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bakuliwrites · 1 year ago

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An Exchange- Julian x Bakuli x Lucio

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Tags (for this excerpt): Slightly suggestive, Julian recounting the time he had to dart across the deck of a ship completely in the nude

Pairing: Julian Devorak x Lucio Morgasson x Bakuli Björnsdottir

So, I'm editing a version of End Up Here to feature my fan apprentice, Bakuli. I'm not sure that I'll ever release the full thing, but for fun, I might post some of it on Tumblr from time-to-time. So here's a bit of it from the segment An Exchange in Chapter 8.

Over the next several days, Lucio tries to rid his mind of pointless, wistful dreams, busying himself with concocting plans for his next party. But as soon as he sees Julian and Bakuli, the strange, soft yearnings return. It nearly puts him in a foul mood, but the attention showered upon him by his companions is enough to stave off any potential lashing out on his part. Though as soon as Bakuli and Julian have drifted off to sleep, Lucio’s irritation returns in full force.

He hates how much he’s enjoying their company. He hates how- fluffy he’s starting to feel about them both. How attached he’s getting. He tells himself he’s doing this to distract them. Not that he thinks either Julian or Bakuli will get to the bottom of what he’s up to and where this plague came from. But still, the threat is present.

Lucio tells himself that all of this is just a bit of fun. He’ll get bored of the two of them eventually. He’s never been one to maintain prolonged affection or interest, with the exception of Noddy. Yet, he finds himself snuggling closer to Julian and Bakuli when the nights get cold, when the anxiety comes creeping into his mind. In his sleep, Julian will drape an arm over Lucio’s shivering torso. In Bakuli’s slumber, she lets out a soft sigh and reaches for Lucio’s hand.

In their waking hours, Julian is a riot. Lucio can’t remember the last time someone made him laugh like Julian can. In fact, it was probably Julian that last made him laugh this hard, way back when Lucio was still Montag and Julian was still wet behind the ears.

“The next thing I know, I’m running stark naked across the deck, shielding my bits with a rag while trying to hunt down a cargo crate or a barrel I can duck into before anyone can see me-” Julian is re-enacting, darting across Lucio’s bedroom, holding a kerchief in front of his “bits” to feign decency. Meanwhile, Bakuli is beside herself with laughter and Lucio is practically wheezing, clutching at his sides in pain from all the giggling he’s done.

“La-” Julian tries to continue, nearly doubling over with laughter, “Lady Delphine pulls off the lid of the barrel and peeks inside to find me desperately trying to cover myself with the rag. I'm sputtering apologies and have got no good explanation for my unfortunate predicament. She merely looks at me for a moment and then- with a smirk, mind you- says, ‘I would scold you for the sheer audacity you have, but you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough for one day.’”

“My Gods, Ilya,” Bakuli manages, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes with how hard she’s been laughing, “How do you go on after that?”

“No wonder she gave me a funny look when I mentioned you were coming to that banquet a couple months back,” Lucio posits, recovering his breath after this ridiculous story. This comment just sends Bakuli into another fit of laughter.

As the night winds down and all three of them begin to fall into a daze of exhaustion, Bakuli waves her hand and extinguishes the candlelight. Julian settles in on one side of her while Lucio claims the other. Lucio isn’t surprised that Julian quickly dozes off, his animated storytelling no doubt exhausting. Meanwhile, Bakuli is wide awake beside the Count, her eyes curiously roving Lucio’s face in the silence. It’s a bit unnerving and he’s about to ask if she likes what she sees when she reaches out a hand and tenderly sweeps some of the gilded strands of his hair back.

“Who were you? Before you became Lucio, Count of Vesuvia?” she whispers. Bathed in moonlight, Bakuli’s eyes appear almost green, a lush forest thankful for days of rain. Lucio doesn’t quite understand what she means, quirking an eyebrow up in confusion before realizing that perhaps she's asking what his position in the palace was before he was named Count.

“Oh, I was Spada’s right-hand man,” he explains, propping himself up on his elbow. But Bakuli shakes her head, the dark ringlets of her hair gently brushing against her shoulders with each motion. Her gaze is utterly penetrating. It spooks Lucio how deeply she’s looking at him, like she’s trying to puzzle out his soul. Like she’s trying to see beyond him in this present moment and figure out the scared little boy trapped in the swirling eddies of snow.

“But who were you? Like what did you do before this and how did you get here?” she specifies. Again, Lucio looks at her with confusion. It’s well known that Lucio, Light of Vesuvia, was a well-traveled, highly respected mercenary before he found his way to Count Spada. It’s common knowledge that he is the reason Vesuvia’s military was and is still so successful. With Bakuli being a Vesuvian citizen, she should know all of this already. And it’s then that Lucio realizes he actually doesn’t know much about Bakuli. Maybe she hasn’t always lived in Vesuvia. Maybe she’s from somewhere else.

Like under a rock, you mean? a snarky thought pops into his head. Even if she were from elsewhere, word of Lucio Morgasson would have reached her. There isn’t a corner of the world where his name hasn’t been spoken. Before he has a chance to speak, however, Bakuli says something that gives him even further pause.

“I know you were a highly successful mercenary,” she clarifies with a small laugh, holding her penetrating gaze, “I guess what I mean is-”

She pauses, looking nervous to finish her own question.

“I’ve heard a lot of rumors about you,” she finishes, dark brows knit together and forehead crinkling with a sheepish worry, “About your childhood. Some of them good, some of them not so good.”

Lucio’s heart jumps into his throat, vibrating rapidly, fear setting in. Where is this line of questioning going? This isn’t the first time over the last few weeks that Bakuli has, in some way, made him feel- anxious. There have been a couple times where he’s caught the magician staring curiously at him. He’s chalked it up to her somewhat odd personality and introverted nature, but the way Bakuli is looking at Lucio tonight makes him wonder if, perhaps, there’s more to it.

“Oh yeah?” he tries to say as casually as possible, feigning nonchalance though his mind is reeling, “Do you believe them?”

He hopes she can’t see how utterly terrified he is. Maybe the Devil was right. Maybe he shouldn’t have invited this magician into his palace, let alone his bed. Maybe she’s fishing for information. Maybe-

“I’m not one to let rumors cloud my judgment,” Bakuli states, the worried look on her face replaced with one of indignance, “Rumors aren’t always fair and, more often than not, they’re untrue. I’ll make my own opinions of you. I was just curious what you thought of them.”

“Ha,” Lucio lets out a false laugh, leaning back against his pillow and smiling mischievously, secretly relieved that she wasn’t more direct, “Well, all the good ones are certainly true. And all the bad? A load of crap. You can take that to the bank.”

Bakuli merely casts a kind smile at him. But the glimmer behind her eyes tells Lucio she’s thinking, contemplating.

“You’re a curious one, Lucio,” she chuckles, leaning towards him and pressing a featherlight kiss to his lips. She lingers for a moment, the pad of her thumb gently smoothing over the angles of Lucio’s cheekbones. Despite her aura of mystery, there’s something about her that Lucio can’t help but like. Maybe it’s the way she makes him feel heard. For as strange as her gaze may be, he can admit to some part of himself that Bakuli makes him feel seen. When he or Julian tell their stories, even if it’s the millionth time she’s heard them, Bakuli still looks at them like they’re the center of her attention. She seems to do this for everyone she meets. Her focus is unparalleled and Lucio finds himself appreciating this.

“Alright, Miss. Bakuli, your turn,” he smirks, beaming impishly and expectantly at his companion, “Who were you? Before you became such an illustrious magician.”

She beams, a bright smile that seems to reach her eyes.

“No one special,” she laughs.

“Pshhh,” Lucio returns, “I highly doubt that.”

“No, really!” Bakuli insists, absentmindedly tracing Lucio’s collarbone with the tip of her fingernail. The sensation sends delightful shivers through him, goosebumps settling as quickly as they raise with her touch.

“I want the whole story,” Lucio quietly demands, drawing her closer, “Tell me who Bakuli Björnsdottir is.”

She glances at him hesitantly, blushing softly, no doubt at the one-on-one attention she’s receiving from The Count of Vesuvia. Lucio likes it when she’s flustered, likes to watch the way she sheepishly glances down and smiles quietly to herself.

“Alright, fine,” she acquiesces before launching into a detailed account of her life. And for once, Lucio listens, perhaps too tired to interject with his own stories. Or maybe too invested in gauging if there’s anything in her past he should be worried about. Either way, he learns a fair amount about her.

Bakuli was born in the South, to a tribe not unlike his own, though her mother is Prakran. She spent her early years in the frigid snows of the Scourgelands, before her parents and three other siblings relocated to Prakra, to be closer to her mother’s family. Things were good, until they weren’t. Her parents split up when she was twelve, something she’d made peace with a long time ago, though the mention of it still seemed to bring a quiver to her voice. Her father, a merchant by trade, went back to the Scourgelands, where Bakuli would visit once a year. Their relationship is somewhat strained.

“I love my father, very much,” she explains, eyes downcast at this part of her story, “But he wasn’t always present, even when he was around. Sometimes, it felt like his spirit was wandering somewhere else while his body stayed behind.”

Lucio doesn’t dare say anything about his own father, pushing the image of a withered Lutz out of his mind. He doesn’t have to think about the man for long, as Bakuli goes on with her tale.

Lucio learns that she inherited her magic shop from her mother, who inherited it from her sister, who inherited it from their mother.

“It’s been in the family for generations,” Bakuli explains proudly as Lucio tries to follow the lineage of the shop, his brain starting to hurt, “You should come by to visit sometime. I think I have a couple things there that you might like. I can even do a tarot reading for you,” she adds with a wink. Lucio isn’t quite sure what that entails, but he’s down to give it a go.

Vesuvia was a summer destination for her family, to visit her grandmother when she was still alive. It didn’t become a permanent residence for Bakuli until her mother inherited the shop when Bakuli was fifteen.

“And I’ve been living here ever since,” she finishes with a smile. Lucio knows there’s more to her story than this condensed version of it. He can see it in her eyes, a lingering sorrow that wavers in and out as she looks at him. But he’s far too exhausted to ask for any further details. And he’s certainly not going to press for more, knowing that it will open the door for Bakuli to question him in return. Lucio is certain that he does not want to share the intricacies of his own childhood with this magician. He’s never even done that with Julian, and he trusts him more than he trusts Bakuli at the moment.

Their conversation fades to a whisper and soon enough, Bakuli is out like a light, leaving Lucio to stew in confusion. He’s grateful to have gotten a glimpse into the magician’s background. So far, there’s nothing to alarm him. It does sound like she’s come from a background none-too-special or threatening. Still, the feeling of paranoia lingers. Why is she asking him questions about his childhood? Is it genuine curiosity? Or is she trying to dig up dirt on him and spread it around a city that already seems to secretly hate their Count? Is this Aisha and Salim all over again? Or is it something else entirely? Something that scares Lucio even more.

Lucio pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. Bakuli’s interrogating, her inquisitive gaze, fills him with a perplexing mixture of caution and warmth. He doesn’t dare divulge the details of his childhood to anyone, let alone her and Julian. Yet, he finds himself feeling grateful that someone is paying attention to him. And genuinely so, it seems.

Have to keep an eye on that one, Lucio notes, tired of mulling over possibilities in his head.

Something has changed. In this small interaction, everything has changed. Lucio can feel it deep in his heart. He can sense it radiating out from the brightness that slumbers beside him, and he’s not quite sure what to make of it all.

#the arcana #julian devorak #lucio morgasson #bakuli björnsdottir #julian x lucio x apprentice #julian x lucio x bakuli #end up here rewrite #my writing #my editing #jucio #julcio #julian x lucio

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )

Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.

pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)

tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.

wc. 9.7k

beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...

author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!

You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.

So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.

“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”

No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.

“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.

I need healing! I need healing!

What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.

Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.

You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.

Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)

You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.

“You winning?”

It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.

(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)

“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.

“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.

You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.

You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.

It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)

You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).

‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.

“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.

Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.

“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.

“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.

By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.

“You should go top left.”

You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).

“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.

For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”

You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.

“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”

If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.

“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.

“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.

If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”

As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.

“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.

You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.

“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.

“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.

The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.

You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.

When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.

You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.

Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.

“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.

“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)

“Whaddya mean?”

The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.

“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.

“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.

When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.

“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”

It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?

(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)

“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.

To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?

“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”

All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.

“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.

“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.

“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“

“I have it!”

Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.

“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”

The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”

“You’ll see.”

Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.

It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.

“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)

The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)

From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”

Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”

“What about when you found me in the shower ?”

Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.

His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.

(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)

“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.

“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)

“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”

“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.

“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”

If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.

“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”

“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”

Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.

“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.

“Are you going to put on yours yet?”

It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)

Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.

Today, it comes after the fourth count.

“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.

With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.

(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)

“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.

