[HEY If anyone wants to see the picture of the thing that are described in this story go to the Scribble Hub version of this fanfic and search for this story. There should be picture or concept art that is embedded into the story. And if you are already here then Thank you and please enjoy this chapter.]
This work is purely fanfiction and doesn't have any relation to the property of Marvel Comic.
I don't own Marvel Comic.
All rights are reserved to those Companies.
Rated M, 18 and Above for Violent and Sexual Content.
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Marvel: Genesis Arcana
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The soul that sees beauty may sometimes walk alone. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
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[Chapter 1: The Foreigner, Part 2]
-Vine Journal Entry: 40-
Here I am again, three long months after being unceremoniously "Isekai'd" into the Marvel Universe—whether it's the comic book version, cinematic, or more likely, in my opinion, something entirely original, I'm still not entirely sure. Time for another recap to gather my thoughts and make sense of this bizarre new world. A lot has happened, and who knows when I'll get another moment to sit down and write?
So, where should I start? The beginning seems like a good place.
First, my notebook. It's changed somehow. It took me a full day to realize all the alterations because I was distracted by the whole "waking up in America" ordeal. All my previous entries are still there, including my other sketch, drawing, and doodle of Loki, but there's something… different. Every time I hold it, it feels almost alive, as if it's waiting for something. Honestly, it's unsettling.
Anyway, here are the changes I've noticed over the past three months that I need to document before they slipped my mind:
Material: The pages have become lighter, almost feather-like, but oddly durable. It's hard to describe—it feels less cumbersome. When I write, the ink flows more smoothly, and the words shimmer faintly before settling into the page.
Infinite Pages: This is the most unnerving part—the notebook never runs out of pages. It's either infinite or somehow replenishes itself when I'm not paying attention. Whatever the case, it's far from normal.
Appearance: The notebook still looks like the green-covered one I ordered online, with the golden star and the word Scribblenauts on the front. Yeah… the irony isn't lost on me. Scribblenauts was one of the games I liked when I was growing up, where the character Maxwell has a magical notebook that can bring anything written into existence. I never imagined I'd have a notebook with what seemed to be similar properties.
An intriguing tidbit: Maxwell was capable of replicating the entire multiverse flawlessly with his magical notebook, harnessing the energy unleashed by the annihilation of a formidable cosmic being using only one singular word. Yes, I shit you not, this is a Real actual fact within the lore of the Scribblenauts universe.
I'm not sure if this one can do the same, but the idea of writing something into existence? That sounds awesome.
Until it actually fucking happens.
After two days of wandering, I ended up at a family diner in Boston. I was craving tea, but apparently, they didn't serve any. So, on a whim, I wrote "cup of tea" as a reminder in my notebook. To my shock and bewilderment, a steaming cup of tea materialized right in front of me! Thankfully, no one else in the diner seemed to notice. Otherwise, it would cause an unwanted scene.
So, the Scribblenauts notebook is real in a strange way. How? This is actually pretty insane, which is an understatement of the millennia. I don't know if I should be excited or terrified, but this changes everything. The Marvel Universe is a dangerous place and with this in my hands…
I have to be cautious. I can't risk drawing unwanted attention. For the last month, I've been very careful, testing the notebook's limits to see what it can and can't do. But I'm keeping this to myself, even from Emma, for now. It might just be paranoia, but I don't want to accidentally create something that spirals into chaos or alters reality. I have to be smart—this is a game-changer, and I need to play it right. It's like handing a nuke to an infant. I need to understand this thing fully before I manifest something dangerous.
At first, I was extremely hesitant. I didn't know much about the notebook, how it worked, or what its rules were. For all I know, it could follow Newton's third law—everything has an equal and opposite reaction. Life has taught me that nothing comes free, and there's always a price to pay, like with YouTuber giveaways or…ugh… NFTs.
Secondly, attention is the last thing I want. If movies have taught me anything, it's that power like this attracts trouble, and in this universe, that's a disaster waiting to happen. Look at Jean Grey and the Phoenix Force For example, they have been taken advantage of and used by various entities for their own means numerous times. So, the notebook stays a secret, for now, I'm not ready to reveal my ace just yet, it's too soon.
And Speaking of Emma and secrets.
