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paradlselost · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒

Black Noir II x female!reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ spent way too long on this; but I kept picturing him in the piledriver position and omfgggg. also I drank so sorry if the ending sounds strange, this isn’t beta-read at all lol

⎨ 𝐂𝐖⎬ 2.9k words , second person point of view , noir II , s4 spoilers , smut : fantasies of sex , oral ( m receiving ) , p in v , piledriver position , mentioned size difference , stomach bulge , cream pie , aftercare .

A few heavy breaths came from behind the mask, his lips outlined by the black balaclava he wore. A few punches here, dodging and rolling there; just like a real hero would. Did he mind the sweat that rolled down his top lip? Tasting the salt from his overexertion?

His gloved hands reached out, one grabbing the wrists that fought against him to pin them, the other grabbing at the exposed neck as he pinned the black clad body against the glass jewelry container.

“Get off me-! Motherfucker!”

Kicking and shouting wasn’t the best tactic now was it? Not when you were attempting to rob the jewelry store. It was so cliche, a cat burglar going after overpriced diamonds and gems. You’d think the stars themselves had been crafted into the finest necklaces by the way you had been shoving them into your bag.

How were you to know he was on patrol when you happened into the closed jewelers? Maybe it was fate, past misdeeds finally catching up to you in the form of this armored reaper. It certainly felt like a dance with death, the knowledge of his super strength in the back of your mind as you managed to wiggle out of the hold he had on you.

Slipping down against the cracked glass case and through the room left to crawl out from under his legs in a last ditch effort to escape. You were graceful, smooth like a cat slinking away with the pickings it had gotten from a dead bird. But his hands caught your legs like a mouse in a trap and your heart dropped in your chest.

A gloved hand grabbed at your hair, pulling you up enough to get you on your knees in front of him, craning your neck to look at his soulless mask as a peasant would look at a god; and maybe in a way you were, was this being that could kill you in a second really a man anymore? What power did a worldly being have in snuffing out a life so fast?

So you sat at his mercy, begging for forgiveness and looking like a sinner at an altar. How small you looked below him, what penance did a lowly criminal like you get? So you waited for the hand that would tear your heart out or the sirens that would wail… but nothing. He simply looked blankly down at you.

“Fucking-… Cut!!” The bell sounded somewhere in the studio, sighs falling from the directing team under the knowledge that this was the best shot they were going to get, and the ‘mute supe’ had forgotten his next line. One job, really.

“Damn it, I’m sorry. You did great, though.” His hand his outstretched for you to take, helping you get to your feet. He’s kind, behind the mask he wore, would you ever get to see his face? Probably not, being just an actor; but it was cool being able to work with a Supe, especially one in the seven.

“It’s no problem, honestly. They’ll probably just go from the shot of me on my knees, anyways.” You watched as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, gloved hands creating an odd sound against his balaclava. His job was on the line; Homelander had told him they could always find a replacement for Noir just as they had with him - but he couldn’t help it.

Had his cup always been so strained against? He shifted ever so slightly, trying not to make his discomfort obvious as an assistant stepped over and handed you both a water bottle. Silently, he was happy his face was obscured as his eyes didn’t leave your lips, watching them part to welcome a swig of much needed cold water.

Was it his fault he had stuttered and broken the immersion? In his heart, he knew it was; but how could he not have? He could feel your warmth radiating through his armor and seep into his skin, how those pretty eyes looked back and then up at him, how your lips had parted ever so slightly. He was being an idiot.

This was your job; you’re an actress so why did he think those looks you gave him were exclusive? He was probably an idiot in thinking your on screen chemistry could mingle behind the scenes. He jumped every so slightly when the bell rang out again.

“That’s a wrap for now. We’ll pick up again tomorrow. Noir, make sure you fucking practice.”

A pointed look from the director was quickly overshadowed by your soft touch to one of his shoulder pads as you walked past him. A shiver running down his spine as his eyes followed you, watching you. Your delicate fingers had not done him any favors as his heart pounded in his chest. Secretly, he was glad shooting was done for the day.

The door to his trailer shut quickly, the lock turning as he leaned back against it. The curtains had already been drawn shut from this morning; is it in Noirs character to like his privacy? It certainly isn’t to sprawl out on the couch and fist his cock to thoughts of his co-star. And yet.

His head tilted back against the couch, helmet taken off but the balaclava had stayed on; he enjoyed the way it made everything a little harder to breathe, how he could feel the fabric against his lips. Besides; he wouldn’t take off his mask to fuck you the first couple of times, anyways, that’s a kind of trust that’s earned.

His hand traveled up and down his cock, slow at first as he traced the veins that pump blood to his darkening head; imagining that this is what it would be like with you the first time. Certainly, you’d take your time in getting to know every intimate part of him. His thumb swiped over his tip like your tongue would.

A groan fell from his lips, wetting them after a moment. He could imagine how warm your mouth would be around him, how you would look up at him as he pushed the head of his cock to the back of your mouth, how your hot breath would feel coming out of your nose against his groin.

He felt himself throb against his hand, desperately needing a release when there was a knock on the door, shaking him out of his private moment. How unlucky he was, thinking he had more time than he actually did. Noir grumbled as he fixed his cup back over himself, his dick uncomfortably straining against the cool metal.

He fixed his helmet over himself and stepped over to the door, ready to snap at whoever was interrupting him like a supe should do. He should be allowed to have a power trip every once in a while; should he? A god against a mortal.

“Hey! Sorry I hope I’m not bothering you, I was just wondering if you wanted to practice? I got a bit of free time.” How could he yell at you when you looked so pretty standing on the steps to his trailer? Head tilted to the side, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Oh uh.” Part of him wanted to say no, to shut the door and hide himself away against his silk sheets and pump his hand over his aching cock, but he couldn’t shut you out. Not when you were the object of his fantasies. “Yeah, sure. We don’t need a lot of space, we can practice in here.”

Noir nodded, moving out of the way to allow you to enter his abode, to get a glimpse of what little the man below the mask could add to a trailer belonging to a dead man. Not that you knew, of course; finding it strange that he could talk but not prying further. It wasn’t your place to ask silly questions like that.

Still, you took in what you could. A picture frame with people you couldn’t quite make out from a distance, a few books and magazines he hadn’t bothered to clean up. The kitchen was tidy, though everything had a black color scheme and it felt a little… draining. Was that really all there was to him?

You snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of him moving the table out of the way to allow more space to practice your scenes together. He bunched up the carpet, just kind of tossing it against the couch before he looked over at you. A soulless mask, but the way he tapped his fingers against his armor was endearing.

“So- do you want to go from the fight?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

God against man, a mortal who had incurred the wrath of a far more powerful deity; you find yourself on your knees once again. No cameras stuck close to your face this time, no lights to make you sweat, just you and the being who could crush your windpipe below his gloved fingers.

The fabric against his hands is audible as it squeezes a bit, your own moving up to grasp onto his wrist; silent pleas for your pathetic life falling from your lips. This is where he messed up before, the sight of you below him being too much to handle. His cock throbbed uncomfortably against his cup.

“You have to handcuff me now.” You look up at him, a different kind of gaze from being terrified for your life. You’re a good actor, he’ll give you that, but he prefers this moment - how you look vaguely confused as to how he could mess up a second time. His dick hurts now, he can feel pre-cum leaking against his armor and god does he need a release.

“Can I fuck you?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been… thinking about you. I like you like this.”

“Oh.”

You’re quiet for a moment and he fears he’s blown his shot with you. His hand still rests against your neck albeit loosely, and your eyes travel from his crotch up to his mask, obscuring any kind of expression you might be able to make out. Is he messing with you? Why would someone as strong as him decide you’re the one he wants?

“Okay, yeah. Yeah I’d like that.”

A nod is just what he needs, his hand leaving your neck and moving to tangle into your hair, firmly placed on the back of your head while the other moves to quickly undo his crotch armor and throw it somewhere on the couch.

He leaks pre-cum from his weeping slit, far too dark of a color to be comfortable for him. The groan that falls from his lips as you move to place yours against his head is almost heavenly. Like you’re a godsend, the only one who can make him feel like this. His gloved fingers tighten in your hair, an encouragement.

Noir is proved right in his theory of you; that your tongue dances over his head and flattens against his slit, your pretty eyes flutter shut and your hand rubbing the base of his cock. You must think he’s a poor baby the way you hum as you squeeze him slightly, hard and dripping against your tastebuds.

He reaches a hand against the back of the couch you two were beside, gripping it till his knuckles ached below his gloves. He’s swift in his movements, calculated and for the first time he feels closer to the old Noir. Would this be how he would act? Grabbing ahold of a woman like this - like you’re something to be manhandled? He’s usually shy, anxious when with women but you don’t seem to mind so he doesn’t lighten his grip.

Pushing you back against the ground, head resting on the discarded carpet like some sort of pillow below you. You’re an actress; doing your own stunts against him so he’s seen the way your body curves and flexes. He knows you can handle him, even if it takes a few tears.

He grabs your hips harder, shimming sweatpants you had changed into earlier, running his fingers over the growing wet spot in your underwear before he too removed them like they were a barrier to something most precious. His lips press against your thighs through his balaclava, breath hot and fast in anticipation for what is to come.

The angle is awkward and strenuous, but he seems to take great joy in seeing you like this. Not quite missionary, your body is arched below him and your silently grateful for the makeshift pillow because you’re sure your neck would be even more sore tomorrow had it not been for the carpet bunched up. Your legs are pushed back as he moves around you, hand gripping his cock to line up.

Noir inches himself in, letting you take deep, shallow breaths in your position as he tries his best to stay patient and not bottom out. The stretch hurts a bit; you can’t remember the last time you’ve been with a supe in such an intimate display and he’s thicker than most you’ve been with.

His breath his hard and hot against his balaclava; hands resting to keep both your legs out as he finally bottoms out inside of you. You can hear the groan that leaves his lips at the feeling of your walls constricting against him - in such a position they pulse and push around his still aching cock. Your warmth is welcome to him, driving him crazy.

His thrusts are as rough as he is with you on the set; barely giving you time to catch your breath between pumps as the air leaving and entering your lungs is sharp and almost painful. Wanton moans fall from your lips, hands reaching to grasp the underside of the couch in order to keep from moving below him.

“Fuck- Noir…”

“Is that good? You’re such a good girl, staying in this position f’me.”

You barely have the strength to respond, neurons firing in your brain in an attempt to string together words but all that comes out is a few unintelligible babbles. He pushes impossibly deep inside of you; he had reached a certain bundle of nerves quite a few thrusts ago, now he was abusing that spot. It seemed he was trying to get these reactions out of you.

Tilting his head back slightly, he groaned as you tightened around him; one hand falling from your legs to press against your stomach. He took pride in feeling himself inside of you - a large ego boost that his cock was thick enough to create a faint outline inside you. He would certainly have to fuck you more after this, see what other angles could excentuate that bulge in your pretty flesh.

“Gonna-“ Your gasp is harsh, though you don’t need to speak; he can feel it. The way your walls spasm around him as he pulls out and pushes back inside of you. He draws it out, slowing down a bit and cocking his head to the side - blacked out mask taunting you in your state.

“What? Are you gonna cum?”

A nod, breathless ‘yes’s falling from your lips as your hand not grasping the couch for dear life reaches up to grab onto his armor. Tears prick at your eyes, proof of how good he was making you feel. Your head lulls back against the carpet; white toying at the corners of your eyes.

Bliss washed over you quite quickly after that, gushing around him. He can’t help but chuckle at the sight, though it’s marred with a soft moan at how you squeeze. His hips continue to move, stuttering and the trailer fills with the unmistakable sound of sex. Wet, sloppy now as he nears his own climax.

Another thrust, then another before he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and spills his seed against your walls. He could die at the feeling of you milking him, drawing spurt after spurt of hot cum from his throbbing cock. He feels lucky, in his euphoria, that he could have this experience. A god with a mortal, how funny it was.

He pants as he withdraws himself, letting your legs lay back down as he colapses beside you. Head spinning, body aching from the position and the ceiling of his trailer suddenly looks as beautiful as the starry night outside. You two share the air, share your breathing and as you lay there for a moment longer; you can feel him get up.

He’s as silent as a ninja, but you know his presence is no longer beside you and honestly? After the position you had just kept? You were far too tired to move to see where he happened to go. Besides, the sound of the faucet running is enough of an indicator that he’s just moved the kitchen.

He returns after a moment, crouching in front of you as you finally move your head to look at him. He hasn’t taken his top helmet off; not allowing you a peek at the face he was hiding behind the balaclava, but the gentle kisses he places to your trembling legs are more than enough to take your mind off whatever he might look like.

“ ‘m surprised you don’t wanna watch your cum drip out of me.” You earn a chuckle from him as he moves the now wet and soapy washcloth he had gotten in the kitchen over your thighs and, gently, over your sensitive core. Cleaning you up as gentlemanly as possible.

“I’d rather see you tangled in my bed sheets, if we're being honest.”

“Sounds nice - even though I should be heading home after this. Guess you’ll have to fuck me again to be able to see that.”

“I was planning on fucking you again regardless.”

#black noir #black noir x you #black noir x reader #the boys season 4 #the boys #smut #x reader #black noir x female reader #female reader

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mourn-and-watch · 5 months ago

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in all seriousness, dragon age being almost officially dead to me is, like, whatever. i'm used to hanging out in dead fandoms because i'm usually extremely late to the party so i think i'll manage. i was excited for veilguard but even if it was bad bad for me (which it wasn't. i have my problems with it but they didn't ruin the franchise for me) i would also manage because dragon age to me always was extremely flawed but had an enormous potential for fan content. at some point i started to treat it like my favourite fantasy playground where i can smash pre-existing barbie dolls with the ones i made myself. all my barbie dolls are in place and i still can do whatever i want (and i plan to continue to do so) and, i guess, i shouldn't be upset.

i am upset, however. for all the devs affected by laid-offs, but especially the writers. these people created dragon age as we know it, and it's been a messy series in every aspect, including the writing, it's been insensitive at times, at times dumb and undercooked, but there was always an immense amount of potential that's been inspiring fans for years, and also a feeling that all, or at least the most of it was created with genuine passion. and realizing that there is no one left from the team that made dragon age what it is, every installment of it, is just. genuinely sad. and it's not a theseus ship dilemma, because it's not like they were slowly replaced one by one. they were just fired. this ship is destined to sink, it's falling apart in front of our eyes because neither ea nor bioware cares about writing. not many companies do nowadays, to be honest. and it's kinda devastating. grifters will celebrate that like a "downfall of woke slop", but they'll get only more ai slop instead, lol, because good writing doesn't guarantee good sells. best selling games of 2024 are shooters and sports games. and elden ring which is a nice exception, but an exception nevertheless.

i don't think mass effect will save bioware at this point. even if it's an absolute banger it still has to meet ea's expectations. which are unrealistic, to say the least. also people who wrote characters like mordin, tali, legion, thane, garrus and liara are all gone. either they left themselves or were laid off. like, if you want "old bioware magic" to return, there is none. the same people who wrote your favourite characters and storylines in da/me were also working on veilguard. i may be wrong, but somehow i think they didn't all lose their ability to write here because they went woke or whatever. i think the inconsistent quality of datv writing that can only be described as 'we're so back/it's so over' pic is a consequence of multiple rewrites, constant director changes and shitty decisions, both internal and coming from bioware/ea higher-ups. i also may be wrong, but it wouldn't be such a big problem if writing wasn't at the bottom of priority list.

if i recall correctly, when gaider left willingly, he highlighted that bioware didn't treat its writers seriously at that point. and i'd say that tracks. like, from countless veilguard rewrites and scrapped ideas to lay-offs of every single studio veteran.

idk what else there is to say. i'll cheer for every studio that value its writers and i hope all ex-bioware devs will be able to do something new and exciting. i also doubt bioware is the last studio that will experience such a decline in the years to come. the narrative of this shitshow will also be twisted into 'go woke go broke' and it already slightly draws me insane. fuck ea fuck bioware fuck grifters. also i beg everyone to start appreciating writing as a craft because otherwise it's only going to get worse!

#whatever. I won't even reread it so sorry for typos in advance #dragon age #bioware critical #ea critical

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hummingbird-games · 7 months ago

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2024 in Review (Indie Games)

2023 | 2022 | 2021

Helloooo gamer friends!!!

I'm so tired.

Lol.

Anyhoo, y'all don't care about that!!! Y'all are here to see what games I played and what the heck I have to say about them! Reminders: I don't bash games I didn't like, and I try to post more in-depth thoughts and reviews and general yapping to Gem's Game Gems.

