#a very short gay man and two he/theys

[tommysversion]

Jealousy, Jealousy [ Joel Miller x Reader / Tommy Miller x Reader ]

Summary: you walk in on Joel & Tess, despite your building chemistry with him. Hurt, you turn to his brother for comfort. Joel finds out, and he isn’t happy.

CWs: derogatory language / unsafe sex / age gap implied / oral sex (m!receiving) / cum play / cum eating / choking / alcohol usage / use of pet names / very little plot it’s just a spicy mess

Tag List: @joelsgirl @loquaciousferret @dreamingofdaddydin @funnygirlthatgab

Notes: like always, this is for the girls, the gays and the theys. I wanted to finish my other WIP but this took over. Have fun.

Buy Me A Coffee?

Part Two / Alt Version

The whiskey burns your throat on the way down. You’re on maybe your third or fourth, but it’s still not enough to burn away the sight and sound you came across earlier.

You don’t have any claim on Joel, not really. Nothing has ever happened between you, even though there’s been a few close calls, but you were almost certain that he felt the same way about you as you do about him.

Until you walked in on him and Tess. Now you can’t get the image out of your head, the sight of her beneath him, the sounds…

You slam your empty glass down on the bar. It’s a shitty dive of a place in the QZ, one you all know well enough.

“Whoa there.”

You turn your head to find yourself face to face with Joel’s brother, Tommy, concern etched into his face. He’s not bad looking, not really, but you’ve never really been interested in him. Until now. Now, he’s looking pretty fucking good. Or maybe you’re just noticing him. Who cares.

“Come on, let’s get you home before curfew.” He holds out his hand to you. You don’t need it, not really, you aren’t drunk enough, but you take it anyway, let him lead you out of the bar and onto the streets.

“Why’d you come looking?” You ask as you let him walk you home.

“You didn’t show up to drop off this afternoon. Figured something was wrong, figured I’d find you here.”

“Didn’t think anyone would notice. Joel and Tess seemed too busy to care.” You can’t help the bitterness that creeps into your voice as you mention it.

“Ah.” Tommy shrugs, “try not to worry about it. My brother’s an idiot.”

Normally you’d argue. Jump to his defence. Tonight you just don’t feel like it, too hurt by what you saw to argue. Reaching your apartment block, you turn to him.

“You gonna come in for a drink? Least I can do after you walked me home.”

You know what you’re implying, don’t mind if he takes the hint that you’re offering more than a drink. You almost don’t expect him to follow you, but he does, up the stairs and into your apartment, shutting the door behind you both while you fish out two glasses and a bottle.

“Make yourself at home.”

You pour the liquor while he drops himself down onto your couch, spread out and lazy. Really, he’s quite attractive. You’ve never really noticed before, and maybe it’s the fact that you’re so angry and hurt that’s making you see him in this light, but still.

You hand him one of the glasses, down your own before you sit yourself down on the floor by his feet. You’re being forward as hell and you know it, but you’re tipsy and hurt and you just want to forget for a short while.

He looks down at you, surveys you with dark eyes so similar to Joel’s. The thought makes your heart hurt, so you push it away.

“What are you doing, hon?” His hand comes down to catch your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him.

Tommy doesn’t know what’s going on between you and his brother. Knows that Joel’s an idiot if he doesn’t realise that you’re interested. If he was a better man, he’d push you away, but, well…

It’s been a while since he’s gotten anything, and if his older brother is too stupid to realise you’re right there, dumb enough to fuck around with your feelings and Tess? Well, he doesn’t mind being the collateral.

“Trying to decide whether or not to suck your cock.” You admit, not bothering to be coy as you look up at him.

“Oh, yeah? What’s holding you back?”

“You haven’t said that I can.” You shrug, fingers creeping up his thighs.

“There’s a pretty girl on her knees for me askin’ to suck my dick, you think I’m gonna say no?” Amusement colours his tone.

“Well… I wanted to be polite and ask.” You smirk as your fingers find the zip of his pants, tug it out the way, your small hand reaching in and wrapping around his cock, stroking lazily.

He just leans back into the couch, watches you as you rub your thumb over the head of his cock, brushing across beads of precum, collecting them on your fingers to lick them up.

“Christ…” his eyes darken as he watches you, your eyes on his as you lean in and press feather light kisses to the tip of his cock. He’s nice and big, thick, slightly curved, and you love the slightly salty taste of him.

You don’t like to brag, but you know you’re good at this, enjoy it even, pressing little kisses along the length of him, tiny kitten licks to the slit in the tip, teasing until he fists a hand into your hair and yanks your head down onto his cock, almost making you choke.

You recover quickly, sucking his cock like he’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted, moving your head up and down, guided by the heavy hand in your hair.

“Fuck…” he rocks his hips up into your mouth, getting deeper into your throat, “such a sweet little mouth…”

You hum around him, urged on by the praise, eager to keep pleasing him, so desperate to be wanted…

You know full well this is messy and sloppy, your drool coating his cock, eyes watering slightly as you look up at him. You can’t see it, of course, but you’re a vision to behold, on your knees for him, mascara running down your face as your cheeks hollow out for him, his cock disappearing into your throat like you were made to take him.

God, he’s impressed, both by how well you worship his cock, and by how quickly you’ve worked him up.

“Gonna make me cum, pretty thing…” his hand releases your head, strokes your cheek lazily.

You pull away from him for a moment, wrap your hand around his cock and stroke slowly.

“Cum on my face.” You tell him, hazy with lust and drink. “On my tongue.”

He groans, moves to guide your mouth back to him, but you move faster, wrap your lips around him and let him rut up into your throat, moaning around him. Fuck, he tastes so good, exactly what you needed.

You can feel him becoming more erratic, groaning softly before he pulls out of your mouth, wraps his hand around his cock and strokes it roughly as your lips part, tongue flicking out to catch the hot ropes that spurt from his cock as he groans.

Fuck, you’re a sight to behold, on your knees, makeup a mess, lips parted with his cum on your tongue and your face. You lean in and lick him clean, swallow every drop you can get.

His fingers reach out, swipe through the mess he’s left on your lips, press them into your mouth.

“Suck ‘em, that’s a good girl.”

You do exactly as he says, swirl your tongue around his fingers until you’re satisfied they’re clean.

“You want me to -?”

You shake your head. You’re exhausted, your throat hurts, and while the offer is nice, you don’t think you can stay awake for it.

“Nah, ‘s okay. I just wanted to give you something.” You offer him a small smile as you get to your feet, watch him tuck himself back into his pants.

To his credit, he’s not a jerk. He makes sure you’re safely in your bed with a glass of water beside you before he heads off into the night, leaving you almost wishing you’d taken up his offer.

——

A week later, you’re sitting in the same bar with one of your friends, pointedly ignoring Joel a few seats away.

Once again, you’ve had a few too many to drink, and it’s loosening your tongue.

