him were not quite as quick to grasp the situation. “What--”

“Commander, we, uh, can explain--”

“Shut up, all of you, and seize that traitor!”

“... Sir, that is Padre--”

“That’s no more a priest than I am, idiots! It’s the deserter we’ve been looking for!” the man screamed, and leaped off his horse, pistol still in his hand. “ SEIZE HIM, I SAID!”

“Qué?” Gustavo blurted out somewhere on Héctor’s right, and it seemed that sentiment was prevalent among the Federales as well, most of whom kept staring at their commander as though he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese.

Then Ernesto tried to run, and all hell broke loose.

Héctor had gone hare hunting once, out of sheer curiosity, watching from the sidelines and not really doing much. The pack of dogs, all of them friendly mutts, had seemed comically clumsy, wagging their tails and snuffling about, seemingly more interested in playing than hunting… until a hare had burst out of its hiding spot to run away, and suddenly the entire pack had pounced. The chase had been brief, the screams unbearably loud, the outcome bloody, and Héctor had felt queasy as the owner of the dogs lifted the prey, grinning from ear to ear while his dogs went back to goofing off.

“This,” he had said, “is why you never try running before even the dumbest dog pack.”

Now Héctor watched Ernesto make the same mistake, and again the dogs pounced as one. The hare had no chance of escape that day, and neither did he now.

“STOP HIM!”

“Got him, I got him!”

“Get your hands of me, hijos de--”

“Agh! He bit me!”

“Get him over here!”

If any of the soldiers had doubted Commander Hernández’s words and still believed him a priest, Ernesto thrashing and screaming insults to their entire lineage - through the flea-ridden Spaniards who’d forced their way between their great-great-great-great grandmothers’ thighs and all the way down to the Garden of Eden - probably took care of it.

As Héctor stared, petrified and not knowing what to do, he was dragged in front of the commander and forced on his knees, arms behind his back. Hernández put the pistol back in its holster, walked up to Ernesto, and grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head back.

He gave a cold, too-wide smile that still did not reach his eyes and said something Héctor could not hear. Ernesto’s scowl turned to shock for a moment, and then his features twisted in fury. He screamed and tried to rise up to throw himself at Hernández, almost made it, but too many men were holding him down and he was pushed back in the dirt. Orders were barked and they began dragging Ernesto away from the rest of the still confused soldiers, off the path and towards a small grove of trees and shrubs. One of the men carried a long rope.

They'll see me hang, Ernesto had told them after being unmasked, and God, he'd been right. “No, wait!” Héctor cried out and tried to run, but something gripped his arm, pulled him back.

“Stay here, idiota,” Gustavo hissed, his grasp on Héctor’s wrist tight enough to cut off the blood flow. He glared. “Won’t let you become a martyr on my watch, you’re insufferable enough as is. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it. Did you know about him?”

“I can’t let them kill--”

“Did you know!” Gustavo barked, and Héctor fell silent, his expression probably speaking volumes. Gustavo groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “A Federale right under my nose and I never knew. Por Dios, José is never going to let me hear the end of it...”

“Gustavo, let me go, we have to help him--”

“Help is coming, idiota. Stay here.”

“But--”

“Help is coming,” Gustavo repeated in the forceful way of a man trying to will something into reality. “At least that damn liar delayed their march. Any moment now--” he trailed off when a sudden noise reached their ears amidst the confusion and exclamations, harsh and unmistakable - retching. Soon followed by another such sound, and another. And another.

One by one, the men around them began looking very, very sick.

***

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastards--!”

Ernesto’s insults got him precisely nowhere, and his attempt at fighting off the men dragging him away was about as useless. Too many of them, too strong, his wrists already tied behind his back before they shoved him on his knees in the dirt before the cabrón who had somehow recognized his face.

When said cabrón stepped forward and grabbed his hair to yank his head back, Ernesto clenched his teeth to hold back a cry and glared up at him. Who was he? Dimly he knew he must know him, he looked vaguely familiar - something about the mustache, the unusually thin bridge of his nose - but he still could not put a name to the face the way that bastard had somehow put a name to his.

Unaware of his thoughts, the man sneered. “Ernesto de la Cruz - so the rat comes out in the open at last. What’s the reason for this masquerade? Did you think these robes would save you? They will not. I shot down a true priest today. Or was the gringo an impostor, too?”

Our commander lost his temper, one of them had said.

That beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!

YOU TOOK HIM AWAY!

With a wordless scream, Ernesto strained against the men holding him down, against his bounds, wanting nothing more than putting his hands around the man’s neck and choke the life out of him. He almost managed to stand, but the weight of several men was too much and he was thrown back down in the dirt.

“You, take him and follow me. Rojas, get enough rope to hang this bastard. Quick.”

“Yes sir.”

No no no no no!

Ernesto struggled, but to no avail. Bound and overpowered, he was easily dragged away from the path by the small group of men - towards shrubs and trees, where they could hang him by the neck and leave him to feed carrion birds. They would not give him a clean death, he knew. No fall, no broken neck. They’d string him up and… and…

“Let me go!”

“Oh, as you wish.”

The men threw him down on the ground, and with his hands tied there was nothing sparing his face a painful impact. Ernesto ground his teeth to stifle a cry, only for that cry to be forced out of him when a kick in his side threw him onto his back. A knee pressed on his chest and the man leaned down, all his weight on Ernesto’s sternum.

When is the damn poison going to work?

Maybe the parish got scammed and that wasn’t poison at all. Wouldn’t that be a laugh, a fake priest dead thanks to fake poison.

As he struggled to breathe, Ernesto blinked a few times to clear his vision and looked up. Seen up close there was something startling in the sheer hatred in the man’s gaze, and it caused Ernesto to still a moment. The soldier, John’s murderer, sneered once again.

“Tell me, traitor,” he all but snarled. “Do you even know who I am?”

Don’t make him mad, part of Ernesto’s brain said, but the rest clung to the hope the poison would start working soon. Make him waste time.

“Should I?” he spat. A fist connected with his face as soon as the words were out, causing his vision to swim. Blood ran down his face from a split lip, went down his throat. Somewhere above him he saw the rope being thrown up over a branch, one end already tied in a noose.

And then, before his eyes, the blade of a knife caught the sunlight.

***

He didn’t even recognize him.

Of all the ways Ernesto de la Cruz had wronged him, that somehow was the final straw, the worst possible slap to the face. He’d murdered his best friend since childhood and ran off, leaving him to obsess over revenge for months on end - unable to sleep without seeing his face or Beto’s body in the sand, or both - and now he dared say he didn’t even know who he was.

Ah, but he’d know. Before he died, when he allowed him to die, he would know.

“I know who you are well enough,” Santiago snarled, and pulled out his hunting knife. “A coward, a traitor, and a murderer. You’re a Judas, and you’ll die as Judas did - and everyone will know why!”

De la Cruz tried to squirm beneath him, still dazed by the blow but all too aware of the blade of his knife. Santiago sneered, held the knife to his throat, and watched him grow still. There was terror in his eyes, unmistakable, and he savored it like a sip from a bottle of fine wine.

“Ay, you’ll wish I made it this easy for you.” The blade slipped beneath his collar and ripped down through the cassock, baring his chest.

De la Cruz tried to squirm again, this time with more urgency, eyes wide. “Stop!” he rasped.

Santiago smiled. “Why? Have you recalled my name?”

“I have done nothing to you. I--”

“Liar. I should take an eye for that,” he snapped, and brought the tip of the knife’s blade to rest right beneath a widened eye, drawing the tiniest drop of blood from his skin. “Think again, you Judas. Think of the day you deserted. Someone was with you.”