DEMOS

When Stars Collide - I am by no means a sci-fi girlie. I need a HEAPING dose of fantasy or fantasy elements to help me out. That said, y'all might remember how I went feral for Gilded Shadows, so I am locked in for this journey with WSC. It's just as mysterious and lore intense as GS, but also just as intriguing and engaging!

Love Me, Love Me Not - I looooove when a game charms me to pieces??? Our MC Addie, the introduced LIs, the story, the art??? Where do I begin?? Anyway, please check this one out y'all! I'm impatient for the full game (shocker, I know).

Threads of You: Beyond the Bay - So my thoughts and reactions for this one are on the side blog, but I really enjoyed the demo and I have eyes for Chris, Vince, and Alex hehehe.

Lost in Limbo - While I'd been keeping tabs on this game for what seems forever because of the character art that originally caught my attention, I almost didn't finish the demo because it was lowkey disturbing (I'm a wimp and not all horror is made equal). But!!! BUT!!!! I push through to the end, had a good time, noted that I need to play the full game in the daylight with the music turned down low. And I absolutely adore Ara and Xal so, so much.

A Simple Twist of Fae - Absolutely no one cares, but I read a lot of manga this year. Like, a lot-a lot. Like, ~180 books and 1/3 of that was manga. Anyhoo, When JMB announced she was cooking up this game, I was impatient to get my grubby hands on it. AND THEN I PLAYED IT AND IT WAS THE SHOJO INSPIRED GAME OF MY DREAMS?!?! Like.....I wish I could both have it on my computer and also on my bookshelf. Final build dropping when??? (Also the UI design is utterly delightful, I cry.)

The Summit Library (FULL DEMO) - The last time I reviewed this game, we got chapter 1 as a taste, and I was. Locked! In!! The full demo gives us the first 2 chapters as well as the previews for all the romance routes and while giving everyone a whirl I'm *still* undecided on who to go for in the future, I must mention this: TSL is so aspec friendly???? I do love a game with smut, don't get me wrong looks at College Craze but sometimes I have my moments of being overwhelmed/sliiiiiiightly repulsed and the variety of options you have to choose how you react and interact with the various LIs in this game is amazing. (I have more thoughts on this, so I'll try to remember to post to the sideblog, but please understand that this game is totally worth your attention and time imo!!!)

Fully Released & Played (at least 1 playthrough)

Rabbit Trail - This. Game. Is. SO. Cute. *punches the air* 😭🥹(Copy + paste of my review on the itch.io page -> This was so charming, so fluffy, so cozy, just delightful all around??? I've only reached one ending so far, but René is just the cutest protag to play as, and his interactions as he delivers his mail made me cheese so dang hard! (Also, I wanted to fight his parents for not properly appreciating their kid LOL))

Stuck by Design - I checked this game out because I was looking into games that fellow programmers had worked on, and this cozy game stumbled onto my lap. The music was perfect, the UI is beautiful and clean, and I thoroughly enjoyed the performance of the VA for the LI, Yuki.

Wake Me Up If You Need Me - I called this game older!HSDJY MC x Ryan coded and I'm still right. The voice actor MAKES this game, and the interactions the player has with Reed is so flippin' delightful?? All my love and adoration to the game developer. May they make more beautiful games.

CTRL FREAK - The developer team brought us The Faithfulness of the Universe which is a banger in its own right, and CTRL FREAK is the team's commercial, finished project that I also found delightful. The soundtrack and the animations are chef's kiss 💛

Breathless Winds - Ooo, baby, ooo. So. If there is only one game you play from this list and you have some spare cash to spend (at the time of writing, the game is on sale!!!) please, please, check this one out. It left me absolutely spellbound, both the orginal demo, and then the full game. While I didn't get to blog fully about this one, and I only tackled 2 of the 4 routes, this game is absolutely everything. This is my indie game of the year. Poppy and her journey resonated with me, and between the music and the art, everything just came together so perfectly.

Wake Up Magical Girl - Listen TF up, if miseri creates it, I'm gonna play it, idc, idc. That being said...this game had a kick to it that when I finished my first playthrough, I had to stare off into space and gather myself. It takes the concept of magical girls and heroism and gave me a teeny tiny existential crisis, but other than that, I'm fine, it's fine, play this game, thank you.

Sleeping Under Spells - God, I love me a game where I get to argue with a LI. I love it. Bonus points if it's lowkey stupid stuff we're bickering over LOL!!

Our Wonderland - Yeah, uh huh, you thought you'd escape me talking about this game this year, didn't yah???? Too bad. The fifth and final arc dropped this year and I played it and I cried and felt for the briefest moments that life was okay. To say something different than my review of last year, I love that this seems to be the game that helps fellow ace devs find and flock to each other, I'm not kidding 🤣 so thank you Carrot for helping us fellow aspec peeps feel seen and validated and understood!

I Watched a Full Game Playthrough and Highly Recommend

Replay Boys - Okay so technically at the time of posting, there's still one more video I'm waiting to watch (Naja of BlerdyOtome uploaded her stream to YouTube) but my Godddddd. I've had my eye on this game for FOREVER but I was lowkey waiting for it to move to itch.io (I'm still a lowkey Steam hater 🥹) anyhoo, watching this absolutely wild game made me go ahead and buy a copy for myself to replay at a later time, but it's just great. The summary only scratches this surface of what the game entails 🤣

Gemi’s Gushies

(a list within a list of games that have devs trucking along in the background and I want to spotlight for y’all)

Save the Villainess - Life got away with me and unfortunately I never finished my play of the demo BUT what I have played was fun and I hope to return to this in the new year!

Woman of Xal 2 - Plot Twist Studios is on that Sequel Train with the next installment of WoX!!! Which I'm VERY excited for!!! I've unfortunately only completed one playthrough of this game, but the first game is definitely a masterclass in replayability, and I hope next year I'll be able to do a second playthough as I wait for game 2's Kickstarter!

...

And that's 2024! Any shared favorites?

- Gemini 🫶🏾

#happy holidays!!#gaming year in review #yay!! shorter list!!!#(also because...I didn't game that much this year 🥸)#here's to whatever goodies 2025 brings!

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dekariosclan · 2 months ago

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Hello! Thought stuck in my brain, and I’m not sure how to craft the right search to see if this has already been discussed anywhere. So to the expert I go!

Gale flirting in the Shadow Cursed Lands (aka the “I once read a book” bit) - help me peel back the curtain into his brain here. At this point, Gale is aware that Tav is interested in him to some extent based on the Weave lesson where they pictured something romantic with him. He couldn’t do much about it before because of the orb, before it was stabilized.

Now, he openly tells Tav he is def interested, specifically in a physical way. What is his goal here? Just to gauge their reaction, see if Tav was serious when they pictured romance or a kiss before? He doesn’t make another move until he admits he’s in love with Tav, which tells me he doesn’t like to sleep around unless there are meaningful feelings involved.

I guess I’m just trying to figure out if he had a plan when he does this post battle flirting, or if he was just caught up in the moment (you know, the brush with danger affecting his desire for other forms of stimulation, lol). I mean, what if that same night at camp after he flirts with Tav, they tried to initiate intimacy with Gale? He had point blank said he wanted them, so it wouldn’t be outrageous for a Tav to try to follow up on that.

Hello anon!! You want to talk about Gale’s post-battle flirting scene?! 😍 Let’s do it!

So you’re wondering what Gale’s goal was with his sudden, impeccably timed dialogue (nothing like some steamy flirting in front of the whole team, surrounded by post-battle carnage!) and whether it was planned vs spontaneous.

Here’s the thing about Gale—he’s absolutely telling the truth when he says he’s ‘many things, but coy isn’t one of them’. He is not someone who says rehearsed lines or speeches. He says what he feels when he feels it. The famous ‘musk’ line at the Tiefling party is a result of this, as is the ‘tummy rub’ line, both which show him speaking a bit too freely because of how much he likes Tav (and his adorable embarrassment after).

So I believe that his Shadowlands flirting is a combination of a few things: First and foremost, that the orb being quieted has allowed him to consider being intimate with Tav as a real possibility, not just a fantasy; second, that he wishes to make up for lost time and wants to court/compliment/flirt with Tav a bit more now; and third, that he does actually find post-battle thrills to be quite invigorating, and cannot help but comment on it.

I think it must have been very hard for Gale in Act 1 (no pun intended) to know Tav shares his feelings, and is open to his affection, and yet he still has to put Tav at arm’s length and hold back for everyone’s safety. To wait and watch other companions flirt boldly and openly with Tav and offer them things that he can’t. Imagine how that must’ve stung, and how worried Gale must have been to think he could lose Tav—yet his hands were tied due to the orb.

So when the Shadowlands battle happens, and they survive, and everyone is a bit charged up (especially Gale) I think he realizes he can talk about the desire he’s feeling for once and know that it’s okay. The orb is stable, Tav looks amazing in all their sweaty glory—so he goes for it. And I do think his goal here is to make up for lost time, and remind Tav of how much he wants them, and assure them that the idea of them being together is now a real thing.

Finally, your question about what would happen if Tav had approached Gale that evening with the intention of being intimate: I don’t think Gale would have been upset by this. Not at all! But I do think he would have asked to hold off for the time being. Not because he was worried about the orb, or because he needed more time to develop feelings for Tav, but because he wants their first night together to be perfect. He wants to offer Tav everything he has, all of himself, and all of his skills in both magic and lovemaking. He wants to have a magical evening in a beautiful setting, with company to match. So he would ask, please, for Tav to bear with him just a little longer, to allow him to show them something truly spectacular.

I can’t imagine Tav would say no, can you?

#thanks for the ask!#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #answered ask

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cod-imagines · 8 days ago

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imagine #1

character: Keegan P. Russ words: 5601 cw: 18+, drinking description: AU where Keegan is an F1 pilot (requested anonymously). (part 2) a/n: my first cod fic on tumblr!! I tried to incorporate the recent 2025 results for the race in Montreal, but I know nothing about F1 lol but please let me know what you think! :))))

This was, without a doubt, the best terrible decision you’d ever made. Or maybe the worst brilliant one. Either way, the wheels were already in motion — both figuratively and literally — as your Uber crept through downtown Montreal traffic, each turn ushering you deeper into a city you’d never been to.

It all started when your best friend called you two weeks ago, her voice almost vibrating through the phone with excitement. She’d landed a summer job working concierge at the Ritz-Carlton — the Ritz, the marble-mouthed, chandelier-draped fantasy lodged deep in the heart of the Golden Square Mile.

You were on your couch nursing the bruised ego and scalded pride of a breakup that hadn’t even earned you the dignity of a phone call. Just a text. Four words: this isn’t working anymore. Delivered casually at 2:16 a.m., right before he blocked you. No reason. No chance to ask why. And just like that, the person you’d planned to spend the summer with vanished into digital vapor. You didn’t even cry.

Instead, you booked a flight.

One week. That’s all you let yourself take. Enough time to see your friend, to lose yourself in a city you didn’t know, and maybe — just maybe — pretend to be someone else entirely. Someone with no missed calls or half-drunk wine bottles littering their nightstand. Someone who stayed in five-star hotels like it was second nature. Someone who didn’t feel cracked down the middle.

But nothing — absolutely nothing — could’ve prepared you for the scene outside the Ritz when your car finally pulled up.

The sidewalk was chaos. Branded banners rippled in the summer breeze. Girls in crop tops and oversized sunglasses leaned against metal barricades, iPhones tilted at perfect angles, searching for someone. Security guards in sleek black suits moved with controlled urgency, redirecting guests and herding back the crowd. There were flashes of cameras, glimpses of men with lanyards and cameras, murmurs of he’s here, I saw the car.

It hit you slowly — this was Grand Prix weekend.

You’d vaguely heard of the Canadian Grand Prix before — maybe in the way you’d hear about Coachella or New York Fashion Week. Background noise for rich people and influencers. But this? This felt like something bigger. The air itself was buzzing, electric. You stepped out of the Uber and immediately felt underdressed and overwhelmed.

The lobby was worse. A museum of marble and gold, instantly swallowed by a sea of people. Branded team gear was everywhere — Mercedes hats, Ferrari polos, Red Bull puffer vests. You ducked around a man holding a camera on a gimbal and nearly collided with a group of guys in matching polos speaking rapid-fire Italian. You clutched your papers like a lifeline, holding onto your printed email confirmation like it was a golden ticket.

The receptionist didn’t even flinch. “Reservation under…?”

You gave your name, trying to smile, trying to appear like this wasn’t the most absurd situation you’d ever walked into. You were painfully aware of how long it took to locate your booking — just long enough to convince yourself they’d lost it, or worse, that it had never existed at all.

But then you saw her.

Your friend emerged from the side hallway like some kind of celestial body, perfectly poised in her Ritz uniform. Her smile split wide the moment she spotted you.

“Finally,” she said, wrapping you in a hug that smelled like hotel soap and citrus. “I’ve been counting down the hours.”

You exhaled, tension easing from your shoulders all at once. “I didn’t realize half the city was going to be here. What the hell did I just walk into?”

She pulled back and beamed. “Oh, babe. This is the biggest weekend of the year. F1 royalty. The teams, the drivers, the media — everyone is staying here. You’re lucky I snagged you a room.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, the drivers? Like the guys everyone on TikTok is obsessed with right now?”

She laughed, clearly enjoying your naivety. “Yes. That exact breed of demigod. Don’t worry though — they’re used to girls swooning.”

You snorted, hoisting your duffel over your shoulder. “Good thing I’m emotionally immune right now.”

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re not immune, you’re just temporarily disillusioned. Big difference.”

You gave her a look but accepted the room key she handed over. It was heavier than expected, like it belonged to a different world. A better one.

“I get off at eight,” she said with a wink. “We’re going out after.”

You smiled, for real this time. “Remind me to buy you several drinks.”

The elevator opened behind you with a soft ding, and you stepped in, suddenly aware of how tired you were from the flight — and how wired you felt despite it. Your reflection in the gold-trimmed mirror stared back at you: a little sun-flushed from the Uber ride, a little windswept, but something else too. Something more awake than you’d felt in weeks.

Outside, the city pulsed.

You pressed the elevator button for the ninth floor with a tired but satisfied little sigh, your luggage at your side and the soft ping of the doors closing offering a fleeting moment of calm. Ninth floor. Your friend had promised a city view, and you clung to that detail like a talisman — somewhere up there, behind a pane of glass, was the skyline of a city that didn’t know your name. It felt like freedom.

But the moment the doors began to slide shut, a hand shot between them — broad and tan, with long fingers and short, clean nails — halting the motion with a mechanical groan. The doors stuttered open again.

He stepped inside without a word.

Brown hair, a little messy at the edges. Thick brows set low over eyes so blue they almost startled you, cool and sharp beneath the fluorescent lighting. The kind of blue that wasn't soft but cutting, like ice under pressure. The lower half of his face was hidden by a simple black surgical mask, but somehow that only made him more enigmatic. He didn’t look at you — just thumbed through something on his phone, seemingly unfazed.

You shifted your stance subtly, keeping to your corner as he claimed his own on the opposite side. There was a quiet to him. Not just in sound, but in presence. Like he could fold himself into the background without really disappearing.

His black duffel bag thumped softly against the elevator wall. That was the only sound.

He pressed the button for the tenth floor. You tried not to notice the way his broad shoulders moved beneath his fitted t-shirt when he did.

You stared at the little LCD floor indicator above the door instead, willing your heart to slow. You weren’t looking for anything. Not tonight. Not after your stupid breakup.

Still, something in you stirred. Some leftover ache of confidence trying to reanimate itself.

If not now, then when?

You cleared your throat gently. “You here for the racing stuff?”

Your voice sounded a little smaller than you'd intended — throaty from travel and disuse — but at least it wasn’t shaking.

He let out a low sound, something halfway between a laugh and a hum of amusement. When he answered, his voice was deep. Not forced-deep, not affected, but naturally resonant in a way that caught you off guard. It lingered, smooth as bourbon.

“You’re not?”

You blinked. “God, no.” A soft laugh tumbled from your lips. “My friend works here. She booked me in for a vacation and kind of left out the part where the entire hotel would be under siege.”

You gestured vaguely upward, as though the paparazzi were currently scaling the building like a horde of glamorous zombies.

His eyes — sharp and glinting — crinkled slightly at the corners. You were pretty sure he smiled beneath the mask.

“Good to know,” he said simply, and tucked his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

You weren’t sure what you were doing. This wasn’t flirting — at least, not technically. But the elevator was small, and he was magnetic in the way people often are when they know exactly who they are and don't care if anyone else does. He had that grounded stillness that made you feel like he could say more but chose not to.

You didn’t want the silence to swallow the moment just yet.

“So,” you ventured again, “you’re into cars, then?”

