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jjungkooksthighs · 3 years

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Claws of Carnality | jjk (8)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf!au, soulmate!au, fantasy!au

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 7.8k we really can’t ever have a short chapter around here smh

Summary: Alacrity augments you in the aftermath of your alpha’s perfervid performance and in his subsequent summoning of you, neither of you can stave off sin from overwhelming you in the desire for each other that consumingly captures the wolf and his mate.

Warnings: alpha!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, jealous!jungkook, dom!jungkook, sub! reader, omega!reader, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of blood, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scenting, dirty talk (lbr I love that shit), praising, fingering (just a smidge), grinding, fellatio (cock sucking), cock worship (just a bit), breast/nipple play, nipping, sucking, begging, muscle kink, scratching, cum eating, manhandling, cursing, wet and messy sex (kind of), size kink, hair pulling, impreg kink, dual orgasms

A/N: So, this chapter took a bit longer to get out due to graduate applications, schoolwork and inclement weather that took out my Wi-Fi, lol. It also went through a series of deletions because I felt self-conscious after the original posting of chapter seven, but eventually, it came along to what I had pictured in my mind despite the rework to the style of this chapter that I hoped to make easier for you guys to read with lessened uses of terminology/vocabulary. Also, I’m not the best at writing this type of smut, so please go easy on me!

Oh, and the gif that you guys see at the top? That’s Jungkook’s outfit inspiration for what he wears at the end of the chapter. :)

As always, please share with me your thoughts about my work! There is no greater reward to writing than seeing what your readers think of what you spent so much time to create. I am eager to know what you guys make of my story, so please don’t hesitate to let me know what your thoughts are because I love to hear it!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9

Meekness muddies you in the solid substratum of it that settles over your throat as you try to keep from liquifying under your alpha’s scorching gaze that leaves no part of you unscoured by its high heat.

It muffles you to a mutter as you struggle to swallow what little spittle has not dried up in your mouth at the parching sight of him as you manage, “Alpha….what are you doing?”

There had been something else you’d wanted to ask him, but in the roots that tangle thoughts around him, your perception is twisted by your peripheral field that extends only for the half nude man that looks fixedly at you.

Jungkook smirks before cocking his head to the side in quick movement in a display of avid amusement before he utters, “Is it not obvious to you, pretty? I’m stripping and shedding myself of the clothing I wore to entice you. It has served its purpose,” He turns to pierce you with a dark glare as he leans back on the wooden table behind him, the burled brawn of his arms bearing his weight as he leans back on them while his supple skin shines with the sweat that sluices it as he taunts, “I no longer require them here. Others may look at me, but no one but you, my mate, shall ever be able to touch me.”

You whine a that, your silver irises interspersed with golden streaks shimmering over him as they sliver down from perfectly plump lips that have spoken such sweet nothings to you and bedecked you in his brand as your hand absentmindedly rises to lay over the purpled petal he’d made ascend amidst the garden of you in his efforts to tend to his terrace.

You trail your visage over to the Adam’s apple that juts proudly out from the column of his neck, an irrational urge sprouting to life within you in the need to nip it for daring to sweetly stick out like the ripest berry from the sturdiest stem you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.

You lick at your dried lips that are not slicked against the tongue that tries to wet them from the arid desert of your mouth that your alpha radiates away from you as your sight slides lower until it settles over the bodacious bough of his chest that branches brashly with muscles along every inch of him, your fingers twitching in remembrance of how strong and sinewy he’d been under your digits as you’d brushed them against him.

When your sight drops along the thatched thighs that the fabric strains stiffly against in its stretch over them, a picturesque memory of what you’d done atop of one of them paints colorfully itself in your mind.

Its vibrant vividity has you biting your tongue to keep from releasing another sound as your cheeks turn themselves red like the rose you are to him while your alpha grins at the vivacious view of you, wholly intrigued by the spectacle that is you as you struggle against the slump that soon has you falling back against the door as you whimper in the damning distance between you and your alpha that takes him away from you far too much.

“Jungkook,” you imploringly plead.

Your alpha chuckles at that to push off the vanity behind him with no effort at all before he strides over to the chaise lounge made from the leather of aged cattle against the timbered wall. He is slow in the languid lowering of himself over it, his back resting against the arm of the piece of furniture as he husks, “Bring yourself over to me, pretty,” his voice deepens before one hand rises, his fingers curling inward in a come-hither motion that has your heart stuttering in the excitement electrifying it as he orders, “Come and sit on your alpha’s lap, my omega, and tell to me all that you thought of my performance that was devoted solely to you.”

In the scarlet moonlight crimson as blood that drips like wax from a never burning candle’s wick from the glass window behind him, the color sinfully stains him in a dangerous sheen of a garnet glow that emanates effervescently off him in everything that promises impurity as his eyes glint goadingly at you from around the blackened wisps of his locks that have fallen around them.

As a creature that has only known chastity’s constraining shackles your whole life in your wait for your mate, you very much want them to be crushed under your alpha’s heel, for he has already caused them to crack amidst the sweet pleasure he’s delivered to you in the forest and in the sanctity of your own chambers.

As if caught in his unyielding undercurrent, your body moves under his watery sway that sweeps you forth. Perhaps it is the omega in you that is utterly unable to resist temptation taking its form in Jungkook. Maybe it is the inescapably inexorable draw to him that paws at you to be near to him lest you incur its fangs if he is absent and away from you.

Conceivably, it could be both that have you pad forward without pause as he watches you with interest while you move, his golden irises never drifting from your own as a wave of heat falls over them and, in your undertow he’s surrounded you in, it washes over you, too.

Once you stand before him, he makes a sound of appreciation as he appraises you attentively.

One hand sinks under the furs that hide you from him, each finger suggestively sidling up along your waist while the other palm joins it on the other side as you close your eyes while your arms wrap around his muscled shoulders, his calloused and strong digits dipping deliciously over your soft skin as he hums, “Mmm, that’s a good girl. I like it when you’re obedient like this. You’re so receptive to me already, pretty,” His hands sensuously slide downward, his fingers streaming outward like a consumingly surrounding sea that washes you over in his thrilling touch while he splays his legs out before, all in one fluid motion, he pulls you forward until you fall like the tide over his hips as each of your legs pools on either side of him only for him to smirk as he amusedly muses, “So responsive to me, too, my mate. You do not resist me at all. You’re so willing to submit, aren’t you, sweetling?”

Not prepared for the sudden shift in position, you gasp in surprise, your eyes shooting open to be submerged by his golden irises beginning to seep with the licentious lust that dooms you in their dusky dimness. They beckon you to lose yourself in his deep depths, one hand diving under the thin terrain of your gown only for him to trickle the phalanges of his fingers along the soft skin of your leg. He’s unrushed and unhurried as his digits drip their warmth over you to flow over your ankle through his ascent upward, his digits oozing along aqueously while his fingers spread outward like a tributary that must get its fill as he drags them ceaselessly along.

Your breath wells up in your lungs in the anticipation that swims there and when his hand torturously trails over your thigh only to brutishly, brutally halt his ministrations, that’s when you whine, your arms tightening around him as you lean forward to lay your forehead against his own as you whisper, “Please, alpha.”

Your alpha croons, his index finger running in circles along the innermost part of your leg that borders along the sex that has not stopped crying for him since his performance as he says, “I know what you want, pretty. Do you want your alpha to take care of you again like I did in the forest? It would be so easy. I could make you fall apart so quickly with how readily you receive me, my mate,” His digit dribbles impossibly closer to where you want him most, a shaky breath falling from your lips as one of your own hands veers down over his chiseled chest, catching on all the defined muscles that ripple in its wake before it settles over his heart that beats briskly in the same time as your own that instantly stammers when his finger stops once more as you whimper out while your alpha’s eyes narrow, “Much as I wish to give to you what I know you desire, you’re going to answer to me before I do anything else, pretty. You have such a pretty voice. Use it for me, my mate.”

Your irises slip below to his lips that move so very precariously with how close you are to them and an urge soaks you to feel them, your other hand dowsing him in your touch as you draggle it along the back of his nape and up along his neck until your fingers tentatively trace the outline of them. You etch his rounder and fuller lower lip into your memory as you draw your digit around the upper one, entirely entranced by the cupid’s bow that crowns the middle of his top lip and the way that a long, pink tongue is swift to poke out of the mouth he parts for you in your exploration of him.

