#typically on find my own ocs hot anyway

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Would be funny if in the distant future I finally played Baldur's Gate 3 and was actually into Astarion like everyone else

#I have seen one or two tidbits that interest me but base surface level he's not that funny. #or at least no one's sharing anything I find very funny. #I keep forgetting he's a vampire. #Don't find him remotely attractive but in general Baldur's Gate 3 really isn't. Sexy to me. Despite it clearly having sex all over the plac #It lacks. Sensuality? Something. I don't usually get off to video games on their own anyway #people are also mostly sharing the jokes so you know. I don't have a very full picture here. #None of the men are really attractive to me except for Wyll #typically on find my own ocs hot anyway

[am-i-obsessed---maybe]

Mother Of Shadows (Shadow Of A Bluejay Ch. 7)

A lot of backstory in this one and you know what that means... It's oc time! I like to think of Lady Lilith having just a nice evil british accent, real classic villain vibes. Anyway we're getting closer to the end. We've passed the halfway mark at least so don't forget to tell me what you think of this series so far in my ask box👍

I really wanna get some feedback on how it's going so far, especially if you read the original SHadow Of A Bluebird

Series Masterlist

Wordcount: 2.1k

Star City September 21, 14:30 PST

The final bell couldn't have rang soon enough. Today had been miserable. A physics pop quiz, english presentation day and you'd been up late the night before on patrol and to make it all worse it was hot. So very hot.

You were sweating as you walked out of school only to hear a loud honk when you tried to cross the street.

You turned around, trying to find the moron who honked only to see Roy waiting in one of Ollie's less flashy cars.

You ignored him and tried once again to cross only for him to honk again. This time people were looking.

You weren't typically the self conscious type but it was getting really uncomfortable so you gave in, walking over to Roy if only to tell him to shut it with the horn.

As you approached he lowered his window.

"Hey—" He tried.

"What are you doing here?" You questioned.

"I'm picking you up" He said.

"The first day of school was almost a month ago so I'll repeat. What are you doing here?" You asked again and he groaned.

"Just get in the car will you?" He asked but you stood your ground.

"No. Why are you here? You refuse to answer my texts, you don't pick up my calls, you walk off when we try to invite you onto the team and then when you need help you call Kaldur. You didn't even ask me, you went straight to him so why all of a sudden do you wanna see me?" You questioned and you heard another car behind him honk. He was holding up the parent pick up line.

"Will you just get in the car?!" He exclaimed and when you heard the start of another honk you gave in yet again, slamming the car door behind you as you buckled in. Roy drove off and yet no answer.

"Are you seriously gonna make me ask you again?" You asked, you'd taken a seat in the middle of the bench in the back.

"I wanted to say..." His volume fell off as he spoke.

"What?" You asked.

"I wanted to say I was sorry. I shouldn't have ignored you" He said. You weren't expecting that, though your heart hoped for a long time to hear those words. Three months to be exact.

"And the mission with Kaldur?" You asked.

"I called the cave, he was just the one there" Roy said.

"Yeah, so you went and unified the Rhelaias with him." You grumbled

"will you get out of your own ass for a second, this is important" Roy said and you rolled your eyes one last time.

"yeah, you're apologizing, not a common occurrence" You said.

"And I wanted to show you something." He said and turned into an empty parking lot and pulled out a file, handing it to you.

"what's this?" You asked.

"Open it" He said and carefully you did.

It read:

Mother Of Shadows

Project Iteration A-15

"Where did you get this?" You asked. You hadn't heard that name since Dinah took you in.

"I've been investigating the Shadow's dealing since I went solo, found that in an old lab." Roy said, "Now do you wanna get in the front so we can figure out what to do about this together?" He asked.

"You mean like, a mission? Just the two of us?" You asked and he nodded, smiling.

"Just like old times" He said.

Himalayan Mountains

September 22, 04:53 PKT

You looked out over the snowy mountain peak, snatching the binoculars from Roy.

"Are you sure the rest of the file is here?" You asked him.

"Yes. According to my info this is the base they moved their medical facilities to. Since I found the first file in the remains of their previous base the rest has to be here." Roy explained. He covered his usual suit with a white parka to protect from the cold and try to blend in while you simply used your polar stealth suit.

You nodded, giving him back the binoculars.

"Race you to the bottom of the base" You said and jumped down the mountain side.

"Hey, no fair, you got a head start" He complained, shooting a grappling arrow down to the base of the base and grappling down after you.

When Roy first gave you the file you were skeptical, you didn't want anything to do with the League Of Shadows especially Project MOS, the project that created you.

20 years ago Ra's Al Ghul went looking for a way for his shadows to be able to go toe to toe with the super powered heroes that appeared. The original heroes, the Justice Society didn't bother Ra's. But the Justice League, that was an issue. They thwarted him and his plans and he couldn't have that so he tried to create his own super powered shadows. He recruited a team of scientists who slowly found and isolated a group of genes. They had dozens of test subjects. None of them were successful. Not until you.

To no one's surprise you won the race.

"Beat ya" You said cheekily and Roy rolled his eyes.

"You cheated and we both know it" He said but the smirk on his lips told you it was all jest.

The two of you snuck your way in, working together like a well oiled machine. Three months had passed since you'd so much as had a full conversation with him but the two of you worked as if it'd only been a few minutes.

You made it into the records room without raising alarm and began to look through the filing cabinets.

You groaned, having gone through another row of files, "I can't tell what kind of organizational system this is, we can't just spend hours sifting through this" you said.

"Stop complaining and just look" Roy said and you huffed. The next few minutes were quiet and then the sounds of a body hitting the floor.

"Red Arrow—" You said and gasped as you saw what was in front of you.

Shadows filled the halls, all standing behind a woman, Roy's body unconscious on the floor below her.

You took a step back and collided with the filling cabinets.

When Ra's Al Ghul found his team of scientists he put one of his own in charge, after all he had to make sure that this crew stayed loyal to him with their findings. The woman he placed in charge of Project A- Mother Of Shadows was a woman by the name of Lady Lilith. A Geneticist who claimed she could find the purpose of any gene.

"It has been a long time, my child, have you finally come home?" The woman asked.

"What have you done to him?" You asked, fear flowing into your posture and voice.

"He is only knocked out. He will be fine. You on the other hand... I thought I taught you better than to get caught" She said.

After 14 failed attempts to create her own superhumans Lady Lilith decided that the only way to succeed was to use new donors. Until that point they had only used eggs and sperm from specimens that held the group of genes they discovered were responsible for the development of superhuman abilities. None of the tests born of those specimens survived long enough. Instead they used Lady Lilith as a donor. She did not possess the superhuman genes. Instead She spliced together multiple of the previous donors to create a viable embryo.

The woman motioned for the shadows to enter and two took hold of your arms.

"Come now child, we have tests to run" The woman said. "And bring the other one, we would not want any harm to come to him"

Infinity Island 5 years ago

You stood panting and sweaty in your black stealth suit, the rest of the combatants lying dead on the ground of the training room floor.

Lady Lilith stood on the balcony above, watching happily.

"As promised Great One, a superpowered shadow at your disposal" She said, pointing at you.

You fell to your knees in exhaustion. Still panting heavily. You were only 10 years old. Your body wasn't designed for such extreme exertion though perhaps it was made for it.

"And is flight the only ability they have developed?" Ra's asked.

"Do not misunderstand Lady Lilith, this quite satisfactory but I only think, what use is flight alone against super strength or speed?" He continued.

"Give it time oh, Great One. It is still early and the genetic potential for more remains" She said.

League Of Shadows Base, Himalayan Mountains September 22, 07:07

You'd been poked, prodded and examined since the shadows brought you into what appeared the be the base's lab, strapped down to the table. Beside you Roy was laid out, the same tests were being done to him, or maybe they were different, you weren't sure but he too was poked and prodded.

"Alright child, up you go" The voice of Lady Lilith said over a speaker as the restraints around your wrists and ankles opened. You sat up slowly and looked beside you to Roy.

"What do you want mother?" You asked wearily.

"Oh stop asking these silly questions and get up" She said.

She led you out to a training ground where she pushed you down the stairs. As your body fell you jumped into the air, landing niceley at the bottom.

"Let's see just what Canary has taught you darling" She said and clapped her hands, a dozen shadows running out onto the training grounds around you.

The first one tried to tackle you. He failed miserably.

The next attacked with his sword, it soon became your sword and on and on it went, all the while Lady Lilith stood above and watched.

When the final shadows laid unconscious on the ground you looked up, panting.

"What are you doing to Red Arrow?" You asked and Lady Lilith smiled.

"It's so sweet how much you care for that boy, he came all the way here with you so I assume he knows your history, what a surprise how fine he is with it" She commented.

"What do you want mother?" You asked, disheartened.

"Oh it's not what I want dear. It's what you will give" She said.

"I won't come back!" You told her, surprisingly boldly.

"Oh darling we discontinued project MOS ages ago. We work with mercenaries now. Of course someone with your abilities can always come in handy" She said and you understood.

"And what would you do if I said no?" You asked but Lady Lilith laughed.

"well will you?" She asked.

"I'm not the person you trained me to be" You told her and her smile was eery.

"Darling child, if you want to believe a few years with some heroes can undo years of training as well as genetics be my guest but I'm sorry to tell you that unlike the surprisingly accepting Red Arrow the rest of your team may not understand as much" She said, slowly coming down the stairs.

"How do you?" You asked but she tutted and shook her head.

"You didn't think we'd just let Canary take you off without keeping a watchful eye? Before you decide think about what Aqualad would say about your past. What about Kid Flash? Or Robin?" She asked. Once she was close enough she took your face in her palm.

"Do you think the Justice League would trust you if they knew just how many people you've killed?" She asked and you tried to look away. The only ones who knew everything about you were Dinah and Ollie and this was exactly why it was important that it stay like that.

"What about Red Arrow? Does he know? Does he accept you anyway?" She asked and tears began to flow down your cheeks under your mask.

"Please just, don't tell them" You whispered.

"Of course not my child. I would never" She said and placed a small device into a pouch on your utility belt.

"Now, I think it's time you took your sidekick friend home, don't you?" She asked.

Half an hour later you were helping a barely conscious Roy back up a Himalayan mountain.

"We can't just leave" He tried to say but you shook your head.