“Something like that.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider him as if he were just some guy you might have met in line at a café. You weren’t that naïve, though. His body language, the soft authority of his presence, the way he barely had to speak to be heard — something told you this wasn’t just a mechanic with good bone structure.

“Cool,” you said instead, casual. “Must be nice, I guess.”

He shifted slightly, one hand resting on the duffel. “I take it you’re not a fan.”

You smiled wryly. “Not past the occasional thirst edits I scroll past online. Y’know, the kind that make you wonder if the helmets are compensating for something?”

He let out a quiet breath that was definitely a laugh. You weren’t sure if it was the way you said it or the way you didn’t say more, but suddenly he was watching you more directly now. Not intensely — just aware. Like he’d noticed you in a new way. Like you were no longer just background noise to his evening.

The elevator slowed with a chime.

“This is your stop,” he said, his voice lower this time, like he’d let it dip a little just for you.

“Yeah.” You hesitated a beat longer than necessary. “See you around, I guess. Enjoy the racing.”

He looked at you, and you could feel the smile behind his mask again. “Sure will.”

The doors opened.

You stepped out into the hallway, the carpet plush beneath your boots, and forced yourself to keep walking. Don’t look back. Don’t look too interested. This wasn’t that kind of trip.

And yet—

As you turned the corner toward your room, you caught the briefest glimpse of the bag he’d been carrying.

Black canvas. Worn leather strap.

And stitched neatly along the side in silver and teal:

MERCEDES-AMG PETRONAS.

⟡

“I swear to God, he was a driver,” you said for the third time, leaning across the scratched, varnish-worn table as your friend laughed into the lip of her pint glass, unconvinced but entertained.

“You think he was a driver,” she corrected, mock-serious. “Or maybe he was just some tall dude with a cool duffel bag and a good skincare routine.”

You narrowed your eyes, a playful glare settling on your face. “No. No way. The way he carried himself — like he’s used to walking into rooms and immediately being the centre of attention. And the duffel said Mercedes. Mercedes, babe.”

She snorted and leaned back in the cracked leather booth, crossing her arms over her chest. “Then you should’ve asked for his number.”

You groaned dramatically, dropping your head back against the wall behind you. “Yeah, right. Me, ask him? The guy who probably has a million unread DMs from girls who look like models and talk like PR reps? No way.”

She rolled her eyes. “Simple logic. Those girls didn’t end up alone with him in an elevator.”

You blinked. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re literally the devil.”

“Imagine,” she went on, grin devilish now, “just making out with him in that elevator. Like full-on, movie scene shit. You pin him to the wall, the duffel slides down his arm — very dramatic. Hot.”

You choked on your beer, nearly spilling some on your shirt. “Jesus. Yeah, I’ll totally just stalk the lobby for hours until he comes back, throw myself into the elevator with him, and be like, ‘Hey, do you mind if I assault you with affection?’”

She raised her glass. “That’s the spirit.”

You clinked your pint gently against hers, still laughing as you took another sip. The pub was warm and dim, low amber lighting casting soft shadows on the scuffed wooden floors and aging Union Jack flags tucked into corners like lazy afterthoughts. The air smelled like beer, malt vinegar, and nostalgia. And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, you felt okay. Not perfect, not fixed — but looser somehow. Softer around the edges.

You missed this. You missed her.

You dipped a fry in ketchup, savoring the salt. “I can’t thank you enough for this,” you said. “Really. Inviting me here, letting me crash in your universe for a little while. I know you’re working like crazy, but all of this means a lot.”

Her expression softened instantly, the sarcasm momentarily fading. “Babe, don’t get sentimental on me. You’re the one who needed this. And I’m glad you came.”

Then, without missing a beat: “But if you really want to thank me, hook up with mystery driver man. Do it for both of us.”

You groaned again. “I don’t even know who he was.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say his bag had a Mercedes logo?”

You nodded, half-laughing. “Yeah. All black, silver and teal stitching. Big duffel. Designer-looking.”

Immediately, she reached for her phone, thumbs already flying across the screen. “Dark hair?”

“Yep.”

“Blue eyes? Like – Cillian Murphy blue? Serial killer sexy blue?”

You paused. “I guess so? I didn’t stare into his soul or anything.”

She turned her phone around with a wicked grin.

“Was it him?”

The photo hit you like a punch.

You hadn’t expected to recognize him — at least, not like that. Not with his helmet halfway off and his eyes locked on something beyond the camera, mouth curled in a smirk like he knew exactly how dangerous he looked. But it was him. Or close enough to make your breath falter.

Same tousled hair. Same thick eyebrows. Same bone structure that bordered on unfair.

Your fingers curled around her phone before you realized what you were doing. You stared at the screen like it might blink back.

“What the fuck?” The words came out quiet. Dry. Stuck in your throat.

“That’s Keegan Russ,” she said, her voice smug with glee. “You just met the Keegan Russ.”

“Is he, like—”

“A big fucking deal?” She barked out a laugh. “Girl. He’s massive. He’s one of the top drivers on the grid right now. Drives for Mercedes, obviously. Crazy fast. Calm under pressure. Doesn’t really do social media so he’s even hotter. You, my love, literally ran into an F1 unicorn.”

You stared down at his photo, heartbeat skipping like a scratched record.

There was no way a guy like that could ever—

“Mind if I join you?”

You dropped her phone like it had burned you.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you looked up — and there he was.

Keegan.

Dressed in head-to-toe black, clean and casual, surgical mask still tugged over his face but unmistakable. His eyes — those fucking eyes — were already creased with amusement, like he’d caught the whole conversation from across the room.

Which, horrifyingly, he probably had.

Your friend immediately sprang to her feet, all false innocence and theatrical urgency. “Oh my God — yeah — actually, I was just leaving!”

You stared at her, betrayal in your eyes.

“Early day tomorrow,” she said, grabbing her bag. “You know how it is!” She mouthed something on her way out — call me later — and then she was gone, the door of the pub clinking shut behind her with a gust of warm summer air.

Keegan moved with quiet confidence, sliding smoothly into the booth like he belonged there. As if this wasn’t strange at all. As if he hadn’t just caught you thirsting over a photo of him two seconds ago.

He tugged down his mask and rested his hands on the table.

You stopped breathing.

His jaw was sharp, almost unreal under the warm light, and his mouth — those lips — soft, plush, the kind of mouth that made stupid thoughts short-circuit in your brain. The photos hadn’t done him justice. He wasn’t just hot. He was composed, statuesque, dangerous in that subtle way men are when they don’t need to try.

“You following me now?” you asked, managing a light tone even as your cheeks burned.

He met your eyes, steady and unreadable.

“I’m not the one with pictures of you on my phone.”

Your face went up in flames.

“Oh my God — I’m so sorry, that wasn’t — she pulled up the picture, I didn’t—”

“Relax.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “It’s cute.”

You blinked. Cute?

“So,” he continued, voice smooth and unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be. “You’re really not into the whole racing thing, huh?”

He leaned back in the booth, one arm stretched along the top of the cracked leather seat, casual and confident in a way that made it hard to tell where the performance ended and the real Keegan began. The lighting in the pub flickered softly above his head, catching in the faint flecks of gold in his dark hair. The longer you looked at him, the more it felt like staring into the sun.

You shook your head, smiling guiltily. “No, sorry. I find it kind of boring, honestly. Just a bunch of cars going in circles, right?”

He let out a sharp, mock-injured tsk, his expression exaggerated. “Pity. And here I was—” He placed a hand dramatically over his heart “—ready to offer you and your friend paddock passes for the weekend. Exclusive. VIP. All-access.”

You blinked. “Wait. Passes? You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He sighed the way one might when recounting a great, tragic loss. “But since you’re not into cars, and you think it’s all terribly dull—”

“Well, now,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter, suddenly very interested. “I didn’t say that. I just meant I haven’t really given it a fair shot. Yet.”

His gaze sharpened like a spotlight narrowing its beam. “Mm. That’s what I thought.”

He reached forward and — without asking — plucked a lone fry off your plate. Cold. Limp. You watched him eat it anyway.

“You think you could try for me?” he asked around a lazy smile, like he already knew the answer. His tone was low and quiet and dangerous in the way it slipped under your skin, that velvety softness wrapped around something heavier.

“For you?” you asked, fighting the flutter in your chest. “You don’t even know my name.”

He tilted his head, those pale blue eyes catching yours and holding them like they were something he’d claimed already.

“[Name],” he said.

Your blood ran warm in your ears. “Okay — what? How the hell did you know that?”

He just blinked, calm and unbothered. “It was on your reservation,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You were holding the printout in the elevator. Real tight. Big bold letters.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“In the elevator,” he added, too innocently. “Where your friend was telling you to kiss me.”

“Alright,” you groaned, putting your face in your hands. “Shut up.”

He laughed — a real one this time. Warm and low and real enough to tug something loose in your stomach.

He leaned forward again, close enough that you could smell the faint trace of cologne on his jacket — something sharp and clean with a hint of smoke. You hated how good it smelled. You hated how your pulse responded before your brain caught up.

“Passes still on the table,” he said, popping another cold fry between his lips. “But only if you promise not to fall asleep at the track.”

You looked at him, deadpan. “No promises. I might bring a pillow.”

“Ruthless.”

“But I will take the passes.”

He raised his glass toward you, just water, but the gesture made it feel like something ceremonial.

“To corrupting the uninitiated,” he said, voice dry with amusement.

You clinked your beer glass against his water, smiling despite yourself. “To being corrupted.”

⟡

You didn’t know what to expect — not really. You’d tried to imagine it in the days leading up to this, but nothing could have prepared you for the visceral reality of race day. You knew there would be crowds, yes. Screaming, of course. That kind of electrified chaos was baked into the very idea of Formula 1, wasn’t it? But even so, as you stepped into the paddock and took your place at the railing, just a few breaths away from the pit lane, it struck you like a thunderclap.

The sound was the first thing that hit you — low, guttural, and omnipresent, like a heartbeat rumbling beneath the surface of the earth. Engines revved in the distance with the rawness of beasts being roused. Voices barked commands through headsets and radios, mechanics in their matching jumpsuits swarming around the cars like precise, restless insects. Everything shimmered with tension: the smell of hot tarmac, the sharp bite of gasoline in the air, the flash of sun against chrome. Heat rose from the track in wavering mirages, warping the world around you just enough to make it feel like a dream.

But nothing — nothing — was more surreal than the sight of Keegan Russ, standing twenty feet away.

Your body went still the moment you saw him, as if every muscle in your frame had seized in reverence. There he was, wearing a sleek black racing suit that molded to his form like armor, every movement purposeful, fluid, controlled. His brown hair was pushed back from his face in soft, errant waves, slightly tousled, holding his helmet under one arm. A few dark strands fell into his brow, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was focused, locked into a conversation with one of his engineers, nodding as he listened. The way he stood — weight slightly shifted to one side, arms relaxed but never careless — was so inherently magnetic that you felt yourself tip forward without meaning to, hands gripping the railing to steady yourself as something hot and unfamiliar bloomed low in your stomach.

Around him, the world spun on. Cameras flashed. Other drivers strutted by, their suits adorned in rival colors — brilliant red and white, deep blue, sharp neon yellow. You recognized some of the names now, thanks to the rabbit hole of race recaps and YouTube videos you’d fallen into the past few nights: Leclerc, Hamilton, Verstappen. Faces that made the internet melt every Sunday afternoon.

But you didn’t care. None of them registered. They could have been cardboard cutouts for all they mattered.

Your eyes found only him.

Keegan didn’t look up. Didn’t glance toward the paddock or wave at the grandstands or acknowledge the girls in the crowd below waving banners with his name on them — black and silver flags caught in the wind, their screams slicing through the roar of the engines. Girls wearing cropped Mercedes merch and liquid eyeliner sharp enough to wound. Girls who knew what he looked like at every angle, who knew his stats, his wins, his rumored exes. Girls who would kill to be where you were.

And still — he didn’t look up.

He was somewhere else now, mentally, you could tell. Locked in. Already racing.

You reached for your phone before remembering he wouldn’t have his on him — not here, not now. You didn’t want to break his focus anyway. Still, the last message you’d sent him that morning was burned into your mind: Good luck today. Simple. Honest.

His reply had come minutes later.

Don’t fall asleep when I win.

You hadn’t known what to make of it at the time — too confident, too cheeky. But now, watching him like this—his composure, his stillness, the precision in every movement — it didn’t feel cocky anymore. It felt inevitable.

Your friend was off in the bathroom, likely practicing her smile in the mirror or fixing her lip gloss, still high on the thrill of the paddock passes. She’d practically burst into tears when you told her. “You can have Keegan,” she’d said, grinning like a menace, “but don’t think for one second I’m not going to seduce a Ferrari driver for the plot. It’s summer, bitch. You owe it to the narrative.”

You’d laughed, then. It felt light. Now everything felt heavier. Realer.

You let your gaze settle on Keegan again, heart pounding a little too hard for your own comfort.

And then — right before he climbed into the car — he looked up.

The contact was immediate. Direct.

His eyes found yours with unnerving ease, like he'd known where you were all along. His mouth twitched beneath the edge of his helmet, not quite a smile, but close. And then he winked.

A single wink that sent your body into full-blown meltdown.

You were gone.

Your knees went jelly-soft. The noise of the paddock blurred. The crowd dissolved. The heat was unbearable now — not from the weather, but from within. You were flushed and breathless, heart thudding in your throat. You had never, in your life, wanted someone so much in so little time.

The race began minutes later, but the next hour and a half felt eternal.

Not boring, not in the slightest. It was gripping — every sound, every lap, every shiver of rubber against asphalt — but you weren’t watching the race. You were watching him.

The first lap was chaos. You could barely follow what was happening. Cars zipped by in flashes of light and color. The announcer’s voice echoed over the loudspeakers, naming positions you didn’t understand fast enough to care. All you knew was when Keegan slipped back a place, your body reacted like he’d been stabbed.

He was third. Then fourth. Back to third. Time crawled.

Your friend returned, thrusting a bottle of water into your hand like you’d just emerged from the desert.

“You need to breathe, girl,” she said, laughing. “It’s just a race.”

“It’s not just anything,” you muttered, watching the black car disappear down the straight again. “It’s him. What if he loses? Look, he’s not in the lead.”

She rolled her eyes, affectionately. “He’s a closer. He’s not flashy early on. But once those last ten laps hit? Baby, just watch.”

And she was right.

At lap sixty, Keegan was still in third, and you were gripping her arm like a lifeline.

By lap sixty-five, he was second.

By lap sixty-eight, he made a move that caused the entire grandstand to scream as one — cutting inside, braking late, diving ahead.

Lap seventy was a blur of speed and color and deafening sound — and then he crossed the line.

First.

The stadium erupted like thunder. Applause. Cheers. Flags waved; champagne flew somewhere behind the barricades. You barely registered it. You turned to your friend, both of you screaming incoherently, arms flung around each other. Your water bottle was crushed between your bodies, forgotten.

⟡

It was late by the time you returned to the hotel — late enough that the lobby had emptied out, the chaos of the day finally fading into memory, leaving only hushed conversations and the distant hum of the city beyond the glass doors. The buzz of the race still clung to your skin, like leftover static, something residual and unshakable. Your shoes clicked quietly against the marble floor as you stepped into the elevator, a little unsteady from the cocktails you and your friend had downed at the bar two blocks away. Sweet drinks, sticky with syrup and lime and some sharp liquor that tasted like fire going down. You felt light-headed and warm all over, pleasantly untethered, the kind of weightless that only came from too much excitement and just enough alcohol.

All you wanted now was to shower — peel off your sweat-slicked clothes, let hot water sluice over your skin, rinse away the tang of alcohol and sun and the trace amounts of emotional chaos you hadn’t fully admitted to yet. The thought of sliding between cool, expensive hotel sheets made your body ache with anticipation. You closed your eyes for just a moment, swaying gently as the elevator doors began to close—

—and then a hand shot through the gap.

The doors jolted open with a polite chime, and Keegan slipped inside. A strong feeling of déjà-vu crept up in your throat like nausea.

He was slightly out of breath, as if he’d just sprinted through the hallways to catch you, his chest rising and falling beneath a tight black t-shirt that clung to him in a way that was very unfair. A racing jacket hung from one arm, slung casually over his shoulder, and his hair — already messy from the helmet earlier — was now worse, disheveled and perfect. There was a flush in his cheeks, high and rosy from exertion or excitement or maybe both. His lips were parted slightly. His eyes — God, those eyes — were half-lidded and heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“God,” he exhaled, bracing one hand against the wall of the elevator. “You’re fucking hard to find.”

You looked at him, tried to keep your smile contained, your voice casual, but it betrayed you — warm at the edges, fond, a little too amused. “Jesus,” you said softly. “You look like shit.”