“What…” Ernesto de la Cruz paused and finally, finally, Santiago saw his expression change - from terror and confusion to realization. Of course, that must have jogged his memory: the two of them had barely shared a few words, but he must remember Alberto. And wherever Alberto went, Santiago followed.

Until, of course, de la Cruz had sent Beto someplace where Santiago could not follow.

You took him away.

Something ached in his chest, and all of a sudden Santiago felt ridiculously close to tears. But he had him now. He would see him die, Alberto would be avenged, and he would finally feel better. He had to feel better. He could not contemplate feeling the way he did forever.

“Thiago,” de la Cruz choked out, and he scoffed. Of course, even now, the self-absorbed bastard couldn’t be bothered to remember anyone’s name.

“Santiago,” he snapped, and leaned in so close their faces almost touched, pressing the blade a little harder on Ernesto’s skin and causing another pinprick of blood to well up. “But it matters not. You know whose name I want you to remember, sí? That of the man you killed.”

De la Cruz swallowed. “Alberto,” he managed. “I-- I didn’t want to kill him. I swear. I only wanted to get away, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I... he would have stopped me, he--”

“And so you shot him like a dog!” Santiago screamed, causing that disgusting coward to wince. He pulled back, knees still pressed against his sternum, keeping him pinned down. The grip on the handle of his knife was so tight it ached. And he even had the galls, this bastard, to lecture him for shooting a gringo!

“You left him dead to feed scavengers, and you really thought I would let it stand! You really thought I wouldn’t hunt you down like the beast you are! Tell me, did you kiss him the way Judas kissed Christ when he betrayed him?”

A shudder beneath him that may have been a sob. “P-por favor--”

“Oh, you’re begging now?” Santiago gave a loud, ugly laugh, and pressed the blade against Ernesto de la Cruz’s chest. “Very well, traitor. Go on and beg,” he said, and began to cut.

He did beg, but only for a few moments. For a good while, all he could do was scream.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #fake priest au

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fenristheorem · 3 years

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My OC, Fenris

... and the Eldarya AU that she’s in, because I just can’t see her in the original Origins storyline with her differences from Guardienne/Erika. And I think my AU has some pretty interesting ideas. I’ll explain it after I introduce her.

Yea, I know, Fenris Theorem, Fenris, it all connects, huh? Hehe. I like the name, that’s all.

(This page is informational, so it’s written in a bit more of a note-taking fashion rather than a story fashion. It’s written in a very choppy manner but it’s comprehensible despite not having any stress on having it beautifully written.)

This page just introduces you to my OC. I decided to create a page on her for the poll (now ended) because I think some people will really like small excerpts on her story with Lance, but obviously you need to know about her before deciding that for sure. You’ll notice that some theories I may have posted on Lance in the past are a part of this AU - these theories have been in my mind and I posted them only because I thought they could exist in the actual plotline (it’s where a lot of my theories come from, and then some ideas fit into the AU, and then some ideas could exist in the actual plotline as well based on what I observe), so this is where some of those theories come from.

For the poll - if anything, I would recommend reading the paragraph titled “*Her story in Origins (where many things are explained in moderation, because if I went in-depth I wouldn’t need to write stories on this):” above all else because that describes what I will be writing if the poll results shows that that’s wanted. Everything else is just extra information for you to know my OC and the AU better. The paragraph is at the bottom of the post.

Above all else, this is an AU, and a fantasy world. I like to try to give rationality and logic to a lot of things, so you’ll read a lot of me explaining things, but at the end of the day it’s all fantasy and can be perceived - and therefore approved or unapproved of - in a multitude of ways. If you like my AU but find it illogical in some ways, that’s no problem! Just enjoy reading about it if you enjoy the ideas within it. 😊

~ This is long so continue below the cut ~

A lot of this information can be a bit vague at first but it comes together when I explain the basic plot.

Her basics: She goes by Fenris but her actual name is Dakota. However, people usually call her Kota, or occasionally Ko (Fen is used later for Fenris, first by Ashkore / Lance, but later when she was discovered by the guard as well). She was 18 when she came to Eldarya via mushroom circle (like Guardienne/Erika). The guard test placed her in the Obsidian guard - she’s very happy with that outcome. Was in a relationship with Valkyon before leaving him for Lance (*explained later).

Physical Appearance: Unfortunately I don’t have a picture of her and nothing in Eldarya describes her and her clothing very well, so you’ll just need to imagine the physical features that I describe on Eldarya’s Guardienne sprite. Also, she’s pretty flexible with how she styles her hair and dresses, so I don’t think a single picture of her would describe her well.

Fair and light in skin tone, perhaps a slight tan-ish tone. Thin, but broad shouldered. She’s well-muscled (later on, less so when she first arrived), which gives her a bit of thickness, but not too much. Nicely curved. About 5 ft. 5 in. (167.64 cm). Dark hair, but not exactly black, with brown-hazel eyes. Her hair is medium-length and is usually braided in a multitude of styles. Her eyes occasionally glow a brilliant gold (explained under ‘abilities and genetics’ and ‘her story in Origins’).

Usually wears dark, ancient / tribal-like clothes (think Norse Vikings) with thin, form-fitting but strong armor around her forearms, lower legs (below the thigh starting from knees) and chest/midriff. She wears a good amount of red, blue, gold, silver or dark green clothing and accents with the black base for color. Usually nothing over-the-top, she likes to have her own unique style and express herself but doesn't like to draw unnecessary attention. Doesn't like most faux fur as it doesn't look nice in her opinion, but may wear some that she likes occasionally. Is more likely to wear real fur from hunted animals, but doesn't wear it too often. She wears a sword on her hip, and has a few semi-concealed daggers placed on her body (thigh, boot, torso) for quick use if needed.

Personality: She has a wide spectrum of how she acts depending on people, situations, what she knows, and her current mood. She's typically quite calm, and doesn't seek for trouble or drama, however, she does like to hear the recent news/gossip from around the guard; to stay updated on things, know what may effect her, try to think ahead and just for the sake of knowing. She's very curious and typically observes the situation around her, but in a very subtle way. Is a planner and likes to think ahead, and usually knows how to react to anything because of her observations and forward thinking. Around friends, she's very kind and welcoming. They can talk about anything to her and she'll keep her mouth shut - she has a good loyalty streak (but it does have a limit). However, she doesn't have any friends that are like family to her, but on the day she does find friends like that her loyalty will truly be endless. It's ride or die, and she'll always stand by their side. She has a major independent streak and can’t be around people for too long, otherwise she’ll crack and get a bit irritated more easily. She likes her alone time. In general, she's very cordial with people. Again, she doesn't like to cause unnecessary trouble or drama - she's had a rough past (discussed under ‘history’) and quickly shuts down anyone doing so in a professional but aggressive, don’t-argue-with-me sort of way. She can be harsh, cold and withholding - especially with people she genuinely dislikes - but doesn't like to act this way. On the note of people she dislikes- it's hard to get her to truly dislike someone, but it can be a bit easy as well. In general rule, as long as someone is conscious of the reality of the world around them and doesn't seek to cause issues, she's fine with them, but the instant someone starts continually spreading rumors that are clearly false, or acts (especially in a way that hurts others) solely in their selfish interests, or takes part in willful ignorance (purposely ignoring an issue that you know shouldn’t be ignored), she keeps note of that person and reminds herself to be wary of them in the future. They could be a source of trouble or misinformation that may need to be stopped, and she won’t be very forgiving. However, this is just a general rule, it doesn't always apply - remember she can change based on the situation and what she knows. She recognizes that sometimes people dislike things that are good for them, or like harmful things, and sometimes the villain is actually the hero, history and set rules are created by the winners and anyone against it is considered the villain, and sometimes you need to be cruel to be merciful. She's fully aware that sometimes the bad of life is good, and may defend that, but she's always sure to think long and hard about it before giving a decision like that. A lot of terrible things have happened to her, so she tries to avoid being a source of those terrible things for the world. She feels emotions very deeply and can be a bit impulsive, but fortunately she’s not typically hurt or gets others hurt due to her impulsivity. Again, she is very curious and observes things a lot, so she can usually get a good read on anything new she comes across and work from there, or she can use other information she knows and apply it to the situation. That being said, she won’t drag her friends or anyone else into her occasionally dangerous impulsive decisions. She’ll offer it if they’d like to join her, but she won’t pressure them. Their safety is their decision, and she’ll do her best to protect them although she can’t truly guarantee it. Being in the Obsidian guard, she can’t really condone anyone to risk their safety for fun, especially if it’s her idea. She has a good sense of responsibility when she works for what she believes in, and will sacrifice some of her comfort and fun making sure that she follows her responsibilities if needed. On the topic of her guard - when she first came to Eldarya and joined the Obsidian guard, she wasn’t too bad of a fighter upon basic training, but it was when she started training with Ashkore / Lance where her skills greatly improved until she was perhaps the best fighter in the guard, rivaled only by a few other warriors - including Valkyon. She’s not against helping others improve, but she’s very careful with what she tells the guard - if anyone knew her skills were due to Ashkore, she’d be in massive trouble and may be treated as a complete accomplice. She doesn’t like to lie unless truly necessary, so she’ll usually withhold lots of damning information, and she thoroughly thinks over everything she says, any possible answers to theoretical questions, how her words can connect with other things, and how it might be taken from someone else’s perspective, before revealing any information. Did I mention she’s very cunning and smart, especially after knowing Lance? She has prior knowledge in how to utilize sarcasm and wit, but that’s also improved after meeting Lance.

