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slightly-nerdy-rambles · 6 months ago

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Robstar Week Day 7: Like the Fire, the Sun (Prompt: Playlist)

After putting some thought into the final prompt for this week, I decided to get a bit creative with it. Many of you are probably familiar with the Royal Family Verse, a special "setting" that I like to place one Robstar Week entry in each year. Well, when I was planning out each of the fics for this year, I realized that 1) I was six fics in and still hadn't made plans for an RFV fic yet, and 2) I didn't really have any good ideas to make "playlist" into a story. So then I thought, "Why don't I make the playlist, have it be an RFV playlist, and use one of those songs as a story prompt?"

What follows is a story set in the 'verse that's inspired by the song "You Are the Beginning" by The Family Crest. It's a sweeping, epic piece (The Family Crest is really good at those, I highly recommend the group) that gave me the mental image of Nightwing and Starfire standing together on a cliffside and staring down an alien invasion fleet. Because of today's theme, both the title of the fic and the lyrics at the beginning are from that song as well.

As a bonus, I'm also going to post the playlist itself once this fic is up. Now you, too, will be able to listen along while thinking about Robin and Starfire being awesome warrior monarchs together. Enjoy everyone, and happy Robstar Week!

Like the Fire, the Sun

Oh, what a love that gives And then taketh all away Oh, what a man will do When a man’s lost everything When everything’s changed

One of the less pleasant things Nightwing had learned from moving to Tamaran was that the Vega star system it was a part of was kind of terrible. Half the inhabited planets were veritable death-worlds, more than half of them seemed to be in competition with one another over who could make the most tyrannical and expansion-hungry interplanetary empire, and everyone who just wanted to be left alone had to deal with it. As loath as he was to admit it, he could see why some members of the intergalactic scene looked at the powerful warrior race of Tamaran and assumed they were just another gang of space thugs.

But he had also seen, time and time again, that those naysayers couldn’t be more wrong. Starfire’s people – his people, by rite and marriage – weren’t some mindless brutes, they were survivors. He’d seen them wrestle beasts five times a man’s size to the ground to stop them rampaging through the streets. He’d seen them cultivate carnivorous plants that made their mightiest Earth counterparts look like daisies because those plants’ flowers and fruits had too much medicinal value to ignore. He’d read and listened to the long history of Tamaran, its greatest triumphs and harshest tragedies alike, and he could say with full conviction that he was proud to be accepted among its people.

And if the Citadel warlords thought they could take that all away, Nightwing – Mari’kesh in Tamaranean – was far from the only one ready to put them in their place.

*******

Empress Koriand’r and Emperor Mar’ikesh stood at the edge of a jagged peak about a dozen miles out from Tamaran’s capital. The empress hovered just off the ground, though what joy sustained her at a time like this her husband could only guess. The source of the small crackles of viridian light playing at her fingertips was much easier to identify.

“What are you thinking?” Mar’ikesh asked. His grip tightened a little on the carved fighting staff propped against the ground – heavier than the bo staff he’d wielded years ago, but a comforting presence nonetheless – and he peered up beyond her to see how much of the descending warships he could make out.

Koriand’r did not answer right away, but her nostrils flared as if in challenge and she squinted closer against the haze of distance.

“There,” she finally said, pointing out one ship among many. “The Citadel disguised it well, but it’s just a little too bulky to be practical for an ordinary fighter, and too well-guarded. That is where we will find the command center.”

“Hmm.” Mar’ikesh didn’t have a Tamaranean’s distance vision, so he would have to take her word for it. In spite of the dire circumstances, the corner of his lip twitched into the tiniest of smirks.

“So now all we have to do is head straight for the ship with the most firepower and the heaviest guard,” he said. “Sounds fun.”

Koriand’r could not bring herself to share his dark humor. “They will not take our children.”

Mar’ikesh let his smirk evaporate. He wasn’t sure whether she was thinking of their own children – evacuated from the capital, now, and hidden as safely as they could be in a distant fortress – or the children, the people, the future of Tamaran itself. Either way, he replied, “No. They won’t.”

With a concerned frown, he eyed her and added, “You’re sure about this plan?”

The split-second of hesitation before she nodded was barely perceptible, not enough room for argument. “Yes. I can fly more quickly than a ship, and I’m a much smaller target. This is the best chance we have to end this quickly.”

Mar’ikesh nodded back. “I’ll be right beside you, even if I do need a ship.”

********

The flight to meet the invasion fleet went by in a tense blur. Mar’ikesh was not the only one who needed mechanical assistance to get there – only the best fliers dared join their empress in taking this mission on without the protection of a ship’s hull and shield, and in any case they needed the firepower to pierce the shields covering the command ship’s hull. But they sent a single fighter ship, their smallest and fastest, and cloaked along with the empress and their fliers until they got close enough to open fire.

What followed were a few tense minutes of sheer madness that seemed to stretch on to forever, as fighter and fliers alike dove and weaved to avoid return fire all while trying to make a breach in the command center. Mar’ikesh could only wait, white-knuckled in his seat, while blasts from the Citadel’s fighters strained the limits of his own ship’s shields and fliers around him fell. He could not say how many were hit and how many recovered, but he did not see Koriand’r among them. Speed, maneuverability, and surprise all seemed to be working in their favor.

In that time of waiting and praying, it struck him all at once that he didn’t know what he would do if he lost her. He had given up everything back on Earth to be with Koriand’r, with Starfire, when she had first been summoned to take the throne. They had both lost the lives they’d built for themselves twice over now, to tragedy and duty and love, but duty and love had given them a chance to build their lives anew. They had a family now.

If his children lost their mother while he was stuck waiting in a tiny fighter ship, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to forgive himself.

The sudden crackling of the command ship’s force shield tore him from his morbid thoughts, and the pilot of his fighter whooped as the shield finally dissolved under the Tamaraneans’ fire. The gunners didn’t miss a moment, and in seconds more the weaker physical hull of the command ship had been breached.

And then a new chaos broke out as the door to the fighter flung open and a Tamaranean flier leaned in to gather him and the other small handful of passengers. It was not Koriand’r, and Mar’ikesh had to fight to stop himself from making a leap of logic and assuming the worst.

Wordlessly, he undid his harness and took the flier’s arms in a trapeze hold like he’d done with his wife so, so many times. The Tamaranean pulled him out and up past the wild and confused shots of their enemies, and in another several stretched-out seconds they were through the breach in the command ship’s hull.

Mar’ikesh’s racing heart skipped a beat when he saw Koriand’r there, already felling Citadel guards with a flurry of well-placed starbolts. He pulled the staff from where it was clipped against his back and moved to join her.

“If anyone tries to challenge you for the throne after this, I’m kicking their varblernelki myself,” he quipped, swinging the staff wide to catch two Citadelians around the midsection and slam them against the wall.

Now, as the Tamaraneans were making headway, Koriand’r allowed herself a fierce grin. “And I will gladly watch,” she replied, flinging two more Citadel warriors to the end of the hall with her eyebeams.

The two of them whirled around one another, working together with practiced ease and watching each other’s blind spots as they fought. Before long the first wave of Citadel guards had been dispatched, and the Tamaranean team began making their way to the main control center. There they would be able to wreak havoc on the standing fleet’s organization and – with luck – claim some of it for their own. If this mission went well enough, they’d weaken the Citadel’s forces enough to end its invasion before it really started.

The two of them had found their paths changed twice each: Princess Koriand’r and Dick Grayson, to Starfire and Robin, to Empress Koriand’r and Emperor Mar’ikesh. They had rebuilt both times together, overcome countless challenges together, and now they could not truly imagine their lives taking any other path.

And whatever world they lived on, so long as they drew breath they were going to ensure that world was not lost.

#Teen Titans #Robin #Starfire #robstar #robstarweek #writing #prompt #fanfiction #Royal Family Verse #I actually did some pretty extensive edits to this just before posting it #My initial mental image was pretty much just the clifftop scene but I knew it needed more than that #The first version spent way too long describing the flying and stuff though #I think this works out better #I need to stop ending so many of these in the middle of a big battle or mission or whatever though

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tiredassmage · 2 months ago

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25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

Thank you so much! I even have cool weapon shots to go with this one, lol!

[50 questions for Rook! (Non-spoiler Edition)]

Minerva I intend to build with the Slayer specialization because... women with epic giant axes, tbh. What more do I need to say? xD But also because she's inspired by a dragon hunter oc I had several years ago, and giant weapons seem appropriate for fighting some of Thedas's most giant beasties! It's also been hella fun so far. She's not far enough along yet to actually be within the specializations yet, but the Weapons area skills around it that lead into this specialization chain have been so much fun already. Thank you Veilguard for giving me a fun time playing Warrior for the first time in this series, lol! I hadn't been entirely married to a damage type to hone in on with her just yet, but the burning weapons on takedown effect with the dragon hunter inspiration? Heavily leaning into the fire theme, I think!

Also, of my 3 started Rooks so far, she's 1 of 2 whose specialization doesn't match their faction, lol, which is a lot of fun, I think. Min is a Grey Warden! And she's the only one I have action photomode shots of so far, lol, which is both because I simply had that much fun with how her build's going and bc I... might've not thought about it for the first 2 because I was busy doing story, lol.

But we'll give them some love, too, because I'm feeling self-indulgent <3 [Slightly more spoilery nature for the boys' pics because they're from cutscenes]

Tyr's my Rogue, and a Duelist. Tbf, I'd already pretty much determined he was going to be m first + main + most likely canon Rook, but the second they dropped dual wielding melee Rogue, there was absolutely no other way he'd ever have been played unless I'd absolutely sucked at the build, which thankfully wasn't the case because I adored it. It was everything I needed and wanted from a gameplay perspective + what I wanted to replicate the fighting style I'd imagined for him.

Right up until they'd released the backstory tidbits, I'd been on the fence between setting him up as a Shadow Dragon or an Antivan Crow, after all, so it just worked out that the Shadows fit his backstory better, but his fighting style is still heavily aligned with what likely influences the image of the Crows. (And as a bonus fun fact, when I'd put him in Inquisition for fun, I think he would've ended up with Josephine, so another little fun dueling moment for him, lol.)

Heavily a necrotic damage + stagger & takedown build. Not just because they have epic, powerful detonations with his beloved Neve, but that was certainly a cherry on top! xD

Which leaves us with Theo, who is ironically the only one who seems to have listened to the memo about the faction-theming with the specializations for all the other listening he hasn't done, according to Viago's complaints. xD Theo's my sword & orb Spellblade, who - as you may guess from that - also nearly ended up as a Rogue and who I might play around with a Rogue build for one day. Outside of DAV, Theo's original training was as a dual-dagger type rogue who started to dabble in learning about magic after one of his early jobs went a little sideways and had him on bedrest for a while. And Theo simply could not take staying completely idle like that for long. Sort of as a happy accident then because purple's kind of his color, it's worked really well that this is a heavily-lighting damage focused build and I think his hotbar is... completely shock & lightning based skills atm. And they are so pretty. As a backup, I've got a little necrotic damage going on with his staff usually.

I'd really just told myself I wasn't allowed to play two duelists back to back. xD Maybe if I go with a Rogue rebuild, I'll give saboteur a try? He gets along well with Bellara and Emmrich because he... well, Viago would probably say he's the type that can't leave well enough alone even when it's going to bite his hand, but at its best, it's curiosity with how to make odd things work. His DAV edition in particular can be quite a bit emotionally... charged, but he's also kind of the epitome of an improviser. The only direction to move is forward, and Theo's adaptable enough to tackle that with a sledgehammer or a lockpick as the situation calls for.

#answered #dragon age rook #man. i lov u dragon age ocs...#ch: heaven wide above my head / sand beneath my shoes | da!minerva #vs: there better be a damn good punchline | da!tyr #vs: as the crooked crow flies | da!theo

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faded-mage · 1 month ago

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Avise

After the nightmare that became of their trip to the Exalted Plains, Avise actively avoided both Cullen and Solas. Cole’s words however sat in the back of her mind, “There is a lion in your bed but the wolf cries at the door.” The symbology was easy enough to figure out. Cullen was often called the Lion of Skyhold and had a very intricate helm molded like the face of a lion. The mantle on his shoulders certainly helped the image. Solas wore his wolf’s jawbone necklace and she always saw his resemblance to the animal. Strong, loyal. She even likened him to a predator when he fought. What was most odd to her was the wolf cries at the door. It only lent credence to her thought that Solas himself did not actually want to leave her. She could not decide if that made her more sad or angry.

Walking through the garden was the best way to avoid them entirely. Avise knew Cullen was in the courtyard with troops and Solas was holed up in the rotunda. She had not walked through there since Crestwood, finding an alternative route to visit Dorian. The small room that housed Morrigan’s eluvian was open and she could see the faint blue light that emanated from it while it was active. Shit. Avise ran through the open door to see Leliana standing near the mirror and she looked worried, she didn’t know Leliana even got worried, “Avise! Thank the Maker you’re here! Morrigan chased after her son into the eluvian. She was terrified.” The elf glanced down at herself - she was not wearing any armor, had no weapons. Guess I’ll wing it. With her eyes trained on the eluvian in front of them she responded, “She was chasing Kieran?”

The boy was an odd one, adorable in a somewhat off-putting way. Much like Cole actually. The first time Avise met Kieran was in the garden itself, she was surprised to see an unknown boy just sitting in the gazebo, as she approached he looked at her curiously. His voice had been soft and contemplative, “Mother never told me the Inquisitor was an elf.” Avise got that a lot really. She shrugged her shoulders at the time, “The ears gave me away, didn’t they?” The elf remembered distinctly the look the boy gave her as he spoke, his diction similar to how her mother often spoke when she did not want to say more than what she knew, “No. Your blood is very old. I saw it right away.”

Shaking away the memory, she forced herself to focus. Leliana answered her question from before, “She said he activated the mirror somehow and then she ran into it. I’ve never seen Morrigan like that. You must go after her. I will find help.” With Leliana running out through the open door, Avise stood in front of the mirror and sighed. It had been awhile since she used magic without a staff for focus, it was going to be interesting.

Avise quickly stepped through the eluvian, the familiar crawl of old magic slinking across her skin. It always felt odd but familiar. Like it softly called to her blood. As her vision came into focus on the other side she frowned. This was not the Crossroads. They were in the Fade. Shit. She really wished she brought a staff now but it was too late. If she went back now a variety of events could ensure she would be unable to return or lose the chance to find both Morrigan and Keiran. The elf continued on the path until she saw the familiar shape of Morrigan in the distance, “Morrigan!”

As she reached the witch she could see the terror on the woman’s face. She really did love her son, Avise realized. The woman was often detatched and not overly warm. Especially after the events of the Well of Sorrows. Morrigan’s voice was tight and panicked, “Go back! I must find Kieran before it’s too late! Why would Kieran do this? How could he do this? We stand in the Fade. To direct the eluvian here would require immense power. If he is lost to me, now after all I have sacrificed…” The woman continued to spiral and Avise could feel compassion rise within her. She may not have agreed with Morrigan often but she could not leave the woman to search for her son alone, “We’ll find him Morrigan. He can’t be far.

- - -

Avise felt dizzy, like the Fade itself pressed against her mind, suffocating it. Morrigan's mother, Flemeth, stood before them. Avise knew vague rumors about the Witch of the Wilds, a few Dalish clans even had their own name for he, Asha'bellanar. It translated to the woman of many years. That in of itself was not a problem. The problem was that Morrigan threatened to attack her mother and when Flemeth ordered her to restrain her... she did. No hesitation, no thought in her mind that she could disagree. Her body moved on its own accord and she could feel an unsettling feeling sit in the pit of her stomach. Morrigan asked why Avise would not release her. The elf’s voice tight as she spoke, “I don’t know! I can’t.” Flemeth spoke next and the elf thought she was going to pass out, was the Fade supposed to twist like that? “Of course you know. You drank from the Well, did you not?”

She was Mythal.

Mythal was real. Maybe not a god, just as Solas had said. But something close enough and maybe just as dangerous. Avise cursed herself, her voice wavered as she stared Flemeth in the eyes, searching her face in hope that it was just some trick. Blood magic? Something, anything else than what fact lay before her, “Mythal was the goddess of justice. I’ve seen the statues. She…” The woman interrupted her thoughts, “Was one of the People. Yes, indeed.”

Kieran walked up to his mother and apologized. The boy could hear Flemeth calling to him from the Fade and he answered. That was why he changed the eluvian and why he stepped in without hesitation. Morrigan was distraught, “I do not understand.” Neither did Avise, at least they had that in common. Flemeth continued to speak like she was telling them a bedtime story, “Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.” Mythal had been murdered, Abelas said as much at the Temple. A fragment of her survived and now lived inside of a human woman. Avise was going to have to apologize to Solas.

