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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 5 days

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hello 🩷recently found and loved your account so i’m here to ask from you!!

criminal minds SSA aaron hotchner x reader

i’d love any explicit smut 😋

ideal trope(s) would be jealousy, established but secret relationship due to workplace like the whole thing stems from AH being jealous af that you’re getting hit on or smth and he can’t do shy about it in public but oh when ur home.. 👀👀👀

hahaha sorry the brain rot is real

thank you if you do this!!

and i hope u never stop writing i’ve been reading ur other posts too i love them sm

༉‧₊˚. 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size!reader

— summary: your new relationship brings out a side of aaron that he had never seen before.

— warnings: established relationship, jealousy (obvi), unprotected sex, rough sex, teasing, couch sex, aaron lowkey bends you like a pretzel, heavy praise, he taps you on the cheek (lovingly ofc), implied creampie, consent king aaron!!, slightly insecure aaron, implied age gap but not specified, body massages and an implied size kink!

— wc: 2018

⋆ a/n: WOW a long smut fic, who would have thought? anywho, i'm trying to break free from posting headcanons because i just know they'll overtake this account. thank you for this request!

masterlist | AO3

Aaron felt his eye twitch.

His eye never twitches.

The culprit? The maintenance man that won’t stop talking to you.

He had so much paperwork he needed to complete, the stack of it had begun to tower, but Aaron couldn’t manage to get himself to focus on anything else but you.

Your relationship was fairly new, so you both had just agreed to keep it low-key for now. It wasn’t like you guys were lying, how could you when you were constantly surrounded by nosy profilers?

With new relationships came new feelings, and one of them he hadn’t felt since he was a young man somehow managed to resurface right under his nose: jealousy.

Yes, he had his moments of jealousy when he had first gotten with Hailey, but this? This was different. The age gap between the two of you wasn’t that large, but it was considerable enough that when he saw men closer to your age creeping around you, it always put him in a foul mood.

Like right now he just wants to storm down there and kiss you right in front of that stupid kid. The urge was primal and unfamiliar, and quite frankly it drove him insane.

Aaron was sure you hadn’t meant to come off as flirtatious, and who were your colleagues to step in if you looked genuinely interested in the guy? For all they knew you were single.

Oh, yeah, this was going to drive him over the edge, and it was all your fault.

It was safe to say you were excited when Aaron had decided to call it an early night, you just hadn’t expected him to jump on you as soon as you breached the threshold of your home.

He didn’t give you time to think or even put your things down, his briefcase followed along by your purse collapsed to the floor with a surprisingly loud thud!

Your lungs burned and your face was hot, heated between the two furnaces that were Aaron’s large and work-worn hands. You desperately clung onto the sleeves of his suit jacket, the material twisting between your fingers to keep yourself sturdy as he walked backwards.

“A- Aaron wha - what’s going on?” You pleaded breathlessly. You had to slightly shove the man away even though you were met with his uncharacteristic resistance. He just stood there and stared at you like a wild man, pupils dilated and chest rising and falling with every hastened breath he took.

He shook his head and blinked, like his thoughts were escaping him. Aaron couldn’t think when you looked at him like that; your lips kiss swollen with a light sheen of spit, your blouse covered breasts grazing his firm chest.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Was all he could say before reconnecting your lips.

He continues to walk backwards before the back of his calves meet the couch. He allows himself to drop down with a slight oomf, his needy hands tugging on yours encouragingly until you clambered onto his lap.

He didn’t give you time to show him any hesitancy, his palms gripping your hips firmly and all but holding you down against him. You gasped at the feeling, your fingers scratching at the shaved hairs on the back of his neck.

“Aaron! What has gotten into you?” The question was a flustered giggle. Aaron’s eyes casted to the side in a rare show of nervousness.

“It’s ridiculous.” He mutters. “I can bet you a million dollars that whatever you’re going to say isn’t as silly as you think it is.”

“It was that guy. The one that wouldn’t stop talking to you.” It took you a moment to think back on it before you finally understood what he meant. “The maintenance man? What about him?”

“He was flirting with you, and - I don’t know, it made me feel things I haven’t in a long time.”

Saying the actual word jealousy seemed so juvenile to Aaron; he was a grown ass man with a grown ass man job, so what right did he have to be acting like this?

“Oh.” It was long and drawn out. You felt a smirk begin to form on your face and you gently coaxed his eyes to meet yours. Aaron’s gaze was unsure.

“You know I’m yours, right? I don’t want anyone else that isn’t you, no matter how young, rich or tall.” Your hips begin to grind down on his and Aaron chokes back a groan. His grip on your flesh gets stronger and it draws a whimper out of you.

“Yeah?” He asks sensually, his voice a low purr. He aids in your grinding and your head grows fuzzy. “Yeah.”

He’s quick to reposition the both of you, your back now resting on the couch cushions. He kisses down your neck, nipping lightly at the skin there. It sends a shiver down your spine and your lower half canting up, desperately searching for friction.

Your hot cunt meets his knee. “Ah! Aaron.” You whined, fingers digging into his shoulders. Your boyfriend has one foot on the ground and the other wedged between your legs.

Aaron rises from your chest for a moment, shoving off his suit jacket and working the buttons on his shirt. You take it upon yourself to take your blouse off, arms reaching behind you to unclasp your bra with learned precision.

His eyes fall on your breasts and you could have sworn his movements gained a bit of franticness.

“Like what you see?” You couldn’t help but tease, your hands now working to shimmy your pencil skirt down your thighs. “Very much.” Aaron agrees with a lazy half smile. “Here, let me help.” You lift your hips up and he takes both your panties and skirt off at the same time.

The casual show of strength made your stomach clench, and you all but snatched Aaron by the back of his neck back down to your level. A noise of surprise escapes him and you take it as a chance to slip your tongue in his mouth.

Your body begins to heat up, his taking grabs and grips driving you insane.

“Fuck me.” You heave. Aaron pulls away from you, “Are you sure? You aren’t prepared well yet, and I don’t want to hurt you.” You smile softly. “As much as I appreciate your concern about me, I’ll let you know if there’s any discomfort, okay?”

Aaron thinks on your words for a moment, mulling them about in his brain before relenting at the feeling of your sweet, tempting hands stroking his bare chest.

“You always have to keep me on my toes, don’t you?”

“That was in the agreement.” You bite playfully. He snorts and rolls his eyes, but sits up once more to unbutton his pants.

With what feels like forever, he’s finally bare for your hungry eyes and clambering on top of you.

Resuming his old position, he wraps your legs around his waist, the tip of his cock poking at your slit. The two of you shiver at the feeling.

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart? You know I don’t mind eating you out; I’m in no rush.” Your cheeks turn warm at his crudeness. “I’m sure, baby. I need you. Now.” With one final search of your face, he begins to push forward.

Your breath catches in your throat and you hold on to his muscular biceps. Your eyes flutter shut at the full feeling of him, your legs trembling and stomach tightening.

The first initial stretch hurts of course, but with a minute of laying there adjusting to Aaron’s size as he delivers very stimulating circles on your clit to distract you from the discomfort, you find yourself loosening up.

“Move.” You grunted quietly.

Aaron’s jaw is set tight, the vein in his forehead slightly bulging when he proceeds to thrust experimentally. Your lips roll in between your teeth to hold back the whorish moan that threatens to practically barrel out of you.

He does it again, and again, and again, until all of his self control is thrown out the window and the only thing he can think of is you; of how tight you are around him.

“It feels so good, baby. So, so good…” You babble, your hands reaching up to grip the armrest of the couch for more leverage. “I know honey, I know. ‘M gonna get deeper, okay?” Aaron groans. You nod wildly, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of your face.

He steadies himself on the knee placed on the couch, lifting your legs up so either one sits on his big, broad shoulders.

The change in position caused your back to arch, your mouth dropping open into an ‘o’ shape as you struggled to keep your head on straight.“Mphm! You’re so - you’re so deep.” You cried out, tears brimming on your eyelashes. “I know I am, baby. But you can take it right?”

“Mhm! I can! I know I can!”

“You can take it because you’re mine right? Because you’re my good girl?”

His praise pushes you dangerously close to the edge, and you’re honestly convinced that the crescent shape of your nails will leave an imprint on the material forever. The couch cushions stick to your skin like glue, the so of skin hitting skin resounded throughout the room lewdly.

A hand lightly slapped your face, your cheeks squeezed between his fingers, puckering slightly.

“I asked you a question, didn't I sweetheart?”

“You did, you did! ‘M sorry. ‘M your good girl, please.”

What you were begging for, you didn’t know; was it mercy? Was it a desperate call for your sanity? Whatever it was could wait, because you were going to cum.

“Gah! God, Aaron, ‘m gonna cum! Help me cum, please.” You begged again. “I got you honey.”

Aaron’s hand slithered down your body before landing on your clit, a calloused thumb drawing it around in firm circles. Your body moved and convulsed violently, your moans growing in volume – you’re sure you’re going to receive a noise complaint in the mail later.

That coil in your stomach threatened to snap, and all you could think to say was, “Cum with me?”

To be frank, Aaron was ready to cum a few thrusts before, but he was always one to prolong his pleasure if that meant satisfying you.

“Of - of course.” He stuttered, his dominance slowly slipping away from him.

Aaron bent forward just a little more to test how far he could push you, and though you were sure your muscles were going to ache when everything died down, but God, this was so, so worth it.

“F- fuck!” You swore as you came.

Everything disappeared for a moment besides the sound of Aaron’s guttural groan that sounded more like a loud, long-drawn-out whimper than anything when he came too.

You were slowly brought back to reality by Aaron massaging your sore muscles, gently twisting them and rubbing out any potential knots that threatened to form. You knew he'd disappear in a minute to grab something to wipe you down with, but you couldn’t seem to find it within your post orgasmic bliss to care.

“Mm, that’s nice.” You rasped, your eyelids fluttering open to face your disheveled boyfriend. His hair was all out of place in the best way possible, his bare body shining in a clear sheen of sweat. If you weren’t so tired, you think you’d jump straight to a round two.

“I’m sure,” Aaron’s voice was just as hoarse as yours. “I think I pushed your body a bit too far.”

“Don’t get started, Aaron.” You chided lightly. “It was perfect, okay? You were perfect. Now get up here.”

You dragged him from where he was and laid his body on top of yours.

“Down.” You demanded playfully. “I’m heavy, honey.”

“Don’t care.” You exaggerated the ‘don’t’ and pulled the rest of him down.

“I want to lay like this for a minute.”

“Alright,” Aaron nodded to himself. “I can do a minute.”

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1864reruns · 3 months

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤyour poet, your painㅤ౨ৎㅤ4.7k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©jwhoozi

synopsis. being mean to rafayel comes with cruel consequences, he makes sure to get you back always. (to my love, 5☆ rafayel card: your fragrance)

warning(s). nsfw, afab! reader, rafayel's characterisation being ?, does this count as a scent kink??? smth to do with smell... my rafayel babes get it, dirty talk, fingering, guided masturbation, orgasm denial, will he actually fuck?, answer is no, rafayel makes you finish what he started, not proof–read, petname: baby

from vyon. awkward.... so very awkward; first ever nsfw piece ever, be nice :3 i swear i've actually ingested a healthy amount of nsfw stuff but writing it has always been a different story and trust me, i've tried... but writing 'cock' in any sort of serious manner makes me giggle a little but rafayel has made this so serious for me, he's still a little silly at the end though. mmmgffff the want i have for him is carved into my bones and his name stirs an appetite in my teeth.

this was whipped up so quickly for no reason but it's definitely a style that i feel that took up its own life. it's so different from my usual prose and idk how i feel about it so take of that what you will. also!!!!!!!!! my requests for l&ds are open :3

do not repost / copy / translate.

Oh, he must think you're an idiot— your eyebrows furrowed, rolling your hand around the tie you've managed to wrap around his wrist; a little force and you've got him falling backwards onto his couch with a groan, pressing your knee between his thighs to keep him down. Rafayel winces, his head ducking down and his elbows withdrawn into his stomach. "You're being so rough," he complained, his eyes turning to look up through long lashes, "don't you know it's best to treat artists with care?"

Your lips tugged into a frown, unamused as your body hovered over his form, head tilted. "Come on, you can take a little rough handling, Rafayel." He's unmoving for a second, merely moving his eyes back down as his fingers laced together beside his head. The display makes you feel bad, like you were bullying a child or maybe a puppy; a sigh passes through your lips and you let go of one end of the tie. The material slips off his wrists, falling down his arms and catching in the bend of his elbow before you're pulling it back and Rafayel's moving his hands down to inspect his wrists.

Making a face at his sulk, you folded the tie up and brought your knee down as you watched him carefully massage his wrists with his fingers. Rafayel blows a soft breath on his left wrist, glancing up at you for a second like you'd wronged his family. "We both know it'd take a lot more than that to put an artist like you out of commission." You dryly retort, trying to shake off some of the sudden guilt that's beginning to stick to you.

The curtains of Rafayel's room are pulled close, the light soaked up by the swollen fabric, pooling at his wooden floor from the ceiling. Hues draped in red oozed onto his face, bubbles of shadows washing over every hurt feature as Rafayel rubbed circles over his wrist, stopping at intervals to blow a warm breath onto the skin. You shift awkwardly, eyebrows furrowed. "Rafayel," you try again, "put the tie on and let's go to the exhibition. Thomas is waiting."

"Help me," he demands, lips still stuck in that aggrieved pout as his hands fall into his lap. Rafayel's finger wrapped around his wrist as he straightened up, his shoulders falling as his eyes moved to the tie you held in your hand. "My hands are sore so intricate work like tying a tie will be tough."

Exasperation settled on your face as you studied him, eyes flickering from details of his expression, the suit you'd managed to encourage him to change into, his posture against the couch, what you think is the reddened skin of his wrists— which is probably from his endless massaging anyways, you didn't even tighten it that hard. A hissing intake of breath passes through your teeth, eyebrows falling as you begrudgingly draped the tie around his neck.

Fixing the length of the two ends under the collar of his white dress shirt, you allowed his weakened hands to fall onto your waist. You leaned forward to straighten out the back of his collar for a second, bumping his hand off your hip; you miss Rafayel's face scrunching up, seriousness tainting his feature as his head turns after your hand to chase that subtle scent again. Unaware of his predicament, you brushed the collar out and tucked the tie underneath the folded fabric before you're bringing your hand back.

Rafayel's fingers catch your wrist as it passes his face, bringing it back to him as he presses his nose into your flesh. "Rafayel?" You asked, attempting to pull your wrist from his gentle grip.

He groaned, tightening his hold almost immediately and tugging your hand further back. Rafayel's eyes closed, his head ducking down and his other hand going to pull at the neck of his shirt. A sort of troubled hum sounds deep from his throat, "this," he started, hesitantly, "it's familiar."

"My skin?" You laughed, amused at his words and his behavior. His nose tickled your palm, the tip tracing the many lines that could foretell your fate; a fluid movement you've seen made by dancers runs its course through Rafayel's head as he turned to trail his nose over your wrist. Something settled in your spine, shivering its way up and shouting danger through crevices of your brain as your eyes fell over the curve of his eyelids, closed over his eyes. You could only imagine what emotion could possibly be hidden behind the sensitive layer of skin, you feared the stutter that'd arise if he'd open his eyes to drown you in that tantalising coral sea. "Rafay—"

His eyebrows furrowed, head flinching away from the sound of your face. "The scent." He corrected, easily pulling you closer, your knees hit against the side of the couch as your front falls forward. "It's," he muttered, trailing off slightly as he fixed his other arm around you to settle you on one of his thighs. "Where'd you get it?"

"It was in one of the back offices, a sample." You scrambled out. You make a feeble attempt to pull any part of yourself away from him. Exhibition, Thomas, perfume, get Rafayel there— you remembered. The stretch of memory all fall apart when you feel the digging of Rafayel's fangs on the meaty palm under your thumb, he pulled away gently when you hissed, only leaving the tips of his canines on the skin and dragging his teeth across.

Rafayel's eyes leveled on you, the usual light colours of his iris unsaturated under the shadows of his lashes. "I don't like it," he moved himself forward after a second, bringing a hand to your chin to tilt your head to the side. He gives your neck the same attentiveness, each inhale leaves your neck cold; the threat of him sinking his teeth into your neck remains cruelly true, his lips brushed against your collarbone. "I hate it, are you trying to trick me?"

The confusion that Rafayel comes with, a roughening whiplash, you've accepted it as a part of his demeanour. Troubled artists, who really knows about the crazy lot? But. Rafayel moved even closer, as if trying to bury his nose into the cells of your body that the molecules of perfume stubbornly clung onto; his lips tugged down into a frown and eyebrows following the curve down; lashes tickled your skin and you squirm. You repeated his name again, it's a shredded truth of the matter, how Rafayel falls from between saliva soaked tastebuds, hungry teeth, wet lips like a plead, a beg.

"It won't happen," Rafayel mumbled, going off onto his own tangent. His eyes meet yours, mirroring a speckle of the delirium held at your waterline and his head tilted— confusion settled between the furrow of his brows, skin scrunched together.

Your hand makes the next move, the back of your fingers pressing against his neck as your index finger bent upwards to catch on his jaw. "Rafayel." The artist's head follows your hand, trailing after the lingering shed of perfume; you pinch the rim of his ears, massaging the cartilage until you're down to the lobe. "Ra'yel," your eyes flickered down to his face for a beat, curious of his expression. It's distant from you, features locked in a beat that seemed to be out of grasp— his eyes are hazy and unfocused, cheeks heated as you run the pad of your thumb over the line of his angular cheekbone.

Rafayel blinks slowly, his lips parted and you watched a hue of red light catch between his two front teeth, dripping down into his bottom lip menacingly as he leaned forward. A hand you haven't been paying attention to moved up from behind you, grabbing your collar and pulling it the side so he could sink his teeth into your collarbone. You squeezed your eyes shut, a hiss coming from between your teeth. "Smells so strong," he muttered against your skin, he scrunched his nose up and huffing slightly.

Each word he makes sounds as though he's squeezing it out of his throat, soaked in some unfortunate degree of effort.

The same hand slivered its attention downwards, fingers dancing over the fabric of your shirt, stabilises for a second; it becomes stern in its existence as it rubbed over the stitching of your shirt, which you both know isn't enough until his pinky dips under the hem of your shirt and the rest of his hand follows. Between the soft groaning, sucking sounds near your ear and the feeling of his nails lighting new paths for demons on your skin, you're not to sure what to focus on. Your mind stays on one thing. "Rafayel."

"I know, don't nag," he mumbled, his lips pressed just behind the lobe of your ear. "You're not so good at defending yourself, huh?" His teeth catch on the lobe at the same time his fingers knead down on the meat of your hips, he tugs on your ear and manages to worm his pinky past the waistband of both your trousers and underwear.

"Why would I try defending myself against this?" You strained out, a hum vibrating through your ribs, following the curve and paths of the bones and passed to your fingertips. Rafayel trailed the lowered hand to your front, fiddling messily with the button of your bottoms; his lips leave your skin in a flicker of annoyance after a few seconds, tugging out into that wronged pout. You shook your head, amused smile on your face as he refocuses his attention on the button.

"It seems as though your defence is up though."

You sighed, taking it upon yourself to unbutton your pants. "No, I think you're just weak."