She changes in time to be quite a bit more harsh and unforgiving when she starts working with Lance.

(For media reference, think of Lagertha from Vikings and Octavia from Netflix’s The 100. She’s a bit of a combination between the two, both in personality and appearance, although Octavia represents her a bit better in appearance.)

Abilities and Genetics: When she first came to Eldarya, she had no idea of her faery genetics. She never felt as though she belonged with humans and always felt that something was off, but she truly thought she was human genetically - until the guard had her take a test and realized she apparently had some faery blood in her (like what actually happened in the original plotline). She went a good while not knowing about what her genetics were, until Lance told her she was a dragon. She learned her abilities under his mentorship, and found that - to be more specific - she’s a shadow dragon. Her shadows appear usually like a pitch black fog, but can be manipulated into almost any form; hard or soft, thin or thick, curved or straight. It has a bit of a cold feel, but she can’t actually control the temperature of her shadows. She can adjust the color of her shadows along a grey-scale until it looks like any grey or silver, even looking like normal fog, but she can’t make it lighter than silver. She can also make pre-existing shadows darker or lighter depending on what she wants. Being a dragon, she also has a dragon form and can shift into a half-transformed body (like what’s seen with Tia). She has premonitions and prophecies as well. This ability typically manifests in dreams and can come to her the night before it manifests in reality, or even sometimes years in advance - there’s really no way to know. She struggles a lot trying to learn this - and to learn the difference between a premonition dream and just a normal dream - and has some basic understanding of it’s rules. She has absolutely no control over when she has these dreams, but she can occasionally put herself in a bit of a calm, meditative state where she can observe her surroundings enough to faintly feel energies, and from there she can receive some premonitions. When she receives premonitions or prophecies while awake, her eyes glow a brilliant gold - this stems from a more spiritual side of her genetics (*explained later). This ability to very hard to control, though, and can rarely be done despite her persistence in it.

History: She... didn’t have a very peaceful life. Since her birth, her parents had basically been at war with each other. She grew up under a distinct combination of good influences and bad influences from both parents, but for the most part her mother was her major support as her father failed to be there for her. Neither extended family had much impact, but her father’s family knew of the terrible things he did and didn’t do anything. She continues to hold a grudge against many humans for being forced to live an endangered upbringing when she and her mother were so clearly crying for help. However, she’s aware that this is also what drives her some days, as she didn’t live through all of that just to die shamefully with an unlived life. In time, her grudge against humans has calmed, but it flares back up whenever she’s reminded or learned about something terrible that humans have caused or do currently - it’s a continuous battle and she has a hard time giving an honest opinion on humanity due to her complex emotions. She came to Eldarya when she was 18 (like Guardienne/Erika) and the rest is history (*and is explained below).

Relationships: Miiko is... alright. It’s a bit of a love hate relationship sometimes, but Fenris is usually quite cordial with her. Nevra and Ezarel were irritating at first, but Nevra’s lovableness and Ezarel’s humor slowly grew on her. She liked Valkyon when she first arrived and somewhat quickly pursued a relationship with him. She didn’t mind Leiftan - he was always very kind and left her alone while being cordial (remember, she’s not an angel in this so Leiftan wouldn’t be into her like how he was with Guardienne/Erika). Karuto is like the good father she never had, but she puts her foot down with him on occasion - she doesn’t like to be told what to do, scolded, treated like a child or anything. This is only because she views him in a bit of a fatherly way, and doesn’t want a repeat of her original father. She makes sure he knows that she truly appreciates him, though. Jamon is a bit of a brother if anything, but he’s really just a close friend / colleague that she likes a lot. She appreciates his gentleness and protectiveness for everyone. Ewelein is basically a second mom, she reminds Fenris a lot of her mom back on Earth and has a deep respect for the Elf. Chrome is a bit like an irritating little brother, but she also has a sisterly affection for him. Ykhar and Kero are the panic colleagues; she has a hard time seeing them doing anything else than panicking. She worries a bit for their health as long-term stress is destructive and tries to be as comforting and as nice as possible with them without betraying her personality and morals. Karenn and Alajea are close friends, almost sisterly, but not exactly so. She’s a bit closer with Karenn than she is with Alajea. Cameria is similar to Karenn in the way that she has a bit of a sisterly relationship with Fenris, but in more of a battle partner way. They have a tendency to train together a lot, and they heavily trust each other to have their back in war. Huang Hua is a bit of a friend / leader - she respects the phoenix a lot and has a bit of a close friendly relationship with her. Feng Zifu is a bit of a father figure in the manner that she respects him a lot. She likes to listen to his advice and appreciates his formality.

The AU: So before I explain the plot of the AU, I need to explain a few basics of how I set up the world. In this AU, the crystal breaking could destroy Eldarya, but if it’s shattered in a certain way with certain spells and chants, it’ll release the spirits of the dragons (who sacrificed to create the crystal) and allow them to retain a sort of half-living form - basically they’re alive but... not? It’s weird to explain. Why does the crystal breaking in this way not destroy Eldarya? The sacrifice allowed a release of energy that originally created the world and then primarily manifested into the shape of the crystal that maintains that world, so this ritual that would be preformed upon it’s shattering would basically allow the energy of the dragons to maintain the world while allowing them to roam around in a different form - hence why they’d be half alive in a way. They’d be physical, but they have additions and limits on what they can and can’t do because they’re still technically dead. However, this isn’t common knowledge (because the guard protects the crystal, they’re the ‘only’ source of ‘accurate’ information on the crystal and both Yonuki Kaze and Miiko have stated that if the crystal breaks Eldarya will fall), only Lance has figured this out (and many of his mercenaries believe him or are working with him because of his destructive habits), so due to this, his ambitions are sort of split in two; destroy the crystal to revive the dragons, and destroy anyone who may try to stop him. In terms of history, Lance in this AU witnessed Miiko (and Nevra - there’s a history behind that that I won’t go into right now) sacrificing dragons to the crystal when he was a part of the guard to try and maintain balance and confronted her about it, only for her to threaten him (in basic; she was convinced sacrificing was the only way to keep balance, and that’s because Yonuki Kaze influenced her into thinking that, so from her perspective Lance coming along and saying it was wrong and had to stop was basically him saying to let the world die) to not tell anyone and stay out of it. Lance then spent a while researching and devising an idea on how to actually balance the world and this included destroying the crystal in a specific way to release the energy (technically there are two ways; the sacrifice was supposed to happen with dragons AND angels, so the ritual was devised to work with the two, but a ritual originally for two races used only with one is basically a ritual preformed improperly, and therefore bound to yield improper results - hence the infertility of the world and shiftiness of it. Undoing the ritual would allow the world to stay while “canceling out the sacrificial imbalance”, but if an angel or demon were to willingly sacrifice - preferably alongside a dragon at the same time - then it would be solved in that way as well). Lance tried to explain this to Miiko later, only to barely get past “I have another idea” before being shut down again. He kept quiet because he feared for himself and his brother (and the only reason Lance could have known that dragons were being sacrificed - without being a dragon himself - is that Miiko said it during the sacrifice he saw, so he didn’t want to raise suspicion onto him and his brother). Later on, Lance is sent to lead an army in a foreign land and is nearly killed, but he saw a chance to escape the guard and took it. From there he’s been Ashkore.