Flemeth walked to Avise, her hand reaching out to lift her chin so their eyes could meet. The vibrant yellow of her irises were compelling and Avise found she could not look away, “So young and vibrant. You do the People proud and have come far.” That was not what she expected to hear. The elves at the Temple seemed to push her away, not wanting to compare themselves. As if she were lesser because their history was lost and Dalish patchworked faith with what little they had. But here was Mythal telling her that their People would have been proud of her. That Mythal was proud of her. She hated that the words warmed her heart. Her voice was hoarse, unable to pull her gaze from Flemeth, “If Mythal is a part of you, why haven’t you helped us? We’ve called to you, prayed to you…” Avise herself begged to Mythal after her mother died. Weeping and screaming in the woods for some sign that she was not alone. The Creators never answered. Mythal never answered.

Flemeth responded, “What was could not be changed.” Avise felt tears well up in her eyes, the words hurt to speak, “What about now? You know so much…” The witch shook her head, her tone hollow from a long ago memory that she did not wish to remember. A haunted look on the old woman's face, “You know not what you ask, da’len.”

- - -

Avise sat on the floor of the eluvian room in Skyhold with Morrigan next to her, the witch held her son tightly against her chest. The boy was fine at least. What Avise learned about Morrigan shook her but even that was overshadowed by over revelations. Morrigan used a ritual to create a child with an old god soul set inside of it, that was Keiran. Mythal appeared to want that old god soul herself, Avise assumed it had to do with power. Avise felt as if each breath she took did not fill her, not fully. Did she want to scream? Cry? Break something? Maybe a bit of all of it, the interaction with Mythal swirled in her mind. Replaying every word the woman said to her. Both sat in silence as they processed their own traumas. Leliana came bursting through the door with Cullen, Solas and Dorian in tow. Of course she grabbed a soldier, a mage and a Fade expert. And of course two of those were people she was trying not to see.

The elf could not focus on one person alone, they all held varying levels of panic on their faces which only made Avise feel more sick. Leliana knelt down next to Morrigan, checking on her and the boy in her arms. Leliana's voice was soothing to listen to, even if she barely made out what the woman was saying. Solas stood frozen staring at her, his body indicated he wanted to move to her but he held himself back. Cullen stood, his gaze flickering between the two elves. The soldier unsure of what he should do as well. The two men now actively staring at Avise. Dorian clearly had enough of their hesitations, pushing the other men aside to get to Avise. She loved the mage so much, thinking to herself, he was one of the only people in Skyhold who asked her how she felt after each painful event. There were too many to count, and too many that Avise could not repay him for. Avise felt Dorian's hands checking her for wounds, cupping her face as he looked for clues as to why she could not meet his eyes, "What happened? You look petrified." She could only stare through him. Mythal was real. Did that mean the other gods were real in some way? If they were real then Fen'harel was also real? The whispers from the Well that sat in her mind hummed with approval, like the woman finally made a connection they were pointing to all along.

With a hoarse voice, Avise was able to focus her eyes on Morrigan, their eyes meeting, "So what happens now?" The witch appeared as shaken as she was, her arms still wrapped around the boy, "Mother..." she paused, frowning, "Mythal... said you must summon a dragon at an ancient altar. Do you know where that is?" Every single person in the room stood eerily still once Morrigan spoke. Right, they did not know Mythal existed. Avise nodded her head slowly, the soft voices that granted her knowledge sang in a quiet song in the back of her mind. A song she was slowly learning to hear and understand. For once, they felt like a comfort, "I... think so. It's a place dedicated to Mythal." The god that was maybe not a god but was real enough.

Avise dared to glance towards Solas. His expression was tortured. The elf looked at Avise with terror in his eyes and it created a pit of fear in her own stomach. He was right to be afraid, she thought. She was afraid too. The moment Solas realized Avise was staring back, his face returned to an expression of indifference. That stone face that only came out when he did not want anyone to know what he was thinking. Why did that make her so mad? She had little time to consider what that meant, only that she needed to tell him something. "You were right."

- - -

Solas

Solas sat at his desk in the rotunda while he watched Avise pace. Her head was bowed and she picked at her nails, unable to look at him directly. The elf considered standing up to give her space, it hurt too much to be that close to her. It made him ache, the tether he felt connected to her when they were in the Fade tugged at him in the waking world now. A constant reminder that they were connected and he was selfish. He was a coward. The golden thread wove them together. It felt so tight around his stomach, like it was going to snap if she stepped one step too far. Avise’s voice sounded frightened, “I am so sorry for not listening to you, Solas.” She glanced at him momentarily and he felt the same feeling of despair when she drank from the Well in the Temple. Like he could not stop her from repeating his own mistakes and now he had to watch those mistakes play out in front of him.

“Inquisitor, you said a fragment of Mythal now resides within Morrigan’s mother? Flemeth?” He knew of one fragment that existed and assumed there were more but at least one was surviving and apparently thriving inside of a human witch for ages. Avise nodded, her nervous habit now turning to biting the edges of her nails as she paced. “Please, do not resort to titles, Solas. You may not care for me any longer but you can at least still use my name. Give me that.” The elf swallowed hard, a lump now in his throat. Her words hurt more than he thought they ever could.

Solas tried to push away his pride, “You must know that is not true…” No, he couldn’t go down that road. Not right now. “Avise." He paused, the name felt so good as it dropped from his tongue. "Did Mythal do anything else? How is your mind? Did she say anything to you, task you with something else?” Solas feared that Mythal shared his secret in some form or hint, the elf afraid that with how intelligent the Inquisitor was, she would begin to make connections about Solas himself. Avise sighed, her pace slowing, “Like I said, you were right. She told me to hold Morrigan back and my body did so without question.”

He could see the tears in her eyes, the woman quickly wiping them away, “Do you want to know the worst part? Mythal. Mythal,” the elven woman trying to put into words how rattled she was by the experience. Her arms raised up in the air, frustrated. “She touched my face and told me, ‘You do the People proud and have come so far’. And I wanted it, Solas. I desperately wanted that approval from her. A woman who was remembered as a god of justice, of vengeance. That she could see in me the same thing I have searched for myself." Solas watched silently as Avise spiraled in front of him, "Abelas did not see me as equal to them. Only as some lesser, unworthy, distant kin that you did not speak of because they are wrong. Too different. They came from a time when elves were not belittled and pushed down into the dirt under humans. So of course we are lesser right? We were too weak to fight back. To win." She stopped in the middle of her pacing, her eyes averting from his gaze as her head fell forward, "All I wanted was for the People to be proud of me. And to hear that from Mythal herself, or at least a fragment of her?” The woman sighed, the tears started again and all Solas could do was sit and stare because he understood but he could not help her. “I felt like maybe there was hope for us. To know those who came before you saw who you for what it was and was pleased by what her children became? I hate it. I hate that I felt like a child begging for love and approval even though she could tell me to do whatever she pleased and I could not fight back.”

Solas could not look her in the face, the tears fell from Avise's eyes and he could not console her. He failed her. There was at least one other person from the time of Mythal that saw her for who she was. That as one of the People, the ones she wanted so desperately wanted to connect to, was proud of her.

- - -

Avise

Avise lay on the ground, trying to catch her breath in the grass. They found the altar to Mythal. They summoned the guardian and then conquered it. It flew off, biding its time to aid them for when they found Corypheus. Her arms and legs were sprawled out as she lay looking at the sky, her staff somewhere a few feet away. Avise even had a dumbstruck smile plastered on her face. Dorian rested his hands on his hips as he looked down at her, “Avi, you doing okay?” The elf rolled her head to look at the mage and she nodded slowly. A surprise laugh came from the elf, she couldn't believe what they just did. He knelt down to carefully pull ice that crystalized in her hair during the fight, “If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it.” He sounded almost as giddy as she felt. Blackwall walked forward, shaking his head and offering his hand to help Avise to stand, “And you stared it down. You actually stared it down.” His tone elicited a bubbling laugh to erupt from the elf as she was hoisted off the ground. Avise stood in front of the dragon, hand outstretched. Able to touch it and it obeyed. She had to be dreaming.

The elf turned to look at the small altar to Mythal that was only a few feet away from them. They found it easily, the Wells knowledge was useful even if she now had a constant fear that some form of Mythal was going to swoop in and command her to do something awful. But she pushed that feeling away. Avise needed to focus on the present and presently she felt amazing, alive. Adrenaline coursed through her body and she found herself bouncing from foot to foot, trying to release the excess energy that accumulated.

The Well also gave her additional knowledge that she did not expect. Standing in front of the altar before the guardian arrived, she read the words carved into the stone. It was ancient elven and she could read it without issue, “We few who travel far, call to me and I will come. Without mercy, without fear.” It was beautiful, the words and the language itself. Avise felt that warmth again, like when Mythal said she was proud. She could read and speak ancient elven. Her mind whirled with dreams of traveling to hidden corners of Thedas, locating lost elven ruins and learning more about what really happened all those years ago. So much had been lost to them to time.

Solas had walked up next to her as she read it aloud, finishing the epitaph, “Cry havoc in the moonlight, let the fire of vengeance burn, the cause is clear.” She felt his eyes on her but she could not look at him, he was too close and it still hurt too much when he was near, “A very old invocation, perfectly translated.” She hated how much the compliment made her stomach flutter, knowing that she wanted him to be proud of her too.

Dorian’s voice brought her back to the present, her gaze now drifting away from the altar. He handed her the staff she dropped and smiled at her, “Now let’s find Corypheus.”

#dragon age inquisition #inquisitor lavellan #solas x lavellan #sollavellan #fan fiction #dragon age #spoilers #lots of them #avise lavellan #honey and wildfire are both the color gold #solas #solas dragon age #solavellan #ao3 port #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

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felixcloud6288 · 8 months ago

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Higurashi: Massacre Chapter 6

Rika's getting a bit too cocky. The first rule about Lady Luck is you do not test her.

Hinase Momoyama could have done a very funny thing by using that same panel Yutori Houjyou kept using every time those guys' motorcycles were knocked over.

Rika has spent 100 years fighting against a force she was powerless against. She was eager to get into a fight she knew she had the power to win.

It's the kidnapper again! Yeah, that van really is connected to "Tokyo". And Rika knows who the Wild Dogs are. And they're under Takano's command.

So does this mean Takano instigated the kidnapping in Time Killing? And was Rika aware of their involvement at the time?

Irie and Takano are researching some disease called Hinamizawa Syndrome and are keeping it heavily under wraps. Rika is the only person in the village aware of what they're doing. Satoko meanwhile is told she's assisting with nutritional research.

Maybe the van scenes in Abducted by Demons and Atonement were because Keiichi and Rena were showing signs of Hinamizawa Syndrome and the Wild Dogs were planning to effectively kidnap them for treatment.

I went back to Curse Killing Chapter 11 to see if there's anything I could use to potentially name the kidnapper, and I found an early reference to the Wild Dogs that is lost due to a light mistranslation.

When Irie is talking with some staff about how to subdue Keiichi, someone says "Including Yamainu and us, three" in reference to how many male staff are available.

Yamainu is the proper name of the Wild Dogs. It translates literally to Mountain Dog, but Yen Press changed the name to Wild Dog instead. So at the time, I guess the translators thought Yamainu referred to a person rather than a group and the line should have been "Including the Wild Dogs and us, three."

But anyway, this is just me pointing out the first time this group was ever mentioned and we still don't have a name for the kidnapper.

I get the feeling Teppei returns to Hinamizawa at around the same date and time each instance he arrives which is why Rika felt a sudden sense of dread when the clock struck 6pm on the Sunday before the Festival.

Looking back on Curse Killing, the last moment where we can be certain Satoko was not in Teppei's custody was after the baseball game in chapter 4. Keiichi mentions it was a Saturday. At the end of the chapter, we're in the classroom and Rika arrives late and upset. So Teppei would have arrived somewhere between that Saturday evening and early Monday morning.

Satoko then missed three days of school meaning she came back on a Thursday and had her mental freakout which drove Keiichi to decide to kill Teppei on Friday. Then Keiichi spent the Saturday setting up his murder and enacted it on the Sunday of the Festival.

So yeah, it's very possible that Teppei came back to the village at the exact same time in both Curse Killing and Massacre.

Rika has had amazing luck when she was willing to take charge of her destiny and acted as if she was doomed otherwise. The moment she thought she was untouchable, all her luck ran out.

She has no options for dealing with Teppei and luck will not be on her side here.

I guess this means Hinamizawa is somewhere in the Chūbu region of Japan.

Locations I recall being mentioned at various times through the series include Nagoya which is the capital of the Chūbu region, Gogura which I cannot find at all, and this chapter mentions Ishikawa and the Noto Peninsula, which is the small jut of land seen on the above image.

Rika, what do you mean Irie and Takano erased your mother? What do you know about the deaths in 1981?

Rika really loves Satoko. This is a world where Rika has the greatest chance ever of beating her destiny. But if it means Satoko has to suffer, Rika considers it to be a dead-end hopeless world.

back

#higurashi no naku koro ni #higurashi no naku koro ni reread #higurashi when they cry

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kristencsummerlin · 6 months ago

Note

Fanfic ask game - L and M!

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

After I finish a chapter. I self edit two to three times than I send it to my sister to read. She'll correct my grammar. After her feedback I edit again. Send it to her to re-read. And then if I'm feeling paranoid I'll read through it incase I need to edit a second time.

After posting I tend to ignore it for a while, writing the other chapters til I decide to read through it again and it more than often results in me editing it here and there.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you'd care to share?

I'm assuming I answered the question incorrectly last time which is my bad. I'll tell the stories and ideas I've thought about but done nothing with nor do I think I ever will do anything with. And for fun and it make it easy on others I'll give everything names.

The Fraggers!: LOL So Lobo, New 52 Lobo, Sheba (who I think was supposed to take Lobo's spot in New 52 before they created New 25 Lobo), Slobo from Young Justice, Crush/Xiomara Rojas Lobo's daughter, and my OC Leah (fun fact I created her when I was 11) get forced into an Alien Family Game Show. Sort of like Big Brother except it's families competing other families. Everyone agrees to it because there's this huge cash reward for winning. And everyone in the family likes money to some degree. Crush is lucky to have Slobo because he's the one making sure Lobo doesn't betray everyone. There's supposed to be bonding and fights. The Lobos keep fighting for the name and because they think they know how to handle teenagers better than the other.

Maggie Opal: It's about a young adult girl with an imaginary troll friend/boyfriend named Hank. Our girl basically has schizophrenia and is leaving in a shitty life. People start going missing in her town including our girl's bully so she looks into it. It's played throughout the whole story that magic isn't real. Like the woman kidnapping and killing people is labeled a "Hag" but she's not supposed to be. Until Maggie finds out she's pregnant which makes no sense to her because she's only done sexual things with her imaginary boyfriend. And than plot twist magic is real. Our girl hasn't been imaging anything. Hank is an actual troll. The woman she fought was an actual Hag. Magic just doesn't have a kewl color effect or anything like that. And Maggic never realized the truth because her extension of belief was too strong.

Yandere Boyfriend: A yandere killer becomes obsessed with a detective. So he's been going after and killing criminals that the law's been letting get away due to the lack of evidence, lawyers, or simply because the person has money and power. So our yandere has been playing Dexter, murdering them in the hopes our detective will fall in love with him that way and or to make their life less stressful. Of course the detective will catch on and try to stop the yandere despite believing he's doing the right thing because a crime is a crime. I even thought about the yandere having a pet turtle name Mr. Williams who he talks to about everything.

Demi: It's my demigod college AU story. Like Nicktoons it's gonna be a freak of the week so different stories about different characters at the time. All the characters are somewhere between 18 to 30 years old unless they're a staff member. I guess the premise is "I the writer love mythos and fables."

The last two are connected to my posted fics. One being Hellsing Dracula, which is the story Dracula but what I think the Hellsing's version of it is. Because as much as Hellsing is accurate to Bram Stroker's Dracula, it also isn't. So I figured it would be fun. The second would be a different story of how Shirley and Alucard met. Although I don't think it would be a good read which is why I've done nothing with it. Next would be my altered version of Nicktoon episodes and movies but in my universe. Again never done anything because I think I can explain those events through the Nicktoon series. I guess a fanfic for Dracula vs Hitler being it's my guilty pleasure book but it's too insane to every do anything with. And lastly the Future Hellsing/Blue Exorcist crossover but I need to finish the previous stories before heading to the that one.

Hopefully I answered the question correctly this time lol. I don't know what else to say I don't really come up with themes or messages for stories. At least not before I write them I just pants the stories.