"I don't care about the file. We were lucky the shadow that got you didn't have time to alert anyone else" You lied.

"Now come on, we're going home" You told him.

#reader insert #dc x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #yj x gender neutral reader #yj x reader #young justice x reader #metahuman reader #shadow of a bluejay #roy harper #red arrow #league of shadows

[jamessunderlandgf]

is there anything about one of ur oc's you've been Dying to talk about?

ARIANA 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🩵🩵🩵🤭🤭🤭🤭 YES and i’m throwing it under the cut so i’m not annoying but—

so. odette is the girlie that’s mostly occupying my thoughts at this very moment and i have been trying to find inspo for what her house looks like but i can describe it way better so HEHE

long story short she’s an imperial silk spinner and her family has been doing it for. generations so she comes from old old OLDDD money from selling hand-spun silks and fabric and textiles so naturally she has a family manor/mansion, what have you.

but she is also the only living member of her family and has been for. a while :( so she’s let her house fall into just the most uninviting, dusty, ancient house cs she still LIVES there but it’s more akin to a haunted house. she haunts that shit cs she’s also just become this shell of a human being who never leaves like she’s trapped there. etc. typical poltergeist motif yk

but the house itself looks great on the outside but step foot in there at your own risk cs there’s a million spiders and bats in the rafters but it’s still like. in tact? it’s just like an old attic that nobody has stepped foot in for a hundred years except her. the house is like a still life moment in time in the opposite direction cs it’s still NICE. like there’s so many decorations and tapestries and plants that never seem to wither. it’s just dull and there’s no light and it’s fucking DEPRESSING. anyways. she’s my angel my silly rabbit and i love her

but also she has this workshop where she spins her silk and her thread that is just a hot fucking mess. disorganized as all hell like the artist she is but let it be known the rest of her house is fucking immaculately organized. let it also be known that she doesn’t let anyone into her workshop for a long time. it’s her meltdown palace

and also! her bathroom is fuckin’ beautiful cs it’s her safe space and she spends a lot of time in the bath cs it makes her feel like a person when she’s taking care of herself. 🫶🏻

#god. this was a lot huh #JSBFJSN #thank u ariana i love u to bits #ariana #asks #oc: odette haliçi

[meefy]

6., 17., 19., 20. For the OC ask! 🗣️🗣️🔥🔥

I assumed we were doing AnS OCs so let's gooo ~

6. If they’re a fan of Hot Chocolate, Tea, or Coffee, how do they like either of those drinks prepared?

Xyvie: Likes herbal teas and usually got lots of remedies from Shirayuki.

Féanne: also enjoys herbal teas, usually mint ones. She doesn’t typically go for hot beverages but that unsurprisingly changes when she moves to Lyrias.

Feiran: likes coffee with cream and sugar in the mornings.

Aleyan: likes black tea with cookies to dip in it.

17. If your OC was a musical artist, what genres would they do?

Gonna stick to the music they'd be familiar with in their universe! I did this more as what genres they enjoy.

Xyvie: she loves folk music, but anything with fiddle. She can't play but she still loves it. Adores listening to Raji playing...

Féanne: she likes what we'd consider "coffee shop" style music. Just soothing background melodies. Nothing too high strung or intense.

Feiran: longer classical works that tell a story. He finds it easy and comforting to get lost in.

Aleyan: very fast paced and dramatic classical pieces. Think anything played in a minor key. He likes fantasizing about battle while that sort of music plays.

19. Does your OC like to collect things? What kind of things do they collect?

Xyvie: recipes and spices.

Féanne: she helped Feiran with his rock collection, but doesn't attach herself to "things" very easily. She is the type to keep any letter someone sends her, though (the nice ones, anyway).

Feiran: ROCKS

Aleyan: he makes his own capes and cloaks and has a wide variety in his closet.

20. Was your OC inspired by anything? Another character? A person?

Xyvie: as one of my self inserts she is obviously partially inspired by my own self. Some of her health issues are also based on my own, and she has my shy temperament as well. I imagine her voice to sound like the English VA for Fern from Frieren.

Féanne: she is me and I am her. Or at least who I'd want to be. Bold, independent, comfortable in her body, and engaged to Lata.

Feiran: I wanted Féanne to have a twin who was her opposite in terms of temperament but similar in appearance even if they weren't the same gender. I imagine his voice to sound like the English VA for Suzaku from Code Geass.

Aleyan: I wanted Féanne and Feiran to have an older brother who was a feared warrior, and needed an antagonist for my Féanne fic. His eyes are inspired by Mahito’s from Jujutsu Kaisen.

#asks #oc:xyvie #oc:feiran #oc:féanne #oc:aleyan

[awesomelyanxiouspanda]

A Fiercely Bleeding Heart (Lucifer/OFC): Chapter 4

Story summary: Emery (Our lovely OFC) owns a thriving coffee shop smack dab in the middle of Monroe City, Mo. She’s well known for her unique coffee drinks and her “coffee charity”. What happens when a woman with too much heart- and not nearly enough common sense- comes across the fallen archangel in his mostly human state? Will Lucifer behave, or will he bite the hand that (quite literally) feeds him?

Warnings for this chapter specifically: THE SMUT IS FINALLY BEGINNING! We don’t have a full smut scene in here, but there’s a sexy little prelude and some background growth between Lucifer and Emery!

Warnings/Tags: Loosely based around S.13 E. 13! Plus size OC, OC is gullible and a big softie, Lucifer in his nearly human form, Soft Lucifer, Dean and Sam cosplaying FBI agents again, Canon typical violence, Non-Canon compliant story line, Soulmate AU-ish?, smut in future chapters, canon typical cursing, NOT a slow burn, not beta’d we die like our king Crowley, smut, mild smut, vaginal fingering,

A/N: It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written smut so I hope this is passable! 

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

After an absolute overabundance of food was brought to the room, I was left to my own devices. It felt a little silly to just accept my current predicament but I kept trying to rationalize it to myself anyway. It wasn’t like I could just get up and leave, right? Who knew what enemies waited outside the room? Lucifer had said something about still dealing with Asmodeus and his people after all. And how would I even begin to find my way around? It’s quite possible there wasn’t even a direct route out of hell. Not to mention… I really didn’t want to let Lucifer down by disappearing or disobeying him. So, after eating and using the restroom, I simply collapsed back into the giant bed once more. It took no time to start feeling drowsy and, as I dozed off, I couldn’t help but think about asking Lucifer how to buy one of these beds for my own home.

“Rise and shine, princess!”

“Fuck!”

Heart pounding and eyes swimming nauseatingly, I rocketed upright and hastily searched the room in fear. Asmodeus. It had to be him!

“Whoa, whoa there, doll! Easy now,” Lucifer’s words filtered through my panic.

Finally, I spotted the fallen angel as he approached the bed and I couldn’t help the relieved sigh that escaped.

“Jesus, Lucifer, don’t- don’t scare me like that!” I snapped.

Lucifer snorted and lifted his hands in the air, as if in surrender, as he sat beside me.

There was the strangest mixture of warmth and coolness radiating from him as his thigh pressed against mine. It was honestly soothing. As I let go of the fear and irritation of being startled from my sleep, I definitely didn’t sneak a look at the massive difference between our legs, nor imagine how good it would feel to sit on his thigh... A shudder ran up my spine at the mental image. I quickly kicked myself back into reality and shot him a weak smile.

“So, uh, what’s going on?” I asked.

The corners of his mouth curled up into a little smirk and he bumped his shoulder into mine.

“I figured if you were gonna be here for a while, I should at least give you a tour of the place! Unless you wanna be stuck in here alone, of course-”

“No, I mean, yes, please! That would be great,” I sighed happily.

Just the thought of being alone again for god knows how long was enough to make my heart twist. I was so used to being surrounded by the hubbub of the shop that just these last few hours of solitude were enough to last me a lifetime.

Brows knitting in thought, I let my gaze travel around the room in search of some sign of my phone before a groan escaped.

“The shop! How long have I been down here? Fuck, they’re probably sick with worry. I haven’t even been able to do the orders! Everything is going to-”

Cool fingers rested over my mouth and instantly shut me up, my heart leaping into my throat. Eyes darting up to meet his, I gave him a confused look to which he simply grinned.

“Already took care of that. Your little monkeys were sent a text letting them know you were sick and that you’d be closed until you were better. Now, if you promise you’re done with your little freakout, I’ll let you go.”

Part of me wanted to rebel just to keep his hands on me for a while longer, but logic won out in the end and I gave him a little nod.

“So you have my phone?” I asked.

“Yup,” he said, popping the p cutely, “But you’re not getting it back until I’m certain you’re one hundred percent healthy and able to go back. Capiche?”

The look I gave him only earned a bigger grin in response, telling me all I needed to know about arguing with him.

With a sigh, I said, “Fine. You win. Show me… hell?”

“Gladly!”

He stood and offered up an elbow, which I happily took. As my hand slid into his elbow, forcing me to stand all the much closer to him, I couldn’t stop the little smile and butterflies that followed.

“Oh, and a word of advice?” he said as he opened the door, “I wouldn’t run off alone. I’m still trying to get things in order and some of these droogs think they can disobey.”

That sounded just lovely. Thankfully, I knew I was safe at Lucifer’s side, but it did worry me for any time I was alone in the room in the near future. Tightening my grip on his arm, I scooted slightly closer as we passed a pack of people in the hall and attempted to school my features into something other than fear.

“I wasn’t planning on it. I trust you to keep me safe,” I told him honestly.

After what Asmodeus put me through? There was no way in hell- ha- that I would chance getting caught by some of his loyalists.

“Good. Now, do you have anything in particular you’d like to see, or avoid?” he asked.

After thinking for a moment, I replied, “I’d like to avoid anything too… gory. Or anything involving torture with everything that happened.”

I hoped he didn’t think me weak for that but, even if he did, there was no way I’d want to see it even if I hadn’t been through that. Horror movies with fake gore, I could stand. The thought of seeing a person tortured in real life though, made my stomach ache.

He stopped suddenly and my gaze was drawn up to him in confusion, only to find him staring intently down at me.

“I wouldn’t take you there even if you hadn’t said anything. You’re too good for that.”

Somehow, the way he spat out the word good made it sound like an insult. I tried not to let it bother me and instead flashed him a warm smile.