"That's an unfair observation," he groaned. There was something charming about his troubled artist demeanour— how in these moments, desperation flooded his veins; you've seen it tainted in the curve of his back a few times, as he's mixing pigments, trying to figure out composition. A hand brushes through your hair, softly tilting your head backwards. "Are you really thinking of other things right now?" Hurt eyes meet yours, his chin tucking close to his neck as he curled his fingers in your hair. Neatly clipped nails glided across your scalp, splitting a line down to the nape of your neck, the movement warrants a shiver. You see it now. As he takes it upon himself to redirect your wandering attention, how Rafayel wants you clinging to every ministration, to make feeble attempts to swallow his words as he spits them.

His hands settled under your thigh, slipping over your ass with a gentle squeeze as he urged you to your knees. Settling your arms onto his shoulders, your legs part to settle beside his thighs as he pushed down the waistband of your pants. He pauses for a second, a sliver of your underwear showing as he glanced up. A flicker of amusement in his eyes, his head tilted in an almost trying way. "Didn't you say," he starts slow. "Nevermind," amusement and pleasure blurred on his face.

"Huh?"

Rafayel shook his head, continuing on like he hadn't said anything; he leaned forward and catches the lace hugging your stomach with his teeth, pulls his head back and lets it go. It snaps back against your skin and he chases to press a kiss over it. The material of your trousers makes it awkward to take off in the position you're in, you slide back to plant your feet onto the floor, kicking off your shoes and the pants not a beat later. Rafayel leaned forward, pressing a few kisses over the front of your panties. "Smells better here," he kept an arm wrapped around your thighs as he tilted his head up.

Your face heated up, eyes widening as you struggled to push his head back from you. "Don't just say that—!" You struggle to find a common ground between the sheer embarrassment and throbbing need that burns through layers of skin at Rafayel's lips through the thin fabric. His nose pressed up against the elastic as your lips dipped into a subtle pout— what a bad habit he's got, playing with his food; it's nothing foreign to you but this soft tenderness has you staggered, breathless.

Rafayel merely settled you down onto his lap, shifting himself forward a little to lean back and spreaded his legs so yours followed. Your bare thighs brushed against the smooth leather of the couch, you gave a small shudder and Rafayel plants a firm hand on the side of your thigh, his fingers pressing into the flesh and kneading. He leaned in, his lips landing tenderly on yours. Everything that was your voice died on the dried friction of his lips against yours, new nerves light up through your skin; his teeth nip at your bottom lip, pulling back a little before he's surging forward again, his tongue directing.

Your stomach dipped with a gasp, hands falling on Rafayel's shoulders for some sense of stability; your fingers dug up from the nape of his neck to his roots, catching darkened strands in curves and tilting his head back as you shifted to your knees to dip your head further down. You take one of Rafayel's groan as your own, passing it through your system as oxygen and tugging for more.

His hands pressed against the curve of your side, pulling back from the kiss. "I'm not going anywhere," he offered, his voice soft and indulgent. You narrowed your eyes at him, but that's it. Eager fingers unfurl, patting down strands of messy hair that stuck out defiantly until they settled back onto his shoulders; you leaned back down onto his lap— the spreading of his legs forcing you to be practically hovering. Rafayel leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. In the lighting of his bedroom, his hair isn't purple at all— a few shades too dark to discern the pretty hue it shines under the sun; his hair sticks between your forehead and stabs onto your eyelid, making you wince. "Better." He moved his chin forward, tilting his head as he goes to press another kiss against your lips.

Rafayel's unwavering desire to control the timing and pace of your intimate moments is anything but annoying in the second; his fingers are warm, calloused across odd scars on your body and textured flesh. A flicker of unfamiliarity settles in your mouth, Rafayel's tongue, calm and slow; he's unusually methodical— like you had all the time in the world. "Wait—" You pushed yourself off of him, the realisation dawning on you. "You sneaky bastard, we need to—"

Rafayel blinks at you as your body practically stuttered back against him and a helpless whine passes through softened lips, "need to?" He repeated calmly, waiting for you to clarify like he hadn't just ran his nail right over your clit. You furrowed your eyebrows, forehead leaning on his shoulder; Rafayel noted the troubled expression on your face and pressed the pad of his middle finger over your darkened underwear, dragging a line down the slit. "You know you work for me right, baby?" He hummed, his other hand wrapping around your side to slide the joint of his fingers over the curved bone of your back. "There's no need to listen to what other men want you do to."

Your fingers scrambled for something to hold onto, falling back onto the couch just until he's repeating the movement with two fingers, adding a new motion to the beat as he rubbed circles over your sensitive clit. Then your hands returned to his shoulders, fingers falling to catch his sleeve as your teeth caught onto your lip. A flickering of annoyance comes drowned with pleasure, his words echo in your mind, blossoming a whole new phrase: there's no need for it when you're mine. The reminder's wholy unnecessary, you've known that for a while. Every crevice you've kept hidden from prying eyes had spurned some deluded hour of sudden inspiration; the colour of your eyes sparkling wet with tears when you're on your knees, he's spent hours trying to replicate with coral and seashells; the signature of his work pressed into the ribs that hide beneath your breast; the stability of your entire being hammered out with keys made to stretch the canvas. It's all there, stained with his fingerprints.

Your thighs make a sudden jump to snap close when Rafayel circled his fingers back down, his thumb pushing the wet fabric aside and inspecting his work. He makes a dissatisfied hum, keeping your legs open with his legs; the fabric of his slacks run warm against your bare thighs. No sense of guilt or shame traceable in his strokes, Rafayel pushed down on your cunt with his middle finger; you wondered if he worked on his paintings in the same way, without the smallest sense of hesitation? In the same way that Rafayel saw his paintings as something he didn't truly own, he saw you, undeniably, as his. Why wouldn't you be? Every detail, every crack, crevice, flaw, perfection that was sculpted together was his to be claimed— you snapping your hips closer to his fingers was all the evidence.

The delicious, burning, stretch that comes with him pressing two fingers into your cunt is welcomed with a high–pitched whine.

"You're unusually quiet," Rafayel commented, curling his hand to press the butt of his palm up so you could grind your clit against his hand. "How was work, any more of my paintings nearly kill you?"

"Are you seriously—" He pushes the remaining length of his fingers in, your words break apart into a whimper as your head leaned back. Rafayel's free hand is idle around your waist, helping you keep yourself balanced. "Don't make— fuck," you breathed out, "small talk, Rafayel."

"Yeah cause you're already talking enough for both of us." He pointed out with a hum. His fingers keep at you steadily, sometimes pausing when his digits were settled nicely into your walls so you could roll your clit against his palm.

You feel his fingers spread out inside you slightly, "haven't even said anything." You raised your hips, meeting his thrusts as you turned to settle your forehead against Rafayel's shoulder.

"Your cunt." Rafayel corrected himself after hearing you, "you're so wet." He allowed for a moment of silence, beneath the sound of heavy panting, fabric and material rubbing against each other, you do hear the wet sound of him sinking his fingers into you. "It's been drowning out the sound of your phone ringing for a while, you think Thomas is going to come?"

Any chance of you offering back a coherent reply dies, awakening a strangled cry from the depths as Rafayel fastened his pace. You straightened in his lap, throwing your arms around him to fist the back of his cotton jacket into your hands, "Ra'yel, so good—" You hear distantly like it wasn't your own voice as his thumb snapped awake to precisely rub against your clit.

A pool collects in the curve of Rafayel's hand— a scent he's much more familiar with, a consistency that has his senses dulling as his tongue swiped across his lips. Rafayel's eyes flickered to you, hanging from him like seaweed wrapped around his body before it turned to your phone, left haphazardly in the pocket of your pants on the floor. Your moans turn a degree higher, octave after octave; he sees summer in how you called out some messy variation of his name. "'M gonna cum, gonn—" You squeezed your arms around him.

He tucked his face into your shoulder, a fleeting kiss on your collarbone as he brings his fingers out. Your pre–cum clings to his fingers as he moved back, begging him to come back as you whined and a sob nearly falls from your lips as he denies you of that high. "No, no, Rafayel, please." You're frantic, pushing yourself back from his chest and chasing his fingers with your hips. "Please, was so close."

"Sorry, baby," he gives you what looks like an apologetic look through your blurry eyes, his clean hand falls onto your cheek to wipe away a stray tear. "My wrist still really hurts from what you did."

Your face falls, grieved. You hold his hand against your cheek, keeping it there as you turned your face to press a kiss onto his wrist. "No, 'm sorry," you urged. "Please, Rafayel, need you so bad."

A beat of nothing and a lifetime settled with the space built between you two, your hips uselessly rutting against air. The feel of lukewarm slick that he drags against your thigh, as if trying to massage it in, so close to where you really need him. So, so close to where your cunt has been restored to be his. Nothing is audible but the sound of your pleaing, trying to coax him back to where you needed him.

After a moment, his eyes flickered back to you, the tainted hues all swimming together as they looked on in amusement. "D'you mind showing me?" His eyebrows raised up, his eyes bordering cruel and his lips twitching upwards into a subtle smile. You meet his suggestion with a frown, shaking your head as your mouth opened to reject the idea and work on another pathetic beg. "Just try it," he pressed, giving your cheek a gentle stroke. "Take care of yourself for a moment, baby."

A breath bursts from you, it's all oxygen you need gone and your lungs fill with the useless waste product as his wet hand tangled with yours. Your thigh burns cold where he parts with it but the heat from his palm against yours spreads flames down to soothe the loss; he taps his finger against the back on your hand and then turns it to press a kiss against the back. Then he unlaces your fingers, your own juices create a web between your two palms, momentarily connecting your life lines before the threads snaps and he's gently holding the back of your hand.

Each of Rafayel's finger is bent over yours as he guides you down the path he took to shatter you. It makes you cringe to feel his wet fingers against yours, your fingers twitched as he brings you down right down to the source; the same substance sticking to the tips of your fingers as he helps you start. "You like it when I brush just under your clit, here." Rafayel offhandedly offers as he pulls your hand up, your finger pressed against slick skin. He watches your face as you reached the point he was speaking of and satisfaction blossoms on his face when your mouth falls open, choking on a breath.

Your thigh twitches from the simple touch, your head rolling over to your own shoulder for some support. His grip loosens a little, his fingers trailling up your arm. "You can take it from here right baby?" The tease behind his voice isn't meant to be ignored as he leaned back, head tilted down to keep his eyes on your shaky hand. "I pushed my wrist too far with that."

Your hand feels out of place for some reason, pierced through as it hung between your thighs. Sensing hesitation, Rafayel lands his hand on your knee, his thumb brushing over the skin and you can see his long middle finger just in the corner of your eyes. You pushed a finger into yourself, face scrunching up at the change in length and girth. "S'not enough," another finger pushed in and still, still the length is missing. Your knee is squeezed, urging you to continue.

You try to make up the lacking aspects of your own fingers compared to Rafayel's with some focus onto your clit but Rafayel swats your other hand away, holding it at your hip. "No, keep going like this for me." There's no other choice in the matter, your lip catches between teeth, falling whenever a gasp or moan wanted to pass through. It's agony, it's the unrelenting ache in your back, it's the jacket caught onto your doorknob, it's your toe to a corner; burning pain that shocks you to a degree of anger, annoyance. You work through it regardless— the world doesn't stop despite how it feels like it stutters.

Rafayel is a mere few inches away from you, his hands are on you but he wasn't touching you in the way you wanted; the world is still turning. With you struggling to work yourself up to the point that Rafayel got you to before, his hands rubbing up and down your thigh, and his soft praises in your ear— the world is, cruelly, still in its orbit. "I can't do this," you breathed out, pushing your fingers in, your knuckles sit flush against your entrance. "Rafayel," a mere mumble has him sucking in a sharp breath; the next sentence shatters the anatomy of his being and he feels foreign to land and sea. "I can't do this without you."

It falls from your lips with a whimper, multiple breath catches in Rafayel's throat, your eyebrows are furrowed and lips slightly parted as you panted slowly, wetting your dried lips and pressing them close to swallow some saliva. "Ra'yel, please don't make me finish without you." You knew just how to catch him, how enticing your words were to smell from upstream.

Without missing another beat, he has his hand cupped over yours near your entrance and pushes another finger in between yours. The satisfied moan you pass through your lips is then swallowed as Rafayel brings you into a open mouth kiss, threatening to swallow each and every breath you take as to not waste anything that was any bit of you. It takes him a few moments to adjust to having an obstruction in his way but he manages to set a pace like before and you follow, chanting his name stupidly. "I'm right here," Rafayel groaned back, "sorry I made you wait."

"S'okay," the syllables are tainted with saliva and some slur, any words that weren't 'Rafayel' uncomfortable to sit on tongue even for a moment before they passed on.

You snapped forward, a cry breaking through you as he used the butt of his palm to work your palm onto your clit. "You can't make me wait either," he muttered, leaning his head down to kiss your neck. "You're close, keep squeezing me and I'll lose my finger."

When it comes to you, he's never wrong. The air thickens, a mixture of panting, squelching, kissing messily bouncing around Rafayel's room; his finger takes a different course from your fingers, suddenly curling and his nail lightly scratches against your silk walls. You curled onto yourself, fingers pulling out of your entrance that Rafayel plugged up with another digit; he shushes your cries, working it through your high with his thrusts slow.

Your head leans on his shoulder, chest falling and rising as Rafayel used his feet to pick up your trousers on the floor so he could wipe his fingers. You watched this with judgement but couldn't find it in yourself to say anything as your eyes fluttered shut.

"Are you tired?" Slightly sticky hands massaged your hips, Rafayel's voice a slow humming that allows the tension to shed from you. You give him a nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"Will you clean me up?" You're not sure if you're pushing your luck at this point. Nothing is said for a moment but then he's fixing his arms underneath your ass as he hoists you up.

"I'm tired," he speaks, that comforting aspect of his voice from before gone as he moved to his bathroom. "And you really did hurt my wrists, what if you forced me to over–exert them and now they're sprained?" You furrowed your eyebrows, you should have just thrown him over your shoulder instead of trying to tie his hands up. "How will you take responsibility if my hands are ruined?"

#౨ৎ rafayel single!#౨ৎ l&ds single!#love and deepspace oneshot #love and deepspace #l&ds #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel x y/n #rafayel smut #rafayel oneshot

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months

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bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 14 all chapters

warnings: The Author is choosing not to spoil the chapters with super specific warnings, (honestly they annoy me, sry). From here on out, expect sexual content. This is a yandere fic. If you have squicks, you probably shouldn't be reading this. Ye've been warned. I love you all. Carry on. 😘

-However, when you get back to your hostel, you find the doors are locked. It’s not even that late, and they actually fucking locked you out. Only then do you see the sign outside that proclaims they in fact will do this at the ridiculously early hour of ten o’clock.

“Shit.”

Seemingly calmer now, John slings an arm around your shoulders against the night’s chill. “I’ll get you a room in my hotel;” he promises. “It’s my fault I kept you out so late.”

You would be a liar if you pretended you did not consider the possibilities of this arrangement.

John is staying in a beautiful old boutique hotel with an ornate carved stone façade and wrought iron balconies. As it turns out the room directly next to his is vacant. A miracle, considering it’s the height of the season. He takes you up to get you settled, and brings you one of his t-shirts to sleep in.

Somewhere along the way he’s lost his suit jacket and tie, and you are hypnotized by the sight of him in just his shirt, his trim waist on display.

“Will you help me with my zipper?” you ask. You’re not being completely conniving. A kind comrade at the hostel did assist you in getting dressed in your dorm room.

He helps you like a gentleman with no real funny business, pulling the fine fastening down. You know he can’t help but brush the bare skin of your spine a little with his fingertips, but it is a fight not to squirm with the desire that small touch ignites within you again, moist heat pooling between your thighs. When he finishes the gesture with a seemingly innocent caress of the tops of your shoulders, you burn.

You turn in his arms, feeling the dress falling down your shoulders as you do, and stand on tiptoe to press your lips to his. He freezes for a single moment before his arms wrap around you in answer, holding you so hard you fear your bodies might fuse. He kisses you like he intends to eat you, his tongue sweeping your mouth and warring with yours, his teeth grazing the swell of your lower lip.

A part of you wonders how long its been, since he’s touched a woman. Since his wife passed? Is that why his hands shake as they slide into your hair, pulling just hard enough to get your attention? His mouth finds the line of your neck, branding you with kisses on your sensitive skin. Somehow, your hands work just enough to undo the first three buttons of his shirt, before he catches your mitts in his.

“Wait…” It is hard to tell if it is a request or an order, caught between a pant and a growl. He kisses you again, bending you over backwards and stealing your breath away. “You have had a lot to drink, and I am trying to do this the right way, and I am barely holding on. Please, y/n.” He presses his forehead to yours, as though he can will you to understand what is going on in that mysterious mind by osmosis alone.

“It’s ok,” you try to soothe him, hardly recognizing your own voice. “I want you. I want you so much, and for so long…” If he thinks this all was just a whim of yours brought on by too much alcohol, boy is he mistaken.

A yip of surprise escapes you as suddenly he lifts you in his arms, as though you weigh nothing at all, carrying you to the bed and pressing you down into the soft mattress with hands on your shoulders, breathing heavily. You reach for him again, starving little thing that you are, but he catches your hands in his. “Stop.”

Thoroughly chastised, you freeze. Again, there’s that steely tone. Wide eyed, you look up at him, his hair a wavy mess from your fingers, his shirt half undone. He is beautiful, and there is something wild in his eyes that takes your breath away.

You are so confused. What did you do wrong?

He lets out a ragged sigh as he straightens, running his fingers through his hair.

You are soothed a little, when he touches your lifted knee lightly, running fingertips down the blade of your bare shin. With precise fingers he unties the bows of your shoes at your ankles, removing them from your feet and setting them on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The moment his hands are absent from your skin you whine, knowing you sound like a cat in heat, but absolutely too drunk on desire as much as booze to care.

“Shh,” he says, gentler this time. “We can talk about this in the morning. Right now, you need to get some rest.”

He touches your bare foot, tracing the arch, dwarfing it in his big hands, before turning to go. You sense you really are about to lose him for the night, and in your desperation you play your last card, not knowing where you get the cheek or the bravery to do so.

“But Mr. Wick…” you whine, and he freezes in his tracks. You can see the tension thrumming between his powerful shoulders, fighting with the decision to stay or to go. “Sir, haven’t I been a good girl?”

He turns back to you then, those burning dark eyes narrowed down at you. Just that single look floods you with a searing wave of heat, and you soak through your panties for the umpteenth time that evening. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the agonizing ache this man inspires between your legs.

You’ve never actually done this before with a man, but some woman’s intuition in you knows that at last, you’ve got him in the bag.

“Young lady, do you know what game you’re playing?” he warns, taking a step closer to the bed.

Maybe he’s right to caution you, but you’ve come too far now to care. “I need you.”

At least that much is true.

He lets out a shuddering sigh, taking the remaining step to bring him back to you. You reach for him as he bends down, but he catches your hands again with a tut-tutting sound. You are beginning to think he doesn’t want you to see what’s beneath his shirt—which seems absurd, because from what you felt he’s fucking gorgeous and frankly, way fitter than you.

“These stay here,” he directs, pressing your hands above your head. His tone is not harsh this time, but low, still unyielding as stone. You reckon he’s a man who is used to being obeyed. It’s not your strong suit, but there is something buried in you that finds this new game unusually titillating.

“Or what?”

This wins you a dark little chuckle that lifts the hairs all over your body.

“Or, else.”

Something in that last word makes you squirm, and again you press your thighs, the ache you feel there bordering on pain. “Okay,” you agree breathily, too crazed by lust to care how ridiculous you must sound.