“So, what’s the deal with you and that guy anyway? The mystery man you were telling me about the other day?” Your friend knows exactly the right questions to ask, and while normally you’re not the bragging type, seeing Joel again has sent that spike of bitter resentment and jealousy through you.

Sure, it’s not like he’d ever promised you anything, but he’d damn well seemingly made it clear he was interested. Only for you to walk in on him fucking Tess like he loved her.

You hate him for it. Hate him for hurting you. More than that, though, you hate yourself for not being brave enough to confront your feelings.

But right now, you’re feeling spiteful, and you know damn well he can hear every word you say.

“Oh, it wasn’t really anything, just a one night thing.” You shrug.

“What did you say his name was again? Jimmy?”

“Tommy.” You run your finger around the rim of your glass.

“As in Miller?”

“Mmhmm.” You can feel Joel’s gaze burning into you as you speak. “He walked me home, one thing led to another…”

“Fuck, he’s so hot though…” your friend sighs, “I bet he has a great dick.”

“I mean… I liked it.”

You giggle, a very uncharacteristic sound, but still. You don’t regret what happened, not at all. You like giving head, and it wasn’t like he had an unpleasant dick. If anything, you kind of wish you’d let him fuck you. Maybe another time, seeing as Joel is clearly no longer interested.

“Are you gonna give me any details, or?”

You’re about to open your mouth when a hand clamps down on your shoulder.

“Outside. Now.”

You don’t need to look to know Joel’s pissed; you do anyway, are met with his stormy glare.

“Nice to see you too, Joel.”

“I mean it. Outside, now, or I’ll drag your ass out.” One look at him tells you he’s not kidding.

Sighing, you excuse yourself from your friend. Follow Joel out of the bar into the street, or rather, let him tow you out. Let him drag you by the wrist back to your apartment. Nobody wants to be caught in the streets at this hour.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You demand as soon as he’s slammed the door behind you.

“Don’t you what the fuck me.” He growls, crossing his arms over his chest as he backs you into the small room.

“I absolutely will, what’s your goddamn problem?” You hiss at him, furious. Furious and still hurt, because the last time you saw him he was fucking another woman, and no matter what you do you can’t get rid of that image.

“You! You’re my goddamn problem, running your mouth in that bar where anyone could hear you.”

You roll your eyes at him, your own temper flaring.

“How is what I was talking about any of your business?” You demand, glaring at him. “How is what I do any of your business?”

Admittedly you’re not very intimidating in comparison, but still.

“You were making a damn fool of yourself. Do you ever know when to keep your fucking mouth shut?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask your brother? He seemed to know how to shut me up.” The words come out before you can stop them.

Joel exhales slowly, pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

“Is there a reason you’re being such a goddamn bitch? Fucking my brother included.” He’s so damn frustrated right now, not understanding what’s gotten into you.

Usually you’re so sweet to him, the pair of you dancing around the mutual attraction you share. He’s not going to push it if you don’t, but maybe he’s misread things?

You stare at him.

“Are you fucking serious right now? You don’t know why I’m mad at you?”

He just stares at you.

“I heard you and Tess, you asshole. So yeah. I know that for all your sweet words and the way we’ve been dancing around the subject? That’s just how you are, right? Anything to get laid, I guess.” You spit the words.

Something in his gaze snaps as he crosses to you, backs you against the wall, slams one hand into the cracked plaster beside your shoulder, the other settling on your throat.

You’re too angry to be scared, even though you know he’s dangerous, know you’ve pushed him too far, like poking a goddamn angry bear.

“First, don’t fucking assume that you know any goddamn thing about what happened that day.” He’s leaning right down to you, you can smell the whiskey on him, but still you aren’t afraid.

“Second, don’t presume that I’m that sort of bastard. You really think I’d do that to you?”

You glare at him.

“You already have.” You hate that your voice shakes as you say it.

Joel sighs as he looks at you.

“I’ve known her almost as long as you’ve been alive. Almost but not quite. There’s a difference between me fucking her when it means nothing, and what you’ve done.”

You glare at him again, because you don’t see any difference.

“It may not mean anything to you, but it definitely does to her.”

“And that’s her fucking problem, I’ve made it goddamn clear to her that I don’t see her that way, that that would be the last time. Then you go and fuck my brother?”

Somehow, suddenly, it becomes important to clarify. As if somehow it will make him less angry.

“Technically, I didn’t fuck him.”

“You-“ Joel stops mid sentence and looks at you. “You didn’t?”

“No. I mean, I sucked his dick, but… I was angry, I was so fucking angry and I just wanted to feel something. I just wanted to feel wanted.”

Joel stares at you like he’s never seen you before. Like he’s trying to understand you.

“And I don’t make you feel wanted?”

“Not when I walk in on you fucking someone who hates me, no. Not particularly.” You look away from him, before you do something stupid, like cry, which is a very real possibility whenever you think about what you saw, what you heard.

“Guess I need to change that.”

His hand drops from the wall, the other one releasing your throat as he leans in and devours your unsuspecting lips in a kiss. It’s desperate and angry and hungry, but you cling to him, your fury and your need pouring into it as he lifts you up, carries you across the room and into your room.

You pull him down on top of you, not letting go when he sets you down on the mattress, kisses still full of fury and rage but of something else, too, something you’ve been holding back for far too long.

“Still can’t believe you let my goddamn brother touch you.” Joel growls it into the soft skin of your throat, grinding his cock against you, your clothes still in the way.

You shove your skirt up, hands finding his belt. He catches your wrists in one hand.

“Were you this fucking eager for him, too?”

There’s that dark glint in his eyes again, possessive and jealous, even though he started this, even though he knows that really, he has no right to be angry. It doesn’t stop him.

“Does it matter, Joel? You really think I’d have done it if you’d just fucking…”

“Just what, sweetheart?” He releases your wrists, only because he needs his hand to tear your panties down, cup your bare cunt in his rough hand.

“Just fucking admitted you wanted me first!” You snap at him, grinding yourself against his hand in spite of your temper.

“Yeah, well. We all make mistakes, don’t we?” He plunges two fingers knuckle deep into your cunt, effectively stopping you from answering with anything but a strangled moan.

Your hands tear at his belt, yank his jeans down, your hand wrapping around the length of him. Fuck, he’s big, bigger than his brother, thick and hard and dripping pre cum, all for you, all because of you, because in spite of how angry he is, he still wants you.

Just as you want him, your cunt aching and dripping onto his fingers as he fucks you with them, hard and fast and punishing.

“I should make you suck my cock, refuse to touch you; but if I do that, what’s to say you won’t go and whore yourself out to someone else?”

His words are dark, gaze feral as he looks down, watches his fingers disappear inside you.

“Better I just take you, ruin you for anyone else. You won’t want anyone else when I’m done with you, it’ll be nothing in comparison.” He leans in and bites your throat, right above your collarbone.