“I appreciate that. Um, maybe we could see the throne room? I got to see some of it before but I’d like to get a better look at it with you there,” I offered.

“Good choice, princess. I’ve got some business to attend to there anyway,” he praised giddily.

My heart swelled with happiness. This was going well so far.

“I have a silly question,” I sighed after a few quiet moments.

“What’s that?” he replied.

Looking up at him, I asked something I’d been dying to ask since last night.

“Tell me about yourself? I mean, whatever you feel comfortable sharing of course. I was never really a religious person. I don’t know much about Christianity, much less what is actually true, because you don’t seem like the evil, fire, and brimstone that the bible made you out to be.” Apparently, I had hit a nerve because he suddenly went stiff and his jaw clenched hard. I almost backpedaled and apologized for asking such a personal question, but then his eyes met mine.

“You really want to know?” he asked quietly.

I nodded and said, “Whatever you want to share with me. I feel you know so much about me and I know nothing about you.”

With a heavy sigh, he began talking. The halls were confusing and tiring to walk, probably because my body was still recovering, but it was easy to ignore with the conversation flowing between us. It was enthralling to hear him talk about it all; heaven, GOD who was apparently a giant dick, the angels, his fall, and his reasoning. I had expected something chaotic but I was slowly coming to understand the sad reality of it all. Unfortunately, we came to a large set of doors before he was finished, and I knew the conversation was put aside for now when he waved the doors open to show the throne room.

“It’s much brighter in here now,” I mumbled in surprise.

“Yeah, Asmodeus was one for theatrics,” he chuckled, “Come, sit while I call the guys down.”

To my surprise, he led me straight to the throne and gestured me forward.

“Wait, you want me to sit here?!” I gasped in disbelief, “But, where are you going to sit?”

“I mean, you could always just sit in my lap but I prefer to stand when addressing the idiots,” he said with a wink.

Face warming, I nodded in understanding before carefully sitting on the chair. It was much easier to see all the intricate carvings up close and I couldn’t help but marvel at the craftsmanship of it all. It was gorgeous.

Lucifer snapped and suddenly there were four being in the center of the room. He walked around behind the throne and leaned against the back as he started talking.

“Updates, people. Where are we on finding the Losechesters?”

The group looked at each other nervously before the only female-presenting one spoke up.

“We haven’t heard anything from them, sir. We tried looking-”

“You’re telling me no one has found them yet?” Lucifer bit out gruffly.

Eyes widening in shock, I watched the group of four demons before us practically cowered to the ground. He hadn’t even threatened them yet and they were kneeling, preparing for the worst.

“How?! There are thousands of you idiots and you can’t find two little hunters?!”

“S-Sir, if- if I may?” the shortest one of the four pled, “They seem to have gone off the grid. Even the other hunters haven’t heard from them, and there is no love lost between them, as you know.”

Lucifer scoffed and my eyes found his tall form as he stalked around to stand as a wall between the demons and me, hand lifted in the air in the form of a snap symbolically.

“How many does it take to pass along a message, princess?” Lucifer asked suddenly.

Caught like a deer in headlights, I stammered out in surprise, “Uh, o-one?”

“Hmm, you heard the lady.”

There was a loud chorus of pleas before he snapped and there was a big billow of black ash across the floor. I tried to peek out around him and found only the shortest of the four left.

Oh.

“Run along now and spread it to the rest of the goon squad that, if progress isn’t made soon, they’re just as replaceable.”

“Y-Yes- Yes sir!” the demon squeaked out.

I couldn’t deny that it was slightly amusing to see a full-grown man, a demon no less, act like a scolded child. My amusement was placated when Lucifer suddenly spun around, leaning down and pinning me into the throne with a hand on either arm. Fuck, he really liked doing that, and he looked damn good doing it.

“Now that that’s done, where would you like to go next, doll?”

…

“Lucifer?” I called out nervously.

I was almost certain I was in the throne room again, except this time it was dark and empty- save for myself and a mysteriously shadowed figure upon the chair. As if on cue, a light blinked on above the throne, and there sat Lucifer in all his glory; One leg propped up on the right arm while he rested his elbow on the left, lounging about as if he had no care in the world.

“I knew you’d find me eventually,” he cooed warmly, “Now, come here.”

Swallowing thickly, I nodded once and walked across the floor. The closer I got, the faster my heart raced. Was this finally happening? Were my dreams finally going to come true?

He snapped, pointing to the floor before him as he spun to sit properly in the chair, and I wasted no time dropping to my knees. A hand in my hair drew me closer until my knees pressed against the cold concrete holding the throne up.

“You are just an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” he mused.

I nodded in answer but my movements were halted as pain shot through my scalp, his fingers gripping tight enough to jerk a choked gasp from my throat.

“Answer when you are spoken to.”

“Y-Yes, Lord Lucifer,” I breathed out.

Despite my best efforts, lust shone through painfully obvious in my tone and my face heated warm at his chuckle.

“You’d do anything I ask you to,” he sighed happily.

Again, I almost nodded but this time I thought better of it, before whispering, “Yes Lord Lucifer, please tell me what you want.”

My eyes snapped open but, rather than the irritation I had begun to expect from being woken up from such a good dream, I felt uncertainty. What had woken me up? I could feel from the gritty burning in my eyes that I hadn’t slept very long, despite being exhausted from the full day of exploring with Lucifer.

“You know, when I heard you praying to me, I expected trouble, maybe some of the lower lifeforms messing with you. But this? This is so much better.”

That voice. Jerking upright, I instantly spotted Lucifer leaning up against the dark wardrobe across the room. He looked a vision. I couldn’t help the way my gaze followed his movements as he crossed his arms over his chest with a smirk. Gone was his tan jacket, leaving him in a simple white t-shirt that exposed his thick muscles delectably, and my thighs clenched traitorously at the sight.

It took a few moments but I finally registered what he had said and shot him a confused look.

“Wait, what?” I asked, “I wasn’t pray-”.

My dream. Realization hit hard and it took everything in me not to sink in on myself. How the fuck did that count as praying?!

His smirk widened as he lifted away from his perch and crossed the room just to stop a mere foot or two in front of me. He had to know what he was doing, and how the current position put my eyes in a very intimate place, not that I was complaining.

A hand ran into my hair before gently tangling in my curls and drawing my head back. I didn’t dare resist. How could I?

“Lucifer, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

My words were cut off as he suddenly shoved me back onto the bed. I wasn’t given the chance to react before he was over me, elbows on either side of my head and hips dangerously close to the apex of my thighs. It felt like my heart stopped the instant I felt his cool breath across my neck.

“I’ve tried really fucking hard to be good, you know?” he breathed softly again my skin, “I tried to pretend you were just some random hairless ape. Tried to ignore this damn soulmate pull, but it’s useless. You don’t understand how damn hard it’s been to resist you, princess. The way you look at me with those sweet doe eyes, the way you smell, the way you trust me with touching you- Fuck, I just want to destroy you!”

Fear and excitement battled in my heart as I felt his lips and teeth rest against my throat. But rather than bite me, as I had expected, he simply placed a soft kiss before running his nose up toward my ear.

“S-Soulmate?” I asked timidly.

“Mmhmm,” he groaned as he finally rutted his hips against mine, “Even without it, I think it’d be hard to resist you. You’re just so… pure. You’re like the opposite of everything I am and-”

“I’m not a virgin though.”

He snorted out a laugh before pressing another kiss in the hollow spot below my ear, spurring a weak mewl from my throat.

“You know what I mean, Emery,” he said, voice thick with lust, “You’re kind, caring, charitable, trusting. So damn beautiful.”

Gods, the way my name sounded coming off his tongue. It was swoon worthy. I tried to argue but all my words were lost in a sea of bliss as he rolled his hips against my core again. Instinctively my hands bunched up in his t-shirt at his waist and pulled him down again. It felt so fucking good. Too good. Part of me feared I’d end up climaxing before we could even get to the good part, like some kind of loser; The other part of me begged for that, just to take the edge off the heat consuming my veins.

“Lucifer, please,” I begged breathlessly, arching in search of relief that only he could provide, “I need- fuck!”

The burn of his teeth in my neck sent a wave of pleasure from head to toe. One hand came up to curl in his blonde locks, hold him close in hopes of more of the sweet pain, and the other sought flesh under his shirt.

He let out a low grunt and sighed, “What are you doing to me, princess?”

The ripple of his muscles flexing under my palm only increased my desire for more so I did just that. Tugging at his shirt, I drew it up to his shoulders until he finally lifted up and reached behind to tug it off.

“Holy fuck,” I whispered as my eyes greedily took in the sight above me.

I couldn’t resist running my hands up his abdomen when he stretched. The way his muscles flexed taut before relaxing was rewarding beyond measure. He had what could be considered a slight dad bod, stomach soft when relaxed with broad and strong shoulders and firm arms. There was no denying the power in his body, angelic presence or not, and it was beautiful; he was beautiful. As I watched the way his body reacted to my touches, my need began to fall to the back of my mind. I wanted nothing more than to please and worship the angel above me first.

Was that sacrilegious? Fuck, who cared!

My nails left faint red lines down his stomach before my hands found his jeans.

“Uh-uh, not yet.”

Without even touching me, he forced my hands back and above my head, and I found myself unable to move them no matter how hard I tried. When I looked to him for answers, he only smirked before leaning down once more.

“How-”

“I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeve, doll,” he purred, “I could do things to you that you couldn’t even imagine in your wildest dreams.”

My eyes fluttered shut and a soft groan left my lips in disbelief. It was too daunting to stare straight into those soul-searching blues when he said such things.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded softly, “I need to hear it. Consent means everything to us- to me, Emery.”

He was really trying to kill me, wasn’t he? Did he understand how hard it was for me to accept this was even happening, that to say it out loud would make it almost too… real?

“Unless you want this to stop.”

“No!” I snapped, eyes flying open in fear, “Please, don’t stop. Just- Just give me a second to acclimate, okay?”

He said nothing but the fact he didn’t immediately leave was reassuring. Swallowing hard, I pulled against my bonds and was allowed one hand free. I grabbed one of his hands before drawing it over to my lips and the way his eyes darkened when I kissed his thumb sent another roll of heat through my core.

“I want this. I want to touch you and- and you to- touch me,” I stammered out with burning cheeks.