#ask box open #answered ask #ask game #hellsing ask #nicktoons ask #fanfiction writer

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kwillow · 2 years ago

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Hi if you got my last message I'm sorry for the repeat feel free to delete if you didn't because Tumblr decided to go "no <3" at the last second oh boy howdy it's me again devoted anon unmasked, if this ask feels shorter tireder I'm sorry it is tumblr is an evil evil thing, on to my girl she is called Zephyr a lengthened alternate to her canon name that she probably picked out herself probably from a book as I imagine Ambroy boasts a huge library. Onto the daughter. (also apparently Zephyr means gentle breeze so obviously mental image of her gently blowing on Ambroys ear to make it flick to wind him up)

Obviously from sketch to digital I missed things out because I didn't have the effort lmao, her scars from blood letting are probably hidden under her scales so if she's shedding there or pulls them back it will reveal the scars like the dragon heart dragons having those scars under their chest scales from taking out their hearts. She originally was gonna have major implied tail related trauma implying it was cut off and regrew yes I was gon imply it was cut off to be served but I thought that was too far but since her tail is nubby it likely did get injured at some point. Also I like to imagine her hair looks thick and wild and untamed? But also kind of flawless too. It's got a weirdly scaley vibe to it and the hair is probably a bit coarse, not like unpleasantly so just clearly rougher wilder almost. She usually manages her own hair via cleaning drying brushing it ect but secretly she does adore it if a staff member offers to dry her hair or brush it or just to play with it, she's touch starved and pretty woman want to touch her?? Play with her hair?? For real?? Makes her soft. She's very compliant to so if staff are needed to at least neaten up her hair they know she'll sit on the floor where they can easily reach to do her hair and sit good and still for them. The two tone color is cause I think it looks hella cool tbh it added dynamic to her and because she probably bled in her hair plenty as her horns grew in and idk mythos bled into her hair permanently dying it (though its more likely just weird power stuff like how Ambroy hair is golden hers went from brown to pink silver). Also her claws and horns are probably only metal coated and not full metal. Also idk if beans I just like the implied feral prowling stalking predator vibes of it she's an ambush predator ready to take down unsuspecting prey and also viciously hunt House intruders lmao there is mental image of her chasing some guy who broke in maybe scaring a maid and she came running hearing the maid scream absolutely hunting this guy like a wild beast thinking he was attacking the maid and for breaking in. Zephyr can have feral as a treat, as I said she's always a bit off and otherworldly a bit too feral despite the fact they should be civil, could revert to animal revert to quadraped lmao. Zephyr is always like 2 steps away from just turning into a beast and disappearing into the woods or in this case I guess kidnapping Ambroy her treasure now lmao.

Outfit time! And for me to be a liar lmao

She's a comfortable girl, definitely would prefer to dress like she just rolled out of bed. I think she'd have a very casual relationship with clothes, at first I imagine she wore very loose things growing up easy to slide up to access flesh for cutting or very tight constricting covering everything clothes when needing to hide her abuse and likely tight fashionable clothes when later living with Ambroy and probably to some extent dressed up by him for his liking and viewing to the point that when she's older she kinda goes eh fuck it ill wear what I'm comfy in not whats suitable for other people. This also somehow developed into casualness in nudity I suppose exposed stomach falling down loose trousers ect, I also hc she has a dressing gown she'll put on and wear with nothing else only vaguely tied to just about hide everything. I think at this point she just doesn't care XD though she won't obviously do this in public but cover of Ambroys home she can be lax but will respectfully cover up to not fluster the staff they don't need to see a tit ya know she respects them. She's sure Ambroy wouldn't mind seeing a tit, but like she'll jokingly pull her dressing gown over herself pretending to conceal and hide herself from him like no you cannot witness because he probably huffs at her for being so selfish to not share a tit. But just any lazy outfit you can think of she'd wear or own, she likely does have genuine outside activity clothes which are probably actually decent walking clothes I can see her enjoying long walks out climbing treks ect cause she's active or casual outside clothes for tea and biscuits and cakes when the weather is nice but nothing fancy like Ambroy not anymore too much effort. Her fashion is likely probably more similar to the I suppose common folk than the rich cause like common folk know how to enjoy comfort rich people just dress wildly and honestly dressing in common clothes is weirdly nostalgic not exactly comforting but feels right.

Now for my lies and deceit lmao, so I know I said no dress but also. What if one dress one time XD I thought itd be fun to have her in at least one dress outfit. She's probably wearing a corset brasier combo to thin her waist and adjust her chest hence her looking different. Ambroy probably asked so that people don't realise she's showing her age too, though Zephyr definitely asked the staff to be gentle with the corset she's not used to it so they couldn't tighten it as much as Ambroy would hope. This event is likely the reason she doesn't wear dresses anymore. She probably just, had a bit of a identity crisis as the knowledge of, these people are so much different to me, set in. She's not, from wealth or royalty or really even anything important sure shes apparently half something special but she was born into nothing and treated worse for it until she met Ambroy, she realises that she stands over everyone there how delicate and beautiful the woman are and how confident and assured the men are she's, not either she's much larger and yes she knows it's muscle she's strong could probably lift more than some of the gentleman here but compared to these pretty woman she feels so, wrong and out of place and she's not confident as much as she pretends she doesn't dare enter the dance floor her feet are too big her claws too dangerous her tail too in the way. Essentially has a horrible comparison to everyone else moment anxiety and stress rising because oh god she's so different just look she's probably got problems especially because she relates more with the lower class being born into that she can take care of herself while the higher class need to be served she knows she sticks out compared to everyone so she'd leave to smoke outside. Quite literally when overly anxious she produces smoke cause she can breathe fire as a treat and she probably just has a bit of an anxiety attack outside honestly everything was probably just over stimulating for her especially if this is the first event she's been to since fully developing into divine maturity she's only just finding herself her new 'real' self and her senses are likely overwhelmed with the music chatting dancing singing perfumes sparkling jewellery and decorations and heat of the room and just she's not been raised in this like Ambroy the odd event but not really made for it and would likely not go to anymore. She'd just tell Ambroy it's because she makes the room look cluttered and she shouldn't distract from his divine radiance and beauty like that.

Also Zephyr is probably about 7ft tall or something, as much as I want to make her stupidly tall I'm limiting myself but like you're free to play around with her height and design tweaking it for if its easier in art or for a certain aesthetic ect going full size dif or casual loom. I think canon human Zephyr is about 6ft close to Ambroy height naturally as she's my big strong muscular monster girl so obviously anthro dragon form needs to be bigger than him XD I like me height dif

Anywhos hope you and Ambroy will like and enjoy her design lmao and thank you for enjoying my silly character rambles I just adore your silly lil unicorn so so much he pleases the brain. I hope you have fun with your big project I'm very excited to see it! And I hope work isn't too hard on you either! Baiii

So glad to see Zephyr in the flesh! (So to speak)

Her design is very cute, I love the silver scales and red eyes. All the better that she's 7 ft too - we love a big girl in this house!

I could definitely see Ambroys using her as a fashion doll for a while until she makes me clothing preferences known. He's unfortunately prone to viewing other people as accessories to complement his own outfits.

I like the details you included about her being uncomfortable in the high society company Ambroys tends to keep. Given her background, it makes a lot of sense (and considering the snakes Ambroys tends to associate with - and is - she's probably right to feel that way). I think he'd be torn on her bowing out of his dances and social events - on the one hand, he'd probably buy the excuse that she'd distract from his glory, and he does like being the most eye-catching thing in the room, but he does like to have an entourage so that people think he has friends. Ultimately, though, he wouldn't force her to go... though she may be forced to hear him complaining/gossiping about the proceedings afterward.

Thanks so much for sharing and my apologies again for not being more quick on the message-answering draw - I do really appreciate having your OC shared with me, despite my bumbling tardiness!

#asks #text #sorry for not responding to your christmas message yet (even though it's been months waaah) I wanted to doodle something for it but #I've not had time! soon though I hope!

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betrayedandbrave · 2 months ago

Text

Gabriel walked into the country club, still weighed down by the chaos of Halloscream. The staff had hesitated at the door, eyeing him with the same judgment they reserved for anyone who didn’t fit the polished, pristine image of the club. His unkempt appearance, a mixture of exhaustion, regret, and too many sleepless nights, didn’t scream "elite." As Gabriel stepped into the private dining room, his eyes immediately met Devran's—a sharp, probing gaze that seemed to cut straight through him. The familiar pressure settled over him, the weight of expectation to be the version of himself everyone wanted him to be: the loyal, obedient member of the Society, the one who always fell in line. But today? That Gabriel was gone. He didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore, didn’t care enough to play the part. Why bother? He thought. They’d turn on him too. No one would care. "Yeah, I’m late. Big surprise." Gabriel’s voice was flat, drained of its usual sharpness, a reflection of his apathy. He didn’t bother with excuses. "Your people stopped me outside." He gestured vaguely, his expression almost bored. A different version of him would’ve cared more about the timing, about the impression. But now, with every passing second, it felt like he was becoming more of a ghost in his own life.

"I shot my brother." He let the words sit there, blunt and cold, before continuing in a tone that barely masked the bitterness crawling up his throat. "You already know why. The text was enough. Everything I believed was confirmed, and guess what? It didn’t mean a damn thing." Anger bubbled up in him, sharp and suffocating. He could feel it in his chest, but the words came out resigned, almost defeated. "Luciano will still sit on the council like nothing happened. He’ll keep his seat, his power. And I’ll stay the fuck-up, the bad son. Nothing changes." Gabriel leaned back in his chair, his hands loosely clenched into fists on the table. His eyes never left Devran’s, daring him to do something, to say something, anything to change this endless cycle. "Go ahead. Punish me." He almost whispered it, his voice thick with exhaustion and something darker underneath. "Hurt me. I don’t care anymore."

closed starter @betrayedandbrave // the golden cove country club

Devran reclined at his private table in the dining room of his exclusive country club. The room was a masterpiece of refined elegance: crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over polished mahogany tables, while impeccably dressed waitstaff moved like clockwork between the seated elite. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. His father had scoffed when Devran purchased the failing club, dismissing it as a wasteful indulgence. But Devran, ever the visionary, had transformed it into a thriving hub for the city's most powerful players. His Midas touch had never faltered—it was why he led the society, after all. Glancing at his sleek wristwatch, he clicked his tongue in mild annoyance as the hands struck 11:30 AM. Gabriel was late. Of course, Devran thought with a hint of disdain. The timing was inconvenient; Devran had missed the Halloscream debacle due to other engagements, but reports of Gabriel shooting a Serpent had reached him quickly. The reckless act had escalated tensions with the Serpents. Devran prided himself on being a hands-on leader, one who handled problems at their roots. This would require private correction before any public display of authority.

When Gabriel finally appeared, Devran's piercing gaze met him like a blade. “You’re late,” he said sharply, his tone clipped and measured. “Common courtesy dictates arriving at least ten minutes early. On time is late.” He gestured curtly toward the empty chair across from him, signaling a waiter with a subtle flick of his fingers. As Gabriel settled in, Devran’s voice dropped, heavy with the weight of expectation. “Care to explain what happened? Or shall I remind you of the consequences of acting without thought?”

#!! now i know the bitter truth ~ d.d.l.c. threads!!#ft. devran

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gothic-daydreamer · 2 years ago

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-Caught-

Larissa Weems x Fem!Wife!OC

*oneshot*

Summary: A few months into your well-hidden relationship, caution is thrown to the wind.

Warnings: slight Angst.

---------------------------------------------------

Larissa and I had been dating for three months already. God, it felt like only days.

So far we'd kept it professional in public, outside of her office or either of our apartments within the school. None of the other staff knew, Larissa wanted to wait until the 5 month mark before she told anyone in the Academy. I understood that, she wanted to protect her image in her workplace.

For her, the faculty's opinions were more important given she was of a much higher station than I was. Still, I wished I could kiss her openly without hesitation, but I understand and respect her boundaries.

A student stood in front of me at my desk, I glanced away from them and scanned around for my assistant, Silvie. I suppose she was busy, or on her smoke break. I looked back to the student "how can I help you, dear?" I gave them a professional smile.

They tapped their fingers together nervously, head lowered in a subservient way "I- I uh... I'm looking for a book" I leaned back in my desk chair, softening my expression and attempting to put less pressure on them "what kind of book?"

"a uh- a fantasy book. Yknow, the kind with magic and- and dragons!" Their eyes seemed to shine at the mention of dragons, and I chuckled in amusement "I'm guessing you're a fan of dragons, then?" I brushed off my flared leg trousers as I stood up, this timid little 13 year old looked up at me like I was the most imposing person they'd ever seen as I stood over them. I couldn't help but hold back a smile, Larissa would make this child look like an ant at her feet.

"y-yes. They're so powerful, and free!" The little student exclaimed, making me laugh lightly. I moved my glasses to sit atop my braided auburn hair, pulling my cream coloured cardigan around me as I shivered against the cold drafts of the library.

"well then, let's find you a dragon book sweetheart" I resisted the urge to tousle their hair like I used to do to my nieces and nephews back home, and merely stepped around them to begin the journey through the bookshelves that towered above us. This library was like a maze, it took me forever to get a handle on my way around it, but after a few weeks I didn't need a guide anymore.

I'd been at the boarding school for outcasts for about a year and a half by then, moving from the UK with my ex-fiance to begin working at the academy. We were so in love then, everything I'd seen in life told me that this was love. How little I knew. This place showed me that life could be anything I wanted, anything I made it to be. It also showed me what love, attraction, beauty really was. It was where I met Larissa.

The student followed at my side, I caught them glimpsing up at me every few seconds, most likely to see what I was planning. If I'm being honest, this anxious little kid reminded me of myself a little. I clung to Larissa's side in crowds, and needed her reassurance for my social fears. Yes, I thought with a hidden smile, this kid is familiar.

"what's your name, darling?" I asked absentmindedly as I began rifling through a shelf I knew well, mostly because I was a fan of historical fantasy myself.

"Styx" I turned away from the bookshelf, an audible excited gasp had Stix looking a little apprehensive "like the River Styx? In the Underworld?" I sounded like an over-eager kid begging for desert, I would have cringed if i wasn't so intrigued. The newly teenage child nodded.

"that's a lovely name! With a great history behind it too" I had turned back to the bookshelf by this point, but I didn't miss the sheepish smile on Styx's face. They appeared a lot more relaxed now, I was glad.

"I'm Miss Edwards, but you can call me Cecile if your going to be coming by often" I winked at the student cheekily as I attempted to make them more comfortable. it seemed to work, as Styx muffled a giggle behind their palm. I continued rifling through the books.

I came across the series entitled 'Eragon' and paused, tapping my index finger against the spine of the first book. I turned my head to Styx "how do you feel about a series of books? I promise this is a very good one" I held out the first book, letting them run their eyes over the blurb on the back.

There were a few moments of silence as I carefully assessed their reaction, their face was blank at first, until they looked up at me with an eager and excited grin. I smiled back at them, my shoulders relaxing, glad to see they liked my suggestion.

"can I borrow this first one? Please" I chuckled lightly, now leaning a little against the bookshelf

"of course you can, sweetheart. Just-" I cut myself off as a look of anxiety and awe came across their face, I raised an eyebrow "what's wrong?" Styx had their eyes fixed behind me, looking like a deer in headlights.

A hand laid on my shoulder. I glanced down at it and saw the familiar cream coloured glove of my secret-lover "Hello, Miss Edwards. Sorry to interrupt but I need a word in private" her voice was low, my legs nearly buckled beneath me at the sound of Larissa's sultry tones.

I turned my head to Larissa, looking up at her as I smiled. She had the sweetest, yet most professional look on her face "oh, yes. Of course La- uhm, Principal Weems" I quickly corrected myself at her eyebrow raise, stumbling a little. I resisted the urge to place my hand atop hers.

Turning back to Styx, who looked between us with a mixture of discomfort and curiosity, I tried to keep the excitement from my voice "I hope you enjoy your book, sweetie. Pop by if you need anything!" With that, they smiled and scampered off to another part of the large library.

Larissa now commanded my full attention.

"what can I help you with, Principal Weems?" I didn't mean for her title to come out quite as sultry as it did, but my voice still purred as I looked up at her. I noticed Larissa seemed taken aback by my tone, until her eyes became amused and her lips quirked up into a grin.

She glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot. Finding no one, Larissa leaned down to me so that I'd hear her deep voice whisper "you can help me by being a good girl and coming where no one can see us" I stared up at her, wide eyed. Larissa was never usually this daring in public.

The shock I felt was nearly doubled when Larissa reached out, placing her hand on my waist and pulling me with her. We were now behind a bookshelf, shielded from view from the rest of the library. I looked up at her, seeing her devious smile "you're full of surprises, aren't you?"

Larissa hummed in response, rubbing her thumb over the curve of my waist. I found myself leaning into her touch, enjoying her affection. The slightly older woman leaned down towards me, a deliciously seductive smile on her face as she met my lips in a soft kiss.

It started off slowly, innocently enough. Her hands on my waist, mine cupping her face and stroking her soft skin. Larissa's lips brushed over mine with a gentleness I'd seldom encountered before. Safe to say, kissing women was much more enjoyable than kissing men.

Larissa gently pressed me back into the wooden shelf behind us, slipping her hands under my cardigan and feeling her way up the curves of my body. Running down over my hips, my stomach fluttered as she firmly held them to the bookshelf and pressed her body close against mine, continuing to hungrily explore my waiting mouth as if she was waiting her whole life to do it.

A little moan slipped out as she suddenly grabbed my ass with one hand, leaning her other one above my head and keeping me trapped. As if I'd ever want to escape her hold though, death by a thousand kisses sounded like heaven. I kissed her impatiently, yearning for more of her touch.