“Is that right?” Your hand strokes him roughly; you can feel how needy you are for him, feel yourself tightening around his fingers but it’s not enough, you need more.

“Don’t fucking push me, sweetheart.” He growls it, drags his fingers out of you, presses them to your mouth.

Automatically you part your lips, suck on his thick, rough fingers until they’re coated in your saliva rather than your slick, your eyes on him the entire time.

He groans, a sound that’s still closer to a growl than a moan.

“Fuck sake…” he’s still furious with you, that fury coming back tenfold at the lewd way you suck his fingers, as if they were his cock.

“This how you sucked him off?”

“I don’t know,” you challenge, “are you gonna fuck me like you fucked her?”

He glares at you, and for a moment you’re afraid he’ll pull away, that you’ve pushed him too far.

He does the opposite, moves so fast you can’t keep up, lines himself up and slams into you, every inch of his cock pressing deep. You scream out for him, half in pleasure, half in surprise.

Fuck, he’s so big it hurts, you feel so full you’re not certain you can take him, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t give you any time to adjust, one hand bracing himself on the mattress, the other gripping your waist to pull you onto his cock, over and over until your back arches off the bed.

“No,” he growls in answer to your question, “I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve.”

He’s relentless, pounding into you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, rough and hard, growling against your skin the entire time, covering every bit of exposed skin with bite marks and bruises.

“Joel…” it comes out half squeal, half moan as he hitches your leg higher around his waist, gets deeper inside you.

“That’s it, sweetheart, can feel how needy you are for me. Don’t think you’ll ever want anyone else, huh?”

You shake your head, mute except for mewls and sighs of pleasure, your nails digging into his arms, trying to hold on, but unable to think straight, barely able to see or focus.

“That’s what I thought, baby, gonna get you so fuckin’ addicted to my cock you’ll forget all about anyone else. This sweet pussy is all mine.”

Fuck, he wishes he’d done this sooner, wishes he’d avoided this entire fucking debacle, because he’s afraid it’ll always hang between you now, unless he fucks you so hard you forget.

“Already was, Joel, always been yours…” you moan it out for him, fingers finding the sweat damp curls of his hair and tugging, hard.

He moans, a deep, guttural sound that you immediately commit to memory, the sound alone making your cunt throb around him.

“Oh, you like that, baby? You like hearing what you do to me?” He shakes his head, grinds into you slowly before resuming his relentless pace.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m gonna…”

Oh, he knows. He can feel you fluttering around him, tight little hole becoming even tighter as he fucks you, leans down and presses a searing kiss to your mouth before he pulls out of you.

You whine at the loss, but before you can say anything else he has you flipped onto your front, face buried in the mattress, ass in the air as he slams back into you, both hands on your waist as he fucks you so hard you see stars.

There’s no holding back, not anymore, your hands clawing at the mattress as your eyes roll back slightly from the pleasure, feeling yourself tighten painfully around him before your climax hits, hard and fast, washing over your entire body, leaving you shaking beneath him, screaming his name loud enough that the entire goddamn building can hear.

“That’s fucking right baby, you scream for me. You tell everyone that you’re mine.” He yanks your hair back, holds you upright as he ruts into you, thrusts becoming more and more sloppy and erratic with each movement.

“Every fuckin’ inch of you is mine, you hear me?”

“Yours, Joel, all yours…” you moan it for him, still on the high of your climax, entire body over stimulated.

“That’s goddamn right.” He slams in deep once more, one final time, grinds against you as he cums, fills your tight little pussy with hot ropes of his spend, groaning the entire time.

He stays there for a moment, catches his breath before he pulls out of you, flops down beside you.

There’s a moment’s pause, where you aren’t sure whether you’ll still see rage in his eyes if you look at him. Aren’t sure whether he’ll see it in you, either.

He saves you having to look, answers the unasked question by pulling you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest.

“I’m so-“

“Don’t.” You reach up to touch your hand to his lips. “Don’t be. I should be the one apologising.”

“I think we both owed each other an apology, to be honest.” Joel says finally, “though, uh… maybe that was a good start?”

You laugh, lean into him.

“Skip the apology and go straight for the makeup sex, huh?”

Joel smirks, presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Oh, darling. That wasn’t the makeup sex. That was the I’m fucking furious sex. You’ll like the makeup sex a whole lot more.”

Smirking yourself, you roll on top of him, lean down so you can press a kiss to his mouth.

“I like the sound of that. How do I sign up for it?”

“You promise we won’t touch anyone else. Ever.”

You press a long, heated kiss to his parted lips.

“Easy enough for me.”

“Good.” Another smirk before he rolls you, pinning your smaller frame beneath him. “I fucked you like I hated you. Now you’re gonna find out how I fuck when I love you.”

You just whimper, wrap your fingers into his curls and drag him into another kiss. It’s going to be a long night.

#my writing #joel miller #the last of us #tommy miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #Tommy Miller x reader #joel miller smut #tommy miller smut #pedro pascal character fic #tommy miller x you #joel miller x you

[gardener-ienzio]

As an extremely short gay man I feel obligated to get Oryms tattoo just for this episode alone

#Critical Role #Critical Role campaign 3 #C3E17 #I'm honestly getting fed this campaign #a very short gay man and two he/theys #I'm thriving #Also Oryms tattoo also just looks very nice #Critical Role spoilers #C3 spoilers #Orym #Orym of the Air Ashari

[rosesisupposes]

Other Half

hi i was haunted with the idea of subverting a soulmate trope after a chat with @potestessemagishomosexualitatis and it evolved in like a day on discord so here y’all go!

relationships: brotherly prinxiety, QPR moceit, romantic royality, implied/eventual anxceit

content tags: musician roman, techie/sound-guy Virgil, deaf Patton, QPRs, amatonormativity, soulmates & lack thereof, happy ending

word count: 2,847

read on ao3

Roman has half a soulmark, waiting to make skin contact with his Soulmate to finally be completed.

His brother, not so much.

Context: In this world, soulmates have half a symbol somewhere on their skin, each with one half. When soulmates have skin contact for the first time, both marks complete. The amatonormativity (prioritizing romantic love) is very strong, despite the fact that soulmates have frequently been platonic, not just romantic. It’s still a rather progressive idea, similar to gay marriage, and the traditions and stories are all centered around that romantic ideal. In that vein, some people have thirds or fourth of a mark would need to contact all their soulmates to have a complete mark. Marks are very much for One Person (or, occasionally, Two or Three Specific People), and so not everyone meets their mate. Not everyone has the means. They could be anywhere in the world! But unfortunately, there's still an idea that even if you're with a partner, you'd leave them if you met your soulmate, and that other relationship are just settling.

⁂

Enter two brothers.

Roman goes starry-eyed over stories of meet-cutes and surprise soulmates. He wants to know if he'll feel it, as his mark completes. Someday, when he meets his Someone™️!!!