He laves it first along the bottom one to carefully coat it in saliva that gleams against the soft firelight that licks at your alpha from the corner of the chamber and when he dares to lap the muscle along the underside of your finger at the same time the palm on your thigh trails forbiddingly forth to cup your womanhood, you mewl.

The lewd sight stirs within you a hunger for that which only your alpha can sate.

It is as if his tongue are hands are the keys that unlocks the cage of words in your mind that he’d been the one to padlock there as you breathe, “I would very much like that, but you’ve been so good to me. You made me feel so wonderful in the forest and even dedicated that stunning performance to me that made me fall impossibly harder for you, my alpha,” you breathily profess while you pigment the column of his neck with the stain of your lips as you lightly graze your teeth along the notch you’d been staring at before to whisper, “You were so mesmerizing up on that stage while you danced for me. I’ve never seen a creature as enchanting as you were,” the hand that you’d left over his heart begins its journey anew as you veer toward the bulge in his pants that he unabashedly displays to you while you offer, “You’ve done so many other things that have exhibited your sentiments for me and I want to give you something in return. Please, let me show to you how special you make me feel, Jungkook.”

Your hand has barely even lain itself over his member that hardens at your very words before there’s a growl, your alpha’s hand extricating itself from between your legs to encircle around your dainty wrist as he roughly pulls it up and between the two of you before he warns, “Do not toy with me, my omega. Once you start, you’re going to finish, yeah? I can only control myself so much with you looking so goddamn beautiful for me while you’re on my lap like this.”

You lick your lips to whisper, “I have no intentions of playing with you, Jungkook. I only wish to please my alpha if he will allow me to indulge in him like I’ve wanted to for so very long,” you fully seat yourself on him, your clothed sex rubbing against him as you grind atop him while the hand on your waist bunches the fabric around it to draw it up and away from you to ease your access as your head dips down so that you can imbibe yourself of his taste after being denied it in the woodland, “I’m so parched, alpha…please, help me. You’re the only one that can.”

The moment your mouth ghosts over the sternocleidomastoid muscle along his neck and your breath warmly whisks itself over him, he releases you only for his hand to tangle in your hair as he rasps, “That’s right, my mate. No one but me can quench you like I can. You want to satisfy me, pretty?” His hips impetuously impulse upward against your own as he hisses, “Do it, then. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

Needing no further coaxing, you press your lips against him in a chaste, short osculation that earns a rumble from his throat in a sound that has you smiling against him as you string a line of wet kisses over him, your hips rolling atop the tented bulge that hardens inconceivably more under you as you moan at the delicious friction that cascades through you with every eddy of your hips along his member that is all too fast to try to escape his trousers.

Raptness for you floods his irises and it swells around you until you take one of his hands to delve under the furs that conceal you from him, his head falling back when you swirl your sex over him while you slide his fingers over the exposed sliver of skin between your breasts, his digits diving under the thin material of your bodice to palm at your tit as you sigh in satisfaction at the way his long, slender fingers sinfully swathe you in their hold.

Your alpha husks, “Gods, these tits were fucking made for this. They were made for me.”

“Yes, alpha…all for you,” you breathe as he kneads at your tit while you continue your expedition along the mountainous terrain of his chest and when he brings his lip between his teeth at the sight of your hooded gaze as you stare hungrily back at him, he watches the way that your irises flick toward the peaked summit of the same nipple that had taunted you from under the enclosure of the sheer shirt he’d worn to agonizingly afflict you earlier.

When you glance back at his eyes for permission, they flash dangerously at you and with a swivel of your hips that has him momentarily shutting his eyes, you seize your opportunity and enclose your mouth around the dark nipple to suckle at him only to earn a guttural groan from him as his back bows inward while his fingers dig into your hip at the same time that the digits in your hair curl inward to pull tightly as he utters, “Fuck, pretty. That feels amazing. Keep going, my omega. You’re making your alpha feel so good.”

Your wolf preens at the praise, your tongue daubing his tender areola in kittenish licks as you suction the sensitive skin between your lips, your other hand pawing at his pectoral while his thumb flitters over your own nipple only to have you quicken your pace as he strums you like an instrument atop of him.

You soon shift your attention to the other neglected bud, your lips enveloping him as he grunts with the way that you scuff your nails down his swollen peak while you twirl your tongue along the abandoned areola.

Distracted by your ministrations to his chest, your alpha does notice the way your hand seeps down his chest until it bears down over the fully hardened member to have him buck from underneath you. The movement jostles you atop him and, accidently, you nip at him only for him to pinch your own nipple between his fingers in punishment as you whimper.

Through it all, your hips do not cease their undulations over him as they continue to rotate rapturously around him, the pleasure too sweetly succulent as it glazes over you the longer that you lather yourself on him.

You are steadfast in your venturous voyage to discover more of your alpha as you frisk your tongue along the underside of his pec before continuing your descent toward the steep sierra that rises tall between his legs.

You hadn’t realized you’d been staring at his now engorged, edematous buds, but the fingers in your hair constrict around you to condense your vision only to golden irises that flare fiercely at you when he rumbles out, “Up here, pretty. I want to see your eyes while you use your mouth on me.”

“Yes, alpha,” you obediently reply as you press a hot, open-mouthed kiss over each of the eight abdominal muscles that comprise an impressive slew of sinew over the skin of his belly.

With the choker clasped around your neck, you can only go so far before it unforgivingly cuts into you and with one last sweep of your tongue along the ridges between his abs, you rise to plant your hands on his chest as he rolls your nipple expertly between two fingers, a moan tumbling from your lips as you grind with fervor over him.

Wanting him to feel just as pleasured as you are, you lay your palm flat over him, your fingers furling around him to give him a small squeeze that earns a groan him that is drawn out when you lean forward to drag your lips along the underside of his jaw that he presents to you under the light, soft brush of your mouth over him.

One of his hands finds itself under your chin, two fingers grasping your jaw as he pulls your chin up while he husks, “You really do want to please me, don’t you, pretty? If you want me that bad,” he sits up with you still sat on his lap, his eyes scintillating lethally as the pad of his thumb slides up to nudge along your lip, your saliva dripping and coating the digit that he uses to penetrate the warmth of your mouth that you close around him as he growls, “Get on your knees and take this cock into your mouth. Drink from me until you’re so full of me that you won’t wish for anything else to feed that thirsting desire within you.”

Under his command that sidles swelteringly through golden irises from under his locks, you shakily exhale when he extracts his finger from your mouth, each of you watching the way your spittle clasps itself to him before breaking off and falling between you.

You whine at the loss of him, but you know that you won’t leave you empty for long and the thought energetically bounds through you like a sylph springing through the air.

He easily lifts you from his lap and sets you on the carpeted floor, your limbs far too weak to support your weight without him as he helps you to fold your legs under you so that you sit on your heels like he’d ordered you to do.

A lagoon of fabric from your skirts profoundly puddles and spills outward around you as you stare at the bloated bulge in his trousers, your salivary glands secreting spit as your mouth waters at the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Your fingers fiddle with the linen lining the end of your alpha’s trousers, however, as diffidence coils around your ribs.

You have never pleasured a man with your mouth before, for it is a rule that such intimate practices are not to be engaged in unless a wolf has presented as either an alpha, omega or beta.

At your hesitance that is made palpable in the way that you chew at your lip, your alpha softens if only for a moment as he hunches over you, both hands laying along the sides of your jaw as his tone lightens when he asks, “What is it, pretty? Are you having second thoughts? It’s alright if you are. I would never have you do anything you didn’t want to do.”

His support only makes you want him more, for there is care that he’s imbued innately in each word that flowers within you under his reaching radiance.

His irises search your own beseechingly and you place your own palm atop of his as your cheeks redden with embarrassment that shyly quiets you to a whisper as you tentatively confess, “It’s just…it’s just that I’ve, well…I’ve never done this before. I want to satisfy you, alpha, but I just don’t know if I’ll be good at it or if I’ll even make you feel half as fulfilled as you did for me in the forest.”

Your alpha only smirks at that, his expression darkening damningly as understanding shadows him while he utters, “All the better for me, my omega,” He turns his hand to capture your fingers between his own as your digits intertwine with his own as he drifts your joined hands toward his weeping member, “The only cock you will learn to fuck with that little mouth of yours will be mine. You shall only know my knot on your tongue. I alone will gladly teach and instruct you on how to pleasure your mate, pretty.”