Basically this AU - instead of being “oh no, he’s trying to destroy the world because he’s angry and hurt” - is actually more like “if you had listened the world could be stabilized and also a powerful race could be revived.” It takes the trope of hero and villain and twists it, so the villain is actually a bit of an underdog, villainous hero while the hero’s are - in a way - villains who are heroes because their damning stories haven’t been revealed in a wide-spread manner. Overall, it’s supposed to blur the lines of good and bad, and right and wrong - showing that both sides have good and bad within them, and which side is ‘good’ can depend solely on perception and one’s life anecdote.

*Her story in Origins (where many things are explained in moderation, because if I went in-depth I wouldn’t need to write stories on this): Dakota came to Eldarya by accident via mushroom circle and was placed into the Obsidian guard. She adjusted in time (and willingly took the potion in episode 13 to ease her family / mother of pain and worry) until she got used to things and entered into a romantic relationship with Valkyon. She was sent on basic missions and such and met Ashkore a few times in war (and around the guard), and then she met him accidentally while alone later on outside of the guard. He offered to train her (more like threatened if she didn’t?) and she accepted in time. They trained at night, which was a bit of an issue as she now shared a room with Valkyon and, therefore, had to sneak around. Her skills quickly improved, and her relationship with Valkyon began to decline as he began to become a bit confused / suspicious about her sudden and seemingly random upturn in skills. There were feelings of neglect as well. This carried on for many months and Dakota learned more about Ashkore as well as herself. He eventually admits that she’s a dragon and that he’s investing some of himself into her because of that, and she does her best to explore her abilities with him after that. Eventually she accidentally discovers his actual identity, but keeps quiet about it. As they grow closer, she begins to ask more about him and his reasoning, and he explains his motives for going after the crystal while brushing on the topic of why he’s ruthless to some, but leaves others alone. As she discovers the truth about the dragons and Lance, she realizes that her feelings to the guard were based on lies and false implications, and she begins to grow mentally and emotionally closer with Lance. She becomes less empathetic / sympathetic with Valkyon and eventually sleeps with Lance. This happens a few more times and they enter a sort of limbo where they don’t talk about their relationship with each other but know there’s something heavy going on. Back in the guard, she’s still with Valkyon, and she begins an internal war on what exactly her plan is knowing that she’s sleeping with two guys on the opposite side of a war and that it can’t continue. Her and Valkyon break up in time and she invests her full time into training with Lance, expressing interest in joining his cause. They begin to work together and he gifts her with a specific outfit / armor (that can alternate between identity concealing and revealing for her comfort and safety) so she can go on missions with him. They develop an elaborate scheme to allow her to go on long-term missions with him without suspicion from the guard. She’s eventually sent on a mission and it’s on that mission that she discovers her relation to an ancient dragon named Fenris, and then expresses her interest in taking that name to Lance and the rest of his allies that she’s met (from then on she’s known as Fenris with Lance and Dakota in the guard). Back at the guard, she continues training with Lance and maintaining some sort of odd relationship with himin secret. She’s found elaborate ways to get out of the guard without their suspicion so she can spend many days at a time alone with Lance in a cabin he has hidden in the forest. Over the span of many months / years, she goes on missions with the guard to foreign towns / establishments that are attacked by Ashkore - whether she knows that prior or not - so as she trains she also has actual encounters where she needs to truly fight Lance without actually hurting him while looking as though she’s truly trying to hurt him. When she’s allegedly away on some missions from the guard, she wears the armor that Lance gave her to campaign with him and this occasionally leads to her fighting against the guard if they’re around. In this time and when they’re alone, Lance and allies calls her Fenris as she’s requested them to do. Eventually they go to Memoria together and find out that they have a deeper connection than they think - Fenris (who was an ancient dragon that Dakota took the name of due to her relation with him) and Tia actually knew each other and had a complex history that carried forward to Lance and Dakota / Fenris, and there’s a prophecy of sorts surrounding them. Their relationship after that is still complex, but is more stable as they confirm an attachment to each other. Lance’s identity is eventually revealed to the guard, and sometimes later Fenris is revealed as well, and Lance - in very short, important seconds - offers her to join him completely outside the guard’s walls. She accepts and they flee the guard for a while and plot. Eventually they attack the guard in a final push and get to the crystal, successfully breaking it with... some losses. From there is the skip to ANE, but New Era is... complicated. I haven’t yet thought how she fits into ANE, as many things would be different. Maybe I won’t put pressure on creating her story in it, but if I do I might list it here. Her story in ANE would need to be based off of her story I have here in Origins.

If I write excerpts of this, there may also be many more adventure scenarios that are written but aren’t mentioned here (Lance offering to “help” the guard bring down another greater threat and then turning his forces on them in the midst of war for his own gain, sending them on a wild goose chase, the guard tracking them through rough, unforgiving landscapes trying to catch them, etc.) depending on how the details of her story manifest.

I apologize; that’s a lot to read but I can be very specific and this AU has a lot of important detail that separates it from the original Origins storyline. And this talks over my OC’s details and an AU, which is a lot since there’s not a lot of referencing because I’ve never talked about either before... However, if you’ve read all the way through this post - congrats, and I hope you’re interested in it!

Again, writing excerpts about my OC and her storyline in this AU is an option you can vote on in my writing poll that determines what I’ll write now so I can post later when I can’t access my Tumblr for a few weeks, so if you’re interested in reading about this then please read the info I have about the poll here and feel free to vote!

#eldarya #eldarya oc #oc #fenris oc

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hallowed-be-thy-username · 3 years

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And here we are with part 2, the second half of @jokersqueenofchaos’s request with her OC Eliza!!

You know I love me some sexual tension so I let that beast run wild! I really enjoyed the challenge of writing with your OC, lovely, and I’m so damn excited to post the ending 💓💓 Eliza is amazing and I’m still so honored to have written her for you!

It’s written again with plain text set in the present and italics as a flashback

Here is a link for part 1

Thank you again, dear!!

Ledger Joker x original female character, Ledger Joker x Eliza

Word count: 3,069

Warnings: some serious sexual tension, allusion to murder, allusion to sex, spicyy

Green Hair and a Red Smile, part 2

After turning the handle on the faucet, Eliza held her hand beneath the stream of water until it felt warm. It was strange, thinking back on it now. She spent so much time on her own, never even interested in anything but that. Why should she allow herself to be trapped in a cubicle, working nine to five, moving along with the rest of the flock only to be effectively slaughtered once her utility had run out? But this was obviously different. There was another path. The path further off the beaten path.