Larissa engulfed my senses. All I could feel was her body on mine, smell her scent of lavender and freshly pressed paper, hear her little gasps as we broke for barely a second to catch our breath. I felt her warm breath ghosting over my lips as she pulled only a little bit away, her lustful eyes looking from my eyes to my lips and back again.

I whimpered as she stopped me from kissing her again, a sly smile on her lips as she pressed me even harder into the bookshelf. Larissa knew the close contact was driving me crazy, her hand traced playfully across any exposed skin she could find and dug in her nails to make me whine.

"stop being cruel, Larissa" i sounded absolutely pathetic, staring up at her pleadingly as she put all weight into the arm leaning just above my head and brought herself closer to me. The hand that had explored my body now tilted my chin up so that her lips could trace across my jaw.

"cruel? What's cruel is you avoiding me, sweetheart. I've missed you" I gulped as she continued laying strategic kisses to my neck, Larissa smirking a little at my barely restrained moans. She knew my sensitive spots already and made sure to target them.

"S-Someone- Someone could see- Ah-" Larissa sucked my pulsepoint as I tried to speak, humming in satisfaction at my inability to talk coherently. I found myself grasping onto her dress blaser with white knuckles as I tried to keep quiet. But with great luck Larissa decided to devour my lips in a kiss once again.

Her mouth was urgent on mine, exploring me as our tongues danced together heatedly. My moans were muffled by her lips, thank god. I'd die if anyone caught us like this. I breathed rapidly through my nose, my hands still clenching her blaser tightly.

I was red faced when Larissa finally pulled away, panting and flushed with dilated pupils. Larissa grinned down at me, pulling away and wiping her smeared lipstick in an attempt to clean it up. I stayed where I was, pressed back into the fictional-crime section of the library.

Larissa straightened herself up, fixing one of her gloves as she absentmindedly glanced back to me "good to know everything is in order, Miss Edwards. You'd best get back to work"

I didn't move, not trusting my weak knees not to crumble. Larissa raised an eyebrow "y-yes Principal Weems, right away" she smiled, showing her pearly white teeth

"good. Come along" my trembling legs carried me past her, walking a few steps in front as we made our way back to the front desk. Students didn't pay us any mind, although some troublemakers quietened down as Larissa passed by them. I could still feel my burning red face, and hoped people wouldn't notice.

After the long descent down the steps of the library we came to the front desk, where Silvie was filing away paperwork. I rushed to get to my desk but bristled slightly to attention as a light touch graced my butt as Larissa made her way to the door, turning her head to shoot me a subtle little wink as my cheeks turned pink again.

"Continue the good work, Miss Edwards, Miss Davis" Larissa nodded to Silvie, who did the same in return, before she slipped out of the large oak doors and into the hallway outside. I smiled nervously at Silvie.

I cleared my throat "have I missed anything?" Sitting down at my desk, Silvie looked back to me.

"No, but you might want to borrow this" Silvie held out a little tube of makeup, which on closer inspection turned out to be concealer.

"Why?" I raised an eyebrow at her, leaning on my desk and unknowingly exposing my collarbones and a tiny bit more.

Silvie smirked a little, scanning her eyes across my face as if debating being honest with her boss. She clearly saw my impatience, and decided to speak her mind.

"well, your neck is covered with hickeys. I'm guessing Principal Weems would be pretty embarrassed for your secret to be blown"

My whole body burned with humiliation, my eyes were wide with shock. Silvie looked like she was holding back her laughter and if it was any other situation I'd be furious at her for it.

Instead, I just snatched the concealer from her outstretched hand and stormed off, my face red from both anger and embarrassment as I heard her laugher behind me.

---------------------------------------------------

Sorry if it's a little rushed, I've been busy getting prepared for a holiday.

Hope you guys enjoyed!

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #larissa weems x female reader #gwendoline christie x reader #larissa weems fluff #larissa weems x oc

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barnesbabee · 3 years ago

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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ - ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ

WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

⇜ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ - ᴛᴇɴ- ɴᴇxᴛ ⟿

CHARACTER LIST:

White Rabbit - Choi Jongho Absolem (Blue Catterpilar) - Kang Yeosang Cheshire Cat - Kim Hongjoong Mad Hatter - Choi San Haigha (March Hare) - Jung Wooyoung Tweedle Dee - Song Mingi Tweedle Dum - Jeong Yunho Bloody Red King - Park Seonghwa

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @myunvillage @mirror-juliet @jess-1404 @earth-to-leiki @miraculoustaytiny [Send me a DM, an ask or comment to be added to the tag list]

The King wasted no time. After getting you back, he immediately scheduled the coronation, as he couldn't wait to call you his Queen. The Castle was in a frenzy, the sound little frog feet slapping against the marble floors echoed in every division. Seonghwa refused to have the coronation in the same room where he got married, he didn't want to re-live the awful moment when his wife got stolen from him... So the maids and butlers found new decorations, moved the paintings and transformed another one of the King's dark and cold rooms into a place worthy of a welcoming party.

"Let's do it in the throne room. Place her throne by my right." He had said.

The tradition was for the throne to be moved in front of everyone present, so they could witness the changes and their new reality first hand, but Seonghwa was a little tired of following tradition.

You and him stood in the middle of the throne room, with every single maid and butler running around frantically, trying to get everything done on time. You looked on proudly, enjoying the way it was all coming along.

The excess of red and black was gone, it was now balanced with white and gold, and with the new paintings and lights giving the room a new life it looked like a completely new place. The blinds behind the throne were finally opened, revealing the most beautiful stained glass images. There were four people, who you assumed were Seonghwa's family.

You reminisced the first time you had come to that room, panting and confused, standing in the dark, cold room being judged by the merciless man Seonghwa once was. The contrast was almost unbelievable, but you were glad you had gotten this far.

You felt a pair of arms wrap around your figure and a chin on your shoulder.

"I'll have it replaced. First, just the two of us, and then, once we have our little prince, or princess," he paused, caressing your stomach, where you'd carry your future child "I'll have it replaced once more, with a full picture of our family."

He kissed your cheek and you smiled.

"But Seonghwa, are you sure you wanna take down the picture of your family?" You questioned, feeling honoured yet a little wrong, replacing the original King and Queen.

He stood straight, and his cheerful expression was immediately replaced by one of pain and confusion, remembering all of the memories alongside those people.

"Why not? They have given me nothing but a lifetime of suffering, you have given me nothing but happiness and a chance of redemption. You deserve to be up there, immortalized, as a part of the new Royal family."

"Thank you..."

That was all you could say, as there were no words that could possibly describe how you felt.

One of the maids stole you away from your husband for a second, so you could change from the dirty, ripped-up wedding dress for the new ceremony. She helped you switch to a princess-style dress, all in red silk. The revealing heart-shaped neckline was covered with black lace, that extended all the way to your hands and wrapped around your index finger.

"You look lovely, Miss." The maid said as she fixed your hair.

You thanked her with a small smile and headed towards the throne room. Usually, it would be packed with people, but due to the previous altercation, the only people attending the coronation would be the castle staff, aside from the knights who were assigned to protect the castle during the event.

You carefully sat on the throne, feeling Seonghwa's eyes (or... eye) inspecting you. He leaned over, so he could whisper in your ear.

"You look marvelous in red."

He sat back straight in his throne and smiled at your shy expression. A tall man soon entered the room holding two boxes. He opened one of the boxes and slowly (and carefully) placed the crown on the King's head. It was exaggerated, yet classy and sophisticated like Seonghwa. You could tell it had been specially done for him.

"We shall now begin the coronation of Miss Y/N." The man announced.

He opened the box in front of you, revealing the most beautiful, victorian crown. It was made up of white gold and adorned with the most beautiful red and white stones.

"I hereby declare, by the powers given to me by His majesty Park Seonghwa, the new Queen of Wonderland, Queen Y/N."

The man slowly placed the crown on your head, and it was a perfect fit. He stepped away so the painter could see your smiling faces, as he immortalized the moment on a canvas.

The castle staff smiled and cheered for you, their new Queen.

"Bring her!" The King shouted, and the whole room froze.

The thought on everyone's mind was 'Who's her'.

The heavy doors to the room opened, and a chained woman, dressed in a black cape with her white, disheveled hair showing stepped in, with the help of two guards.

"Unchain her."

The guards obeyed the King, and unchained the woman, who rotated her wrists with a sigh of contentment.

"Finally, what do I owe the honour, Sir?"

The crowd in front of you looked on, petrified. Who the fuck was she?

"Undo the room." Seonghwa commanded.

"Hm there have been some changes, I see." The woman said, her voice cracking mid-sentence.

She looked at you, with her bright purple eyes, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Yes, there have. Now please do as I asked."

"Very well Sir."

The woman removed her black cape, revealing a small, crooked young-looking woman. She lifted her hands in the air, creating a small green fog in her hands, that she aimed at all beings in the room. The people, who were previously humanoid frogs, were turned back into their original form. Tears of happiness formed in everyone's eyes and cries of thankfulness echoed in the room. One maid approached you and knelt by your feet.

"Thank you... Thank you so much!"

You recognized the voice, it was the maid that had thanked you the other day for staying with Seonghwa, and the one that usually helped you dress. You smiled and held her hands.

"No need to kneel around me Miss, thank you for your hard work."

She bowed to you as she walked back to cheer with her peers.

Seonghwa stood up and held out his hand for you to take, and so you followed.

"Iracebeth, follow us. You two," the King said, looking at the two guards who had brought the witch "make sure everyone is gathered at the town center by the time we arrive."

The guards nodded and immediately headed out. Seonghwa took your arm and started walking with you, headed to the town center, you guessed.

You looked behind you to look at the witch, that stared at you with a sinister expression.

"Are you sure it's safe to bring her along, won't she like... curse you? You know, for keeping her locked up?" You whispered.

"Oh, no that won't be an issue."

You tilted your head to the side.

"How come?"

Seonghwa blushed, embarrassed to recall what he had done.

"Well, I tricked her into falling in love with me so I could get her to cast a spell on herself that would only allow her to cast the spells I request her to. I then locked her in the dungeon because I didn't want to deal with her constant crying and blabbering about how I tricked her, that's probably why she's looking at you like..." He glanced over at the witch "... like that."

You hit his arm.

"Park Seonghwa!"

"Ow! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I regret doing it but if I undo it now it could have severe consequences, not only for me but for you too. And we can't have that."

You sighed and nodded. It's true that it was cruel, but you didn't want any consequences headed your way, you'd had enough.

You stopped in front of a black and gold carriage, the one that would take you into town. Seonghwa helped you get on and then sat beside you. The witch rode in front of you, her creepy smile and envious eyes staring into your soul the whole ride. Seonghwa held your hand tightly, also feeling uneasy by her presence.

"We're here, Sir."

Seonghwa took a deep breath. You could tell he was nervous, as all of the people from the Kingdom looked at the carriage, expectantly. You kissed his cheek and held his hand tighter.

"It will be okay." You assured him.

Seonghwa smiled softly and exited the carriage, alongside you and the witch. The expressions of the people once they saw the witch were the same as back in the castle, and they braced for the worst.

The King said nothing, he only turned to the witch and said 'do it'.

Once more, she cast the spell, that supposedly returned them to what they once were, but it didn't go as planned. Some people returned to their original state, but the ones who had turned from animals to humans, not so much... Some had the luck of being completely turned back to who they were, others were left hybrids, mixes of animals and humans. You found Cheshire, still as a human, happily playing with his ears and tail, and Haiga, the Hare, jumping about with his hare feet about the return of his long ears. It didn't take much for those two to be happy. There was a mix of emotions among the crowd, however, some people that had married into families who were previously human, were happy they got some of their old life back and they would still be able to maintain their relationship, others were sad (and mad) that they would never be able to return to whom they once were.

"What happened!?" Seonghwa whisper-yelled to the witch.

"The curse has been cast for far too long, I wasn't able to undo it completely." She explained, ashamed of her own skills.

"People, I apologize," as soon as he spoke those words the commotion calmed down, and everyone seemed shocked. The King? Apologizing? "it seems the curse has gone on for too long and is irreversible in some cases. I ask that whoever has been affected attends the castle tomorrow so I can offer a proper compensation for all of the damages caused, that would be all."

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quicksilverrwrites · 3 years ago

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𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: it’s your first date with peter maximoff, and the tension between the two of you has been building for weeks. you share a passion like no other, and there's only one place this date can go: the dark back alley of the arcade, a place where no soul dare to go lest they bare the damned title of 'staff'. or quicksilver and scribe, i guess. you pick. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, sexual innuendos, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader (sorry americans <3), make out scene and sexual attraction 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: the character that features as y/n in my fics is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

Your date with Peter comes around the corner faster than you thought it would considering you’re not exactly the typical ‘student’ at Xavier’s School.

You’d thought it would take forever for the week to pass: typically, you spend your time waiting for your friend group to get out of lessons. You’re older, having graduated school when you lived in the United Kingdom, so the only lessons you attend are that of Power Efficiency, Mutant Physiology and Ethics, the latter two being optional and studied merely out of interest. The rest of your schedule consists of a lot of free time. You don’t work—with all the money you have, why would you? Uncle Charles keeps nagging you to do something with your time, something productive, but after what you went through in England with your father…

Making friends here was difficult enough. Dealing with your powers in a new situation—coming to this school—was enough. You’re not exactly an extrovert, either, which is why you’re so surprised that you and Peter click so well.

He’s eccentric and annoying and perfect. Okay, perhaps not perfect in a literal sense, but to you he is. Sure, his leather jacket kind of smells from age and sometimes he talks so fast that you find yourself struggling to keep up, but you find it endearing. And oh, those eyes—you could watch how they light up when he’s super excited about something forever, you think.

He’s the best thing that’s happened to you in a while. You wonder if Charles knew what he was doing when he made Peter your buddy upon your arrival at this institute, but in reality, you know it’s because you’re both the oldest students—almost-students?—at this school. Besides, Charles has seen the two of you work together as a chaotic duo, and you’ve heard the sighs and mutterings of the man when he’s been most exasperated because of the both of you. Why, you think, grinning at your reflection in the mirror, would he ever put himself through that chaos if he could avoid it? The first prank you articulated together was the beginning of many, and you’ve practically been inseparable since you first arrived here.

First it was friendship. Then… yeah, it didn’t take much at all to blossom into something more.

You look good, you think, smoothing down Peter’s Rush tee as it hangs oversized on your body. You look really good. Your style is what would be expected of Charles’ niece even despite the fact that you’ve only ever met him a few times in your life: classy, 10% preppy, academic to a fault. You typically match your clothes to the colour of your powers: blue, but azure in particular. Sometimes pastel blue. You’re particular like that. But tonight you’ve opted for something different. Something a little more… Peter.

Your hair falls naturally past your shoulders, and the cool sleeves of a black leather jacket—your father’s leather jacket, the only leather jacket you own—hang from your shoulders while the jacket itself stops at your thighs. It's too big for you. You’ve paired a black skirt with the shirt, but it’s free flowing and a soft material that practically blends in with Peter’s top. Your boots are chunky platforms, black, and this is the darkest your outfit has been in a while.

It still feels… you, though. It feels right. Maybe because Peter feels right, and you stole this tee from him after you stayed over that night in his basement when it was pouring with rain. You both knew you could’ve opened up a portal to get back to your dorm, but neither of you wanted that.

You both want this, though. You both want each other.

The very acknowledgement of that fact forces you to take a steadying breath in, but the sound of a knock at your door makes your breath stammer. You look at the clock frantically. Is he here already? You both agreed on seven thirty, and it’s only seven. You had a schedule. Arcade, dinner, and whatever was left for after. Maybe a kiss if you work up the courage. Your heart hammers in your chest at the thought. But—

“Ah—hello?” A familiar voice sounds from the door. You breathe a sigh of relief: Kurt. “I came to see if you needed help with anyzi—”

You cross the room to the door and open it before Kurt can finish his sentence.

Kurt grins. As usual it’s a sheepish grin, but there is excitement in his eyes.

“Excited?” Kurt asks. “I vould be if I vere going on a date with ze magnificent Quicksilver.”

You grin at him and roll your eyes, ushering him in the room before you close the door behind you. “Don’t say that in the hallway!” You scold him, not entirely serious. “Anyone could be listening.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “Could it be that you are embarrassed?”

Your eyes widen, brows rising too. “No! It’s just—it’s nice now that things between us are private. And… I want to take things slow. I’ve been on dates before, and when you tell people about it it’s always the same thing: when are you going to do this? When are you going to do that? I don’t want to be pressured. And explaining my reasoning to want to take things slow is almost as tiring as actually working myself up into confidence so that I’m not nervous the entire time—”

“You definitely seem nervous.”

You scowl at your friend. “I am not nervous.”

“Your cheeks are red.”

At that, you know your face is starting to flush as red as a tomato. “You are insufferable sometimes.”

Kurt grins. “A few weeks ago, I vould have been hurt to hear you say this.”

You scoff, batting him playfully on the arm. “Are you going to walk me down to the common room or not?”