Familiar fire ignites in you as his promises plunder your being with anticipation. He strews your hand just above where his tip leaks through the linen before, with a scalding glance, one of his palms is crossed over the other and without pause, he trails them seductively slow up his thigh in a path that will drive him right where he needs it.

You watch, entirely engrossed, as fingers are rubbed against his member, a heaved breath forcing itself through ajar lips that follow with a clenched jaw as he rasps, “The first thing you would want to do is get me hard like this, pretty. I don’t have to be for you to take me in your mouth, but it’s better if you, ah-“ you spare no time in replacing his hands with one of your own, your fingers stroking him through the fabric as he groans, “-Yes, pretty, just like that. Shit. Take my cock out now. The pleasure is increased tenfold when there are no barriers that bar you from me.”

You obey, your breath hitching at his considerably large size once again as your alpha makes quick work of his soiled trousers.

Your ardent awaitment of him is not long when he sheds the last piece of clothing he’d had only for your eyes to widen as large as stars at the sight that greets you.

Your eyes widen in wonderment as you quietly gasp, “Alpha, it’s… it’s enormous. You’re magnificent, but,” you gulp as you stare, “do you think that will fit?”

Your alpha caresses your jaw as he coos, “It will fit if I wish it to. You were designed and created for me by the moon above, pretty. I know you can take me.”

Nestled between thick thighs, his sizeable shaft arcs upward like a crescent moon with constellated veins spanning through the sky of his skin, the bulbous head framing it all where it hovers over his abdominals like a planet that you’d very much like to explore yet have never seen before.

“Still, how are you even larger than before, Jungkook?” You blurt, your fingers dipping down to gingerly pad over him in your fascination of his behemoth dimensions as he bites down on his tongue to keep from bucking underneath you, for he does not want to startle you.

Between his legs, you stare at him with the eyes of a doe rather than a wolf from your inexperience that tucks your tail between your legs and he is intent on ensuring that nothing will deter you from venturing out into the field where he waits anxiously for you.

“This is what you do to me, pretty. You make me like this, for it is my need for you that makes me so much bigger to you than before. I have been denied of you for far too long, my omega,” his fingers enclose around your wrist as fervid fervor fills his irises before he orders, “Put your little hands around me, pretty. You can be as gentle, or as rough, as you wish.”

You do as he says, instantly wrapping your hands around him and then blinking innocently at him as you tilt your head to the side in question.

The moment your touch titillates him, his brows pull together in concentration, for your fingers are far smaller and more delicate than his own in their timidity that holds them back.

Despite it all, you are a sight that is far too beautiful to behold as he encourages, “That’s it, my omega. Now, open wide and take me.”

Tentatively, you part your lips as each of your hands bring his member down to your gaping maw. The closer it gets to your mouth, the more colossal it towers over you. All it takes for you to gulp and push down the lump of apprehension in your throat is one glance up at your alpha, whose irises simmer over your own with the heat of the sun as he draws his lip between his teeth while he devours the vivid visage of you between his legs.

There’s so much you want to say to him, but right now, there’s only one thing that can possibly show to him what you feel for him.

When he finally breaches you and his heavy girth falls over your tongue, it is warm like the rest of him and engorged with the blood that rushes to it as you try to nestle him between your lips the best that you can.

He tastes of a musky tanginess that is mixed with a salty, briny tint. You find that it is not an unpleasant flavor.

Your walls contract around nothing when you watch his face contort to one born of pleasure in an accidental brush of your tongue along the underside of his shaft in your attempts to gorge yourself of more of him. Like this, his base is still grasped by each hand as he sinks his fingers into your tresses to urge you forward impossibly more.

Like this, he’s resplendently ravishing as he succumbs to the damned delirium that you are solely and wholly the bringer of.

You’re not sure if the human body was created for this purpose, but you do know that your alpha’s pleasure is the only thing that matters to you now. There’s a feral rawness in him that has slept in him and you want to be the one to awaken it. You’ve always been a stubborn creature and you aren’t about to let unseeded unsurety stop you now when you can see the glimpses of the satisfaction you could grant him like he has for you.

There’s something so gratifying in knowing that you could be the source of his pleasure and so, you experimentally swirl your tongue around his tip that sobs with precum as you allow him to plunge himself even deeper inside your mouth.

Your alpha’s head is thrown back at that as he groans, “Yeah, fuck, pretty. Gods, I knew you could do this. So fucking perfect me, my omega… my mate.”

Inch by impossible inch, your alpha penetrates you inconceivably as you lick at him like a cat starved of its water for days. The hand in your hair starts to push and pull you to and fro and you watch, captured by captivation, as your alpha’s breaths begin to become uneven and heave into pants as he stares heatedly at you.

“Use your hands, pretty. Touch me.” Your alpha husks and you obey, each of your hands constringing around what you can’t fit inside your mouth as you stroke him up and down, your fingers catching along the veins that you take care to caress as you squeeze in a vice-like grip his member that throbs under you.

Your alpha gives a grunt of approval, his back arching as his eyes screw shut under your ministrations as his lips part in pleasure.

Your confidence grows the longer that you lave at him, unsure of what you are doing but nonetheless spurred into action as your alpha clutches your hair between his fingers to secure you to him as you fleetingly flick your wet muscle against his sensitive glans while your alpha laments.

As you stare up at him, he is carnality’s manifestation in the way that the scarlet light erotically colors him in passion’s dangerous hue, his sculpted brows scrunched together under wild curls that curve voluptuously along his angular face.

Lost in him, you make the mistake of scraping your teeth against him only to earn a sharp hiss from him as his fingers tighten in your locks.

Breathless, your alpha’s eyes open while he grimaces, “Loosen your jaw, pretty girl. That hurts, yeah? Try not to graze me with those teeth of yours. I know you can do that, can’t you, sweetling?”

You pull off him with an apology already on your lips, “I’m sorry, alpha. I didn’t mean to harm you. I’ll be better for you, I promise.”

Your alpha coos, “You already are the best for me, pretty,” he brushes his knuckles under your mandible, “There is no one I would do this with beyond you. You’re mine and you will learn, my mate. I do not expect you to be perfect when this is your first time. You’ve been doing so well already, my omega. All you need to do is relax for me.”

Your wolf bays at his praise, affection for him blooming inside you as his words water you.

You heed your alpha’s command, your maw slackening as you guide him back between your lips. This time, you swallow him as far back as you can possibly guzzle him, your mouth flooded of all that is him as you whirl your tongue lasciviously around him.

Your fingers compress around his base while one hand, with renewed spirit, seeps over his balls as you fondle them, your alpha’s eyes rolling to the back of his head as you claw away at the last of his control to cause him to buck into your mouth, his cock driving itself even deeper down your throat until it buries itself so far back that it blocks your airway, hot tears quick to burn at the edges of your eyes as he hits your pharynx and blocks your airway.

“Fuck, don’t stop. Suck me, my mate.” Your alpha drawls out, the efforts of speaking laboriously difficult in the breaths that strain to dislodge themselves and leave him.

It is a sensation you have never felt before to have your mouth so thoroughly filled and though it is not the most comfortable, the pleasure lies not in you, but rather within your mate and in what you are swiftly reducing him to. You would do this a thousand times if it meant wracking your alpha to this.

Ever the dutiful omega, you follow his decree. You hollow your cheeks as you bob your head along his length while you suckle him enthusiastically, inhaling through your nose in spite of the breath that eludes you throat.

“Gods, yeah, pretty. Right there, right there. Fuck me, you’re going to drive me crazy, ” Your alpha rasps as you unsuccessfully try to silence the gag that erupts in the back of your mouth while his fingers knead into your hair to tug at the roots as he thrusts into your mouth to plummet lecherously lower.

Spit pools in every crevice of your mouth until you’re overflowing with it and, as he rams himself into you, all you can do is bear it as your slobber falls like a fountain from your lips in his jostling movements that shake your vision. His eyes have become hazed with craving craze for you and you relish in the way he struggles for breath just as you are in your damning decimation of him.