Her fingers plucked the elastic from her hair to let it fall down to her shoulders before ducking her head underneath the water, wisps of blue starting to swirl down the drain. She cupped water in her hands to let it run down the back of her head and little trails of warm water saturated the collar of her t-shirt. For the first time in a long time, she felt drawn to someone and since that day, she’s never looked back.

The feeling she’d been carrying in her stomach all day twisted into an even tighter knot as the sun hung low toward the horizon. It was almost time. Eliza was walking the streets along the Narrows, only a block away from the address Joker had given her. She asked herself, what are you doing here? There wasn’t a real answer to that, not yet. She was there to find out.

Cars were left to fall further into disrepair along the side of the road and most of the building’s windows had their glass broken. Naturally, the area appeared deserted, leaving plenty of opportunity for Gotham’s most cunning citizens to do what they did best. She peeked over her shoulder before crossing the street and continuing around a corner. The place was in front of her now, 228 W Holt. The brick building had five stories and the faded letters above the front entrance read, ‘Gotham Steel Works’. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, before cautiously approaching the door to tug on the handle.

It was locked. Her blood felt like ice as she questioned whether she had the right address, whether this was a set up and she’d made a big mistake. She tugged on the handle once more before cursing under her breath, feeling as though she was on the verge of panic. Then she turned around and was startled to see someone suddenly standing behind her.

“You Eliza?” the young man asked.

Eliza tried not to appear as frazzled as she was and nodded her head, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Follow me.”

He quickly turned and headed down the adjacent alley, not even looking back to see if she was keeping up with his long strides. She moved fast to keep from falling behind as he rounded the corner to the back of the building. There were two more men waiting there, both much larger than the one she followed. She slowed down and eyed both of them while they watched her continue to follow the younger man to a back door off of a loading dock. Her hand slid into her pocket to hold onto her knife until the door closed behind her. It was dark and there was no time for her eyes to adjust before Eliza heard another door open. She squinted in the darkness and saw the man go up a flight of stairs. Almost tripping over a pile of rubble, she managed to catch up before he reached the top.

Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw him. He looked back at her over his shoulder, his gaze on her before she could even blink. He turned around to face her, his expression didn’t change but she saw something in his eyes. The room encompassing that entire floor was lined by huge windows. Dim golden light from the setting sun outside streamed through the cracked panes of glass to cast shadows on the floor. Rows of large columns supported the high ceiling of the decaying room, a cluttered old desk sitting alone in the center with two chairs on either side.

“Ahh ya made it,” Joker purred, his mouth pulling into a grin. “Let’s begin, hm?”

Her eyes widened and she sucked in a breath at the sound of his voice before nodding at him, her eyes never leaving his face. A feeling that she shouldn’t be there twisted her insides more as she watched Joker wave the young man away and he headed back down the stairs. They were alone. But this wasn’t the first time they’d been alone. Her rationality continued it’s battle with her overwhelming need to be caught in that clown’s gaze as he beckoned her toward the desk.

Her feet moved all on their own, taking careful steps toward the desk. Her cheeks were already burning when she felt his eyes on her as she walked. This implicit, albeit ill-advised, trust she had in him kept hanging on and wouldn’t let go. Was it actually trust or just blind devotion? But if he was going to hurt her he would have done it by now, right?

She remained in her trance as she lowered herself onto one of the chairs while he removed his coat and gloves. He met her gaze as he sat opposite to her at the desk, kicking his feet up to rest his heels with his ankles cross on its ledge. Her gaze flickered over his face, over his scars, but not for too long. Not long enough to appear that they disturbed her, but rather that maybe they interested her. He took the opportunity to study her demeanor. Still and calm yet trembling with some contrasting force that clawed at her psyche, begging her to turn and run but ultimately falling silent in the depths of her mind. What was he going to do with her? Let her follow him around like a lost puppy? Then what? Perhaps she could prove useful. His mind cooked up a few scenarios until he pondered a phony hostage setup… like a fishing lure. Bait for a giant bat.

He blinked away his drifting thoughts and stated in a very forward manner, “Let’s set some, uh, ground rules, shall we? Number one, no squealin’, I’ll know if you squeal. Number two don’t touch any-thing you see layin’ around. And number threee, stop starin’ at me,” tapping a finger on one hand with each statement. Then a small smirk pulled at his mouth while he blinked back at her as she gradually understood his words.

Eliza’s cheeks burned even hotter and she quickly averted her gaze to the floor. It was so hard to tell whether he was serious or if he was trying to trick her. Did it matter?

“I, uh… I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Mm, ‘course ya didn’t.”

A tingle crawled its way into her belly and her eyes quickly shifted back to his face. Then the words came from her mouth before she could stop them.

“No… I did.”

Her words reached his ears and his eyes remained fixed on her with brows raised as her mouth opened, possibly in an effort to recant her statement, but she remained silent. No one liked looking at him. His face startled and terrified. Why would anyone enjoy looking at it? Perhaps she’s a masochist.

The corner of his mouth twitched at his own joke.

What to do? Perhaps she’s trying to toy with him. She’d taken this little interaction to the next level and Joker was not one to play second fiddle when it comes to controlling a conversation.

“Well rules were, uh, ma-de to be broken, Elizaaa” he rumbled in a deep voice, lacing his fingers together over his lap. “How would you describe what you see then, hm?”

She tried to but she couldn’t understand what had just happened in such a short amount of time. He hadn’t even said anything about this so-called job and here she was admitting that she’d been staring at him. Then the tingle she felt, that knot in her stomach, suddenly made her uncomfortably and intensely aware of something. She was attracted to him. It was unmistakable. Heat rose up until it was over the top of her head. How did she not see it before?

He waited for her answer, watching the flame grow behind her eyes. This wasn’t originally a trap he had planned to set, but it would serve its purpose none the less. She stared at him, as he expected she would. Perhaps searching for the right word to utter. Crazy, diabolical, troubling, ruined, disturbing, unsettling. Terrifying.

“You’re… handsome,” she answered, her voice threatening to crack. Her nerves were standing on end. She came here to follow that feeling she got when he looked at her like that, now she wanted more, and she couldn’t stop herself.

Joker started to chuckle, a wide grin stretching over his face. She must be joking, trying to beat him at his own game. That, she was not going to succeed at. But then there were her eyes. Her eyes said otherwise. Behind her tentative expression he could see a looming excitement, bubbling just beneath the surface, tickling at her insides.

Handsome.

Compliments wouldn’t get her anywhere, but she did capture his attention. Handsome is not a word he’d use to describe himself. Not a word anyone else would use, for that matter. He smirked as he stared her down with intensity, studying her. He wondered what else was going on in that muddled mind of hers, clawing at her from the inside, begging to be set free. The buzz of building anticipation emanating from her was contagious. He found himself wanting her to keep talking. He dropped his heels from the table and leaned across it toward her, bringing his face within a foot of hers.

“Well, Elizaaa. If I’m, uh, handsome, how would you describe these scars?” he said before running his tongue along his lower lip and tilting his head, keeping her in his gaze.

Her heart continued to pound mercilessly against her ribs as her eyes darted to his mouth. Her thoughts were becoming more and more warped together, blurring where her fear ended, and her arousal began. It was so new, so strange, so alluring.

Her thoughts drifted from her subconscious, straight out through her mouth, her voice distant and dream-like. “They look like… like they’re rough. But, soft. Maybe they’re soft.”

Her words carried such a typical civility for such an atypical meeting. They dared each other to toe that line between normalcy and that dark place below it, waiting to see who falls over the edge first. Joker couldn’t deny that this excited him. It was egging him on to push her closer. But something was holding him back, keeping him on that ledge with her.