That was a lie, of course. If anything, he looked unfairly good. Radiant, even, in that flushed, windblown way that comes after something momentous. His shirt clung to his back in places. His arms — heavens help you, those arms — flexed faintly as he adjusted the jacket slung over his shoulder.

“Mm.” He grinned, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t think so.”

You turned your face away just slightly, eyes on the slow climb of the floor numbers — three, four — trying not to let your expression betray you. But you felt the heat rise in your cheeks anyway. Your whole body was pulsing now, nerves alive beneath your skin.

“Not gonna congratulate me?” he asked, after a short pause, voice thick with teasing. “Seems like the least you could do.”

“I’m sure you’ve had enough smoke blown up your ass today,” you said, dryly.

He barked out a laugh. “Ouch. True. But that’s not the same.”

You met his gaze again then, and something in his eyes made your stomach flip. You laughed, and he grinned wider at the sound. You didn’t notice how close he’d stepped until the space between you felt barely manageable — like a live wire buzzing between your shoulders, brushing down your spine.

“You eaten yet?” he asked.

“No. Just drinks.”

He tsked, gently. “Christ. Well. Let me take you to dinner then. Properly this time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to hang out with your little… racer friends? Bask in your victory or whatever it is that F1 gods do after winning?”

“Not one bit.” His voice was serious now. Quieter.

And then, to your absolute disbelief, he reached out — calmly, with purpose — and pressed the emergency stop button.

The elevator jolted to a halt.

You blinked. “Keegan — what are you doing?”

He turned to face you fully now, shoulders square, body radiating warmth in the suddenly too-small space. His tone was lazy, but that same heat simmered just below the surface.

“Just making sure you keep your word.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What word?”

He tilted his head, mock-offended. “Something about making out with me in an elevator? Ring a bell?”

Your face went nuclear.

“Oh, fuck off,” you said, laughing, your voice caught somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief.

But he didn’t laugh.

He moved closer.

You could feel the heat of his body now, just inches from yours. You were aware of everything: the low thrum of the halted elevator, the soft buzz of electricity behind the panels, the warmth of the air, the slight sway of the space beneath your feet.

He reached up and cupped your cheek gently with one hand — his palm broad and warm, his touch so gentle it nearly made you gasp. His thumb brushed the edge of your cheekbone, grazing the heat there.

“Something like this?” he murmured.

And then he kissed you.

It started slow — his mouth brushing yours like a promise, like he was asking a question and already knew the answer. The first touch was almost reverent, a whisper of lips that made your knees tremble. Then he deepened it — pressing forward, hand still cradling your cheek, the other finding your waist, steadying you as if he felt the shift in your balance before you did. His mouth was warm, insistent, tasting faintly like mint and the faintest trace of champagne.

You melted.

There was no other word for it.

Your hands found his chest first, fingers splayed over the hard plane of muscle beneath his shirt, and then you were pulling him closer, wanting more — needing more. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this all day. Maybe longer. Like he had something to prove, and he was proving it with every slow drag of his lips against yours, every tilt of his head, every brush of his thumb over your jaw.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath came hot and unsteady, mouth still parted, lips slick from the kiss.

“Been thinking about doing that,” he murmured, voice rasped.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Since when?”

He smirked, pressing another quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Since the elevator. The first time.”

You leaned into him, laughing, breathless. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he said, lips brushing your cheek. “But you’re into it.”

And God help you — he was right.

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vesperaink · 11 months ago

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Friends, my necromancer!Tango/grimreaper!Jimmy, Team Rancher modern with magic apocalypse AU, Graveyard Shift, for @mcytblraufest's Reverse Big Bang is here!

But wait there's more--go read chasing crimson written by @aliferous-ly, beta'd by @dibs2win, my fantastic team for aufest. If you love enemies to lovers, unlikely partnerships, and the power of soul-bound magic weapon contracts, this hilarious + dramatic 22.9k fic kicks off from this comic!

chasing crimson

Jimmy Solidarity works for the esteemed god of Death, reaping lost souls and taking care of unsavory characters. He's recently finished his training, and is determined to do well on his first solo mission. Perhaps this "Tango" would be a good start. Only, the god of Death disappeared years ago, and Necromancer Tango Tek's long since discovered a way around dying. He can't say he enjoys Jimmy swinging through and killing him where he stands, though.

Thank you to my team for being as feral about this AU as I am, and kicking everything about it up to 110. I had so much developing this world with them!

Thanks to @onawhimsicot for helping me with the comic's dialogue, fixing my composition woes with "just add more smoke," and encouraging me to complete it in full color! Check out Cadence's aufest fic, I take it back (ill follow till I fly or till im dead), a Cult of the Lamb AU about follower!Tango and Lamb!Zedaph, the meaning of devotion, silly experiments, eldritch transformations, and...the most platonic slowburn ever?

Lastly, thank you to the aufest team for another wonderful event! I had a blast again, and was giggling kicking my feet at everyone's reactions during claims, I loved every single one of them. Graveyard Shift is definitely an AU I'm coming back to. As always, my askbox is open if you'd like to chat, and I'd love to be tagged if anyone makes anything <3

Timelapse / AU art chatter under the cut!

While Graveyard Shift is the amalgamation of many of my interests, the main premise for this AU is loosely inspired by the webcomic, I'm the Grim Reaper, in both its apocalypse themes and its aesthetics! Not a required read, but highly recommend if you enjoy this au, as well as the anime and manga, Soul Eater!

I came up with a lot of AUs for this event but necromancer!Tango and reaper!Jimmy have been rattling around in my brain in separate AUs since before I started brainstorming for aufest. So I smashed them together, naturally.

(Unfortunately I didn't record all of my process, but most of it is here! CW for flashing; song is Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene by Hozier)

youtube

I could go on forever about concept art and character design if anyone's curious but here's some fun bonus details about this comic:

Originally, Tango's outfit was going to be more like his Dungeon Master outfit but I wanted the setting to be more modern and Jimmy stole the fantasy cloak vibe from him already lol

Jimmy's entrance of lightning is my nod to the Life Series final death sound

The scarf Jimmy's wearing is designed to be a boneyard shawl

The panel of strange text reads "Protection Three" in Galactic :)

+ The name "Graveyard Shift" was thrown at me by Cadence in like 3 seconds flat after i spent 2 days agonizing over a name for this au LOL

#mcytblraufest2024 #team rancher #solidaritek #trafficshipping #graveyard shift au #gsau #<- if you'd like to keep up with this au if we make more #cw eyestrain #cw bright colors #YIPPEEE RELEASED FROM MY NDA!!!!!! yall have no idea how much ive wanted to talk about this au since may #solidaritygaming #tangotek #life series au #hermitcraft au #vesperinks #my art

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saltynsassy31 · 4 months ago

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*drags myself through the floor and slams this down*

I present to you

FULLMETAL BARTENDERS AVIAN AU

Divine Nugget Au

Next ->

(Rant as to why I chose the White-throated Needletail as Blurr's bird and some minor AU lore under the cut)

And that's not all! It comes with a FULL FLEDGED COMIC!!!!!

I spent a whole fucking week on this

I haven't done a comic in 4 years now, I can't believe this is my come-back XD. Though, on that note, know that I probably won't be pumping out any more comics - not any time soon, at least. But I do got more stuff planned for this au! If you ask about it, I'll 100% rant about it LOL

Tw// ⚠️mild gore in the 3rd panel⚠️

While exploring the woods with his team, Swerve had an unfortunate encounter with a crazed hunter. In an attempt to escape, he got injured, but it seems he wasn't the only one caught in the crossfire...

Okay

So when you look up what the fastest bird in the world is, Google with show the Peregrin Falcom

But there's a catch

The Peregrine is only fast when diving

When it dives to catch its prey, it can go up to 389km/h

Which yeah, pretty fast

But when casually flying, it only goes up to 120 iirc

The Needle Tail?

It can go up to 170km/h

Some have even recorded going over 300! (Close to the Falcon's dive, I believe)

Additionally, these birds only fly. Their habitat is literally listed as "the air," and some even believe they sleep while flying! They only ever land to brood and mate, and then they're off again. Their legs are so short that, if they ground, they can't fly again because it doesn't give enough room to flap their wings.

It fits Blurr perfectly!

It also has a blue-ish colour pattern I can work with lol (it's green, but it looks blue, lol)

Though, also, he isn't 100% like the Needle Tail, just based off of it. I still want avians to be sorta their own species and doesn't have to be exactly like their bird counterparts cuz they aren't them, they're their own thing.

That said, Blurr is one of the shortest from Avians population, still.

They're pretty big.

Another trivial detail of the design!

I was stuck between having his arms be his wings or have them be separate

Until I saw a drawing where they had both, and I realised, "Wait, why isn't that done more often! That's so cool!"

So that's sorta what I did

It's mainly to catch small prey when grounded and to stay better perched up on trees since they're much bigger and having extra fingers helps a lot. Or when they're climbing against a tree to pick up fruits, it gives them an extra boost and can better hang from it

But they're pretty much useless besides that lol

Just neat lil design choice

Other lore stuff. The time in which the au takes place is vaguely modern? But with fantasy aspects? I still haven't decided lol

Technology exists, but not in the way we have it sort of deal, idk, this au is pretty bare bones right now, so go wild with it XD I don't mind it, I love brainstorming it with people. I know this au isn't as big or complex as some others out there, but it's fun, and I hope yall like it too fjsjajaj

#my art #divine nugget au #swerve x blurr #ref sheet #transformers au #fullmetal bartenders #blurve #swerve #blurr #maccadam #tf blurr #tf swerve #avian au #idk i wanna give it a different name but im coming up blank so if anyone got a better name feel free to suggest it XD #im kinda nervous to post this fjsjakakkf #i want people to have fun with this like they do with kef's aus but i know im not thst big LOL #i do have two characters i plan to do next #as a reward to those who read the tags (i see you 👁👁) I'll tell ya and say one of them is ratchet #also as another little tag bonus #feel free to send me an ask asking what bird your favorite transformers would be #yall may not know this about me but im crazy about birds and ive done so many avian aus in every fandom im in #i just never posted any until now XD #so I'll gladly rant about them #just uh...be aware i dont know all that much bout the idws yet and ive lost my access to half of it right now #ill try to research the characters best i can but if i dont know them well i might not be accurate in my interpretation fkdkskska #but anyway #here's this silly little au #to the 5 people who see this post i hope yall enjoy it and have as much fun as i did making this :3 #and expect more cuz this was so fun to do LOL #juzt not any time soon cuz my health is SHIT and i also dont draw at lightning speed like some people here XD ill probably stick to writing

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sanesaviour · 3 months ago

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K (oc), Sam, Ava and Luke

I wanted to draw them doing just regular stuff- u know, as completely normal teenagers

K - she is playing guitar (at first I wanted her to bassist but it would be too cliché have overly sassy and edgy character playing bass lol)… I think after getting her shit and mental health together she would go back to her hobbies she used to do before becoming vigilante, like I imagine while after being caught by S.H.I.E.L.D. she would become more cooperative thus Coulson would want her to attend the high school (even tho she’s been dropped out for half year) not because he would expect her to be academic weapon but he would want her to normalize a bit and spend time with people her age… she would probably randomly join band of someone from school and realize how much she missed playing music and stuff related to it (now I wanna draw the band, don’t know if they all would be ocs or some other characters from the show, Harry Osborn as bassist tho👀)

Sam - he skates everywhere, all the time, especially to school… and is always late, he could be on time if he used his nova powers but where is fun in that, right? Also he definitely designed bottom of his skateboard… also he only owns vans shoes, that’s my head canon

Ava - bookworm, I just can tell she would love dark romance or fantasy romance books, also I think even tho Danny and Peter both reads lot no one beats Ava, she can finish reading 300 page book in several hours, also I think they all read very different stuff… even tho Ava has resting b face,she is very expressive while reading, like she gasps and giggles all the time… Peter would once read one of her books and he would be so offended by some of the parts like “Is this what you read all the time?” or “Is it even allowed publish something like this?!” but she wouldn’t feel embarrassed about it she would just hit him with “girls who get it, get it✨”

Luke - I know it’s bit stereotypical to give black character basketball as hobby but I think in this case it’s so fitting, but I think he wouldn’t join school basketball team, he just enjoys the street basketball, or just practicing throws at basket during sunset hour while having deep conversations with his friends. I think others would join him regularly , not all at the same time, mostly one or two of them… I think it would be like some kind of therapy for them lol… I think Luke is very good at giving street smart advices, so they would just go practice with him and vent about life to him, probably Sam and Peter mostly… also to add more oc stuff I think K / Solarion would become agent of shield (very “willingly” lol) and she would also attend same high school as team but she would keep her distance from them, but I think Luke would be the fist one to just treat her in more friendly way (or less hostile way than others)and once just ask her if she wanna practice throws at basket just to make her feel more included I guess… she would go, and they would be silent 90% of time bc they don’t really know each other that well(and she is more talkative in group settings than in one on one scenario), but still she would enjoy it

#it’s 1am and I’m still awake again aaaaa #I need to fix my sleeping schedule #anyways hope you like the art tehee #ultimate spider man #usm #marvel #spiderman #ava ayala #sam alexander #luke cage #white tiger #nova #powerman #fanart #my art

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moutheyes · 4 months ago

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integrating real space and digital space in gelboys

one of my favorite things about gelboys is how it harnesses contemporary social media as a kind of semiotics—how meaning is coded and transmitted—that is rooted in the way young people socialize and perform rituals of courtship in both real space and digital space. for instance, how certain actions can signal interest or affection (making a shared playlist, adding someone to close friends), or keep a person at distance (leaving them on read, blocking obviously). or how moments and actions are simultaneously mutable (deleting a line message, changing a username) and preservable (taking a screenshot, saving a tiktok).

at the same time, gelboys excels at establishing vivid and specific physical locations to anchor the humanity of the characters and storylines. school, siam square, the nail shop, bedrooms, every detail even down to specific charging outlets. in real space, the camera can do its work through blocking, framing, lighting, movement, and the acting itself; this has been the focus of my cinematography posts.

but what makes this show so special to me—and, I think, a lot of others—is the way boss kuno and his team were able to transpose and integrate the semiotics of that digital world into the physical setting and action of the show through innovative visual storytelling. (the sound design was also tremendous, but that's harder to break down without the aid of video lol.)

finding meaning beyond the screen

while the digital world offers these teenagers new modes of expression and interpretation, it is also very much a limited, often self-edited form of communication. first of all, a phone screen is only so big, and many video platforms encourage portrait view, so the narrow physical frame of the device itself can necessarily only show a subjective truth. in that way, the screen acts as a depository where the characters can store their fantasies of who they want to be and how they want the world to perceive them—fourmod playing around with chian's picture to mimic a kiss, bua filming take after take of a dance challenge. and it makes them performers of their own lives and voyeur-observers to each other's.

the show cleverly delineates that exact tension between text (i.e. the content being uploaded to social media) and context (everything that gets cut off in the wider view, or happens before or after the clip) in scenes like this:

the crop overlay visually separates the imagined digital space from real space, so there's an additional layer of symbolism to be found in the context. chian and bua dancing together conveys one meaning for the viewers on tiktok and a separate meaning for fourmod, who is in the frame in real space but not digital space. here he is both the observer (the one filming) and an object affected by the act of observation (the emotional distance he feels as the scene progresses, which is emphasized by his positioning). the way gelboys builds and conveys these layers of meaning by visually integrating digital space into real space is such a treat.

sites of action in digital space

even if digital space is a non-physical entity, that doesn't mean it can't serve as a site of action, and gelboys deliberately stages crucial moments within that virtual realm: chian switching between bua and fourmod on his close friends list, baabin's confession and deleted messages, the zoom summit, to name a few. in fact, thinking back on the scenes that elicited some of the strongest visceral reactions across fandom, quite a few of them stemmed from actions that took place on social media rather than real space. here's a little thought exercise:

is the action shot of fourmod panic-scraping his nails off more or less violent than watching him delete his shared playlist with baabin or create and post an AI video of faifa? (actually wow I might come back to fourmod re: this topic later lmao help) arguably, the audience recognizes the semiotics of those actions—deprioritizing baabin's friendship once he has chian's attention, intentionally doing something to make faifa hate him, not to mention the deepfake part of it—so even though all we're looking at in the exact moment of action is a mouse hovering over the "post" button or an app UI, we still feel as strong of an emotional impact as if fourmod had done something equally appalling in real space.

digital ephemera and memory

people tend to think of social media as a primarily transient mode of communication, and although much of it can be (ignore the data sitting in a physical server somewhere), gelboys shows its characters preserving—and erasing—a great deal of digital ephemera as a mode of memory.

three of the four gelboys are constantly creating collections of messages, photos, etc. (beyond what they post on their accounts) that serve as digital scrapbooks where their truest feelings are kept, and they do it in ways that reflect their individual characterizations. baabin takes screencaps of his conversations with fourmod and hides them away in a folder on his phone, while chian squirrels away his affection for fourmod on a secret account; in this, too, they are two sides to a coin. bua, meanwhile, stores his memories in the form of tiktok drafts—a sort of digital limbo. in his charging gel episode, his phone is running out of storage, an apt metaphor for needing to let go of his friendship with chian. baabin gives him the option of transferring them over instead, but it's unclear whether bua actually ends up doing that. in either case, the collection of ephemera is no longer in his possession.