Transfixed by the way your eyelids flutter as his dick disappears into the wet warmth of your mouth that he could spend forever in, he husks, “You’re so hot like this with my cock between your lips, pretty. You like this, don’t you? You like sucking your alpha’s dick?” He asks while he watches in interest the way that your saliva escapes the cushion of your lips that pillow him inside you, his thumb brushing it away and back over your lips.

You moan to let him know that yes, you really do enjoy seeing the way you’re wrecking him through your own devices. Right now, this is about him and seeing his pleasure is far more satisfying than anything you could have imagined. Knowing that you are the one that is affecting him in this way is inexorably exhilarating. It makes you feel powerful. Now, it is you that holds the key to his raptured raptness.

When your alpha drags his digit along your lower lip, you hum in agreement and the vibrations shoot straight into his member as he arches his back, his head falling even farther as you work him in your mouth while he utters, “Shit, of course you do. You really are perfect for me,” one hand grabs your own to pull you down to the neglected testicles that ache for you, your fingers closing around one delicately to give him a gentle squeeze as he bites at his lip while he growls, “I’m not going to last much longer, pretty. Gods, use that tongue of yours like you did out there when you told those bastards that you’re mine. Show me you meant it, my mate. Let me see how badly you want to please me.”

His words send a wave of blazing heat through you, tenacious tenacity sweltering within you at the realization that he’d been watching from the shadows and had seen and heard everything that had occurred between you and the two wolves that so stupidly believed they would win you from your soulmate.

You swallow fatally around him, your muscle swishing and swiveling around him as you unhinge your jaw to completely take him in his entirety when he tugs you down on him. His facial expression detorts to one of unadulterated, unbridled bliss as his own tongue lolls to either side of his parted lips, his eyes closing yet again while the sounds of slurping drip from your lips with the spittle that dribbles below them.

Your alpha hums, “Mmm, fuck, you’re so good with that little mouth. You fuck my cock with it better than any bitch in this pack ever could.”

Your cheeks running red at that, you fondle his balls with one hand, your other running your nails down his chest to leave reddened marks of your own over his skin all while you greedily ingurgitate him while he stuffs himself inside you with another dangerous undulation of his hips.

When your fingers roll his balls like dice between them, that has him keening as he pants, “I’m close, pretty. I’m going to fucking fill you up so much that the taste of me will fucking linger in that hungry mouth of yours for days. You want that, yeah?”

You nod instantly, your stomach grumbling your salivary glands producing more of their offspring at just the thought of it as you suction him with eager earnestness betwixt your lips.

By now, he’s swelling and throbbing between your lips, his end near by the way his testicles palpitate as you titillate him.

Your alpha grunts before he rumbles out, “Gods, you are such a ravenous little girl for me. I bet that cunt of yours is just as starved to receive me, isn’t it, little one? Fuck, I could knot you, my mate. I could breed you so well. Do you want my pups, pretty? Do you want me to stuff you to the brim with my fucking seed so you have no choice but to get pregnant and bear my children?”

You moan at the thought of it, the ostentatious oscillations strafing over his dick as your head bounces back and forth while you quaff him to have him grunt.

There’s an urge to bask in his simmering gaze as you give him over to his end and, with another sinful swill of him within your mouth as you grope his gonads, you splutter amidst the very large cock currently nestled between your lips, “I want it a-all, Jungkook, but p-please…I w-wish,” you slabber him with your saliva as your tongue twists itself around him, “I wish for y-you to look upon me when you finish in my m-mouth.”

Each word trickles from you under the labored breaths you inhale through your nose and you hope that they are not burned by the fire that blazes in the corner of the chamber before they can reach him.

Your voice submerges and dives after him through the sea of exaltation that you have deluged him into and, in your final act to bring him back up for the air of his ecstasy, his eyelids flicker up to reveal golden irises that singe you in their voracious torridity.

You whine at the way the smoke of desire has smoldered him, his long tongue poking against his cheek as his head tilts back while he consumes you in his sights that leave you squirming along the floor as he husks, “You want me to see who has made me feel so fucking good, yeah? Very well, pretty. Watch me cum just for you.”

If the dangerous twirl of your tongue along his slit while your hand that had been attached to his testicles slides sinfully down to rub along his perineum isn’t enough to have him come undone, it’s the way that your eyes now gleam with the glazing of the yen of yearning that every blood vessel burns of yours is coated for him with as you fervently fix him inside your mouth.

You’re the picture of innocence in the white of your dress that curtains you in its angelic wing, but the cock between your lips that you ardently take between them damns you in sin’s tendrils that Jungkook captures you with.

It is his utter undoing when your cheeks fatally concave in their incurvation as you suck him with tightly compressed pressure inside your wet warmth while you run your tongue along his base at the same time he draws you forward so that your nose brushes the thicket of pubic hairs as you blink with innocent doe-eyes up at him as he howls, “Ah, fuck, I’m there, pretty. I’m cumming because of what you did to me.”

Euphoria pours itself through him like a cascading waterfall that does douse every part of him that it washes over as his knot swells inside you, his irises never abandoning you through his climax as his seed bursts out of him and spurts across every corner of your mouth.

You flatten your tongue to catch every bit of him as he feeds you his nectarous ambrosia. His thickened essence spreads and spills over your hot muscle and down your throat deliciously viscous as he makes good on his promise and nourishes your parched body with his sinful sustenance.

He spouts and streams his taint into you as endlessly as a river and when you think you might just overflow with it, that’s when he extricates himself from you, one hand rising so that his thumb caresses your swollen and abused lips as he coos, “Such a good girl for me. You did so well for your first time, sweetling,” his digit swipes at the stray bead of cum that leaks from you only to sweep his finger over your tongue and you close your mouth around him, moaning out at his tasteful tinge as his eyes flash darkly at you, “That’s it, pretty. Drink every last drop. We wouldn’t want you to thirst for me again while you watch me fight the other alphas for you, now would we?”

He pulls his digit from you with a ‘pop’ as you lick your lips as you breathe, “No, alpha. That would be a travesty, truly.”

Your alpha chuckles at that as he gathers you from the floor and when your scent wafts wantonly under his nostrils, he smirks wolfishly, “My, my, my… you really can’t get enough of me, can you?”

It takes you a second to realize, but when he settles you on his lap once more and your thighs skim each other in the movement, your eyes widen as you draw in a short, small breath.

Your alpha only arches a sculpted brow, amusement coloring his tone as he teases, “What? Surprised that you got off by humping my leg like the animal that you are while you sucked my cock, pretty?”

So focused on delivering your alpha over to his end, you’d hardly paid attention to the way your legs had clamped around one of his own as you rutted against him with fervor. You really couldn’t help it with the sight of sin that had commanded your capture under it.

You whine, your irises dipping low as you trace circles along his bare chest as embarrassment tints your cheeks red, “Jungkook, I didn’t mean to. You just… you did this. It’s your fault.”

Your alpha laughs at that, one hand settling along your jaw to coax your visage back up at him while your wolf hounds at you to obey as he rumbles, “I shall gladly take the blame then, beautiful. You know, the fact that you came from giving to me the best head that I’ve ever had,” the fingers of his other palm snake under the folds of your dress to drag through the deposit of wetness that now drapes your legs as he brings the digits to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick his finger clean of you as he groans at the flavor of you while his irises dilate, “That’s hot as fuck.”

Your blush is as red as a ruby as you whimper at that and your alpha grins as his stray hand lands on your hip to trail up and down your back in soothing circular motions to reassure you. His mouth opens to say something else, but before he can, there’s a loud series of knocks against the wooden door interrupts the two of you amidst your illicit indecencies.

“This is the last call for all alphas that might remain here. The Offering is about to begin,” says the muffled voice of an elder that likely had been sent to collect any lingering wolves that were still in the den.

You whine loudly as your arms intertwine around your alpha’s neck, your baser being demanding you keep close to your alpha as he softens, the fingers on your cheek splaying out so that his digits caress you as utters, “Come, pretty. I must ready myself for what is to come and I require my mate’s aid to assist me in dressing, for you’ve temporarily robbed me of my faculties after what you’ve just done to me.”

Your wolf preens at that as your hand lifts as you lay your palm over his own while you implore, “Must we go so soon? I do not wish to leave your side.”