Eliza’s eyes never left his mouth, unblinking and focused while her gaze remained somehow so distant. Her own lips parted as she lifted her hand from the table and cautiously brought toward to his face. Then her trembling fingertips brushed lightly over the dented skin.

He flinched. He wanted to smack her hands away, grab her thin little wrists and slam them down on the table. But he couldn’t. He willed himself to move but kept still, his jaw tensing as he focused his fiery stare on her pensive face, her eyelids heavy, her lips flushed and rosy. Something stirred inside him. He hated to admit it, but a lack of intimate contact had been grating away at him. That human need. He hated it. Her proximity only reminded him of that need. That eternal itch, begging to be scratched.

She was no longer in control of her actions. Caution was far behind her and she’d entered a state of mind that offered no rationality. She leaned in further, her gaze unfaltering. Her other hand had joined in the perilous exploration of his face, fingers grazing closer to his lips as his tongue slipped out of his mouth to lick them. Her rapid huffs of breath washed over his face, intensifying the tension that hung thickly between them.

The damaged nerve endings conducted their erratic signals, the haphazardly healed tissue trying desperately to function as it once did. Her soft touch sent goosebumps roiling down his back. Her touch felt… good. Fingertips so timid and light, it made his stomach flutter maddeningly and his breath heavy. That inner need to be touched mercilessly devoured the feeling.

Joker felt himself losing control. He didn’t like that. He wanted to be angry. But anger is what was expected, even from himself, and he took pride in opting for the unexpected. Spontaneity gave him power.

He slowly reached his hands up to hold either side of her face, their noses now inches apart. His voice came out like gravel.

“You want to know what they feel like?”

Eliza’s throat went dry and her chest squeezed against the sharp breath she tried to take, stunned by his question. It ran through her head, searching for her response, but none could be found.

Electricity ran across her skin and the warmth in her belly fluttered into her chest when his fingertips suddenly grazed her heated cheeks. Joker couldn’t remember the last time his hands had touched someone without the intention of causing harm, leaving stains of red behind. But he hadn’t forgotten how. As he held her face, her hands found his neck, heat radiating from beneath his collar as her fingers continued their torturous caress across his skin. I was maddening, how much he liked it. His breath quickened but his expression remained like stone as he fought with his innermost desires. He fought his need to feel her, more of her. Let go, push her away.

Then her nose made the slightest contact with his, her eyes burning him as his insides boiled, rising higher into his chest.

This little contest he’d instigated had reached a breaking point, now trapping them both in a web of their own magnetism, growing stronger with each second they spent with such a slight distance between them. A need to take her for himself rang in his ears. You’re mine.

Closer still. She leaned in closer and nodded, giving him wordless affirmation, permission. Her breath on his lips beckoned him.

Impulse, a sudden strong and unreflective urge or desire to act.

He reached his fingers into her hair before pulling her forward, crashing his lips into hers. The overwhelming sensation of plump flesh on flesh flooded his senses as he devoured her, tangling his mouth with hers with unrestrained passion as if he was going to swallow her whole. The taste of her lips, her tongue, it was intoxicating. It reached down to his bones and held on tight. This was self-indulgence to its highest degree. He let it take him over, his senses swirling with endorphins he so often deprived himself of. His belly was winding tighter and tighter with that desire he knew too well, his body begging for release. So many times, he’d ignored it, or quickly provided it some feeble source of friction it so desperately called for, in an effort to make it disappear. But it always came back. A hollow and wanting thirst that was never quenched.

She kissed him back. Her mouth eagerly accepted his and allowed him to consume her with dizzying fervor as she desperately gripped his collar. Eliza’s blood ran hotter than it ever had before. It sparked and rushed through her veins, plunging her deep below the surface of the deep, dark desire that now enveloped her. More. She wanted more.

The flames threatening to consume them both reached fever pitch, Joker’s control over his own actions quickly turning to ash.

The he pulled back, the rising heat in his core coming to a halt just below boiling point. He huffed as his heart continued to pound, his eyes flickering over her face, looking for any clues in her expression. Her heavy lids reflected some concentration or inquisitiveness as she stared back at him, her jaw just slightly dropped and posture as if she’d just been doused in cold water.

There wasn’t any fear there, no. It felt as though she’d lost her mind. She’d lost her mind and it was supposed to be that way. An assiduousness took over her features before she leaned back in, her own lips finding his in reciprocation. He stiffened at the tenderness in her kiss, his determination to steel himself hanging on by a thread. But the slow, provocative dance of her mouth against his plucked at that thread, keeping him there, tangling his fingers in her hair.

She could feel them, his scars. They caressed her cheeks and glided over her lips when he kissed her. Rough. Soft.

Tossing her freshly dyed hair over her shoulders, Eliza watched herself in the mirror again. That night changed her. She never needed anyone but being with him felt like belonging. The twitching of his mouth, his piercing glances, they stirred something in her that made everything else feel so dull. There was no going back. She’d been captured by the inexplicable charm that blinded her to everything else she once knew. But it didn’t feel like a loss. The world would move on with or without her. It always did. Now she’d move on without it.

The day after Pandora’s box opened, the day after that beast called lust ran free, he licked her kiss off of his lips as she lowered the black plastic bag over his head. Only an hour after her thumb hit the call button. After she told the deep voice on the other end, the one she knew wouldn’t be able to speak for much longer, “I have your clown.”

Her smile grew at the reflection in the mirror as his paint-stained hands slid around her waist, their grip warm and firm. He held her against his chest, his face alongside hers as he lifted a hand from her waist to twist one of her bright blue locks around his finger.

“Mm so this is what you’ve been up to, hm?”

Eliza let her head fall back against Joker’s chest and she answered, “I can do yours next.”

Taglist @youmaycallmebrian @heavymetalnarwhal @neverputsaltinyoureyes @jokersqueenofchaos @into-crazy @killingjokee @astheworlddturns @jslittlebirdie @drreidsconverse @vipervixxen

#heath ledger joker #the dark knight #tdk joker #ledger!joker #joker fanfiction #ledger joker x oc #request #oc request

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Written In The Stars CVII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m not entirely pleased with this book, I could’ve added more stuff but it was already too big so I’ll just write 'em as hidden moments. The last two chapters are still a MASTERPIECE, i can’t wait for y’all to read them -Danny

Words: 3,467

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to ‘Six Feet Apart’ -by Alec Benjamin

Chapter Five: Out of the Routine.

"You think he'll be all right?"

"Harry did nothing wrong– conjure a Patronus in the condition he was... that's impressive!"

"You can make one, can't you? What form does it take?"

"A dog of course," Sirius smiled. "A shaggy, fluffy lad..."

"Mine's an eagle– Matt could conjure a phoenix, but I guess you knew that..."

"So, Sirius..." Mel hopped on the table. "How was my mum when she was younger?"

"I was a loving, rational witch," The woman replied. "Next question–"

"You were loving all right," Sirius raised a brow. "But that wasn't it. I distinctly remember one afternoon when I said you were nowhere near as skilled as James to play quidditch... When you finally made it into the team –as a beater, mind you– you threw a bludger right at my face."

"It proved my point," The woman said. "However, I'm trying to teach this one better manners than the ones I had–"

"Doesn't seem to be working," Sirius teased.

"What I really wanna know..." Mel continued, interrupting their playful banter. "Who was the real heartbreaker of the group? Was it you, Sirius?"

"Me?" Sirius snorted. "I had a few dates but I didn't break hearts. People considered me too childish."

"They were right about that," Emily said. "I used to think James was the heartbreaker..."

"James was harmless! He spent years chasing Lily like a puppy– But of course, you wouldn't have noticed–"

"Remus was quite the catch too," She gave him a pointed look.