How was I supposed to be okay with asking an angel to touch me? I didn’t deserve it. I was nothing compared to him and yet here he was, indulging my deepest desires.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

A keening moan escaped before I could stop it and my hand was jerked back into position, locked in invisible bonds once more. He snapped his fingers once and I was suddenly aware of the cool temperature of the room against my skin.

Did he just- Sure enough, when I looked down, I found my shirt and bra gone, leaving me just in my skirt and panties. I wasn’t even given the chance to react upon my embarrassment with the way he attacked my neck.

“Fuck!” I gasped out needily.

The burn of his teeth felt almost too much but then the caress of his cool tongue across the wound made it so much better. It was unbearable, having to lay there and let him touch me while being unable to reciprocate. I wanted nothing more than to be able to prove to him how good I could be.

“You need to tell me if something is too much,” he said between gentle bites down my throat to my collarbone, “I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve got a pretty good grasp on the human pain threshold but this is all new to me. Some of Nick’s memories help but, well, that’s not the same as first-hand experience, which I have very little of.”

In the middle of my nod, I froze, brain slowly catching up to what he had said. Did he mean… Was Lucifer a virgin? Forcing my eyes open, I caught his gaze and timidly asked him such.

He smirked and said, “Never felt the need to. Another great thing about being an angel, no sex drive. Had an encounter once but it wasn’t really anything to write home about.”

“But then, why-”

At that, his eyes darkened once more and he leaned in close, lips hovering mere centimeters from mine. I waited impatiently but didn’t dare interrupt.

“You’re different. Maybe it’s because I met you when my grace was so low I was nearly human, or maybe it’s because you’re one of Nick’s possible soulmates. No matter the reason, I’m drawn to you, princess. You make me want to do things- experience things- I’ve never even considered.”

Shivers ran across my being at his admission. I made a mental note to ask more about the Possible? soulmate thing later.

“Which means,” he continued on seamlessly, “I need to know what works, what you like.”

“O-Okay, so far, you’re doing amazing,” I admitted softly.

“Flattery gets you everywhere,” he shot back with a wink.

As he retreated to his previous line of exploration, my eyes clamped shut once more. Maybe I’d be able to handle seeing a literal angel touching me in the future, but for now, my brain couldn’t handle it mixed with the sensations he was evoking.

My brain emptied of everything other than little begs and chants of his name as one hand cupped my breast. His calloused skin felt divine against my sensitive flesh, my back arching into his touch for more. Round and round he circled around my breast, slowly coming closer and closer to where I needed him most. When he finally ran a rough thumb over my hardened nipple, it tore a pathetic whimper from my lips. I would have been mortified if he hadn’t moaned in response.

“Look at you,” he breathed out quietly, “Father help me.”

Before I could respond, his mouth was on my untouched nipple and all words died on my tongue, only his name sounding in the silent room. Waves of pleasure rocked through my core as his teeth grazed my tender flesh, jumping up in intensity when he started sucking hard.

No matter how much I tried to relieve the ache between my thighs against his hips, it wasn’t enough to satiate the need for him. It was hard to be patient when it’d been years since I’d had any kind of sexual release other than my own hand, and even more so when no one had ever taken the time to explore my body like he was.

“Lucifer, please, more!” I practically cried.

He hmmed lowly in his throat and released his hold on my breast, hand skirting down my belly to my skirt. I was suddenly thankful for the high-waisted skirt covering the trouble area of my stomach, but it was gone as soon as I’d thought it, his hand dipping beneath the fabric and caressing the soft curve of my belly. It was hard to focus on that once his fingers continued on to my panties, my body nearly collapsed in on itself.

I wanted to cry when he hesitated, popping off my nipple with a groan.

“This is okay?” he asked.

“Yes, please just-”

Head slamming back against the bed, my throat constricted in a silent scream as his fingers finally pressed between my lips.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-

My heart lurched in shock when his mouth was suddenly against my jawline, pressing open-mouthed kisses so close yet so far away. The dual sensation created a sinful mixture of want and need.

“You’re so wet,” he gasped, shock evident in his voice, “Is that because of me?”

“F-Fuck, yes,” I whined back.

Hips arching into his hand, I helped guide him until his fingers brushed against my clit and my hands instinctively jerked against the binds.

“Here?” he asked as he cautiously repeated the motion.

I tried to answer but it was too hard to speak, pleasure already growing with leaps and bounds to the point my brain was mush. I managed a nod and a frantic, “yes” before collapsing back against the bed with a whine. It was too much and yet I never wanted anything more. Each circle of his fingers brought about new levels of bliss, edging me closer and closer to that final ledge while my lips spewed unending praises.

My heart felt like it was going to explode when he suddenly licked up the shell of my ear and his hand left its previous pursuit to slip further down. The instant his fingers found my opening, I abandoned all humility and spread my thighs wider, begging him to continue.

“Yes, before you ask, yes,” I rushed out hastily, “Please!”

Lucifer let out a husky chuckle that sent my hairs on end and his teeth found purchase in my earlobe, fingers carefully sliding in at the same time. Whether spurred on by previous memories or instinct alone, his thumb came up to my clit and resumed the gentle circles as his fingers began a slow rhythm.

“Such a quick learner, good girl,” he praised lowly, “Do you want your hands back now?”

I nodded frantically and suddenly my binds were gone. Without a second thought, I grabbed a handful of his hair and drew him into a hungry kiss. There was a moment where he froze as if in shock, but thankfully it passed quickly before he kissed me back eagerly. It was all teeth and tongue and, though messy, I knew never wanted it any other way again.

I could feel myself crying when I drew back for breath. My orgasm was so close I could practically taste it.

“Don’t stop, please,” I whimpered between heavy breaths, “So close.”

The growl he let out was inhuman and devastatingly delicious and then his mouth was on mine once more.

“Do it, let go for me, princess,” he grunted between ravenous kisses.

His motions grew rough, fingers thrusting hard and faster but never losing their rhythm as I bucked into his hand. It was impossible to control my body as I chased that high, and when I finally felt that peak rushing forth, my hands frantically found his shoulders to keep some grip on reality.

“Oh god, oh fuck-”

Lucifer let out a snarl and snapped, “Don’t use his name. It’s not his fingers that are inside you. Are they? Try again! Tell me! Who is touching you? Who is pleasing you? Hmm?!”

“I’m- I’m sor- sorry, Luci-Lucifer!”

“That’s right, princess, you’re MINE!”

That last little barrier snapped and, for just a little moment in time, it felt like the world stopped. And then it all came crashing back down with a scream of his name. I could feel the tears streaming down my face as I jerked him down and buried my face into his neck, sobbing out in relief and ecstasy as he continued to finger fuck me through the torrential bliss. It didn’t take long for his touch to become overstimulating and my thighs instinctively clamped shut to stop him.

“Fuck,” he hissed quietly as he gently extracted his hand, “I think I get it now.”

Though thoroughly exhausted, I managed to open my eyes and give him a questioning look.

“Sex, the urge behind it,” he explained.

I couldn’t help the snort that escaped and the dopey smile that spread across my lips.

“You haven’t even seen the best part,” I told him.

Grabbing his hand, I gently pulled him fully back over me and gathered up all my strength to lean up and kiss him. Thankfully he made it easy by leaning down to meet me. These were much softer, much calmer, but no less passionate. Despite my body demanding rest, I knew we were nowhere near done, if the hardness pressing against my thigh was any indication.

“Give me a second to recover but don’t go anywhere,” I murmured, “I want to repay the favor.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was nervous. Catching his gaze, I rested my palm over his cheek and traced gentle designs across his scruff.

“I’m certain. I could literally want nothing more in the world right now.”

#Lucifer smut #supernatural lucifer #supernatural lucifer fanfiction #Lucifer/OFC #mild smut

[tahinnia]

✎ : What is your favorite genre to write for in roleplay?

✉ : What’s your favorite genre to read in roleplay?

✘ : Are there any genres you refuse to write for?

✎ : What is your favorite genre to write for in roleplay?

Nothing specific? But I can explain what I like!

I love anything that adds lore and development. Something that you can re-read, look back into. Something that really impacts the character in their "main SL's". This is also why I allow muse requests, I genuinely love to give people a chance to be able to experience actual character development bc this is actually really hard to find anymore. Especially with OC's. May it be for the muse to grow into a better person or grow into a villain.

However, I'm also really good with banter/slice-of-life/etc. I love silliness and chaos as well!

I also admit my obvious guilty pleasure is that I love to write smut and cute ships. Love me some hot kinky stuff that is just not meaningful and just not that deep. Just mindlessly mutually self-indulgent. (However, I also try to be careful and not get too stuck into this bc it sadly can also lead to people not treating me fairly & only see me as a smut writer.)

And believe it or not, as much as I can like a lil' drama or just mindlessly write cute ships just for fun (which is unfortunately also something I need to be careful with bc people are so quick to assume that I "ship chase" while I just am having fun with the other party consenting), my favorite ships are actually the type that super romantic and endearing... The Gomez Addams x Morticia Addams type of romance will always be #1. Especially when ship kids appear, develop, and grow up as well. I seriously root for this, actually! ♥

✉ : What’s your favorite genre to read in roleplay?

I like to add this first: I do read 'em in my breaks or when I just feel like it (even when I'm busy or should be sleeping lmao). I check on blogs manually, if I like them. I will try to ♥ as much as I can bc the attention is what will keep blogs alive. If you want (insert fandom) RP to STAY ALIVE on Tumblr, you kinda gotta motivate others. I also will search or even follow personal tags if the interest is very high so I can keep up much easier.

Anyway, what I like to read: My favorite canon x canon ships (some are rarepairs. I will definitely kinda fixate if it falls in my taste), fun(ny)/cute slice of life stuff, and anything that's like, really high-quality; fanfiction-esque/SL's. Like, I love to read stuff that's like something you'd typically search for on Ao3 or Wattpad!!

✘ : Are there any genres you refuse to write for?

I don't know how to be specific but I'll explain it in my own way: I'm open to a lot but I won't write stuff that's just way too problematic/questionable. It is obvious that I can write dark/heavy/serious themes. But I will NOT write Torture Porn/Trauma Porn, incest, pedo, necro, zoo, etc...