Your alpha stands and he’s careful to lift you up and off of him even while your arms tighten around his neck as he rumbles, “After this is all over, you will be free to be with me whenever, wherever and however you desire, my mate. You know the rules,” he moves back and you follow him in your embrace until his thighs hit the back of the vanity where his clothes sit on the abandoned chair, “I must duel anyone that tries to contest me for you, sweetling. It simply is the way of things and I will not hesitate to engage in battle with any wolf that attempts to take what is rightfully mine. You are everything to me and I will make certain that everyone knows it. Do you understand, pretty?”

You nod as you nuzzle the sensitive gland along his neck as a purr trembles from your throat while you scent him, “I understand, Jungkook. I only fear the bloody destruction you’ll leave in your wake for any fools that think they can tear you away from me.”

“That shall be their mistake, pretty,” he sighs in satisfaction as he tilts his head back to grant access as you paint him with the stroke of your lips over the tender skin along his clavicle, “I will not lose you.”

Tenet blazes in his eyes and conviction radiates his words that emit with the sun’s might their fierceness as they fall over you to set your own affection alight within you as you lace your lips along his jaw in a stripe of kisses that you thread there as you manage between them, “There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that you will be the champion amongst them all. However it may be, you have already won me, alpha.”

With that, you embellish him with the cloth he will wear in his battles for you. You help him delicately pull the garment over his head that shades him in the color of soot. It is akin to a sheet of thin charcoal that dyes him in its film of darkness that, like his earlier shirt, is grainy and dusts him lightly in its hue, his sun soaked skin shining brilliantly from beneath it.

Your mouth waters at the sight of it as you tuck it into cotton trousers that are black as night and your alpha smirks when the smell of your arousal drips down to collect itself amidst the pool of your taint yet again as he watches with interest the way that you chew at your lip while you tug the white blazer across bulging arms that catch at the heavier material as you drag it over him.

He makes certain to playfully provoke you by wrapping an arm around your waist only to schlep you forward, your hands planting themselves against his broad, strong chest as he asks, “Are you ready to watch me show everyone that I and I alone am the only wolf that is deserving of you as his mate?”

You nudge at the edge of his collarbone to catchily collect as much of his riveting redolence as you can before you sow another row of kisses along his skin only to pull away and admit, “Always.”

#werewolf!jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts #jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts abo #alpha!jungkook #alpha jungkook x omega reader #werewolf jungkook #bts scenarios #dom!jungkook #alpha omega bts #jungkook hot #btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet

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youngclaire · 3 years

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One Last Final Goodbye

I rewrote sending Claire back through the stones at the end of book 2 but from Jamie's POV. I thought it would be a nice way to ease myself into writing these two. This is very book compliant, I actually bad the book open next to me whilst I wrote this in order to translate it from Claire's POV to Jamie's and it was a lot of fun. It's not a copy of the fuller chapter, it's been shortened down in places but the essence is there. I've also removed bits and pieces. Uhh yeah...all dialogue in this belongs to Diana and the book I'm just responsible for remixing the words. Anyway, I hope whoever bothers to read this likes it :)

(This is also my first fic in this fandom with these two so don't expect it to be perfect, it probably isn't)

- - -

He wouldn’t stop for anything; not food, water, or rest. He keeps the horse at a constant gallop at all times, scared that if he paused or hesitated for even a moment he would lose all courage and go neither back or forward.

I shall see my wife safe, is a mantra that keeps him riding. If he is to die tonight or on the battlefield tomorrow, he would not take her down with him; not her or the innocent being she carries inside her.

The stones come into view just above him. A cursed salvation of granite and Jamie tries not to see them, his gaze fixated forward. Behind him, Claire lets her displeasure be known, protesting against the idea. Jamie steels himself against them, clenches his jaw and gallops harder, fighting the urge to give in. This was the only way to see her safe and unharmed, he tells himself.

She protests still, even while he urges her up to the ruined cottage. She doesn’t realise he has no intention of parting with her right now, he just wants time to breathe, to think, to let the panic and worry abate. He sinks to the ground, his body cold and his mind racing.

“It’s alright,” he thinks he hear himself say. “We have a bit of time now; no one will find us here.” He shivers, though from the cold, and wraps his plaid around him.

God, he could still see it; Dougal’s lifeless eyes, the blood pooling out of him, the shock on Willie Coulter’s face. How long before everyone knew? How long before everyone found out he had committed familicide?

Jamie’s head falls forward onto his knees, a tiredness washing over him, fatigue clutching at his bones and eyelids. Tired as he was he could not sleep for fear of the images in his mind’s eye.

His breath comes out in ragged pants and he can barely stand the sound of it. He feels Claire’s warmth and presence beside him, uses it as something to anchor himself to.

What happened in that room and who knows wasn’t the priority, while Claire had yet to explicitly say so Jamie’s fate waited for him on Culloden Moor. Tomorrow he will die and all this will cease to matter. Claire will be safe.

His breathing eases back into its natural rhythm, the panic wilting away from the edges. He’ll take hold of Death’s hand, gladly accept his destiny knowing he did one thing right at last.

“I won’t go, Jamie,” she says, as if she’s read his thoughts. “I’m staying with you.”

Jamie shakes his head. She couldn’t persuade him, he couldn’t change his mind. He needed to do this.

“No,” he says. The firmness bites at him, makes him wince. He hopes she can hear the gentleness that lies beneath it. “I must go back, Claire.”

“You can’t,” she cries. “Jamie, they will have found Dougal by now! Willie Coulter will have told someone.”

Aye, that was a fact he had resigned himself to, a fact she must resign herself too as well. He grieved for Dougal, for the second father he had, but Jamie had done what he’d done- he would take whatever consequence waited for him behind that door. She talks of fleeing to France but it’s no use, he’s chosen his fate, set his heart and mind to it, accepted it. A traitor twice over, a rebel, a murderer…The English will hunt Prince Charles. The English and the clans will hunt Jamie. He was dead either way.

“Claire, I am a dead man.”

He watches the tears freeze on her cheeks. “No,” she says but the effect is lost, she knows he speaks the truth.

“I wouldna get very far anyway.” On its own accord, his hand runs through his red hair that makes him a beacon at all times. Not exactly inconspicuous. “I can save you, Claire,” With his other hand he brushes away the tears that continue to fall. “and I will. That is the most important thing.”

Then he will go back. If he finds he cannot do it for himself then he will find it in him to do so for his men.

“I think I can get them away,” he says thinking the plan through. “Even if it’s known what I’ve done, none will stop me wi’ the English in sight and the battle about to begin.” The plan visualises in his mind and he nods to himself. “I will bring them safely away and set them on the road toward Lallybroch.”

“And then?”

Well…wasn’t that obvious?

“And then I will turn back to Culloden.”

He lets out a breath, strong and final as his decision. He catches Claire’s worried look and gives her a smile.

“I’m no afraid to die, Sassenach,” he says, but then he thinks of that door, black and foreboding, the unknown behind it. “Well…not a lot, anyway.”

He hears a sound a human being should never be able to make as arms fling around him. He finds himself surrounded by Claire, caught in her tight embrace as the scent of her overwhelms him. He clutches her back, trying with all his might not to succumb and cry.

“It’s all right, Sassenach,” he says into her hair as she cries once more. “A musket ball. Maybe a blade. It will be over quickly.” A lie, they both know it, but Jamie will them both to believe it. He’s seen men die in battle, knows how horrifically slow it can be but it was better than waiting for the hangman’s noose, that would be the one thing that does not lie behind that door.

“I’m going with you.”

Lost in thought he barely registers it but when he does he reels at the notion, startling backwards.

“The hell you are!” He has a plan, damnit, and not even Claire will deter him from it.

She displays her argument but he will not listen to it, will not give it thought.

“No!” he says. “No, Claire!”

How could she suggest such a thing, knowing what they both knew? How could she be so selfish?

“If you’re not afraid, I’m not either. It will…be over quickly. You said so.”

You said so. What he said was a lie, did she not see that? A lie to comfort them both.

“Jamie- I won’t…I can’t…I bloody won’t live without you, that’s all!”

He had a thousand things to say and none at all. His mouth opens and closes before he shakes his head. Through the gaps in the ceiling he can see daylight dwindling, night approaching. The sky is painted red. Blood of a battlefield, blood of childbirth.

He reaches toward her, pulling her close. He knows where this fight comes from, if the tables were turned he would say the same thing, knows because he feels it too.