It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.

“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.

Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.

Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.

This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.

“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”

By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.

“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.

“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.

Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)

“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).

He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.

With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.

“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.

Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.

(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)

“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.

“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.

“Good job, Kook.”

You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.

“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.

“Losers don’t get to complain.”

The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”

It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.

That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.

“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.

You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.

“Jimin-ssiiiii.”

“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”

“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.

You absolutely loved it.

“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”

You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.

“Drink this!”

“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.

“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”

Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).

The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.

“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”

“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”

It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.

The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.

That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.

“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.

“Are you drunk?”

You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”

Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”

(He really is, you think.)

“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.

“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”

You do. You really, really do.

When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.

“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”

Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.

“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.

You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”

Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)

“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.

“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.

It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”

Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”

“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.

“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”

He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.

“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.

“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).

You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.

“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).

“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”

It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.

He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.

“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.

Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.

“Or I’ll help you.”

Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.

First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.

Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.

“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”

“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).

“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.

You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”

That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.

You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.

“Start the shower.”

You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.

“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.

The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.

“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.

“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)

“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.

You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.

“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.

“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.

The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)

A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.

It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.

“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.

When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.

“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.

“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.

When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”

“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”

You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)

Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.

He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.

“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”

“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.

“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.

The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.

“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.

He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.

“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”

Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.

“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.

“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”

“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.

“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.

He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”

You can’t argue with that.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago

Text

The Start Of Forever

Asra x M!Apprentice

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: *Me banging pots and pans around to attract readers* GET YOUR ASRA FICS! COME GET YOUR FIRST MEETING FICS! HOT AND FRESH! Enjoy! -Thorne

The mask fit uncomfortably across his face and he reached up, but quickly clenched his hand into a fist to keep himself from touching it. Quit adjusting the mask. He thought critically, smiling at a young couple that walked in front of him. Their eyes drifted to the silver sword hilt peeking above his shoulder, and with a quiet gasp, they shuffled out of his way. He wanted to assure them he wasn’t there to harm anyone, but after taking in the wide berth they gave him, he thought better of it and he kept his mouth shut. He continued to smile at those who made their way past, hoping they ignored him, but given that he was wearing black leather armor with silver accents in the middle of a party full of richly dressed patrons, he knew they weren’t going to. Where is he? Scanning the floor for his older friend, he inwardly sighed, reminding himself that masks were meant to hide identities, not make them known.

He planted his feet firmly in the ballroom floor and shut his eyes, feeling the energy of his magic pool around him before he let it ebb outwards, hoping it would pick up his friends’ aura. It met something cool, not the one he was looking for, and he felt his brows furrow as the two auras began to mingle together. It guided him forward and with a curious step, he followed, but before he could move any farther, a hand clamped onto his shoulder and despite his training, he jerked, eyes snapping open to look at whoever had him, and whether he needed to remove their hand for them.

At the sight of the gray bearded man, a relieved smile crossed his lips and he greeted, “Mettius! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

The older man grinned, shifting to shake the others hand. “(Y/N)! It’s good to see you!” Mettius let go of (Y/N)’s hand, turning him by the shoulders to march him forwards. “Come, there is someone important I must introduce you to.”

“First you make me come to the masquerade, then you drag me around to meet your friends. Are you trying to drive me back home?” (Y/N) snorted at Mettius’ expression when he turned, catching sight of the glare.

“It’s one night, (Y/N). You’ll survive the flow of the unknown for a mere few hours.”

“I’ve better things to do though. Jobs to finish, hunts to complete. Coins to—”

“You’re going to take it easy for one night and enjoy the Vesuvian Masquerade whether you like it or not. Then you can wander back to the store and monster hunts.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, but conceded, asking, “So, who’s this someone you want me to meet?”

“He’s right here.” As they stopped, (Y/N) turned back around, eyes going wide as he stared at the Count and his party.

Immediately, he bowed his head. “Count Lucio, my Lord. It’s an honor.”

The haughty laugh that left the Count irked him deep inside, though he didn’t let it show on his face as he lifted his eyes. “So Mettius, this is the hunter you’ve been speaking of?” (Y/N) cast a quick glance to his friend, letting him speak.

“Yes, my Lord. May I introduce (Y/N) (L/N), hunter and sorcerer.”

The eyes of the entire masquerade seemed to follow (Y/N), who simply offered a polite smile in return; Lucio looked him over, holding out his hand for him to shake. He did so, the corners of his mouth threatening to fall when he felt the violent aura merge with his. As soon as he could, (Y/N) let go of Lucio’s hand, hoping his magic would purge the evil crawling up his forearm.

“Mettius has spoken of you quite a lot (Y/N). He says you’re a hunter who slays mythical beasts.”

(Y/N) frowned at that, turning to his friend. “I’m afraid Mettius has given the wrong impression, Count Lucio. I do hunt mythical beasts, but I don’t slay them.”

The Count barked a laugh, the others following in suit. “Why not? They’re beasts! Don’t they deserve to be slain?”

The irritation he had felt began to boil into something worse, but he countered coolly, “A majority of the beasts I hunt have been cursed, Count Lucio. I don’t slay them because I would be murdering the innocent people who’ve been given such a fate.” The laughter felt silent as Lucio stared (Y/N) down, but he didn’t yield, meeting the glower head-on.

“Hardly ever do I have to raise my weapon to a contract I’ve taken. There are always other options rather than needless slaughter.” (Y/N) opened his mouth to continue when the cool aura he’d met moments before returned, beckoning him away.

His mouth snapped shut when Mettius’ hand curled around his shoulders and the man offered, “I apologize for the boy’s tone, my Lord. He means no disrespect. Simply takes the job very seriously.” Lucio cocked an eyebrow and sneered, disregarding the two of them with a wave of his hand.

The older man pulled him away and spun on him, hissing, “Have you no care what comes out of your mouth (Y/N)? People have been imprisoned on less than what you’ve said!”

(Y/N) clenched his jaw, turning to glare out the window as he muttered, “It wasn’t my intention to offend, simply offer correct explanation.”

“Your explanation might cost you your reputation.”

He glanced back at Mettius, fingers twitching with the unfamiliar aura again. “My reputation precedes farther than Vesuvia. Even if he ruined me here, I’d still have jobs all across the lands.” His gaze drifted to his hand where he visualized the aura, a light lavender.

Mettius sighed. “It’s not about being ruined here. It’s about—What are you looking for?”

(Y/N) looked back at him and tipped his head. “I’m sorry Mettius, but I’m sensing another magician somewhere in here.” He raised a hand, waving him off. “I’ll be back around soon.” Despite his friend’s pleas, he spun on his heel, weaving in and out of the masqueraders to follow the aura.

The arches of the garden came into view, and with a slip against the wall to avoid the patrolling guards, he stepped in, quietly following the path. As the stone walkway began to widen, he caught sight of a fountain beneath a willow tree, but what was surprising was the young man sitting at the edge, fingers softly gliding through the water. (Y/N) crept over, taking in his image, the fluffy ivory hair and golden-brown skin. He wore a refined lilac robe, embellished with rubies and gold accents, and while it was beautiful, (Y/N) could tell a glamor when he saw one. The thing that caught his attention the most was the mask the young man wore, that of the fox. Sly, cunning, tricky.

The descriptions swam through his mind as he stood behind him, and he bent over, whispering into the man’s ear, “I’m sure you’ve got a hold on your magic well enough, but I’ve never seen someone call out to another magic wielder as desperately as you are.”

The ivory haired magician let out a startled yelp as he spun around, (Y/N) leaned forward, curling his hand in the front of the man’s robe to keep him from falling back into the water. They stared at each other from behind their masks, (Y/N)’s eyes meeting lilac ones.

He grinned, pulling the magician forward. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

A dusting of red crossed the man’s cheeks and he retorted, “You didn’t scare me.”

(Y/N) loosened his grip, gesturing to the stone edge; the magician nodded, and he took a seat, immediately reaching up to his face. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve had enough of this mask for one evening.” The silk ties came undone from behind his head and he pulled the mask off, sighing contently.

“You don’t like masks?” the young man asked curiously.

(Y/N) shook his head as he set it beside him, then motioned to the sword on his back. “In my line of work, it’s best to be as honest as one can be.” He eyed the magician’s robes. “I don’t have time for glamor’s and tricks, though I know how to use them.” The man huffed a laugh and (Y/N) stuck his hand out. “(Y/N) (L/N).”

The magician stared at him a moment then took his hand, squeezing it as he responded, “Asra Alnazar.” He pulled his hand away. “What is your line of work?”

He shrugged and reclined on the stone edge, hands on either side of his body as he looked upwards. “Which job do you want to hear about? The easy one or the hard one?”

Asra chuckled and crossed one of his legs underneath his robes. “How about both?”

(Y/N) grinned and glanced at him. “When I’m in Vesuvia, I’m a part-time apothecary for my aunt. When I’m away, I’m a master hunter.”

“Hmm,” the magician cooed, eyes narrowing with interest. “And what do you hunt?”

“Monsters, mythical beasts, animals.” Shrugging again, he said, “I hunt pretty much everything.”

Something bitter twisted in Asra’s face. “Seems like you’d be a perfect fit for Count Lucio’s triage of nobles.”

(Y/N) barked a laugh and countered, “Hardly.” He frowned. “That bastard has his head shoved so far up his ass he can’t even tell the difference between a monster and a person that’s been cursed.”

“Ah, I take it you’re an ethical hunter then.”

“I prefer the term neutral good, but yes, that’s essentially it.” He met Asra’s gaze. “I prefer to save those I can. Whatever the cost.”

Asra frowned. “Seems like a good way to get screwed over.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Oh, it is, but I know my way around people like that.”

“Oh? And that is?”

He grinned. “By demanding my payment first.” That made Asra laugh and (Y/N) felt something flutter in his chest at the sound. Before he could say another word, his name was yelled over the hedges.

“(Y/N)! Where are you!”

They glanced towards the sound of the voice and he sighed before he rose to his feet and began tying the mask back around his head.

“Apologies Asra, but I’m needed,” he offered and Asra stood as well.

“No, I understand.” He stuck his hand out. “It’s been a pleasure to speak with you, (Y/N).”

He glanced at Asra’s hand, and with a smirk, he took it in his and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “The pleasure’s all mine, Asra,” he flirted and as he pulled away and turned, he called over his shoulder, “My aunt’s shop is in the Center City district. I’ll be there until the end of the week. See you around.”

#asra x reader #asra x reader imagines #asra x reader imagine #asra imagines #asra imagine #asra #asra alnazar #asra x mc #asra x apprentice #asra x apprentice imagines #asra x apprentice imagine #the arcana #the arcana imagines #the arcana imagine #arcana #arcana imagines #arcana imagine #lucio morgasson #count lucio

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vampiresuns · 3 years ago

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This Is How We Say Goodbye (Song To The Open Road) | Asra x Milenko

☽ THIS IS HOW WE SAY GOODBYE (SONG TO THE OPEN ROAD) ☽

1.9k words. Written for Asra Week, day 6: Promise. In which the Plague ravages Vesuvia, there’s an argument and Asra and Milenko part ways.

You can catch up with Milasra’s pre-game canon, ‘Like Thirst Holds Water’, here.

When Anatole and Milenko got involved, Asra and Amparo were already fighting.

Their relationship had always been peculiar. More than friends, they were sometimes mirrors, matchstick and friction, cause and reaction. While Milenko was the one Asra had fallen in love with, and Anatole the one who he rode and died for, Amparo tended to spring Asra into motion. Both of them did things in almost identical ways — Asra’s sun sign was Amparo’s moon sign, her rising sign, his moon. As such, they gave the idea of instant compenetration, of unspoken frequencies vibrating in the same way.

Amparo, the animancer, the actress, the dancer, the impersonator imbued in Asra something the others could not quite describe. That was Amparo’s charm, after all, that pizzaz that made her no one other than La Cassano.

In that way, they shouldn’t have been surprised they would butt heads this way. They shouldn’t have been surprised that nothing could deescalate the fight either. Everyone was tired, everyone was grieving. The City was ridden with the Plague, there were no answers and no solutions offered, and for the first time in the almost 20 years Lucio had ruled the inevitable had happened: the Council of Vesuvia wasn’t enough, and now it was too late for them to remove Lucio from power by declaring him unfit to rule. The mechanisms would not work, the tissue of the Court was almost entirely destroyed, and the people were ill and needed food, clean water and doctors.

Their families had decided to all ride this out together in the Palazzo, with the proper health regulations that they could adopt. The building could house them all without problem but more importantly, it would mean they would be together. Many things were said about them, like how nothing mortal could kill them, based on an old, old story of how the Consul’s office had become theirs. It was no less true that the Radošević-Cassano did not survive alone.