I want to be respectful/sensible and will do my best to be responsible. I want to refrain from portrayals that could harm marginalized groups/victims/etc and I also try to responsibly tag my content.

#☆)) ooc #☆)) askbox

[kurlyfrasier]

The Summons

Pairing: None, really. I mean Leia Organa x Han Solo are in it for a hot minute, but they are not the focal point lol

Synopsis: Captain Carson Teva gets a summons from Mandalore requesting his presence. OR: Teva meets the Mand’alor

Word Count: 3600ish

A/N: So I’ve had this idea in my head for a WHILE and finally got it out lol I’m talking, like, this was my 2nd Mando fic idea here, people lol So excited to finally share it! Anyway, it was supposed to be super short and funny and ended up being a little longer than anticipated, but I still like it. Might write another part to tie up a small thing or might write this in Din or Cara’s pov lol cuz well, you’ll see. I think it would be fun to read their pov. ENJOY!

Warnings: none. This is all for fun people lol

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Wars/Mandalorian anything. I know very little of the lore. All Mando’a words found at mandoa.org. Everything else I typically find on Wookieepedia or make it up. OCs are my own.

Captain Carson Teva stared unblinking at the holovid message, not hearing a word that was said. He heard it the first time. Or, he thinks he heard it the first time. Maybe it was the seventh time when the rush of blood in his ears finally stopped long enough for him to listen. Either way, he was lucky he hadn’t crashed into an asteroid field before going into hyperspace.

As a New Republic X-wing pilot who was often patrolling the Outer Rim, he had seen and heard many things. He himself had even bent the rules a few times. Sometimes, he thought, what happens in the Outer Rim, should stay in the Outer Rim. With this message though, he needed to get back to Coruscant and speak to the senator. She, he knew, would want to see this message in person. Otherwise she might think it a joke. Heck, he thought it might be a joke.

~~~

“Is Senator Organa available?” Teva hadn’t even waited for his feet to hit the ground with the question.

“Last I saw she was just heading back to her apartment,” Trapper Wolf, who was only waiting for him to return so he could head out, furrowed his brows. Teva wished he could explain, but he still wasn’t sure if Wolf was interested in their - at the moment - small band of rebels. So, he ignored the look with a quick thanks and hopped on the closest speeder for hire to the Organa-Solo home, a small holo-pad hidden in his hand.

Han Solo answered the door with a curt, “What.”

“Sorry to bother you, sir. I’m Captain Teva, New Republice X-wing pilot, looking for Senator Organa.”

Solo raised his brows, “Must be important to come knocking on our home this late in the day.”

“I believe it is, sir,” Teva said after a beat, realizing Solo had no intentions of inviting him in, standing there blocking the entryway. “I got a holovid message from-” Teva took a quick glance of his surroundings and seeing no-one, took a step closer in order to whisper, “The message comes from Mandalore.”

“Mandalore?” Solo’s brows scrunched. “Wasn’t that planet turned to glass? Completely inhabitable.”

“Not anymore. On my patrols in the Outer Rim these past few years, there's been a lot of changes.”

Sensing he wasn’t going to get any more information until Leia was present, Solo invited him in, stating his wife was putting their son to bed and should be out momentarily.

“Want a drink?” Solo asked after a few silent, awkward minutes.

“Captain Teva,” Senator Leia Oragana’s voice had the men spinning to find her entering the living room. Teva noticed she didn’t look fazed by his presence and thought maybe there was more Skywalker in her than he originally thought. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” she motioned to the sofa and he sat, happy to let himself relax after his rush there. Not many things made Carson Teva nervous, but this message was beyond his understanding and mulling over it in a never ending cycle since he first saw it had him at his wits end. “Would you like a drink? Last I heard, you were out patrolling the Outer Rim,” she sat in a chair adjacent to him.

“Thank you, but no. I,” Teva cut himself short, glancing at Solo, wondering if it was okay to speak further with him around. The rebel group Organa was slowly building was small and he didn’t know if the past smuggler was part of it.

“Speak freely, Carson. My husband knows all about our venture. In fact,” she gave Solo a wide smile, “he’s part of it.”

Teva nodded. “I’ve received a message from Mandalore-”

“Mandalore? They just got a new king, didn’t they? And have started settling themselves back on their home planet, yes?”

“Correct. And I thought you might like to see it, so I flew here straight away.”

She gave him an assessing gaze. “Well, let’s see it.”

Teva set the small holo-pad down on their caf table and held his breath as it started.

“Captain Carson Teva,” the blue-tinged, fully-armored figure stood, blaster on one hip and knives on the other, a spear strapped to her back and arms at her side. She seemed completely relaxed, if not a little bored, yet her voice was succinct and full of certainty. “The Mand’alor invites you as his guest to Mandalore. Come alone and at your earliest convenience,” the mandalorian’s head snapped, looking over her shoulder. “Marshal Dune sends her regards.”

“Marshal Dune?” Organa’s face pinched.

“She was a shock trooper. Turned Navarro into a safe place. I recruited her for a marshal position. Took a bit of convincing, though.”

“And her relation to Mandalore?”

“I’m,” Teva dragged the word out, remembering an old Razor Crest entering hyperspace as he entered Navarro’s atmo. It was an uncommon enough ship those days and he only knew of one person who flew one. A Mandalorian. But Dune had never mentioned knowing any Mandalorians and when he asked the now magistrate about the Razor Crest, he had shrugged and denied a Razor Crest was ever there. He hadn’t seen either since, but had spoken to Dune over comms. Nothing of note came to mind as he thought over those conversations, though.

“Hello,” a fingers snapped in front of Teva, bringing back from his thoughts. “Captain. Mandalore,” Solo, who was now sitting next to him, made an impatient gesture for him to continue.

“Right. Sorry, senator. I’m not really sure what Marshal Dune’s relation is to Mandalore, but,” he took a deep breath, sighing heavily as he let it out, shaking his head. “There was an incident a few years back when I recruited Dune,” Teva looked up to find Organa giving him a nod to continue. “An old Imperial base was destroyed on Navarro. I saw a Razor Crest entering hyperspace when I hit their atmo. I had thought I’d seen it before - it always seemed to be running from trouble - but Greef, Navarro’s magistrate, had implied there was never a Razor Crest there. I didn’t believe him, of course. But I wasn’t about to make a big deal about it.”

“I see,” she hummed. “As much as I wish I could go with you to have a chance to discuss political matters and Mandalore joining our cause, it’s clear they only want you. Are you okay with going alone? Do you think it’s safe?”

“I believe so, ma’am. The summons didn’t seem threatening.”

“True. It would be nice to get a feel for what they want,” her fingers drummed against her thigh. “Please, report back with what you find and be safe, captain. I hope to become allies in the future. I would hate to be on a Mandalorian’s bad side.”

Teva gave Senator Organa a weak salute, grabbed his holo-pad and left, letting her know he would leave in the morning.

~~~

Captain Teva landed in the Keldabe - an old city on Mandalore - shipyard with trepidation. He could not, for Maker’s sake, think of why he would be summoned to Mandalore at all. He had spoken to that one Mandalorian after shooting a few ice spiders, and no others. Had he seen a few from afar? Yes, especially since Mandalore had become habitable again. But still, unless that one was still mad about him and Wolf leaving him stranded on the Maldo Kreis - which he fervently hoped was not the case - he had no idea why he would be a guest of their king. He was nobody. Just a simple pilot of the New Republic.

Teva shook his head, ridding himself of his circling thoughts and opened the hatch, reminding himself that he was not an easily intimidated man. He would not allow a bunch of Mandalorians to change that. Besides, he needed to figure out what they wanted and if they would be interested in becoming allies with the New Republic or help the senator’s cause.

“Captain Teva,” a familiar, modulated voice spoke. The very same one he had listened to on the holovid message at least a hundred times. His thoughts immediately fled, gaping as he noticed his greeting party. His eyes roamed. There were at least a dozen, all carrying varied weapons as though they were extensions of themselves. All seemed relaxed, no blasters in hand at least. All painted differently, even if some had the same colors. Except one. The one from the Maldo Kreis who stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Suddenly, his mouth was dry and tongue felt swollen.

Maybe this particular Mandalorian did hold a grudge?

Teva gave them all a curt nod, swallowing, uncertain of the proper way to greet them.

“I’m Vyktoria,” she stepped closer, apart from her entourage, and grasped his forearm in greeting. “Aide to the Mand’alor. I, along with a few guards, are here to escort you to the throne room where the Mand’alor will greet you.”

Teva thought the ‘few’ who came to escort him was a bit extreme, but muttered out his thanks, nonetheless, happy he was even able to get the words out. Vyktoria made a simple motion for him to follow as she turned around. The others followed suit, except the silver Mandalorian, who stared him down, keeping Teva frozen in place. A beat later he also turned and allowed his arms to relax at his sides, walking forward. He spoke not a word. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he held, Teva followed, heart pounding as he wondered who the Mand’alor was.

The Mandalorians spoke amongst themselves in a language Teva had never heard, allowing him to relax. He would not have to make conversation nor did they see him as a threat. That was good, even if the silver one had slowed his pace to match his own.

“If I’m correct,” Teva said before he could stop himself, noticing the helmet turning to face him in his peripheral. “I believe you may be the same Mandalorian I once saved from an incident with ice spiders a few years back.”

The man stayed quiet, giving no indication that he was the same guy, gaze moving to face forward. Teva had no doubts that he was. He looked too familiar, felt too familiar. Not being Force sensitive, Teva trusted his gut and his gut said they were one and the same. Although, he remembered, he talked a bit more when hoping for a ride off of Maldo Kreis.

Teva tried for conversation again as they passed piles of rubble and crumbled buildings, not seeing a newly restored city past the Mandalorians in front of them. “I’m glad to see you made it off that Maldo Kreis.”

Still, his companion did not speak. 

“I’m sorry your home still has reminders of war,” Teva tried one last time, gesturing at the emptiness around them, the half crumbled ruins, the sands that turned to violent sculptures of glass. Teva couldn’t imagine his home planet, green and filled with the noise of life, ever feeling so empty. “I hope your Mand’alor,” he fumbled over the word, even if it was similar to the planet’s own name, “is making it feel like home again.”