Kurt’s face takes on an air of confusion. “Ze common room? Why there?”

You shrug softly. “Peter is meeting me there.”

Kurt’s eyes light up with amusement. “Ah,” he responds, and you know by the exaggerated upwards tilt of his head that the next words out of his mouth are going to be sarcastic. “Very discreet, yes. I bet he will bring flowers.”

You scoff once more, parting your lips in playful annoyance as you turn to leave the room, but Kurt appears in front of you before your hand reaches the doorknob. He opens the door, extends his hand to you when his back is pressed against it, and the bow he delivers is nothing but formal. Gentlemanly. He probably learned it in the circus. You give him a teasingly formal nod as you accept his fingers in your own.

The door closes behind you, locks with a wave of your hand, and with a deep breath, the two of you venture down the halls of the manor.

***

You hear the sounds of people cursing at Peter before you actually see Peter.

You and Kurt turn to look at the double doors which lead into the common room at the same time, but Peter comes to a speedy stop in front of the both of you before you can even track his movements… and Peter’s eyes glaze over your appearance, your outfit, as his face pales.

You smirk at the sight of it. You know he likes it. Likes seeing you in his clothes. He looked at you the same way when you first walked out of the bathroom attached to the basement in his tee and grey shorts after that night in the rain. He had slept on the sofa then, had given you his bed, but he’d mentioned to you a couple of days after that his sheets still smelled like a mix of him and you.

You knew then that he couldn’t get the image of you wearing his clothes out of his head.

His outfit isn’t a change from what he usually wears, but he still looks amazing. Hot. The sight of him takes your breath away every time you see him. Silver-and-black jacket, white tee with a band insignia on it, and leather pants with his silver shoes. You can’t forget the goggles on his head, either. But—wait, no, there is something different. A sort of smell.

“What are you wearing?” You ask, the end of your sentence tinged with laughter.

Peter glances down at his outfit. “What?” He asks, confusion—and the slightest bit of worry?—in his gaze. “What's wrong with this?”

“No, silly,” you laugh, “your aftershave. What is it?”

It’s the very definition of seventies musk. It’s musky, leathery, and there’s the faintest smell of whiskey. He’s put way too much on, but your mother always used to complain about how much perfume you put on, too. You’re wearing it now: it’s sweet with the air of something more expensive. Valentino.

When you asked the lady in the store to let you try the ones which smelled sweet like vanilla, this was the first one she showed you. Out of the eight you had the choice of, you were sold on the very first one. You know that the best way to get a guy to fall for you is to smell sweet like candy—it reminds them of their childhood. Or in Peter’s case, you guess it might just remind him of twinkies. You know he loves those.

Peter’s cheeks flush red, and he lowers his head as he laughs. “Oh, man. My mom was right. I really stink, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh: a genuine laugh, teeth in your smile and all. You stand from the sofa you were sitting on with Kurt, and you realise only then that he’s already disappeared. You feel a twinge of guilt for not noticing earlier, but you forgive yourself for that: it is your date night, and Kurt is forever polite.

“You smell great, Peter,” you say, and it’s not entirely a lie. He doesn’t smell bad — it’s better than the leather jacket smell. “And I’m excited for our,” you glance around, whispering, “date.”

Peter’s eyes light up at that. “Right. Date. You mind if I—?”

He gestures to your neck. Whiplash. Right. You shake your head. “Just don’t mess up my hair.”

He blinks at you. “Do you realise how much of a challenge that is?”

Your smile is sickly sweet and riddled with sarcasm. “You’ll figure it out.”

His expression goes slack. He likes it when you do that; when you’re mean to him. You’re a lovely person typically—you reached the lucky end of the trauma spectrum, the opposite of which being the angry side which could’ve made you an arse—but it’s so easy to tease Peter. You like the power in being able to wrap him around your finger. You’ve never had this power over any man before, and after feeling powerless for so long, it's thrilling.

Peter clears his throat, steps towards you, and you swear he’s trying to use the lightest touch possible as he steadies your neck and places a shaky hand on your waist—

And then you’re off.

The world is barely more than a blur. You can’t keep up. Just as you think you’ve gotten used to it, Peter turns a corner—or at least you think that's what happens, because that’s how you would describe the sensation of being almost jolted to the side. And just when you think you can’t take any more, he stops. You’re in the mall, right outside the blue-walled and darkly lit arcade.

Peter’s hands move gently from your body and you lean your hands against your thighs to try to stop the world from spinning. You’ve gotten used to the nauseating feeling this sort of travel gives you now, but you’re not used to the dizziness.

“You okay?” Peter asks, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that he’s assessing you for any potential damage. His hand hovers over your back as if he’s afraid to overstep his bounds, but you would lean into his touch any day.

“Yeah,” you breathe, slowly easing upwards. “I’m good.”

Peter glances over your face in another silent check before he nods. “You ready to get your ass kicked?”

You gape at him. Yeah, that sarcastic comment has knocked the dizziness right out of you. “Oh, you’re on.”

You’re less confident than you seem, but you don’t think Peter picks up on it as he grins and bouncily makes his way into the Arcade. You follow him, shoulder brushing against his as you catch up to his gait, because luckily you both walk fast. He turns to look at you and smiles, softer this time, and you almost get caught up in the softness of his eyes before your heart stammers, your throat closes up, and—

Oh, god. You’re not good with this. The romance. It makes you tense and nervous.

You turn away from him, hands wrapping around the controls of the nearest arcade game. “I call shotgun.”

Peter laughs and comes to a stop next to you. “I know you’re British and that makes you, like, socially awkward, but that only applies to cars.”

You nudge him in the side—hard, but not hard enough to really do damage. He hisses in annoyance, muttering jeez, lady, under his breath. You ask, “Are you really going to deny me my request on our date?”

Peter grins at you, fingers clenching around the neighbouring controls. “Depends. What do I get out of it?”

You smirk at him, your heart fluttering in your chest. “A kiss or two at the end of this, perhaps.”

You watch Peter’s adam’s apple bob. “Per—perhaps?”

You grin. “Depends how you behave.”

You don’t need to read thoughts like your uncle to know that Peter has to be telling himself to breathe. Because it seems like an awful lot of effort for him to successfully inhale and exhale, and he doesn’t say anything before he slams a coin—a quarter? you don’t understand American money—into the machine and the BEGIN GAME screen buzzes to life.

It’s pretty hard for you to catch your breath as you both play in silence, too.

Eventually, conversation picks back up again. A sarcastic comment. The occasional compliment. Peter’s good at these games, but so are you. Arcade stand after arcade stand, his teasing remarks make your heart flutter… as well as something deeper within you, too. You’ve never felt attraction like this before, and truthfully, it’s driving you wild.

“Dad wasn’t around much back home,” you reveal, your eyes glued to the avatar on the screen as it darts around, “so I had a lot of time to kill. The arcade became my home. So yeah, it’s safe to say I can easily kick your arse.”

“Arse,” he teases, mimicking the way you speak. “Trying to let me let you win with a sob story, Xavier? Nah, not going to work.”

You gape at him, taking your eyes off the screen for a mere second, but Peter takes the opportunity to kill your avatar for good. With mock outrage, you quip, “I was not trying to do that!”

He grins at you, his eyes glowing purple and red in the light of your dying avatar. “Ah,” he whispers, “victory tastes sweet.”

You press your lips together in defeat, and then you sigh as you take your hand in his. “Come on. I want a slushie.”

Peter lets you drag him away, and the two of you settle down at the food stand in the arcade as the lights around you buzz blue and purple.

You like the lighting in here, you think, as you step up to the worker. “Two slushies, please,” you tell him, smiling politely. “One red and blue for me, and Peter—?”

“All of them,” he says, nodding towards the flavours.

You part your lips in surprise. All of them? There are about eight flavours up on that display, and you know it’s all going to melt into a mess of slush that barely tastes like anything other than sugar. But the worker has obviously been asked for worse, because he just shrugs and gets to work. One pump, two pumps, three pumps—he goes through them all with the finesse of someone who has worked at a place like this for far too long, and when he hands you your simple two-flavoured slushie in comparison to Peter's complex one, you feel like a bit of a slushie fraud.

You go to reach into your pocket to grab your card, but Peter pays in cash before you can get it out. The cashier gives him a dollar and seventy two cents change, and your date nods in thanks to the cashier before he turns to you with a grin that’s more genuine than cheeky. “My treat.”

You lower your gaze to hide how wide your smile is as you laugh. “Thanks, Peter.”

He nods, and the two of you stand there awkwardly for a second, you sucking innocently on your straw as he stares at you, before he looks at the table and chairs nearby. He clears his throat. “Wanna sit?”

You shrug politely and he pulls out a chair for you. Gentleman. Did his mother give him a run-down of what to do and what not to do before he came here? Probably. You smile at him, your insides warming as you sit down in your seat. This slushie is good, you think, slurping it up through the straw as Peter takes a seat opposite you.

He takes a sip of his drink before he asks, “So the thing about your dad. I know it’s a sore subject considering…” He raises his brows, and you know he means the reason you came here. “But do you mind if I—?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. You have too much slushie in your mouth, though, so your words are slurred and you smile bashfully as you cover your lips. Sorry, your look says, but he just grins at you.

Peter forces himself to look away, to turn serious again, as he scratches at a loose bit of film on the table. “Why wasn’t he around? Like, the deadbeat dad kind of thing, or…?”

You shake your head. This time, when you speak, you’ve cleared the slushie from your mouth. Your voice is a bit hoarse from the cold as you respond, “No. He worked a lot. He was either in Germany or the Middle East or—somewhere. Mom has a temper, so I found the arcade was a better place to be than home. It’s easy to lose yourself in the games here.”

Peter nods slowly, his head tilting up in a way that indicates thoughtfulness. It’s nice that he’s memorising your words. Nice that he actually cares. That means more to you than anything. “Well, that makes two of us. Absent fathers, I mean, and moms…?”

You grin at him. He's talked about his father before, but always in vague detail. You respond, “Almost-there moms. Just emotionally absent, at least for me. Maybe stunted is the right word.”

Peter lets out a sound between a noise like phew and a laugh. “Harsh, Y/N. No sugarcoating it there.”

You shrug softly, lowering your gaze to your drink. “Sometimes I wonder if…”

Your sentence trails off, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Peter tilt his head. But he doesn’t say anything. Just lets you take your time as he continues picking at the table.

You force a breath. “Sometimes I wonder if what happened… happened for the best. Between the three of us, nobody was happy. But then I think of what I did to him and it’s just—”

“Hey,” Peter says, and across the table, his hand reaches out to splay across yours. “For people like us—mutants,” he says, his tone lowering at the end of his sentence, “stuff like this is inevitable. But, uh… Charles has kinda helped me see that it’s the first step towards controlling this sort of thing. The first step to doing something better. And hell, Y/N, you’re already, like, rockin’. So you only have further to go.”

Your brows furrow in surprise at his words, your eyes turning doe-like at his reassurances. “You don’t think I’ve already hit rock bottom?”

Peter laughs. “You’ve got too much money for that. I've seen you blow two-fifty on curtains. Still don't know how I watched you do it."

You let out a laugh, and that’s when you properly acknowledge the skin to skin contact. His touch makes your body feel like it’s on fire. Your shoulders roll back as your thumb brushes against his knuckle, and Peter’s eyes dart down to your fingers before he looks right back up at you. He looks nervous, like his heart is thudding just as hard as yours.

“I like this,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Peter lets out a huff of laughter, though from the sound of it, it’s an attempt to hide his nerves. “It’s only a slushie, Xavier."

Your laughter mimics his own, and you press your lips together as your eyes dart between his eyes and lips. You want to kiss him. You’ve never wanted to kiss somebody more. It’s like you could push him up against the wall and kiss him here and now without caring what anybody thinks, and you’ve never had that feeling before.

Peter’s throat bobs again. He’s staring at you in the same way, and you can feel the tension between the two of you as your chest tightens. But you can’t kiss here—not with the table between you, not when one of you will probably spill a slush puppy or both of them, or—

“Another game?” Peter says, his voice hoarse.

You blink the lust out of your eyes. Another game. Yeah—another game, and your slush puppy will melt between and it’ll be easier to drink, and then—

And then you can both get out of here.

You’ve never wanted to leave an arcade more.

The tension cools down a little as you play more games, but it rises as soon as you make a comment about his frantic button mashing movements; something like—

“I hope that’s not the technique you use in bed,” you tease.

Peter chokes, and needless to say, you win that game.

You keep playing until your slushies are finished. Peter finishes his before you, but he lets you have a sip before in order to try it. It’s just as you expected—a sugary mess with the strongest flavour being lime. It’s disgusting, but Peter merely grins at the sight of your face as you grimace at its sour taste.

You’re well aware of the way his gaze rakes up and down your body as you try to finish the rest of your slushie as fast as you can. You’re lingering now; the two of you want to get out of here, dinner be damned. His gaze hugs the curve of your body and lingers on your bare legs, your skin smooth and shaven, the boots you wear only elongating them—

“You look great, by the way,” Peter comments.

You look up at him while still sipping from that straw, and apparently the motion and the eye contact is too much for him. He looks away and mutters something under his breath, something you can’t hear over the beeping of the games and the music playing over the sound effects.

You slam the slushie cup down on the table next to you both with an air of achievement. “What?” You say almost teasingly. You know you’re driving him insane, and even though you’re hardly doing anything, this has been building up for weeks.

“Nothing,” Peter says.

Before you know it, his hand is at your neck and you’re in a different spot entirely.

It’s a short journey this time so you’re not dizzy. You’re still in the arcade, surrounded by the same blue walls and purple-hued lighting. But this area is darker and tucked away, and there’s a door nearby. Probably a staff entrance. This is somewhere you shouldn’t be, but for once, you’re not afraid of breaking the rules.

“The cups,” you comment teasingly. “We should clean them up.”

Peter lets out a breath. “Y/N,” he says, “I—"

“Kiss me,” you blurt out. “Please.”

Peter wastes no time in fulfilling your request.

He’s on you in a heartbeat, lips pressed against yours as his fingers rest at your neck. Innocent, sweet, and yet filled with a sort of passion that sets your lungs and chest ablaze. You can’t help the noise of content that slips from your lips as he backs you up against the wall, and you can’t help but think that this is so unlike him, but—no. No, this is what he’s been keeping buried down for weeks. It's the same for you, too. This is what he’s wanted to do to you for a while now.

This is only half of what he’s wanted to do to you for a while now.

You gasp as his tongue slips out against yours, and your own darts out in response to the sensation. You press your body flush into his, the both of you heated and warm from the feel of one another, and your jacket is quickly getting too hot to keep on any longer. It’s cool in here with the air conditioning, but even so the two of you are ablaze and alive and—

“Y/N” Peter whispers against your lips, his nose brushing against yours as he pants for breath, “d’you think we could leave dinner for tonight?”

Your body talks for you before your mind can register what he says. "Yes," you breathe, and then you pull him back to you.

His lips are on yours and there is nothing either of you need to say as his fingers roam down your shoulders, your arms, moving to your waist. He avoids your breasts and you’re grateful for that; despite how much your body might burn for him, you know that would make you feel like an object, like he only wants you for sex—like your mother has told you countless times before.

But as you and Peter kiss in the belly of that arcade, you think you might have found the one. The first person you can finally trust.

It might be the first date and you might want to take things slow, but this feels too good to pass up. Too good to lose. And because of that, you don't plan on letting him go—

Not unless he wants you gone first.

Not until a member of staff kicks you guys out, at least.

#peter maximoff x reader #quicksilver x reader #peter maximoff oneshot #peter maximoff fanfic #quicksilver fanfic #if you liked this please let me know! i'm new to fanfic here hehe #i'm open to requests <3 #if you want to know more about the backstory for y/n pls send me an ask!#hope you liked it!

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honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

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pairing: namjoon x jimin genre: smut, 18+ readers only word count: 5.1k

summary: namjoon has worked as a bodyguard for an upscale BDSM dungeon for long enough to know that jimin is the most sought-after dom there. it only takes one miscommunication for namjoon to discover firsthand why that is.

warnings: unedited, sexually explicit content, power bottom!jimin, sub top!namjoon, unprotected sex, degradation, light pain play, BDSM dynamics, kinda temperature play, i think that's it but i'm so out of practice so i apologise if i missed something

a/n: this piece came to fruition thanks firstly to the @armyadvocates AAPI Justice and Advocacy initiative, and secondly to the kind commissioner @goldenwallsvol6 on twitter who requested this (i'm so sorry for not including everything you asked for, i got a little carried away kdsjfdssk). please check out the AAPI initiative here, consider donating, and check out the resources that come with it.

-----

Clocking in to work has become such a routine for Namjoon that he often finds himself switching his brain off, preoccupied with half-thoughts as his body runs on autopilot.

He signs in, uses the staff changing room to replace his sweats with the company standard uniform - a tight t-shirt and slim fit jeans, the belt of which he hooks his keys on. He doesn’t actually start his shift for another couple minutes, and so he ducks to the bathroom, chews a breath mint, and stretches before heading out of the office and down the narrow hallway that leads to the den.