So they grouped, they went back home, and with their location inside the walls of the infamous Palazzo Cassano, they took in their closest friends. Their families had begun as friends, marrying between each other was recent, and only a kink of some very specific sets of family members. To them, family wasn’t blood, family was a choice.

They had asked Asra to move in with them, and with that, to relocate Muriel, no one had to know he was in the Palazzo with them, specially not the Count. Asra, however, wanted to leave, and he wanted to convince Amparo, Anatole and Milenko to go with him, so they all would take their stuff and go, and abandon Vesuvia — a City that had never done anything for any of them. There was no point in dying in it, let alone for it.

Naturally, the proposal turned into an argument. Amparo especially would not leave her mother and parent, Amparo would not leave Anzano, their grandparent, as she knew they would not leave Vesuvia. Anzano was old, very old, but still fit for travel; however, they had once been the High Priest of the Sun and had trained the new one, just like their spouse Atilia Cassano, had been the High Priest of the Moon. They wouldn’t leave a City they felt a sense of responsibility towards, and Amparo herself would not desert her family when they needed her.

Milenko had a similar idea. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave when he could help, he couldn’t leave when his mothers would not go, when his grandfather would not go, when his cousins would not go. Unlike Amparo he had no will to argue with Asra, instead, with the help of Anatole they tried to calm it down, so Asra could see where they were coming from, and they could try and answer Asra’s concerns.

It didn’t work. Everyone was strung, stressed and grieving, so it was a matter of time before one of them said the wrong thing, at the wrong time, with whoever the comment had been directed at not wanting to be understanding about it. It was a matter of time before they were all arguing in the ground floor of the Moonstone and Jasmine, all of Asra’s things packed up as he said he was not staying to die in a City like Vesuvia and how anyone with half a mind would do the same.

Milenko saw the point of no return happen in slow motion: Asra’s words collided with nothing other than the behemoth that was the Cassano’s sense of pride. Whatever they had begun, it could not be stopped now.

A lot of accusations flew around. Amparo tried to tell Asra that he couldn’t just expect her to leave the City she had always lived in, the City that she hoped to die in at old age. Asra told her what did she know about losing homes, she who had been born in the Heart District with a silver spoon on her mouth, who had never had to struggle because she always had a roof above her head. Funnily enough, Amparo’s patience ran out when he told her that she couldn’t even cook for herself.

“Do whatever you want. I’m not leaving. If that’s all you think of me, then forget we were ever friends Asra.”

She disappeared into the upstairs of the shop, into its main living quarters.

“Asra, that’s not fair,” Milenko said. His tone was critical, but he still tried to stay as calm as possible. Maybe if Asra could see that he really would be safe—

Then Anatole spoke, his anger raw, yet cold and precise, like a well practiced fencing blow: “What the fuck is wrong with you. If we were a bunch of superior assholes who did everything for our own benefit—”

Asra snapped. “No, but you sure think you’ll save Vesuvia from Lucio just from existing, as if anyone in this city would ever care if you lived or died, Anatole. That’s what you do, don’t you? Pretend like you can fix his mistakes while everyone else suffers from them.”

The silence that fell between the three of them was abrupt, soon ringing in their ears, but when Asra tried to apologise, noticing he had said the wrong thing, it was too late.

Anatole looked like he had been slapped.

“Toly?” Milenko asked, moving closer to his cousin to squeeze his shoulder, wanting to make sure he was okay. Asra’s words had hit one of Anatole’s greatest fears: that no matter how hard he tried, it’d never be enough.

Before he could reach Anatole, his cousin’s face changed. As his features shifted with anger, Anatole spoke again.

Now he was truly and really angry. “You meant that.”

The issue with words was you couldn’t take them back once you said them. All you could do is hope the other person would forgive you and understand if you had misspoken. As Milenko was once again caught between Asra and Anatole arguing, he realised this was one thing Anatole might never forgive. He doubted it was his place to say, yet Milenko didn’t know if he could even advocate for Anatole forgiving Asra’s words, with time.

The issue wasn’t about who was right or wrong. There was no right or wrong, there was no miraculous answer in this unsalvageable situation. It was that Asra had meant it. Part of Anatole’s language magic was this: he was able to read feelings and intentions in spoken words. As a language manipulator, he could tell everything which people (intentionally or otherwise) imbued into words when they spoke, even if he couldn’t tell the why or the how.

Would he be able to carry on if he could feel that after years of showing honesty and vulnerability because you want the other person to know you, this was what they thought at their worst?

The argument didn’t last much longer. Anatole, not wanting to speak, went upstairs to check on Amparo, while Milenko and Asra stood alone on the ground floor of the shop.

The magician began taking his things, preparing himself to leave for real. Milenko followed him, standing outside of the backdoor as he looked at Asra adjusting his travelling coat. Amparo has gotten it for him. It was handmade, Amparo’s gift to Asra two birthdays ago.

“Aren’t you going to say farewell?”

Asra startled, not expecting Milenko standing there. “I thought there was nothing else to say.”

Once again they stood in silence. It felt like forever, even if it was probably just a couple of seconds. They were aware of every moment they lost to silence, looking at each other under the Vesuvian sunset. They felt far away, miles away.

It hurt to realise, more than Milenko was willing to admit, but Anatole had been right: he still remembered when they were arguing about Asra not asking for help about Muriel. They could be as open as they wanted with Asra, but Asra would never step in time with them, even if he wanted to.

Who better than Milenko to know this, and to know that sometimes, it was through no fault of his own.

Asra spoke first. “You think I’m making the wrong choice.”

Milenko pressed his lips together. “I don’t think there’s a right choice. There’s just the best we can do with the options we’re given.”

“You don’t think I could do better with mine?”

“I don’t know, beloved, could you?”

“Don’t— don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry. Force of habit.”

“I forgive you,” Asra said, shifting his weight between his feet. He wanted to say something else, yet he said nothing.

“Asra. I’m not judging you. I already told you I am no one to judge.”

“How can you say that to me at a time like this?”

“What? It’s the truth. I don’t like that you’re leaving and I would never make the choices you are making, and I could give you a piece of my mind and point fingers at you. I am angry, I’m hurt, but nothing I accuse you of will make me feel better. Judging you will not make me feel better, so I won’t. I’ve never done.”

“Sometimes,” Asra said, dislodging his travel bag from his shoulder, “sometimes I wish you did. It would make leaving easier.”

To Milenko’s surprise, Asra crossed the distance between them. Milenko didn’t stop his hand from cupping Asra’s cheek. Asra leaned against it, even if he wished he hadn’t. Asra closed his eyes, tears coming through his closed eyelids.

“You know I won’t ask you to stay,” Milenko said, getting teary himself.

“Just like I know I won’t get you to leave.”

“Just promise me you’ll think about it, Asra. Promise me that at the very least, you’ll try to take good care of yourself.”

Asra opened his eyes, his vision blurred because of the tears. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, letting Faust slither into his arm to stretch herself all the way to say goodbye to Milenko.

Her tongue flicked against his nose, making Asra smile.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself too, please.”

Milenko nodded, Asra saying his farewells before turning around and walking away as fast as he could without breaking into a run. Milenko watched him go, until Ursula, his familiar, nudged him inside.

“May Allah keep you safe, Habibi,” he said to the empty street before closing the door behind him.

#the arcana #asraweek2021 #the arcana oc #milenko #asra alnazar #asra #milasra #like thirst holds water #amparo cassano #aelius anatole #my writing

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bottomvalerius · 4 years ago

Note

I'm curious about your Lucio x Valerius takes, plus I'm feeling chatty!

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

I don’t think I’ve talked too much about them on here so thank you for letting me spill out my brain worms lmfao I’m going to also sprinkle in how I would see Donna fitting in with the two as I don’t think I’ve really explained that either lmao

I’ve mentioned that the devs alluded to their affair being a lapse in judgment for Valerius; I take that as in Lucio pursued him first, and Valerius eventually relented. I see it being very similar to how Lucio and Nadia got together; Lucio can be very charming and flirtatious, coupled with his easy going attitude; all of these things lead to it being very easy to sleep with him lmfao

I know we make jokes about Valerius sleeping his way to the top, but I don’t actually think he did that at all. He’s most likely of noble birth-- he worked for his place as consul. I think after the first time they sleep together, Valerius is mortified. He doesn’t want to be just another common trollop who gives away kisses to get what he wants; he wants to be taken seriously as Consul. I can see him feeling like he ruined his chances of ever being taken seriously again should their affair get out-- this is also why I think he gets so embarrassed any time it comes close to getting out. (I think, though, that more seasoned members of the staff know lmao)

I’ve mentioned in another post that I don’t see Valerius feeling secure in his sexuality in the sense of how many partners he’s had and what he does in the bedroom. I think sleeping with Lucio would only worsen that internal struggle for him.

Lucio, however, loved it! I talked about how Lucio craves attention and validation and that I think their affair would happen right around where his and Nadi’s relationship is turning south. He likes the attention Valerius gives him one-on-one, and I don’t see him being emotionally mature enough to really see how sleeping with him affects Valerius. And again, Valerius is a great liar; not only can he brown-nose Lucio, I can see him fully convincing him that everything is fine.

That being said, I don’t think Val would really have the self-control to stop the affair. Like I said, Lucio is very charming, and Valerius also craves validation from others. I also think he gets a sick sense of pride at “replacing” Nadia; I HC that he’s a lot more adventurous in the bedroom w/ Lucio mainly to one-up her. don’t cha wish ya girlfriend was HOT like me >:3

Despite it seeming like the affair was short-lived (possibly a one-night stand ?), I think the fact that Valerius tried sleeping with Lucio while he was sick is a tell-tale sign their relationship was something bigger than that. I think they would wind up being very co-dependent on each other for very similar reasons. Valerius wants to feel wanted; Lucio wants him, wants anyone, to give him attention. I wouldn’t go all out and say they were in love, but it might have felt that way, you know?

I personally think that Nadia not only didn’t care, but she probably encouraged the affair to keep going (not knowing the guilt Valerius felt with it of course). To use archaic terms, she’s very happy to give Valerius her “wifely duties” if it means Lucio is off her back more often lmao

Okay Donna takes under cut lmfao

I’ve mentioned this in fics + other posts, but the only reason Donna doesn’t sleep with Lucio is because Valerius asks them not to. They all inevitable do a lot of couple stuff together (Nadia/Lucio + Donna/Valerius), but Donna tries to avoid being one-on-one w/ Lucio (whereas they are always alone with Nadia lmao)

This is in part because Valerius knows how easy it is to get caught up in him. He still feels a heavy amount of guilt over the whole thing, and he doesn’t want to let Donna get in the middle of it. He knows it’s a messy affair, but he doesn’t want to stop it just yet. It is a very much “Do as I say, not as I do” situation.

Donna’s main concern is obviously Valerius’s wellbeing; they’re more paranoid of Lucio somehow using the affair against him, as he could do it at any given time. However, they don’t think it’s right to tell Valerius to stop it all together. Valerius knew and was intimate with Lucio before Donna, and they understand that cutting it off would completely upheave Valerius’s entire routine. They’re not jealous of Lucio; they just don’t trust that he’s smart enough to not let it slip and ruin Val’s reputation.

“I don’t want you getting hurt.” “But what about you, Val?” “I’m not going to! This isn’t about me!”

However, Lucio is jealous of the fact that Donna refuses to be with him one-on-one, but they’re totally fine being with Nadia. It creates a lot of unspoken tension between them; Donna is a bit oblivious of Lucio’s feelings, which in turn agitates him more (this is very common for them LMAO). Like a child, Lucio wants everyone to play with him and doesn’t understand why they won’t lmao

#asks #valucio #headcanons #i hope these make sense fishgifhdgdfg #long post

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countessmorgasson · 4 years ago

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Shh! This is a Library~

Spicy Lucio x MC! Lucio didn’t follow m/c to the library for a good read...

Male MC

(Based on Lucio’s route, 🍋 warning)

Even with your nose buried in a book, you can feel Lucio pouting at you.

“If you want to go off while I’m doing this it’s fine,” you say. “I’ll be reading for a while, dear.”

You only hear a groan in response. You break your focus to see Lucio sprawled out across one of the tables, stray books scattered around him. He has a particularly heavy book in his hand, but something tells you he’s not interested in reading it.

“M/c,” he whines. “This place is so boring. Why do you think I’m never in here?”

“Because you have the attention span of a rodent?”

Lucio’s mouth hangs open for a second. It’s enough to distract you from your book as you chuckle at your own joke. You make up for the comment with an apologetic kiss, but you only hear a muffled “hmmph.”

“Did I hit a nerve?”

“..No.” Lucio’s pout flips almost instantly, into your favorite devilish smile. He raises his eyebrows. “I’ll prove you wrong.”

“Oh really?”

“Of course! I’ll sure show you. I can keep my focus.”