When the man next to him, once again, did not respond, Teva gave up on his one-sided conversation. Ahead, he could hear a crowd of people and as they got closer he saw a large marketplace, filled shoulder to shoulder with Mandalorians, countless without helmets or even armor on at all. All were talking at once, weaving through each other, and laughing. It put a smile on Teva’s face and calmed his mind.

“It seems your Mand’alor is doing good for his people,” Teva couldn’t help but say, eyes never focusing on one thing as he soaked in their surroundings. The marketplace was basic, but most planets didn’t have big cities with large shopping structures. He could see homes - many with children running in and out, laughing and shouting as they played their games - made of sand and stone. No rubble or half ruins in sight. He gave the silver Mandalorian a wide smile. “All this joy after being away from their home planet for so many years. And the children! not a care in the world, it seems. It’s amazing. I find I like your king already.” It was the truth, he realized, surprising himself. After seeing all these carefree people, Teva knew their Mand’alor was a good man. He was still curious about the summons, but could now confidently say he did not think he was in any danger.

As they walked, the crowd shifted to allow them room, all taking the time to pound a fist to their chests, nodding their heads. Teva noticed none in his group were reciprocating the gesture and thought maybe it was respect toward the guards. Still, Teva nodded in greeting as he walked by, feeling odd not to acknowledge them.

Further in the city Teva could see a much larger, more distinguished home. Several stories tall, looking like a castle. Half built with steel and the rest with sand and stone, mixing the old building with the new. It was tragic and beautiful. A reminder that Mandalorians will never stop fighting and will always find a way.

The noise of the market faded, bringing with it new sounds. Familiar sounds from his rookie days. Mandalorians, young and old - all in full armor - sparred and shot targets on one side of the field next to the castle while the other side held line after line after line of young soldiers doing drills. Blaster shots and the clanging of metal on metal rose to his ears just as loud as the perfectly aligned drills. The group he followed started to holler and shout their encouragement and praise, simultaneously cheering and booing in good fun.

Captain Carson Teva was astounded by the sheer numbers there were, how carefree they could be while seeing how seriously they took their practice. Mandalorians were always known to be the best fighters - guardians in a cruel galaxy - but those tales of grandeur he heard as a young boy had been silenced by rumors of how fearless, ruthless, heartless they became when they were driven from their home. Practically destroyed. The galaxy thought them dead. Extinct. Yet here they are, alive and thriving.

Before he knew it, Teva was inside the castle walls. A chill made him shiver, but not from being cold. No. But from the knowledge that he was about to meet the man who made it all happen. The man who gave these people hope. A home. The man who brought the Mandalorians of old back to life. This man, Teva knew, deserved the title of king.

But would this same king believe in Senator Organa’s cause? Would he welcome allies after they had done so little to help them? Would he willingly put his people in harm’s way to help bring peace to the galaxy? To rid them forever of the Empire? 

Teva could only hope.

Two overly large, decorated doors opened - the kind one had to push or pull - by two sentinels standing guard. Inside, there were dozens of Mandalorians standing, all fully armored and, as one, turned to the group and pounded a fist to their hearts when they entered. The force of which caused the simple pilot’s ears to ring. The guards who had escorted him scattered to the outskirts of the open room where the walls held banners of a creature’s skull with two rounded tusks and a long face. Teva’s gaze followed them until his eyes caught sight of a large tapestry of a mudhorn’s head, made in a simple design, hanging on the opposite side of the entrance. Further down and in front of the tapestry sat a throne. It was simply made, and sturdy with no extravagance. Teva’s first thought was that it looked uncomfortable. He noticed, with a curious tilt of his head, that a small, green, big-eared being sat on an arm of the chair. It was babbling to the guard standing next to the throne and the guard, holding a spear in his hand, listened as if he was enraptured by its words. Like he could understand what it was saying.

Not for the first time that day, Captain Carson Teva, was confused.

The small being was obviously a child. A young one, at that. And one who was allowed to sit on a king’s chair. He had never heard of such a thing. Never before seen such a thing. It didn’t make sense.

What in Maker’s name was going on?

A flash of silver caught his attention, his eyes instantly glued to the one Mandalorian he knew. Teva watched the man’s steady, confident stride end at the throne. He sat. The voices died down, watching the man on the throne. The T-visor gaze surveyed the room until the kid, squealing excitedly, hopped onto his lap. The king’s gaze quickly landed the child, lifted wiggling fingers in the air as a threat for tickles, causing the kid to laugh so loud it echoed off the walls, enveloping everyone with its joy. Quiet chortles at the scene caused Teva to glance around, finding most of the Mandalorians had taken off their helmets, holding them comfortably under their arms like a limmie ball. Suddenly, as though the last piece of a puzzle was finally put in place, Teva understood.

The silver Mandalorian was the Mand’alor. 

It made sense now, why everyone pounded a fist to their chest. It was the Mandalorian equivalent of a bow. They were showing him the respect that was his due.

Teva felt all blood drain from his face, only for it to pool nauseously in his stomach.

“Captain Carson Teva. Long time,” a heavy arm landed around his shoulders. “Come on,” Marshal Dune smiled, dragging him forward as everyone started conversing again. “Let me introduce you to a friend of mine.”

“A friend,” Teva deadpanned, feeling slightly better now that he wasn’t the only one without a helmet.

Dune hummed, face scrunching in faux thought, “More like a brother really.”

“To a Mandalorian?” He was skeptical, learning over the last few years through their comms that Dune could have a dry sense of humor.

“Not just any Mandalorian,” she whispered. “The Mandalorian.”

“As in-”

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, her smile turning feral as they stood in front of the very man they spoke of. “And when he made a comment about an X-wing pilot and some ice spiders, I asked him which one. And, of course, he didn’t know. Not until I pulled it out of him with as many details of the tale as possible. And what do ya know? The X-wing pilot he owes his very life to is my friend, the captain.”

“I’m not so sure abou-”

“Now, Captain Teva,” she held up a hand to silence his protest. “Don’t go selling yourself short. If not for you, my friend may very well be dead, may not have become Mand’alor, and may not have brought his people back together on their home planet.”

Teva was certain he heard the Mand’alor give a long-suffering sigh.

“So, after knocking some sense into the guy, I convinced him to throw a celebration in your honor.”

“You wha-”

“What’s the point of having a royal friend if you don’t get to enjoy a good old fashion party every once in a while, am I right?”

“I suppose so-”

“Exactly!” She slapped him hard on the shoulder, making him wince. “So we celebrate tonight, but first,” she pointed at the silver Mandalorian, laughter in her eyes, stretching an arm out for the kid to climb up to her shoulder. “Pay up, Mando,” and walked away with the child babbling away at her.

Teva, once again, did not understand what just happened.

“Captain Teva,” the beat of awkward silence ended at the Mand’alor’s words, forcing him to face that dark, T-visor gaze. “She’s right, I never did properly thank you.”

“There’s really no need. I was only doing my job.”

“That may be, but still, I thank you,” the visor stared down at Teva from his throne, waiting.

“You’re welcome,” Teva finally said, not knowing what else to do.

“Prepare yourself,” the Mand’alor whispered and stood up, causing the room to go silent once more.

“Prepare? Wha-”

“A few years ago,” the Mand’alor’s voice carried without him even trying. All eyes on him as he told the tale. “Before I had even won the darksaber, I was traveling sub-light in order to hold up my end of a deal for a passenger I was shuttling to Trask, where her husband awaited her there. On my way, two X-wings ended up chasing me through the tunnels of ice on a freezing planet. I landed my ship to hide, not wanting to deal with them, and instead ended up falling into a cave filled with ice spider eggs. It was here that Grogu decided to have a snack,” the crowd chuckled. The Mand’alor continued the story. Telling everyone of his near-death experience with the ice spiders, barely making it back to his ship that was practically done for after the fall into the cave, afraid he had failed. Failed his passenger. Failed his son. “When suddenly the X-wing pilots found me again, just as the largest ice spider had started cracking the transparasteel, and shot it down,” he looked over at Teva and held out a hand. Taking his cue, Teva grasped his forearm as Vyktoria had done earlier in the day. He nodded, “So tonight, in  honor of this man, Captain Carson Teva, for saving my life… We feast!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

Would you like to read more fics? Masterlist

#fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #cara dune #grogu #summons #captain carson teva #carson teva #teva #mand'alor din djarin #funny #my writing #enjoy #holovid #holovid message #star wars #han solo #leia organa #everyone else is platonic #not a romance #all for fun #my gosh #im so excited about this one #x wing pilot #organa is not the general yet #ok i think that's all

[vrisrezis]

Hope your still up for Clone High requests cuz honestly I love Joan and I want her to end up with someone good for her - sorry JFK I’m just not totally sold on you for her dude though it’s cute 😅

I’ve been toying for quite some time with my own Clone High OC so how about Joan finding a kindred spirit in a Clone of Vlad the Impaler?

Honestly, I was thinking a dude because there’s this running gag idea I have that involves just how ridiculously quick his facial hair grows back and it’s frustrating for him, but I’m not going to ramble about it 😆

Anyway, so this clone is typically avoided by a lot of their peers because they just look intimidating AS ALL HELL and of course their clone father’s legendary viciousness, which unfortunately this clone has been assumed to possess as well. Even JFK avoids him, although he won’t admit to being intimidated - he just doesn’t want to be turned into a Werewolf… Yeah… JFK thinks the Vlad Clone is a Werewolf…

Though as intimidating and seemingly “mysterious” as they may seem, the clone is actually a big old reserved softie underneath the looks and surprising deep yet gentle voice.

Anyway, have fun with it 😉 and can’t wait to see what you cook up

everyone be sold on jfk x Joan but I’m honestly a cleo x Joan enjoyer . Joan had bisexual vibes to the max bro

Anyways generally speaking Joan doesn’t judge people based on appearances too much or based on what people think so I honestly think the two of you would become friends one way or another, despite abe and gandhis bs. I think she might be slightly intimidated but would quickly be charmed by your soft personality. And yknow, deep voices are pretty hot so that’s a plus.

#Joan of arc x reader #Joan x reader #clone high x reader #clone high Joan x reader #clone high Joan of arc x reader

[chordsykat]

24, 32, and 40 for Nita?