Over the past month, I encountered a striking brunette named Emma Frost. After realizing that I had somehow been transported into the Marvel Universe of the 1990s, I realized Emma's identity and understood that I had befriended a character straight out of the comics. This younger Emma possessed her signature icy demeanor and was initially aloof, but she wasn't as distant as I first anticipated as we continued to converse—perhaps due to her youth and lesser maturity. She had just turned 18 this year, which took me by surprise, and already she proved herself to be an intelligent and very attractive young woman for her age, with an unwavering confidence and an unapologetic nature that I found intriguing.
Yes, you heard right—Emma fucking Frost in the flesh still in her brunette state before she possibly evolved into a blonde. The potentially future White Queen of the infamous Hellfire Club, Omega Class mutant, and one of the most powerful telepaths on earth besides Charles Xavier or Jean Grey. But here, she's not just a comic book character—she's a real person, with real feelings and struggles. Getting to know her has made me realize the comics didn't do her justice.
How did we meet? It happened right after the tea incident. After I freshened up, I overheard some commotion in the diner's kitchen. Curious, I asked the waiter, who told me a woman had been caught trying to dine and dash and was being forced to wash dishes as punishment. Intrigued, I investigated and found that the woman was none other than Emma Frost.
Apparently, the "Ice Princess" had accidentally broken a few dishes, and the owner was furious. I managed to convince the owner's daughter to let her go and pay back whatever she owed, thank god I still have my wallet and dad's dollar bill. Emma was aloof when we first chatted but eventually, she warmed up to me. We ended up talking about other topics, and she eventually revealed she was a runaway heiress, trying to escape her controlling father and abusive older sister.
After revealing the strange situation I was in and that I was new and not from around here, she offered me a place to stay in the hotel. I took her up on the offer, mostly because I had nowhere else to go in America or potentially the entire world, really. Plus, I figured it would be nice to have a local guide of sorts, even if this blonde bombshell was a little rough around the edges.
You may be wondering, "Is Emma a telepath? Could she simply delve into my mind and lay bare all my secrets and the contents of this notebook? Or even manipulate my thoughts?" However, despite the occasional inquisitive look at my notebook, she hasn't mentioned anything, hinting she might be aware but choosing not to act. I've noticed her subtly influencing the minds around us when we're out, yet I haven't experienced any unexpected urges or thoughts since meeting her. This leads me to believe that perhaps the notebook offers some form of mental protection to its holder, or maybe Emma has her own secrets she hasn't revealed, such as her potential mutant abilities. Either way, I'm not concerned, and I don't plan to investigate further, maybe later, but not right now.
For the past few weeks, we've been residing in a modest, somewhat rundown hotel in Boston, a choice dictated by Emma's current financial constraints, following her father's decision to cut her off from the family fortune. She's been tirelessly working as a waitress and taking on odd jobs to make ends meet. I've been contributing what little funds I had when I arrived, and now, I believe I may have stumbled upon a solution to our financial predicament, all thanks to the notebook. It's peculiar, how we've evolved into this unlikely pair - the lost soul and the runaway heiress - yet, against all odds, it seems to work.
Overall, despite grappling with intense homesickness and anxiety, life has been progressing smoothly. Emma's an interesting roommate, obviously, and sometimes we've even been sightseeing in Boston together. As always, penning down these thoughts and emotions brings a profound sense of calm, clarity, and understanding. Trust me, if you were in the same boat as me, you would comprehend why characters in stories maintain diaries and journals; it's an effective way to process experiences, find relief, and cope with challenges.
As a final note, this notebook has another potentially overpowered ability that I haven't mentioned yet. It can manifest the image of anything onto its pages — and I mean anything. It can display lifelike portraits and art of people or exact representations of locations, intricate blueprints of advanced, impossible machinery, pages from scientific textbooks with breakthrough theories, or even detailed chapters from ancient manuscripts to more modern work. The notebook can recreate the full expanse of human knowledge, and quite possibly, things that haven't yet been discovered or created. It's not limited to known information; it seems capable of drawing from realities or possibilities far beyond my current understanding.
It's like holding a library in my hands, sort of like my smartphone but more of a traditional kind if that makes any sense.
Despite everything, there's still so much to explore, so many possibilities, and perhaps a solution or at least a clear path forward to manage the issue in front of me at hand, though I suspect it won't be simple. Nevertheless, that's all for now. It's been one hell of a day. I've done my best to document it all, stealing moments to write whenever they presented themselves. Now, it's time to find solace in the twilight. Goodnight.