You almost didn’t notice the shameless wink he threw your way before you picked your book back up.

It really was a compelling read, you had to admit. Usually with Lucio around you were never able to keep your eyes off anything but him- but this book was damn good. At this point, you figured Lucio would be used to you spending your free time among all these books. After all, someone had to appreciate them.

Maybe it was the book’s fault that you didn’t even see him slip from your eyesight.

At first, you figured he finally went off to entertain himself somewhere else- but the teasing grip on your inner thighs nearly has you flinging the book out of your hands.

“Whoa!”

You hear a sultry chuckle beneath you- and to your amusement you realize where Lucio’s directed his attention to. He’s crouched under the table you sat at, on his knees at your lap. He’s got that blushing smirk on his face...

“Let me show you, m/c.” he teases. “I’m perfectly capable of giving you my undivided attention.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or blush. Lucio was always adventurous with your hookups, but... in the library? It’s not like the room was exclusive to you- Nadia was also an avid reader. She could show up any moment if she wanted to... not to mention, Julian’s stuff was on the desk over. What if he stopped by to pick up some notes?

Yes, all logic pointed to it being a bad idea. Part of you couldn’t just let go of your inhibitions like that- you’d never forgive yourself if anybody caught you red handed.

And yet...

You’re still looking down at Lucio, who’s surprisingly patient in waiting for your response. He’s nearly bright red, biting his lip up at you. His hand is still stroking your thigh through your trousers, gently... and goosebumps are already broken out over your skin...

What’s the harm in a little fun?

“You really don’t want me to finish my book, is that it?”

“Oh, I want you to finish alright.” Lucio bats his eyelashes at you, still expecting your response.

Why are you so frozen? Was it his touch? Is it the fear in the back of your mind- or was that anticipation?

You glance at the door to your right. No one’s stopped by for hours...

“If we get caught, you’re taking the blame.”

Lucio scrambles to lift around your clothing. You scoot closer, picking up your book- you know, just in case. It seemed smart enough to have something to hide your face with...

Warm lips brush against your lower stomach as Lucio gently lifts your tunic upwards. He moans at the taste of your skin, as if he were the one receiving all the pleasure. Your stomach caves in at the sweet sound of his voice.

You’re nearly sweating already, terrified of getting caught- and letting yourself give into the pleasure.

“You’re so hot... and already so hard for me.” Lucio talks through kisses, which are now being planted on your inner thighs. “It’s easy to focus on someone so handsome.”

“You’re loud,” you blush. “We are in a library.”

“You’re in my library. I can be as loud as I want.”

Your eyebrows shoot up at his tone. When did he get so assertive? Not that you’re complaining... what a turn- on. He’s making it easier and easier to forget about the threat of being caught...

Your book slides out of your hands and onto the table when Lucio takes you into his mouth. You moan simultaneously, but you’re the one nearly arching your back and pushing yourself deeper down his throat...

“Lucio...”

He’s got a hard grip on your thigh with his gauntlet, golden claws pinching your skin just enough to tease. His other hand is wrapped around you tightly, as if the feel of his tongue across your skin wasn’t enough to make you nearly burst.

Leaning back in your seat, you find your hand in Lucio’s hair, gently easing him down on you deeper- inducing another moan on his end.

Your heart’s racing. You lean back and shut your eyes- just for a moment. No one’s around... it’s just you and him... you can relax. Give in. Let the pleasure take over...

“I told you,” Lucio’s teasing voice is interrupted by occasional kisses on your thighs, but you only shudder. You weren’t done yet... why is he slowing down?

There’s a new look in his eyes now, as he tilts his chin upwards to look at you. He’s blushing red, lips slightly parted. What’s he waiting for, exactly..?

“I hope you’ve got a few tricks on your sleeve.” His eyes dart to your right, and then you realize it.

Someone’s unlocking the door!

You scramble to scoot back into your seat and pick up your book, but Lucio doesn’t seem to be done with you yet. Oh no. Oh no, no no...

In a fit of panic and embarrassment you muster up some magic at your fingertips- casting an illusion over the entire table. Whoever walks through would only see a stack of books where Lucio would be. It looks stupid, but what was the alternative?

Gods know how long your magic will last though...

“I didn’t realize you were in here, m/c! Sorry if I interrupted your reading. That door’s always been so damn heavy...”

Julian Devorak strolls into the library so casually.

“No worries,” you manage to sputter out. You feel fingers brush against your thighs, but Lucio’s got you entirely in his mouth right now.

The doctor heads straight for his desk. Of course he would. Of course someone had to come in now, of all times.

You’re watching Julian’s every move, silently begging for him to just grab something and rush out. He’s obviously looking for something, based on the way he stares at his desk. He’s muttering to himself, sorting through a mess of papers and books.

Why is he here? Not just the library, but the palace at all. His office may be here, but he hadn’t used it that often.

You’re so frustrated by the interruption you somehow almost forget about your little secret.

...That little secret begins to work with his hands again- in all the places that make you moan. You bite down on your lip, nearly drawing blood to stay silent. You reach to tug at Lucio’s hair, looking down when you’re sure Julian’s back is turned.

Don’t you dare make me come- not when he’s in here.

Lucio had to have known what you were thinking- and naturally, he’d do everything in his power to defy it. With a wink, he begins to suck harder- and you shut your eyes again, desperate to hold it in.

Heat waves ripple through your body, and you’re finding it harder and harder to control your breathing. Even the slightest part in your lips would lead to a moan- and you just can’t. Not now...

Damn it Julian, leave!

“Are you looking for something?” Your voice is nearly an octave higher when you blurt out the words. Julian’s obviously still rummaging through his desk, but you bury your face in your book again, your cheeks burning red enough for anyone to take notice.

Ah...

“Mmm...” As if you couldn’t be more horrified, Lucio’s moaning echoes within the walls. You could laugh. Part of you wants to, but you’re so fucking close.

Not yet, not yet, not yet...

“You okay over there, my friend?” Julian approaches you with a handful of papers in his hand.

Oh thank the gods! He got what he was looking for. Go! Get out of here... please...

“I’m...” You can’t even speak. You just nod and rest your head against your open book, ready to admit defeat.

It feels too good. It always just sneaks up on you like that, doesn’t it? Especially when you’ve been so worried and embarrassed... you barely had time to savor the sensation.

You’re teetering on the edge, using all of your strength to control your breaths...

“Must be a hell of a story you’re reading,” Julian’s hidden smile makes your heart leap into your chest. “I gotta run. I don’t really want to run into the count. I’m surprised he’s not... here with you. Talk to you later.”

He’s barely closed the door behind him when you come.

It’s like your entire body became aware of the situation, and the moment you let yourself relax in the slightest- all the tension leaves from your body.

“Ah- Lucio!”

You’re both moaning now- oblivious to the room around you once again as you grab hold of Lucio’s hair and tug. Despite a surprised groan, he doesn’t stop until you’re nearly begging for mercy, back arched once again and your fingers too tense to hold your grip on his hair.

Your head tilts back as you face the ceiling, dizzy from the wave of euphoria.

“Well?” A hearty, confident chuckle cuts through the haze. “What do you have to say to that?”

Lucio rises and plants a kiss on your forehead after admiring your expression. For a moment you wonder how you must look. Red as hell, most likely, and desperate to catch your breath... not to mention your pants are still undone.

There’s no way someone could look at you and think you were just enjoying a good book.

“You proved me wrong.” You play into his attitude- he’s definitely earned it, after all. Lucio puffs up his chest, but his hair is so disheveled it makes you giggle.

“Can you believe Jules walked in on that? I thought we’d actually get caught.”

Now the embarrassment comes back to you tenfold.

“Do you think he noticed anything?” You both seem to know the answer to that.

“Jules?” Lucio scoffs, but his smile wavers. “Nah! ...yeah- no. Definitely not.”

Great.

#the arcana #the arcana fic #the arcana smut #lucio x mc #lucio #count lucio #montag morgassson #smut #my writing #mine #lemon #🍋

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yesvaldemarharder · 5 years ago

Text

NSFWs W/ The Arcana

I’ve decided it’s been a while since I’ve posted on this account so uh...yeah my bad. However, to repay that I’m making this! (You guys should send in requests because what am I supposed to write if y’all don’t send shit in? I wanna know y’all kinks dammit!)

Anyway here you guys go, I’ll be doing the mains and the courtiers.

I’m doing: D for Asra, R for Julian, G for Portia, X for Muriel, Y for Nadia, W for Vulgora, V for Volta, C for Valdemar, O for Vlastomil, S for Lucio, and M for Valerius.

P.s if any of y’all see a clean nsfw alphabet palette send it to me so I can reblog it

Asra

Asra has a lot of dirty secrets but when he wrapped his hand around your throat one time he actually scared himself. You both had been all over each other.

His hands squeezing at you’re hips, you on your hands and knees shaking, sweating, and panting as you could feel his cock stretching the hole of your womanhood.

How it was tight his naked chest on you sweaty back as he leaned down kissing your neck moving his hands down to fist the sheets as you moved against him, gasping each time his cock would graze your g-spot. Legs shaking for release.

He pace was slow at first but giving you firm sharp thrust, his cock heavy with sperm as he panted lightly against your back.

It was becoming to much, his hot body against your own fucking you like the good girl you was. You surprised him a little when you started to wiggle and moved your hand back to grab his thigh underneath his ass which he shivered at as you pushed your hips firmer against him swooning when the meaty head of his dick slipped into your cervix.

“O-oh Asra I don’t think I can hold it!~” you would whimper before out of nowhere he’d wrap his strong hand around your throat pulling you back until he sat on his legs and you in his lap. His thrust turning brutal as his other cups your breast twisting and teasing the nipple.

You’ll cry out ‘yes!’ As drool slips down your chin and your belly visibly bulges at every hard thrust.

Your sounds are choked up, restricted and yet so inviting. You’re about to cum letting out broken cries as tears soak your cheeks falling down, his hand tightens as he’s giving that one last thrust holding you tightly before he’s cumming filling your womb expecting have you pregnant by tomorrow it seems lol! (I’m wet af thinking to this I hope you guys are happy..)

He lets out a mix of a gasp and growl before loosening his hold, you both falling forward in a sweaty heap. His arms wrapping around you hugging you as you give a breathless giggle.

“I didn’t know you liked choking~”

You’ll coo and he’ll blush a deep red hiding his face in your shoulder before huffing letting out a tired chuckle.

“I didn’t either~”

Julian

When you yank him away from the bar, mind buzzing with alcohol and horniness he yelps.

At first he thinks your angry, or maybe even ready to go home in general but after seeing the lustful look in your eyes he’s blushing. Are you really about to fuck right now? Where though?! The only place that’s hidden at the bathrooms which aren’t that trustworthy since it’s a bar.. people are always in the bathroom.

You pull him into the girls bathroom and he practically squeals, you didn’t even bother to lock the door before your own him jumping on him as you both tumble down to the floor. He’s flustered, one part of him doesn’t want to do this, him being a little protective of anyone seeing your body except him even if it’s another girl. Another part is him before rock hard in his pants.

He moans, arching off the floor as you kiss his neck sucking on the flesh until there’s a big bright hickie that the whole world can see.

He’s hard, cock twitching in his pants pressing against your belly. Fuck it, he didn’t care if someone saw. All he cared about was you choking him out as you rode his dick.

He’ll risk anything for you.

Portia

Is hella goofy after sex. You’ll be tired, her sitting up, hair drifting down her shoulders, body naked and gleaming with a light layer of sweat. This girl will literally like her lips after eating you out like some beast and say

“Oh dear, no wonder I like kitties huh?”

Sure maybe not the best joke but you aren’t sure if your surprised but the words or embarrassed so quickly you hide your blushing face from you lover as she hugs you tight letting out a loud cackle.

P.s I don’t really like Portia in that way so sorry it’s super short. I’m just writing this one time.

Muriel

His cock is a fucking monster. How could it not be?

You gagged, a heavy blush on your cheeks as you sat on your knees, eyes in his flustered face as he watching you. It hurt your mouth and it was heavy on your tongue. Your tongue licking over the large trembling veins. He was bigger than average maybe 10 inches and he was wide.

You could smell it, a nice musky or burnt wood scent filling your nostrils as you slowly lowered your head, your hand shakily gripping your hair as he lets out a low moan leaning his head back sitting on the bed as you held his hips open with your much smaller hands.

You bobbed your head, anything that obviously couldn’t fit you wrapped your hand around it squeezing and jerking.

His hips might nick by accident, your eyes widening and tears rolling down your rosy cheeks. You move your other hand down, sliding it into your panties feeling the slickness, rubbing your digits over your clit making you moan around the head making him whimper.