24. What smells bring back specific memories to your oc? What are those memories like?

I always pictured Nita and I sharing a love for the smell of the ocean. Like, how it just brings back fond memories of summers by the seashore and that sort of thing..? I wonder if she can "smell a difference" between the west coast and east coast beaches. I sure can. But both give me good vibes. :)

It's worth noting, the more I go on with these characters in their current iterations, the deeper into metaphor I am comfortable diving. Those reading my comics will see Nita talking about campfires being a place of comfort for her (having to do with her association with the fire element, of course). Now, that's not a *smell* but I think the smells of firewood would certainly fit this ask as well. :) 32. What five ingredients would you throw into a cauldron to make a potion based on your oc? How would you cook/mix them? What would the potion do?

Hahaha. Should we just go with the boring sugar, spice, and everything nice? :) Sugar's in there, certainly... probably a whole bag. Spice too. Two of my favorite spicy-spices -- cayenne powder and arbol because I headcanon that she's quite dominant in the bedroom (wait this is my own character... So I guess I *canon* that she tops). And, and, and let's do a few jalapenos as a throwback to one of her inspirations -- Elisa Maza (Elisa's "catchphrase"/one of her favorite foods). And of course... the main ingredient in any MTL OC concoction: A $5 Hot Topic gift card! Cook on the stovetop or the microwave for as long as you feel like it. This potion's recipe is friendly to everyone, even newbie cooks, and easy to drink. This is a typical love potion, though it's not romance-specific. The user becomes utterly enchanting to everyone around them and finds their ability to sway others to their will, multiplied by a factor of 22 and a half. Also leaves the user's hair sleek, shiny, and manageable. :D 40. Are there any habits your oc has picked up from people around them? Do they know where they’re from? Does your oc try to stop themselves from doing it?

I had to think about this one (which is awesome because that's the point, eh?) and I am not sure about this but I *think* if I was going to have her pick up anything, it'd be Nathan's tendency to "roar" at people. Readers will recall she kinda-sorta started doing it *at* him in the first Dethkomic when they got lost in the woods... and it's just funny as hell to picture in my head. I think I wanna make that a thing.

Anyway, I can't see her NOT knowing where it comes from -- but it could be easy to fit as an extension of her own growing backbone... and character development is always fun! So, no. No stopping it. Embracing is far more likely. ;)

These are some amazing questions are they not? Thank you so much for the asks :D The original prompt list is here!

#answered #mtl #mtl oc #ask games

[n7viper]

Omg! For the wholesome oc ask meme: Mihri 19, 29 and 42. Lia 2, 11 and 14 💛 bonus: 3 for a character of your choice!

Hey! Sorry I sat on this ask and then stepped away for a while. Thank you for all of the questions 💖 I'm putting these below a cut because I rambled on some :3

(Wholesome OC Asks)

Mihri:

19. What is something they excel at?

Mihri is a very quick learner! She can pick up new skills easily and is a knowledge sponge. This certainly helps when you’re a Dalish elf largely unfamiliar with Andrastianism but now finding yourself as a religious figure. Along that train of thought, she excels at just… faking it ’til you make it. People doubt you less when you’re stupidly overconfident about everything.

29. They have a chance to get a tattoo: what would it be?

Botanical illustrations, probably something like arbor blessing snaked around her upper arm. I was originally thinking of a fun little fat toad tattoo when I was typing this out, and I found this wizard frog by Leah Samuels instead. This is definitely something Mihri would love.

42. Let them vent for a second, without the fear of being judged. What would they like to say?

Hah! I think she’d probably just vent at me. I typically enjoy fluffier fic, and the Inquisitor’s story is already angsty enough, so I had originally intended to just write happy things. Over time, her story has become a lot angstier, likely due to my own mental health, if I’m being honest. I had started her out as an only child, but I adopted a friend’s OC. Happy progress! …And then I promptly killed him off in my universe. She really did start out a lot happier, once upon a time. I’m gonna have to drag her into DA4 kicking and screaming.

Lia:

2. Give them a warm drink of your choice, what would it be? Would their choice differ from yours?

I would give her hot chocolate, maybe some of the salted caramel kind that I have in the cabinet right now. She would choose a fruity tea, like a blueberry. Or the lemon pound cake tazo tea I have in there as well.

11. What is an item of clothing/an accessory that completes them/makes them feel safe?

Oh, I actually had to stop and think about this one. Perhaps it’s because I’m not so fashion forward (I do love looking at haute couture for fun, but I live my life in t-shirts and shorts/leggings), but I hadn’t given much thought to how she might dress off-duty. She isn’t very materialistic; I don’t think she has a piece of clothing or even an accessory that she wears that truly completes her. She doesn’t have any sentimental items to wear; she left Mindoir with nothing. It isn’t a direct answer, but her pre-ME2 tattoos are what complete/comfort her. She has a sprawling strawberry vine on her left shoulder blade in memory of her parents. Finding it gone in ME2 is a big stressor (among everything else going on…) and Joker encourages her to get it redone when they have the time.

14. Quickly, let them give us some life advice!

I don’t know that it exactly answers the question (round 2 haha), but this is the first thing that came to mind when I read this question, so here you go! It’s hard to imagine what the state of healthcare and mental healthcare is going to be in the 2180s, but I do figure that a lot of people are going to be struggling post-Reaper War. Lia would be a big advocate for seeking help, talking to someone. It’s rough out there—don’t be afraid to reach out, ok?

Bonus round:

3. What is something they really like about themselves and what is something you really like about them?

Ugh man, I should really talk about someone other than Mihri, but I’m gonna answer it for her anyway. This also got away from me a bit. Whoops! First off, she usually skirts around answering the tough/serious questions most of the time, so she would answer this superficially. She isn’t insecure about her looks in the slightest and is aware of the fact that it’s easier for her to get her way because she’s attractive. So she loves that about herself. She’s just a smol little thing—isn’t she so cute? You’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you? Seriously, though, she loves being a mage and using that gift to help others. It doesn’t matter if that help is something big, like healing, or whether it’s embellishing children’s stories with little bits of magic. Her mother taught her to be proud of her magic, and she very much is! For me, I love her adaptability and perception. She’s great at gauging situations and reading the room and knowing how to react or interact with others. She often prefers to cope (or rather, deflect…) with humor and can be accused of not taking things seriously because of that. But she isn’t oblivious—she knows when her sarcasm or jokes would be welcomed and when they would not, when a joke would appropriately lighten the mood and when it would be a disaster. I also love that she’s a fucking liar, right down to her little core, but that she uses this to try to do good. One of the things that stuck out to me when I did my first playthrough with her was a side interaction at the base camp at the beginning of What Pride Has Wrought. There’s a soldier praying and reciting part of the Chant, and the “diplomatic”-type response from the Inquisitor is to finish that part of the chant for them—regardless of your origin (note: it may hinge on whether or not you accepted being the Herald of Andraste; I don’t remember a lot of those choices I made the first go-round!). At first it was one of those dialogue choices where I was like “oh, if I’d known she’d say that, I wouldn’t have chosen it.” But over time, I think it fits. Mihri doesn’t believe in Andraste, but to call back to the first question, she is a quick learner and has a great memory. She learns bits of the Chant to blend in and look like the Herald. The side benefits are that this boosts morale among the troops.

#me: I could talk about my blorbos all day #also me: doesn't directly answer any questions when people ask #and then also doesn't answer for 2 weeks or something #the duality of man amirite #thank you for these 🥺 #mihri tag #lia tag #ask game answers

[fairymint]

do you ship any of your muses with some of your others? (Lol. Lmao even.)

From a muse-creation perspective, this blog is ship-focused! Yes, But, I'd say the major differences is how seriously I take the actual ships from each other. (these could be asks all their own, in complete honesty.) idk, I guess I have a compulsion to believe that my muses are prey to tropes and cliches and get critical- Plus, I don't write muses that I 'control', so it doesn't matter how "cringe" or pathetic I might find em- some ships are They're Idiots, others really sweet. Depends on what dynamic and emotions fuel the ship- I write ships that "deal with" character flaws, typically. it's narrative/introspective, morally. But I do know that I 'respect' the ships I have with others' muses more for the most part. though those are often a bit more planned or spontaneous, rather than the limbo my muses exist in between meeting and being 'really close'. (mid burn, really.) anyways.

I'm the most normal about Felix with either Rex or possibly Brookie- the most normie and mundane relationships I think I'd have here; though they aren't yet really 'canon' yet, probably due to being a bit lowkey? He's also not on the muse list currently, but my robot OC, Sterling, also falls into this but it is a little canon b/c he's just a sweetheart. I can't imagine Sterling with anyone but Felix, genuinely.

Most of my canons have an idealized relationship with Felix- shipping them a lot because they're genuine sweethearts, productive sweethearts. yayyyy altruism-

I'm super not normal about my Volo with any ship- because he's a muse that pushes the lust boundary quite close to the line; he's dramatic, he's a baby bi, he's kinky, and his ego size slides on the extreme scales- it's threateningly passionate. He's just not normal about people. He carries chaser energy without actually being one. I joke to myself 'he Will fetishize you' at times. So I find him amusing to make fun of, to a point. But the other half of the time I do adore him, because it's nice that he loves so hard, shows it well. it's just basic, man hot. but the consequences...

I state my opinion on finding Magnus a ridiculous chickenshit quite often, because the man can't communicate. What I like to do is joke like he's a loser, but am happy when he gets good things, ultimately.

I do Ship Pit and Shulk, they just seem like they'd be besties cause they're sweethearts, always have. bffs, boyfriends, whathaveyou. villager, aka Felix, with them is the OT3. I also ship Ninja and Shopkeeper, just cause snarkxmeathead is a stupid-fun dynamic.

I think the only muse I'm neutral towards shipping is Boyfriend, because he's just here to have a fun time- it sounds fun, but he just hasn't done anything besides say really unhinged stuff; it sounds funny as fuck in theory.

#ask. #ooc. #starfoam #shipping. #long post #jdlasd thanks- was not what i expected but i really should've. you got me and i gotchu- #i do miss sterling and need to get his icons back lmfaooo

[miss-smutty]

Forbidden

Chapter 3

A/N- Evey couple of chapters you will get Professor Hemsworth's POV and this is the first one 🥵 I really wanted to write his story and hear his thoughts too.

Summary- He can't get her out of his mind, the girl in the coffee shop. Will fate bring them together again?

Word count- 2.9K

Pairing- Prof!Hems X Reader

Warnings- Age gap (OC is 20) student/professor relationship, swearing, dirty talk

18+ Only!