- V.
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The City of Boston, in the state of Massachusetts of the USA.
The City of Boston, in the state of Massachusetts of the USA.
Emma Frost took a deep, languid breath, the cool night air of Boston caressing her skin as she closed the door softly behind her. The hotel room she shared with her... older companion… was far from the luxurious mansion she was accustomed to. Still, she'd come to appreciate the raw, unpretentious allure of its simplicity.
Then Telepath's eyes wandered to the couch, where a ruggedly fetching European man lay, the peculiar strange Green notebook hiding his face. The enigmatic foreigner who had entered her life, a man who had been her constant companion and confidant throughout the month, and the only mind, besides her own family, she couldn't penetrate or even detect with her psychic powers, his mind was like a ghost and it left her both bother and infuriated.
In reality, it was a refreshing change of pace. Ever since her powers emerged during her high school years, Emma had found it almost effortless to read and influence the minds of those around her. The constant influx of thoughts from her peers and instructors had become so overwhelming and invasive that, in one instance of mental overload, she inadvertently rendered her entire school unconscious. While she had since gained better control over her abilities, the sudden inability to probe this particular man's mind was an unexpected and welcome relief.
However, it did leave Emma wondering why she couldn't read him. Was the Frenchman another mutant, like herself? Her mind drifted back to the day she had accidentally rendered her entire school unconscious. Shortly after, she was visited by a man named Charles Xavier, who revealed to her the truth about her abilities and assured her that she was not alone. Could Vine be harboring a similar secret? Or was there another explanation entirely for his mental shield? The mystery surrounding him only served to deepen her intrigue and curiosity.
Then, the Telepath began to disrobe, peeling off the waitress uniform that hugged her figure like a second skin, unveiling the sophisticated, form-fitting white lingerie she wore underneath—one of the last gifts from her brother, Christian, and a holdover from her past life. The undergarments did little to hide her alluring, shapely, and voluptuous form.
She had to confess, she was somewhat surprised that the man hadn't tried to seduce her yet. He was attractive, thoughtful, reminiscent of her former lover, and enigmatic. There were instances when she caught him looking at her openly, particularly when she leaned over in front of him, signaling his evident attraction to her. She had even gone so far as to wear her most form-fitting clothes to gauge his interest and had once paraded around the hotel suite wearing only a bathrobe, hoping he would finally act. But he merely gave Emma a knowing smile and a playful wink, maintaining his self-control despite her enticements.
She was curious, intrigued, and perhaps a little offended. The Frenchman was clearly interested, so why hadn't he made a move to fuck her? Emma was accustomed to using her own body as a weapon, much like her older sister, Adrienne, had done, as a means of distraction or a source of pleasure. In her earlier life, men would have sold their souls just for the chance to have a taste of her. She didn't quite understand what made this stranger so different from the rest, but she was determined to uncover his secrets and figure out what made him tick.
Emma sauntered into the bathroom, her white lingerie and stiletto heels leaving little to the imagination. She turned on the faucet, filling the porcelain sink with hot water and soap, then began meticulously washing her face and cleaning the makeup from her eyes. As the warm, soapy water caressed her smooth, delicate features, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer radiated from her eyes, revealing an eerie, haunting glow that flickered and faded in an instant.
The light from the moon reflected off her flawless, pale complexion, illuminating her face and accentuating her sharp, regal features, including her prominent cheekbones and slender, delicate nose. With her makeup washed away, Emma was the epitome of class, elegance, and sophistication. She had a natural grace, poise, and beauty that many women could only dream of possessing.
Her gaze fell upon her reflection in the mirror, the sight causing her breath to hitch and her heart to skip a beat. Ever since puberty, Emma had been blessed with a stunning, breathtaking, and captivating beauty that had drawn the attention of countless men. However, after years of being paraded around and used by her family, the sight of her reflection often brought forth unpleasant memories and feelings of bitterness and resentment.