Your fingers are in you now thrusting making a sloppy sound as your eyes drift shut. You yelp when he’s cumming, thick long spurts shooting down your throat and it rough, like someone hitting your throat but oh you love the taste. You’ll squirt on you fingers gagging a little as cum floods your mouth dripping down your chin but you find a way to swallow it which leaves him shocked.

He wanted you to spit it out but he could say he didn’t like the view..

Nadia

Nadia may not show it but she yearns for you a lot. It’s just something she can’t help especially when you both are working around others.

It’s been weeks since you and Nadia has done anything even remotely sexual, either always tired or you were too nervous to ask. It’s only when one day you both are taking a bath and your back is to her.

Maybe your speaking about how you might have saw a mermaid at the docks or maybe it’s about how foolish Julian can be even though he of course was still your friend. You rant and the water stirs, you don’t really mind it, maybe Nadia was rinsing her hair and at the thought you turn excited to ask her if she needs help.

You miss touching her but work always got in the way and you were scared of her turning you down which would never happen but it was an everlasting thought you had.

Before you can turn you’ll feel her breast on your back, hips pressed against your own. One of her arms slithers around and cups your chin making you tilt your head to look at her while the other is own your lower belly gently rubbing circles.

You feel a sudden burst of heat thanks to her touches and as you look into her eyes you see pain, love, and yearning. So much yearning. You blush deeply letting out a cute little whimper which she leans down kissing your lips.

“N-Nadi~”

“Shh shh, I know darling. Quickly now.”

She order letting you go and quickly you swim over to the edge and slip out of the water sitting on the edge. The droplets running down your body has her following you like a predator on a prey, her long hair swaying in the water as droplets rum down her as well.

You’re not sure what she’ll do but you’ve wanted this for a while now and now that no one was watching she was going to give it to you.

Her hands are spreading your thighs cooing as she looks at your pussy. You want to say it’s just water running down the folds but both and you and her know that’s a fucking lie.

She be down there, tongue licking a slow line before her mouth engulfed you, flicking her tongue over your clit and submerging it in you hot wet cavern as if she wants to eat you...and baby, it seems like she hasn’t eaten in weeks!

If ya know what I’m saying.

Of course you do... perv.

You don’t last long, not with all the talent that she holds. It it’s too long later when your hands are in her hair pulling as you cry out her name, your cream falling out onto her tongue as she watches your every twitchy move, like a beast in the night.

When she’s stressed you better be ready to handle her when your both alone.

Lucio

Your pushing on his chest, tears soaking the pillow your head was currently, nipples rock hard, pussy spasming around his meaty cock.

His eyes are focused in on you watching you break down under him, grabbing at him crying out for him like your life depended on it, like you couldn’t live without him. A thought he liked a lot.

He had held another masquerade, people flocking all over to dance and eat his food. He grew bored however answering questions an dealing with annoying guest and so he decided to search you, his lover, out. When he had found you you had been converting without someone who absolutely didn’t mean shit to him. In a flurry he whisked you away somewhere more hidden and quiet pinning you up against the wall immediately sucking your neck and pressing between your thighs.

You had been surprised at first but give in giving a little pout. How could you resist such a snack? And then you both were in the bedroom.

Your first orgasm was lovely, each one was until you hit your fifth...now

This...This is your sixth orgasm! He’s still bucking, a savage smirk on his lips as his hips slam down once more, his cock breeding you, digging deep into your guts as you drool, cheeks a deep red.

“L-Lucio!~”

You’ll cry at his animalistic thrust to which he’ll lean down and capture one of you nipples in his heated mouth. You swoon, his tongue rolling and flicking the bud until his teeth liftly nips if.

It hurts and yet it feels so good, his gauntlet has a firm grip on the sheets next to you and his hand hand is rubbing circles on you rock hard clit, your hips shaking violently on their own. You nails dig into his chest and he loves it, red lines running all the way down his strong, white chest.

He’s sweaty, skin layered in the salty goodness, his hair swinging in his face - some strands sticking to his head. He’s letting out rabid breaths, abs curling with each hard thrust his gives.

You cry out, back arching as you cum again coloring his cock in your cream pie, squeezing him like a vice as you lay breathless, boneless, and wrecked. You can’t anymore... he hasn’t even cummed once!

And then he does and the sperm is so heavy you swear you sink into the bed a little. His hands are roughly gripping your thighs as he brings a harsh kiss down kissing your lips as he slams in deep wanting to make sure not a single drop fell out. He’s on you slowly pulling out, you can feel his tired cock leaving your wrecked pussy, he pulls your hips up over his thighs making sure the cum didn’t slip out and stain the sheets.

He’ll start to chuckle and you’ll send a look with is in between a pout and a glare. Gently he’ll kiss you purring against your body as he hugs you close.

“Sorry darling, I was excited.”

Courtiers UwU

Volta

You love hearing her sweet moans, she’ll grab your hair with her smaller hands, careful not to dig his nails into your scalp as you sitting between her trembling legs.

Her dress pulled up over her hips and panties pulled aside as you start at her clit, tongue laying flat on the heated sex before you take the clit in your mouth.

You blush hearing her loud cry, you had barely did anything and she’s already arching as though you had your fingers in her. She’s cute though and you can’t help but chuckle feeling her legs tighten around your head, hips rolling as she cry’s out again

Yeah it’s gonna be a long night

Vlastomil

He’s fucking good, at giving. He loves receiving as well but he’s a soft boy, he wants to taste your every chance he gets.

Your at his manor, in his lap, your hands cupping his cheeks as you kissing him humming each time his hands gripped your hips or pinched the skin.

You’re wet and he’s hard, your eyes closed as you run your hand through his hair, rolling your hips slowly and firmly over the bulge in his pants. His robes already off, discarded onto the floors leaving his chest naked which is surprisingly very firm, it’s lean but you can feel the muscles as he pulls you closer.

He’s blushing a deep red as your tongue licks his bottom lip, you bite the flesh pulling it playfully in your teeth. Him pushing you back onto the bed in sudden.

Your only in panties and one of his shirts that hung on you no matter your height or weight. He grips your thighs and for a second you’re a bit surprised but you can quickly see where this is going and you can’t help but smirk as he puts your legs over his shoulders.

He has two tongues and god damn does he know how to use them! When your panties are practically ripped off his kissing your thighs. It doesn’t matter if you has stretch marks or not, he’s all over you.

You watch this with lustful eyes as you takes an area close to your heat into his mouth, teasing you as he sucks and nips the flesh until there’s a dark bruise and now your biting your bottom lip reaching down to pet him. Running your hands through his hair.

The process is agonizingly slow, your core hot with need but his actions to cover you with hickies is greater than actually eating you out. Before you can whine about it he’s sinking not only one, but both his tongues into you.

Your eyes roll, lungs losing their air for a second as your hand tightened in his hair. He moans loudly causing vibrations and uncontrollably your legs twitch, jumping up at the feeling. They’re long and thick and their quick as well, pumping you with hard thrust.

Soon your sent into a frenzy, he loves your so much. You taste lovely on his tongues and he’s watching you fall apart happy he could oblige. He of course wanted you to suck his dick after which of course you would do since he’s your lover but he really did love watching you like this which explained why he did it so much.

Valerius

Drunk teasing.

Do not touch him. It’s one thing that he’s probably drunk, it’s another for you to be teasing him at the same time.

Your hands at tied behind your back, shivers running up and down you as you can hear him getting stripped, fabrics falling to the floor. You’re forced to stay in a mounting position, hips up face down. Your embarrassed, you can feel slick running down the inner of your thighs. You nipple hard and skin tingling with anticipation.

You had been messing with him to whole day, grabbing his hair, rubbing his chest, sitting in his lap, kissing his neck and what made it worse was when he warned you not to do as such and you did. It left him flustered and angry at the same time, you teasing him as if his words were just a game.

He eventually dragged you off throwing toy on your shared bed, which led to you being tied and practically having your clothes ripped off.

He’s behind you now, you can feel his body weight adding to yours making the bed sink. Your anxious and without much thought you wiggle your butt which recieves a hard slap that makes you gasp loudly sending you forward a little. There’s a sting now and he gripped the reddened flesh leaning over your back to growl into your ear.

“Slut, shaking your ass for me. Be patient.”

You whimper feeling his heat, his cock back there throbbing. You want it, you want it bad and honestly you don’t want to have a punishment! You’re so fucking wet that you need him now. So what’s the only thing you know will make him lose his cool? His daddy and breeding kink.

“D-Daddy~”

You whimper and his hand immediately stops, his gaze lifting to look at your eyes from over your shoulders. Your pleading for him to fuck your guts and with the ragged breath he let out it seemed like he was going to do it.

You let out a loud moan when his thumbs spread your pussy open, his body leaning back so he can stare at your cervix, his cock shooting out a load of precum. You nuzzle you pillows, blushing deeply as you reflexed. Your hole tightening a little before staying open. You hear him let out a groan and before you know it he’s pushing his thick head in making you bite down on the pillow you have been nuzzling.

He’s slowly at first but then he slams in, filling your cunt with his size. You jerk letting out a high pitched cry as he slams in and out watching you struggle to control your noises and movements. His hands are on you hips now watching your back with an annoyed but loving gaze nonetheless.

“H-Hard!~ Ah, cum in me d-daddy! Give me your babies!”

He’s a little surprised at first but damn does it get him riled up. His thrust sharp and firm.

He’s in you for nearly 30 minutes but you toss your head back, hips rolling as drool fell from your lips. Orgasm crashing over you like a tsunami. It leaves you shaken and whimpered before he gives a few more hard thrust before filling you to the brim with his cum.

Vulgora

Uh oh. They’re jealous of you and that twink you talk to. I reality you both are just friends but in Vulgora’s head that mother fucker wants to breed you like some sort of slut. Which is obviously THEIR job and no one else’s!

They have you pinned, your hanging off the bed a bit, your top half on the bed however your bottom half isn’t. You legs wrapped around their waist as they growl.

You already knew where this was going and you loved it. Today you had been hanging with your friend again, the smallest action had the Pontifex angry with murderous rage. Your friend had kissed your hand, simply wishing you farewell as you stood in front of Vulgora’s manor where they watched the whole scene.

There goes another body for their hit list they supposed.

They’ll walk over to you and without toss you their shoulder before running into the manor. You yelp surprised blushing a bit when they pin you. It hits you hard and you give a wide smirk as they glare.

“What, what’s so funny pet?!”

They’ll snarl and you’ll coo leaning up kissing their neck to which they shuddered. Eyes slanted and cat like.

“You’re jealous~”

They’ll bite down on your shoulder making it bleed but you love it. An arch coming from as your legs tighten around their waist. You’ll moan and they grunt before licking the wound marking you.

“Of course I am!” They yell in your face and now your panting under them like the bitch you are. You roll your hips and they pause before growling against your skin. Something in their pants wiggles and then gets hard, you feel it prodding at you between the legs.

You purr before they literally rip off you pants and fuck the shit out of you.

Valdemar

Oh boy this is my favorite! I love em so much smh.

Valdemar is sadistic and that comes into everything they do even sex with you. They can form anything much like the Pontifex but they summon multiple as well.

They’re holding your leg up with one hand, their claw digging into the flesh of your meaty thigh, their other hand holding you down by your neck as they use their leg to keep your other leg open, stopping your thighs from snapping closed while their between them.

Your letting out loud moans as they rolled their hips, nails digging into your throat choking you out. They smile a wide smile, a dark blush coloring their cheeks as the watch you with complete fascination.

You’re gripping the head board with your free hand. The tentacle in you is long, fat, and feral. The thrust are hard, teasing. You squirted a couple of times, each one leaving you shaking and teary eyed. You wanted them to stop but Valdemar wasn’t stopping not after what you said earlier.

You grinned and they lifted a brow as you came up wrapping your arms around their waist hugging their chest. Curiously your fingers ran down their chest feeling, tweaking, and caressing them. They turned away shuddering when you purred. They were too tall for you to lick their ear but standing on your tiptoes you kiss their neck where they were wrapped up.

“Sensitive today aren’t we?~”

You teased and they huffed turning in your arms cupping your cheeks with their hands. You purr and they lifted a brow.

“Are you trying to start something my little human?”

They spoke back leaning down. You pulled their mask down kissing their lips. It surprised them, their eyes wide but soon they kissed back, your hand moving up to grab one of their horns. They shudder again and maybe they tried to hold back but as you whispered against them they accepted their challenge.

Leaving you in the situation you were currently in.

Their hips snapped forward again and you cried, choking once more. Every now and then their hand would loosen letting you take in much needed air before they tighten it again. They lean down in your face giving you a hard kiss as you try to return it, you lips clashing with theirs before you sink your tongue into their mouth in a sloppy kiss. They’ll growl pulling back a little.