Finally, his lips are on yours again, a soft kiss with the barest slide of tongue that only leaves you wanting more, your nipples drawn to painful peaks. You whimper as he withdraws to kiss your throat, then lower on your chest.

“Shh, you needy thing,” he admonishes softly. “Good girls don’t whine.”

Somehow you manage to catch your next little sound in your throat, though it still comes out a strangled peep. You feel him smile over your breast, before he gives the bodice of your dress the slightest tug. In your current state it’s all it takes to bare your pebble-hard nipple to him, which he kisses with tenderest care, flicking his tongue over the bud. It sends spears of pleasure straight to your loins, and in that moment you think you really might die from wanting this man. You writhe beneath him, and without thinking your fingers find their way to his hair, grabbing soft fistfuls of dark curls in your desperation.

Immediately, he stops.

“What did I say about those?”

Suddenly you are on the edge of tears.

“I can’t….”

He stands, and you watch with fascination as those sure fingers flick open the silver buckle of his belt. He whips the leather from the loops with a crack. The sound startles you, your heart skipping a beat in your chest. The tent in his pants is more than impressive, but there is a sharp glint in his eye, and you can’t help but worry a little about what he intends to do with that belt.

With the leather doubled in his hand he caresses the line of your shins. You cannot help but part your legs a little, and he smiles. It’s almost a cruel curl of lips, but you are a broken thing, and all you can manage is anticipation mixed with the slightest bit of fear for what he has planned for that designer strip of leather.

“You will,” he corrects you, looping the belt around your wrists and making a knot. It doesn’t hurt, but…you are genuinely trapped. “Where do these go?”

With a sigh you return them above your head.

“What was that?”

“Here, Sir.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Those four words utterly wreck you.

He returns his attention to your bent legs, his fingertips ghosting up your thighs, higher and higher to disappear under the lace of your skirt. You sigh with relief when his fingers hook in the sides of your silk panties, slowly drawing them down your hips. He smiles wickedly at the damp little bundle in his big hand.

“These are ruined.” He sounds so very pleased about it as he slides them into his pocket.

“Before we even went to dinner,” you confess, and it’s absolutely true. The sharp look he pays you is a breathtaking mix of awe and hunger.

“You really want me so much?” There is an incongruous vulnerability in this question that tugs at your heartstrings, as though he can hardly believe it.

At this point, you might as well go for broke. Maybe he’ll feel less like he’s taking advantage of you if you admit, “I’ve missed you. From the moment I left I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

A pained sound escapes from low in his throat at hearing it, and he sits on the bed beside your feet, his touch agonizingly light upon the backs of your calves. He meets your eyes unwaveringly as he pushes your legs apart, gentle but exacting.

You are putty in his hands.

He ducks to kiss just the inside of your knee, lingering there as he looks down upon you completely bared to him. You are sure he can see your folds glistening and swollen, needing him with every iota of your being.

Yet he sits completely still, and the next sound you make more resembles a frustrated little snarl.

“Did you just growl at me?” You can tell by his voice that he is inwardly laughing at you.

Wondering what punishment that would entail, you hold your breath to stay silent.

He ducks lower then, nipping at the inside of your thigh with a harsh little suck, and you know there will be a bruise there in the morning.

“You’re like a fierce little kitten with her claws out. Big eyed and soft and so fucking adorable.”

You’re not sure if you like this or not, but his mouth continues downward, and as he nears the apex of your thighs you forget all about it. When his tongue touches your clit you make a sound like a sob; you’ve never felt anything so good in your life. He circles you slowly, paired with hard laps of the flat of his tongue, and you cannot help but arch into him. The sliding pressure of one of his long fingers inside you is heaven, and yet somehow, not enough.

“God, I want you,” you plead as you writhe against his skilled ministrations. “Let me cum on your big cock buried inside me?”

He makes a low sound deep in his throat in answer, the vibrations themselves are nearly enough to push you over the edge. You feel him shake his head no slowly in answer, his tongue a menace and a marvel as it kneads your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Please?”

You forget everything in the throes of your desire for him, maybe even your own fucking name, and that is when you make the mistake of moving your hands again, touching his soft hair with your fingertips to get his attention.

He looks up at you then, and you’re not sure how just the lift of an eyebrow can communicate such volumes, but as his eyes meet yours you know you fucked up.

He abandons you in your need, standing beside the bed again. You are too astonished to say anything, just watching him in pure agony. His eyes flick to your wrists, as though he’s considering leaving you trussed like a Christmas goose, before he releases the belt with two sharp tugs.

“We can try this again tomorrow.”

“John…” you’re finally able to protest, hating the broken sound of your voice, your every nerve at painful attention. “Mr. Wick…”

He doesn’t look back until he reaches the door, turning to look over his shoulder with his hand on the handle. He brings his index finger to his mouth, licking the juices you left there, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Don’t even think about touching yourself. That sweet little pussy is mine.”

Shocked and dumbfounded, you watch as he makes his exit through the adjoining door, and locks it behind him. You hear the click, and in all your frustration you throw a pillow across the room, certain he can hear your enraged little shriek.

He makes no answer, letting you stew in the anguish of your unfulfilled desire.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #john wick fic #bittersweet john wick imagine #yandere john wick x you #yandere! john wick #yandere #ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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hey-august · 5 months

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[Headcanons] Buggy reacting to you getting piercings

Description: How Buggy reacts to you getting pierced in general and how he reacts to specific types of piercings.

Warnings: Probably NSFW? Mention of genital piercings, but nothing explicit. GN!reader. (Edit: Replaced language that wasn't gender neutral that I missed when first posting - so sorry!!)

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The guy has a few piercings of his own, so he’s supportive of any that you want to get!

Buggy would accompany you to the appointment. He’ll act like it was a last minute decision and he’s only going because you seem too nervous to go alone.

“Look at you, you’re shaking in fear.” “I’m not shaking…and I’m not afraid!” “You’re delirious, I should probably go with you.”

Disconnects his hand so you can squeeze it. Buggy’s not squeamish by any means, but knows better than to get in the way.

He’ll talk the whole time, wanting to keep you distracted. He’ll be quiet if you asked, but not for long.

Tongue piercing(s)

Buggy is pleasantly surprised that you’re getting a tongue piercing. Something about a sorta-hidden piercing really suits you.

Stands behind the piercer so he can make faces at you. He’ll wink and waggle his eyebrows when you stick out your tongue. He’ll also make fun of the face you're making by sticking out his own tongue in an obscene way. You’re glad the piercer can’t see and end up having to look away so you don’t laugh.

Since kissing is off-limits for a few weeks (along with other kinds of oral fun), Buggy decides to get his tongue pierced also. He startles the piercer by popping out his tongue after it’s pierced and acting like the piercer did something wrong.

Nipple piercing(s)

Gives you one of his billowy button down pirate shirts to wear to the appointment.

He adores how the piercings look and how they enhance your chest (which he already loved enormously).

You picked barbells with spiked ends which kind of remind Buggy of his throwing knives. Which is exactly why you picked that jewelry to start with.

Since these have a pretty long healing period, Buggy also lets you raid his personal closet and the costume closet for loose clothing to wear during the healing period. If you don’t find anything suitable or run out of options, he will bend over backwards to get* you more clothes or find a personal seamstress for you.

*Whether he’ll buy or steal the clothing is unknown.

Genital piercing(s)

Buggy is extra comforting because he also has a genital piercing (maybe more than one…)

Also goes out of his way to make sure you have access to comfortable clothes - baggy pants, skirts, dresses, etc. He even offers you his favorite red and white striped boxers. Definitely not because he loves seeing you wear those, no matter what.

Is extra scrutinizing of the piercing studio and the piercer even though you did all the research already.

If you get woozy after it happens, Buggy will comfort you and tell you that you’re so strong. He’ll wait patiently until you feel better.

If you pass out, Buggy would yell at the piercer at first. Thankfully Buggy’s reputation precedes him and the piercer doesn’t take any shit, so he lets Buggy express his misdirected fear before telling him to knock it off.

Ear piercing(s)

Maybe it’s because you’re getting an ear piercing, but this guy could not stop talking the entire time.

He tells you stories about how the crew on the ship he grew up on would pierce their ears with fishing hooks and thread. Buggy offers to take over and pierce you himself. Even though it was a joke, the piercer feels compelled to remind you both about how unhygienic that would be. The response takes Buggy down a notch and he grumbles for a few minutes before moving on to another anecdote.

Since these piercings can have a long healing period, he says you can sleep on him and rest your head on his shoulder. It’s a kind but empty gesture because Buggy moves too much in his sleep for that to work. Still, you won’t turn away a chance to fall asleep while cuddling.

Nose piercing(s)

Buggy is supportive but is in a weird mood until you get the piercing, which you expected. He doesn’t understand why you would do something that would draw attention to your nose.

Afterwards, he’s in awe of how the jewelry enhances your natural looks. Even though it draws attention, it looks great.

When you use the mirror to see how things look, you notice your nose is turning red from the irritation. You make an off-hand comment about how you two match. Behind the scowl on his face, Buggy absolutely melts. He wishes he could have some of the confidence you have.

Other piercings (facial, oral, belly button, dermal, etc)

Buggy is your number one cheerleader no matter what piercing you get. He’ll talk you up beforehand, telling you what a great idea it is and how flashy you’ll look.

He’ll tell you how the oral / facial piercing(s) suit your smile, especially when the jewelry catches the light and shines.

He finds the belly button piercing so enchanting. The way he looks at it before raking his eyes over your whole body got you blushing hard.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

A/N: If you want to get a piercing, please go to a certified piercer and research the location beforehand. Don't use fishing line or whatever. Be safe! ♡

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #buggy x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #buggy headcanons #buggy the clown headcanons #x reader

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rookthorne · 10 months

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐝𝐞

The day that James Barnes walked through the door to be your patron for the evening, was the day your life changed for good. There was no way that you would go back — not after finding the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✦ Mafia!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✦ 2.0k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✦ Fluff, tension ჻჻჻ TROPES: Meet Cute

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✦ The shit I wouldn't do to have this.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✦ Doin' Time by Lana Del Rey

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✦ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 5 — "When I first met you..."

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Sunlight peeked through the floor to ceiling curtains, the sign of a new day full of promise.

A heavy, tattooed arm was draped over your hip and you blinked sleepily, clearing your vision to start tracing the designs with your finger. Today was meant to be nice and slow – an easy day for both you and Bucky, who had been working too damn hard. It had taken a hell of a lot of convincing to make him take a day, but in the end, as you always did, you won out.

“Tha’ tickles, baby,” Bucky mumbled, huffing slightly as he pulled you tight against his bare chest.

You smiled happily and burrowed into the covers, content to sleep in. “Morning, babe,” you murmured, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing his palm. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” Bucky replied, tucking his face into your neck. His next words were muffled against your skin, “Can we stay here today? You’re so warm.”

“Why not,” you chuckled, moving his hand to stare at the tattoos on the back of his hand and over his fingers. “Been thinking lately–”

Bucky snorted. “That’s dangerous, sweetheart.”

“Hey.” The slap to his hand made him laugh, his chest shaking against your back. “I’ve been thinking of when we met–all those months ago.” A low hum was your only answer, so you continued, “It was so strange to see everyone bend over backwards to serve you, and then you get stuck with me; a girl who has no idea who you are. At least Stevie found it hilarious.”

“Oh, milochka,” Bucky sighed, rolling onto his back. You shuffled and turned to face him – taking a moment to admire the straight line of his nose, and his angular, perfect jawline. “You took me by surprise, a little spitfire like you not knowing who I was? God, it was intoxicating.”

“Really?” You asked, brow raised.

Bucky nodded, a devilish grin pulling his lips up. “You were mine to corrupt.”

Laughter filled the room at his words, and you moved to straddle his hips, careful to not seat yourself on the rapidly growing tent in his briefs. Bucky looked up at you, his eyes flashing as his hands rested on your hips. “Who says I wasn’t the one to corrupt you,” you teased, “huh?”

The memory swept you away, and suddenly, you were back in that high end restaurant, dolled up in a pressed uniform with a fake smile plastered on your lips.

It was a cold night, and the doorman was taking coats from patron after patron while the maitre d’ stood to your right, handing each arrival off until you came to the forefront. Just as you stepped up, she greeted the two tall men in suits. “Ah, Mr. Barnes, Mr. Rogers,” she said, smiling widely as she turned to stare at you pointedly. “The best seat in the house, please.”

You took a singular second to look between the two men, and it was all you could do to not gasp in shock. The closest had dark hair slicked back and almost to his shoulders, not to mention a bright smile lifting his lips as he looked at you. A sleek, shining three piece suit adorned his cutting figure. The man behind him, blond and broad, was markedly more reserved – lips lying flat and an unimpressed air about him as he glanced around the restaurant.

Get it together, you scolded yourself. “Come with me,” you said, offering your name in a professional, warm tone. “I will be your waitress for the evening.” A booth in the back corner came into view and you directed them to their seats, taking out the menus that were tucked neatly on the table. “Here you are; can I start you off with a drink, sirs?”

“Whiskey,” the blond said nonchalantly, glancing down at the menu. “On the rocks.”

You hummed an ascent and wrote it down before glancing at the other man, only to startle at the intensity of his gaze. Blinking once, you smiled nervously. “And you, sir?”

“The same. Make it a double.”

“Excellent,” you chirped, beaming as you pulled the paper from the pad to take to the bar. “I will be right back with your drinks, and then I will take your order.”

You turned on the spot and strode purposefully towards the bar, order in hand, when the maitre d’ appeared at your side. “You must treat those patrons with the utmost respect,” she rushed, pulling you aside.

“What?” you questioned, nerves starting to bubble away in your gut – they didn’t seem all that important, many big names came to dine at your work. What made them so different? “Why?”

“Just make their dining experience the best. It is imperative,” she ordered sternly. “Make them your top priority–I will assign your tables to the others.”

“O-Okay,” you stammered, standing stock still. “Will do.” She nodded and walked away, head high and shoulders back, while you floundered to get a grip on what she had just said. “What the hell,” you muttered under your breath.

A few moments later, you retrieved the ordered whiskeys, and as you walked back to the table, your friend passed by, shooting you a look. “Be careful,” she whispered, and you stared at her, entirely confused. “Just be careful, alright?”

For the umpteenth time that night, you repeated a quiet, “Okay,” and made your way to the booth where your patrons waited for their drinks.

A steady feeling of unease had wormed its way into your mind – everyone seemed to be fearful of these gentlemen, but they had been nothing but respectful so far, maybe aloof and standoffish, but when weren’t rich men aloof and standoffish. Pushing it from your mind, you approached the table, and smiled. “Your drinks, gentlemen.”

Both glasses of whiskey settled on the table with a quiet thunk, and you fetched your pad of paper and your pen. “Now, what–”

“What was your name again, darling?”

You blinked once, twice, and shook yourself. The man with dark hair – his tone was rich, deep, and perfectly clipped to sound polite. Offering your name again, you fidgeted with the pen in your hand as he stared at you. “What will you be having, gentlemen?” You tried again, willing your heart to calm down.

“I’ll have the steak, medium rare–with scallops,” the blond said, putting down the menu. You nodded and noted his order, then looked expectantly over at the dark-haired man.

He considered you, and then opened his mouth to speak, “The same, please.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding as you wrote it down. Your spill that you’d learnt off by heart came next. “I will be back with your orders soon, in the meantime, enjoy our complimentary bread basket and if you need a refill of your drinks, please let me know and I will see to it.”

The men nodded and you departed their company to hand your order into the kitchen. “Table fourteen needs to be expedited, thanks, Gary,” you called into the hustle and bustle, and the head chef nodded – obviously having been briefed on the situation, of which you still didn’t understand.

While waiting for the food, you navigated the tables on habit and tidied where you could. It wouldn’t be right to hover at your patron’s booth – privacy was just as important as good service, it had been ingrained into your mind since the beginning, but you couldn’t help but feel eyes on you as you walked. Only, when you glanced surreptitiously towards their booth, the two men were locked in conversation, light and banterful if you could guess by the dark-haired man’s smile, and the blond’s eyerolls.

A loud ding came from the kitchen – the order bell, and a loud, “Table fourteen!”

“That’s me,” you mumbled to yourself, walking to the order window and grabbing the two plates carefully. “Thanks, Gary,” you said loudly, and he just nodded once again – man of a few words, that one, you thought to yourself.

Your feet carried you expertly through the bustling waiters and waitresses towards your booth, and you smiled happily as it came into view, both men eyeing the plates with interest. But there was something off – something had changed, the blond had shifted in his seat, and the dark-haired man had moved down, freeing up a space.

Were they expecting someone else?

“Your meal, gentlemen,” you offered, placing the plates down one by one in front of them. “Would there be anything else you’re after?”

“Yes,” the dark-haired man piped up, and you raised your brows expectantly while pulling out your pad of paper. “No, put that away,” he waved, and you frowned. “Join us.”

What?

“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” you rushed, still frowning. “But I must–”

“No,” the blond interrupted. “Sit down. The maitre d’ has been told that you are now off the floor.”

“Oh, uh- Okay,” you fumbled. Carefully, you took a seat in their booth, and folded your hands in your lap as they grabbed the cutlery to begin eating their meal.

“I’m Bucky, by the way,” the dark-haired man said happily. “This here,” he waved his knife at the blond, “is Steve.” Steve quirked a lip at you, and then fell into that unimpressed flat line again as he cut into his food. “Tell us, darling,” Bucky continued, “how long have you worked here for?”

Dumbfounded, you stared for a second too long before you cleared your throat – the inescapable feeling of unease doubling in their presence. They felt dangerous, but you couldn’t place why. “Not too long, maybe a few months. I’m just making ends meet.”

“I can respect that,” Bucky said simply, nodding once. He placed a cut of steak in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, swallowing before he spoke again. “How come we’ve never seen you around here before, though?”

“I only just- Um, completed my training, I guess?” You offered tentatively, wringing your hands under the table. “What about you? This is the first time I have seen such esteemed patrons in the dining room, let alone ones that can tell my boss to take me off the floor.”

Steve snorted into his plate and coughed loudly, dropping his cutlery with a clatter. You glanced over at him to see him grinning, a twinkle of something in his eyes from the low light, and you looked back at Bucky; he was staring wide-eyed at you, a hesitant grin on his lips.

You prayed to whoever would listen that you hadn’t offended them. “What?”

“Oh my god,” Steve sighed, shaking his head. Bucky laughed then, his hand coming up to rub at his chin. “That’s a first, Buck,” Steve chuckled, “an absolute first.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky replied, staring at you. “Darling, you don’t know who we are?”

The earth couldn’t delay swallowing you whole after this, you swore. You opened your mouth, closed it in fear, before you managed a small, “No?”

“Wow,” Steve breathed, getting back to his plate-full of food.

You could feel eyes on you, and you turned to look out of the corner of your eyes at the other patrons – their furtive glances, combined with the quick gazes from the workers made you all the more unsettled. In an act to ground yourself, you took a deep breath and looked back at Bucky, who had started to dig back into his food. “Should I know who you are…?”

“I am honestly surprised you don’t,” Bucky said lowly, brow furrowing as he worked the knife through his steak. “It’s not often that I meet a beautiful kukla that doesn’t know who I am. Or Stevie, for that matter.”

“Oh,” you squeaked, the use of another language making all sorts of reactions to fire through your body. “Okay–well, it is nice to meet you both.”