(fourmod is not really shown doing this—he tends to do the opposite, and is 1000% gonna get his own post about it)

so it's momentous when baabin deletes his entire fourmod folder, when chian airdrops fourmod his old photos and posts his apology as an IG highlight despite knowing he's blocked. like bua, baabin clears out his storage, removing the record of what he once felt for fourmod. and chian is no longer trying to keep his feelings to himself, but rather choosing to show fourmod his collected memories directly; he wants fourmod to remember as well. social media allows us to pick and choose which memories to keep and which to let go, and the emotional changes for three of the four gelboys can be easily tracked by these acts of preserving and discarding digital ephemera.

in gelboys, the importance placed on both real space and digital space, and the visual language used to merge the two, invites the audience to parse the story on multiple levels, but the reward for investing that energy is monumental. it feels like every time I think I've exhausted my thoughts on one topic, a few more pop up. anyway, thanks as always if you read all of this!

#gelboys #gelboys the series #gelboys cinematography #this show has me skimming barthes on a friday night #it's terminal i'm afraid #yes i was a film major

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rageagainstmymachine · 5 months ago

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Do You Want A Second Opinion? 3(some): Valentine's Day Special - Primis Richtofen / F! Reader / Ultimis Richtofen

Summary (not really): Happy Valentine's Day! @coldbrewghoul and I have teamed up to bring you two Valentine's Day specials. I couldn't have done this without them. (Thank you for beta reading my work, Ghoul... and encouraging for me to write at all, lol.) If you haven't, go read their fic! (Once you're done with mine, ofc.)

This is your third time here, I'm sure you know what to expect by now. Have another threesome with our two favourite men. ;)

Words: 10,572

Warnings: NSFW - Cursing, Smut, Threesome

Paris, France; beautiful this time of year. The smell of freshly baked pastries caressing your nose, while carafes of red wine stained your tongue. The city just begged to be explored, to be experienced. It was the city of love, after all, and this was the perfect time to melt into its embrace, with Valentine’s Day around the corner. You smiled, closing your eyes and thinking of the day and what it might bring: you and Edward, basking in your love, perhaps making love under the stars if a secluded space just so happens to find you. A dreamy sigh escapes your lips.

“A third sigh. Have I perhaps forgotten something und this is mein reminder?” Edward teased, putting down his tools and looking at you. The lone lightbulb in the room threw harsh shadows on his face, but you could still see the tender look he gave you.

You look back at the post card you held in your hand, tracing the eiffel tower with the other, trying to hold onto the fantasy you were weaving in your mind. Unfortunately, you weren’t in Paris. You weren’t even in France. You were holed up in some safehouse in god knows, USA. It wasn’t even anywhere near Valentine’s day, at least according to the sweltering heat outside. But you know, given the dutiful calendar you’ve made in the back of your journal, if you were back in your time it would be just on the brink of the holiday. And so you closed your eyes, willing the February chill to grace your skin, and once again fantasized of the perfect vacation to Paris.

“Just thinking about Paris. I want to go there one day.”

“Paris? Why would you want to go there?” He grimaced, turning up his nose in German superiority.

“That’s like the dream destination, is it not? The city of love~” You sigh again, holding the card to your chest. It was a dream, you knew, but sometimes that’s all you had in this zombie-riddled world. “I bet it would be soooo romantic.”

You could hear Edward get up, his chair scraping against the floor as it was pushed by the backs of his legs. You peeked an eye open to see him saunter, yes, saunter, towards you, a knowing look in his eye. “This wouldn’t be a manifestation of a certain holiday coming up, hm?”

You grin at him, a slight blush rising to your cheeks as a giddy feeling enveloped you. He remembered. You are both surprised and not at the same time. “Well, maybe…” You laughed, before turning towards him, the Paris postcard discarded. “Can we go somewhere cold at least? Somewhere that feels like winter?”

“Feels like winter, hm? I can certainly try, Liebling, in fact, we do have to go to a Finnish research facility here soon-“

“Ah, too cold.” You wince.

Edward chuckled, nodding along. “Very well… I suppose we can hop over to Der Riese again, I do have some things I would like to pick up from here. There’s a small abandoned village nearby, so would staying there be acceptable?”

“I… could be agreeable to that, but what do you need from there?”

“A doctor never reveals all his cards, fraulein.”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the smile that cracks through your annoyed facade. Secretive Edward, who would have guessed. “As long as you make time for me on Valentine’s Day, alright?”

“Verspreche.”

The next morning, you packed up your things with a sense of anticipation. You couldn’t help but glance at the postcard frequently, imagining what Valentine’s Day, which according to your calendar was today, will bring you. It wouldn’t be Paris, but perhaps, with Edward by your side, it would be just as good. If anything there will be a decent bed at the village Edward mentioned, and that’s already better than what you’re used to. You placed your final few things — trinkets you’ve found on your journey, into your bag and closed it, rocking from heel to toe as you swung it on your back.

“Ready for our departure, Lieb?” Edward asked, cramming a final blueprint into his map case. You found it comical how he was struggling to get it into the tube. Surely he didn’t need that many blueprints?

“More than ready. I’ve been itching to get out of here the moment we got here.”

Once Edward gave up and folded the blueprint to put in his primary bag, (the scandal!) he led you out to the yard, where Dempsey and Takeo were waiting, you idly chatted with Dempsey while waiting for Nikolai. He was only a few minutes, and soon all five of you were standing in a circle, Richtofen fishing out the summoning key.

“We will travel straight to Der Riese first, then once I have grabbed what I need, we will walk to the village, it’s not far.” Edward said while orange sparks began to shoot out of the orb.

“Right. Let’s just make it quick, yeah? Don’t want to spend more time there than I have to.” Dempsey gruffed.

“Patience, Dempsey, although I know that’s not your forte.”

The portal opened, it had decided to spit you out at the mainframe platform, and Dempsey all but shoulder checked him while he decided to be the first one through. Nikolai and Takeo followed, leaving you and Edward as the last ones there. He motioned for you to go first, and so you did, stepping through, Richtofen following you only a pace behind. You couldn’t help but feel all sorts of excitement when a cold chill nipped your skin. Oh, it truly did feel like it was Valentine’s Day. You threw him a smile, and he reciprocated it with a knowing smirk. He was doing this right, he just needed to keep it up.

Breslau, oh how you could go the rest of your life without ever visiting again. But this time was different, you decided nothing was going to get you down.

Nothing.

Not a single thing.

“All right, give me about five minutes und we will be ready to head out.” Edward said, placing the summoning key… actually, you didn’t know where he stored it. Hm.

“Why not drop us off? Why must we loiter here with you?” Nikolai asked. He had a fair point.

Richtofen didn’t answer, just turned on his heel to walk towards the animal testing lab. He didn’t even take a step before he paused, tensing. On instinct, without a word, the five of you drew your pistols, a stray sound finding your ears. No one should be here, and yet, it sounded like someone was.

“What was noise?” Nikolai whispered, eyes darting back and forth as he tried to pinpoint where it came from, the echo didn’t help at all.

“There is a… disturbance. We are not alone, Richtofen.” Takeo explained.

“Well, if it’s a maggotsack, they’ll be zombie paste in no time.” Dempsey cocked his 1911, talking a few tentative steps down the stairs.

“I don’t hear any moans? To be fair I’m not even sure what I did hear,” you whisper, looking at Richtofen expectantly. However he decided to play this, you’ll follow.

He had his hand tilted forward, eyes on the ground as he strained to listen for anything else. You were right, there weren't the telltale moans and groans of the undead. It didn’t necessarily mean there was someone here, it would very well just be a wild animal, but the uncertainty was something none of you liked. “Come with me to teleporter A.” He said, eyes flicking to you. “Nikolai, Takeo, take teleporter B. I trust you can handle C, Dempsey?”

The marine nodded, confidently taking a sharp right at the bottom of the stairs to take the right hand path to the teleporter. Nikolai and Takeo followed him, soon splitting off to investigate their respective teleporter.

Edward cocked head towards the left and began his descent down the stairs, you followed close behind, gun drawn, eyes peeled. You climbed the stairs towards teleporter A, and soon stopped into your tracks. Another sound. More… deliberate. It was footsteps. Heavy, too heavy to be any small animal. It was distinctively human. He gave you a glance and you nodded, ready to face whoever it was.

You creeped closer, silently, both weapons aimed and sweeping the area. More movement, now whispers? Is there more than one person? Your heart raced, your lungs held onto the air you took in, and turned the corner and-!

“Ah, schieße! Why must you be so cruel, little machine?” Edward cooed.

At least his voice did… but your lover’s lips didn’t move even an inch. Though, it was certainly him… but if it wasn’t him, then that means…

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding.” You groan, angrily holstering your weapon. Not this, not now…

The man who shares a voice and name with your sweetheart jerked his head towards your voice, seemingly just as shocked to see you and you were him. It was that fucking Richtofen! The older one! Jesus Christ.

Richtofen’s surprised look melted into an unsettling grin, he excitedly walked down the stairs of the teleporter and sauntered (ugh.) over to the two of you. He cooed your name in a sickly sweet tone, and greeted Edward by his title. “Oh, what ever brings you to mein part of Deutschland?”

“That’s truly none of your concern.” Edward answered, also holstering his Mauser. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, mein younger self, if you are to be keeping secrets then so am I! But nothing dangerous if that’s your concern.” He groaned out the word ‘dangerous’ in that peculiar moan he does with some words.

You felt tense, awkward, and truly you’d need a thesaurus to better explain all the complicated emotions swimming in your chest. He said your name, he knows who you are, therefore he at least remembers Camp Edward, and maybe the Pentagon. It’s been months since you last met him at the Pentagon, and even though you said goodbye to him on a good note back then, this was still not who you wanted to see on fucking VALENTINE’S DAY.

“Truly, I thought you would be much happier to see me, fraulein, given our little rendezvous we’ve shared in the past.” His words dripped with a certain sadness. It was odd, truly. It was his dramatic flair, yes, but something about it made it sound almost… genuine under it all.

“Richtofen,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, “it’s just bad timing.”

“Bad timing? Any time is the right time to spend with me! I’m genuinely offended.”

“Edward and I have plans-.”

“Oh do we, now? Ohohoh well, I’ll have to check mein schedule, but I think I can move things around…”

“You know I’m not talking about you.”

“Is it a special occasion? An anniversary? Mh, no that’s not it, is it? Perhaps…. A holiday? Oh I’m right on the jackpot, aren’t I?!” He gleamed, his voice reaching that high pitch he often uses. “Oh, fraulein, if you do not tell me I’m afraid I might die. I just neeeeeeed to know what’s so important.”

You could see Edward roll his eyes from the corner of your vision, and you were half tempted to follow his lead, but you decided to just give him a tight smile, deciding to just be truthful. — what a horrible decision, really.

“Edward and I have plans…” you repeated, hesitating for a moment, “for Valentine’s Day.”

“What incredible timing we all have! Ach, Valentine’s Day… I haven’t celebrated that since I was a young little boy.” There goes that vocal trill again. “Walk me mich! I must hear all the details.”

“We should get back to the others.” Edward agreed, albeit begrudgingly. Richtofen took the lead, briskly walking past you while talking about god knows what. You looked at your lover, who seemed to have aged drastically in the last few minutes just from the sheer exhaustion of dealing with his older self. He shrugged, following suit, but not before grabbing some papers and books off a table.

“Ah, fuck, yeah that’s what I was worried about.” Your Dempsey sighed when he saw the three of you walk back to the mainframe. The rest of your group was there, as well as the other versions of themselves.

“Hey, what’s up, Dempsey.” You said, walking over to the older marine and clasping your hand on his, bringing him into a hug. Out of the four of them, he was the most tolerable, as annoying as he was still.

“Hey, pretty lady, fancy seeing you again.”

You had the mind to look back and saw both Richtofens scowling. Oh, jealousy looks delicious on them— ah, you mean him. You stepped back to stand next to your lover.

“We were all just catching up.” Tank said, knocking shoulders with his doppleganger. They both yelled out an oohrah! grinning at each other.

“Charming. Well, I have grabbed what I needed, we can leave now.” Edward sighed, foot tapping on the concrete as his patience grew thin.

“Oh yeah, hey, we’re going to be staying in this village close to here, y’all leaving or?” Tank asked Dempsey, which caused a strangled noise to escape Edward.

“Dempsey!”

“Oooooh you didn’t mention that! Oh we are more than happy to spend ein little bit of time. Und you can tell me more about our plans, ja?” Richtofen made his way between the two of you, wrapping his arms around and pulling both of you closer to him.

You didn’t know whether Edward wanted to kill Richtofen or Dempsey first.

He pulled away from him, huffing as he smoothed out his clothes. “Fine! Fine. Whatever. Thank you, Dempsey.”

You could only laugh, from the sheer audacity of it all and the fact that you could see your plans for romance crumbling right before your eyes; babysitting Richtofen was a full time job. The nine of you headed to the village Edward mentioned, the night air - why was it always night when you visited this factory? - stung your warm cheeks, leaving your ears cold and nose red. With every breeze that passed, a shiver ran up your spine. You and Edward walked ahead, Richtofen keeping up and still talking! Ignoring him was a Herculean task.

“Frauleiiiinnnnnnnnnn stop ignoring me! Everything I say is very important, you know!” He whined, he was in front of you, walking backwards to look you in the eyes. He’s been doing this for a few minutes now. “I don’t believe that man has ever even been on ein date, let alone ein Valentine’s Day one. He has barely a half baked plan, I’m sure of it.”

Edward shot a look at his older self: 'Watch it,' it almost screamed.

“Edward, if you ever- ough!” Richtofen stumbled back, the rock his foot got caught on skidding across the road. He landed on his ass and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh that almost mimicked a hyena’s. Now it was his turn to glare. Edward just kept walking, side stepping him. You helped him up, while still laughing in his face. “-if you ever need tips on how to throw the perfekt date, I am your man.”

“I’m okay, truly.”

Richtofen dusted himself off with a dissatisfied hum, but didn’t say much more. Thankfully the village was upon you now, and you all but ran to the closest house, excited to claim privacy and a BED! A GOOD BED!

You skipped up the stairs, placing your bag on the bed, sitting down as you contemplated what you were going to do. First you need to find make up, yes. Then definitely something sexy to wear. Hair products, maybe a few accessories… If you begin looking through the village now, perhaps you’ll find everything you need for later. You nodded assuredly to no one in particular, ready to get up and begin your search, but before you could, the door to the bedroom opened, catching your attention.

“Ah, there you are.” Edward said once he saw you. “I hope you’re not already settling down for the night, Schatz.”

You smile at him. “No, I have things to do. I was just claiming a bed.” You stretch happily, offering your hand to him. Once he took it, you laid back, pulling him into the bed with you.

“Ah, hallo.” Edward laughed, crawling above you. His arms braced on either side of your head. “Und these things you need to do… ist mein name on that list?”

“Maybe.”

He kissed you softly, resting more of his body weight on you. He was the best kind of weighted blanket; you felt caged in just the right way. You ran your tongue against his bottom lip, but he quickly pulled away, wearing a smirk as he went lower, kissing your neck with appreciative hums thrown in the mix.

“Oh….” You moan and instinctively weave your fingers through his hair, “if you keep this up, I won’t let you out of bed.”

“Ja?” He moaned into your skin. “Ein Valentine’s day entirely in bed… not too horrible if you ask me.”

“If you think I’m going to let you fuck without wine-ing and dining me first, you are sorely mistaken, Herr Doktor.”

“Fuck? Nein! Of course not, mein liebe!” He shook his head, but still trailed his lips lower, taking the first button of your shirt between his teeth and popping it loose. “But make love… well, I certainly have to try.” He popped the next button with his teeth again, using a hand to pull your leg around his waist to press closer to you, grinding down in such a delicious manner.

“Oh, Edward...”

“You called?”