The Telepath shook her head, dispelling her intrusive thoughts and emotions, then stepped into the shower. Reaching behind her, her slender, nimble fingers unclasped the thin, lacy straps that held her bra in place, freeing her plentiful breasts, her perky, firm pink nipples stiffening slightly at the touch of the cool night air. She slid her panties down her long, shapely legs, exposing her supple, firm, and perfectly sculpted ass, as well as her clean-shaven, smooth, and impeccable pussy.
The water cascaded down her body, caressing her every curve and crevice, her soft, silky hair draping down her shoulders, and her slender, lithe figure. She let out a quiet sigh, her eyes closing in pleasure, and began to bathe, washing away the remnants of her long, hard day. As the hot water cascaded down her curvaceous, voluptuous, and sensual body, washing away the sweat and grime accumulated throughout the day, the Telepath allowed herself a moment of peace and tranquility, the soothing, rhythmic sounds of the water enveloping her and lulling her into a state of calm.
As the hot, steamy water cascaded over her exquisite, tantalizing, and tantalizing physique, Emma couldn't help but fantasize about the enigmatic man lying on the couch. A faint shiver ran down her spine as she felt the heat of the water enveloping her. Her hand reached out to grasp the small bar of soap, bringing it up to her generous bosom and rubbing the sudsy bar over the surface of her skin, eliciting a soft, sultry sigh from her lips. Her fingers deftly traced her curves and crevices, massaging and caressing every inch of her supple, perfect skin, her other hand sliding down her stomach and towards her pussy, which was now slick and wet with desire.
The Telepath closed her eyes, tilting her head back as her mind flooded with thoughts of the enigmatic man asleep in the hotel room. His ruggedly handsome features, charming and charismatic demeanor, and mysterious aura had left her both intrigued and aroused, her desire intensifying throughout the month they had been living together. Emma had never experienced such an intense, consuming need for a man before, not even with her previous lover, Kendal. His mere presence ignited her body with lust and longing, and she yearned to feel him inside her.
"What am I thinking? He's too old and mature for me." she chastised herself, her breath hitching as her fingers found their way to her clit, stroking it gently, teasingly. "But, so was Ian Kendal and That didn't stop me from fucking him and having a blast."
Ian Kendal had been Emma's high school teacher and the one who took Emma's virginity. Despite the age difference, Emma was drawn to him, harboring a crush that had grown over time. One day, on her way home from school, Emma's car broke down, and Ian offered her a ride. Using her telepathic powers, Emma delved into his thoughts, discovering that he found her beautiful and intelligent. Seizing the opportunity, Emma seduced him, taking advantage of their shared attraction.
Their illicit affair lasted for a few months until her father, Winston, somehow found out about it and got Ian fired from his job and threatened to ruin Ian's career if he didn't break things off with Emma. In the end, her lover was forced to end their relationship, breaking Emma's heart. She had been devastated, feeling used and thrown away, which had only added to her resentment towards her family. And ultimately driving her to run away from home.
The Telepath's hand moved faster, her fingers slipping into her slick, wet entrance, her thumb continuing to rub and tease her sensitive, swollen clit. Her breathing quickened, her heart racing, and her body shuddered in pleasure as the water continued to cascade down her naked, exposed flesh. She was close, so close, her hips rocking, her eyes closing, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp, the pleasure building, coiling within her.
With a quiet, sensual moan, Emma came, her orgasm rippling through her, her body trembling and shuddering, her juices flowing freely from her pussy, mingling with the water and running down her legs. Her hand pinching her nipples, twisting and tugging on them, drawing a low, primal groan from her lips as she imagined it was the foreigner's hands mauling and groping her tits instead of her own hand.
Slowly, the Telepath's senses returned, the pleasure ebbing away, her breathing slowing, her heart rate returning to normal. She turned off the shower, her eyes glancing down at her soaked, glistening, and flawless skin. She reached for the towel, patting her skin dry, savoring the soft, fluffy, and luxurious feel of the material against her skin. She stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around her, the fabric clinging to her supple, curvaceous figure.
The Telepath strode out of the bathroom, her bare feet padding across the hardwood floor. Her large breast bounced and jiggled with each step, her ass swaying, her hips swinging, the towel barely concealing her nudity. She was greeted by the sight of the enigmatic foreigner still sprawled on the couch and began to take note of the green notebook that was still obscuring his face.