“Likewise, darling,” Bucky grinned before he took another mouthful of steak.

The evening continued much the same, slow conversation and easy atmosphere that settled your nerves, and when it came time for them to leave, Bucky had taken your hand and kissed your knuckles – a gentle touch that was taken by the feel of paper in your palm. “Until next time, krasivaya kukla.”

A tight squeeze to your hips brought you back to the present where you sat atop Bucky, perched on his thighs, and you smiled down at him, content with the turn of events. “You did get your krasivaya kukla,” you purred, “dushechka.”

kukla = doll krasivaya = beautiful milochka / dushechka = darling

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #hotbuckysummer2023 #rookthorne's works #GC

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pedrostylez · 6 months

Text

How The Crow Flies: pt. 1

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 5.7k

Chapter Summary: Introduction into the HTCF world, Peña is a menace

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. mean!Javier, violence, dubcon, SMUT!!!!!, anger, fighting, PTSD, mentions of rape, derogatory use of slut, whore, and the like

Please support by commenting, sending me respectful thoughts, and reblogging. I appreciate every single one of you!

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi (please let me know if I missed anyone that was interested or if you would like to be added)

You used to be new to Colombia.

You had never really thought you would be invited to the Embassy as a guest DEA agent, struggling to pull your bag through the airport with your purse in your other hand, but you’d made it-and the heat was different from Miami heat.

But you had worked hard in Florida, stopping drugs from passing through the border, starting your career in the mail office, and working your way up.

You stood on the docks of Miami undercover so many times that you were considered the local siren, stopping drug mules in their tracks just to talk to you, only to find out that you were there to bust them.

Your coworkers, male and female alike were proud of you, happy for you. You had been blessed with people who surrounded you and were supportive.

When you got to Colombia it was like you were back at square one.

Your boss, the well-known Javier Peña, had a stick up his ass.

“Would you give these to Noonan?” Peña had swept by, plopping papers on your desk before trying to run further away.

You stopped him, holding out your hand and wrapping your fingers around his suit sleeve. “Sorry, sir. But what are they?”

“You don’t need to know that.” He scoffed, pulling his arm from your grasp. “You’re sitting in one of my agent’s chairs, and I need you to bring that to Noonan as soon as you’re done setting up her computer.”

You scoffed back, standing up and placing a hand on your hip. His eyes followed your hand, eyebrows raised in interest until you said your name. “I am the agent that sits at this desk, Peña.”

“My apologies.” He said quietly with no hint of actual remorse. “Still, please bring that to Noonan. Our new employee meeting starts in five minutes.”

You immediately regretted wearing the pencil skirt, thinking it would be a good first impression as if that was the reason that Javier Peña had mistaken you. From then on you wore cargo pants and a fitted t-shirt, like the rest of the team, arguing with your boss at every corner.

“I told you to stay here. And what did you do? You fucking went out there anyways.” Peña had this thing about slamming the door to make a point, even though everyone could clearly see into his office where you were standing, arms crossed, eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

“Jason said he needed help. I helped him.” Standing your ground came naturally, and Peña clearly hated it. He wanted you to bend over backward for him, just like Jason, and just like David.

“You don’t need to help him by getting yourself killed.” Peña gritted out, turning to you before sitting at his desk.

A quick mumble came out of your mouth, “Would rather do that than push your pencils around like some secretary.”

“Are you going to hold that against me for the rest of the time you’re here? Because if that’s the case then maybe you should go back to Miami.” He was back standing, pointing at you and what he assumed was the general direction of Florida. Sweat beaded at his hairline, eyes dark with annoyance.

“I’m not holding anything against you, boss.” You snark, twisting around to the door to look out into the bullpen, where everyone is pretending to not watch. “Are we all done here?”

Peña was quick to brush you off after staring, motioning at the door resting his hands on his hips, and pacing behind his desk.

But then after a successful mission, Peña brought you and the others out for drinks. A Friday celebration for “catching the bad guys” as Jason had always said, downing the free beer that his boss provided.

You were all for taking advantage of Peña’s money if he was going to pay for drinks. Quick to order tequila sodas, letting them slide down your throat like water and sway back and forth as you spoke with office staff and the other agents.

You avoided Peña like the plague. Any time you turned your head you saw his back towards you, speaking to any girl he could find that wasn’t part of the team he was paying for.

One too many tequila sodas had you stumbling to the bathroom, struggling with the button of your pants, and taking much longer than you had the last time you went. You were thinking that it is about time to take yourself home, walk down the sidewalk for some fresh air, and then hail a cab, but when you finally manage to get out of the bathroom of this bar, your coworkers are filing out.

“Where are y’all going?” You slur to Jason who is holding the door open for one of the archive girls. It’s like he doesn’t even hear you, stepping through the door wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and whispering in her ear.

You mumble out a few curse words, turning toward the bar counter where that same head that you had been staring at all night is now facing you. His eyes are watchful, glass to his pouted lips as he takes a sip of what looks to be whiskey. “You want water?”

“Another tequila would be nice.” You perk up, slouching into the seat next to him with hooded eyes. In the back of your mind, you’re aware that you will be having a hangover tomorrow but don’t care enough to stop it.

Peña motions at the bartender, nodding at you to indicate that you would like another drink. He takes a beat before saying, “So, you still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.” You hiccup, furrowing your brow as the bartender sets a glass in front of you. You take a sip, noticing that there is no fizz, and know immediately that you’ve been cut off. “Damn, he gave me a water.”

He chuckles, draining his glass and turning fully towards you. His eyes scan behind you and the surrounding area before settling on your face. “I shouldn’t have assumed you were Noonan’s secretary.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You sigh, taking another sip of the water. You’re suddenly extremely thirsty.

Peña waits for you to say more, but shakes his head when you begin tapping your fingers against the counter. “I’m trying to apologize.” He huffs out, resting his head on one hand, propped against the bar.

“You are?” You laugh, pushing the glass of water away. “I didn’t hear one.”

“I wasn’t thinking, that day I walked in and asked you to go to Noonan.” He sighs, explaining himself. Still not an apology. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure to get this right this time, and I was told I was having a female agent added to my team that had done great things in Miami but didn’t know anything beyond your name.”

You shrug, sliding off your seat. “Okay, boss. No big deal. It was months ago.” You give in, thinking it’s about time to walk home.

When you stumble away from Peña, he reaches for your arm to hold you up, hissing out between his teeth. “You need a ride home.”

“No, I’m fine.” His hand is warm at your elbow, seeping through his skin to yours so quickly that you break out in a shiver. You attempt to yank your arm away, but his grip is firm and guiding.

If he notices you trying to pull away from him or the shiver, he doesn’t say anything. “Wasn’t asking.”

You think you roll your eyes, but you’re not too sure based on how the room is moving around you. “Haven’t you drunk too?” Your hand twists out to grip his shoulder, too dizzy to be pulling away now.

“Not as much as you.” He mumbles with a short chuckle, guiding you to the door after slipping the bartender some bills. You aren’t sure how much he’s paid, but you think it’s a lot based on how happy the guy looks.

The typically humid air is crisp against your skin as you step out, and you can’t help but curl your fingers into the sleeve of his shirt. The noises around you feel muffled, and when you turn to Peña he’s already looking at you expectantly. “What?”

He huffs out his nose, trying to keep his composure. “Where do you live? In the same block as the other agents or somewhere else?”

You shake your head, confused by his question but tell him your address anyways. “I can make it home–”

“No.” He cuts you off, lightly pressing into the small of your back to lead you toward his Jeep. “You’ve had more to drink than others, and I need you to be ready by Monday.”

“Oh, I’m definitely calling in sick Monday.” You hiccup, grabbing onto the handle of his car as you hop into the passenger seat.

Peña walks around to the driver's side, sliding in and watching you as you buckle in clumsily. “Don’t get sick in my car.”

“No promises.” You mumble, laying your head back against the headrest and shutting your eyes as he pulls away from the curb. The drive feels familiar, turning at the right moments, and the hum of his car seems to have you slipping into sleep.

You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until Peña’s warm hand was on your elbow again, shaking it gently. “Hey, you awake?”

You startle, sitting up straight and looking out the windshield before flashing your eyes over to him, glancing down at his fingers drifting over your elbow in soothing circles. You clear your throat, reaching for his door handle. “Yeah, sorry.”

“S’alright.” He reaches for his own door, gets out, and walks around the front of the car to where you are stumbling toward your door. “Where’s your key?” You mumble incoherently, reaching into your pocket and dangling the key in front of him for a moment before he snatches it out of your hand and into the lock. “Let me make sure you don’t get sick all over yourself.”

“I’m not even that drunk.” You scoff, brushing past him to the bathroom. You are mostly just dizzy, a nasty side effect of tequila that you’ve never been able to curb. “Since you invited yourself in, there’s soda in the fridge.” You clip from your mirror, reaching for a washing rag and turning on the water.

“What, no beer?” He calls, chuckling quietly before you hear the sound of the fridge opening, his footsteps going quiet when he gets back to your living room and sits on the couch.

When you’ve finished scrubbing your face, you step back into the living room and see Peña with his soda half tilted up, glancing at you and down to your coffee table where a glass of water is waiting. “Thanks, boss.” You mumble, sitting on the other side of the couch and taking a sip.

He nods, eyeing you quietly before setting the half-empty bottle in front of him. “Javi is fine.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him, humming to yourself before taking another sip. “Are we getting personal now?”

Peña squints at you, pursing his lips to hide a smile that seems to be growing on his lips. “Only if you tell me something personal.”

You scoff, setting down your glass and leaning back. The air conditioner in your apartment is only in the bedroom, leaking out into the rest of the living space slowly and heavily along the ground. Your toes are cold, realizing suddenly that you have taken off your shoes and it seems like Peña did as well, his toes wiggling under his socks. “Something personal? What do you want to know?”

He shrugs. “Anything. I don’t know much about you at all besides that you worked your way up in a field that isn’t kind to women, and moved here from Miami on recommendation from Noonan to help catch the Cali cartel.”

You tilt your head over to him to watch him, his arm flexing as he reaches for his soda again. You feel this sudden urge to lean forward and touch his arm– “I hate the heat.” You blurt, stopping yourself from reaching for him as he looks at you inquisitively. “I-I grew up in Utica, New York. Love the snow.”

He smiles, nodding his head. “Why did you go to Miami, if you hate the heat?”

You shrug. “Wanted to be different.” You laugh to yourself, leaning forward again for your glass. “Couldn’t stand staying in the same town, or just moving to the next city over like all my friends did.”

As you’re talking your hand knocks the glass off the coffee table, water spilling over your feet and onto the carpet. You jump, leaning toward Peña to lift your feet off the floor before they get wet, but you aren’t quick enough. “S’alright. Let me get a towel.” He says quietly, grabbing the glass from the floor and his soda before heading to the kitchen.

When he returns with a kitchen towel that you think was hanging on the oven’s handle, you don’t expect him to sit so close and wrap his hand around your calf and lift it onto his lap. He wipes at your feet gently, hand still holding you steady as he glances up at you. “Texas.” He clears his throat, looking unsure before he continues. “I grew up in Texas. The heat was different than here, but…I’ve never seen snow.”

You smirk, watching as he slows his movements and rubs his thumb along your calf. “You’d probably hate it like everyone does.”

You both stare at each other, not sure if you should pull your leg away, ask him to leave and thank him for the ride, or see where this goes.

You start to pull away, realizing that this is your boss for fucks sake when he tightens his grip. “I’ve always wanted to see snow on Christmas. With the lights and real snowmen…” He pauses, leaning forward and flicking his gaze to your mouth. “I don’t think I would hate it.”

You gasp when his hand slides up your leg to behind your knee, pulling you closer and over his lap more. “Peña–”

“Javi.” He breathes, taking a deep breath that expands his chest and has the buttons straining under the pressure. “I-it’s Javi.”

Your head is swimming with the feeling of his hand on you, over and over, looking from his parted mouth to his eyes. His pupils dilate, his hand tightening around you in anticipation as you start to lean forward.

Your eyelashes flutter, closing for a moment before opening them again and finding your nose brushing against his, his eyes cast down to watch you ponder the next best move. “Javi,” You whisper hoarsely, swearing you can taste the mix of whiskey and soda in his mouth from how he lets his bottom lip run against yours. “You’re my boss.”

He nods quickly, the bridge of his nose running against yours as he takes a deep breath. “I know.”

It’s only another split second before you make the decision, tilting your chin towards him and sealing your mouth to his.

He groans, wrapping his hand around the back of your head and into your hair to hold you to him. He swirls his tongue with yours, eager and ready to have you against him and not moving away to take a breath.

He pulls you closer, bracketing his own hips with your thighs, digging his fingers into your hips to hold you against him. When you begin rolling your center against his, your jeans in the way of each other, he holds you firm. “Don’t do that.” He swallows, shaking his head and looking up at you. “Unless you want me to fuck you right now.”

On wobbly legs you stand, pushing away from him enough that you can reach for the button of your pants, sliding the material down your thighs. You break out in a shiver, forgetting how heavy the air feels right now.

Javi reaches out with one hand, running his fingers down the side of your thigh before leaning forward to wrap his hand fully around you. His other hand is expertly undoing his own jeans, eyes on you, and a smirk rising on his face. “Needy, aren’t you?”

Biting your lip has little effect on your ability to keep your noises at bay, a groan coming out of your mouth as his fingers grip into the plush skin on your ass. “You’re just as bad.”

“Oh really?” He laughs, pulling you to your previous position hovering over him. “Work for it then.”

Your thoughts stutter, furrowing your brow as you shakily bring a hand down to the opening of his pants. Gently wrapping your fingers around him, jeans halfway down his thighs already and not a pair of boxers in sight, you swear your mouth begins to water. You glance back up to his face, his knowing wink giving you pause. “What do you want me to do?”

He tilts his head, a small smile rising before he licks his lower lip. “Don’t just stare at it, ride it.”

You gasp at how quickly he reaches forward and slides your panties to the side. His finger glides at your center, opening you up to feel how slick you’ve gotten for him. He groans, satisfied with what he finds as he holds the fabric with his thumb, his other hand roughly guiding you by the hip to sit lower.

The head of his cock presses into you in one instant, and in the next, you’re fully seated on top of him. Thighs tight, a sheen of sweat covering your forehead, you whine at the feeling of him inside you. He shushes you, bringing one bruising hand up from your hip to your face, moving your hair out of your eyes. “I know, Hermosa. Too big for you, huh?” You nod, feeling faint as you shut your eyes for a moment. He taps roughly with two fingers on your cheek. “Easy now, don’t lose focus.”

Your eyes snap open as he shifts his hips up, his hair at the base of his shaft rubbing against your clit. He begins thrusting, holding you steady by where his hand is placed on your cheek, digging into the hair at the nape of your neck. Your mouth opens, slack-jawed at the feeling of him thrusting up into you.

“That’s it.” He growls, pulling your head back tighter. “Just like that.” He pistons up, leaning further back on your couch and pulling you away from him so he can better get a view of you. You’re taking it, turned on, and pretty sure you’re ruining his jeans in the process.

He doesn’t last long, and neither do you. His words, forced through his teeth and puffing breaths spur you on to the finish line, his own orgasm leaving a mess on your underwear and stomach. He pulls out quickly, hurriedly rubbing at himself with your slick covering him before closing his eyes and moaning as ropes of his spend stick to you.

Standing on shaking legs, you walk toward your bathroom, grabbing a towel and wiping yourself off before looking in the mirror briefly. You look like you’ve been fucked-hair a nest on your head, your underwear wet. When you step back out toward the living room, ready to offer him a towel or the shower, you stop dead in your tracks when you don’t see him immediately.

Confused, you step into the kitchen, looking around briefly before stepping back into your living room. The soda is half gone on your coffee table, and the kitchen towel that he brought is tossed haphazardly on the couch. You look toward your front door and notice his boots are gone just as the lights from a car shine through your window. Peña had just fucked you and ditched.

It hadn’t really been a surprise to you that Peña wanted to pretend like nothing had happened. Just a quick fuck, and nothing serious-you could handle that. Peña must have thought you would be beating down his door because he avoided you for two full weeks before reappearing in the office at the same time you were there.

You had continued on; business as usual.

It surprised Peña so much that when you had gone into his office to give him reports to review and then left soon after, he was at your apartment that night asking what your issue was.

“It was a one-time thing.” Peña was circling your island, rubbing at his jaw and eyeing you every once in a while.

“I figured.” You roll your eyes, leaning against the doorway. “Do you have something you need me to do, related to our job? Because if not, can you just leave?”

“Was I more hammered than I thought?” He questioned, looking at you incredulously. “I swear you came.”

“I did.” You confirm.

“Then, how are you…are you not? I don’t-” he growled frustrated, running his hands through his hair.

“I’m not obsessed with you. Is that what you’re asking?” You laugh, shaking your head. “We were drunk, we fucked. You’re my boss, I’m your employee. Let’s just move on. Now will you leave?”

“I don’t want you to be obsessed with me.” He says quietly, face going red with embarrassment.

“Great, I’m not.” You shrug, tapping your fingers against your pant leg.

He stares at you, grinding his teeth before he steps toward where you appear relaxed. He’s silent as he reaches out, running the back of his finger against your exposed arm. You shiver, rolling your eyes at how he smiles.

You tilt your head at him, asking with your eyes what are you doing? As he shrugs, he kneels in front of you, hands coming up to hover over your pants. “Let me feel you, hermosa.”

You and Peña continued like this, back and forth for weeks. He would eye you a certain way after berating you in his office as code to meet in the archives.

You would say something snarky with Jason and David looking on, and he would show up at your apartment later that night.

Or sometimes, you both would stay late, working until you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore to then look up and see Peña still sitting at his desk in a similar state as you were. He would sigh heavily, call you into his office, and tell you to go home like everyone else had.

You never did.

This seemed to be the most stable thing in your life, even though you and Peña were not an item, and adamantly told each other so when he was deep inside you or when your throat was constricting around him.

You thought everything was routine at this point-yeah, you fucked your boss, and you still argued with him, but the job wasn’t bad. You were making headway into things that Peña and your team worked on extensively to get to the bottom of the cartel. And when you were having another meeting with Peña, Jason, and David, you were shocked to find out that Peña had a new job for you.

“I need you to go into the jungle.” He said, looking directly at you with a pinched mouth.

You stared at him, trying to assess what that exactly meant as Jason and David stared between the two of you. “And do what, exactly?” You question, flicking your eyes over him.

“I need intel on Gabriel Loreas. He is an upcoming drug dealer that is supposed to be the local cops' responsibility.” He says quickly, flipping through the file on his desk before leaning back and crossing his feet.

“So why have her go out there?” Jason questions quietly, concern covering his face.

Peña’s eyes flash in anger, raking over Jason. “Because I don’t trust the locals to not screw me over in the end. And…we have a mole.” David and Jason begin bickering, Peña cutting them off. “I need someone that can infiltrate his home without causing suspicion.”

“And why can’t that be one of us? No offense,” David turns apologetically to you. “But it’s extremely dangerous to be doing that alone.”

Peña rolls his neck, trying to hold his temper. “His security guards are looking for…working girls.”

It’s silent in the office as Jason and David look toward you, bug-eyed and scared. You take a deep breath, chuckling quietly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Peña freezes, eyes widening briefly before leaning forward. “Now, listen–”

“You want me to whore myself out? For your little side mission? Like I’m some piece of meat?” Your voice is increasing in volume, Jason wincing at the sound of you wobbling through the last few words. He knew how you felt being used as bait while in Miami, and now it seemed to be happening all over again.