You yelped, pushing Edward aside to look at the owner of the intrusive voice. Edward rolled off of you, groaning in frustration while subtly adjusting himself. Richtofen stood at the door, smirking as he twirled his Luger for no real reason in particular. “Jesus Christ, Richtofen-“

“You know, I thought we got past the whole last name business. I distinctly remember you agreeing to call me Edward.”

“Can we help you?”

“I get so lonesome by meinself! You know, the others get to jack off with their doppelgängers, but you are constantly hogging mine!”

“Jack around.” You corrected him.

“I said what I said!”

You roll your head to the side, looking at your lover. He just had this annoyed scowl on his face, rolling his eyes so hard you were almost afraid they would get stuck like that.

“Ugh, I don’t get it!” Richtofen blurted out, in a much different tone than his previous words. “What did I do?”

“Excuse me?” You ask him, furrowing your brow. You sat up, Edward’s arm slipping away from you.

“The last time I saw you, we had this wunderbar night at the Pentagon! Und now? Now you treat me like we are still at Camp Edward! Have you met another version of meinself since then?” He asked.

“Well, no-”

“Then why is this like… this!” He was exasperated, gesturing wildly between you and him and Edward. If you didn’t know better you would say that tone of his was laced with… insecurity? Or a deep-seated dejection.

“Ri—“ You paused, choosing your words carefully. “Edward. My Edward and I just have plans is all, and you’re kinda butting into it. Look, what we’ve shared was great and fun, but today is about love, romantic love.”

He gave you another offended look like at Der Riese. “You don’t think I can be romantic? I can be ein million times more romantic than him!”

“That’s- Edward you’re not getting the point. Tomorrow is about our—” You gesture between you and your boyfriend, “— relationship. So we just want to spend the time alone, that’s all. We don’t get alone time often.”

Richtofen stared at you, arms crossed. Was he jealous? No, that couldn’t be right. “Ach, he is mein younger self, you’re practically in a relationship with the both of us, ja?”

“We are from separate dimensions. You know that.” Edward piped up, looking at the older man from under his brows.

“Fine! Whatever, you’re the ones missing out, not me.” He huffed, throwing his arms down into fists, a flair of childlike dramatics to his action. He turned on his heel and stomped out, still talking under his breath. “I am the most romantic person on the planet! In the universe! I could give you ein actual HEART if you…” His voice trailed off as he got farther away, leaving the two of you laying there in silence.

“Is he really upset?” You ask.

“Him?” Edward barked out a laugh. “Ja, I’m suuuure he is… nein it’s just his dramatics. You should know this by now, Liebling.”

He was a dramatic person, and while some things did seem a bit dramatic during that conversation, you were almost inclined to think a portion of it might actually have been genuine. “I feel bad…” — the start of a sentence that made Edward also sit up, looking at you with a confused look.

“What for?”

You laid back on the bed, tracing idle circles into the comforter as you struggled to find the right words. “I just… I don’t know, didn’t he seem genuinely… jealous? To you?”

“Oh come on now, mein Herzchen. You know very well whatever feelings he does feel — if he does feel anything at all, we’re still studying that — it’s not genuine. If he is jealous, it’s the same type of jealousy ein child feels when another plays with ein neglected toy. He only wants what he can’t have.”

Your gaze, which was on Edward, flicked away at his words. A part of you wanted to believe that; it would make everything easier if it was true — him seeing you as just an enjoyable fuck and nothing more… but another part of you, it was scared that your Edward was wrong. That Richtofen was… was feeling something. “Maybe we shouldn’t have ran him off…”

“He is not ruining our day.”

“Who said he would? Is it crazy to think he was being genuine?”

“Liebe, do I really have to answer that question?” He asked, exasperated. You shot him a look but quickly let it melt away, you didn’t want to argue with him… not now.

“Hey, I’m going to find what I need for later. I’ll meet you in the street in an hour?”

“Hour thirty?” He asked.

“Deal.”

You lean over and kiss him gently, savoring the feeling of his lips on yours. They were chapped, but still soft. He tried to deepen the kiss but you pushed him away, shaking your head. He could only laugh. “Bis später, Doctor.”

“Bis bald, Liebe.”

Now, the cold night air was a welcomed relief after the heat of the house. You and Edward parted ways, deciding to keep some surprises for the actual date. There were a few little stores further into town and so you decided to hit them up first. A small corner store was your first stop, the jingle of the bell ringing out as you opened the door. A lone light swayed back and forth on the ceiling, flickering and buzzing in an eerie way. You’d probably turn right back around if you didn’t see your Dempsey walking through the store, his lighter held in hand as he used it to look closer at some of the items. The welcome chime caused him to look at you, a smile finding his face.

“Hey, you also looking for something decent to eat? Found some… I think beans? I don’t really know.” He held up a can.

“Oh, no thanks, Dempsey, I’m actually just looking for some stuff for my date with Edward tonight.” You tell him. You look around for a moment before grabbing two candles from a shelf, holding them in front of Dempsey. He got the hint and lit both of them before flicking his light closed and taking one. He muttered a thanks.

“Date, huh? Didn’t know he was capable of that.”

You ignored the comment, choosing instead to browse through the selection of items at your disposal. This general store seemed to have a small section for everything — and make up was no exception. Red lipstick and blush, dark eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara. You were happy to take anything and even happier to take these bold colours that were sure to make you look like a bombshell. The door chimed again as you were looking for a mirror and brush. Dempsey greeted Nikolai warmly, so it must be your Nikolai.

“… can of beans? You know, where I come from, sharing is caring.” Nikolai said to Dempsey. You couldn’t help, but tune into their conversation.

“Hey, this is none of that communist crap. Do you want it to not?”

“Da. Thank you, comrade.” Nikolai taunted, yanking the can away from the American before he could take back his offer. He then turned his attention to you, wordlessly wondering what you were up to. Dempsey sensed his questioning look.

“Date night with Richtofen, apparently.”

“I didn’t know he was capable of such thing.”

Dempsey laughed, slapping Nikolai on the back. “You ain’t so bad sometimes.” You shot both men a glare, shaking your head as you picked up the mirror you were looking for.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” You asked them.

“Nope.” “Nyet.”

“Good, because I’ll need your opinions, c’mon, move your asses.”

You all but dragged them out of the store, out into the German street. They complained but you didn’t let up, walking down the street with two confused men in tow. You peered into windows as you went, looking, searching, and you almost squealed in delight when you found what you were searching for. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you would.

“A clothing store, really?” Dempsey sighed, annoyed but still walking ahead to open the door for you. You thanked him as you breached the doorway, flicking on the lights. It was indeed a clothing store, one that looked to mostly specialize in women’s fashion. Dresses were hung on racks, while three mannequins wore whatever was the style for the season in the windowsill. They were all a little old fashioned for your taste, but that might just be a homerun with Edward.

“Alright, listen. Today is Valentine’s Day if you didn’t know and I need something that screams ‘I don’t want to make it through dinner,’ you understand?” Dempsey made fake — or possibly real — gagging noises. You chose to ignore it. “So, I’m going to try on some dresses, you two will give me ACTUAL feedback until we find the perfect dress.”

“Can we say n-“

“No.”

You sauntered around the men, looking through the dresses, there were pretty blues, periwinkles, mint… you grabbed every dress that was your size and went into the dressing room, humming happily as you put the blue dress on. It was simple, one you’d imagine a good girl would wear. You soon stepped out of the dressing area donned in the fabric, giving a twirl to show it off. “Thoughts?”

“You tryin’ to seduce him as a milkmaid or something?” Dempsey asked, raising his eyebrow.

“You remind me of my mother, back in the warm summers of Tsaritsyn. Very calming.”

You nod, turning on your heel. “Calming is not what I’m going for.” You pull the curtain closed behind you and throw the dress off, instead picking up the periwinkle one and shimmying into it. You walk back to your showcase spot, once again doing a twirl.

“Yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Dempsey shrugged.

“Just fine?”

“It’s… not flattering colour on your skin.” Nikolai elaborated.

“It makes you look almost sickly. Fuck, maybe that’s what get the doc’s engines revving. If so then it’s perfect.”

“Oh fuck off, Dempsey.” You did this quite a few times, going through dress after dress, getting more lukewarm responses than you’d hoped. At least they were honest. They were… shockingly useful at this. It wasn’t until you got to your last garment, almost out of hope, that you felt a dash of surprise mixed with joy. It was a red, almost maroon thing. You didn’t get a good look at it in the main part of the store. Hell, you barely even looked at it when you tore it off the hanger, but now as you held it up? Your smile widened as you put it on, sauntering out to the boys. “So?”

Dempsey’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline, his mouth gaping as he stared, taking you in, Nikolai wasn’t much better: he was flushed as he looked anywhere but you.

“That’s… that’s uh…” Dempsey tried.

“A winner.” You finish his sentence, posing ever so seductively. Now both the men are blushing now. You laugh and flit away to grab a pair of heels. “But it’s not complete until my make up is done. You can run along now, I got my use out of you.”

Then men nodded, not trusting their mouths, swiftly making their exit, leaving you to do your makeup and hair in peace. It didn’t take long; you kept your hair simple, spending most of the time on your bombshell makeup. You gave yourself a once over before checking the clock, seeing that it was time to meet Edward. You made your way out of the store, walking down the street to the beat of your heels echoing off the barren streets. The click clacking of your heels made you more confident, turning your simple walk to a strut as you shifted your hips from side to side with each step. You felt powerful, like you could take on the world, like you could seduce the world. As you saw Edward step into the street, perhaps heeding the call of your presence, you were going to put that theory in motion. His eyes found you, sharing a similar look that Dempsey had: high strung eyebrows with his mouth agape. His hand, which held a bouquet of flowers, faltered, falling to his side.

“Wow…” Edward only managed to whisper the word, drinking in your appearance as you walked closer. His eyes flicked down to the black heels that echoed the pounding of his heart, up your stocking covered leg, seeing how that slit in that maroon dress went higher and higher and higher. Scandalously high, ever teasing your hip. His gaze trailed higher, to the cinched in waist then up to the plunged neckline that barely kept your breasts in. It stayed there for quite a few beats before flicking up to your face, taking in your wine red lips, rouge blush and dark smokey eye. “You look… ah…”

“You clean up well, yourself.” You tease. He changed, like you did, now donning a three piece that hugged his form well, accentuating his broad shoulders and impossibly thin waist. You pulled him closer by it, cocking your head up to kiss him. He got the hint, leaning down and eagerly pressing his lips to yours hard. When the two of you disconnected, you could only laugh as you saw his lips were now stained a pink colour. “You’re wearing my lipstick.”

“Und how does it look on me? Does it match mein complexion?” He laughed and you couldn’t help but join in, soon leaving the two of you grinning at each other like idiots. Edward snapped out of it quickly. “Ach, these are for you,” he said, remembering the bouquet he held tightly in his fist. He brought them up and you inhaled their floral scent, letting your eyes close as you savored it.

“What a thoughtful man you are.”

“Only the best, for mein special Frau, on this special day.”

The two of you walked silently, hand in hand. It was… comfortable. A word you are not used to using ever since this whole undead fiasco started. “Ah, hold on, I have some jewelry in my bag I’d like to put on.” You pull him towards the house you claimed, noticing how the downstairs lights were on. Odd, you thought you turned them all off. You reach the door and push it open, a gasp catching in your throat at what laid ahead.

Every surface of the living room was covered in bouquets. The coffee table was filled with daisies and tulips, the entertainment center with Hyacinths and dandelions. Other tables and pulled out chairs had primroses and snowdrops, violets and hepaticas, forget-me-nots and poppies. And in the thick of it sat a very pleased looking Richtofen, twirling a lone Edelweiss between his thumb and forefinger. He had ditched the coat, the hat, and even the gloves. He merely donned his white button up, black tie (sans the pin), his normal slacks, and boots. Extremely underdressed for him.

“Ah, Fraulein, you made it not ein moment too soon.” He smiled, stretching his long legs before standing up to stalk closer to you. You look back at Edward, who was now looking at his lone bouquet with a sheepish look. Just as soon as you saw it, Richtofen was upon you, grabbing your chin and tilting it back towards him. He brushed some hair away to place the Edelweiss behind your ear. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” In your hand, he placed a bar of chocolate that had a red bow tied to it. It was… sweet? What the hell was going on here??

“Richtof-“

“Edward.”

“…Edward, what… the hell is all this?” You were at a loss for what to say, you didn’t even have the mind to say thank you. You just… stared.

“Romance, ja? I saw that our little lover boy was getting flowers, so I followed his lead, but did it much better.”

Richtofen led you into the room by the small of your back, parading you around to each bundle of flowers. He all but shoved them into your face, begging you to smell them. By the time you got around the room and back, your head was spinning from the gorgeous scents that overwhelmed your senses. You were passed back to Edward, whose lips were in a tight line, a certain anger in his gaze.

“Didn’t you say you have some jewelry you needed to fetch, Schatz? Why don’t you go do that while I have a talk with mein older self.”

You felt the tension. It was so thick you could almost cut it with a knife. You wordlessly nodded and ascended up the stairs slowly, looking back with each step you took, almost nervous about what Edward would do. I mean, you knew he wasn’t above shooting his other self.

Whatever was said was in hushed words, keeping it down to where you couldn’t make any words out. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if they also switched to German. You took your time getting the necklace on — a simple thin gold chain with a diamond piece — making sure it sat perfectly on your cleavage. The matching earrings were next as you took a deep breath to brace yourself to go back downstairs. If you were about to find a dead body you’d rather steel yourself ahead of time.

Thankfully, there wasn’t a Richtofen corpse lying in a bed of tulips. They were standing together, waiting for your descent, hands clasped behind their backs. For a moment they truly looked identical, reminding you that Richtofen is what you had to look forward to when Edward was older. Not personality wise, you hoped, but looks. If Edward really did age to look like his older self, you wouldn’t be disappointed at all.

“Are you ready to go, Eddie?”

Edward cleared his throat, looking at you then to his older counterpart, a wary, yet resolute look to his eyes. “Ja, mein liebe, if… you don’t mind company on our outing.” You raised an eyebrow at his words, stopping in your tracks just before the last step down. You silently asked him to explain. “Ah… Edward, here, will be joining us for dinner.”

“Is he now?”

“Jawohl.”

You gave him another beat to say just kidding or, really, anything. When it didn’t come you shrugged, taking the last step and walking over to the men. You kiss your Edward and then turn to the other, narrowing your eyes before giving him the slightest slap on his cheek. “Behave.”

“You might as well tell me not to breathe.”

Both Edwards led you out of the house, sneaking silently through the underbrush until you came across a small hillside that led towards a calm river. A small blanket was thrown out that hosted a basket, wine bottle and a few candles ready to be lit. It was simple, but oh, did it make your heart soar. Edward really was trying to make this the best Valentine’s Day he could. Your Edward ushered you to sit as he tasked his other self to light the candles while he got out the food. Fruits, cheeses, sausages, and crackers were all arranged on a charcuterie board. Once the candles were lit, both Edwards sat down on either side of you, pouring the wine and feeding you fruit.

“So what is this, truly?” You ask, looking at Edward then rolling your head to look at Richtofen.

“I am simply showing mein younger self how to properly treat a woman. Open.” He ordered then fed you a grape, tracing your bottom lip with his finger. “Und perhaps to show you there are better Richtofens spend your time with. You got dealt a bad hand on that one ohoho-Ach!” He reeled his hand away from where it was behind you, you could only imagine what Edward stabbed it with in response to that comment.

“I didn’t know you were the… romantic type, to be honest.”

“Fraulein, you don’t know most things about me. Ja, mein idea of a good time is slashing und gutting the hoards, or perhaps stealing a few spleens from our schleeping colleagues, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be what’s considered… traditionally romantic. It’s just boring most times.”

“Most times? Is this one of those times?”

He paused for a moment, eyes flicking towards you before grabbing another fruit, this time a strawberry, bringing it to your lips. Your teeth grazed his fingertips as you bit down. “It’s still early.”

Edward tipped the wineglass up to your lips and you took a swig, the liquid feeling luxurious as it travelled down your throat. As soon as you swallowed, Richtofen was feeding you another bite of cheese, sausage, and ground mustard on a cracker. You ate it greedily, hunger twisting in your stomach, but it wasn’t entirely for food...

“You look ravishing tonight, mein Liebe.” Edward sighed into your ear, turning your head with two fingers. He kissed you gently, savouring the moment. It was chaste, but it said everything that needed to be said. He brought the wine back up to your lips. Another sip. Another bite of food from the other’s hand.

“Fraulein, I have met ein thousand women in mein day, und yet, none even came close to the beauty you effortlessly possess.”