And then his brother, Virgil.

Virgil... doesn't have a mark. He's not sure he's heard of that before. He has some freckles, but those fade with the seasons. Soulmarks don't fade.

Roman has half a circle, and it either has petals or rays around it. A flower or a sun, he thinks. It's right on his bicep, so he frequently goes sleeveless, and greets new people by taking both their hands in his every time. Just in case.

Lots of people do that- but it makes Virgil uncomfortable. Even if he knows he'll never be the one to trigger someone's mark, he hates knowing that's what everyone expects. He'd rather keep his hands to himself. He wears his big baggy hoodie to avoid the expectant stares of people looking for his mark, and avoids skin contact as much as he can.

They grow up in a family without a ton of resources, so neither can afford to take the 'Soul Year' some teens do where they travel before going into higher education. But Roman's determined that his career will help him meet hundreds, no, thousands of people, and he will find his soulmate!

Virgil really doesn't love the whole soulmate thing, the obsession with it, the constant reminder that he doesn’t have one and will never have one. But he does love his brother.

He tries, sometimes, to temper Roman's excitement just to make sure it doesn't hurt too much if he never finds The One. But mostly he just listens as Roman waxes poetic about his hypothetical love.

Roman, for several years, went silent, assuming Virgil wouldn't want to hear it. But Virgil has just kinda accepted it, you know? He's basically like everyone who never ends up meeting their mate, except he gets to skip the years of doubt and worry that their mate might suddenly appear at any time. He knows from the get-go. He’ll never have to look back with regret or sorrow, never have to worry about disrupted relationships, never need to mourn that his hypothetical mate might have died before he could meet them. It’s fine, really.

Roman becomes a singer and songwriter, and acts on the side. Virgil does his cover art and helps him with the sound-mixing. They're a great team - and they always have been.

Virgil makes friends with the roadies and techies, happy to leave Roman in the spotlight. He dates, sometimes. It's easier when they go on tour- a short international stay means no promises, no uncomfortable conversations about the future, no intrusive knowledge of a partner's Someone™️ out there.

After years of touring, Roman is internationally known and recognized. But he's also starting to lose hope.

He's lost count of all the meet-and-greets he's been to, how many hands he's grabbed from the stage into the crowd. He makes sure to at least high-five every roadie and tech, every opening act or announcer. His songs range from fantastical to domestic, from sweet and bubbly to sorrowful and yearning, and he loves creating, he does. But he knows there's someone out there for him, and he wants to meet them so, so badly.

They're in Paris for a show, and Virgil and Roman are strolling along the Seine. It's Spring, Roman's favorite time of year, and all the trees are in bloom. It looks like something out of a Hallmark movie.

Roman sighs heavily.

Virgil bumps him with an elbow. "Hey, no moping. That's my aesthetic, no stealing."

"Vee, what if I don't ever meet them?"

"Ro-"

"I know I should keep hoping, but- I've touched so many people and still haven't found them, what if I never will?"

"Then you'll be like most of us, Ro. Find love & companionship the new way: with hard work and dating apps."

Roman nods, but sighs again. "I just... really wanna, Vee." His voice is small, like a pouting kid. 

"I know. I hope you do."

They keep walking, but Roman's practically shuffling. On the one hand, he is a fucking drama queen.

On the other hand, Virgil wants him to feel better. 

Rolling his eyes, Virgil orders ice cream from a vendor in clumsy but serviceable French and presents Roman with his sprinkle-covered cone. Just like he knew it would, it perks him up immediately.

"Chocolate! My favorite!!"

"How are you possibly older than me. You are five."

"I just have childlike wonder, not a well of ennui!"

"Fuckin' dork."

"Edgy poser."

"Prima donna."

"Nerd."

Distracted, Roman walks straight into a man looking off at the river. He stumbles and trips and they both fall.

"Oh goodness gracious, forgive me, excusez moi, je suis desole! Pardonnez-moi!" he rattles off.

The man smiles, and his hands dance. Virgil realizes he's signing. Sorry, I didn't see you there!

 Luckily, Virgil understands it - he’s taken classes in ASL, just for kicks.

Roman knows very little sign, but he learned a couple of phrases. Sorry!

Virgil adds, It was our fault, we weren't watching.

Virgil recognizes the starry-eyed look on his brother's face. It's yet another Infatuation At First Sight, where he throws his whole heart into hoping. 

"Vee, Vee, ask him his name please?" he says, smiling for all he's worth at the curly-haired man in front of him.

Before Virgil gets a chance, he sees the man's eyes flick up and past them, and he breaks into a sunny smile. (Virgil might actually understand his brother's infatuation, for once)

Another person comes over, holding two ice creams. Virgil does a slight double-take. Like him, this newcomer chooses not to show very much skin. But they've covered even their hands. Ice cream somehow looks funny in a gloved hand.

Handing one to the first man, they start signing with one hand, far faster than he can follow. He catches a couple of signs he recognizes - gestures to himself & Roman, are you okay, something that either is we're late or shoo.

The first man is still smiling, though, and whatever he says must be okay, because the newcomer turns to them. They speak with a lilting accent, something not quite Parisian. "Please forgive my barging in- I can't exactly call for Patton from across the walkway.  My name is Dante. And you are?"

"I'm Roman, and this is Virgil, and it is wonderful to meet you!"

Virgil signs along with his brother's words, and sees Patton's eyes crinkle happily as he greets them both.

Roman has clearly also noticed Dante's gloves, but turns to Patton. With a slight bit of hesitation, he speaks and signs at once, "May I shake your hand?"

Virgil is sure he's not imagining the minute pursing of Dante's lips, but Patton's nodding and reaching out and so is Roman.

Roman is clearly holding his breath, and Virgil is too, both braced for opposite outcomes. But Patton's small, tan hand is wrapped in Roman's larger one and both sets of eyes are huge. 

Virgil's eyes flick to Roman's bicep, exposed as always, the white mark a stark contrast to his dark skin, looking like a sun or maybe a flower and-

"Holy shit-" Virgil breathes.

Roman, however, is not looking at his arm. He's staring directly into Patton's dark eyes with a smile that looks confused and elated all at once, and their hands haven't parted. 

Patton's eyes are just a huge, even huger thanks to his glasses.

"It's you," Roman says, wonder in his voice. Patton seems to read his lips, because he smiles somehow even bigger than before and signs It's you! back.

And sure enough, the mark on Roman's arm is a full circle, a full sun or flower, and Virgil's head is reeling.

Virgil's not sure what to say- the two soulmates seem content to keep staring and smiling and holding hands. But Virgil's just... nervous. Soulmate or not, this ‘Patton’ is a stranger, but Roman looks like he might never move from his side. Fuck, they can't even communicate both ways, Roman knows practically no sign and he just used up the only full sentence he’s ever learned.

He looks nervously at Patton's companion. Dante is staring too, seemingly unaware of the ice cream dripping down their glove.