In fact, it takes him a few steps into the dungeon before his automatic schedule is disrupted.

It appears Namjoon is entirely alone in the facility.

His steps, taken with heavy-duty boots, echo around the hollow space with nothing but the walls to absorb them. It’s a Thursday night (he consults his phone just to be sure) and he was on the closing shift. On any usual day, he’d be starting work right at the bustling high of the BDSM dungeon, yet he finds himself wandering alone.

Shaped in a rough X, the center of the dungeon is open-plan, with more private spaces forking off. The wing he’s in is generally full of swingers and kinksters making use of costume changing stations and a room full of cleaning supplies and disposables like condoms or wet wipes. It was always the calmest section, but never dead like this.

In a daze, Namjoon glances inside the rooms anyway, half-expecting the place to burst into life at any given moment. But it stays undisturbed, and in no time he’s in the central atrium, weaving through bolted-down couches, benches and racks until he can sink onto a stool at the bar.

Coherent thought escapes him. His brain flails for a reason, but the absurdity of an entirely vacant sex dungeon has him lost for words. After a moment, in restless futility, he stands back up and goes behind the bar, back further into the mini storage/kitchen that he knows features a window.

Outside the narrow, slightly dusty frame is an empty parking lot. His heart sinks, feeling sorely left behind and out of the loop, but a glint catches his eye. Pressing his nose to the glass, he squints and peeks a somewhat familiar vehicle, pulled into the closest park to the entrance of the dungeon.

Namjoon stares pointedly at the Hyundai, racking his brain. God, who was it that had a-

A wooden scrape from behind has Namjoon jumping in violent fright, catching his forehead on the protruding frame of the window. Cursing, he whirls around and glimpses movement further inside. Another drawn-out scrape is followed by a very human-sounding huff.

Heart still racing, Namjoon makes his way out of the storage area and stands behind the bar, seeking out the presence.

“Oh, shit, you gave me a heart attack!” Park Jimin stands off to the left of the room, hands on his hips and head tilted back in relief. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“No,” Namjoon states redundantly, mouth not quite working beyond that. He knew he recognised that silver SUV - every Thursday he watched Jimin hop into it and pull away after a long night of scening. The two had exchanged words often, more than Namjoon could say for most patrons. Being the bouncer for a sex dungeon didn’t lead to that much genuine conversation, but he always appreciated the effort Jimin would put in, hair wet with sweat and lips curved with happy exhaustion but still asking Namjoon if he’d managed to work out whether it was birds or the neighbour’s cat eating his strawberry plants.

He forces himself to check back into the present when current-Jimin cocks his head with a slightly sheepish grin, awaiting an actual explanation. “I, um,” Namjoon stutters, having to avert his eyes to construct anything coherent, “I didn’t realise the club was shut, I’m honestly a little confused.”

Jimin’s smile drops, plush lips rounding in surprise. “Oh, really? Hoseok-hyung said he sent out emails to all the staff. There was a pipe leak so we called off our whole calender until Monday. Did you not get it? We’ve had troubles with work emails getting stuck in spam; something about a sex dungeon really seems to set off the detectors,” the man quips with a jovial lift of his brow.

Namjoon bites down on his tongue, offering up a silent nod of acknowledgement. He’d seen Jimin more times than he could count in black, red, royal purple. In the club he favoured leather, not buckled and studded but sleek and tight, often decorating his lithe body with harnesses, gauntlets and heavy rings instead. More often than not, he’d boast unsmudgable smokey eyes with sharp liner, cheekbones as harsh as they were dewy. It had taken a while, but Namjoon had eventually grown used to the sight, able to prevent chubbing up at the mere sight of his ass as he bent to open his car door.

For some reason, seeing him outside of that whole persona is far more intimidating. Still covered in a light sheen of sweat, that’s the only linker to the Jimin Namjoon is faced with today. He’s got chunky white sneakers weighing down his feet, long overalls rolled up at the cuffs to let some air reach his ankles. The overalls prove particularly problematic to Namjoon, as they don’t seem to have anything underneath. Namjoon can see collarbones, glorious collarbones, and the lean bare sides of Jimin’s torso. If he bent over, Namjoon would probably get a glimpse of his nipples. The thought dampens his mouth with need.

Jimin himself seems unaware of, or at least unbothered by, the way Namjoon stares him down. Instead, he reaches down to push a cardboard box as tall as his waist across the hardwood floor closer to the bar one shove at a time. “Anyway, you’re welcome to head home. I’ll get Hoseok to add half an hour to your payslip for your troubles.”

“What are you doing here then?” Namjoon asks reflexively, cringing at how loud he’s accidentally pitched his voice.

Jimin’s face is surprisingly round without the stroke of makeup to emphasise dimensions, and when he beams at Namjoon, it softens his whole face even more. “I’m taking advantage of us being closed to install some new furniture. D’you wanna see?” He seems to reconsider, shooting Namjoon a worried look. “It is sex stuff, though.”

“I wasn’t expecting a bookshelf,” he answers honestly, and is rewarded with the bubbling sound of Jimin’s laughter, drowned out prematurely by another shove of the box. “Here,” Namjoon says suddenly, darting out from behind the bar, “let me help.”

At first, Jimin pushes while Namjoon pulls, but after a few grunts of exertion, steps back and lets Namjoon take over, not disguising the way his eyes linger on the way Namjoon’s biceps and pecs flex under his t-shirt sleeve. Obediently, Namjoon lets the bleach-blonde guide him to an open space near the centre of the room, depositing the weighty box there.

With a satisfied hum and a lingering glance at Namjoon’s body, Jimin bends over with a pen from his pocket, using the nib to pop and rip the tape on the box lid, yanking back the flaps with ferocious enthusiasm. He lets out a delighted cry upon lifting a frame of styrofoam out of the box, revealing the goods inside.

One at a time, he takes out oddly-shaped plates of metal, plastic baggies of bolts and screws, and some rubber caps. Kicking the empty box away, Jimin slots his hands back on his hips and grins at Namjoon. “Can you guess what it is?”

Namjoon takes a moment to consider the different sections of stainless steel. The largest isn’t flat, but a rectangle with a slight curve to it, the gentlest arc. The rest come in mirrored pairs, most just for structure, but four of them featuring heavy-duty O-rings. Though he works outside the play area, Namjoon can guess what those are for. “Something for bondage?” he ventures, stomach flipping when Jimin eyes glint with thinly veiled interest.

“A breeding bench,” Jimin explains, squatting to let his fingers trail down the side of one bar, “the metal feels sterile and cold for those that like it. Have you used one before?”

Namjoon feels unsteady on his feet. “No,” he answers, but the softness in his voice betrays his lack of aversion to the thought. But Jimin might think he was a dominant, too, Namjoon worries. Everyone else tended to. “Not yet,” he adds after a moment.

Jimin sucks in a silent but sharp breath, chin lifting. “I could use a hand setting it up. Would you mind…?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, no problem.” Namjoon tries to clear his throat, but the lump of anticipation remains. “Happy to help.”

“Excellent,” the dom beams, fishing around the pieces of styrofoam to locate the printed instructions, handing them to Namjoon. As Namjoon begins to make sense of them, looking over the basic diagrams, Jimin sits down on a nearby ottoman, intended for viewing the other stations, but continuing to face his new help instead. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you more anyway,” he divulges in a honeyed tone.

“Really?” Namjoon glances up from the instructions, feeling the heat of Jimin’s gaze. Even in worn overalls and unstyled hair, the man strikes a gorgeous image, and his posture screams distinguished dominant down to the curl of his fingers. His mere presence has Namjoon feeling off-balance in the most electric way. “There’s not much to know.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Jimin replies immediately, deadpan. “Why are you standing outside every night when you’re just as kinky as those of us indoors?”

“Excuse me?”

Jimin leans forward, legs splayed wide and elbows on his knees. His eyes are intently focused, blazing. “For a while it drove me crazy,” he starts, “you looked so familiar. I saw you every evening and couldn’t put my finger on it. But you used to scene here, didn’t you? Years ago.”

Namjoon’s heart stops beating, sitting heavy behind his ribs instead. “You- You’re not meant to approach people you know from the dungeon outside. It’s against the rules.”

“We aren’t outside,” Jimin counters. “I want to know why you stopped. You don’t look happy, Namjoon, seeing others come and go while you’re stuck to your post. Help me understand.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Namjoon stays silent, opening his mouth seeming too daunting a task. After a moment, Jimin swallows hard and sits back again, giving up the inquisition. Namjoon chooses to continue the task at hand, consulting the instructions.

The bench itself is a relatively simple setup. There’s two long cuts of steel in an X below the main panel for stability, four legs with the O-ring bars at either end, and the rubber caps on the bottom to avoid scratching the floor. As he putters around with the nuts and bolts, using a tiny spanner provided in the baggies to tighten them, he feels Jimin’s curious gaze on him. Silent.

Eventually, the silence has its desired effect, and Namjoon lets his internal thoughts vocalise. “I played here for a while. My partner and I ended up going our separate ways, and I wanted to give him space.” He doesn’t make eye contact, pulse thudding and heating the pieces of metal he fiddles with.

Jimin takes a short moment to reply, but it feels cavernous. “It’s been years, then. Hasn’t he had enough space yet?”

Namjoon’s eye twitches. How many nights had he stayed up with that exact question in mind? “It doesn’t feel right anymore. People would know me for who I was then. And I’m- I’m not that person.” His partner, an eager sub with a need for a firm hand, had asked Namjoon one day if he was sure he was really happy being a dom, and it had entirely dismantled the place in BDSM that he’d cultivated for himself. That sub was right, and he didn’t know how to adjust his course to fit his true desire.

So he’d pulled away entirely, unable to fully leave this world, but unsure of whether it still had a spot for him inside it. He just wants to feel what it’s like to let go in the way his subs did. And as his hands focus on constructing the heavyset bench, his mind wanders deeper in this vein, loose-lipped enough to confess it all to Jimin.

Jimin listens without judgement, not even seeming surprised when Namjoon admits to feeling more submissive, and the lack of reaction is liberating in a way he couldn’t have expected.

It’s not until the final bolt is fastened in place and Namjoon leans back, slightly breathless, that Jimin stands up and approaches him again. He crouches in front of Namjoon, eyes tender and hesitant, reaching out a hand.

Confused, Namjoon holds his out, palm-up, and Jimin takes it carefully, circling his fingers around the narrowest part of his wrist. Still, it’s too meaty for Jimin’s fingertips to connect. He squeezes lightly, carefully, before locking his gaze with Namjoon again, who swears he’s no longer breathing.

“Do you want to try?” Jimin asks. His voice is low, soft but full-bodied. “Do you want to try to let go? Club rules would apply.”

And Namjoon is nodding, and the grip on his wrist is tightening, restraining, and Jimin’s surging forward, lips on his.

His free hand comes up to hook around the nape of Namjoon’s neck. He’s held there, unforgiving, as the dom deepens the kiss. There’s no space between them, just skin on skin, tongue on tongue. It’s uncoordinated on Namjoon’s part, but so calculated and thorough on Jimin’s, like he knows the exact way to unwind him.

Jimin’s fingers scratch up into Namjoon’s hairline. He’d been growing out the length a little for winter, just enough to cover his ears, and it provides leverage for Jimin to grip on and tug, tug, tug in sharp bursts, timed unevenly enough that Namjoon is never ready. Every pull sends an electric shock down his spine, right between his legs.

He’s hard already, achingly so, and it just worsens when Jimin shifts his weight, bringing a foot forward and over Namjoon’s thigh, half-caging his body flush against his.

Jimin’s body is hot, even through the denim overalls and searing when it’s skin-on-skin. Namjoon can hear himself panting when their mouths split apart briefly, but he can’t stop his head from spinning long enough to care.

Before long, a rumbling growl escapes Jimin’s throat, and his teeth find Namjoon’s lower lip, scraping and nipping at the flesh. It’s not until Namjoon’s hand is shaking in Jimin’s grip that he pulls away, eyes wild and alight.

Namjoon must look utterly debauched, with swollen lips, hazy eyes and rucked-up hair, but his cock is screaming to be touched, and his breaths become infused with pleas for more, begging Jimin to touch him.

“God, you greedy little thing,” Jimin remarks in wonder, and a shudder takes over Namjoon’s body. Jimin quirks a brow. “Good? Bad? I don’t know what you like.”

“Good,” Namjoon insists without shame, “oh my god, good. Say m-more like that.”

Jimin hums with a grin, hand on Namjoon’s neck slipping around front to fist his shirt, yanking it suddenly. “Up, then,” he barks, standing himself, “I want you on the bench you built for me. Thank God that body is good for something; it’s not much fucking use now, is it?”

Namjoon’s breath leaves him in a rush, and he gets up shakily, almost tripping over his own feet as he lowers himself back down on the end of the bench. It’s chillingly cold even through his jeans, and he trembles at the thought of touching it with bare skin. Jimin has no such qualms, however, planting his palm on Namjoon’s chest and pushing him backwards, insistently guiding him down without knocking his head on the metal.

His teeth chatter briefly, but it’s nothing compared to when Jimin clicks his tongue and reaches down to strip the thin fabric of his t-shirt off with one fell swoop, the stitches breaking as they’re forced over the broadest part of his shoulders.

Ice erupts across his back and he gasp, shooting up. Jimin’s hand prevents him from getting far, and his breathing grows loud and sharp, shivering violently as his body fights to warm up the steel. The slight arch of it slots perfectly into the divot of his spine, meaning every inch is flush against him.

“You stay where I put you,” Jimin scolds, flicking at a nipple in punishment. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? You, lying here, asking to be degraded by somebody half your size? Pathetic. You’re lucky I’m a giving man.”

“Th-thank you,” Namjoon offers up with wide eyes. He doesn’t know the protocol, doesn’t even know how he should be acting as a sub, let alone as a sub for Jimin. He can barely believe the situation he’s ended up in, but he’s never felt so alive. The cold steel is a wakeup call to sluggish veins, his blood rushing faster than ever, most of it going straight to his dick.

Jimin huffs like he’s not quite pleased with the response - even as his eyes crinkle and glint with satisfaction - and simply hooks a finger into the waistband of Namjoon’s jeans, frowning. “Can’t even get undressed yourself. For goodness’ sake.”

Namjoon’s cheeks burn, and he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling so overwhelmed. Though it was years ago, the habit of being in control hasn’t left him, and part of him feels anxious being so vulnerable. Closing his eyes eases that, and Jimin lets him, briefly reaching up to give his upper arm a squeeze, a lilting hum asking the unworded question.

“I’m okay,” he breathes to the darkness behind his eyelids, and the squeeze returns before Jimin straightens up again, fingers yanking impatiently at Namjoon’s jeans, undoing them and yanking them off, taking his briefs with them.

The new level of nudity sends another shock of cold to his system, but this time Namjoon welcomes it with a groan, tilting his hips up so that his cock rests on his lower stomach. His fingers twitch, aching to wrap around himself.

His desire is answered, not with the delicious grip of fingers, but with the hard press of the heel of Jimin’s palm, pinning his hardness down without mercy. A moan dies in Namjoon’s throat as his body tries to curl inwards. A second hand holds him down still, leaving him unable to escape the heavy pressure.

He pants, writhing and toes curling, but Jimin just sighs softly, like he’s more relaxed than ever. “Such a waste,” he drawls, his voice blooming with all the flourishes of a Disney villain, “wanting to be treated like a slut, but what am I getting out of this? Hm?”

“U-uh-” Namjoon has no idea what to say, cracking his eyes open to seek out the comfort of acknowledgement above the level of the scene. His breath is taken away at the sight. Jimin, above him like an avenging angel, golden-haired and glittering with sweat, still fully clothed (as fully as you could call a single piece of denim). He finds Namjoon’s searching gaze and sends him a calm, dreamy smile of encouragement, before twisting his palm against the base of Namjoon’s dick, wringing a strangled groan out of the man. “You can take me,” he pants, filled with the urge to provide, to serve, “take what you want.”

Jimin tilts his head to the side, like this proposition is worth considering. As he makes a show of pondering, he taps his fingers lazily against his cock’s dripping head. Namjoon swallows the whimpers that threaten to bubble up, and forces his hips not to budge. “I’ll be honest with you,” Jimin says finally, “because you don’t deserve sugar-coating. If I was here with a fleshlight or a dildo, I would’ve come already. You’re wasting my precious time, sweet boy. I don’t want you to lay here and simper, I want you to be a good toy for me. So what’s it gonna be?”

Namjoon’s muscles are trembling; from his lips to his toes, he feels like he’s vibrating slightly, restless down to the very atoms that make him up. Jimin is patient, lazily drawing sticky patterns of precum on Namjoon’s abdomen with his pinky finger. Namjoon fights against the primal part of his brain for something coherent, replaying his words. Fleshlight or dildo. Be a good toy. Jimin was offering him the choice to top or bottom, Namjoon realises, and his cock twitches, feeling liberated and thoroughly taken apart with that heady mix of submission and power. He was giving control to Jimin, but never losing his choices.