It was a green-covered notebook adorned with a golden star and the word "Scribblenauts" embossed on the front. The notebook was the most peculiar and captivating aspect of the man. Whenever Emma looked at it, she felt it was more than just an ordinary notebook, and she could swear it occasionally emitted a faint glow when no one was watching.
The Telepath had seen him write in the notebook, and while some of the content seemed mundane—sketches, drawings, handwritten notes, and journal entries—there were times when the notebook seemed almost alive to her telepathic senses strangely enough, radiating this unexplainable sense of power and she had tried to discreetly probe it only for her psionic intrusion to be rebuffed. It was frustrating and concerning at the same time, but Emma was also intrigued.
The young woman sauntered towards him, Her steps were soft and measured, but her heart began to pound in her chest as curiosity took hold. Reaching out slowly, her fingers traced the edge of the strange notebook he always kept close by, her touch feather-light. However, the man stirred, his hand suddenly reaching up to grasp her wrist, stunning Emma. His thumb brushed against her pulse, and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the calm, collected energy radiating from him.
"Emma," Vine murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble that cut through the noise in her mind like a knife. "You look… stunning. Did you do something with your hair?"
Emma blinked, her vibrant blue eyes meeting his earth-brown ones as her other hand unconsciously began to twirl a lock of dyed and wet blonde hair that had fallen in front of her heated face. She'd done it on a whim before getting back to the hotel, not entirely sure why she felt the need to change her hair color. Maybe it was a way to assert her newfound freedom, or perhaps it was just a way to hide in plain sight. Either way, it had become a sort of personal rebellion.
"It's just hair dye," the fake blonde replied, her voice a smoky whisper. "I thought it would be fun to try something different."
"You look good," the Frenchman remarked with a knowing wink as he released Emma's hand, his fingers trailing softly against her skin. "It reminds me of a fictional character that I used to read about. Very alluring and… iconic even,"
The blush on Emma's cheeks deepened, and she felt a peculiar warmth spread through her chest. "Thanks," she said, trying to keep her voice casual, completely forgetting what she was doing earlier. She sat down beside him, causing her ample bosom to jiggle slightly under the towel and the couch they were both on to groan under their weight. The notebook now lay open on Vine's lap, revealing a page filled with handwritten notes and what seemed to be an unfinished drawing of a character who looked remarkably like the fake blonde bombshell.
"How was work? Is the boss still being a prick?" Vine asked.
Emma smiled, a hint of bitterness coloring her expression. "He's always a prick. But it's the only place that will hire me without asking too many questions. Besides, the tips are pretty good, especially from the younger male customers."
"Is that so?" the Frenchman asked, with raised eyebrows. "Are you sure there were no... unwanted advances or harassment at the restaurant?"
"Of course not. They know better than to touch a girl like me. I'm a classy lady," Emma smirked, flashing him a teasing wink. "And if they did try anything, I can handle myself. Like I told you, I'm not a fragile flower,"
Vine chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Don't worry, I know you're a lot of things, Emma, but I've yet to see you as fragile."
The Telepath couldn't help but beam at the compliment. She hadn't had anyone to talk to in a long time, and the fact that this man seemed to understand her and genuinely care about her well-being was touching. He made her feel important, valued, and appreciated, qualities that her family had rarely ever shown her.
"Thanks, Vine," the fake blonde breathed, her heart fluttering. "That means a lot coming from you."
Vine's gaze locked with hers, his eyes smoldering with a fierce intensity. "It's what friends are for."
Emma's smile widened, her cheeks flushing. For a moment, she was frozen, unable to look away. Then, her heart skipped a beat, her pulse racing. She didn't know what was happening, but she knew it was something new, something exciting, and it left her feeling dizzy, exhilarated, and a little scared.
"Well, thank you" she whispered, her voice shaking slightly. "For making my day a little better, Vine."
A grin curled Vine's lips. "A little?" he said winking at her. "But yeah, it's no problem, you of all the people deserve it after the card you've been dealt with."
Emma Frost's gaze fell upon the open notebook, where an unfinished and uncolored sketch of a female character strikingly similar to herself caught her attention. The drawing was exquisite, the detail remarkably intricate. The woman in the sketch was depicted as a breathtaking, curvaceous, and sensual vixen, with full, pouty lips and heavy-lidded eyes that seemed to smolder on the page. Her breasts were accentuated by a tight, lace-up corset that pushed them up and together, displaying her ample cleavage provocatively.