Dante starts to sign something, realizes Patton can't see them, reaches out to tap Patton on the shoulder, then stops before they can touch, hand falling to their side. They look down and finally notice their ice cream, and blanch, pulling out napkins to clean their glove before it stains.

Virgil digs into his knapsack and pulls out a wet wipe and offers it. "This might help more."

Dante looks up, staring at Virgil without a shred of comprehension until Virgil waves the wipe once more. They take it with a quiet, "Merci."

They turn away, wiping off their glove and tossing the rest of their ice cream into the trash. They wiggle their fingers, clearly uncomfortable with the damp fabric. 

Virgil shifts awkwardly. He should say something, but what do you even say in this situation? He has no idea what their relation is to Pat- oh fuck, what if they were dating and Roman's just swooped in and ruined it?

In his tried-and-true method of awkward small talk with new roadies in new cities, he says, in French, "So, Paris, yeah? Know any good cafes near here?"

Dante shakes themself a bit and turns to look at Virgil. "Ah, yes. There's a patisserie just on the next block. Shall we relocate them and stop blocking the tourists?"

Virgil nods and looks over at his brother. He weighs his options of interruption, and decides on flicking Roman in the temple.

"Ow! Fuck! Vee!?!"

"You're blocking traffic, dumbass."

"I'm having a moment."

"Well come have a mocha. You can keep having your moment and I can have coffee. C'mon." 

He sees Dante signing to Patton too, explaining the plan but much more politely. Roman and Patton continue holding hands, but follow them down the block.

They get Roman and Patton sitting at a table in a picturesque cafe, and walk to the bar to order. Virgil orders his go-to of a double shot and gets Roman his mocha. Dante orders themself a latte and a vanilla cappuccino for Patton. Sitting at the bar waiting, Virgil looks over.

"So. That lunkhead over there is my brother."

Dante nods. "And Patton is my. Well. You might not know what it means, so don't immediately freak out, okay? But it's called a queerplatonic partner."

Virgil can feel the nervousness melt away. "Oh, phew. Yeah, I know what it means. So Roman's not homewrecking by being a discovered soulmate?"

"Well. I certainly hope not. But I know not everyone really, uh. Gets it. Especially with the soulmate sh- stuff. Things."

Virgil grins. "You were about to say soulmate shit, weren't you."

"...No."

"You're a terrible liar."

Dante winks. "I might surprise you."

Virgil raises an eyebrow. "Oh that's how we're gonna play it?"

"I don't play, monsieur. I just win."

"Okay then, here's a test. Why the gloves?"

Dante automatically goes to adjust them, and looks up at Virgil. Their eyes drift down to his hoodie and back up. "I think you know exactly why."

"You don't have-?"

"Nope. I don't have one either."

"I thought I was-"

"The only one?"

"Apparently not."

Virgil looks over at Patton, sitting with Roman. They don't seem to be even attempting to talk still, just staring and holding hands.

"With the QPP- are you aromantic? Do you think that's why?" He gestures vaguely at their whole body, but he’s never been quite as elegant in his gestures as Roman is.

Dante opens their mouth to speak, but stops, and sighs. "That's what I've been saying. It was easier, to say maybe this was for a purpose. And I do love Patton with all my platonic heart and I will kill your brother if he hurts him."

"The feeling’s mutual."

"But, no. I'm not fully aro. I still have romantic attraction and all that, I've just been guaranteed that even if I want it, I'll always be someone's secondary love so. Might as well lean in, right? Make the system work somewhat in my favor?"

Virgil opens his mouth to respond, to object, when the barista calls out their drinks, and then they're carefully carrying full mugs across the cafe and finding a table next to the couple.

Patton appears to be teaching Roman how to sign his name. Roman is even managing to pay attention.

"I get that, uh, reluctance. The playing-it-safe thing," Virgil says quietly, so only Dante can hear. "We travel a lot. That's a good excuse to avoid the whole fucking system. No conversations about who'll leave who when the mark shows up, because I'll be leaving in a month, tops. And people looking for hookups barely poke you to check for the mark before just... getting on with life. No expectations, no holding their breath or unrealistic disappointment."

Dante smiles weakly. "Well, good to know for when I need to start dating. I think I'm about to have a lot more free time."

"Until Roman needs to travel on again. We're here for three full weeks, but-"

"What is it you do, that you both travel so much?"

"You know Sun Prince, the singer?"

"Yeah?"

"You're looking at him," Virgil says wryly, tipping his head in Roman's direction.

Dante's eyes go wide. "Oh, that's why he looks familiar."

"So Patton probably didn’t recognize him either?"

"Nah, he tends to like EDM and electronic things the most, for the bassline. Clubbing with a deaf partner is great - the priority is just feeling the music, and we don't have to yell to hear each other."

Virgil and Dante continue to chat quietly on casual topics, but Virgil's leg is bouncing. He wants to ask the bigger questions, but it feel like prying. It's none of his business, really, right? 

But it's Roman's happiness on the line. And Virgil will do anything and everything to protect his brother. Even if it means awkwardness.

"So, uh. Did y'all have the Conversation™️ before now?"

Dante raises a questioning eyebrow in response.

"The 'what happens if he meets his soulmate' conversation. Don't tell me Pat's the only one you've ever dated?"

Dante blinks in a way that implies that were they a lesser being, they might have blushed. "Actually, he is. But yes, we've had that conversation. I'll never get in the way of Pat's romantic love and his soulmate… destiny, ou comme tu veux. I just want to still have a part in his life."

They're tugging at their gloves again, even though their face remains smooth. Virgil recognizes a nervous tic when he sees one. And god does he recognize the sentiment.

Not that any of his past partners had ever wanted to stick around in return. Why would they? He wasn't their soulmate. They hadn't decided to "settle" yet.

"I can't speak for him, but- I think Roman will be open to that," Virgil offers. "He loves performing, so we'll probably still be traveling a fair amount. But I mean. I think he'd understand that you two are a unit the same way me and him are. Like, yeah, we're brothers, but we've been each other's lifeline our whole lives, and that's not about to change. Even if he's finally found his Other Half."

Dante looks up gratefully. "I can tell you love him. And- I hope you're right."

"I should be. If Roman's a dick about it, I'll smack him upside the head."

That surprises a laugh out of Dante. They finally pull off their glove entirely, shaking it out and letting it dry on the table. "I won't interfere with them, you'll encourage Roman to not interfere with us. Do we have a deal, then?"

They offer their bare hand to shake. For once, Virgil doesn't hesitate, but takes it immediately.

Skin hits skin. Virgil finds an agreeable little shudder running down his spine as he appreciates for the first time how attractive this person is. Elegant chestnut curls, heterochromatic eyes that are dancing with delight, and disarming smile. 

Dante winks as they withdraw their hand. "What, not going to check for your completed mark now, just in case?"

Virgil grins back. "No, but I can help you look for yours later, if you want."