“What more my dear?~”

They’ll hum and before you can answer a second tentacle prods at your ass before sliding in. They watch as you toss your head back gasping, your hand that had been on the headboard moves pushing on their naked sweaty chest weakly. It’s too much and it’s so hot and you feel another orgasm coming.

“V-Valdemar!~ Val!~”

You wheeze and oh shit.. you’re cumming. You tremble, your shaking all over, cream flowing out of you. Valdemar takes mercy before giving one last sharp thrust sending a burst of sticky cum. It fills you, your belly bulging and they groan loosening their hand.

I imagine their cum is inky black and sticky or maybe slimy. If you guys want cum headcanons just ask!

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sheriff-caitlyn · 4 years ago

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//Just some thoughts on Seraphine, starting with some of my friends’ reactions on her being release (because technically I don’t go here anymore).

//Let’s start off with one of my fave Ahri’s responses:

//I mean, *chef’s kiss*, a member of a celebrity company apologising and taking responsibility for mistakes but moving forward, while distancing themselves from the Problem? Good. Very good.

//It was at this point I realised Seraphine had been released to be Piltovian and my brain flatlined for a moment. I can see Riot wanted to make a Lucio Overwatch but there is a significant layer of context that is missing in order to make that possible, let alone believable. What’s she going to do, give Camilla a Pepsi and suddenly Piltover and Zaun are at peace?

//Girl you have released ONE album and it is BECAUSE of Ahri that you’re even here. She’s got lines for all the KDA members that seem undercut with smugness, too. And hey, doesn’t it seem weird that Seraphine throws so much shade...

//... ala Mean Girls, when she’s supposed to be this sugar-sweet hard-working uwu type? See back to my post from Vi, there; seems like Seraphine isn’t as sweet as her stage persona, and now that she’s getting attention a lot more of that two-faced bitchiness is going to come out. The kind of ‘I got here so now I can do what I want’ attitude is tired and irritating and I’m sick of seeing this being the only way that media portrays Complicated Female Characters.

//And on related note, I know there’s been so many retcons and redoing of lore but if she’s using brackern crystals for her own personal gain...? Well, this [x] source quoting a facebook group got it right, all the way back in September:

//‘We’ll sing their elegy’ is such a milquetoast thing to say, and feels to me somewhere along the lines of ‘if you work hard you can make it in this world, just like I did when my dad let me work for his company and my mother loaned me thirty-five grand to get started’. Hypocritical, at the very least.

//Jokes about her slaughtering an endangered species for fame and power aside... she had the potential to be interesting. But now she’s out she’s honestly nothing except more ways for Riot Games to make $40 a pop. Kudos to anyone trying to RP her but I really don’t see how she fits in as a ‘champion’ when she has nothing to commend her to that title. She’s just a girl who lied and stole her way to stardom with a goal that is so fluffy, and so fake-woke, it cannot possibly be taken seriously. I don’t see that as worthy of being considered a ‘Legend’. She’s just a girl, guys. Just a girl.

//Anyway I’m sorry that the Drawing On Twitter has anxiety but she’s more problematic than fave, and is a reflection of her company as a whole: demanding attention while doing nothing new, kind, involved, or interesting.

//Oh and one more thing, while we’re at it...

//Cute. A twitter account for a champion? Wonder where they got the idea for that?

//I mean I started here before I made a twitter account for her but anyway. (I see you, Skyen, and I’m not pleased to be lumped in with that particular generalisation).

#seraphine #ooc #ooc post #that's all I'll say about that

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thecardsimagine · 5 years ago

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The Tale of the Fog Village

Summary: Venturing out of your foggy village, all you wanted was to save everyone from the looming threat that cowered in the forest. No one could have known what you would encounter in your quest to achieve that, how much you’d gain, and what you would lose. Not you. Not him.

Pairing: Lucio x Reader (Nonbinary) Rating: Mature because of swearing and suggestive content Warning: Blood, Death Genre: Romance, Drama, Fantasy, Action, Alternate Universe

Back to the Prologue / [Read on Ao3] / Next Chapter

____________________________

a/n: Hi guys! Got the time to sit down and correct my finished chapters again, so I thought I’d post this now! If you have any thoughts on it, please let me know! And if you could share it around, I’d be very grateful to you! ____________________________

Chapter 5 - The Patrol of the Keeper

You couldn’t remember when you fell asleep. At first, there had been more rustling and heavy breathing around you, but eventually, the area around the cave had calmed. Somewhere between feeling like you could not utter a breath and the curiosity to look outside, you must have closed your eyes, wishing everything to just go away.

It wasn’t quite fair to the voice - the ominous ‘Lucio’ - that you had managed to nap away, but aside from the uncomfortableness and the stiff neck, you were still glad you could have caught up on some more sleep.

“Aha, look who decided to wake up again,” you heard it pout in your head. Groggy, you brought one hand up to brush back your hair and warm your neck for a little while, a quiet groan rumbling off your lips. “How can you even sleep in such a situation?”

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Sorry, I don’t know why that happened. It just came over me…” You stretched out, arms and legs letting out cracks and pops before you stumbled to your feet, carefully approaching the exit of the cave. Stopping, you couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of fear, making you take a step back and ask, “Is it safe now?”

“It’s been safe for a while,” the voice practically hissed into your conscience. “Alright, alright. I get it,” you sighed.

Stepping outside, you felt the wind blow through your clothes and hair, swaying them to the side, while you took a deep breath. Taking in the fresh air, you noticed your stomach rumbling, feeling quite empty after all the time. Reaching into your bag, you pulled out the piece of stale bread, working under your coat to break a part off, and leaving you some for a later point in time. You hoped it would still be edible by then, but the hard piece crunching in your jaw was enough to satisfy your hunger for now.

A small cough slipped from your lips as the dryness hit your throat, but you were quick to cover it up by burying your face in your coat. “So what was that?” you asked, munching away on the bread and looking around. Your eyes fell on the ground, seeing the oppressed plants that seemed to have been stepped on by something. Something... big.

“Woah,” you muttered, cautiously stepping closer to what you could make out as a footprint. With one foot, you stepped into it, immediately lifting again to see the differences between the two marks on the ground, shuddering lightly. Not even one toe of the footprint could you fill with one length and wide of your foot, and suddenly, what Lucio said about there being things that were worse than animals seemed very true.

“Will you stop wasting time?” the voice picked up again, sounding like a scolding parent to a child.

“It’s just SO big,” you pointed out, vaguely gesturing the form of it with your hands.

“And it’s not that important, alright? Pretty sure that you don’t really want to find out what it was. But if we stay here, it might come back, and I am not sure you will like that.”

Shaking your head, you agreed with a sigh, letting yourself be pointed into the next direction. By the time you managed to get back to the spot that you two had decided to abandon for a break the last time, the early evening signs were visible and audible. Finally, the birds tweeting returned, accompanied by the hooting of some owls here and there.

The fog had been lifted - if you believed what Lucio said, since a while already - and the forest was soaked into an orange light from the setting sun. A fine evening, how you found, though you couldn’t help the feeling of dread. There was a deep want in you to just throw everything away and go back still, especially with the night coming. And the voice didn’t help calm your worries either.

“I am just saying-” you muttered, making a wide step over a root that was sticking out of the ground. “-if there really are monsters, I am not sure if I am fit for the purpose. Maybe one of those guards who made really loud steps yesterday would be? We could ask them, and-”

“Get killed, so your mother can’t retrieve nothing more than your skull from them if she dares? Great idea. Highly recommended,” it interrupted you, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

“Okay, new idea…” you muttered, trying to come up with something else. “I will guess what that monster was, and you tell me if I am right or not.”

“We don’t have time for this. If you have the energy to talk, why don’t we go a little faster.”

“Aw… So, a bear?”

“Did you even listen?” it huffed, clearly annoyed. However, you were determined to get some information as it was only fair since you were the one running around with a monstrosity on the loose.

“Yes or no?”

It sighed. “No.”

“A… crocodile?”

“A what?”

“Crocodile? Live in big rivers. I’ve read about them in books! They have scales and are green and got massive teeth-”

“Well, I’ve been here a while, and I think I would have noticed those things. But I will admit I am intrigued.”

Giggling, you brought your hands together, wringing them while you thought about what else could it be. “What about the ‘The Keeper’?” you asked without thinking too much, the words carelessly leaving your thoughts while you tried to come up with more possibilities. Only when the voice started to question it, you realized what you had just said.

“Sometimes, you do not make a whole lot of sense, Child.”

Sighing, you gave a silent apology and prayer that you didn’t just dig your own grave. There were still lingering suspicion, and ‘Lucio’ had done nothing else but confirm that you had every right to feel that way. Maybe it was stupid to bring up something like this old story, told in your village whenever the fog rose. “I-It’s nothing. Just a fairytale…”

“Well, now you have to tell me. That’s only fair!”

You sighed inwardly. There hadn’t been much fairness between you two so far, really. It was just a voice urging you around the forest to do a lot of risky things, in your opinion. It was as far away from fairness as you were from your village. Biting your lip in hesitation, you thought about how to explain the situation without sounding superstitious and childish, the last two things you wanted the voice to point out to you now.

“Ah… damn it,” you cursed, feeling yourself giving in to its curiosity.

“Well, we have a lot of fog in the village, right? And the elders… well, I guess it’s just hard to explain what fog is to little kids, so they made up this story about the ‘Keeper’.”

“Go on,” the voice encouraged while you tried to wrangle your way out of a thorny bush without getting stung too much.

“Just…” you groaned, getting frustrated over your clothes being stuck in the thorns. When you finally freed yourself, you sighed deeply, thinking back about how the story went in detail. If you were going to tell it, you were at least going to do it right.

“So apparently there was a person, or so. Everyone views them a little differently. Some say they are an ancient being, and some say it is just a human, cursed and bound to the forest and the village.”

You made a short break, evaluating if you had your own opinion to add to this, but you found none to share. In reality, you found the story a little unbelievable and exaggerated yourself, thus you thought it would be quite boring to tell and hear it now from you. For a moment, you wanted to add something like a cool detail, but it just wouldn’t come to you on how to make the tale a little bit more exciting.

“Anyhow, that… being apparently was very selfish, and it decided it wanted a village all to itself. So it led some unknowing people into a forest, where it wouldn’t let them escape anymore, and they eventually build a village and stayed there. And that village is supposed to be my village.”

Taking a deep breath, you kept your eyes on the ever-darkening path before you. Or really, no path anymore, just thicket that the voice wanted you to conquer despite your complaints and exhaustion. You couldn’t help the frown appearing on your face as you continued with the probably worst part of the tale.

“And because it didn’t want anyone to get in or get out for whatever reason, it created the fog, so that the people would lose their orientation and scurry back to hide in their save village. That’s why it’s called ‘Keeper’ and the rising of fog every now and then is called ‘The Patrol of the Keeper’. Makes sense now?”

There was another moment of silence from the voice as it probably was thinking about your story. You had almost shrugged off the possibility to get any reaction from it, until it suddenly echoed back into your mind, sounding like a disapproving mumble.

“No, it can’t be that either.”

“Well, what is it then?” you asked, feeling irritated again. It was strange enough to talk to someone in your head, but its one-sided conversation were slowly but surely getting on your nerves. “You know, I feel like you know a lot more than you are saying,” you pointed out, hoping to find a weak spot. But the voice only huffed indifferently.

“I am just saying that it’s not that ‘Keeper’ thing. It really doesn’t matter if you just keep walk-”

You stopped. Pausing your steps, you took a deep breath, just standing there in the forest, which slowly grew darker as the time passed. “Ah ha ha, very funny. What are you doing there?” it complained, voice filled with sarcasm. You just shrugged. “Well maybe…” you thought out loud, a smile returning to your lips. “Maybe I will just stand here until you tell me what it was.”

“What?!” it almost shrieked, and you felt the pain in your head from how loud it was.

“You can’t just stand there! What if it catches up to you? Do you want to end up as fodder for a monster?!”

“I don’t have to,” you responded, staying still. Of course, you found the thought of becoming some monster food unnerving, and without question, you’d have liked to go hide again, but if you were to only ever give in to what the voice said, you were nothing better than a slave doing tasks. Someone without your own will and without standing up for yourself.

You never knew what was going on with the voice. The lack of a face and body language made it hard to interpret the silent pauses it sometimes threw in, probably retreating from your mind willingly as to not reveal something to you it didn’t want you to know. Lifting your arms to your head, you rebraided your braid, making it a little tighter. You could feel how your muscles were aching, especially your stiff neck and thighs. How nice it would have been to take a bath now or apply some herbs to help with the aches, but you weren’t sure if you could get either in the forest.

“O-Okay, fine!” it finally relented, sounding surprisingly nervous the longer you stood there.

“So you will tell me?”

“Yes, but only if you keep moving!”