“D’ye think I don’t know?” His voice is soft, a whisper. “It’s me that has the easy part now. For if ye feel for me as I do for you- then I am asking you to tear your heart out and live without it.”

She lets out a whimper, clutching him closer. He fingers stroke her hair, whispering soft coos towards her.

“But you must do it,” he finally says, feeling his stomach twist and turn. “Ye must.”

“Why?” She is angry, considerably so. Confused and hurting. “When you took me from the witch trial at Cranesmuir- you said then you would have died with me, you would have gone to the stake with me had it come to that!”

He had said all that, and to this day, it remains true. He’d have rather died than to be parted with her.

“Aye, I would,” he says. “But I wasna carrying your child.”

The reason he is allowing them to part.

She is surprised, shocked, frozen in place as she looks up at him in bewilderment.

“You can’t tell,” she says at last, shaking her head. “It’s much too early.”

It makes him smile, brings amusement to him.

“You havena been a day late in your courses, in all the time since ye first book me to your bed. Ye havena bled now in forty-six days.”

She hurls insults at him, shocked he even managed to keep track of such a thing during a war but he had for hope they would have a second chance at raising a child and for fear that it would end like this.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she tells him, rattling off reasons for why she might not have bled. It’s no use, she forgets he’s seen her so before, studied all the tell-tale signs of her body changing, committed them to memory.

“Claire…” His voice is quiet, not sounding like him. “Tomorrow I will die. This child…is all that will be left of me- ever.” He reaches for her hands, needing some part of her to hold. He casts his gaze to their joined hands, running his thumb over her fingers. “Claire, I beg you, see it safe.”

He keeps his eyes downcast while he waits for her answer, scared she’ll say yes, scared she’ll say no. The silence feels long and he shuts his eyes against the twisting of his stomach.

Finally her answer comes.

“Yes.” A whisper in the darkening cottage. “Yes. I’ll go.”

He nods, swallowing back the lump in his throat, hearing the sound of a flower stem snap.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

After telling her to sleep, she doesn’t sleep himself. Time seemed wasted on that and they didn’t have much of it left anymore. In a few hours he will take her to the fairy hill and part with her forever.

He wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all. To brandish his sword and yell and scream and cry but he knew there was no point to it. He knew that what he had been handed was more than fair, that not many men live the life he’s led and are allowed to be rewarded in such a way.

Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, he had said to her, quoting what he would say to God when he met him. God! I loved her well. He had, he could really say that. He took this woman, in all her unbated strangeness, into his broken hands and within her found company and peace, a place to call home.

She loved me well, too, he adds, watching her sleep for the last time. Content and safe, here in his arms and their fortress of cloth. He had healed him with her touch and love and perseverance. Picked a broken man off the floor and carried him through towards the light at the end of the tunnel no matter the setbacks. She really was a rare woman, his sassenach.

He wraps his arms tighter around her, murmurs a quick thank you in Gaelic to God and to the fairies for dropping her into his life.

Pressed against her, safe in their fortress of clothes, her skin warming his bones, his eyelids grow heavy and he succumbs to sleep as the first inklings of tomorrow break across the sky.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She was gone.

Disappeared in the same manner in which she had appeared. Gone through the stones and back to Frank.

Jamie presses his hand against the stone. The hard granite presses back on his wound, her mark, the letter C, reminding him it was real, she was real.

Her arisaid lies on the grass, forgotten in their haste to love each other one last time. Jamie picks it up, bringing it to his nose, inhaling her scent still lingering on the tartan. Tears fall on their own accord as he prays she made it back, prays that she and the bairn are safe.

A cannon in the distance booms, startling the birds and startling him. It’s beginning.

He is hesitant to move, to leave the place of their last coupling, his last connections to her.

Yet destiny waits for him on Culloden Moor, along with his men. He pictures the thirty men waiting for their laird.

There is nothing he can do for Claire now but there is something he can do for his men.

He kisses the inside of his fingers, presses it to the stone and bids his soulmate one last final goodbye.

#outlander #outlander fanfiction #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie's pov #standing stones scene rewrite #i tried ok #and i am scared #im gonna go hide in a hole now #bye

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wiseabsol · 5 years

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WA Reviews “Dominion” by Aurelia le, Chapter 1: Hell

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6383825/1/Dominion

Summary: For the Fire Nation royal siblings, love has always warred with hate. But neither the outward accomplishment of peace nor Azula's defeat have brought the respite Zuko expected. Will his sister's plans answer this, or only destroy them both?

Content Warnings: This story contains discussions and depictions of child abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and incest. This story also explores the idea that Zuko’s redemption arc (and his unlearning of abuse) is not as complete as the show suggested, and that Azula is not a sociopath (with the story having a lot of sympathy for her). If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, I would strongly recommend steering clear of this story and my reviews of it.

Note: Because these were originally posted as chapter reviews/commentaries, I will often be talking to the author in them (though sometimes I will also snarkily address the characters). While I’ve also tried not to spoil later events in the story in these reviews, I would strongly recommend reading through chapter 28 before reading these, just to be safe.

Now on to chapter 1!

CHAPTER 1: HELL

Hey there, Aurelia!

I’ve finally decided to start my “Dominion” reread and reviewing spree! Or at least what I hope will be a spree; this might take a while, knowing me. I’d meant to give you my comments on chapter one a few days ago, but then I kept reading past it, and by the time I read chapter six, I realized that chapters one through five are really just one chapter split into five parts. Ideally, I would like to cover them all in one to reflect that, but once I started writing the review for the first chapter, it turned out too long for me to do that. So I’ll just do this chapter by chapter, like I’d originally planned!

Let’s start with the first line - “Have you found her yet?” Its repetition was largely the reason why I think chapters one through five were meant to be read in one sitting, despite their length. They flow together well due to it, making for a solid prologue. The action proper doesn’t start until chapter six, which I’m now considering chapter two in my head because of this. What I’m trying to say is, you did a good job on making your introduction so engaging to your audience that they can be 50,000 words into “Dominion” and not realize that the main story hasn’t even started yet. I find that very impressive!

Anyway, in the present day, Zuko is being a lurker at his own party and reminiscing on Azula’s progress (or lack thereof) in the asylum that he tossed her into. Which is a harsh way for me to put it, but here’s the thing. When I originally read this story, I was sympathetic to Zuko, since I was just coming off the show. My impression back then was that Zuko became…less sympathetic…in chapter seven of this story, and his behavior afterwards made getting through his sections feel like scrubbing my face with sandpaper.

Now that I’m a more critical reader, I’ve realized that Zuko was behaving…less than heroicly, shall we say…from the very start. And I don’t quite know if that is your interpretation of the character at work, either, because Zuko never struck me as out of character in this story. None of the characters do. But I would definitely say that the version of him here is more flawed and troubled than the show probably intended. That being said, given that this story is for an older audience and that it’s meant to be a deconstruction of Zuko and Azula fanfic, I also think that is appropriate.

Which is my long way of saying that I’m now going to gleefully call out Zuko’s shenanigans in this, even though I enjoy him as a character, both in the show and in this story. Because if there was ever a character who fit the trope of the Designated Hero, it’s Zuko.

Before I do that, though, I wanted to mention this little thing that I enjoyed: the description of the now teenaged Toph “barking” with laughter at one of Sokka’s jokes. It was one of the first details that gave me a sense of how much time had passed between the show and the start of this story, and it fit those characters well.

Moving back to Zuko. I can’t help but think that he’s a bad brother for visiting his sister only once. I get why it would be hard on him, but he still sucks for that. I do find myself grateful that he decided to not visit in his Fire Lord clothes, though, given what we learn in later chapters. That would have been awkward at the very least. And you know what else is awkward in retrospect? This fun line: “He wished she would curse him, or lie to him, or put him down, or dig her sharp nails into his skin.” Be careful what you wish for, Zuko.

“It seemed she was determined to remain utterly unreasonable when it came to the subject of their mother.” Excuse me? Zuko, you both know that Ursa didn’t love your sister. How can you blame Azula for feeling bitter about that? Though I suppose blaming her is second nature to you….