Your eyes shot up high, cheeks exploding in a blushing fury as the words escaped Richtofen’s lips. You have never heard him say anything like that. Who is this man and what did he do with the evil Edward Richtofen you know? You couldn’t even squeak out a reply because as soon as he spoke those words he was pulling you into a kiss. At first it was much like Edward’s, until he deepened it, tongue gently wiggling into your mouth, caressing your own as if he was mapping each and every taste bud on it. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips. Richtofen pulled back and smirked, not at you, but at his younger self.

Edward looked displeased to say the least. His lips were in that tight line again as he stared at Richtofen. You could swear you saw the vein in his forehead bulge. The glare disappeared as he looked at you, a wave of confidence enveloping him. You were given another drink of wine, but before Richtofen could feed you Edward had your face in both his hands, looking deep into your eyes. “You shine brighter than any star, burn brighter than any flame, und can kill a man with ein look alone. You make me burn up, schatzi. You make me ache with love, with want, with need.”

He pressed his lips to yours hard, devouring you in a kiss so deep it left you breathless. He tasted the backs of your teeth, swirled around your tongue, and coaxed it into his mouth, sucking on it so deliciously. Another moan was coaxed out, but this time louder.

And Richtofen didn’t take too kindly to that. He pulled you away from Edward, roughly bringing your face to his and smashing your lips together even harder. Your lips might be bruised and battered by the time they were through with you. He forced his tongue into your mouth, along with… something else. A foreign intruder that startled you, until he maneuvered it to your molars, and forced you to bite down. A kaleidoscope of flavour exploded on your tongue, syrup coating yours and his as the chocolate began to melt on your teeth. You recognized the flavour as those chocolate candies that have the cherry inside. Soon enough the two of you were pushing the small cherry around your mouth, groans and grunts leaving the two of you. You knew those candies weren’t alcoholic, but you were beginning to rethink that by how your head was swimming. He finally wrapped his tongue around the cherry and drug it back into his own mouth to swallow, teasing you with just the taste of it.

You gasped, panting hard as you pulled away to swallow the thick syrup. You could only look up at the stars that twinkled as the two of them attacked your neck, kissing and sucking as if you were dinner tonight. The wineglass was pressed against your lips again, more food shoved into your mouth and you could barely register anything that was going on as they tore at your clothes. Did they at some point become undead? It certainly felt like it, the way they were devouring you.

“What are- what is- what-“ You couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

“Fraulein didn’t you say we must take you to dinner first before we ravished you again?” The older man hummed, laughing into your skin when you yelped from a harsh bite.

“But-“

“Mein alter counterpart had a point. What better way to celebrate the occasion than by being thoroughly fucked.”

Ah, that must be what they were talking about in the house.

You tried to protest, tried to explain that today was about romance, about love! But the more they worshiped you, the more they kissed and sucked and pulled and groped… the more you were happy to think of this as romance. Your dress was harshly pulled down by Richtofen as Edward worked your bra clasp open, tossing aside the offending piece of fabric. They both had one goal in mind: ravishing your breasts. They both latched onto your nipples and laid you back fully to have their way with you. Edward was gentle, suckling as he gazed up at you from under those pretty eyelashes while Richtofen was anything but. He sucked hard, teeth grazing and biting, sending jolts of delicious pain to your core. The harsh difference between how the men attended to your breasts had you reeling.

Edward trailed his kisses down to your stomach and then lower, pushing your dress down as he went. You were out in the open; if anyone came to investigate they would see your almost fully nude body. Why didn’t you care? Richtofen’s hand replaced where Edward’s mouth once was, pinching and twisting the now neglected nipple.

“Edward, have you ever seen such ein fine specimen?” Your lover asked, pushing aside your damp underwear. Your folds were attacked by the cold, but quickly soothed as he drug his thumb along it. Richtofen pulled away from his work on your breasts, going to join Edward at your lower half.

“How gorgeous this little cunt is. Have you experimented with it, Doktor?”

“Ah, quite right, Doktor. I have found it to be quite… sensitive. Very responsive. But of course, there’s always more experiments to run. I would love to have ein second opinion.”

Richtofen smirked, also touching your now drenched slit. Edward thumbed at your clit while the other pushed into your hole, feeling you flutter with every stroke of the younger’s on your bundle of nerves. “Jawohl. Very sensitive, indeed. Have you completed any oral experimentation?”

“Of course, I am very thorough… however an observer is crucial when it comes to such tests, ja?”

You simply groaned, loving how they spoke about you as if you were just a test subject, but hating that they weren’t actively fucking you in any capacity. Edward finally relented at your whining, pulling your dress and panties all the way off before burying his face into your pussy. His lips closed around your clit, tongue lashing at the nub while he gave slow, hard sucks. He used the tip of his tongue to flick it back and forth, up and down, pressing harder, licking faster as you mewled and cried out from sheer ecstasy. Richtofen watched intensely, holding your leg open to get a good view of what his doppelgänger was doing.

You were so close, you twitched and clawed at the blanket, legs so desperately wanting to close around Edward’s head but stopped by Richtofen’s strong hands. You could feel the coil in your core wind tighter and tighter following the tight circles of Edward’s insistent tongue on your clit. You moan out their names, shaking as you reach your peak, coming hard under Edward’s attention. He broke the seal of his lips, ducking his head a bit lower to catch your climax on his tongue, his nose pushing against your sensitive clitoris as he lapped you up like a starved man. When he was satisfied, he sat back on his haunches, looking proud with a very obvious tent in his trousers. The satisfied smirk on his lips lasted only until Richtofen opened his mouth — many such cases.

Richtofen clicked his tongue thrice, shaking his head in disappointment. “Ach, I knew you were a lost cause, Edward.” He said, harshly pulling him out from between your legs. “This is how you properly eat a cunt. Perhaps take notes?”

Richtofen gave you an overconfident grin, before he too dove into your overstimulated pussy. He plunged his tongue into your hole, slurping and twisting it around while his nose rubbed against your throbbing clit. It was too much, oh so much. You cried out again, legs clamping around his head as your hands tried to push him away. He only laughed into your abused flesh, hooking an arm around your leg to keep himself anchored in place. Once he got his fill of your juices, he pulled his tongue out to focus on your bundle of nerves while he stuffed his fingers inside you, fucking you with them brutally.

“Fuck, Edward!” You cried out as he bit down on your clit, grabbing his hair and pulling hard, but that only seemed to fuel him. He grazed his teeth on it a few more times, each time making more whines and pleas to escape your throat. It hurt, oh god it hurt, but in a way that had you speeding towards the finish line.

He crooked his fingers in precisely the right way, pushing hard against that spongy part inside you over and over until you came, stars bursting in your vision. You screamed into the hand he quickly placed over your mouth as you clamped down hard on his fingers, crushing his digits in waves as you rode out your high. Your clit throbbed harder as the onslaught overwhelmed your frazzled senses. Your body thrashed, hands pulled his hair tightly, mouth begging words that disappeared into his palm. It was only when you went entirely limp, too overstimulated to fight anymore, that he pulled away gasping, face absolutely drenched in your juices. He pulled his fingers out — even with being overstimulated you whined from the empty feeling — and brought them to his mouth, sucking greedily to get every drop off.

“Wouldn’t you say that was much better, fraulein?” He laughed, looking smugly at Edward.

You couldn’t say anything, you could barely breathe. Your body was numb and frayed at the same time and horribly you could still feel the ghost of his mouth torturing your poor cunt. Your chest heaved with the effort it took to bring in air. Better? He’s trying to kill you! Your mind was clouded from overzealous pleasure, barely registering you were naked laying spread eagle on the blanket in the grass out in the open. Well, you weren’t entirely naked as you still had your thigh highs on, but your heels had been kicked off at some point during this whole… cunnilingus-fest.

“I think our subject is fried.” Richtofen hummed, at least you assumed it was the older one, you were too exhausted to check. “Her pussy is still pulsing, perhaps her senses have been overloaded. Pity. I assumed she could take more.”

“Oh, she can.” A similar voice said, or was that Richtofen? Why do they sound so similar right now!? “We just need to give her a reason to. Liebling, watch.”

The way his voice commanded you with such authority had your eyes opening and hazily focusing on them. They were unfastening buttons on their clothing, shedding the fabric while keeping intense eye contact with you. They dared you to look away and with each inch of delicious skin getting shared with you, you wouldn’t dream of it. You didn’t notice until now how scarred the older man’s body was. They were light, healed, almost imperceptible until you were ogling it as you were now. You could see some softness to his belly that Edward had yet to gain, but it didn’t detract to his attractiveness. Soon the men were kneeling naked in front of you, heaving, rock hard and eating you alive with their eyes. At least for a moment, before Richtofen shifted towards his younger self, eyeing his body.

“Mh, I had such a fantastic body at that age. The fact you hide it from the world is an injustice, truly.”

In a move that even shocked you, knocking you immediately out of your orgasm-induced daze, Richtofen reached out, wrapping a hand around Edward’s cock and pumping it lazily, dragging his foreskin down to fully uncover the tip. His head was cocked to the side and a large grin painted his face.

Edward reeled back, slapping the other’s hand off his dick, entirely bewildered with anger bubbling up to the surface. “Was zum teufel?”

“Was? Ugh don’t be such a prude. It’s glorified masturbation.” Richtofen reached for him again, but was once again swatted away.

“Don’t touch me with your filthy hands!”

“Oh, I’m allowed to stuff your girlfriend’s cunt with mein filthy hands aber you draw the line at yourself, hm?” Richtofen was baiting him, egging him on to give in and fuck you were almost sure it was working. “C’mon Edward, look at her and tell me she was not enjoying it.” He said, two sets of gazes now pointed at you.

You laid there, eyes lidded as you had indeed enjoyed watching the other man grope your lover. It was a twisted kind of enjoyment you knew, but Edward on Edward action made your abused cunt gush back to life, aching for more. You bit your lip as you slowly nodded. “Bitte.”

Bitte.

And that seemed like it was enough.

Richtofen wrapped his fist around Edward’s cock again, but this time he wasn’t swatted away. With an uneasy stare, he watched as foreign yet so familiar hands pumped his leaking shaft, groaning as he hit all the right spots, squeezed all the right areas, and at just the right speed. “Ah- ah fick.” The younger man gasped, hips jolting.

“I have played with this Schwanz for decades now und I know exactly how to drive you wild. Move over Fraulein, let him lay down.” Unceremoniously, Richtofen grabbed Edward and pushed him down. Your lover tumbled next to you, barely getting his bearings before Richtofen was laid behind him, sandwiching Edward between the two of you. Richtofen grabbed his cock again, pumping and twisting his wrist in just the right way to have his doppelganger arching his back so deliciously while little moans tumbled out. “Go on, play with his sack.” How could you say no?

You groped him, squeezing his balls before rolling them in your palm. You could feel it tighten when Richtofen ran his thumb along his tip, collecting the precum and pushing him closer to ecstasy. Edward was panting, lolling his head back and forth, letting bits of German fall from his tongue. “Isn’t- schieße.. aren’t we supposed to be focusing- ach! on… on mein…” He trailed off, unable to complete a single sentence, but still looking at you though heavily lidded eyes to infer it.

“She’s enjoying it plenty, but if you do insist…” Richtofen stopped playing his counterpart’s cock, “Use him, get your fill again, but do not let him cum, ja? Our little Edward deserves to be tortured.” He let out a manic laugh. He offered you a hand, and with it, you swung your leg over Edward’s hips, rutting your folds on his weeping cock before impaling yourself. He sunk into you deliciously, kissing your cervix with the head. “Ride him like a bitch in heat.”

And my god, you did.

You slammed your hips down on him with a bruising pace, using his cock like a toy to get yourself off. You watched as Richtofen grabbed Edward’s hand, placing it on his own neglected cock. Perhaps Edward was already too fucked out to care or it was something else entirely, but he began to stroke the older man, sloppily with less finesse he received, but it had Richtofen throwing his head back in a laugh turned moan, saying what you can imagine is downright filthy things in German.

Edward’s other hand gripped on your hip tightly as he began thrusting upward, snapping his hips in time to your bouncing. His eyes flicked from your drenched and filled cunt, watching his throbbing prick plunge deep inside, to your breasts which swayed and jiggled with each grind of your hips.

“Tick tock, schlampe, reach your climax before he does, or not at all.” Richtofen ordered.

You nodded, closing your eyes and focused on the build up. You narrowed in to the sensation of Edward’s cock hitting just the right spot in you, in tandem of your clit smashing against his pubic bone with each push of your hips together. You felt the telltale signs of your orgasm approaching, feeling that familiar coil once again wind up until it snapped inside you like a molten rubber band. You arched your back violently, shuttering and sobbing from the force. He still shoved his cock into your fluttering pussy over and over, chasing down his own orgasm that was sped up by your tightening inner muscles. Before he could find it, Richtofen was lifting you off, placing your jellied body on your hands and knees. He had to hold you to keep you from collapsing, but that was no problem for the strong older man. You didn’t miss how your lover whined from the loss of your tight cunt. Without warning, he pushed your head into the blanket and thrusted inside you from behind. You were already warmed up, just how he liked. He pounded into you with such force you began sliding against the blanket, feeling the rough fabric burn your cheek and knees. You anchored yourself with two fistfuls of the cloth.

“Ja… mh… so gut. Ach, you’re so gut. You ruin me, fraulein.” Richtofen grunted, words punctuated by every thrust. With one hand he kept you in place, the other palmed roughly at your breast. Your fourth orgasm hit you like a freight train. It was unexpected, like a cork of a champagne bottle popping. Tears welled up and dripped down to the blanket as the pleasure was blinding. You couldn’t make a noise besides a single, strangled gasp. Even with your silence, your bodily reactions said everything. He felt you cum, felt your pussy flutter and squeeze and clench down on his cock. He only fucked you faster, clawing at you skin as if trying to rip you apart. “Nnnngh… ja, mein hure, mein Hündin… mein… lieb-ach!”

He stilled, spilling his hot seed deep into your cunt. His cockhead was insistent against your cervix as it throbbed and twitched. A few more shallow thrusts to chase the end of his orgasm was all he could afford before he collapsed onto the coarse fabric, his softening cock slipping out and laying limply on his lower stomach. You were now sandwiched between the men, not that you minded.

The three of you were heaving, trying to take all the oxygen in the atmosphere greedily into your lungs. Richtofen was spent, you felt overused, and yet Edward was still hard as a rock, aching, not quite having his fill. Richtofen noticed, and was quick to rectify that.

“Edward, make love to her under the stars. Langsam. Properly.”

“Since when did you become the director of this play?” Edward asked, while still getting up to lay between your legs. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his slender hips even when your body said it was too overworked to do anything. His tip bobbed against your entrance and with a careful push, he slowly filled you to the hilt. You whimpered as your body protested the intrusion.

Richtofen sat up, grabbing something that had been long discarded. Soon he was laying on his side, facing you, watching you as he brought a kiwi slice up to your lips. You let him place it on your tongue and you playfully licked his digit as he did so. A wicked smile graced his lips as you ate the fruit, feeling the refreshing bite of the liquid race down your throat while Edward began to finally make love to you, right under the stars, just as you wanted. His thrusts were slow and languid, Sweet German nothings whispered softly into your ear as Richtofen continued to feed you during the passion. Was this heaven? Was this the greed, the glutton, the lust they’ve spoken about in the Bible? If this was wrong, you never wanted to be right.

This time your orgasm flowed over you in a stream of muted pleasure, perhaps underwhelming for most, but it was exactly what you needed after the onslaught these men — mostly Richtofen — had put you through. It was a sweet release, just as sweet as the fruit juices dancing on your tongue. You looked into Edward’s eyes as you had your final orgasm, hand reaching out to hold Richtofen’s, lacing your fingers with his. You don’t know why you did it, but it felt… right. Right.

Edward came shortly after you, shivering and sighing ‘Ich liebe dich’s against your lips. When he was spent, he too pulled out and collapsed next to you. The two men were cuddled on both sides, caressing your body, in a more… sensual way.

“We are… lying naked on a hill,” you finally say, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “You think anyone heard?”

“I would be concerned they were deaf if they didn’t.” Edward sighed. You could tell he was coming back to his senses.

“Gut. I hope they did, I hope they are soooo jealous I am getting mein dick wet und not them. Especially Dempshey.” The older man smirked.

The three of you once again got mostly dressed. Well, enough dressed to walk back to the house you picked. You were really getting deja vu, remembering scrambling to get dressed at the Pentagon. You didn’t bother with the food, or the wine, or anything for that matter. Edward carried you “home” with Richtofen in tow, sluggishly climbing the stairs and dumping you under the covers. Two warm bodies cuddled against you on both sides.

‘You better get used to this happening each time you come across the older Richtofen’ A little voice in your head said to you. That wouldn’t be hard to do, you decided.