The character wore a minuscule thong that left little to the imagination, along with sheer stockings that clung to her shapely legs. A long, flowing cape lined with luxurious fur, reminiscent of a vintage opera ensemble, was draped over her shoulders, adding a touch of elegance to the overtly sexual depiction. The resemblance to Emma was uncanny, right down to the sharp bob cut that framed the character's face, and it was clear that the artist had drawn inspiration from her striking features and voluptuous figure.
"Is that supposed to be me?" the fake blonde asked, gesturing towards the unfinished drawing.
"Yes, In a way," the Frenchman replied, his expression playful. "If you were portrayed as a comic book character from the work of Paolo Eleuteri Serpieri."
Emma arched a perfect eyebrow, her interest piqued. "Serpieri?"
"A talented yet often overlooked Italian artist," the older man began, his voice laced with admiration. "Serpieri is a master of erotic fantasy, best known for his Druuna series." He leaned back against the couch, a smirk playing on his lips. "He has a unique talent for weaving the sensual and the grotesque together, finding that delicate balance between beauty and peril. The way he draws women… let's just say it tends to make one blush." His gaze shifted to the sketch once more, lingering on the details. "Serpieri's art is provocative, undeniably sensual. He captures the female form with such raw intensity—elegance and eroticism bound together so seamlessly that it feels almost dangerous. It's the kind of magnetism that you, Emma, seem to project naturally, whether you intend to or not."
Emma blinked, absorbing his words. She couldn't quite discern if it was the lilt of his accented voice or the explicit subject matter, but she felt a warm, languid sensation unfurling in her lower abdomen, a spark of arousal once again igniting within her. Her breath hitched slightly before she regained her composure. "That's quite a... vivid description," she managed to say, trying to keep her voice steady. She shifted subtly in her seat, aware of the heat rising beneath her skin, her body responding to the provocative images his words had evoked.
The Frenchman grinned, his eyes dancing with amusement. "There's a certain... energy, a vitality, that seems to exude from his art. This is my homage, if you will, to his style and aesthetic."
"Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought," Emma mused, her cheeks flushing pink. "I never heard of the series or artist you mentioned before. How did you learn about him?"
"The Druuna series was a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine," the older man confessed. "I came across his artwork by chance while sorting out my late uncle's library, and it left quite an impression on me. His art was so raw and intense, so captivating, that I was utterly transfixed. The way he portrayed women, their sexuality and sensuality, it was unlike anything I had ever seen before."
"Oh, really? You mean you were a naughty boy in your younger years, reading such... provocative and scandalous material." The runaway heiress teased, her gaze lingering on the older man, her lips curving into a coy smile.
"Perhaps," the Frenchman chuckled. "But I like to think of it as a part of my artistic development. It broadened my perspective and gave me an appreciation for the female form in all its splendor."
"This is really impressive and it's a nice homage," Emma remarked, her voice laced with sincere admiration. The drawing, though explicit, carried a sense of beauty and strength she hadn't quite recognized in herself before. It was as if the artist had captured her essence, enhanced it, and brought it to life on paper. "The likeness is almost eerie—I'm flattered by how you've portrayed me. And the outfit? Honestly, I kinda dig it. There's something really striking about it, though… it's definitely not office attire."
"Well, thank you! It was an honor and a privilege to capture your beauty and grace on paper," Vine replied with a playful grin. "Though, yeah, this outfit probably belongs in the pages of Heavy Metal magazine." He chuckled before adding, his eyes glinting knowingly with mischief, "But tell me, would you ever consider wearing something like that? Just for fun, of course."
The Telepath's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and she felt a sudden rush of wetness between her legs. The mere suggestion of wearing something so provocative and revealing was terrifying and surprisingly thrilling all at once. It was a stark contrast to the dull, conservative clothing she had been forced to wear throughout her life to maintain the Frost family's image of respectability.
Emma's heart skipped a beat as she stared at the drawing, her nipple hardened under the slightly soggy towel. "Maybe for a costume party," she teased, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. "But it's definitely not something I'd wear to serve coffee."
The Fake blonde bombshell was thankful that her bare luscious figure was covered by the towel otherwise Emma's roommate would have noticed the effect his words had on her. She couldn't explain why but the thought of the foreigner seeing her dressed in something so outrageously sensual and risky made her pussy throb. It was almost as if the image of herself drawn in such a way was invoking some darker, more wanton side of her nature that she had kept buried under layers of ice and indifference.