For a moment, he does consider what it might feel like to let Jimin take him. He’d never bottomed before - at least not for anyone but his own fingers in his experimental years - but if anyone could make him feel safe, he suspected it would be the dom leaning over him. It’s once he really thinks about it that he knows he’s not ready, a thin strand of dread winding around his lungs that won’t go away until he’s stammering to Jimin that he can have Namjoon’s cock if he wants it.

Jimin sucks in a slow, pleased breath, a smile curling at his lips as he lays the weight of Namjoon’s length across the palm of his hand, looking it over. The chill of the steel beneath him is nothing compared to the iced shiver that runs through him upon being inspected in his most private area. Second most private, he corrects. Baby steps.

“I suppose,” Jimin declares finally with a sigh, “this should do. Not winning any awards, though, is it?” Namjoon’s cheeks burn with shame at the comment even as his face scrunches up in disagreement. If there was one thing to be proud of physically, it was that he could always bring his partners pleasure with the equipment he grew into.

Jimin sees the unfiltered reaction on Namjoon’s face and suddenly claps his free hand over his mouth, turning away. The giggle, impish and delicate, doesn’t get as muffled as he probably intended. “Dammit,” he mumbles, “stop being funny, that’s not fair.”

Namjoon blinks, still stark naked and hard as rock beneath the clothed and chuckling dom. “...Apologies,” he says after a pause, “but do you want to- um- are we-”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin says, clearing his throat and wiggling the muscles in his cheek to force the smile down. His fingers reach nimbly for the straps that hold his set of overalls on, and undresses down to skin as he takes some deep breaths as if to hype himself back into character. Once he’s done, he swings a leg over the metal bench and straddles Namjoon’s thighs with a swiftness that takes his breath away.

While it may take Jimin a second to slip back into his dom headspace after the break in mood, all Namjoon needs is the feeling of Jimin’s plump ass cheeks settling onto hs lap and he’s being smacked in the face with submission, ready to beg to feel it more intimately.

Jimin doesn’t wait for him to beg, however, rolling his body forward and down, all the way until their cocks are pinned together between their stomachs, and their noses bump. Close enough to kiss, Jimin stays right there, a breath away, and Namjoon freezes, unsure if he’s allowed to close the gap.

Pleased with the restraint shown, Jimin smirks, eyes wandering over Namjoon’s face in pure bemusement, slightly cross-eyed with their proximity. “Most toys can’t kiss back,” he mentions, a hand sliding up Namjoon’s forearm and shoulder to thumb at his jaw, tilting his head back and holding it in place, “so I figure I might as well treat myself.”

“Most?” is the final worried exclamation Namjoon manages to get out before lips are descending on his, and heat erupts.

There’s no way Namjoon could keep up. Not when his face is pressed tightly to Jimin’s, lips nipped at, tongue sucked at, and mouth thoroughly explored. Not when every inch of his front is pressed to Jimin’s, the latter’s nipples hard against the soft, relaxed flesh of Namjoon’s chest. Not when he becomes aware of slow rocking, Jimin grinding their cocks together.

It takes him an unknowable eternity of this to realise that the slow, indulgent groans passed between them aren’t all his, and that Jimin’s shifting motions are brought on by the way he’s reached behind himself with a finger slick with their shared spit, working himself open.

It’s that realisation that becomes the last straw for any of Namjoon’s reserves. He feels so - so passive, not even prepping the man who’s about to take his cock. He’s lying on unforgiving steel, body used as a grinding post and mouth deeply plundered, just a mindless toy, dumbed down to pleasure and need. He isn’t even really aware of his own body where Jimin isn’t touching it; he isn’t too sure where in space his hands are, or what his feet are doing. His lips are for Jimin and his cock is for Jimin and that’s enough to make him light-headed.

When Jimin sits up, Namjoon grunts a bit and fights for some clarity to help line himself up against Jimin’s awaiting body, but the dom just tuts and rebuffs the advances, suiting himself. Part of his weight is on Namjoon’s right shoulder as he props himself up, slowly bearing the rest down so that the head of Namjoon’s cock pushes inside.

The moan that leaves Jimin’s mouth is enough to make Namjoon’s bones shake, wishing he could hear it on repeat, and the dom certainly seems to be doing his best to make it a reality with the enthusiastic way he works his hips down in tight circles, clenching around the intrusion.

Namjoon feels like he’s floating, the hard edges of steel no longer grounding him. He doesn’t lift his hands up to hold onto Jimin, he doesn’t fuck up into him, he’s barely even looking at him with how low his eyes are lidded, but there’s liberation in that inaction.

The pressure to perform is entirely lifted, and he feels the pleasure twofold, once from his own sensation and then again like an echo with every sigh and groan that leaves Jimin’s lips.

The dom has the stamina of an athlete, lifting a leg up onto the metal base beside Namjoon’s hips to gain better leverage, and Namjoon has a front row seat to the way the muscles in Jimin’s thighs flex. They’re corded and thick, such an erotic contrast to the softness of his ass, and Namjoon feels drunk off of it.

He lets Jimin take what he wants, and he feels, and that’s all.

He doesn’t even think, not really, nothing deeper than mindless observation.

Jimin is beautiful, like nobody he’d seen before, and the lack of makeup and unstyled hair certainly doesn’t change that. It’s a reminder that he’s real, and that he’s sharing this experience with Namjoon. He sits up, leaning backwards with a hand on Namjoon’s knee instead of his shoulder, and the first time he plunges down, his whole body is wracked with a violent tremor.

“I’m close,” he pants outs, eyes flicking down to Namjoon, a lazy grin appearing momentarily, onto to be knocked off by an expression of pure euphoria as he swaps the bouncing out for grinding. He rocks his hips back and forth, Namjoon buried deeply inside, and seeks out his own end irrelevant of the body that cock belongs to.

Namjoon doesn’t care, loves the near out-of-body experience he’s having, and wills the pleasure to simmer long enough for Jimin to come first.

When Jimin gets really close, he loses some of the fluidity in his movements and becomes jagged, seizing up more and more until he’s stock still, breaths staccato and mouth wide open. The physical release follows soon after, and Namjoon shudders as hot white paints the underside of his chin and his chest.

Jimin has a hand around himself, tugging out every last drop as he sucks in desperate lungfuls of air, slowly curling in on himself until his burning forehead is on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, chest heaving.

Namjoon reaches his end without even noticing. The pleasure throughout his whole body is so electric that an orgasm is barely a notch higher, more so a spreading warmth throughout his body. Wet where Jimin’s still joined to him, and damp everywhere else with perspiration, but it’s blissful nonetheless.

Jimin heaves himself back upright after a brief interlude, brows furrowed as he glances down at Namjoon. “Did you- oh,” he remarks, shifting a little and seeing the cum that’s split around the base of Namjoon’s cock. He lets out a deep sigh, eyes slipping closed for a moment as he tips his head back. “Okay, bye-bye dom.”

Namjoon’s mind slips back into awareness at a snail’s pace, feeling first the way his throat has dried up a little and his jaw hurts from clenching his teeth. Then his voice comes back to him, and he coughs a little, blinking up at the dom above him. “Does dom have a return date by chance? That was… fucking incredible,” he admits.

Jimin laughs, the action causing him to clench around Namjoon. With playful fingers, he reaches down and lightly pinches the fat of Namjoon’s cheeks. “You’re too cute,” he declares, before lifting himself up and off, clicking his tongue at the rush of wetness that drips down his legs. “Far out, it’s like you haven’t nutted in a year.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks heat against his best intentions. “That’s just normal.”

Jimin sends him a sharp look, searching his face. “Holy fuck,” he muses, stalking over to the nearest station to raid a small drawer of wet wipes, “and you’ve been letting that beast sit out in the cold every night instead of coming in here? Masochist.”

It takes all the energy left in his body to sit up, but Namjoon gratefully accepts a fresh wad of wipes and begins to clean himself off. “The beast doesn’t pay the bills,” he quips, already feeling more casual with Jimin after their intense shared experience.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to enjoy its company on your free time,” Jimin offers up, avoiding Namjoon’s gaze with what appears to be a shy streak as he dresses himself.

Namjoon smiles, appreciating the gorgeous sight of Jimin’s body before he covers up. Appreciating even more the way he feels so comfortable in his presence, enough to let go the way he did. “I’d like that.”

#armyadvocatesaapi #minjoon smut #dom jimin #sub namjoon #bts smut

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mrsgiovanna · 4 years ago

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Finding beauty in the ordinary (Don Giorno x Fem!Reader)

Just another fluff scenario with the Don, I hope this is what you were envisioning my sweet nonnie, trust me, I know what it's like when the brainrot gets you XD. I'm sorry for the unreasonably long wait, and for how short this is.

Warnings: None, only fluff

Word count: 890

The villa was quiet on weekends like these… the staff were given some time off, all the external entrances were closed off and you and Giorno had just woken up, having taken advantage of the quiet to catch up on some lost sleep. You both worked hard, your occupations being anything but ordinary… but on days like this, you both felt like just another loved up pair of fools.

“Buongiorno bella mio,” sitting up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he glanced at you to find you smiling up at him, taking in the wonderful way the sun bounced off your skin and made your eyes sparkle. Sitting up yourself, you leaned towards him and placed a small kiss on his lips before getting out of bed to get a head start on your day of doing absolutely nothing. Finally, you thought, you could both let loose and enjoy each other.

The image you both portrayed when making appearances in public was a far cry from your true natures, you both had conducted yourselves with a grace that far surpassed your tender ages… to be fair, your collective experiences had as well. Fighting hard for the lives you now enjoy, every once in a while you rewarded yourselves with a gift that no amount of money could buy… complete, uninterrupted indulgence in each other’s company.

You lived for these moments when Giorno could hang up the title of Don in the back of the closet with his collection of expensive suits and just be your Giogio. The natural grace in his mannerisms and wisdom served as an effective mask to his more playful nature, something that was reserved only for you, and you couldn’t help but fall in love with him all over again while watching him dusting the flour off your cheek. For all intents and purposes you embarked on this pizza-making adventure with optimism, it was an easy enough task for a pair of adults... but a few misplaced toppings and Freudian slips suggesting that your sweetheart wasn’t even Italian had resulted in a subdued food fight, you both halting in your tracks when you realized that the mess wouldn’t magically clean itself up seeing that you two were the only ones there.

“You really did this time didn’t you cara?”

“Me? You started it y’know, but I guess you’re entitled to you own wrong opinions… we need to clean this up,” you jested, combing the stray locks of hair out of his face. Making short work of clearing up the little mess you both had made, Giorno had taken it upon himself to run you a bath throwing in your favorite bath products and some red rose petals in for an extra bit of decadence. Choosing to shower quickly instead of joining you gave Giorno enough time to transform the living room floor into a makeshift woodland wonderland, crafting your favorite flowers and other vegetation with the life-imbuing power of his stand. Meticulously setting up the food and drinks, he waited for you, wistfully staring off at the fireplace nursing his own drink. His thoughts somehow always meandered back to you, and he realized that he always caught himself smiling when thinking about you.

“Gio, what’s all this?”

“Ah! I was just about to come check on you… thought you might have fallen asleep or something,” you delighted in the levity he spoke with, feeling privileged to be one he allowed himself to be this unguarded around.

“Trust me, I almost did, I feel so relaxed… thank you my love… for everything, this place looks so magical!”

“Of course cara, it’s a bit too cold to do any of this outside, so I made it such that we could enjoy it indoors…” you weren’t sure where the time had gone with how engrossed you both were in each other, only noticing that the day had matured to dusk with the rays of the setting sun catching Giorno’s beautiful golden mane splayed unbound about his shoulders.

You started clearing everything away while Giorno returned the living room to its usual state, immediately seeking after you when he had completed his task only to find you blissfully humming along to your favorite song playing on the stereo you always had on as white noise when you were in the kitchen. Smiling to himself at how charming you were, and how thankful he felt that you were his and only he was blessed to see this side of you, the young Don held you from behind, gently coaxing the utensils out of your hands, he turned you around and started swaying you to the music.

With a content sigh, you relaxed in his arms and rested your head against his chest, the music faded into the background with the steady sound of his heartbeat now being the one that you relished and resonated with the most. Placing feather light kisses to your temple and the shell of your ear, there was nothing in recent memory that could rival the beauty and intimacy of that moment for you two, with that lingering feeling fueling your souls, almost as if you had been sharing a single consciousness it became apparent to you both that in an extravagant life filled with novelty, the most wonderful moments can be found in the ordinary.

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vagabondreamer · 4 years ago

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After the Fall (1)

Pairing: Lucifer x Angel! Fem! MC

Word Count: 2.5k

Series Summary: Angel! Fem! MC is part of an exchange program that sends her to the Devildom for a year.

Chapter Summary: MC has a rude awakening when Michael orders her to go to the Devildom. Some pleasant and unpleasant first impressions of the brothers.

Author's Note: My story will follow some events from the Obey Me! game, but will deviate since MC is an angel.

***

You march into Michael’s office unannounced, a small letter in your grasp.

“Michael, what is this?” You hold up the paper to show him.

“MC, it’s rude to enter without knocking,” he scolds you. “It’s an exchange program. You’ve been chosen along with two other angels to go to Devildom.”

“Yeah, I can read that! Why do I have to go?” Michael sighs and meets your upset gaze.

“It’s to improve relations. And as Lucifer’s replacement it’s your duty to engage in these politics.” Michael places his hand on your shoulder in a friendly manner. “I know it’s been tough, and I know you’re still learning, but you will go.” His tone changes, much more serious this time.

“Yes sir.” You turn to leave his office.

“Oh and MC? Check up on Lucifer for me.”

“Yes sir.”

You left his office, and started towards your home. There was so much to do, but so little time; Michael must’ve sprung this up on you so you wouldn’t get much of a say. You looked down at the letter to see who the other angels were: Simeon and Luke. Simeon was a familiar name, you never got to meet him, but you knew he was close to Michael. Luke, on the other hand, you had no idea who he was. There were thousands of angels in the Celestial Realm so that wasn’t too surprising.

You packed your essentials, and said your goodbyes to close friends. Michael said he’d take care of your duties - which worried you. Were you not doing a good enough job? Was he going to replace you? Shaking your head, you told yourself not to worry. You only had to get through one year; and one year was nothing compared to the lifetime you lived.

One year in the Devildom.

One year with Lucifer.

***

It was early morning, the sky was bright and the air was fresh. Rolling to your side, you saw your luggage sitting next to the door. You jolted up.

“I thought that was a bad dream.” Rubbing your temple, you get out of bed and quickly get ready. There wasn’t a time written on the letter, but it was safe to assume you were already late. You rushed to the gates, and saw the other two other angels.

“I can’t believe we’re getting sent to the Devildom! There’s demons there!” The small boy complained.

“Well, demons need a home, too,” the other one teased.

Michael was also there.

“Ah, MC, you’re late.”

“I’m sorry. I -”

“This is Simeon and Luke, you should get to know them,” he interrupted you.

You shook their hands and introduced yourself. Never having met either angel, you were surprised with their looks. Simeon was absolutely gorgeous - formed by God himself. Luke, well, he was much younger than you anticipated; he must’ve only been a thousand years old - if that.

“Alright, it’s time to go. Be on your best behavior, you three represent the Celestial Realm.”

Everyone nods, and heads into the portal, one by one. You look back, saying a temporary goodbye to your beloved home.

Stepping out of the portal, the first thing you notice is how dark the environment is. The second thing you notice is that you’re in a large council room with a group of young men.

“Welcome to the Devildom,” a handsome man with red hair says. “I’m Lord Diavolo.”

You nod, giving a small smile, your stomach is doing flips.

“This is Lucifer -” Lord Diavolo continues his speech, but at the mention of Lucifer you tune out. Your eyes travel up and down him, trying to engrain his image to your brain. Never had you met him, only hearing the stories about him and his brothers. He looked mean.

“MC?” Lord Diavolo calls out again.

“Ah, yes?” Your cheeks light up, he kindly chuckles at your embarrassment.

“I was asking about what you do back home?”

“I-I’m a seraph.”

“You look young to be a seraph,” Lucifer responds boredly. Holding back the urge to roll your eyes, you cross your arms.

“I was created right after the war. In fact, I’ll be promoted to an Archangel after my training.”

Lucifer scoffs at this.

“You really think Michael would make you an Archangel?”

“I am your replacement, after all.”

He didn’t have a comeback for that, and by the look on Lord Diavolo’s face, he was not to continue quarreling. You meet the rest of the brothers: Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo, and Beel. Perhaps your memory was jumbled up when you walked through the portal - you swore there was another brother. They have interesting personalities to say the least, you were glad you didn’t need to interact with them that much.

“Lord Diavolo, where will we be staying?” You assumed you three angels would be lodged together - oh how you assumed wrong.

“Right, well, there’s another exchange student - he’s a human. He’s requested to stay with angels so that he can learn more about them.”