"Ah, yes– Remus," Sirius stammered. "Remus... you know what? I reckon we held him back from getting a few lovely girls back in the day."

"How come?"

"He would always think that girls were after us– You know, James and I– but I believe most of them were after him and Matt!"

"Can't blame them," Emily smiled.

"Ruddy was the heartbreaker, to be honest..."

"What?" Mel laughed. "My dad? The same bloke that spent years chasing my mother just like James with Lily?"

"He was in love with your mother, but the bastard was clever!" Emily scolded Sirius and he apologized distractedly. "He knew how to flirt his way out of detention!"

"Flirt his way out?" Mel couldn't believe it.

"Those eyes..." The woman sighed. "One look and a dashing smile and you were a goner! I was so glad when I discovered you didn't have 'em! Hard to say no when he was looking at you in a certain way..."

"She may not have his eyes, but she certainly got the look," Sirius smirked. "I could tell you exactly when I've seen her do it–"

"Padfoot, you're playing with fire," Emily warned him. "Teach that girl how to trick others and soon enough she'll have a group of fools under her command!"

"Is that so bad? Ouch!" Mel joked, earning a slap on her arm. "All right– I promise I won't use any tricks with you... What about school, though? You know some kids are bullies, this might come in handy."

"Sounds good to me! Here's what you do..." The man stood in front of her.

For the next hour, Sirius practised with her until Emily gave up and sat as well, sharing a few tricks of her own. By the time they walked out of the kitchen to do their chores, Mel was well versed in the tricks of the Marauders.

She promised that she wouldn't do any of those things for the fun of it, and never to a friend. Desperate times required desperate measures, that was all. She was aware of how she'd rambled for years about hating lies, but she also needed to convince everyone that her crush had vanished. There was no other choice.

Harry announced, looking much livelier than before, that all charges had been taken and he was going back to Hogwarts for another year.

"I knew it! You always get away with stuff!" Ron exclaimed.

"They were bound to clear you. There was no case against you, none at all..." Hermione smiled, but she was a bit pale still.

"Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering they all knew I'd get off," Harry joked as Emily stood behind him, running a hand through his hair with pride.

"You've got your sense of humour back, then?" Mel asked. "Good, you were starting to get annoying..."

Harry gave her a look divided between amusement and doubt, he didn't know if she was joking. She wasn't planning on clearing things out either.

"He got off, he got off, he got off —!"

"That's enough, settle down!" Mr Weasley told his kids, waving a hand as if that could quiet them. "Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry —"

"What?"

"He got off, he got off, he got off —"

"Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level nine, then they went up to Fudge's office together. Dumbledore ought to know."

"Absolutely– We'll tell him, don't worry."

"Well, I'd better get going, there's a vomiting toilet in Bethnal Green waiting for me. Molly, I'll be late, I'm covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner —"

"He got off, he got off, he got off —"

"That's enough — Fred — George — Ginny!" said Mrs Weasley. "Harry dear, come and sit down, have some lunch, you hardly ate breakfast..."

" 'Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you," said Ron, sitting down in front of Harry and putting a bunch of food on his plate.

"Yeah, he swung it for me," said Harry.

Mel leaned against the cabinets, examining him carefully. For some reason, Harry acting all giddy and happy only made her feel sadder. She wanted to look like that too, she wanted to pretend nothing was wrong and she was sure that if she were to try and sit next to him, Harry would let her. Still, part of her was hurting, Harry'd walked away because he'd gotten scared about the lifeline and true to his nature he'd tried to protect her.

The idea made her blood boil. Who was he to decide? It was her life! Not only that, but his stupid plan hadn't worked at all, now she could feel even more stuff than the previous year. To hell with pretending they were still friends. She moved away from the cabinet to leave the kitchen when Harry hissed, touching his scar.

"What's up?" said Hermione.

"Scar– But it's nothing... It happens all the time now..." The boy caught her staring and she froze.

"Well," Mel replied crudely. "You should learn to control it– Don't want that happening during class..."

"Mel! Don't be so unfeeling–"

"She's right," Harry agreed, giving her a hard look. "I don't want to give any more ideas to the Daily Prophet."

Sirius was acting like a child and it was driving her crazy. It was half selfishness and half worry. She wanted nothing more but to make Sirius realize he wasn't going to be alone nor unhappy. He had Emily, and Mel was pretty sure that they were on the verge of something.

Without Sirius, she was forced to spend more time with Ron, Harry and Hermione, because if she were to spent time with Ginny she would only think about Harry and their time together.

The twins were excellent distractions, but Fred was always trying to flirt and though it was a joke and wasn't making her uncomfortable, she was starting to like it. That worried her. She didn't want to ruin their friendship.

"You belong at Hogwarts and Sirius knows it. Personally, I think he's being selfish," She heard Hermione say one afternoon while they were cleaning more rubbish.

"That's a bit harsh, Hermione, you wouldn't want to be stuck inside this house without company," Ron explained.

"He'll have company!" said Hermione. "It's headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, isn't it? Emily is here almost all the time! He just got his hopes up that Harry would be coming to live here with him."

"I don't think that's true– He wouldn't give me a straight answer when I asked him if I could."

"He just didn't want to get his own hopes up even more– And he probably felt a bit guilty himself, because I think a part of him was really hoping you'd be expelled. Then you'd both be outcasts together."

"Come off it!" said the boys.

"Suit yourselves. But I sometimes think Ron's mum's right, and Sirius gets confused about whether you're you or your father, Harry."

"So you think he's touched in the head?"

"No, I just think he's been very lonely for a long time," Hermione shrugged.

"I have to agree," Mel was dying to talk about her suspicions with someone apart from her uncle. "I think that's about to change, though..."

"What d'you mean?"

"I'm saying," She looked around. "My mother and Sirius are spending a lot of time together..."

They looked at her silently until Hermione asked, "Wait, you don't think..?"

"I do."

"And you're okay with it?"

"Mum's been alone for years, it's time. Even better if it's Sirius."

"Dunno," Ron said awkwardly. "Bit weird to think of Sirius and Em together, don't you think? Them being friends for so long... I mean, Sirius was friends with your dad, wouldn't that make things weird?"

"Why?" Mel frowned.

"It'd be like betraying him, wouldn't it?"

"My dad's dead, Ron," She replied bluntly. "Don't you think he would've liked to see my mother with someone that would treat her well? Someone he knew?"

"Maybe..." He shrugged. "I just don't see Sirius as a dad–"

"Whatever," She thought it had been stupid to think they would support her idea.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Mrs Weasley interrupted.

"Still not finished?"

"I thought you might be here to tell us to have a break!" said Ron "D'you know how much mold we've got rid of since we arrived here?"

"You were so keen to help the Order, you can do your bit by making headquarters fit to live in."

"I feel like a house-elf..."

"Well, now that you understand what dreadful lives they lead, perhaps you'll be a bit more active in S.P.E.W.! You know, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to show people exactly how horrible it is to clean all the time — we could do a sponsored scrub of Gryffindor common room, all proceeds to S.P.E.W., it would raise awareness as well as funds —"

"I'll sponsor you to shut up about spew," Ron muttered, Hermione didn't hear it.

"Have you guys gotten your letters?" Mel entered the boys' room. "You won't believe who's got her Prefect–"

The twins apparated, causing her to scream.

"You twats!"

"Sorry, Lady! We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book," said Fred.

"Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," said George.

"And about time too."

"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back, and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year."

"Not surprising, is it, when you look at what's happened to the last four?"

"One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months," Harry counted with his fingers. "Yeah, I see what you mean."

"The dead one and the idiot without memory had it coming," Mel mentioned, sitting down on Harry's bed.