“Everyone out.” Peña glared at Jason and David, waiting for them to file out of his office, and shut the door tightly behind them.

When his eyes find you, he stays frozen while you remain stoic. He takes a deep breath, cursing under his breath briefly. “I need you to help me out, here.”

You attempt to not scoff. “Why the fuck should I be doing anything you say?”

“You don’t have to actually do anything.” He’s earnest, stepping closer to you while one hand rests on his hip.

You can’t help the emotion lacing your voice. “You’re kidding.” Shaking your head, you open your arms wide. “How do you expect me to get anywhere without actually offering up anything?”

He growls in irritation, taking another step toward you. “I just need you to stakeout-talk to the men that come back into town, and get a feel for it. When things get heavier we will send Jason and David out.”

You stare at Peña for another minute, waiting to see if he flinches. If you can see the shift, the change of mind. When you don’t, you sigh. “I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

It’s like a blow to the chest as he steps back. “What?”

“You heard me.” You snarl, opening the door so Jason and David can hear your announcement as well.

As you step out, not waiting to see if Peña has anything else to say, Jason follows you to the elevator. “I’ll talk to him, don’t–”

“It’s fine, Jason.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I just need to get in the right mindset. Don’t worry about it; I don’t want you telling Peña anything.”

He shuffles, holding the elevator open. “Are you sure? He’s such a hard ass to you, maybe if I tell him what you told me he would change up his plans…”

You give him a forced smile, grabbing his wrist and pulling it out of the way. “It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the elevator door slides closed with a small wave from Jason, you see Peña’s eyes watching, assessing the interaction. As the door shuts, you take a deep breath and exhale, trying to recenter yourself before stepping into the parking garage.

You had an inkling of who it would be when you heard a knock on your door a few hours later. You sit on your couch, silent as you wait, and hope that Peña will just walk away. He will understand that you need space.

You had already cried the minute you stepped over the threshold, feeling that pit in your stomach that you always got when you stepped out onto the docks in Miami. How hands and lips felt against your heated skin where you didn’t want them–

“Hermosa,” Peña calls through your door, jiggling the handle to test if it is locked. “I know you’re there. Let me in.”

You sigh again, waiting for another knock before slinking over to the door and quietly unlocking the deadbolt. He hears it, pushing open the door quickly after and coming face to face with you.

He huffs, kicking the door shut and shrugging out of his suit jacket. “Were you not going to let me in?”

“No.” You say quietly, sitting on your couch and back down to the book you have bookmarked with a receipt from the corner store.

He’s silent, standing above you while you refuse to make eye contact. He’s waiting for you to break, but you’re too tired to. When he finally caves, you try to control your lips from ticking up in the corners. “I really need this, hermosa.”

You pick at your fingernails, patiently waiting.

He sighs again. “There’s a lot of money on the line. Like, millions, if what I’ve been told is correct. The local guys, they’re getting paid on the side by this guy and I need someone in there.”

He’s pacing now, back and forth in front of your coffee table.

You break your silence, leaning back and crossing your arms. “What’s in it for me?”

Peña pauses, turning to you. He looks flustered, hands having run through his hair by how it sticks out away from the side of his head. “Cash. Cold, hard cash.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “So, I will really be a whore then, won’t I?”

He frowns, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want you doing that.” He stretches his neck, clicking his tongue in disgust. “You just, pretend. Don’t do anything crazy–”

You feel anger bubble up inside, over your tongue, and spitting out at him. “You don’t fucking get it, do you?”

He freezes, shocked in front of you.

“I don’t get to just say no. I have to be stronger to say no. I have to be strapped to say no. I have to be cute enough to say no. I can’t just not do something once I’ve pretended to offer those things, Javi. These aren’t college boys trying to not catch a rape charge.”

He waits, biting the inside of his mouth as he grows more frustrated. He must know you’re right, must understand what he’s asking you to do. “I won’t let them.” He says quietly, flicking his gaze up to yours. “You have my word, hermosa.”

“I can’t trust that.” You feel worn and tired of the argument. You’ve resigned to the fact that you will have to do this if you plan on keeping your job, and you do plan on it. “I’ll do what you ask of me. It’s my job.”

“I won’t let them touch you.” He growls, reaching forward and squeezing your arms so tightly you squeak. “You’re not going to get hurt in this. I won’t allow it.”

It’s pitiful, really, how you want to laugh in his face. He doesn’t understand, because he’s a man. No matter his reputation with working girls, he doesn’t know. You attempt to pull away from him, but his fingers dig harder into your skin. “Go home, Peña.”

He clicks his tongue at you, tilting his head as if to threaten you. “What happened to Javi, bonita?”

You go to protest, trying and failing again to pull away as he pushes you toward your couch. You clumsily sit back, frowning at him. “I’ll do the job. It’s fine–”

“Lay back.” He barks, kneeling in front of you, his fingers working quickly at the button of your pants.

You shake your head, resting your hand over his in a silent question.

He ignores you, pulling the waistline over your hips and down your thighs, underwear soon following as cool air wicks over your skin. You shiver, the contact of his warm fingers, calloused over and rough, over your skin has your legs relaxing wide.

He lifts one leg easily over his shoulder, smirking when his eyes land on your center. Without further warning, his tongue swipes up your folds, spreading you wide with a groan. “I can’t stop wanting this.”

You throw your head back, unsure if what he said was meant for himself or for you. Words are stuck in your throat, fingers wrapped tightly in his hair, and pulling as his tongue swirls over your clit and down to your center. You want to tell him to keep going, to make you come, but you’re afraid that if you voice your want he will retreat from you.

One hand squeezes into the skin of your thigh resting on his shoulder, his other working the buttons of his shirt open before coming to your entrance with a sigh. He lets his tongue rest there for a moment, pressing in with the tip and letting you contract around him.

Javi pulls away, muttering under his breath as he slides one finger into you, a quick “Fuck, so wet for me.” before wrapping his lips around your clit again.

You swear he would be laughing at you for how quickly you crumbled to his touch if he wasn’t busy with his mouth around you. “Please, I–”

Another smirk appears as he pulls away, curling his fingers inside you to search for that spot he has found again and again. “I won’t let you come,” He breathes, pressing a kiss to your shaking thigh. “Unless you agree to the job.”

You huff, breaths labored and your stomach tightens. “I already agreed.”

“Nuh-uh, mean it hermosa.” He nips your skin, chuckling as your hips jump in an attempt to get away, only pressing his fingers deeper. “Be my little slut, and I’ll share the cash with you.”

You close your eyes to try to focus, his fingers pressing, pressing, pressing against that spot inside of you that he has an obsession with, holding your breath. It’s overwhelming, the pressure in your core building and overheating.

Sweat pools in the dip of your collarbone, the shirt you still have on soaking it up as you pull on his hair again. “Yes, yes–fuck. I’ll do it.”

Javi hums, leaning forward again to press his lips to your center, his tongue and fingers working in tandem as a wave of ecstasy crashes over your skin.

You’re floating, feeling him slow between your legs and breathe against your skin. He says something you can’t really hear, gently setting your leg down on the floor before adjusting himself. A pointed look is thrown your way, your furrowed brow indicating that you didn’t hear him.

He shakes his head, wiping at his mustache for a moment. “Stakeout starts next week.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales smut #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #fic:how the crow flies #tw: dubcon #tw: mentions of rape

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thegettingbyp2 · 1 year

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hi! on my knees begging for a fic please about meeting a flirty johnny at an awards show - him presenting with beyonce in that blue suit is making me feral

Get to Know Each Other

How Johnny had got a spot announcing an award at the Grammy Awards was a mystery even to himself. He knew that he wasn’t the most trusted person to put on live TV so when they asked him to present an award, he thought it was a joke; especially when he would be presenting the award you were nominated for.

Over the past couple of months, after you had your big breakthrough in the music industry, you and Johnny had started flirting on twitter, something that both his and your fans were obsessing over. At first, it had been a harmless joke but the more you had been flirting with him online, the more you had found yourself developing a crush on him, despite the fact that the two of you had never actually met in person.

When you found out that Johnny was presenting your potential award, you had rang your best friend instantly, screaming down the phone at her over the fact that you were finally going to meet him. The day of the Grammy’s, you spent the entire day trying to make sure that you looked as good as you possibly could, your friend pretty much having to push you out of the door otherwise you probably wouldn’t have gone due to how nervous you were.

‘(Y/N)! How do you feel knowing that you’re going to meet Johnny Knoxville tonight after months of online flirting?’ a journalist asked you as you were walking along the carpet before heading in to take your seat.

‘I’m excited, he seems like a really nice guy and it’ll be nice to actually see him in person,’ you replied before excusing yourself, not wanting to comment too much on the subject.

You heard him before you saw him. You had been talking to some of the other nominees when you head his famous laugh pierce through the crowd and your head instantly turned, searching for the location the laugh had come from. You watched as Johnny came into view and, realising that you had a few seconds before he saw you, you let yourself shamelessly check him out. He was wearing a black suit paired with his signature converse and you felt your cheeks heat up when you realised how good he looked.

The second his eyes met yours, they lit up and he grinned, making his way through the crowd over to where you were standing.

‘Hiya, sweetheart,’ he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your cheek. You were instantly bowled over by the Southern accent that was colouring his voice and the smell of his aftershave had filled your senses.

‘Hi! Good to finally meet you!’ you exclaimed, kicking yourself for saying something so generic.

‘You too, feels like I’ve known you ages though,’ he said, throwing a quick wink at you before moving a little closer and bending down to speak into your ear. His arm came to wrap around your waist as he pulled you into him slightly and you knew that in the morning, there were going to be photos of the two of you littered all over social media but, in the moment, you really couldn’t bring yourself to care, you were too wrapped up in behind so close to him.

‘Once we’re finished here tonight, we should go get to know each other a bit more.’ As soon as he words left his mouth, he pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder and stood back up, taking a step backwards. ‘I really hope you win, I’m a big fan,’ he said before blending back into the crowd. You stood in a shocked silence as you watched him walk away, knowing that you were in way deeper than you ever expected.

#johnny knoxville #johnny knoxville x reader #johnny knoxville imagine

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on-a-lucky-tide · 13 days

Text

Missing scene from Blood of Elves. Coën argues with Lambert about responsibility, nobility and their fate.

“I believe that. But I’m not gallant enough. Nor valiant enough. I’m not suited to be a soldier or a hero. And having an acute fear of pain, mutilation and death is not the only reason. You can’t stop a soldier from being frightened but you can give him motivation to help him overcome that fear. I have no such motivation. I can’t have. I’m a witcher: an artificially created mutant. I kill monsters for money. I defend children when their parents pay me to. If a Nilfgaardian parent pays me, I’ll defend Nilfgaardian children. And even if the world lies in ruin—which does not seem likely to me—I’ll carry on killing monsters in the ruins of this world until some monster kills me. That is my fate, my reason, my life and my attitude to the world. And it it not what I chose. It was chosen for me.” —Geralt of Rivia in the Blood of Elves.

Coën drew in a deep breath through his nose. The smell of pine filled his chest, mixed with the subtle fishy odour of the lake, and the sprawling bryonia clinging to the rocky outcrops at his back. The mountains around Kaer Morhen were peaceful and familiar in a way that made his chest tight and his eyes prickle; it reminded him of home. He didn’t resent the ache, but cherished it, for it was one of the few things he had left. A tenuous link to something he could never get back.

His head lolled back between his shoulders and he held that breath deep in torso for as long as he could, expelling it through pursed lips only when the ache became a tight pain. Splashing at the lake edge drew his attention and he watched through slitted eyes as his companion stumbled ungracefully through the shallows.

When Lambert had invited Coën to winter with him, Coën had accepted without hesitation, and had been most bewildered by the relieved grin on Lambert’s face at the time. It had been many years since Coën had wintered with other witchers, and Kaer Morhen’s hospitality had not disappointed. Lambert seemed to be bending over backwards to make sure Coën was included in every part of the wolf’s life here, and for that Coën was grateful.

“Ahh, just as bollock-shrinking cold as always!” Lambert crowed, before swearing as he stubbed his toe on a pebble buried deep in the silt and sand. It was an uncharacteristically warm day, but the mountains could be like that. When the skies cleared and the snows had cleared a little, it could almost feel like early summer, when the cool spring breezes stirred the first buds of wakening meadows but your cuirass became itchy and close.

Lambert flopped down on the threadbare tablecloth they had pilfered from Vesemir’s kitchens as a makeshift picnic blanket—Lambert’s words, said with a wry smirk as they had tiptoed out of the larder like errant trainees. He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it out to dry. Not for the first time, Coën was struck by just how good-looking his companion was when the lines of anger and frustration had smoothed out, the shadows in his yellow eyes chased away by good sleep and good food. “Urf, fuck,” Lambert lifted his hips and pulled the damp cloth of his trews away from his crotch.

“Dunno why you didn’t take ‘em off,” Coën said lightly, tilting his head back again to bask in the warmth of the sun some more.

“Told you, not the type of tackle I tend to fish with. If you’d seen the teeth on some of the fish I get from here, you’d understand why.” Lambert shuffled some more and flipped to his front to grab one of the unopened bottoms of ale tucked in the shade of a large boulder. “No drowner spawn that I could find in the usual places. No idea about the far banks though, that’ll have to wait ‘til—,” Lambert waved vaguely towards the derelict old boat he had been working on half-arsed for the majority of the morning.

“Mmhm, and when’s that then?”

“Fuck knows. Between Geralt’s princess and Vesemir bellyaching about the west wing falling down on his head, dunno when I’ll get back down here.”

Coën opened his eyes, squinting into the great expanse of unclouded blue above. Cirilla. Sweet child, mischievous and bright, despite all the trials and loss she had faced. And yet, the shadow of destiny loomed over her, ever present and threatening. Coën had hoped that, with Triss’ arrival, they might have felt slightly more sure of her path forward, but the magess’ presence seemed to have brought new tensions to the fort. The wolf witchers had invited her in, and yet not a single one seemed to trust her intentions, except old Vesemir, who seemed relieved to have someone take a little responsibility from his shoulders; the girl was beyond even the old wolf’s knowledge.

Geralt appeared somewhat exhausted by her and Coën sensed by her advances that there was a history there that Geralt did not wish to revisit, Lambert was confrontational and ice cold, even more so than usual, and Eskel was the most peculiar of all. He was beyond polite, magnanimous, quick to take the knee and open doors for the magess, scurrying around the castle at her beck and call; if Lambert hadn’t told Coën which way Eskel’s appetites leaned, Coën would have assumed it to be flirtation. Yet, it had been Eskel that had gazed at Triss with distrust and apprehension when they had discussed her whisking Ciri away to her Chapter as in days of old.

They had called Triss out of desperation, but not a single one of the wolves were willing to let her take Ciri from them. They were guarded, protective, Lambert perhaps most of all. He treated Merigold with open disdain, dismissing all pleas from his brothers and master to remain civil. Coën surmised it might be more than a distrust of mages in general, but he hadn’t found the opportunity to probe further.

“None of you trust, Triss Merigold. That much is obvious. But Ciri’s peculiarity worries you. Would it not be best for Triss to take on the burden? To let her take the child with her to Aretuza or wherever destination she has in mind?” Coën asked.

Lambert didn’t answer immediately. They had spoken some of the school’s previous experience with such a girl, but the conversation had been stilted and tight, like it was a source of pain and shame. Coën found out little of the girl’s fate, only that she had left her mark on one of Lambert’s kin. Lambert sighed. “N’aw, she’s just another lost kid. Nothin’ new, nothin’ special.” He didn’t look up as he said it, focusing instead on a blade of grass. “As I said, we’ll teach her the sword, let her grow big and strong, and she’ll be like any other warrioress out there.” He flicked the blade of grass away and drew a swig of ale.

“You don’t believe that. I know you too well, Lambert of Kaer Morhen, you may lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to me. You care for the girl, I’ve seen it. You wouldn’t drive her so hard if you didn't, and you would not see her whisked away by the magess. And yet you know there is more to her—”

Lambert rolled his eyes, settling them upon Coën’s face with one eyebrow quirked towards his scruff of dark hair. “It doesn’t make a difference either way. What can we do? Train her to be one of us, but without the poisons. This—that—“ Lambert waved over his shoulder vaguely southward, towards the majority of the Continent, “is so far beyond us, so fuckin’ bigger, we’re just witchers. We fight monsters, that’s it. We don’t get involved, no matter what Merigold might want. No matter the moralistic fuckin’ rants she wants to have over our own fuckin’ mead in our own fuckin’ keep. Arrogant bitch.”

Coën winced and fell silent, giving Lambert’s anger time to settle to an even ebb again. Such was the way with Lambert; whereas the older witchers of the keep seemed to have suppressed their emotions to the point of ambivalence, Lambert’s raged all the fiercer as if out of spite. It was one of the things that Coën admired so ardently about him; the way he took on the world unapologetically and refused to succumb to its darkness. When Coën sensed the turbulent waters had settled, he continued. “You agree with Geralt, then. That there is no side for us to take in this conflict in the South, no greater good for us to fight for.”

“The only greater good for us is coin,” Lambert murmured. “Come spring, we should head south and we can clear up in the wake of the armies. Wade through the shit and the corpses to find the monsters. It’s what we’re built for.”

Coën huffed. “You sound like a cultist reciting a mantra you don’t even believe yours—“

“Where’s this goin’? Out with it. I’ve had enough of politics, euphemisms and bloody philosophising from Merigold this winter; I don’t need it from you too.”

Coën gazed over the lake to the far bank where a mist hung unnaturally among the trees. Foglets, no doubt. The recorded voices and shapes of hundreds of trainees that had perished in the mountains. Souls that were never given the opportunity to realise their potential, to breathe free air beyond the confines of the brotherhood. “I’ve been thinking more on those orphans Triss spoke of. How she works to prevent them from being orphans in the first place, whereas we’re just there after the fact to pick up the pieces.”

“You let her get into your head,” Lambert shook his, adjusting his trews once more, nose wrinkled in discomfort. “She was just trying to take a cheap shot. Get a knife in your ribs and twist.”

“What if she’s right? We may be mutants, but can’t we rise above? Become more? We are worth twenty Cintran soldiers. Having witchers fight on the side of the North, we—we could turn the tide of this war, we—“

“Delusions of grandeur.”

Coën’s blood ran hot with anger. While he admired Lambert’s sass and sarcasm when it was directed at others, he didn’t much enjoy being the target of it. Such dismissal bit at him, and he didn’t much want to examine why it hurt so very much. “So we stand by and watch the world burn so long as we line our purses, how very noble. We pick over the corpses of children like graveir, thugs and mercenaries with yellow eyes.”

“I never pretended to be otherwise,” Lambert snapped back. “You seem to think we owe this world something. We don’t. You think they’d care if us mutants fought at their side? You think they’ll give you a fuckin’ medal? Accept you back with open arms? Write stories and songs about you? Grow up. You’ve got yourself all wrapped up in those fairytales you read to Ciri.”

“And so what if they don’t? It’s not about that—it’s about doing the right thing, it’s—“

“There is no right thing. There is survival. There is getting through another pissin’ year and getting back here. Drinking with the people who actually give half a shit about whether you live or die. That’s it!”