“Okay, that’s no problem.”

“The problem is Purgatory Hall only has three rooms. And I’ve been told that Simeon is Luke’s guardian. I doubt you’ll want to share a room with another man, so the only other option is the House of Lamentation.”

“House of Lamentation?”

“It’s where we reside,” Satan speaks up. “Oh and it’s haunted.” Was he trying to scare you?

“It ain’t haunted! Stop talkin’ like that before you invite spirits in!” Squeals Mammon.

“Both of you, enough.” Lucifer grabs Mammon by the collar. “You’re going to look after her, and make sure nothing happens to her, do you understand me?” Mammon mumbles complaints but is otherwise compliant.

“I don’t need a babysitter. I can protect myself.”

“You’ve never met a demon until today, you will be escorted for your duration here.” You disliked his smuggish tone. He thought he was better than you. A smart retort would have come out of your mouth had it not been for Simeon.

“MC, I’m going to take Luke to the Purgatory hall, I’ll see you later.”

“It was nice meeting you both.” You say your goodbyes and follow Mammon. The walk to the House of Lamentation was full of fussing coming from your demon counterpart.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck babysitting a dumb angel.”

“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either.” You mumbled. “In fact, there really is no reason for you to watch over me. After all, I am a powerful angel. Simeon doesn’t need a babysitter so I shouldn’t either.”

“That’s right! I just need to show you how to get around, but you can totally take care of yourself. Huh, you are smarter than you look.” He’s one to talk.

Mammon showed you around the town real quick and then led you to the House of Lamentation. You had gotten quite a few stares, your outfit made you stick out like a sore thumb. Your body was adorn with a flowy white dress with gold accents, and a gradient teal cape draped over your shoulders. You made a mental note to go shopping for clothes as soon as you could.

“Alright, this is it.” You entered through the front door - the house was grand, it was more like a mansion. Mammon led you to your room, said ‘see ya’, and left just as quick.

Sighing, you sit on your bed. The covers were pink, you wondered who was the last occupant. The day had barely started and you already felt overwhelmed. Had it been up to you, you would’ve just stayed in your room and avoided the brothers all together. But a single knock at your door ruined those plans. Getting up, you reached for the door knob and opened the door. In front of you was a giant - his name was Beel, right? You were having trouble keeping track.

“Hi, MC. I was wondering if you were hungry.” At that moment, your stomach started to growl. That’s right, you were in such a rush this morning that you didn’t get to eat. In response, Beel’s stomach growled right back. A small blush covered his cheeks. “Want to go get lunch?”

“Sure.” You followed Beel not knowing where he was taking you; he went on and on about Hell’s Kitchen and how delicious their food was, so it was safe to assume you were headed there.

The restaurant was fairly busy, and you could’ve swore you heard the staff groan when you both sat down.

“Do you come here often?” You cringed at yourself - that sounded like an awful pick up line. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh yeah, I know the menu by heart. And when they come up with new stuff, I’m always first in line.”

A waitress came by to take your orders. Beel ordered the whole menu and then some, the waitress then looked at you; you weren’t sure what to pick, so you guessed and hoped it would taste good.

“So, tell me about yourself Beel.” You placed your chin in your hand, giving him your undivided attention.

“Myself?” He ponders for a moment. “I’m the Avatar of Gluttony.” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “I’m the sixth-born. And...I have a twin brother.”

“Twin? Which one?”

“Belphie...you haven’t met him.” Your brows furrowed in confusion, so there was another brother.

“Where is he?” Beel adjusted in his seat and avoided your eye contact.

“I can’t say. Just don’t mention it to Lucifer, he’ll get really mad.” You decided to drop the topic, and just in time the food was being brought out.

***

The plan was to avoid the brothers, but after hanging out with Beel you decided he could be an exception. When you got back to the house everyone was actually there this time. As you walked back to your room, another demon stopped you - this time, Asmo.

“Ahh! You look so gorgeous! You must tell me your skincare routine right now!” He practically drags you to his room, not giving you a chance to protest. He sits you down at his vanity, poking and prodding at your cheeks. “You’re not wearing any makeup?” He gasps.

“No, Michael doesn’t really allow it. He says being too vain is a...sin…” You shut yourself up, quickly realizing you’re in front of the reason Michael says that. Asmo laughs.

“Well, Michael can’t tell you what to do down here. Please let me do your makeup!” Asmo has a good point - Michael wasn’t down here, and a little makeup wouldn’t be as sinful as he says.

“Okay, sure!”

Asmo worked on your face for about an hour and a half - to say he was a perfectionist felt like an understatement. You weren’t even allowed to look at your face until he was done; right then and there, you promised yourself to never let Asmo do your makeup ever again.

“Ta-da! I’m all done.” Asmo spun you around so you could look in the mirror. To say you looked beautiful was also an understatement.

“Wow…” You didn’t know what to say; your skin was flawless, your eye color popped, and your lips looked kissable.

“You look absolutely radiant.” For a moment you forgot where you were and you forgot who you were with, but you engulfed Asmo in a big hug - making sure not to ruin your makeup. “You’re welcome!”

“Would you want to go shopping one of these days? I really should get new clothes.” Asmo’s face lit up at the mention of shopping.

“Of course, darling! But what’s wrong with what you’re wearing now? I absolutely miss wearing my angel garbs.”

“It just grabs a lot of attention.” You hold up a hand to stop Asmo from interrupting. “I know what you’re going to say, attention isn’t always a bad thing. But, I just don’t want a bunch of demons to know I’m an angel.”

“Well the problem isn’t your clothes, MC.”

“What do you mean?”

“You literally radiate purity. All angels do. You can be dressed like a whore and they’d still know you’re an angel.”

“Oh, I suppose you have a point.”

“We can definitely still go shopping though!” You nod in agreement.

“That’s great! Well, I should probably go look for Lucifer and actually discuss what my day-to-day routine will look like.”

You gave Asmo a goodbye hug. Beel and Asmo would be the only two boys you don’t avoid - at least, you kept telling yourself that.

***

Walking around the house, you looked for Lucifer’s office. Michael always complimented Lucifer’s work habits - something you lacked in comparison. Now, you definitely weren’t lazy and your tasks were always completed, but because of Michael everything felt like a competition with someone who wasn’t even competing anymore.

You saw a door slightly cracked and peered in. Just your luck, it was Lucifer’s office. Barging in without knocking first, you find him at his desk full of papers.

“Hey, Lucifer, I’ve got a couple of questions about my time here.” You ask as you get a little too comfortable in one of his chairs.

“Do they not teach manners in the Celestial Realm anymore?” You recalled Michael always nagging about you barging in unwelcomed. Old habits do die hard.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” You sit up straight, feeling like you’re about to be scolded. Instead, Lucifer sighs and puts down his pen.

“What kind of questions?”

“Well, what am I going to be doing?”

“You’ll be attending RAD, just like the rest of us. You’ll learn the history of Devildom, law, potions, just like any other school.”

“School?” Your body slumped in disappointment; you had graduated and become a seraph what felt like only a few years ago, you really had no interest in RAD whatsoever. “What about meetings with Lord Diavolo?”

“What about them?”

“I was sent for relations, not academics.” Getting up from your seat, you move to stand in front of his desk.

“This is an exchange program. You’ll go to school and when Lord Diavolo sends for you, I will personally tell you.” He picks his pen back up and continues his work.

“Michael said I was here to talk politics.”

“I’m sure he did say that.”

“Then why are you treating me like a child?”

“Because you’re acting like one.” You scoff at his response. “Honestly, I can’t believe they created someone like you to take my place.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Childish, impatient, insecure, self-important, oh and you have no manners. You’re nothing like me.” Your hands balled into fists in anger.

“News flash, Lucifer, there’s a reason I’m not you. They don’t want another...incident.”

The pen he was holding snapped into two pieces. Maybe it was the way you said it, or perhaps that you were a reminder of his worst memories, but Lucifer subconsciously turned into his demon form. In retaliation, you turned into your angel form. You only had two wings, compared to his four - another way you were inferior to him.

“Get out.” You stood there, processing what was happening. “NOW.”

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everdreamart · 4 years ago

Text

Read my Thoughts

The journey through Aeor only gets more confusing as eye powers are thrown into the mix.

An accidental telepathy fic where Caleb shares a bit too much to a certain drow.

Relationship: Caleb Widowgast/Essek Thelyss (Shadowgast)

Rating: Teen and Up

~~~~~

Things in Aeor are strange. Magic Especially. A teleport can send you miles away from target, and a spell gone wrong can make you bald! However, Aeor's atrocities were put on the backburner when Jester's weasel turned out to be her 'god' and the red eyes adorning the Empire Kid's bodies started to show power.

Darkvision was one thing that was quite startling to Caleb. He hadn't really noticed it with the constant flow of light emitting from Caduceus' staff and his own globules. It wasn't until Beauregard said something that it really occurred to him. Even more surprising was the telepathy. The ability to transcend one's thoughts into the mind of another. A mental link for shared knowledge. All sorts of possibilities flowed into Caleb's mind. How useful this could be in their upcoming battles with Lucien.

"Woahhhh Caleb I can literally HEAR your thoughts! Slow down a bit!" Jester marveled.

"OH Oh Beau! Can you read my thoughts??" Yasha exclaimed.

"Hey let's give it a try-" Beau smirked.

"Ok who do I love? Oh wait thats dumb.." Yasha mumbled. The rest of them started to laugh a bit.

Caleb shifted his gaze over to Essek. The drow's soft features focused on the commotion going on around him. A confused expression painting his face - no doubt from the sudden talking weasel - in a show of momentary openness. Throughout their travels in Aeor, Essek had slowly let the shadowhand persona slip away. Caleb liked this version much better. The way emotion displayed itself on Essek's face was new and nervous, but the man was truly trying to change. That alone caused something to swell in Caleb's heart.

Immediately, Essek's head snapped up and looked over at Caleb in surprise. Caleb looked away as soon as he turned his head. Did Essek hear him? He needs to get a better hold of this power. Fast. Swallowing hard, Caleb simply nodded, before turning his gaze back to their laughing friends.

-----

After a day of hard trekked travel, the Mighty Nein stumbled into the tower for a night of much needed rest. It was then that Caleb's mind started to wander. What exactly is transmitted through this telepathy? Feelings? Words? Images? The beginning pricks of worry started to crawl into his throat. Would he have to wrestle every one of his thoughts down so the others wouldn't be plagued by his memories? He glanced at the glaring red eye adorning his palm. Thick red lines seared into his skin flawlessly. Watching. Staring. Certainly these powers come with a price. And Caleb didn't know what that price was.

There's nothing he can do right now. Stay on task, Widowgast. Maybe something from the papers he picked up earlier will have more information about their enemy. With an idea for distraction in place, Caleb floats up to the library to begin opening the amber. He settles on a couch opposite from a crackling fireplace as he does so, the comforting warmth washing away the stress of the day.

Piles of books and papers fill the floor in front of him. Excitement and curiosity begin to tug at his mind. Caleb reaches out and grabs one of the dusty old tombs, tracing the foreign writing in awe. So much knowledge, packed in the papers around him. So much information to be learned and so little time.

"It's quite incredible, is it not?" A soft voice comes from behind him as Essek glides over to Caleb, staring at the collection of books.

"Ja. After our business is concluded, I would love to study more of Aeor's history and research."

"Well, we have a few moments now, do we not?" Essek smiled softly as he looked at Caleb.

And just like that, they were off. Reading through ancient texts, occasionally bouncing theories back and forth. The constant whirring of intellect trying to process the thoughts of mages from far beyond their time. It was invigorating.

However, from time to time, Caleb found it hard to keep his focus. His eyes constantly wandering back to the drow sat beside him, nose buried in a book. His thin white brows creased into a focused expression, eyes full of wonder and curiously, devouring the age old texts. The way his mouth would curl into a subtle smile when he found a particularly interesting section of text. Or how he would nibble at his lower lip when frustrated about something. He wondered if those lips would feel as good as he imagined. How soft and delicate.. Oh how glad Caleb is to have moments like these, just him and Essek.

At some point while Caleb was lost in his thoughts, Essek looked up. Violet eyes meeting blue ones.

"I uh.." Essek clears his throat. " I found a section that you might find to be interesting." He smiles and looks away.

Oh.

How much did he hear? How many of those thoughts slipped through in his tired state? Apparently enough for the subtle hints of purple creeping on the edges of Essek's ears to catch Caleb's attention.

"I think it's time for me to head to bed. I require more sleep than you do, after all," Caleb said as he stood up. It was awkward, for a moment. The silence was heavy, and he didn't dare steal a look at the drow beside him.

-----

Having your thoughts known to others feels like quite a violation of privacy. Caleb thought as he laid in his bed. I need to get a hang of this.

It took a while for him to get even close to falling asleep, for his mind was racing with thoughts.

He was on the edge of consciousness when he heard a small knock on his door. Surely all the nein are well into their sleep right now, so that means that the only person this could be is… a lump formed in Caleb's throat as he opened the door. Essek stood in front of him, a foreign expression adorned on his face.

"I hope I wasn't disrupting your rest. I would like to talk… if you don't mind?" He spoke softly as Caleb gestured him into the room.

It caught Caleb's attention immediately that the man wasn't floating, but walking instead. They sat on the couch as he responded, "Ah, I was having some trouble sleeping. You weren't interrupting anything. What is it you would like to discuss friend?"

"I ah.." He fidgeted with his fingers. The drow wasn't wearing his usual mantle, but instead the more comfortable robes that were provided to him from the tower. Caleb let his eyes momentarily linger on the way the clothing frames Essek's small figure. The way the deep blues and purples frame his gorgeous dark skin. Caleb promptly tries very hard to stuff these thoughts down.

"I took notice of the recent… developments of the eyes on beauregard's and your bodies. It… concerns me. The acquisition of such powers surely means that something was taken in exchange, and I am unsure of what that was." Essek says with worry laced in his voice. His eyes rise to meet Caleb's.

"..ja. I too am a bit uneasy about the current situation. Though it just makes our goal that much more important, does it not?" He replied, flashing a faint reassuring smile.

"I guess it does." The other wizard's gaze falls to his lap.

'That's not really what you came here to talk about. Is it?' Slips from Caleb's mind before he can even think to stop it.

The drow visibly flinches in surprise, then sighs slightly. "There was something else on my mind, yes."

Caleb slowly, ever so slowly, reaches his hand over to touch Essek's. "I'm here if something is wrong."

He is very aware of what Essek was referring to. However, he doesn't know what is going through the other man's brain, as thin smooth fingers meet his calloused ones halfway. A slight smile plays at the corners of Essek's mouth, and Caleb once again feels his focus begin to slip. He focuses on the feeling of Essek's hand in his. Soft skin, clearly not used to the harsher weather of the frozen wasteland as of late, his fingers only rough in the areas where one would hold a quill.

Strands of silver-white hair hover on his forehead, slightly covering vibrant violet eyes. Oh it is a sight to behold. Dark skin growing impersivibly darker. How he works at his bottom lip nervously. Caleb finds himself fighting back the desperate want to feel this man against him. To hold him close and study his features on a much more intimate level. Essek's ear twitches.

"I ah… I thank you for your.. Compliments..?" He stutters out as his face flushes an even darker shade of purple.

Something inside of Caleb breaks, and he finds it becoming increasingly harder to hold back the growing need to bring the wizard close.

"I apologize for not being able to return such… appraisal," the drow mumbles out, looking anywhere but Caleb's eyes. His other hand raises up Caleb's arm, settling on the crook of his neck. "I hope I can live up to your expectations, Widowgast." He smiles nervously.

Caleb's mind goes blank. Soft lips brush his own and his restraint vanishes. They crash together in feverish movements, a warm pressure on his lips that grounds him in the moment. It's so much better than he could've ever imagined. The sensation of Essek's mouth on his is something he wants to savor forever. He wants to memorize every movement and feeling of the man pushing against him, as if this was a rare slip-up and it would never happen again. Maybe he was dreaming after all, but the feeling of Essek starting to nibble at his lower lip quickly reassures him that this is very much real.

Something sharp catches Caleb's lip, and he recoils a bit in surprise. Essek immediately pulls back, a flash of worry crossing his face.

"Fangs." Caleb mutters out, breathless. "I was not aware you had fangs."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" he gets cut off by Caleb leaning in once more, capturing his mouth hungerly. His fingers lace through Essek's hair as he pushes onto him, desperate to be closer. More. He wants more.

Apparently Essek heard him, as the drow parts his mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Caleb runs his tongue over the sharpened points of Essek's fangs, feeling a shiver as he does so. They merge together, desperate to taste each other. To explore every inch. It's perfect. Absolutely perfect. He wants this moment to last forever.

They pull away after what feels like hours, but still isn't long enough. Essek's breath dances on Caleb's lips, mere inches away. Caleb smiles and presses another quick kiss to Essek's mouth.

"I think you far surpassed my expectations, Thelyss."

#critical role #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #Not quite canon compliant but its pretty close I think #Teef #:)

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