“Hm… I am not sure…”

You felt a sudden rough push into your back, the wind lashing out to you again. “Ouch!” you complained, stumbling forward and looking back in annoyance, though, of course, there was nothing to direct your anger on except the view of trees and bushes wherever you looked. “Don’t test me!” it hissed, and you rolled your eyes, feeling the frustration build from having to be the one to relent again.

Picking up the steps, you rubbed your lower back where you had felt the hit, clicking your tongue as you touched the exact spot and felt a sting. “That really hurt…”

“W-Well it’s not my fault if you decide to be so stubborn!”

“Just tell me, damnit!” you demanded, getting angrier and angrier with the voice. “Is it the Keeper? Is that why you are so hesitant to tell me? If that story is true, I can take it, it can’t be THAT bad-”

“No, I already told you it can’t be!” it growled back. You had to take a deep breath to not let the irritation get the best of you and accidentally lash out.

“But what else? You just keep saying ‘no’ but you saw that footprint, right? It was massive!”

“Of course, I saw it! B-but… it still cannot be that ‘Keeper’-thingy! Stop insisting on it!”

“Well, why don’t you stop being so sensitive about the topic! You insisted on knowing about it!”

“Yes, okay? I did want to know!”

Letting out a groan, you found it almost harder than anything you did ever before to not cry from frustration. All you wanted was at least one clear answer. All the mysteries were getting very tiresome. “I don’t know anything that would leave those footprints… If it can’t be an animal, it must be something like the Keeper, right? A human cursed to keep the people in the forest, that description would fit a monster.”

“Last time now,” it hissed, and you could hear its anger swell too. “It cannot be the Keeper.”

“Why?” you asked, even though you couldn’t help the exhaustion show in your voice. You didn’t even expect an answer anymore, it was a useless fight to have with an entity in your head, but you were fed up with its less than cohesive answers and its belittling of you. So less than anything you expected it to answer you, even if it was a whisper through ground teeth on the voice’s side.

“Because if there’s anything like that Keeper here, then that would be me.”

#lucio #lucio the arcana #the arcana lucio #the arcana #The Arcana Game #the arcana scenarios #The Arcana headcanons #the arcana fanfiction #the arcana imagine #The Arcana imagines #count lucio #Montag Morgasson #Fantasy!AU #lucio x reader #AU!The Arcana #AU #Fanfiction #OW

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localcultleadr · 5 years ago

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My dirty little secret ( apprentice x Lucio ) 1/5

« Milady,

I'm afraid that the Count's state is worsening quite badly, more and more everyday. More than just a global physical weakness due to the plague, I fear that the isolation is eating his sanity away as he's now talking about a ghost visiting him while the nurses are away. He even gave it a name, talking about what he learnt from it and joking about how he's going to be the first one to bed a spirit.

Mistress, we can't no longer talk about a brief delirium here, it's been weeks. I would be happy to say that it's a sign of magical enlightment but on his death bed, it can only means bad news.

The end is near, Countess. At least, he doesn't seem too upset about it.

S. Marigold, Head nurse. »

Said note was laying around, forgotten on Nadia's desk, in a pile with all of her sisters that the Countess had yet to read. It wasn't that the health of her husband wasn't a concern of her but now that she was the only regent in Vesuvia she had little to no time to spend on herself, and even less for him. She would obviously inquire about his state when having lunch with the good doctor and Asra but right now, she was stuck handling political matters with the courtiers in regarding the plague that was spreading all around. She didn't have time to think about her husband when she had to make sure that Vesuvia wouldn't crumble under this curse.

The note would have to lay around a bit longer.

Lucio, for once, didn't care about the fact that his wife wasn't spending time at his side, or that Asra and Julian were avoiding him even more. Sure, he couldn't say that he didn't miss their presence but, like always, he retaliated and replaced them. At least that's how he convinced himself that he didn't need anyone right now, snuggling in his heavy blanket, shutting his eyes hard to try to forget the pounding pain in them, sign of the plague spreading.

Tears were falling along his cheeks. Not because he was sad of some sort. Not because he was alone and slowly dying with little to no hopes to ever be cured, particulary not that his doctor seemed to prefer spending time with his wife instead of working on a cure or visiting him. And especially not because he was so scared of death itself. If he was crying, it was merely a physical reaction due to the pain. At least that was how he tried to convince himself, and failing, as he was sobbing heavily against the expensive fabric of his pillow to muffled the sound.

The plague was something so far away, something that couldn't reach him before, so he didn't cared much about it. He didn't really think about the state of his population as long as he was healthy. Now that it was no longer the case, they had to find a remedies. Some would think that on his death bed, facing hight spirit judgement and loneliness, he would show remorse even if only to save his soul, but no. Right now he could only feel despair taking over him like the crawling red that was spreading on his skin.

Before that his throughs could spiral even more, he feeled the weight of someone seating next to him and a hand lightly petting his hair. He tensed instinctly before the soothing voice of his ghosty compagnion calmed him down :

“ Come on sweetheart, don't do that to me. You know you're not pretty when you're crying.” Lucio could only snort lightly in between his sob, still smooched against the pillow. It did sound like a wet gargle but Llyr didn't seem to mind as he was stll scraching the greasy blond hair. Finally, the Count did look up from the expensive fabric he was crying into to face the small smile of the other man. Tears had stopped falling down, leaving red streak and even more red eyes behind them.

“ Here we go, all pretty... ” said Llyr before pressing a quick peck on Lucio's hair, his hands moving to his cheeks to trace soothing circles on them. The count couldn't help but feel a little giddy under the ghost's minestration, leaning instinctly against his touch. It had been so long since he was pampered like this, getting told that he was beautiful. He signed soflty before getting back to his sense and whining :

“ I'm not pretty, I'm drop dead gorgeous.”

“ My appologies your majesty, I'm deeply ashamed of my words and my behaviour. Please let me make it to you by kissing your noble feet.” He said, his hands leaving his cheeks to bow dramaticaly, still fully seated, his nose pressed against the blanket. While Lucio reajusted himself properly, his back against the bed frame, as Llyr was getting back up again before Lucio did said :

“ Don't get up before I'm telling you to do it. “ It was merely teasing, but he made him feel better to be in control, even if it was close to nothing especially after wailing in front of the ghost. The mere idea of the man listening to his every word, knneling in front of him made him feel all warm inside, and down there. The light warm went to a fire of his groin when Llyr did what said and put back his head where he was before, down in a somehow submissive pose.

Lucio exhaled loudly.

The rush of power nearly knocked him over. Since Llyr became a part of his everyday routine, he had to be the witness of multiple of Lucio's mental breakdown. The count couldn't help, and even for his usual obliviousness, to feel slighty embarassed. He grasped at every bit of control he could.

Even his first meeting with the guy was him making a fool of himself by yelling and falling out of his bed when he saw the ghost sitting near his windows. If you'd ask him, Lucio would claimed that he didn't “ screamed like a fucking wimp. ” Such a big lie, would replied Llyr. Back then, the count looked absolutely terrified, like he saw death itself. It was no death but sure a dead one : Llyr died nearly a year ago and remained here as a ghost or something akin to it. For some reason, he couldn't leave the aisle Lucio was also stuck in. Finally, being stuck with each other made him something close to friend.

Lucio didn't have much information about the way Llyr died as the guy didn't talk much about it but he was exhalling an odor of burning smell that the Count had learn to like. So he must had been killed by being burned alive or something as he was a magician. For once, he didn't planed to talk about it, scared that he would scared him away as he was finding his presence soothing. He wanted to keep him all for himself. Egoisticaly, because he was a selfish man, he liked even more the idea of a person who couldn't abandon him and for whom he was the whole world. Made him feel less pathetic to hung on so much on a spirit.

That's why he was being vague when he talked about him to his nurses, and he only did it because he couldn't shut his month. He had to talk about him to make his presence more real.

“ You can lift your head now. I think you understood the lesson. ” Llyr got back up with a knowning smile, amused and teasing in a way that was pleasing Lucio. It's been so long since anyone looked happy to see him.

“ Thank you, Ô my master. How could I thank you for your indulgence ? What coud I do to repay your infinite kindess.”

“ Let me fuck you ? Or you could fuck me ? ”

“ Well, at least they can't say that you're not willing to honour the dead.” The ghost looked nothing but amused, obviously not taking Lucio's request seriously. He was maybe corporeal enough to achieve such an act but the whole idea was kinda weird. “ But no, definetely not doing it.”

“ It should he an honour to bed me ! I'm the Count of Vesuvia ! Army's supreme commander ! Karnassos' hero ! best lay around here and a gorgeous being if I say so myself ! ” Boasted loudly the Count before choking on a coughting fit, supporting himself on Llyr's shoulder while the latter was doing soothing circle on his back while encouraging him to take deep breath.

It did take a few minutes for the Count to take his breath back before falling back on his pillows, each respiration a struggle. The ghost kept his hands on him, knowing how Lucio was touch starved, lightly feathery touch on his forehead, hair or on the plexus solar area. He was so fustrated by his lack of magic in this form, he would love nothing more than to relieved Lucio from the pain he was but since his death he couldn't do much more than supporting him.

It reminded him of when he was aline, when he was just an apprentice trying to save as much people as he could from the plague. He didn't save much but at least they died the most peacefully he could achieve. He would love to say that he was here until the end, motivated only by self-sacrificing generosity but it would be such a lie. Sure, he was here until the end but the reason of his presence was completely different from just plain kindness.

He was sure his time on earth after his death was a harsh punishment for trying multiple times to flee during the plague outbreak. He would face the port, thinking about how much he missed travelling, discovering new thing, practicing his magic with pleasure instead of giving the released of death to the victims who asked for it. He missed the smell of humid weather while he wandered around the forest, he missed the warm sand smell of Nopal, the freshly baked goods when it was early around the market. He wanted to go so hard.

But everytime he caught himself back, guilt eating his guts and leaving him nauseous. He was thinking of Julian he was leaving behind, of his face when he would discover that Llyr had abandon him, of the loneliness he was letting him drown in. He came back, every time, smiling sweetly as Julian would inquire about his errand. Every time he would found a tale to tell to explain why he did leave so early.

Then, the flame, roaring in those metal caskets, like the scream of the victims would follow him on his death bed. The smell of ash overwhelming his senses.

Coming back to his sense, always shaky when the memories would flood his mind, he leaned into Lucio personnal space to hug him tightly. Even if the Count didn't notice his trouble, he would be the last to refuse to cuddle. Llyr felt a bit bad to take advantage of Lucio's loneliness to get a little bit of tenderness but couldn't help.

The bed was so big that Lucio didn't even need to move for Llyr to be able to take place next to him. The Count's head find his chest, simply enjoying the sensation of a warm body against his, the idea of kinky ghostly sex partially forgotten for now. Llyr's hand went back to Lucio's hair while he hummed a song of his birthplace, a village that he would most likely never see again.

At least, he was not alone and Lucio was not the worst person to hang around. Sure, he was brash, noisy and self-centered. Sure, his tales were a bit worrying and it seemed that he killed quite a lot of people during his time as a mercenary or during the wars he was involved in as the count and seemed proud of it.

But at least, he looked cute when he was sleeping.

#lucio #count lucio #fan apprentice #male apprentice #apprentice x lucio #crying #fluff and feels #hurt and comfort #male apprentice x Lucio #plot #ghost apprentice #Lucio needs a hug #and Llyr gives it to him #mention of trauma #the plague #I love and hate Lucio

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago

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Should Judgement Come To Pass

Asra x M!Apprentice

Word Count: 2.8K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: My spin on Book 20: Judgment, 1. The Red Room. Enjoy! -Thorne

It was the oppressive emotion that kept his throat tight, heart hammering in his chest as he gazed from his plate to the other members of the Devil’s dinner party. Even if he wasn’t under the compulsion like Asra and them, his movements made him feel like he was. Too focused on trying to fit in, to keep the secret of his freedom hidden, it was eating away at his usually reserved demeanor. His eyes shifted to Asra, just a second is all it took for the other to nod and he inhaled deeply, glancing towards the Devil, an inviting smile growing underneath his mask. And the Devil smiled back, but it was anything but friendly.

“See, (Y/N). All of this isn’t so bad.” He raised the silver goblet in his hand, and (Y/N) took a moment to glance at his own wine, imagining one of those vampire eels swimming around in it.

“There’s food and wine, all of your favorite people in the same place. What more could you even ask for?” (Y/N) knew he had to play this by ear, and his answers had to seem like the most selfish he could possess.

“I’d like…power.” He allowed a mock look of greed to come across him, voice dark and lusting. “If this is how it’s going to be, I want power.” The Devil burst into a roaring laughter, Valdemar and the others following.

“Power!” The Devil repeated with a low chuckle. “Perhaps you and I are not so different after all, (Y/N).” He gave him a knowing look. “I bet you want to return to the great monster hunter you were before, hmm?”