Lambert was shouting now, his eyes furious, and Coën’s belly had tied itself in knots. Defensively, Coën raised his own voice, shoulders bunching. “For you, maybe. But I’m done with it. Maybe I want to become more! Rise above. Maybe I want to fight for something meaningful, defend the innocent, protect the—“

Lambert’s eyes narrowed, his fist tightening around his bottle, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “Throwing your life away won’t bring them back, Coën. Get your head out your arse. They’re dead, and you’re alive. Foolish sacrifice for those who don’t give a shit about you is just that, foolish. You’re a witcher, not a hero, stop trying to be more than you were made to be.”

Lambert’s words cut sharper than any knife. His lip lifted in a sneer of what looked like contempt, but there was an unnameable hurt in his eyes. Coën couldn’t parse it, he couldn’t even begin to, because his own anger and hurt was making his head ache. “Then perhaps I am a fool,” he snapped, rolling to his feet and snatching his shirt from the grass. “And as my foolishness seems to vex you so, I shall relieve you of my presence.”

“Fine! Why don’t you scurry off to Merigold? I’m sure she could tell you exactly the best way to piss your life away on her crusade.”

Coën stalked away and didn’t look back. He found Eskel weaving baskets with Ciri in one of the stillrooms and sat with them. The older witcher studied him closely, one of his large hands pawing at the scars on his face om thought, but he said nothing.

The rest of the winter passed much the same as before, but Lambert was no longer open and jovial in the evenings. He festered by the fire, muttering darkly about the cold and throwing an occasional scathing remark in Merigold’s direction, only to be chastised by Eskel, Vesemir or both. He drove Ciri just as hard—harder, when Triss wasn’t looking—and picked fault with everything she did.

Coën found her sitting by the fire one evening, picking dejectedly a the scabs on her hands, and staring into the flames. He brought her a blanket and hot mug of juice. “A penny for your thoughts?”

“Half an oren, and we’re talking!”

He thumped her lightly on the shoulder as he sat at her side, and she heaved a sigh. He pressed gently. “Come, a burden shared is a burden halved. Talk to me.”

“I think Lambert hates me, thinks I’m weak.”

“No,” Coën said quickly. “He loves you. Very much.”

Ciri blinked at him in surprise. “But he berates me every day. I disappoint him with everything I do. I need to get it right, I need—“

“Princess, Lambert is harshest to those he loves the most.”

“Well, he must absolutely worship Triss…”

Coën winced. “Ah, yes, no, perhaps there are exceptions, but…”

Ciri sniffled and turned her head away, one of her small, broken hands lifting to her face. He placed an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Come, there’s no need to hide your tears.”

“He’s right, I am weak…”

“No.” Coën lifted her chin so that their eyes met. “When I lost Kaer Seren, I cried for many days, and when I thought there could not possibly be a single tear left, they kept coming. Do you think me weak?”

“No, you’re so strong. You can shoot an apple from the air at a billion miles away! You make Lambert sweat in fencing and you can do ten backflips in a row, and—”

Coën smiled crookedly. “Your emotions aren’t something to be overcome, they are part of you. They make you stronger.”

“I need to get this right, I need to get strong, I need to kill him. I need to avenge them all. I need to—“

“And you will,” Coën said. “But Cintra was not built in a day, and its lioness is still a cub with a lot of growing to do. You must give yourself time. Strength is something that is forged through hardship, through failure. It will come.”

She gave him a watery smile and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I will get strong, Coën. I’ll listen to everything he teaches me, everything you teach me, Geralt, Eskel… I’ll get strong enough that I can protect people. Save people, you know, just like you do.”

“Yes,” Coën said, smiling. “You will be the greatest of us. Now, drink your juice. It’s past bedtime and Lambert wants me to teach you the crossbow tomorrow.”

“He does?”

“I found him stuffing targets only an hour ago.”

She squealed with excitement and downed her juice. He carried her to bed shortly after, tucking the heavy furs around her narrow frame. But that night sleep wouldn’t reach him; he listened to the others snore as he stared at the ceiling, thinking of orphans, monsters and war.

Come spring, he would head to the front, Coën decided. He could not stand by. He would rise above. He would become more.

#the witcher #witcher lambert #witcher coën #cirilla fiona elen riannon #blood of elves #missing scene #witcher books #witcher games #coën/lambert

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yermes · 3 months

Text

PAC: ❄️

Deinfluence your life and practice

I am a hypocrite. Me buying a vintage moomin shirt before I do a reading on deinfluencing magic and living. First of all I am HUGE on buying cute and pretty things because you like cute and pretty things but I think since theres so many cute and pretty things on the pump and dump being made unethical and contributing to waste we may need to think about what, how, and where we buy (IF YOU HAVE THE RESOURCES TO DO SO)

Disclaimer: please take what I say with a grain of salt and not as the gospel. I just want to share some ideas of practicing and giving advice using the medium as often as I can with school, work, and my own personal studies and practice.I was going to record Prometheus Rising today but I am so awfully tired I am going to do it early Saturday morning Instead. Sorry for the delay posting my tumblr was not working! Liking and sharing does a lot 🥰

Socials: TipJar | Follow me!

Pick a meme

1 2 3

The cards

Mice + Bouquet 💐 🐁

You don’t have to bend over backwards, be nice, or be gracious in every situation. The more you sacrifice your self respect for the betterment of someone else the more that it eats away at you causes more and more stress and makes it harder and harder to be genuinely kinder to yourself. Stop eating the lies that you owe people kindness and understanding especially in relation to YOUR life and YOUR practice.

Coffin + Tower ⚰️ 🏰

I know boycotting some businesses and establishments can be hard but honestly if they’re not serving you and you can get yourself a better product why not do that? You don’t even have to de glamorize the experience of it either. But you should look at the companies that you support currently and see if they actually suit your needs, wants, and personal morality.

Ring + The Lady 💍 👠

You don’t need big friend groups with empty ass people who serve you nothing. You need friends and relationships who ACTUALLY LOVE AND CARE FOR YOU. If they do not reciprocate your love its time to downsize. Do not let people who don’t care about you make decisions for you or claim importance in your life. This also refers to covens too.

Extras: 🛌

Story/vent:

I am so sleepy.

31 notes · View notes

zhongrin · 1 year

Text

swirl & crystallize (and more)

(self-indulgent version | original post)

◇ characters ◇ romantic!zhongli, familial!xiao, platonic!kazuha, platonic!shinobu, romantic!al haitham, platonic!ayato, familial!yaoyao

◇ tags ◇ fluff, selfship, be respectful; don't like don't read!, soft yandere on some parts

◇ a/n ◇ since the people i tagged had a lot of fun with the selfship version, it made me want to write one for myself hahah

ps. i treat the two teams as if they exist in a separate universe, so they're totally unrelated to each other!

pps. feel free to join in if you see this!

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

team 1: xiao (🏠), kazuha (👥), zhongli (💞), shinobu (👥) + lumine (👥)

(dynamics with each other in the old post)

✧— zhongli

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

i’m not sure what you’re talking about, traveler-

hm? she… told you about it? …. i see.

well, as she had requested, i hope you keep this a secret from the others. if teyvat ever knows that the master of this world herself has descended, i fear many of her people would vie for her attention. and as you know, she dislikes being in the spotlight…

⚘ about mei: husband and wife ⚘

i daresay that no one walking upon teyvat holds as much love and devotion to her as i do. it certainly is pleasing to know that my affection is reciprocated, and to this day i am still unable to fathom how she can regard me as an equal - and at times, higher - than her.

while i can say that it feels… pleasant, to know that she adores me so to the point of worship, all my life i have lived believing that it should be the other way around… so it’s quite a dilemma that i’m facing here.

✧— xiao

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

i don’t know what you’re talking about, traveler.

... huh? you knew? and rex lapis responded the same way, you say? … hmph. i see.

don’t you hit me with that ‘parent and child’ nonsense that she always jokes about. i am unfit to be someone’s ‘beloved son’ or whatever, and certainly not rex lapis and teyvat’s impetus.

⚘ about mei: mother and child ⚘

honestly, she treats me like a child despite fully knowing i can take care of myself. worrying about me whenever we dive into battles, always fussing over me to drink the qingxin tea to help with karmic debt… i’ve told her several times that her presence alone is enough to ease the burden of-

a-anyway, she’s quite the mother hen, as i’m sure you also know.

✧— kazuha

⚘ about mei: a special existence ⚘

just as how zhongli-sensei may not be all that he claims to be, i believe the same applies to his wife.

…. haha, you’re quite easy to read, traveler. it was a mere shot in the dark, with only my intuition as its guide, yet it seems like i am right once again. well, no matter. perhaps i will gain their trust in due time. now, i only wish to enjoy the present times of this delightful company.

⚘ about mei: like a sister ⚘

while a geo vision suits her, i think she would have been just as happy with an anemo vision. the way she always asks for me to float her upwards so she can glide down like an excited child is quite endearing. and the way zhongli-sensei rigidly stands by whenever she does this… *chuckles*

oh, i’m sorry, i just think he worries a little too much for his wife sometimes… it’s really quite sweet. it… reminds me of my own father, before my mother…

… ah, apologies, i didn’t mean for the atmosphere to take a gloomy turn.

anyway, i’m just happy to see her so content whenever she’s interacting with zhongli-sensei. i just wish they can dial down the public displays of affection sometimes - i personally don’t mind, but i can see that a few people constantly get secondhand embarrassments, haha!

✧— shinobu

⚘ about mei: chaotic neutral ⚘

look, i’m not saying she’s at the same level as the boss. but you have to admit, for someone who was so shy and timid at first, she sure hid a whole lot of personality once you get to know her.

she’s also a little too spoiled. have you seen how mr. zhongli would just bend over backward to abide by her words? it’s as funny as it is endearing, but i worry she’ll get in trouble one day when she accidentally steps her foot onto the wrong territory... huh? the mom friend? me? ….. *sigh*

traveler.

when am i not the mom friend?

⚘ about mei: looking out for each other ⚘

fortunately, she could be responsible and serious when she has to. it still surprises me how grounded and stern she could be when times are dire; it almost reminds me of mr. zhongli. are all geo vision holders like that, i wonder?

…. wait. scratch that. that was a stupid thought.

bonus!

✧— lumine

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

the first time i realized that this world exists for her sake, i was shocked, of course. what made her so special that a world was born just to entertain her musings? sometimes i think that if not for her, perhaps we wouldn’t have been-

..... *sigh* what am i saying. i know it’s not her fault that things unfolded this way, since she didn’t have the power to influence the events happening in teyvat. in any case, she felt responsible enough to tag along on this journey, and it’s mostly thanks to her that an ex-archon and the demon conqueror himself agreed to travel together with us. so no, i don’t resent her or anything like that. in fact, i would say that we’re good friends.

⚘ about mei: little sisters ⚘

she told me that she had older brothers, once. and it just… clicked to me. the reason why i feel like we can understand each other really well. the reason why she was so adamant to accompany me on my adventure. why she’s so empathetic whenever it comes to matters involving… him.

it’s all because she understands the pain of being separated from her family.

perhaps after i reunite with my family, i can accompany her on her voyage to look for hers? but… well, looking at how she has found a family here too, i’m not sure what she wishes to do…

team 2: al haitham (💞), ayato (👥), zhongli (💞), yaoyao (🏠)

✧— al haitham

oh my god he’s already one of my most beloved dps because dendro element’s flexibility + his high damage. it also helps that he’s the only 5* whom i have the signature weapon for lol

since he came home at 1 pity, i imagine in this scenario we just dropped by the akademiya one day on a whim to invite him to the party… and the next day the acting grand sage just goes missing, with a letter on his desk saying: “the divine one invited me to a vacation."

cue people working at the akademiya being quite literally in shambles because who do they report to now??? hello???? first the grand sage gets dethroned now the acting grand sage goes missing???????

he respects ayato and barely interacts with him, but they surprisingly get along well, be it or outside the battlefield.

with zhongli… not to say that they don’t get along well, but they certainly aren't the bestest of friends. they don’t snap at each other or anything like that though! it's just that if you leave them alone in a room, al haitham would just default to reading his book and zhongli would probably find something to amuse himself instead of talking with the akademiya scribe.

seems indifferent to yaoyao but silently looks after her. he made her a flower crown using his vision at her birthday one time, but that’s a secret he’ll take to his grave. except yaoyao proudly presented it to the other members when they asked where she got the adorable flower crown. #exposed

⚘ about zhongli: cold ⚘

surely by now, you know that i dislike quite a number of people and will not bother to try and force myself to get along with them. he’s not special in this aspect.

i simply am not a fan of sharing my... personal interests.

⚘ about ayato: elusive ⚘

the man wields his words like he wields his blades; swift strikes precisely delivered onto vital points, and before you could even blink, he’s had his sword back sheathed. very efficient and yet inefficient at the same time, i'd say.

⚘ about yaoyao: why is a child here? ⚘

i’m not sure why a young child is traveling with us, but mei kept saying she’s tagging along because she’ll make me stronger. to this day, i am unable to understand her logic, but i value her opinion so i let her do whatever she wants. surprisingly, from the combat data i’ve collected, her claim seems to be true. perhaps her godly powers are at work here. i’ll have to study this phenomenon further.

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

rin is certainly interesting, isn’t she? doesn’t exactly act like a deity when she’s supposed to be this world’s reason for existence. neither does she ask us to worship or obey her commands. and she certainly doesn’t seem to mind being treated so… well. lightly put, beneath what was supposed to be her place. hah. it’s quite refreshing.

hm. it seems like the sharp-eared consultant is glaring at me yet again. i’ll go back to reading my book now. kindly do not bother me for the next hour.

⚘ about mei: similarities ⚘

sans her periodically outgoing outbursts of energy and her deep empathy, i think we’re quite alike in the minute details of our personalities and preferences. we believe in work-life balance and our wish to lead a comfortable life overall. we’re also both not morning people. dislikes sand getting in our shoes. thinks that going out in the rain isn’t preferable. both avid fans of a good cup of coffee. she even told me my soundproof earpiece is a marvelous invention and that she always uses it too, back in the previous world she lived in. naturally, this means we get along rather swimmingly.

ah, that reminds me, i should tell her that i’ve finished making her headphones. now, if you’ll excuse me-

hm? ….. yes, i’m aware that it’s already quite late. but is that not the point? you might not know because your room is never next to the consultant’s, but at times his snores are just far too loud. this way, she can use the headphones right away. i’m sure it’ll help her to fall asleep undisturbed by any external interventions.

and besides, she likes it when i visit her at night.

✧— ayato

gameplay wise, honestly, ayato is just there to take over while i’m waiting for al haitham’s skill to cool down lol

he’s the team’s wallet, aka childe 2.0

surprisingly, ayato gets along pretty well with all of them.

yes, including al haitham.

zhongli could be a tad gullible sometimes, so ayato actually is having a blast feeding him uh… questionable lies… plus, he’s a big tease and he finds it funny to poke and prod at the stoic man. someone save zhongli

yaoyao reminds him of young ayaka, so he naturally dotes on her. big brother behavior, very wholesome.... until you realize he’s teaching her where to stab people so they bleed out and die (or in his words: ‘so bad people will get an ouchie’).

⚘ about al haitham: bet ⚘

while i can’t say our work ethics match each others’, i suppose i can bet a million mora that he’ll win in consideration as his friend.

hmm? win in what, you ask? ahaha, don’t mind my silly musings…

⚘ about zhongli: milk tea ⚘

oh, mr. zhongli is such a pleasant individual to chat over tea. speaking of, i think it’ll be tea time soon. do you perhaps have a bottle of milk, traveler? ah, perfect.

why do i need it you ask? well, the expression on his face whenever i add them to my cup of tea is always a sight to behold, haha!

⚘ about yaoyao: child labor(?) ⚘

if it was up to me i would have arrested mei for child labor. but she was smart enough to borrow what seems to be a friend of hers’ counterargument: “but you also employ sayu in shuumatsuban?”

well, i can’t possibly dispute that, can i? *chuckle* i would love to get to know that friend of hers one day.

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

haha, it really doesn’t feel like she’s teyvat’s beloved raison d’etre, doesn’t it? the way we interact with each other is a very different dynamic than what i’m used to dealing with, back home. she's vastly different than the raiden shogun, both in personality and way of life.

if i had to liken her to someone… i’d say she reminds me of ayaka. well… a more… how do i say this without incurring mr. zhongli’s disapproving glares… unhinged version of her, once you know her truly.

come now, don’t look at me like that. you know it’s true. *chuckles*

⚘ about mei: mistreatment ⚘

in my opinion, she’s very biased toward the akademiya’s scribe and wangsheng’s consultant. have you seen the charms she bestowed on them? they’re clearly of a very different quality than ours. even a normal civilian with no vision would be able to tell that they’re special. i wonder how much effort it took her to enchant those artifacts.

as someone who thought of her like a little sister and willingly prioritized her invitation to travel together, it’s very saddening that she does not put the same care for me as she does for those two. oh, how heartbreaking. i am riddled with grief. *leisurely sips boba*

✧— zhongli

d-do i even need to explain? he’s in my every team composition because of his shield and burst lol

and he’s such an eye candy too

given his (currently) non confrontational nature, he gets along well with everyone…. well. he tries to get along with ayato and al haitham.

with ayato, it’s a constant battle of innuendos and implications and it causes major headaches to people listening.

with al haitham, he’s… well… honestly i’m not sure why they don’t 'get along'. perhaps the word i’m looking for is ‘distant’? there seems to be a hidden hostility here…

gets along most with yaoyao out of the three. so many precious grandpa-granddaughter moments. it’s him who reads/tells her bedtime stories at night and she loves it a lot. this routine is the reason why she would sometimes offer to other people to read them bedtime stories.

⚘ about al haitham: rivalry ⚘

rivalry, you say? hmm…

does it look so obvious from your point of view? ... this won’t do. i really shouldn’t be relapsing to my old self… *sigh*

⚘ about ayato: customs ⚘

though our taste in beverages doesn’t align, our chats are always eye-opening. i learn much intriguing knowledge every single time. for example, apparently, inazumans have this custom to add at least one unusual, exotic ingredient into every hotpot they have. is it not most amusing?

⚘ about yaoyao: glimpse of the future (?) ⚘

ah, the young disciple of streetward rambler. such a pure-minded and responsible child. i think it’s endearing whenever mei dotes on her and carry her around everywhere. she even let yaoyao sleep in her arms while we’re traveling. it makes me think of-

…. ahem. my mind wandered a little too far there, my apologies. what was i saying? yes, she’s a sweet little one, isn’t she?

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

personally, i think she should use more of her authority. especially to our front liners. most especially to a certain high-ranking personage from sumeru. i would normally never overlook such insolence, but since mei herself told me to not interfere… *sigh* there is, unfortunately, nothing i can do but reprimand them once in a blue moon.

⚘ about mei: tea ⚘

mei is the one who controls the finances in our traveling group, but while she could be quite frugal, she always gets me whatever tea leaves they have in the market whenever we visit any encampments or cities. i appreciate that very much.

she does enjoy her coffee every now and then, but at the end of the day, she always comes back for tea. i think she might not realize it herself, but she clearly has a preference for tea over anything else - that is, including coffee.

hmm? i’m speaking allegorically? why, i’m not sure what you’re referring to, traveler. i am simply stating my observations.