Ugh, just thinking about how Ozai might have punished Azula for asking after her mother makes my skin crawl. Her brother doesn’t even ask her what that punishment entailed, either. And you know, I’ve just accepted it as my headcanon that Ursa didn’t say goodbye to Azula before she left, which I suspect is due to how well it works in this story. Namely, Azula recalling how her younger self saw Ursa say goodbye to Zuko, and then went to her room and waited for the same thing, is one of the most deeply painful things I’ve ever read. And I’ve read the rest of this story, so I know there is comparable heartbreak later on. It makes me want to hug Azula, even though I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate it.

And then Zuko wants to shake Azula out of her breakdown and I go from wanting to cry to wanting to scold him, because you don’t do that! You don’t shake people! There’s never any reason for it and you could hurt them!

Moving on, the description of Azula’s broken laughter is beautiful. I adore the turns of phrases and comparisons you come up with in your writing, Aurelia. But then, uh…Zuko gets a commanding tone and seizes Azula’s face, and I’m pretty sure she mistakes him for Ozai in that moment, considering that face- and neck-touching seem to evoke that reaction in her later on (especially neck touching).

Also…(sigh)…Zuko, when Azula says things that you don’t like, such as there never being anyone there with her, please don’t make her pain all about /you/. I feel like the normal reaction to that would be to feel bad for your lonely and hallucinating sister, not feel offended on your own behalf. Ugh, he’s just so self-absorbed!

What an awkward scene for the doctor to walk in on. That face-touching is a little too intimate for siblings. Azula’s tart response that yes, she can still breath fire, makes me laugh, by the way. She’s always going to be the best firebender around and I adore her for it (though there are many other things about her to love, such as her sarcastic wit). As such, muzzling her, while it makes sense in this context, makes me seethe. In the words of one of my friends, who I got to binge-read this a few months ago, Azula is a crispy cinnamon roll and deserves to be treated better than this!

Moving on. When Zuko says “I am the Fire Lord,” all I can think of is Tywin Lannister’s disdainful comment that a man who has to say that he is the king is no true king at all. I feel like Azula is thinking something along those lines, too. Also, this whole bit about Azula at least having her father’s love, but Zuko not being sure that that was a good thing – well first, Zuko, I’m not convinced that Ozai is capable of loving someone, and second, no, it was definitely /not a good thing/!

“I never hated you” – I think that might be the greatest instance of self-delusion in this room, Zuko, and I’m saying that while your sister is hallucinating. Azula’s line following that, where she says that they each had what the other wanted most, and that they could have been a whole person together – that’s a haunting one. It also encapsulates the conflict of the story and central character dynamic between these two, so kudos on that!

Ugh, the next few paragraphs are ugly thoughts for Zuko. “He would protect her” – this reads as sweet, until you realize that that’s probably the only way he feels comfortable around her: when she is in a position of dependence upon him and not a potential rival. Then he thinks the “Azula always lies” refrain and a part of me is like, “Really? I’m pretty sure she tells the truth more often than not, but YOU don’t like it, so you try to deny it instead!”

Then he tells her, “I chose right,” which is so condescending that I want to kick him in the face. “Right” is a matter of perspective, and it’s easy to claim that you were right when you were on the winning side. Obviously the war needed to end and Ozai needed to be stopped, but it’s not as if Azula is wrong in her assessment of Zuko’s decisions towards the end of the war. From her perspective, he betrayed their nation and their family and was rewarded for it with a crown. I can’t imagine that that feels “right” to her, considering.

Azula then raises the idea of being lobotomized, which makes everything inside of me shriek with horror. Fortunately, Zuko has the same reaction, because he doesn’t even consider it. We then get Azula’s line of “What I want doesn’t matter, if it ever did,” and I cry forever remembering what we learn in later chapters. Zuko’s response to her makes me scoff, because clearly Azula wouldn’t be in an asylum if he was willing to give her what she wanted. Him claiming that he’ll come back is also painful, since we know he’s only visited her one time as of this chapter, and it’s been years since that visit.

“The man pinning her down was as powerfully built as their father, and seeing Azula at his mercy – It didn’t seem right.” Excuse me while I fight the urge to throw up from the comparison, Zuko. As for his reaction to her screaming that no one would have her – again, he’s making it about himself, thinking that /she/ is rejecting /him/. He’s missing the point entirely.

Just another little note, but I like that one of the guards has dark skin. It’s nice to have some diversity among the unnamed characters.

After that, Zuko concludes that Azula is going to be in the asylum for the rest of her life, because it doesn’t seem like the doctors could be of much help, and she appears to be getting worse. I would call this a hasty conclusion to jump to, since it’s only been a few weeks since her nervous breakdown. However, given the limited understanding of mental illness in this world, I can see why he would make that assumption. We readers, of course, know that that can’t be the case – that there wouldn’t be a story if Azula didn’t recover enough to be functional in society – but seeing how she gets there is part of the journey.

In any case, those are my thoughts on chapter one! I’m looking forward to going over chapter two soon! Best of wishes to you, Aurelia!

Sincerely,

WiseAbsol

#WiseAbsol #Azula #Avatar: The Last Airbender #Dominion by Aurelia le #Fanfiction #Review

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ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade · 7 years

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With the discussion surrounding original characters and their place within the greater FFXV fanfiction community reaching nearly a fever pitch, I though the logical thing to do was to hide under a rock and never publish any of my own hedonistic drabbles ever again hahaha yeah right I’m totally about to subject y’all to my newest, 100% self-indulgent, textbook definition of a Mary Sue OC. (That is, unless you’d rather I unleash the horrifyingly naughty Ignis x Camelia fic @blinding-awesomeness and @metapoodle asked me to write huehuehue.)

For those devoted ISEB followers who are here strictly for my headcanon and fan art offerings, never fear—those posts will continue to appear on this blog with ongoing regularity (free time permitting). But I wanted to challenge myself by writing something told from a Timeskip!Ignis’ perspective; specifically, I thought it would be a great exercise in thinking outside the box if I were to attempt to draft a work without the luxury of his sight at my disposal. For reasons I won’t delve into here, I am of the belief that Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis survived the ending of FFXV; with that in mind, this particular fic is set directly after the events of the game, and features a blind Specs and the introduction of a potential paramour. If I could’ve gotten away without naming her, I would have, since the whole point of the redhead of my previous stories was to make her anonymous enough that anyone could project themselves onto her. Unfortunately, it proved to be too great of a workaround in this particular instance, so I do hope you’ll consider giving this new OC of mine a chance to carve out her own mark on the strategist’s life.

And for all—*checks reblogs*—three of you who have invested time reading my last series, you might be interested to know that I have full intentions of wrapping up the final details of the redhead's story in this (hopefully ongoing) fic. The first few chapters I’ve outlined in my head fall fully under the “General Audiences” category, but you can rest assure that this series will culminate in some shameless, highly NSFW smut! (You can follow the link above or click on the cut below for the full text of Chapter 1.)

From Ancient Greek ὀφείλω (opheílō, “to increase, to strengthen”); to help

Interviewing bakers was a far cry from hunting daemons, but nights in Lucis had grown rather quiet since the dawn had resumed its monotonous cycle, and a man had to make a living somehow.

“So when can I expect to start?”

Ignis Scientia resists the urge to sigh, and instead offers a pleasant expression vaguely in the direction of the gentleman seated across from him. “The final decision will be up to Mr. Tostwell. We still have one more interview scheduled, but you can be sure to hear from us should the position align with your, er, talents.”

A deep chuckle erupts from within the man’s belly. “I know I don’t have a whole lotta experience kneading bread, but I sucker-punched a few Flans in my day. Ain’t much of a difference, am I right?”

“Indeed.”

The strategist then listens as the man rises to his feet, and waits until he is out of earshot before finally indulging in his previously repressed exhale. Like Ignis, the candidate had once been a daemon hunter, and had found himself conspicuously out of a job these past six months; unemployment of the masses was a small price to pay for humanity’s salvation, but unlike himself, the man had few skills beyond slaughtering satanic beasts to fall back on in times of peace.

It wasn’t just Flan Man with a painful lack of culinary proficiency, however; the woman before him showed little comprehension of the slight flavor nuances differentiating Cleigne Wheat from Fine Cleigne Wheat, and the man before her actually thought a Zu egg and a Bennu egg were one in the same. At this rate, Ignis thinks, Mr. Tostwell ought to spend more time perfecting his offal stew recipe and leave the bread baking to Surgate and Tozus.