"Is that a proposition? Monsieur, goodness, you move fast," Dante replies, fluttering their eyelashes.

Virgil shrugs. "It could be one. You know, we're clearly gonna be around each other a lot. They found each other the old fashioned way. Maybe we could try something a bit... less traditional."

Dante smiles. "I'd like that a lot, Virgil. Should we break into cloud nine over there and ask them about the future now?"

Virgil nods. Soulmark or not, the future's looking pretty good.

tag list: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt ​@thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed @hawthornshadow @mariniacipher and obligatory royality tag @notveryglittery and anxceit tag @vintage-squid

#soulmate au #subverted trope #happy ending #brotherly prinxiety #qpr moceit #royality #anxceit #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts deceit #deaf patton #black roman #black virgil #arab patton #white deceit #sanders sides fanfic #Roses Writes Fanfic

[a-gay-bloodmage]

—Where’s the dress?—

For @zevranology‘s #Zevwarden week

Pairing: Zevran x Male Amell Warden ((Side of platonic Leliana x Warden))

Pairing Type: M/M

Words: 3,880

Warnings: Blood Magic/Mind manipulation, Cross-Dressing, use of OC’s name

Shoutout to my proof-reader and tired friend @winchesterhorizon for helping!

“What do you mean? How is it now that you’re not fit to do anything?” Zevran was watching his Warden slowly lose his mind. They’d been assigned a job from the dear old Arl of Redcliffe to infiltrate a party, and steal some very important documents. Something to do with nobles, torture, Loghain, and Howe.

Very fun things.

Although, if he were to ask his Warden, nothing was fun about any of this, and running errands for the Arl is as bad as the rack. Although, moods tended to go south fast when one of two people needed for the job was currently lying on a bed of furs with her leg crushed. Leliana had been quite unfortunate in their last encounter with the Darkspawn, and had gotten one of her lovely legs caught under a fallen ogre.

Now that wasn’t fun at all.

“Dear,” Zevran said, placing his hand on his Warden’s shoulder, directing him to a log by the firepit to sit down. “Just breathe, we’ll figure something out!” He was smiling a very fake smile. “Since when have we ever failed a mission simply because one of us wasn’t up to the job?”

“If you’re referencing the time our lovely Alistair got food poisoning and we had to take Shale to run errands for the Chantry, I will tell you now, that was different!” The Warden, a mage named Redren, wasn’t often the most pleasant person. He had a fairly short temper most of the time, and despite his soft face and frail-looking body, he was Hell on Earth when he was angry.

“If I may,” Leliana piped up, “it might be best to replace me with Morrigan, as, well, she’s the only other young lady we have. Sorry Wynne.”

“No need to apologize, I am aware I’m aged,” Wynne commented.

“As I told you,” Morrigan snarled. “I have no interest going to this party for such trivial things. If ‘tis truly so important, can we not just break in and take these papers? There is no need for polite society in war.” Zevran would’ve been inclined to agree, but he of all people knew that sometimes, playing to ‘polite society’ was the only way to get a job done efficiently. If torturers could be counted as members of a polite society.

“Lovely Morrigan,” Zevran said, sitting down on the log next to Redren, keeping his hand on the fuming mage. “This is an operation of stealth, and all we need to do is figure a way out of this current crisis. I am sure we will come up with something, as I cannot recall an incident where we did not.”

“Zevran,” Redren sighed, sounding calmer, but defeated. “Leliana said, very clearly in her note that she was a member of the noble Sarina family, and that she was a ‘fair-skinned, red-haired maiden,’ and that she was to be accompanied by her elven servant. And last I checked, we have no other fair-skinned, red-haired maiden on hand!” Redren was back to fuming, and knowing him, Zevran knew it wasn’t really because of how this mission was likely going to be a bust, but more of the fact that he blamed himself for not protecting Leliana in battle as well as he thought he could’ve. But in truth, accidents did sometimes happen, and nothing could be changed now, so it only made matters worse to dwell on unchangeable things. As he sat thinking of what to say, he couldn’t help but notice he was sitting next to another fair-skinned, red-haired person. An idea sprung forth, and he couldn’t help the snort that broke the relative silence of the morning.

“Something funny, Zevran?” Redren asked, not exactly happily.

“Not funny per se, but rather, well, interesting.” He explained. “I have an idea, but I’m not too sure you’ll be very fond of it.”

“If it helps fix this mess, I’m willing to do damn near anything! So spit it out.”

Zevran was holding onto hope that the Warden’s feelings for him would help him listen. He and Redren had been together for a while, both of them truly smitten with each other. He only hoped that his love was still there as strong as before, since their relationship had hit a bad bump a month back.

“I propose that we work with what we do have,” he started. “We may only have one fair-skinned, red-haired maiden, but we also have a fair-skinned, red-haired man.”

“You’re joking.” Redren said, both as a statement and a question. “You have to be joking.”

“I am afraid I am not, my dearest Warden,” Zevran replied. “But unless anybody else comes up with a better plan, mine is all we have.”

Redren just buried his head in his hands. Zevran wasn’t the best at comforting men right before they lost a good chunk of their remaining masculinity, so he decided to just pat his Warden on the back.

He heaved a heavy sigh before he spoke. “Where’s the dress?”

..

Redren was thankfully only an inch taller than Leliana, standing at 5'9" over her 5'8". Zevran couldn’t exactly hear what was going on in Leliana’s tent, but based on the sudden squeal of Maker, woman! That’s bloody tight! it was safe to assume that Leliana had just yanked the laces on the corset. Zevran, on the other hand, was easily putting on his dress clothes, which were a lovely deep red, with gold, black, and white. Not to mention, actually comfortable. He assumed Redren wasn’t as happy with his outfit. He left his tent, and sat by the fire, where Alistair was sitting with Oghren and Morrigan. Wynne was taking a nap, and Shale was on patrol with Sten and Dog, Redren’s mabari.

“He sounds like he’s having a lot of fun in there, eh?” Oghren laughed, just as another yell was heard, this time something about a brassiere and Andraste’s flaming breasts. “But I suppose being dressed up and touched all over by a woman as beautiful as that one is comes at a price, huh? Lucky him!”

“Oghren,” Alistair whispered, not so quietly. “He’s gay, remember?”

“Ancestors, yeah.” He paused, thinking. “So he’s doing all this for free? That kid’s a sodding soldier!”

Zevran couldn’t help but laugh at their conversation. Overhearing dialogues from confused heterosexual men was always fun. Just as he opened his mouth to make a dirty comment about just what they were missing out on, they all jumped as Redren squealed again. This time, they very clearly heard Leliana yelling back.

“How long has it been since you brushed your hair?!”

“I don’t know!”

“Do you even own a hairbrush?!”

“Why would I?!”

“Because your hair’s longer than mine, and I just hit a knot the size of a curled up mouse in this rat’s nest!”