“I hope this Valentine’s Day was… adequate.” Edward sighed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Adequate?” You asked, voice slurred from the sleep that threatened to overtake you. “I got thoroughly wined and dined and fucked by my two favourite men. This was the Valentine’s Day of all Valentine’s Days.”

“Two favourite, hm? I suppose I could live with that.” Richtofen piped up. “Although I hope next time it’s my turn to be spoiled. Let’s see… I want blood und guts und spleens? Ja, spleens would make the doctor very happy.”

“And I thought you were romantic?” You teased. He playfully pinched your nipple while huffing.

“I said I can be romantic, und I think I rigorously proved that tonight. I didn’t lose all of meinself to 115, you know. There’s still a part of me, somewhere, deep inside. It seems to spring out when… I’m with you, Fraulein.” He looked uncomfortable with his own words, either by not meaning to say them out loud, or by not meaning to think of them at all. He quickly cleared his throat and changed the subject, the vulnerability too much for him. “I hope I taught you a thing or two, Edward?”

Edward didn’t respond and looking over to him confirmed what you assumed, he was out like a light, snoring softly. The poor man was worn. You giggled, turning your attention back to the man currently pressing closer to you. “I’m sure you did.”

He smiled at you, a genuine smile. It was followed by a chaste, but passionate kiss and when you closed your eyes, you swore it felt just like how your lover would kiss you. “Ich lieb-“ he paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Ich habe dich lieb.”

“Ich habe dich lieb?” You whisper, not quite understanding.

“Ja. Just leave it as that for now. Gute Nacht, mauschën.”

You wanted to argue, you wanted to know what he said, but with the serious tone his voice had, something that chilled you to the bone, you decided to not press, for now. “Gute Nacht, Eddie,”

Another genuine smile. Oh, how he’s spoiling you.

You fell asleep in the arms of your two Edwards again, feeling safe and secure and entirely loved. How was this going to end? You had no idea. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to debate the intricacies of this time travelled fuelled intimacy you shared with the both of them. You were going to just enjoy the ride while you were on it, especially today.

Truly the Valentine’s Day of all Valentine’s days indeed.

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I'd appreciate it if you left kudos!

#call of duty #edward richtofen #primis richtofen #ultimis richtofen #fanfic #x reader #cod zombies #call of duty zombies

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scuttlingcrab · 3 months ago

Text

Mages After Midnight

Summary: No one knew what would happen when Rook and Emmrich finally got together, or the fact their coupling could destroy the entire Lighthouse.

Notes: This was inspired by @lkblackham's post here, and @vonspe's post here. Both have been living in my head rent free for WEEKS. Thank you for the crack fic inspiration, I will bow before you both for all eternity, and hope you guys enjoy hehe. xx

PS: This was also my first attempt at writing a wee bit of smut lol. *blushes, coils hair around finger*

A snippet below, and the rest can be found on AO3!

***

Oh shit. OK, this is it. Be calm. Be. Calm.

This whole courtship business was new to Rook. She had never been with another mage before. And if she was being completely honest, her previous track record with relationships was a bit… fruitless. Intimacy? Absolutely fucking not. Forget about it. She had no stomach for such things, and it kind of made her skin crawl from the inside out just thinking about it.

Even when there was someone she had fancied in the past, like that stunning Qunari woman she met at a pub in Cumberland or that one brooding assassin she crossed paths with after a job went sour in the South—things only escalated to sloppy kisses, foreheads aggressively butting, and hands fumbling in the dark for breasts and groins and Maker knows what else. It always ended the same, no matter Rook’s approach—she’d ultimately find herself stumbling back to her room, or tent, or into the nearest alley, alone, cradling the strongest liquor bottle she could find to wash down the mortifying encounter.

Sure. Fine. Yes. Rook weighed over the idea of what it might feel like to have her body explored, cherished like a precious ancient artifact—having another’s touch elicit moans so loud the neighbours three floors down would be able to hear her and squirm with jealousy. She especially lingered on the notion of what it might feel like to be loved for once, rather than discarded like yesterday’s serials. Any brush with that phantom sentiment in the past only left her feeling exposed, almost as if she was standing stark naked in the middle of a battlefield, with nothing to protect herself with save her magic and a bloody rock.

She couldn’t be arsed dealing with someone else’s expectations either—catering to their wants and needs, answering their questions about what she sought under the sheets or in the privacy of candlelit chambers. She barely knew what she desired in this life, let alone what made her happy, aside from her solitude and remaining unseen—entering and exiting a crowded room in the comforts of the shadows.

To the Void with it all, Rook had once believed—muttering it to herself like a daily affirmation from one odd job to the next, staring at her distorted reflections in cracked mirrors and puddles. It was all just a foolish fantasy, daydreams to distract her from the constant stream of horseshit that forced its way onto her plate.

It wasn’t the same as being in charge though, and things were pretty different after Varric found her. Everything was easier than she thought, slotting herself into this new leadership role like she was always meant to take the reins. Rook knew how to give orders, how to strategize and infiltrate, coordinating soldiers on and off the front lines. She could disappear into the chaos of combat and still get the job done, no matter what was thrown at her. It was her bread and bloody butter after all. Varric knew exactly what he was getting himself into recruiting her.

Rook wasn’t bothered when her team approached her for random favours, hoping to pick her brain about what she thought of Solas’ dumb memories or the best way to clean blight off her armour. She’d do anything to help the Grey Wardens and Veil Jumpers and practically anyone in Thedas get out of a bind if it meant it was closer to defeating the Evanuris. And kicking Solas out of her head once and for all. She didn’t fear darkspawn or the Ventatori soldiers who tried to control her with blood magic. Those threats were all tangible—she could track their movements, cut them down with spells, behead them if she wanted to, throw their bodies off cliffs and into flaming pyres.

It was love that covered Rook’s heart in an icy glaze, causing it to harden and fall to the pit of her stomach, where it would shatter into a million tiny pieces. Love was a force of nature, a black cloud growing in the distance, threatening to strip Rook down to her very core—the gusts of wind scattering her remains like ashes across the Waking Sea. Love was unpredictable, as untouchable as a wisp. When she was on the cusp of grasping it, the sensation slipped through her fingertips like blood pouring from a gaping wound. Yes. Love was a lesion that would never fully heal, something she’d never be able to recover from. Rook was terrified of her frenzied appetite, of what it might do to her composure. But would she actually enjoy it? When it was finally hers to seize, to share? Love was…

“Rook, dearest?”

Emmrich’s voice pierced through her lingering worries, severing any other apprehensions from forming. Her gaze refocused on the man snuggled in the bed beside her, his own brown eyes devouring hers in full. They both rested on their sides, face-to-face and feet loosely entwined, their nude bodies hidden underneath silk sheets. One of Emmrich’s hands caressed the outer curves of her body, his touch ghostly, ephemeral, while the other slowly palmed her breasts—moving back and forth between the two mounds in equal measure, as he planted another delicate kiss on her lips. Rook couldn’t help but lean her hips forward, pushing her groin closer towards his frame in response to the affection. He smiled against her cheek, his breath tickling her skin like a soft summer breeze.

“There you are. Wherever did you go?”

Rook cleared her throat, warmth surging straight to her cheeks. As if they weren’t red enough already.

“Sorry. Just uh—just a little nervous.”

“Ah.” Emmrich stopped his movements, retracting the hand that cupped her breast. Rook nearly let out a flustering sigh at the absence of his touch, not realising how much she’d miss it. Crave it. Oh, c’mon, Rook! Get a fucking grip!

He shifted slightly, lifting himself up to his forearm. His brows contorted, a frown forming on his lips the longer he observed Rook. “Shall we conclude for this evening? There’s no need to rush on my behalf.”

Rook bit her tongue, hiding her face in the sheets. She couldn’t bear to look at Emmrich, at what she might find staring back at her. She shivered with embarrassment, her stomach twisting in discomfort at the onslaught of repressed memories that poked through the surface—disappointed lovers, faces that judged her body, lips that mocked her blatant lack of performance. Rook spoke into the sheets, hopefully loud enough for Emmrich to hear.

“No! No, it’s OK. I want to. I do! I’m not really used to… this, Emmrich, to everything. I’m sorry. I know I’m killing the mood. Such an idiot.”

“Utter nonsense, Rook. Please.”

Rook felt a weight on her side, followed by a light squeeze—a touch from Emmrich, a consolation.

“There’s absolutely nothing to be apologetic for. It would be my greatest honour to fulfil your every desire, but only when you are willing. I’m content to wait, to savour just your kiss, the warmth of your bosom against my flesh, if that’s what pleases you.”

Rook peaked through the top of the sheets, suppressing the urge to burrow herself further into the grave she had dug herself. She stopped, however, when she found Emmrich smiling softly at her, his expression brightening when she lowered the rest of her covering. The bloody man was so composed, patient with Rook, unnervingly loyal to not only her, but the entire team, and above all, he was kind. An attribute in Thedas’ population that was lacking in the recent months. The more Rook gawked at Emmrich, the more she believed he was truly thrust upon her from the Void itself, crafted from sheer perfection with the eddies of the Fade. It was the only logical explanation. He can’t be fucking real. No way.

“Maker, Emmrich. You and that bloody tongue of yours.”

“Well, darling, the tongue is one of the more powerful muscles in the body. Did you know…” Emmrich murmured, pausing to move a wayward strand of hair that had fallen in front of Rook’s face, placing it behind her ears with practiced ease.

Rook swallowed hard, her mind fuzzy as it tried to process the expectations that lived in between the silence of each word. She cocked her head, making sure she wouldn’t miss the next thing that came out of his mouth, and all at once, Emmrich’s expression shifted into something primal, dangerous if it ever grew untamed. His eyes glimmered, a speck of emerald growing in the centre of his iris’, like a star—pulsing, waiting, watching. Emmrich leaned in closer, but not too close, and still, Rook inhaled sharply.

“It’s composed of eight, smaller muscles—making it quite pliable, versatile even, and allowing it to serve a plethora of functions. Some of which, I’m indeed quite thankful for.”

Emmrich briefly brushed his lips against Rook’s, pulling away in one smooth movement.

“For instance, without one’s tongue, speaking would be next to impossible. Words are paramount, they’ve aided me in escaping some rather tricky predicaments, and in turn, guided me towards more… revelatory excursions.”

His next kiss was with more fervour, parting her mouth slightly with his tongue, but like the first, he withdrew before Rook could even think about matching it.

“I…Emmrich…”

“Chewing, as well as swallowing, is essential to life itself. Without partaking in sustenance, our mortal species could never survive. Although... of all the tongue’s abilities, I’ve always been particularly fond of the gift of taste most of all. What I lon—”

This time Rook didn’t wait for Emmrich. She smashed her lips against his in the only way she knew how, out of desperation and desire—all this talk of tongues and tasting and whatever else he was on the verge of going on about only increased her starvation. It was so close, Maker, right in front of her— she wanted to sample it for herself, of what she’s been dreaming of for years.

Rook wasn’t sure how long they'd been going at it tonight. It was impossible to pull away from Emmrich, even if she wanted to—what had started out as innocent cuddling in front of the fireplace, quickly turned to heated snogging, hands testing their crumbling boundaries as they slowly undressed, fondling their way to the comforts of Emmrich's bedchambers.

Maybe it was an hour, or three—time seemed to merge together when they returned to the Lighthouse after another date in the Memorial Gardens. The couple frequented the Necropolis more as of late, finding solace alongside the wisps that seemed to grow in numbers with each visit—hovering around Emmrich and Rook like a flock of birds, guiding them with flickering lights as they meandered the intricate mausoleum pathways. It was all a brief escape from the world above, from Rook’s worries on the fate of her companions, and the burdens of her guidance, most of all.

In the early days of their affair, Rook had insisted on planning their engagements, mulling over concepts of afternoon strolls in the Arlathan wilds, to perhaps dipping their toes in the warm waters of the Rivain coast. However, on one occasion, Rook’s hopes for an evening sipping wine and nibbling snacks in a Trevisian canal boat were short lived—no sooner had they undocked than they were ambushed by a group of Antaam. Worst of all, Rook couldn’t even watch Emmrich rebel against them, swirling his deft hands around like an artist, painting the air with his pristine spellcasting. It entranced Rook in battle, but never enough to distract her from the fights at hand.

Rook had taken a step back, out of reflex, in order to dodge a hefty attack of spit-fire. She shrieked in alarm when she found no solid footing behind her. She fell into the icy canals, her chest filling with equal parts water and panic, as a very important thought suddenly occurred to her: she couldn’t swim. Not once did she take a second to ponder the possibility of actually falling into the canals when arranging their outing. Rook had tried to learn how to swim once, but decided against it, never thinking she’d need to, for whatever daft reason. Nope, not in her line of work. She quickly sank to the bottom of the canals, the weight of her armour and numerous blunders the final seals on her tomb. Although it wasn’t very deep, the surface seemed leagues away as she flailed her arms about. She watched the distorted waterline above her, green blasts covering the top like fireworks, as it soon grew blurrier, fading away into oblivion.

The next thing Rook remembered she was on her back, wet in all the wrong places, and with Emmrich on top of her. He removed his mouth from hers and she gulped for air, lungs burning as she spewed out the remaining bits of canal water.

“S-so… d-does this count as our second kiss?” Rook coughed out, trying to keep up her playful facade. She slicked back her wet hair, eyes stinging from the near-death experience.

Rook immediately regretted the joke when Emmrich refused to laugh, not even rolling his eyes as she’d come to expect from him after one too many bad puns. He huffed back instead, turning away from her, the panic still clinging to his face.

“Do be serious, Rook.”

After that day, Emmrich made two polite requests of Rook: that he teach her how to swim, and that they set all future dates within the confines of the Necropolis—at least, until the threat of the Evanuris was removed from their agendas, life regaining some sort of normalcy.

Rook agreed, fearing if she didn’t, or if she showed just a moment's hesitation at such a simple ask, she’d sour yet another relationship. Emmrich took Rook’s hands in his, holding her like she was the most precious thing in this mortal existence, a flower that could wilt at even the slightest touch. He kissed her knuckles, lips slowly tracking up one forearm when he had his answer. “Thank you, dearest.” His look softened with satisfaction as he moved on to her other hand.

Any apprehension Rook had of the arrangement soon turned into a growing fondness for Emmrich, reverence blossoming for their new routine. She had never kept to one practice for so long without growing restless, hastily moving on to the next village, itching to seek a fresh start as soon as she felt herself getting too comfortable—she had no constant in her life, save for her own crippling shame that refused to stop haunting her, the ghosts following her across Thedas and back.

In the Necropolis, walking hand-in-hand with Emmrich, there was a peacefulness that draped itself around Rook’s shoulders—exploring the quiet halls together, watching in awe as chambers morphed around them. The mausoleum itself was ancient, a breathing entity, providing them with new viewpoints into the expanse of its eerie landscapes—unlocking private quarters that housed some of the most precious paintings she’d ever laid eyes on, and stumbling into royal crypts, where its skeletons were gilded and artfully displayed in rich tableaus.

In truth, Rook could never tire of this life, it was bespoke, crafted to perfection from their trust and adoration for each other. Even if it was fleeting, if it would all go up in flames tomorrow, she wanted to cling to it, to him, for as long as humanly possible. Her core burned hotter for him, at his unadulterated worship of her.

Rook thought of Emmrich when she charged into battle, his face bringing her newfound hope, courage—his affirmations were her own call to arms, echoing along the front lines as she sliced down hordes of darkspawn, Venatori, and anyone else who opposed her. She was loved. She was his. And she would survive, for him. At least, she would try. Together. And if Rook ever happened to be struck down, bleeding out alone amongst a sea of corpses, she wanted her last thoughts to be of Emmrich, clinging to her silly hopes of one day being reunited beyond the Veil. Rook thought of Emmrich as she fell asleep, her heart aching for their time together to carry into the Fade, where they would pretend to continue their waltz for eternity, uninterrupted by the demands of their companions, of their harsh reality.

“Oof!”

Rook’s kiss brought her teeth crashing against Emmrich’s, cheeks tingling, head ringing like a cursed Chantry bell as the odd sensation travelled to the tip of her skull.

Emmrich immediately drew away from Rook, and she recoiled in turn, landing on her back. Her bottom lip stung, pulsing, a salty, sweet taste filling her mouth. She brought her fingers to her lips, lightly touching the sensitive area. When she removed her hand, a spot of blood coated the tip of her fingers.

“Ow, shit.”

“Rook.”

Rest on AO3! *disappears into the void*

#emmrich dragon age #emmrich the necromancer #emmrich volkarin #da4 emmrich #dragon age emmrich #dragon age veilguard #dav fanfic #emmrich #emmrich x rook #crack treated seriously #smut

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