"What's up with you, Ron? What's the matter?" Fred approached the boy and read over his shoulder, his eyes widening. "Prefect?"

"Prefect?!" George got closer and snatched the letter from Ron's hand, the badge falling from it. "No way..."

"There's been a mistake– No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect... We thought you were a cert!"

"We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you two!" said George, pointing at Mel and Harry.

"Funny you mention it..." Mel said, but they didn't let her finish.

"Winning the Triwizard and everything!" Fred continued.

"I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him," said George.

"Yeah... Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right, though I must say, Mel, I'm a tad disappointed about you being a Prefect."

"How d'you know I'm one?"

"C'mon! There's no way you're not! Private lessons and all..." Fred walked over to Harry and glared at Ron and Mel. "Prefect... ickle Ronnie and Lady Dumbledore..."

"Oh, Mum's going to be revolting," George rolled his eyes.

Ron, who still had not said a word, took the badge, stared at it for a moment, and then held it out to Harry as though asking mutely for confirmation that it was genuine. Harry took it. A large P was superimposed on the Gryffindor lion. He had seen a badge just like this on Percy's chest on his very first day at Hogwarts.

The door banged open. Hermione came tearing into the room, her cheeks flushed and her hair flying. There was an envelope in her hand.

"Did you — did you get — ?" She spotted the badge in Harry's hand and let out a shriek. "I knew it!" she said excitedly, brandishing her letter. "Me too, Harry, me too!"

The twins turned to look at Mel with matching shocked expressions.

"No," Harry quickly dropped the badge on Ron's hand. "It's Ron, not me."

"It — what?"

"Ron's prefect, not me."

"Ron?" Hermione blinked. "But... are you sure? I mean —"

"How come you're not a prefect?" George asked Mel. "Hermione's clever– but you–"

"I've caused as much trouble as Harry," She shrugged. "And I would've told you so if you hadn't interrupted me! And yes, 'Mione, that badge belongs to Ron."

"It's my name on the letter," Ron straighten his posture as if daring her to speak.

"I... I... well... wow! Well done, Ron! That's really —"

"Unexpected?" said George.

"No! No, it's not... Ron's done loads of... he's really..."

"He's clever, brave, and has done nothing to prove he doesn't deserve that badge as much as Harry," Mel replied. Ron blushed furiously.

Mrs Weasley walked into the room holding some folded robes.

"Ginny said the booklists had come at last... If you give them to me, Emily and I will take them over to Diagon Alley this afternoon and get your books while you're packing. Ron, I'll have to get you more pyjamas, these are at least six inches too short, I can't believe how fast you're growing... what colour would you like?"

"Get him red and gold to match his badge," said George in disgust.

"Match his what?"

"His badge," Fred grimaced. "His lovely shiny new prefect's badge."

Mrs Weasley rose her face in slow understanding.

"His... but... Ron, you're not..?"

Ron held up his badge timidly.

"I don't believe it! I don't believe it! Oh, Ron, how wonderful! A prefect! That's everyone in the family!"

"What are Fred and I, next-door neighbours?" said George, huffing when his mother pushed him out of the way. Mel patted his shoulder, holding back her laughter.

"Wait until your father hears! Ron, I'm so proud of you, what wonderful news, you could end up Head Boy just like Bill and Percy, it's the first step! Oh, what a thing to happen in the middle of all this worry, I'm just thrilled, oh Ronnie —"

Mel laughed, incapable to hold any longer. Both twins were beyond displeased. What surprised her the most, was that she found herself pleased about not being a prefect.

"Mum... don't... Mum, get a grip..." Ron groaned as his mother continued to kiss all over his face.

"Well, what will it be? We gave Percy an owl, but you've already got one, of course."

"W-what do you mean?"

"You've got to have a reward for this! How about a nice new set of dress robes?"

"We've already bought him some," Fred lamented.

"Or a new cauldron, Charlie's old one's rusting through, or a new rat, you always liked Scabbers —"

"Mum... can I have a new broom?" When he saw her mother's look of uncertainty, he added, "Not a really good one! Just — just a new one for a change..."

Mrs Weasley smiled lovingly.

"Of course you can... Well, I'd better go get Emily if we've got a broom to buy too. I'll see you all later... Little Ronnie, a prefect! And don't forget to pack your trunks... A prefect... Oh, I'm all of a dither!"

"You don't mind if we don't kiss you, do you, Ron?" said Fred as soon as their mother left.

"We could curtsy if you like," said George.

"Oh, shut up," said Ron.

"Or what? Going to put us in detention?" Fred smirked.

"I'd love to see him try," sniggered George.

"He could if you don't watch out!" said Hermione.

Mel laughed along with the twins. She heard Ron mumble 'Drop it, Hermione' and she took pity on her poor friend.

"Enough you two!" She hit Fred's arm lightly. "Ron didn't ask to be made a prefect."

"We're going to have to watch our step, George," said Fred, pretending to be fearful, "with these two on our case..."

"Yeah, it looks like our law-breaking days are finally over," said George with a dramatic sigh.

The twins Disapparated after that.

"Those two!" said Hermione furiously, staring up at the ceiling, through which they could now hear Fred and George roaring with laughter in the room upstairs. "Don't pay any attention to them, Ron, they're only jealous!"

"I don't think they are," said Ron doubtfully, also looking up at the ceiling. "They've always said only prats become prefects... Still," he added on a happier note, "they've never had new brooms! I wish I could go with Mum and choose... She'll never be able to afford a Nimbus, but there's the new Cleansweep out, that'd be great... Yeah, I think I'll go and tell her I like the Cleansweep, just so she knows..."

Mel watched him rush out of the room.

"Harry?" said Hermione.

"Well done!" His voice sounded too happy to be genuine. "Brilliant. Prefect. Great."

"Thanks... Erm — Harry — could I borrow Hedwig so I can tell Mum and Dad? They'll be really pleased — I mean, prefect is something they can understand —"

"Yeah, no problem," He had his back to them, still talking with too much joy. "Take her!"

Mel waited until Hermione left with Hedwig, she waited until their friend closed the door... Harry straighten up from packing his trunk and sat heavily on the edge of his bed. He hadn't noticed she was still there and quickly covered his face with both hands as he grimaced.

She didn't know what to do, if this had happened a year back she would've held his hand and they would've found a way to cheer up. She wasn't upset about not being a prefect because her priorities had changed a bit since she was a kid, but seeing the disappointment in his eyes... They weren't friends, but she was decent enough to not walk away.

"I suppose you feel hurt."

Harry gave a start revealing his teary eyes to her, Mel continued calmly.

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine," She made her way to Ron's bed and sat down. "But I get it, my twelve-year-old self is rolling on her grave."

"I... I don't..." Harry stammered, then fixed his eyes on the corner of the wardrobe.

He stayed quiet for a few seconds before a bitter, sarcastic laugh came out. He shook his head slowly and cleaned his nose with the back of his hand.

"You're right– Ron didn't ask for this... I shouldn't..."

Mel wasn't going to pressure him. If he was going to talk great, if not, she'd done enough. The sound of footsteps brought them back and Harry composed himself at the speed of light. He stood up and fixed a casual grin on his face at the exact moment Ron burst into the room.

"Just caught her! She says she'll get the Cleansweep if she can."

"Cool... Listen — Ron — well done, mate."

Ron's face changed drastically.

"I never thought it would be me! I thought it would be you!"

"Nah, I've caused too much trouble," Harry admitted. "Mel's right, we're too far gone."

"I have to pack my stuff..." Mel stood up, patting Harry's shoulder but retreating her hand as if he were burning to the touch.

She didn't know what she could've said. That he wasn't completely alone, perhaps. That they could still find a common ground and talk, hopefully soon.

Next Chapter —>

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