All three of the men by the fire snickered at the exchange. As soft as his face was, Redren was certainly no dainty lady. Even Morrigan looked amused, likely due to the pain their Warden was suffering though, the sadist.

It was about midday, which gave Zevran and Redren about three more hours before they had to head out. They’d be walking to the traitorous noble’s manor, about five miles north. A good two hour walk if they stoped for a quick break halfway. If Leliana had her way, however, Redren would be in that tent for another three years getting his hair brushed.

While Redren was busy getting non-consensualy and mildly violently pampered, Zevran was sharpening two of his smaller daggers. He knew that if things got ugly, he’d need to pull them out quickly, so he decided to store them on the inside of his trousers, hooked onto his belt. Whether or not it was agreed on, Zevran’d have to play bodyguard for Redren tonight, as the mage was not only in a less than combat-ready outfit, but he wouldn’t have his staff. As a weapon of both increased magical power and blunt force, Redren would be basically naked without his precious stick. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the kind of nakedness that Zevran enjoyed. Of course, Redren could still use magic without his staff, but it wasn’t as strong as it would be otherwise.

Then again, that statement wasn’t entirely false. To his knowledge, at least.

Zevran remembered reading something a while back, when he was training to take out a group of Blood Mages that had been ruining someone’s plans of political corruption. The research had said that Blood Mages had no need of staffs when performing Blood Magic, and that a simple drop of a victim’s blood was enough to manipulate the target. Blood Mages were the most dangerous of all magic users, and Redren happened to be such a mage.

There were many aspects of magic Zevran didn’t understand. Many aspects. He’d never had any practical need for such knowledge in life. So when he realized that the Grey Warden was a mage, he’d been more excited than before. He took the offer faster than he would have otherwise. What better way to die then at the hands of an unknown enemy with unknown powers? Of course, things hadn’t gone as according to plan, but even as he traveled alongside his Warden, there’d always been a slight air of mystery around him. Magic was a big part of Dalish culture, of course, so it had fascinated him growing up, like every other aspect of the wild elves. Eventually, some of the mysteries of Redren were solved, like what sounds he made when Zevran got just the right angle, or what he looked like after a couple hours of frenzied lovemaking. Those were especially fun to discover.

What wasn’t so fun was learning the man he’d shared his bed with, his secrets with, was a practitioner of the most forbidden magic of all. It’d only been about a month since they found out, and yet it was still so hushed, so taboo, nobody really spoke of it. Of course, they all had at the beginning, leading to a lot of crying, confessions of murder bordering on slaughter, and the newfound knowledge that many Blood Mages never chose to be they way that they were, and that sometimes, a mage is simply born a blood mage. That had been a very strange couple of hours.

“Zevran!” He heard Alistair yell, snapping him out of his thoughts. He was painfully aware of how comfortable he was getting in their little camp, frustrated how his mind wandered sometimes. An assassin’s mind shouldn’t ever wander, but then again, he wasn’t an assassin anymore, and– doing it again!

“Yes, Alistair?” Zevran asked, setting his razor-sharp blades to the side.

“Are you really comfortable with this whole thing?” Alistair’s voice was hushed, and Zevran noticed it was only him and Alistair by the fire. The others must’ve left a while ago.

“'Thing’ is a very broad term, so I ask you elaborate.”

“This whole, you know,” he gestured to Leliana’s tent. “Not just the, well, the making a man dress like a woman, but the whole, traveling alone with him.” Zevran could tell easily that Alistair was nervous.

“Well, if anything, I find the idea of dressing up a handsome man into a beautiful woman quite fun, as it’s certainly a good mix of my tastes!” He laughed. “But as for traveling alone with him, why do you talk like something bad will happen? I’m quite confident in both our abilities to handle ourselves.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” Alistair’s voice was a bit shaky. “His abilities, aren’t you nervous being alone with him? Maker knows I’d be,” he whispered.

“Alistair,” Zevran sighed. “I trust him. It may sound crazy, but I have faith he can control his powers. I understand that sometimes, he’s not the most level-headed person, but I don’t believe he’s unable to control his magic. You can’t deny he did very well before we knew.” His voice was a bit harsh, as he was trying to calm two people at once. Zevran hated how apprehensive he was at the idea of being alone with Redren, something he never truly worried about before. He’d known the man for about six months, but only recently had he been, apprehensive. Redren had been nervous as well, hardly acting like he used to. If anything, Zevran thought, the only one who he truly acts the same around is Leliana. She was upset, sure, but for some reason, they always got along so well… He tried not to think about it.

“Alright!” A sing-song voice announced. Zevran turned to look at Leliana, who hobbled out of the tent on a makeshift crutch. “I present to you, the lovely young lady that shall be taking my place tonight!”

As the Warden walked out of the tent, Zevran actually felt his jaw drop. That did not look like his Warden.

Redren’s long ginger hair was brushed, trimmed at the ends, even, his bangs finally falling evenly, covering his fairly unattractive black eyebrows. His waist was cinched, and the dark, blood red dress filled out for the curves he didn’t have. Zevran even noticed that Leliana had likely stuffed one of her own brassieres to give him a noticeable bust.

“Would you all kindly stop staring?” He grumbled, his voice the same, despite the rouge on his lips and cheeks. His bright eyes had dark shadow on them as well, making their green colour that much more vibrant.

“Maker,” Alistair said in an exhale. “Is it a compliment to say that I find you attractive as a woman?” Redren’s eyes widened a bit at that, probably not expecting Alistair to acknowledge that he actually looked good out loud.

“Uh, sure?” He shrugged. “I don’t exactly feel like a lady, but hopefully this’ll fool them long enough.”

“I have found a problem,” Morrigan piped up from a couple feet away from the fire. “We did not inform our lovely targets that their maiden was mute. As ladylike as you appear, your voice, well, 'tis still that of a man.”

“Oh, that’s simple enough.” Redren smiled rolling his eyes. He cleared his throat, and spoke, several octaves higher. “It’s not too hard for me to do a woman’s voice. I just sound like a have a little bit of a cold!”

“You,” Oghren mumbled. “Are too full of surprises for me, woman. I’m taking a nap.” The dwarf waddled off back to his tent, muttering something about women, liars, and never again.

“Well,” Zevran started, still in slight shock. “May I say you look lovely? My compliments to Miss Leliana, too, of course, I never thought any mortal could brush that hair!”

“It was a struggle, that’s for sure!” She laughed. “Now, I think it’s time for you two to head out. Don’t want to be late!” She gave Redren a kiss on the cheek as she cupped her hand around the other side of his face. “Have fun and don’t get killed!” Her smile was bright, but Zevran could see in her eyes that she was worried.

..

When they were about ten minutes down the winding forest road, Zevran finally spoke up.

“I really do mean it, you look very nice.” Zevran could hardly take his eyes off of Redren’s painted lips.