✧— yaoyao

it’s actually shinobu but recently i swapped her with the new dendro child bc i wanted more variety (and that companion exp hskdjskdj)

this sun child gets along with everyone!! good job yaoyao!! she’s like a precious baby niece i don’t have sobsob

she’ll follow either al haitham or ayato around like a duckling around the marketplace if i went with zhongli (she knows he has the worst spending habits so we take turns keeping an eye on him lol). got separated from al haitham one time and he almost had a heart attack. now he holds her hand whenever they walk around in crowded places.

ayato knows how to handle children because he literally raised ayaka, so yaoyao loves being around him! he’ll fulfill her more childish wants that she never voices out loud (out of consideration for others) with a snap of his finger.

zhongli is yet another expert at childcare (although he has his clumsy moments) and he’s on friendly terms with all the adepti so yaoyao considers him at the same level as her adepti friends. he’d take her into his arms if she ever falls asleep while we’re walking about.

i’m gonna cry these are all adorable as fuck help

⚘ about al haitham: protection ⚘

mister al haitham looks a little scary at first, but you know what? he’s super caring! whenever there are battles, he always, always makes sure that i’m out of harm’s way first! *huffs* i kept telling him i can handle monsters on my own, but he just crouched down and patted my head. he didn’t even refute it!!

*sigh* i suppose his manners are a little lacking, but he means well, so i’ll overlook it, hehe.

⚘ about ayato: kind ⚘

ayato gege sneaks me candies every now and then! they’re always sakura-flavored, and i can’t get them in liyue markets, so he told me he’ll get them especially exported from inazuma to liyue when we stop traveling together! isn’t he so kind?

oh, and he’s especially good at putting up my hair! i think he’s used to doing it… he mentioned having a little sister once. maybe he used to put her hair up?

⚘ about zhongli: warmth ⚘

mister zhongli reminds me of the adepti, because he’s very dignified and knowledgeable! but apparently, he’s just human like me... but i still like him! he’s very nice and mature, save for his impulsive purchase habits...

he also tells me bedtime stories, and it makes me fall asleep within five minutes… *yawn* oh dear, thinking about it makes me sleepy… i think i’ll ask mei jiejie if i can take a short nap…

⚘ about mei: the primordial one ⚘

oh, meirin jiejie is really kind! she always shares any sweets she buys, and whenever miss shenhe visits us we would ask her to help making these cold yummy treats called ice cream! now if only she would eat her veggies with the same vigor…

⚘ about mei: secrets ⚘

jiejie and i tell a lot of secrets to each other! she tells me it’s because i’m a special child… i’m really flattered that she would trust me that much! but anyway, she told me you’re a close friend of hers, miss lumine, so i can tell you one of her secrets!

okay, so, jiejie never really admitted it outright, but i think she’s very fond of mr. zhongli and mr. al haitham… she always talks about them and she’s always saying about how handsome and capable they are! i asked her who she would marry and she got all red, hehe. who do you think will get to marry her, miss lumine?

bonus because i adore yaoyao so much:

#genshin impact #rin writes #rin selfships #zhongrin #zhongrinth #meitham #yandere #zhongli #al haitham #xiao #yaoyao #shinobu #kazuha #ayato #lumine

171 notes · View notes

loserchildhotpants · 1 year

Note

First kiss, Angry kiss-- maybe something nose breaking like the famous Brokeback Mountain scene where maybe Cas/Dean is angry at the other for doing something reckless?

kiss prompts

you got some making out and grinding and art in this one anon i hope u enjoyyyyyy

As a human hunter (in-training), Cas still likes to use blades.

His form is perfect in a way that doesn’t need to be explained to Dean; he sees the way Cas crouches, bends and twists, how he sweeps his legs, how his arms snap out like venomous snakes, how he looks to be completely, gyroscopically stable, and he knows just by looking that Cas’ mastery of blades is in part, innate, and another part learned, malleable, still constantly evolving and bettering.

There’s no doubt that Cas is lethal, and he makes for a great sniper when it’s appropriate, but other guns are a bit clunky for him, he doesn’t like them, and the kick-back always makes him frown in a way that Dean thinks he recognizes as disappointment.

There was a time that Cas could fire a gun and not feel kick-back at all, Dean supposes, because he used to be supernaturally still and solid, but now he’s human, and kick-back can fuck up a shot.

Besides, Cas is nimble, graceful, stealthy. He’s better suited to his knives, daggers, and short swords.

He’s handling two machetes tonight, beheading vampires with a precision and bloody majesty that Dean weirdly envies.

The issue, Dean guesses, is that because he doesn’t understand blades as well, because he doesn’t handle them as often, he doesn’t trust them as much. He wishes Cas would still carry a gun, a blunt object, a fucking chainsaw - just anything more than what he insists on keeping on him.

When he was an Angel, he didn’t have need for more than his blades, but he’s not an Angel anymore, and this case was supposed to be easy, but there’s a bigger nest here than either of them imagined.

Cas has been itching to hunt - to prove his utility, to prove a point, and Dean understands, he does, so he picked a case he didn’t think they’d need Sam for, and now they’re in Idaho backwoods, with waves of vampires waking and screeching and charging from the shadows of this forest in numbers that definitely require more than two hunters.

Dean’s swinging with a wide arc, his eyes keep skittering to Cas because he’s fucking nervous, and every time he looks over, Cas is bloodier, his clothes are more ripped up, he’s sweating now, and to Dean’s horror, a vampire built like a fucking train comes storming up to Cas, knocking both machetes from Cas’ hands, and they clatter to the ground along with Dean’s heart.

In the time it takes for Dean to suck in breath enough to scream, Cas’ fists dive into his shredded jacket, come back out double-wielding razor-sharp daggers in a backwards grip, and with baffling precision, he slices, forces them through the vampire’s neck until the head and body are separately dropping to the ground uselessly.

The scream doesn’t come, because Cas got his footing back in time, so Dean keeps slashing and bashing, keeps looking at Cas, and he watches as Cas starts meeting these vampires halfway, marching up to them like he’s got armor on and not just ribbons of a discount Hanes tee he picked up from Wal-mart.

These daggers he’s got are shorter than the machetes, they require close quarter combat, and Cas keeps charging at these fuckers, closing the distance between them in long strides, forcing them up close and personal, and Dean’s getting dizzy with worry.

The worry doesn’t do either of them much good, though - they both come out of the fight very much scathed, grimey with gore, exhausted, but also very alive with organs and limbs assembled in just the fashion they arrived in, which is luckier than Dean’s willing to look into the mouth of.

Cas is too drenched in blood to make heads or tails of visible injuries, so checking him will have to wait, but when that last vampire drops, and they’re both trying to catch their breaths, Dean suddenly, viciously, hopes he is hurt.

He’s furious.

He stalks off, sheaths his machetes, picks up the ones Cas basically abandoned and makes his way back from where they came, assuming Cas will follow.

The Impala is parked in brush near a dilapidated shed just past the property line on some farmland; it’s the dead of night, no one’s noticed Dean, Cas or the Impala here in the dark, and to Dean’s great relief, the shed’s got running water going to the hose.

He sprays himself down and just as he’s wondering when Cas is gonna break the silence, he does.

“You’ve not said anything.”

And Dean keeps to that.

“I’m beginning to suspect that you’re angry,” Cas admits as freezing water ricochets into Dean’s fucking ear canal, “this hunt was successful, though.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean mumbles through gritting teeth; he lets the spray hit the crown of his head, and all that red rushes down his face, neck and torso.

He throws the hose at Cas, who is worse off than him by miles with arterial spray drenching him, and Cas nearly fumbles it, clearly caught off-guard by Dean’s aggression.

“Hose down,” Dean orders, his anger still percolating into something sharper and clearer, “you’re not getting into Baby like that.”

Frowning, Cas does as he’s told; his jacket got lost in the mele and what’s on him now is barely fabric enough to wrap a wrist wound. The jeans are gonna stain that way permanently too, and those secondhand combat boots will not be going back to a light brown after this night.

Dean grabs a new shirt from his duffel, puts the sopping one into a trash bag in the trunk for later washing, and when Cas offers him what remains of his own shirt, Dean just puts it with the actual garbage.

With shame swirling low in his gut, he watches Cas shower himself, which he gets away with, because Cas’ eyes are shut against the cold pressure. He watches how the pink bloodied water cascades down his face, he watches the muscles in Cas’ neck, shoulders, arms and back flex and bunch, blood and water cascading.

There are lots of cuts on Cas, plenty of them still bleeding lightly, and there’s dark bruises too, scattered across his chest and arms, already purpling.

This was dangerous.

This was a very close call, and he’s enraged that Cas can’t even seem to recognize how dangerous it was; he’s cool as a cucumber, and it’s making Dean’s rage ratchet up and up.

Once Cas is toweling off, Dean shoves one of his old pullovers at him, then wordlessly gets into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t turn music on, and he doesn’t ask if Cas is hungry enough that they should stop for food.

He takes them back to their motel, shoves Baby into park with too much force, and slams the car door when he leaves Cas there.

Cas follows him, of course, and once they’re safely inside, Cas shuts the door with a gentle snick of the lock, steps up behind him to touch at his shoulder, and Dean reacts without thinking.

He smacks Cas’ hand away from him, twisting around and shoving at Cas’ chest so that he stumbles back toward the door.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You’ll have to expand on that.”

“That was fucking reckless, Cas!” Dean shouts, a vein he thinks his father had in his forehead now throbbing on Dean’s, “you acted like a -”

“Like a what, Dean?” Cas challenges, narrowing his eyes, “like a seasoned soldier, who knows their own competence? Is that very threatening to you?”

You’re not threatening, Cas, you’re wearing my old hoodie, you’re human now.

“Okay, rushing at an insane number of vampires with nothing but some fancy knives isn’t competence, Cas! It’s reckless! It’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s dangerous! You’re a human, Cas!”

“I know that,” Cas sneers, “I don’t need you reminding me.”

“Apparently you do!” Dean exclaims, “Cas, what you did out there -”

“I did the job.”

“You didn’t do it right!”

“I think the number of dead would disagree with you.”

“You were throwing yourself at them!” Dean yells, a hot lump of fear in his throat, “you didn’t even go back for your machetes! I couldn’t help you like -”

“I didn’t need your help!”

Growling in frustration, Dean stomps up to Cas, pushes him up against the door with his forearm barring Cas’ chest and he glares down into Cas’ ocean eyes when he says, “not your call. You wouldn’t let me just run a fuckin’ Angelic garrison my first week with wings, and you know damn well you weren’t leading this mission. I’ve got the years under my belt, I’m the human here with the most experience, I’m the seasoned hunter, Cas. What if you’d needed me, huh?”

“I didn’t, though,” Cas argues, his chest tense under Dean’s arm, “I was capable, I proved it to you.”

“You proved fuck-all but that you’ve got a death wish! What if you’d gotten hurt worse?”

“Then that would’ve been my problem.”

“Not the way I see it!” Dean argues, “what if you’d -”

“I’d have figured it out!”

“What if you didn’t!?” Dean’s eyes flicker between Cas’, “what if you didn’t figure it out, Cas? Huh? What if the swarms had kept comin’, what if those blades got fucked up, dull, or knocked outta your hands, and you’re half a nautical fuckin’ mile out from me?”

Cas is all rebellion when he holds himself ramrod straight and answers, “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Fuck you,” Dean jostles Cas against the door, “what the fuck is your problem, Cas?”

Dean really doesn’t mean to stare at Cas as much as he does, but he thinks anyone this close to him would have a hard time not getting lost in that gaze.

Dean met Jimmy way back when, and Jimmy’s eyes were not the same as Cas’. Often, Dean thinks to himself that looking into Cas’ eyes is as close as he’ll ever get to safely seeing Cas’ true form; they’re luminescent, preternatural. There’s something about them, even now, that isn’t entirely human.

Cas isn’t entirely human, Dean figures - he’s just an Angel with clipped wings. He’s cut off from the Host, but that doesn’t mean he’s been transformed into a human soul, occupying a human body; he’s a many-eyed, feathered, incomprehensible creature locked up in a flesh prison.

Dean keeps his arm where it is, pressing Cas into the wall, but he relaxes his brow and softens his body language when he says, “this is it, Cas. This is what the life is like with me. Sammy hated it too, but y’know what? He’s alive. So, if you hate me for it, then you hate me for it, but Hell or high water, I’m gonna make sure you’re alive to hate me. That means you don’t get to kamikaze yourself for a -”

“I don’t hate you.”

Dean’s brought up short by the way Cas’ face falls, how his eyes go from fiery to worried, how he suddenly looks small in Dean’s retired hoodie.

“Dean, I don’t hate you, I could never hate you-” Cas’ eyes jump down to Dean’s mouth, his dark, thick lashes flashing like fans when they move back up and his pupils are dilated, he licks his lips and trails off, “I…”

The way Cas’ eyes hold his gaze, the way his human heart is thudding increasingly faster against Dean’s forearm, there’s this heat pooling in his gut, there’s anticipation expanding in his chest like a balloon, he’s watching Cas’ hooded eyes, thinking, there’s no way. There's absolutely no way...

Carefully, Cas is tipping his head just so, and before he’s even really decided to, Dean’s shutting his eyes, curving his body in closer just as he feels Cas press their lips together.

The kiss starts small, shy and soft, unsure of itself because it can’t possibly be real, but then Dean’s remembering how fast those vamps were coming, how close they got to Cas, and that anger – that fear – surges in him again and he shoves himself against Cas.

There’s a muffled, ‘mmmph!’ against Dean’s mouth, but as Dean urges his tongue past Cas’ lips, it’s followed quickly by a charmingly soft gasp and then agreeable moan.

Cas’ hands come up to Dean’s pecs, as if to soothe him, but Dean doesn’t want to calm down – he wants to swallow Cas whole like an anaconda so that nothing can get to him and hurt him. He wants to keep Cas somewhere inside him where he’ll be safe.

Dean grabs Cas’ wrists, pins them to the wall behind him and uses the few inches of height he’s got over Cas to crowd him; he presses the length of his body right up against Cas’, and his grip is too hard, he knows Cas’ hands must be going numb, and he’s pushing their bodies together too tightly, and he’s kissing Cas like he means more to bite him.

Cas takes it.

Cas gives back, even.

Virginal as he is, he excitedly, shamelessly grinds up against Dean, their buckles snag and the drag of their still-drying denim scratching together is so loud to Dean.

Cas groans and mewls lowly under him, making those gravelly, bass notes in a way Dean's never heard Cas make them before.

You’re supposed to be embarrassed, Dean thinks at Cas, knowing Cas can’t hear him, turning his head again to kiss him harder, deeper, you’re so hard. You like this, and you don’t know you’re supposed to be cool and aloof about it. No one taught you that. No one quieted you. Never change, Cas.

Awkwardly, Cas has to break for air, but they’re so entwined, they're sealed together, he can only tilt his mouth away to gasp for air, their faces still pressed together because Dean won’t – can’t – back off.

“Dean,” Cas rasps, maybe wondering what it is Dean is doing with him.

Dean doesn’t know what the fuck he's doing with Cas, so he avoids answering the call of his name by grinding against Cas again, giving him sweet friction while he kisses Cas’ chin, the corner of his mouth, seeking, seeking —

“I want to be able to protect you again,” Cas murmurs nearly inaudibly — shamefully.

“You did,” Dean tells him, tears building in his eyes as he thinks back on what he saw, on just how close a call this was, “you do. You always do.”

“No – not like I used to, not —”

“Then we can protect each other, okay?” Dean compromises, bumping their noses, pushing their foreheads together until Cas will open his eyes and look at him again, “I’m not your keeper, Cas. We can — we’ll figure it out. Just don’t make me lose you. I can’t do it.”

“I don’t know how to promise you that,” Cas admits, tongue peeking out to taste at Dean’s lower lip.

Dean closes his mouth around Cas’ tongue, pulls it into his mouth, sucks on it, crushes Cas against the wall again, and he kisses Cas until they’re both begging off for air again.

“Don’t,” Dean huffs, face flushed, hard as a rock against Cas; he loosens his hold on Cas’ wrists, lets Cas’ arms fall a little down the wall, “can’t promise shit in this life. Just tell me you’re sorry for scarin’ me.”

The sincerity must do it for Cas, because with little hesitation, Cas looks him in the eye, head bent back against the wall where he’s still learning to breathe again, and he replies, “I’m sorry to have scared you, Dean. Truly.”

Just as Dean’s eyes get hot again, his hands twitch with the need to secure Cas down to the closest surface, Cas slips his hands down their shared grip to tangle their fingers together.

He leans in and kisses Dean gently before Dean can do anything hard or harsh.

He kisses Dean again, and again, chaste, a few swipes of tongue, doing something to Dean not unlike hypnosis and eventually Dean’s being backed up into one of the motel room beds.

The backs of his knees hit the bed, and Dean winds up with Cas in his lap, cupping his face, gazing down at him with hooded, desire-dark eyes.

He thinks Cas wants to ask something, he can see it in Cas’ eyes, but whatever it is, Cas stows it away; he pushes back on Dean until Dean’s being pressed into the mattress by Cas, and their roles have been fully reversed.

Cas holds him down, pushes against him, into him, kissing Dean like he wants to devour him, and Dean understands, he feels it too, so he surrenders. Gladly.

#deancas #destiel #lemon #ish #melanie writes #first kiss #kiss prompts #prompt fill #prompt fic #fic prompt #ask #my stuff #melanie draws

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pumpkincarriage3 · 1 year

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Kalim And Jamil Relationship Analysis

Right, so Kalim and Jamil's relationship. Definitely by far one of the most complex relationships in the game. So, first off, there's something I would like to point out, because at the barebones of their relationship, this is what it is: A master and servant relationship.

Some might disagree, especially since it was downplayed in the English version, but that's the truth of it. It's why Kalim and Jamil even interact with one another. It's why Kalim and Jamil interact with one another in the way that they do. If they weren't master and servant, their relationship would be completely different. Jamil would never have overblotted in the first place. This relationship defines them in a lot more ways then people either realize or acknowledge.

Because it's not like it's a case of Jamil being hired to take care of Kalim. That's not what it is. There is a reason that the Viper's are heavily implied to be under a slavery contract to the Asim's. And this level of servitude that is pushed is what defines all the negative aspects of Jamil's and Kalim's relationship.

Because it's not like Kalim is the only character in the game that has a retainer. Malleus also has retainer's. He has three of them. But while Malleus's retainers were raised to be such, or already under the sovereignty's power in Lilia's case, they are not under a slavery contract. If they truly wished to live and pursue another lifestyle, they could. They willingly choose to serve under Malleus. And that's what makes Malleus's retainer's so different from Jamil. Jamil never had a choice.

And that is what defines the relationship between Jamil and Kalim and its core. Because no matter how kind Kalim is to Jamil and no matter how much Jamil might like Kalim as a person, they are still just master and servant.

It's the way they were raised. Jamil always had to bend over backwards to suit Kalim's every need. Always had to restrain himself from going all out because a servant can't be better than their master. Always had to watch his every word and action because it never reflected on him, it reflected on the Asim's. Always had to watch his and Kalim's back because people are constantly looking to poison Kalim. He can't speak up against it, he just has to deal with it. Be constantly riddled with anxiety at every given turn. And Kalim is at the center of it all. Not because of anything Kalim did, but because of the family's they were born under.

Kalim constantly had everything given to him on a silver platter. While he always praised Jamil, Jamil was still always "worse" at things then Kalim. Kalim's never known any different. The same way Kalim couldn't even trust their family cooks because sometimes he would get a poisoned dish. Until Jamil started taking care of it. Nothing bad ever happened because Jamil was always there, and Kalim has never known any different. He can trust Jamil with his life because the Asim's trust the Viper's. Because even though Jamil has had plenty of opportunities to get rid of him, he doesn't. Jamil was always someone that was guaranteed to be safe for Kalim, in a place where safety was never truly guaranteed. Because Kalim would also have to live with the paranoia of living up to his family's name, to the threats of being poisoned by his own family.