"What kind of a costume party are you thinking of that makes you wear something like that?" The Frenchman inquired genuinely with an amused smile on his face, his eyes never leaving hers. "A BDSM theme party? A cosplay event?"
This time, the young beauty's laughter was genuine, a melodious sound that was music to Vine's ears. She took his question in stride, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Perhaps something more... elegant, yet no less enticing. Like a masquerade ball," she suggested, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. "You know? Where everyone is concealed behind masks, and identities remain a mystery."
"Or like a gala," Vine agreed, his smile broadening as he set the notebook aside. "Believe me, I'm familiar with such events. During my time in the special unit, we handled security for many high-profile gatherings, including masquerade balls and galas. I've witnessed my share of people dressed to kill—not literally, of course, but in the sartorial sense. It's quite a spectacle, seeing the most influential men and women of France concealing their true identities behind a mere veil of fabric and feathers."
"Really?" Emma's curiosity was piqued. She leaned closer, the towel slipping slightly to reveal more of her ample cleavage. "What was that like? Working at those fancy events, I mean."
"Well..." the foreigner started, a note of amusement in his voice as his gaze briefly drifted to the curve of her breasts. "It wasn't particularly exciting at first. I was mostly on sniper duty, making sure no uninvited guests crashed the party. But every so often, I'd get the chance to mix with the attendees. It was like a masquerade of power and wealth, everyone concealing their true motives behind masks and lavish attire. You'd see politicians scheming with tycoons, celebrities charming the wealthy, and sometimes," he paused, his voice dropping to a more suggestive tone, "you'd catch a glimpse of something more... private transpiring in the shadows."
The Telepath's eyes grew wide with intrigue, her body leaning in closer, the towel now barely containing her voluptuous breasts. "Like what?"
"Like this…"
Then suddenly, the Fake-blonde bombshell felt a warm hand on her bare shoulder, pulling her closer, and before she knew it, Vine's mouth was on hers, his kiss gentle but firm, his lips moving with surprising tenderness. It was a stark contrast to the steamy passion she had imagined earlier in the shower, but it was no less potent. It sent a jolt through her body, igniting a yearning that Emma thought she had buried under layers of cold, hardened resentment.
Brrt!*
Then as suddenly as it had begun, the kiss broke, and Vine's hand slid away from her shoulder, leaving a trail of heat and a pulsating need for more. Emma's eyes searched his, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her pulse racing like a wild horse. Vine only smirked at her reaction before taking out what looked like a strange small, flat rectangle device from his pocket that had a smooth, shiny surface on one side which suddenly that lights up and displayed various images and text.
"What is…" Emma tried to ask but was cut off by Vine as he studied the device intently, his thumbs moving over the surface.
"Ah, it's time to go," Vine murmured, glancing at the device screen before looking back at her with a smile. "Get dressed, Ice Princess. We have a reservation to catch."
"Huh?" The Runaway heiress blinked in surprise, her lips still tingling from his unexpected kiss. "What do you mean we have a reservation?"
"I've made reservations for us at a special little place I discovered," Vine said, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he tucked the mysterious device into his pocket. "But trust me, the real surprise comes after. It's something I've been working on for a while, and it's going to make our lives a lot more... interesting."
"O… okay?" Emma's voice was small and unsure, her thoughts racing. The sudden turn of events had left her feeling both thrilled and apprehensive. She watched as Vine stood up, his gaze never leaving hers, the air in the room thick with unspoken tension. "What the surprise?"
In the dimly lit room, the Frenchman inched closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a thrill coursing through her. "Steady, ma chérie. All will unfold in its own time." He punctuated his words with a subtle wink, then pivoted and made his way towards the exit. Pausing at the door, he glanced back, his gaze tracing the alluring silhouette of her figure, still glistening from her recent shower. "But perhaps, if you're truly eager, I could offer a small taste of what awaits you," he suggested, his eyes meeting hers. "Put on your clothes and find me in the parking lot for your first surprise."
"Oh?"
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AN: And here is the second part, let me know what you think, and as always If you're enjoying it, please let me know by liking and following for more chapters.