He shifts in his chair and tilts his head to one side, cocking an ear back toward the marketplace he had memorized by sight when his vision was still intact. The sounds of sleepy daytime Lestallum slowly stirring to its familiar nightlife can be heard on the humid breeze: the beating of drums, the strumming of stringed instruments, the increase in distinctly feminine chatter as the women employed at EXINERIS Industries ended their shifts. His right eye is sensitive enough to light to register the sun fading behind the alcove beside Tostwell’s Grill where he is conducting his interviews; if his last candidate didn’t show up soon, he’d inevitably have to fight the evening crowds on the way back to his apartment.

The former royal advisor had made a concerted effort over the years not to let his disability define him, but few things irritated Ignis more than bumping into people unawares. Even with his hearing as keen as it was, he couldn’t entirely escape stepping on someone’s toes in tightly congested spaces, and he wasn’t quite sure what bothered him more: the unsympathetic gruffness of others when treaded upon, or the whispers of pity that followed when they finally recognized just what it was they were looking at.

Or perhaps it simply reminded him of his younger days, when Noct would push him in jest as they ran through the wide open fields of Duscae, for no reason other than to elicit a disgruntled reaction from him.

“Mr. Scientia?”

He snaps his head around and ignores the sudden aching in his chest. “Apologies. I didn’t hear you approach.”

The light footsteps he had missed while mired in his own nostalgia move closer to where he is seated. “Do forgive me for my tardiness, the power plant released us a bit later than usual this evening. I let Mr. Tostwell know over the phone earlier, but if you’d prefer to reschedule—”

“This is fine.” He fixes a genial smile to his face and tilts his chin up toward the woman speaking to him. “And please—call me Ignis.”

“Ophelia. A pleasure to meet you.”

The strategist’s ears prick at the clipped accent of his newest interviewee. “Pardon the assumption, but you don’t exactly sound like a local.”

“I’m from Galahd, originally. Although my family relocated to the crown city when I was a child.”

“Is that so? I hail from Insomnia myself.”

“I know.” A pause. “Your reputation precedes you.”

His placid smile falters slightly. “Does it?”

“Those who lived under the crown have long memories.”

“Yes. Well.” His hand moves to his frosted visor purely out of habit; they are situated across the bridge of his nose adequately enough, but it gives him something to do with his fingers other than twiddle them like a fool. “Some memories are best left in the past. Shall we begin?”

The skittering of a chair along the ground echoes against the walls of the alcove. “Of course.”

“I presume you are aware that Mr. Tostwell is seeking an artisan specifically to expand his repertoire into baked goods. Something about keeping up with the local competition.”

“I am.”

“The position entails working directly under me, but you’ll have the freedom to develop the bakery department as you see fit. I’ve learned it’s best to lighten up on micromanaging others, lest they intend to organize a mutiny against you.”

The strategist is mercifully rewarded not with the sound of crickets chirping, but of Ophelia’s polite laughter. “That’s certainly a generous arrangement. Is it my understanding that you took over lead chef duties from Mr. Tostwell in recent months?”

“Correct.”

“I knew I’d seen you here before. I rarely have the time to eat out, but the Lasagna al Forno this establishment serves is delightful.”

The warmth of her voice matches that of the breeze stirring in the strategist’s hair, and his smile returns in earnest. “May I ask what you like about it?”

“Well,” she concedes, “most people settle for ground Dualhorn steak to use in their filling, or Behemoth tenderloin if they’re feeling adventurous. But I’ve found that the gaminess of the Jabberwock sirloin compliments the Cleigne Darkshells quite nicely.”

“That’s… rather insightful of you. Most people can’t seem to make out the difference.”

Her chair creaks against the concrete, as if the enthusiasm lacing her tone has found its way down the legs of her seat. “It’s a subtle distinction, but it really makes all the difference. I’ve only had lasagna prepared that way once before—at an establishment in Altissa.”

“Maagho,” he says, nodding his head absentmindedly. "I learned my recipe from the proprietor there, as it so happens.”

“My parents and I spent a holiday in Accordo when I was a teenager. Altissa was quite a beautiful city at its height.”

He hesitates, and reaches for his visor once more. “It was.”

His interviewee is either unaware or unaffected by his sudden diffidence, because her cadence remains upbeat. “I’ve heard that Accordan refugees have begun returning to Altissa. Word is that the secretary is committed to rebuilding the capital within two years.”

“Good to hear,” he replies quickly, eager to steer the conversation away from less palatable reminders of the past. “So tell me, Ophelia—what is it you feel qualifies you to assume a position as a baker? Any past experience in pastry making?”

“Yes and no. My father ran a bakery in Insomnia before the city fell, and had hoped to reestablish the trade once we’d settled in Lestallum. My job at the plant is steady work, but I fear with people returning to the other parts of Lucis, layoffs will be inevitable. Thought I might dust off a few of his old recipes and try my hand at the craft.”

“Is he also looking for work? Mr. Tostwell might be persuaded to hire a two-person team, under the appropriate circumstances.”

“No,” she says. “My father is no longer with us. Neither of my parents are.”

His perceptiveness must have atrophied right along with his sight, because Ignis could’ve kicked himself for not picking up on the slight hitch in her voice sooner. “My condolences. I’m sure they would’ve been comforted to know their daughter has carried their legacy onward to better days.”

“One can only hope.” The seat across from him squeaks again, less jovial than its prior enthusiasm. “Is there anything else pertaining to my qualifications you’d like for me to share?”

He quells the temptation to reach for his visor again, and offers a quick shake of his head instead. “No, I believe I’ve gathered quite enough information for Mr. Tostwell to mull over. Your attendance this evening is much appreciated.”

Chair legs scrape across the ground one last time, and her footsteps shift beside the table as she gathers herself to her feet. “Thank you for your consideration. My apologies again for keeping you out so late.”

Silence befalls them, but he doesn’t hear the telltale sound of her departing off into the distance, and it takes him a full second to realize the lull in their exchange is likely due to the fact that she is probably holding out a hand toward him. When he lifts his own hand in the vicinity of her direction, he is mildly embarrassed to feel the sensation of her palm meeting his. “Think nothing of it,” he says. “I’m used to being out at night.”

He notes the firmness of her grip despite delicate fingers; judging by the width of her palm, the strategist estimates her height to be at a little over five feet. Then she is dropping his hand as she strolls past him toward the open marketplace, the scent of Sylleblossom perfume swirling in the air around her wake, and Ignis allows himself a brief moment to indulge in one of the few senses left to him intact.

But her footfalls only make it a half dozen paces before falling quiet. “Mr. Scientia?”

“Please—do call me Ignis.”

“Right. Ignis.” Her footsteps slowly migrate back to where he is seated, until he can feel her warmth emanating beside him. “I feel compelled to thank you for something else.”

He tilts his head toward her and frowns. “And what’s that?”

His ears then pick up on an unusual click click, until he recognizes it as the sound of fingernails tapping against metal, and that Ophelia must be fiddling with a piece of jewelry on her wrist. “I would just like to acknowledge the sacrifices you’ve made for the kingdom of Lucis. The bravery displayed by you and your brethren has not been quickly forgotten by its people, nor will it ever.”

The problem with being blind, the strategist surmises, is that he was much more prone to unsolicited recollections when his useless eyes had nothing but darkness to focus on; visions of death and destruction suddenly flood his mind, of a battered and bleeding Noctis, of the Hydraean raging and of the last thing he ever saw, and of strands of red hair falling across the face of the only woman he ever loved.

Icy tendrils of grief lick at the insides of his throat, but he clamps down on his anguish before it can reach his voice. “Many have made greater sacrifices.”

“Regardless, fulfilling your duties to the crown and beyond without expectation of reward is an altruism above all measure.”

Ignis’ hand moves to his face again, but it’s not to adjust his visor; rather, the abrupt tightening in his chest is causing the scar that mars his left eye socket to tingle. He scratches at the blemished skin there momentarily as he waits for his discomfort to pass, then slowly rises from his chair and angles himself in the direction of the crowded marketplace. “A future people can look forward to is a reward in itself,” he says, feeling the ground in front of him with the edge of his toe. "I’ll be sure to pass on my findings to Mr. Tostwell and let you know when he’s made a decision about the baker position.”

#i dunno why all my OCs have british accents #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#ignis scientia #ffxv fanfiction #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ff15 #ignis #ignis stupeo scientia

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