To Jamil, Kalim was the representation of the anxiety he could never get away from. To Kalim, Jamil was the safety away from the anxiety of being poisoned.

So, Kalim would constantly seek Jamil out, which would intern drive Jamil even more crazy by the day. Jamil probably at least expected to be able to get away from Kalim while he was at school, but that didn't come to pass because Kalim ended up going to NRC.

Which puts even more stress on Jamil. Because at least at home, there is more than one retainer. More than one person that can be trusted with Kalim's safety. And now there is just one person. And it's all on Jamil.

It's why Jamil did what he did. He doesn't hate Kalim, but Kalim's mere presence is a reminder of everything that Jamil hates. In the same regard, it's why Kalim forgave Jamil and the reason Jamil overblotted was never brought up to their families.

Jamil was never actually trying to harm Kalim. Kalim knows this. Even when Jamil overblotted, at his height of hysteria, when he ordered the dorm students around, it was just to kick Kalim, Yuu, Grimm, Azul, and the twins out of Scarabia. When he overblotted and that didn't work, he just threw them out into the middle of the desert. He didn't start trying to harm them until they came back and he would have been at the height of the affects from the overblot poisoning.

All the other characters that overblotted immediately tried to kill the people around them. That wasn't Jamil's first reaction. His reaction was to send them away first. Because he didn't want to harm them, he wanted to be left alone. That's all he wanted.

After the overblot, even though Kalim has given Jamil permission to act more freely, it is practically ingrained in their relationship already. That master and servant relationship. Because Jamil still tries to refer to Kalim when Vil gives him credit. And Kalim is just realizing just how much of their relationship he misunderstood.

That's not to say that Jamil doesn't genuinely care for Kalim. Or intern that Kalim doesn't genuinely care for Jamil. They do. It's just hard to ignore that master and servant relationship. It's especially hard for Jamil too, since that's all everyone ever reminded him of.

And the two are close. They work well together, because they grew up together and do care for one another. And it's not as if the master and servant relationship dictates everything. We see Jamil ordering and snarking around with Kalim long before the overblot, he's just more open about it afterwards. Because on some level, they are friends. Their relationship is just strained because of the position both of their families put them in.

Honestly, unless the Viper's are willingly given the choice to either leave or willingly stay, the relationship between the two will always be a little strained. Because ultimately, the one's that benefit from the Viper's servitude is the Asim's. And even after Jamil overblotted, Kalim never talked about freeing the Viper's, just gave Jamil the permission to act more freely.

Maybe that's because he knows Jamil is safe and he can trust him with his life, even after what happened. Or maybe not. But it's definitely something to think about.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #Disney twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #Jamil Viper #twisted wonderland jamil viper #kalim al asim #twisted wonderland kalim #character analysis #relationship analysis

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xbalayage · 7 months

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could I request “i hate them. i hate them, with their voice, and their perfect hair, and their deep eyes, and …” from the prompt list with silvio?

Silvio/Reader [His POV] Fluff WC: 968 A/N: This is a sequel to another fic I wrote called Bastard. I suggest reading that one first before this one. :)

I had returned home to Benitoite; I did what I needed to do for the old fart and didn't have anythin' much to report on. Truth be told, I saw and heard a couple things: like that woman definitely being Belle and the previous King was dead or I had finally found Valerio after all these years - but I hate the man enough to not tell him any of it. He can get his own hands dirty and figure that shit out. I'm not his damn dog. And of course he wasn't happy about it.

But it's been a month now, and I don't even get why I've been countin' down the days since I last saw you. I didn't even understand why that bothered me so much. I tried biding my time with my usual pleasures; but just like before, it never quenched the internal longing I kept feelin'. I'd drink alcohol like it was water, I'd chug water till the very last drop, spent time with any ol' woman or lady who'd bend over backwards for my time and attention. I'd rain them with my vast amount of wealth and they'd wag their tails happily, wantin' nothing more than to warm my bed at night.

It was never enough, I felt sick to my stomach and repulsed. I could never take enough showers to wipe their filthy marks from my body, never lettin' them stay past the night either. And fucking try as I might, my mind was still on you.

Ugh, I hate her. I hate her, with her voice, and her perfect hair, and her deep eyes, and ... shit, just get out of my head! You weren't even here and you were annoying the crap out of me! But -- is that what it was? I took a good long look in the mirror, I had a talk with my inner self and I realized something. This was fucking stupid.

I packed my shit and hopped onto one of my ships and set sail back to Rhodolite. I knew where you'd be, I'd bet my entire fortune on it. It took a while but the second my eyes set sight on the land known for their roses, my heart started to pick up in pace. Why's my stupid heart racin' the closer I get to seeing you? What I'm feelin' couldn't possibly ... no, it can't be. While in town, I decided to spend some money into the Rhodolite economy and buy roses. I wanted to buy more but my heart stopped the second I saw you from the corner of my eye. Finally, there you were.

And it's almost like you noticed me too, because those deep eyes met mine; ah shit, why's my face burning up and my hands gettin' all clammy now!? I couldn't find it in me to move, but you made that decision for me as your bright smile raced over until you were right in front of me. You... were right in front of me.

"Hello, Prince Silvio! What're you doing here in Rhodolite?" your voice was as sweet as I kept imagining it for a month straight. But before I could respond, you noticed the bouquet of roses in my hands. "What are the roses for?" Ah, I couldn't say they were for you. How would that make me look?

"It's not like I thought about ya or anythin', don't be gettin' the wrong idea. I just happened to have these with me when I ran into you. And I don't need them anymore. Here." I was quick to push them into your arms so you couldn't say no. They weren't gems or anything, this was the best I could get last minute and they were freshly picked. I couldn't comprehend how your eyes began to shine at the sight of them; I offered an easy smile. I missed you smiling at me like that. "Take care of 'em, will ya?"

"They're so beautiful! But why are you giving these to me?" Damn it, don't make me say it while lookin' at me all doe-eyed! Just when I thought I had the heat on my cheeks under control too. You're just too adorable, huh?

"Like I said, I just had 'em and it was just luck that you showed up. So I thought they'd do better with you than with me. Plus they suit ya, I'm not much of a roses guy. And--" I gave pause, just staring at you for a second, trying to find the words I wanted to say next. I closed my eyes to gather the courage. "I'm sorry, a'right? About.. before. I didn't mean it, and I wasn't tryna make you upset."

You looked at me dumbfounded like that was the last thing you expected to leave my mouth. I can't say I blame ya, I was outta line. I just want ya to forgive me, I don't think I could take another month not being around you. And as if you were reading my mind, you responded with that sickly sweet smile. "I didn't think you remembered or that it even mattered. I didn't expect that of you," you paused to smell the roses before continuing, "I accept your apology, Prince Silvio."

I smiled, genuinely smiled. You've got me wrapped around your little finger, don't you? "So, what do you say 'bout me takin' you out? I'm not in town for long, how about it?"

This heart racing feeling must've meant something because it never stopped the moment I was with you. It persisted the entire time too. My heart felt lighter however, my throat didn't feel as painful anymore too. Heh, is this what love felt like? I wouldn't question it for now - just being able to see ya again was enough.

taglist; @nightghoul381, @yvelk, @celiciaa, @drachonia, @alvieeru, @aquagirl1978, @here-for-gilbert, @widowbunny, @exhausted-courtroom-mom, @randonauticrap, @maries-gallery, @violettduchess, @strawberry-scum, @tele86, @lunaaka

#silvio #silvio ricci #ikepri silvio #ikemen prince silvio #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikepri fanfic #fics.#my fics.#mini drabble event.

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pls-let-me-out · 3 months

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DISNEY DESCENDANTS AU

There was a reason Nico chose to take part in the top-secret mission to save Will Solace from the Queen of Evil, and it wasn’t the one that might be expected. Nico was the son of Hades, one of the major villains of all times, and when Nico had been taken from the Villain’s Island to study in Happily Ever After, Hades had given him an order: take the Wand. And Nico wouldn’t disappoint his father.

His key to the Wand was getting people to trust him. First he had to make Will Solace — heir to the King — fall in love with him, and that was done with an easy spell. Of course it angered Will’s longtime girlfriend, Lacy, she couldn’t stand seeing Will head over heels with a boy he’d just met, to the point that she became actually evil and kidnapped Will.

“We need to send out a search party,” the King, Zeus, said.

Nico was the first to stand. “I’d like to be a part of the search party,” he said. “I know more spells than any of my peers. I could easily track Will.”

Zeus nodded. He was so oblivious, thinking everybody would bend backwards to serve him. He deserved it.

If Nico was honest, the only person who might not deserve his betrayal was Will. Will had fought to get the villain’s kids to Happily Ever After. And Nico was using him for his own personal gain.

Nico shook his head. He didn’t have time to think about that. He was on the outskirts of Once Upon a Time, one of the villages of Happily Ever After. More specifically, he was with Jason Grace, Annabeth Chase, Piper McLean and his fellow V-kids Drew Tanaka, Reyna Arellano and Leo Valdez. There was a weird tension in the air, probably brought by the fact that there was one too many person in the group who fancied Jason Grace, and also by the fact that they hated each other.

Drew quickened her steps and caught up with Nico, in the front of the group. He clutched his spell-book tightly.

“What are we walking into?”

Nico looked at the villa standing before them. It had been long since abandoned, and not a sound came from within.

“Something bad,” he replied simply.

When they got inside, the door slammed shut behind them. Jason tried opening it, but with no results. Drew took a mirror out of her satchel.

“At least I’ll die cute,” she said, fixing a smudge of lipstick.

“Not the time,” Nico said, voice tight as the armours placed around the room seemed to become alive.

The empty armours took a step forward. Nico took a quick look around, and it confirmed his suspicious. They were outnumbered. He unleashed his sword, his companions imitating him. They got in a circle.

Reyna cracked her knuckles. “Bring it on,” she said.

Nico almost shivered. Reyna was one of his dearest friends, but sometimes her love for battle scared him. She resembled her mother a lot.

“You walked us into a trap,” Annabeth hissed, directing her words at Nico.

Nico swallowed, as the first armour attacked him. He easily dodged the attack.

“Nico didn’t walk us into anything,” Percy said. “We all came willingly.”

The battle began. The sound of swords clashing filled the otherwise silent room. Somebody grunted, and when Nico checked, he discovered that Jason had been hit.

“They are too heavy to react,” Reyna said. “Be fast!”

Nico did as she said. She was the most experienced fighter out of them.

“I’ll cover you!” Leo told Nico, going to stand before him. “You search in your spell-book for — I don’t know, anything.”

Nico nodded, but he kept his sword in hand as he searched through the spell-book. There were lots of spells about love, then some to change his appearance. Nico looked through the spell-book for a good few minutes, until he saw Annabeth barely dodging an attack as she fought against two armours at the same time.

Nico put his spell-book away. He needed to improvise. He took a deep breath, then raised both hands. He concentrated, and soon sparkles flew from his fingertips.

“Suit of armour strong and true,” he said, voice loud enough that he could be heard over the sounds of the battle. “Make this metal bust a move!”

Shadows fell from the ceiling and covered the armours, then filled them as a knight would have. After that, the armours copied Nico’s every move.

“That was a good trick,” Jason would later tell Nico, as they left the room.

Nico gave him a small smile. “I hope it was enough.”

And it seemed that it was. The Queen of Evil had prepared a few more obstacles, but the main one were the armours, which had left them mostly unscathed. Annabeth and Percy remained behind, as Annabeth was too hurt to continue, and Percy didn’t think leaving her to fend for herself in an enchanted room was too dangerous.

Nico took a deep breath as he opened the last room, and so they found Will. He was alone, the Queen of Evil long gone through the window. There was just one final problem: Will had been turned to stone. Nico’s heart plummeted to the ground. It was as good as it was going to get, he needed to act.

So Nico stepped closer to Will, put his hand in the crook of Will’s elbow, and said, “I’m sorry.” Then he shadow-traveled himself and Will away.

He barely heard Piper saying, “He betrayed us!” But even when he did, with all the regret bubbling in his chest, he couldn’t go back. He had to get the wand, for Hazel.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo fic #riordanverse #solangelo au #riordanuniverse #percy jackson #rick riordan #percy jackon and the olympians

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kaykebitez · 3 months

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Phaere Vrinn - Tav Character Sheet

The first of my character directories, since I figured it would be helpful for myself to have character sheets for all my Tavs in one place, and what better place than Tumblr lol. This bio will contain SPOILERS for A Sonnet of Spiders and my fanfiction universe, The Dark Minstrel, so if you're following along and don't want all the lore spoiled pls read at your discretion. <3

Name: Phaere Vrinn (Formerly: Phaere Melarn) Race: (Formerly) Lolth-Sworn Drow (Currently unaffiliated) Class: Bard (College of Lore in Game; More closely aligns with College of Eloquence) Age: 170 Sex: Female Pronouns: She/Her Alignment: Chaotic Good/Neutral (ish) Orientation: Pansexual Partners: Astarion & Halsin

Height: 4'11" Build: S m o l. Petite and lightly curvy. Skin: Dusty lavender with tons of FRECKLES Eyes: Pink (Volo eye Grey) Hair: Moonlight White with a bit of a teal-ish tint Tattoos: Amethyst purple Starpoint Glimmer Tat Favored Weapon: Hand Crossbow or Orin's Dagger Instrument: Flute or Spider's Lyre Favorite Spell: Shatter, Otto's Irresistible Dance Base Stats (I think) CHA: 17 WIS: 12 DEX: 15 STR: 8 INT: 10 CON: 13

Likes: Music, dancing, pomegranates, sparkly clothes, witty jokes, sweet wines, vanilla cake Dislikes: Drow Bullshit (TM), injustice, boring speeches, krakens, spiders (the irony), being underestimated Personality: Phaere can be a bit of a wildcard, but most of the time she's a charming, charismatic performer with a good heart. However, she can dish it as well as she can take it, so if you come at her with hostility, malice, or snark, expect to get it back tenfold. If you meet her with warmth or friendliness, she will absolutely bend over backwards to befriend you or at very least treat you with kindness in return. She reflexively helps the helpless and defends the defenseless, but gets easily angered by injustice, prejudice, or unfair treatment.

While she holds little love for her drow heritage, Phaere is not above using others' prejudices to get what she wants if it suits her. She can play a convincing, evil drow matriarch, even if the act turns her stomach every time she does it. She does have a bit of a cruel streak for those she deems 'evil' or 'deserving' of punishment, which is how she gets around the cognitive dissonance of (usually) not wanting to hurt anyone if she can help it. She would much rather entertain than kill, but if the situation calls for it... well... she can be incredibly sadistic. Anger is the emotion that gets the best of her most often, and when her well of patience runs dry... watch out. You don't want a tiny, pissed-off drow coming to mock you to death.

In love, Phaere is kind, attentive, and selfless, almost to a fault. She puts her partners' needs above her own and rarely asks for what she wants, but she's getting better about it with Astarion and Halsin's help. Her previous lover taught her how relationships work on the surface, and now with the help of her boys she's putting it into practice. Sensual but with a 'take it or leave it' attitude to sexual intimacy, Phaere is more interested in building connections of the heart rather than of the body. But well, she is very good at the bodily connection part, when the mood strikes. She is a bard, after all.

Backstory: (SPOILERS FOR SONNET OF SPIDERS)

Phaere was born in Ched Nasad, a drow city in the Underdark in 1322. The seventh daughter of Halisstra Melarn (or so she was told,) Phaere was ignored often as a child. The smallest of her sisters as well, Phaere was often left in the care of her elder brother, Rylbros, the only male of the family. (As Phaere knew him, he was technically her cousin, an illegitimate child of Halisstra's brother, Q'arlynd, but he was raised as her brother and she considered him as such. Little did she know that SHE was also an illegitimate child of Q'arlynd as well, making her and Rylbros full siblings.) Rylbros, a kind, timid boy with an incredible gift for music, became something of a surrogate parental figure for Phaere, providing her with the affection and care that she never received from her mother or sisters growing up.

Halisstra was tutored in the bardic art of bae'qeshel, and passed on the art to her three eldest daughters, despite none of them being very proficient in the musical arts. Meanwhile, Rylbros and Phaere were gifted in music, and practiced their own music in secret unbeknownst to the rest of the family. Q'arlynd, even though he was forbidden from seeing his son for the most part, even arranged for a private tutor to teach Rylbros the violin as a teenager--the very same bardic tutor that Halisstra had learned from.

Of course, Halisstra had the tutor killed after she insinuated that Phaere, even as a toddler banging on a piano, had more musical talent than all of the Melarn women combined.

Rylbros and Phaere, long since disillusioned with drowic society, made plans to escape Ched Nasad and travel to the surface as a bardic duo when Phaere was around 50 years old. However, during the Silence of Lolth in 1372, Ched Nasad was attacked by Duergar mercenaries, sent by the matron mother of House Melarn's rival house, House Zauvirr. The mercenaries were ordered to kill every last Melarn, and Rylbros and Phaere tried to escape the burning wreckage of their home during the attack.

Rylbros was captured, giving Phaere just enough time to run to freedom. Believing Rylbros to be dead, Phaere ran for days into the wilds of the Underdark, collapsing at the edge of Araumycos, a giant fungal structure located between the ruins of Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan.

There, she stumbled upon a colony of Myconids. Delirious and dehydrated, Phaere played her flute for the Sovereign, unable to do anything else for fear of being killed. Instead, the Sovereign released rapport spores, and taking pity on the young drow, it decided to take Phaere into its colony. She lived with the Myconid colony through several cycles, working as a dedicated bard and tour guide for travelers and as a caretaker for juvenile myconids. It was through this 60-year experience that Phaere unlearned some of her drow teachings, earning a new appreciation for surface races through meeting travelers and building up a connection with nature thanks to her fungal family.

At the encouragement of the third Sovereign, Phaere left the colony at the age of 110, having grown restless and wanting to travel the surface world to spread her music across the land, as she and Rylbros had dreamed of doing in their youth. She wasn't very successful as a bard, however, until she made it to Neverwinter, where she met a 40-something human bard by the name of Robin.

It was love at first sight.

Robin started as a mentor for Phaere, and then as a confidante and friend, teaching her about the intricacies of life on the surface, as well as cultivating her musical talent with other instruments (piano and the lyre, mainly). Robin, with their infinite patience and kindness, opened Phaere's heart to more experiences as the two traveled across Faerun, performing and dazzling audiences in taverns, city squares, and inns alike. Eventually, the two began a romantic relationship, and Phaere stayed with Robin until their dying breaths at the age of 92. The two never married (Robin was not the marrying type) but were faithfully committed for nearly 45 years, even as Robin encouraged Phaere to seek other experiences outside of their relationship.

Phaere never did. She knew she'd have plenty of time for love later in life.

After Robin's death, Phaere traveled alone for 15 years, leaving behind a string of flings and only casual acquaintances, not quite ready to open her heart to friendship or love until the events of BG3. On her way to Baldur's Gate when she was abducted by the Nautiloid, Phaere received a rude awakening in the form of a tadpole, and thus decided fairly quickly (with some bumps along the way) that life was too short and too unpredictable to wallow in loneliness and misery. Robin wouldn't have wanted her to do that.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #baldurs gate tav #my tav #tav oc #kayke ocs #Phaere Vrinn #drow oc #drow tav #drow culture

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