“Thanks,” Redren said with a shrug. “It’s just that, this is a bit weird. I’m not exactly a girl, so it’s really strange to be complimented like I am one.”

“Understandable,” Zevran nodded. “But for what it’s worth, you look nice in your everyday dress, too!”

“Robe, Zevran.” Redren chuckled. “Not a dress.”

“Fine. Would you prefer I say I find you stunning with no pants on?”

“Oh, now you’re teasing!” Redren lightly elbowed Zevran in the shoulder, making the elf laugh.

They both fell quiet, walking down the forest path.

Redren cleared his throat quietly, pausing before he said anything.

“And, I, I think you look good in that.” Zevran was a bit taken aback at Redren’s shyness. Just a month ago, there wouldn’t have been any hint of hesitancy in his voice.

“Thank you,” Zevran smiled. “And may I ask a favor of you?” Redren paused in his walking for a moment, turning to look at Zevran.

“Sure,” he responded, still hesitant.

Zevran reached out to grab Redren’s gloved hand with his own. He intertwined their fingers, soft brown leather rubbing against black cloth. Zevran noticed the softening of Redren’s posture, his shoulders less tense than before.

“Let’s get back to walking, now, no?”

Redren responded with a shy smile, something Zevran would never tell him looked absolutely adorable on his current feminine face.

..

If anything in the world was obvious, it was that there were certain groups of people Redren hated. Zevran watched him with amusement, entertained at how the Warden could curl his lip into a disgusted snarl as soon as a noble woman blinked, but revert back to a sickly sweet smile as soon as a lady turned around. Zevran knew some of the nobility could be oblivious to their surroundings, having been raised in palaces their whole lives. That’s not to say they were easy targets, however, their personal armies of guards made sure of that. Watching Redren actually speak with the noble ladies was certainly a slight.

“Oh, did you hear of the mess that Circle on Calenhad got into? Demons! Honestly, they should’ve just let those abominations burn!” Zevran watched Redren with careful eyes, seriously afraid his temper would get the best of him.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Redren replied, his false voice dripping with poisonous sweetness, “I happen to think mages are quite useful!” Zevran was interested to see where this was going. “I mean, without them, we’d have to deal with the Templars ourselves!” The noble woman he was talking to burst out in laughter, nasally with the distinct hint of inbreeding.

“Ha! Certainly! I can’t imagine the horror of more of those men without those magic freaks to play with! Did I mention that once…” she launched into a lengthy story that involved a Knight Commander, Lyrium, and group sex, and Zevran could see Redren’s eyes slowly glaze over as he nodded his head smiling.

Eventually, the woman shut up, wandering over to an elven servant to grab more wine and bother someone else. He couldn’t help but watch her walk away, her hips full, having never once faced going hungry in her life.

“Okay, it’s nine o'clock,” Redren whispered to Zevran. “Just follow me, I’ll persuade her.” With those words, they began to work their way to their target, the Lady Redthorn. She was wealthy, powerful and beautiful, but unlike the other brainless women she entertained, she was known to be as sharp as an assassin’s blade. Zevran didn’t like these sorts of targets, and since they were out in the open, slitting her throat quick wasn’t an option. Unfortunately for him, Zevran wasn’t given any sort of instruction other than trust me, something that wasn’t as easily to do now as before. As his mind was racing with plans, he didn’t get time to think before Redren spoke.

“Lady Redthorn?” He began, his voice sweet, but lower than before. “As much as I appreciate the décor, I’m afraid I wish to speak to you-” he placed a gloved hand on her shoulder as he whispered. “- in private.”

“Oh?” She purred, a thin black eyebrow raised. “And what may this be about?”

For as prudish as he acted sometimes, Zevran couldn’t help but feel complete surprise as he watched Redren play something eerily similar to a seducer.

“I wouldn’t wish to speak to you in private if I could simply say it in the open, yes?” His grip on her shoulder tightened, his eyes growing slightly colder. “And I truly do wish you do as I desire, my lady.” The noble woman nodded, and Zevran noticed how she swallowed hard.

“Of course. My room?”

“That would be wonderful,” Redren grinned, his smile dark. Zevran had to truly will his feet to follow, as despite being beautifully and daintily dressed, the man was still a Blood Mage, and very, very terrifying.

As they walked down the darkened corridors, Zevran noticed Redren slipping a needle out of his long sleeve, the candlelight glinting off the smooth silver surface. Zevran saw Redren’s smile widen as he quickly plunged the needle into Lady Redthorn’s neck, pulling it back out in less than a second.

“What was-”

“Hush,” Redren whispered, placing a gloved finger to her lips. “Now,” he said, pulling a glove off by his teeth, “I’m going to ask you,” he put his finger to the tiny hole on the back of her neck, smearing blood onto his skin, “to cooperate with-” he ran his tongue along the blood-tainted finger, “- me.”

“No!” She whispered, her voice shaking. “I refu-” the word died in her throat.

“Now, if you’d be so kind,” Redren said, his voice dropping back to normal. “I’d like to see those papers of yours talking about how your precious family is conspiring with Loghain and Howe, and torturing innocents that stand up to you, okay?”

A whisper of yessir was hardly heard over the blood rushing in Zevran’s ears.

So this is blood magic, he thought, following Redren and Lady Redthorn nearly mindlessly. Everyone was right, this is terrifying!

He hardly realized they were at the Lady Redthorn’s chambers until she numbly swung the door open. She walked over to a desk, unlocking a drawer with a key hidden underneath a paperweight. Pulling out the papers, she handed them to Redren, and Zevran could see how glazed over and bloodshot her eyes were.

“Thank you,” he heard Redren whisper as he put his hands on either side of her face, giving her two quick pats. “Now, if anybody asks why we left early, it’s because I wasn’t feeling well. You won’t remember anything about what I did to you, understood?”

Yessir.

“Good girl. Now, why don’t you get some sleep?” At his words, Lady Redthorn fell backward onto her bed, long black hair sprawled around her like a pool of inky blood.

Redren turned to Zevran, letting out a heavy breath. He closed his eyes for one, two, three seconds, before opening them and staring into Zevran’s.

“That was,” Zevran paused, noticing how Redren hung onto every word, searching for approval. “Quite impressive.” Redren broke into a wide, dorky smile, leaning forward to give Zevran a sloppy kiss, the first one he’d given the elf in a month. The rouge on his lips smeared across both their faces, and despite the lingering terror he felt, the sight of his Warden’s smile pushed it deep inside. He could tell that Redren was ecstatic, positively glowing in the slightest praise.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” Zevran laughed, taking Redren’s now bare hand.

“Good idea!”

And as they ran along the winding forest path, Redren holding Zevran in one hand and his shoes in another, Zevran couldn’t help but realize that it didn’t matter what his Warden was, what magic he practiced, or what he wore.

He loved his Warden.

#zevwarden week #redren #ocs #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #da warden #dragon age #dragon age origins #original content