(Y/N) took a moment to think it over. “I can’t deny it’s crossed my mind.” His eyes flitted to Nadia and he sent a silent plea that she would play along. “When I was as powerful as I was three years ago, I had princesses tripping over themselves to make me their consorts.”

Nadia was one smart cookie because she scoffed and spat, “You are just the same as Lucio.”

He winked and flashed a pearly grin. “I can’t deny that power has its benefits.”

“All mortals want power, Nadia,” the Devil tutted before turning his attention back onto (Y/N). “You desire to crush your enemies and to befuddle your betters…” his eyes darted to Asra. “To protect the ones you love dearly.”

A bolt of white-hot anger thundered in (Y/N)’s chest, but he merely smiled through his clenched teeth. “What can I say? I’m a greedy bastard.”

Some of the attendents laughed, and that was when (Y/N) felt the cool whisper of Asra’s magic was over him and Faust. Averting his gaze, he absentmindedly ran his pointer around the rim of his wine glass.

“So, Devil?”

The dark, maroon eye fell on him. “Yes, (Y/N)?”

“Can I ask you something before the world is shot to hell?”

The Devil snorted. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. The world isn’t going to end, it’s just going to be…altered.”

(Y/N) met his stare head on. “Why go through all this trouble? You’re an Arcana. You have control of an entire realm, and anybody stupi—understanding enough of magic to deal with?”

Tutting once more, the Devil sighed. “(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N). Do you have any idea what any of what you just said means?” He scoffed. “Of course you don’t, do you? You’ve never even stopped to consider it. We Arcana are masters of our own realms, but in the rest of existence, we are confined. Restricted to our unchanging roles.” The Devil offered a sympathetic look. “Surely someone as talented and smart as you can see how awfully tiresome it would become to stay unchanging all the time?”

(Y/N) opened his mouth to respond when he heard a voice that sent his heart pounding against his chest.

Help!

Before he could even do a thing, Asra jolted in his seat, knee banging the underside of the table, fork clattering against the porcelain dish. The Devil was silent, but (Y/N) could tell that in the way his crimson eyes focused on Asra that he was suspicious.

(Y/N) sucked in a breath, eyes darting wildly around to find some form of distraction, all the while Asra and Faust were conversing. It was too confusing, trying to focus on them while trying to distract the Devil. If he didn’t find something to say, something to do, they were doomed. They were—

“…no one wants you here, Devil.”

The voice was quiet but firm, and (Y/N) turned his attention to Muriel who gave him a small nod. It was just the distraction enough because the Devil turned on Muriel, but he met the glare with defiant green eyes.

Across the table, Julian cleared is throat too, voice carrying over the table. “He’s right you know. I can party with just about anyone, even Lucio, but you have to be the exception.”

Soon, everyone was following along, and Nadia was the next to get her shot in. “And I do not recall inviting you to my Masquerade. You have been such an ungracious guest.” (Y/N) fought viciously to keep the smile hidden as he looked over his frien—no, his best friends.

The Devil paused a moment to regard them all, as if he genuinely cared what they were saying to him, though the way his clawed hands started clenching and unclenching told him otherwise.

“Courage in the face of inevitable fate.” His voice turned downright mocking. “How…admirable.” Smiling, he added, “I hope something of you remains when the new world dawns. Perhaps I’ll have new toys to play with.”

A flickering next to (Y/N)’s silver chalice caught his eye, something that could’ve been a trick of the light, but he knew what it really was. The red wine rippled, then stilled, and next to him, Asra slumped back in his seat, exhaustion seeping down his body. (Y/N) inconspicuously lowered his hand to Asra’s thigh, trying to pour magic into his lover. Whether it worked or not, he didn’t know, but the way Asra sighed in slight relief made his heart calm. Cool snakeskin ran behind his ankle as Faust wound her way up.

Done…

Even she sounded exhausted. His heart picked up again, but he was too afraid to even look in Asra’s direction for fear that a single glance would give them both away.

The Devil raised his chalice and smiled. “To all of you. Thank you so much for playing the wonderful parts you’ve been given.”

He passed the chalice to Julian, and try as he did to resist, the compulsion was too strong, and he took the goblet. His normally pale complexion seemed to whiten even further after he swallowed the wine. The chalice made its way around the table, and one by one the dinner guests drank from it before it finally reached Asra and (Y/N).

Raising it, Asra said, “To you, (Y/N).” he took a long sip before passing it over into (Y/N) hands.

He took a long look at it, the dark crimson stains across the sides of the polished silver made his stomach curl. Before he lost his nerve, he grunted and knocked the remaining wine back, forcing himself to keep the sickly saccharine liquid down.

Asra’s hand fell to his, worry in his voice. “Are you alright, my love?”

He didn’t have a chance to respond as the Devil chuckled and shook his head, eyes falling on the two of them. “Love. Tell me Asra, what do you think your love managed to accomplish?” With a clawed hand, he vaguely gestured to the rest of the guests at the table. “Everyone is here. Everyone drank the wine. Even your darling (Y/N).”

Grinning evilly, he finished with, “All your efforts were for naught. You and your love achieved nothing.”

And that was the bridge too far. (Y/N) could take the Devil mocking his failures, but not those of Asra’s. His lover had worked for too long, worked far too hard, and suffered enough to be subjected to such abuse.

The screeching of his chair sounded through the room as he stood to his feet and to his full height, ripping the mask off his face so the Devil could look his straight in the eyes.

“You’re wrong,” (Y/N) condemned with the most withering glower he could muster.

“Oh?” the Devil merely looked amused as he steepled his fingers. “Indulge me then, (Y/N). Tell me how wrong I am about this mortal delusion you call love.”

Everyone fell silent, and with the weight of their gazes on him, (Y/N) inhaled and exhaled before he picked up the empty goblet and turned to Asra.

“Asra, the first thing I remember in this new existence is the feeling of your arms wrapped protectively around me, the relieved and joyous tears seeping into my shirt.” He reached out, taking his lover’s hand. “You have always and will always be the greatest part of me, the truest friend and partner. The man I love the most.”

(Y/N) raised the chalice to Julian. “We discovered the truth and redeemed an innocent man…not that he made it easy on us.” Julian’s face flushed a light pink as he laughed and gave a dramatic bow.

“We have traveled across the realms of magic with nothing but our wits and ability to save us. We saved your parents and unraveled numerous mysteries great and small.” Asra’s eyes shone with crystal clear tears and he squeezed (Y/N)’s hand with all he could.

“I couldn’t’ve done this, any of this, had you not been by my side the entire time.” Flashing him a smile, “Well, I probably could’ve, but not as stylishly of course.” Asra merely giggled and nodded.

Sighing indulgently, the Devil glanced at them. “Yes, yes, this all so very touching. Dare I ask what even your point to all this is, (Y/N)?”

(Y/N) tossed the goblet away, not caring that it bounced along the marble floor with a clang. The Devil’s eyes briefly darted to it, then back to him, an anger drawing into them.

“Love’s the one thing you don’t understand Devil. It will always matter, even if you can’t comprehend it.” He tugged Asra to his feet and turned his attention to the beautiful mauve eyes he as well as his own. “It’s important to me. Important to us. And that’s all I need to be happy.”

Raising his free hand, he caressed Asra’s cheek. “I don’t need anything else as long as you’re by my side, beloved.”

“Is that so? Love has driven many passionate mortals, the same as you, into my open and waiting arms.” He grinned deviously. “Always craving more pleasure, more novelty, more control. Your kind are never sated. You’re greedy—like me.”

(Y/N) shook his head, but never took his eyes off Asra’s. “The feelings you’re describing aren’t love. That’s pride and arrogance. Greed and loathing.”

Finally, he looked over at the Devil. “However, I’m not surprised that the likes of you can’t tell the difference. It’s almost pitiful. But it makes me see just how delusional you’ve become in this whirlwind of a masterplan.” Expecting a barb back at him, (Y/N) was unnerved to see how conspicuously silent the Devil became.

Asra looked as though he was seeing the sunrise for the first time after a life in the darkness as he confessed, “(Y/N), you didn’t have to say all the on my behalf.”

He grinned at his lover. “Probably not…but it made me feel all manly to defend your honor.” Pressing a quick kiss to his cheekbone, he murmured, “Like a knight in shining armor defending his damsel in distress.” Asra snorted, pressing his face into (Y/N)’s shoulder to muffle his laughter, and it made his heart feel bubbly and light despite the gloom and darkness around them.

“Well, I do feel safe and defended, so thank you, (Y/N).” Peeking his head up, he gazed into (Y/N)’s eyes. “And remember, whatever comes next and becomes of us, I love you too.”

His heart swelled in his chest and it was only then that (Y/N) realized that everyone was watching them with grand smiles on their faces. It was enough to stun him and Asra, mainly because they’d forgotten they weren’t alone—Asra more so.

The Devil on the other hand was barely containing his annoyance. “Are you quite finished filibustering, (Y/N)? I’ve an agenda to keep up with.”

(Y/N) shrugged and deadpanned, “Technically you asked me, asshole.”

Ignoring the insult, the Devil huffed, “A moment of idle curiosity, nothing more than so.” Not wanting to push the envelope farther, (Y/N) fell silent and let the conversation stand. “Nevertheless, now that your sickenin—heartwarming display is over…”

With an earsplitting ring, the Devil’s hands clapped together. (Y/N)’s teeth rattled, ears ringing as every nerve ending was set aflame. By the shock on Asra and the other’s faces, they felt it too. As quick as it came over, it was gone, and Julian was the first to break the silence.

“Uh…was something supposed to happen? Because I don’t think it’s happening.”

“Patience,” the Devil commanded. “One can’t rush these things.” Clapping his hands again, the same outcome applied. “What…is this? It should work.”

(Y/N) sighed wistfully, and with humor. “Ah well, performance issues are not uncommon.” Asra choked on his spit as he tried not to laugh. “Running an apothecary, I’ve seen it’s about one out of five. I could recommend—” A deafening screech echoed through the room and they all spun to see Volta screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Oh! Oh, what is happening to Volta? Volta feels…light? Volta feels so strange!”

They stared in shock as the other courtiers started squirming uncontrollably in their seats, even Valdemar who was the strongest of them appeared particularly rattled. Something didn’t seem right with them to (Y/N) and before he could speak his concern to Asra, his vision fell into a hazy red, nausea threatening to turn his stomach inside out. What reeled him more was the true visage of the courtiers—constructed shells, thin as frost, and barely containing their real, nightmarish forms. He drew his eyes away only to catch sight of the ghostly chains binding everyone to their chairs. The vision began to fade, and the chains started unraveling, link by link by link.

When it all cleared, the first thing (Y/N) saw was Asra’s face. “Come on, (Y/N). Deep breaths. You’re here. You’re with me.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Asra, we did it. The plan worked.”

“What? How do you know? What did you see?” Asra’s questions were rapid-fire.

Nadia cut off any response, rising from her seat gloriously like a phoenix from the ashes. “Whatever you hoped to accomplish has failed, Devil.” Her voice held a barely contained, seething rage. “If you are quite done with this perverse little charade, get the hell out of my Palace.”

Everyone began to rise as though they were awakening from a long, hellish dream, standing as they were no longer bound by the ritual. Asra and (Y/N)’s smiles grew by the moment.

Asra looped his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, hugging him tightly. “We did it! It worked!”

(Y/N) yanked off his mask and took hold of Asra’s chin, sealing their lips in a searing kiss. As they pulled away, Aisha and Salim leapt from the chair and ran over to hug them.

“Oh, thank the Gods you’re both alright!” Aisha exclaimed, pressing kisses to both their cheeks.

“What of you two? Are you hurt?” Asra’s hurt was palpable. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come sooner. We—”

Salim rested a hand on Asra’s shoulder. “Asra, don’t be sorry. We’re alright. And you two did marvelously.”

“And we’re so very proud of you two,” Aisha added with a smile.

“Ahem.” The Devil exaggerated and everything fell silent once more. Asra took his place before his parents, and (Y/N) before him.

“We drank your wine and ate your food, and nothing has happened. The ritual has failed. It’s over. Let us go.”

All at once the shadows darkened as he rose from his seat, form distorting until he towered over the guests.

“Over?” he laughed coldly. “Never.” He reached out a shadowy clawed hand to seize them, blackened fire erupting around the room.

(Y/N) raised a hand, instantly cooling the fires around Asra and he. “It’s over, Devil. Fate says it is. We say it is.” His eyes narrowed with determination and he fiercely declared, “I say it is.”

“You’re not going anywhere you foolish mortals,” the Devil countered and (Y/N) willed the magic to his fingers, an ethereal blade forming in his hand.

He pointed at the Devil, took Asra’s hand in his free one, and dared fearlessly, “Watch us.”

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