Disclaimer: This is an entire work of fiction/AU and has no affiliation to real life what so ever! This is a fictional story about fictional characters who happen to share names and faces with some real people.

Posted: 5th Sept 2021

Taglist:- @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @jjpogueprincess @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires @monet-belle @help2700 @presidentpotts

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chris Pov

My Apartment was silent as usual, empty like always when I arrived home from work, throwing my coat and bag on to the sofa and slumping down next to them.

I couldn't stand the silence, it taunted me and brought back memories I'd rather not remember. I'd thought about getting a roommate but still hadn't gotten around to posting out an ad, the idea made me nervous. Although I hated being alone, living with a stranger would be even worse. I turned on the TV to fill the expanse of the large empty room that I'd work so hard for but ultimately meant absolutely nothing to me.

My mind began to wander back to this morning and the chance meeting with the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on. She'd taken my breath away and made me so nervous that I'd used some cheesy chat up line. I'd known at the time it would come back to haunt me tonight, no wonder she ran out of there as soon as she could. Thats why I hesitated, my hand brushed against the small of her back when I was about to ask her for her number and it took away my sensibility. I leaned in like I was about to kiss her, thank god I stopped myself though, how ridiculous would that have been?

I'd spoke to her for no more than ten minutes but somehow felt like I'd known her all my life. Asking for her number wouldn't have been the most unusual thing but she was in such a rush and I didn't want to make her late. There's absolutely nothing more I hate than tardiness.

I still couldn't get her off of my mind, she was beautiful, long dark hair that flowed down her back and the most piercing green eyes I'd ever seen. I couldn't stop looking into them, framed by dark eyelashes that made the emerald green pop even more. It's been a long time since I'd met a woman that made me feel as nervous as she did. The only thing is, she was young, much younger than me and I'd be fooling myself to think I'd actually stand a chance with her. Even if by some miracle I did, she deserved more than what I could give her, I was a mess, even after all this time I was still living in the past.

**********

I woke up feeling like a teenage boy again, a tent of my erection in the cotton sheets sprawled across my middle. I'd dreamt about the girl all night and honestly nothing about it was innocent. I rubbed at my eyes and stretched my muscles before finally getting out of bed, I had my first Junior Comms class to teach today and of course, I couldn't be late.

To say I was dreading today would be an understatement, I'd made a deal with the Dean to teach the Comms class because none of the other professors were willing and I was desperate for a job. I was hoping that if I exceeded expectations during my first semester I would finally get to teach psychology like I'd planned in the first place. Of course that meant being on my best behaviour and a lot of arse kissing, which I would do, albeit reluctantly.

The air was crisp this morning as I set off walking towards the university, luckily for me I didn't live to far away from the campus and the walk would help distract my thoughts because God knows they needed distracting. They always did.

Before I knew it, I'd arrived at the halls, looking up at the architecture of the building and realising my idea to walk obviously hadn't worked. I'd barely paid attention the entire time and it was only muscle memory that had gotten me to my required destination.

I held onto the door handle of the lecture hall and took a deep breath before stepping in, the room erupting into wolf whistles was not what I expected but admittedly better than what I was thinking. I scanned the room and my students, rolling my eyes at the girls lining the front row, their eager faces taking me in. 

The class was full of typical students, the usual cliques you see at every educational institution. The jocks and cheerleaders, the nerds and oh fuck. The air was almost knocked from my lungs when I spotted her sat at the back of class. The girl I'd been talking to in the coffee shop yesterday, the girl that had been on my mind and in my dreams ever since. She was here, right in front of me which meant she was my student and younger than I'd actually thought. Fuck.

Even though she was now out of bounds I couldn't take my goddamn eyes off of her, the way her wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders. I could feel my cock tingling when my eyes fell to her low cut top and that unreal cleavage. I pulled my eyes away from her so as not to draw attention and focused on preparing for the lesson, leaving the students to whisper for a while longer while I recovered my composure.

Like a magnet, my eyes unwillingly kept finding their way back to her and she looked uncomfortable, squirming in her seat. I was making her uncomfortable and I still couldn't stop myself, I frowned as I subtly watched her cheeks blush and realised she's probably embarrassed because she'd been flirting with her Professor. Of course she'd be embarrassed, I was so much older than her but was it wrong that I didn't feel one ounce of awkwardness at the fact I had been flirting with a student?

All I could think about as I watched her tits bounce as she moved In her seat, was burying my face in her cleavage and I knew I had to look away before my dick reacted. The last thing I needed in a class full of students was to be walking around with a fucking erection.

I could stand there and watch her all day but certain students had stopped talking and they were waiting for me to speak and I'd almost forgotten why I was here In the first place. I really needed to get my head in the game, being infatuated with a student would definitely not get me the promotion I was looking for.

I pushed my hands in my tight pockets, hoping to stretch the fabric a little so my semi-hard dick wasn't so apparent, then my eyes were drawn to her again and she was talking to Jake. That pissed me off and I could feel my jaw tensing as I cleared my throat rather forcibly, hoping to get the attention of the whole class at the same time as distracting her from the rather friendly conversation she was having with another guy. A guy her age at that.

"Now I've got your attention, we're going to use our first session to get to know each other a little better. You'll be doing quite a lot of speeches so it's best if you feel comfortable with one another. I'll start by introducing myself." I looked at her again, gulping hard when I saw her with the end of her pen in her mouth and the way her lips wrapped around it. Fuck. "So, I'm Professor Hemsworth and I'm originally from Melbourne in Australia." I looked to her and she smiled, remembering what we spoke about yesterday.

A student started with the typical Australian stereotypes although I'm actually surprised no one told me to throw another shrimp on the Barbie. I laughed along anyway, I'd been expecting it, it's literally the first thing anyone who isn't Australian says when they first meet me. So when I told him it wasn't very original I meant it, I'd heard it a thousand times before and I'll hear it a thousand times again.

I told the class a little about myself before informing them they would do the same, it didn't go down well, the room filled with groans. I looked to her and she looked downright terrified, I sympathized for her, it wasn't easy speaking in front of a room full of people but was the best way to break the ice.

"Claire Abbott." I called, watching the blonde at the front stand, nervously. She giggled and twirled her hair around her finger as she smiled at me, I knew what she was doing. I quickly glanced at the girl from the coffee shop as she rolled her eyes at the blonde at the front, I smirked back at her, amused at her tolerance for predictable girls.

"I erm… I don't know what to say?" The blonde said, looking at me questioningly.

"Just anything about yourself that we might find interesting, the first thing that comes to mind."

"Well I own four horses and I'm the cheer captain." I had to stop myself from laughing when she rolled her eyes again but the smile soon disappeared when I saw Jake lean over to speak to her and the way she laughed at him made my blood boil. I was seething, not because they were speaking instead of listening but because she was speaking to him instead of me.

"You two at the back, we'll wait for you shall we?" I called them out, my voice more stern than I expected. I was pissed off that Jake would easily be able to get to know her and I couldn't. She stared at me, her eyes wide, she was surprised I'd called them out in front of everyone which made me even more pissed off because that probably blew my chances even more. What the hell am I thinking? What chances, I need to remember I'm her fucking Professor.

She sat silently through the rest of the class, I still couldn't keep my eyes off of her and thankfully neither could she. She looked flustered and I liked it, I liked that I could make her feel that way without even touching her. She was so goddamn hot I could hardly concentrate on what the other students were saying.

When I glanced down at the sheet of names in front of me and saw Jake's name my jaw clenched.

"Jake Hudson." I couldn't help narrowing my eyes as he stood up, I just knew he'd say something cocky and I was so fucking jealous of him right now. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath, I needed to keep my cool, especially in a room full of students and her. If she knew what I was really like she wouldn't look at me the way she did.

"Hi, I'm Jake." I bit onto the inside of my gum, that bit of pain keeping me grounded. "I'm also from Australia." He gave me that fucking cocky half arsed smile I'd been waiting for and the adrenaline shot through me. I was thankful no one noticed apart from maybe the one person in here I didn't want to notice. She was watching me carefully. I had to loosen my tie a little as he continued to speak, I was burning up with rage.

I'm glad class was almost over, I needed a stiff drink and I needed it now. I looked at my sheet of names again and there were only a couple left, I wondered which one was hers. I needed to know her name. Fuck. I needed to know everything about her.

"Jessica Watson." She stood up. Fuck, Jessica, it was a cute name and fit her perfectly. I was mesmerized with her and the way she spoke as she tucked her long hair behind her ears. "These last couple of days have been pretty eventful for me." She looked right at me, what was she going to say? "I'm living the life of a romance novels heroine and I'm excited to see what the next couple of days bring." Oh fuck. Was she talking about meeting me? Or Jake? I like to think by the way she studied me as she spoke, she was talking about me. This was wrong, so wrong but why did it feel so right? I forgot there was anybody else in the room, my cock twinging as I pictured myself fucking her on this desk. I needed to stop thinking like this, it's unprofessional and completely immoral. I shook my head and turned back to the class.

"I hope we all feel a bit more comfortable with each other now, some of you shared some pretty revealing things." I looked at Jessica. "Some of you, not so much." Then raised my eyebrows at a group of guys in the middle of class that had used thier time to inform everyone about the party at their frat house this weekend. "I'll have a schedule for you all next time I see you, anybody that has any questions can see me after class, everyone else is free to leave." I looked at her one last time, hoping she'd use this opportunity to come and speak to me.

I sighed when I sat back at my desk and a group of girls took their opportunity, I wasn't in the mood for it but answered their questions anyway. I didn't take my eyes from Jessica, especially when Jake started speaking to her again. The girls in front of me were taking up my time, trying to flirt with me instead of asking relevant questions and I was over it.

"Do you actually have any questions about the course ladies? I have other things to be getting on with if not." I was a little short with them without actually meaning to be. I just wanted them out of my goddamn way so I could see what was going on with Jessica and Jake.

The girls finally left, more like stormed off but I couldn't care less right now. She was still sat at her desk which means she waited until I was alone which has got to be a good sign. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, the silence driving me insane so I cleared my throat and she blinked like I'd woken her from a daydream. What was she thinking about?

She packed up her things into her bag slowly, I could tell she was buying herself time but I felt relaxed now we were alone, in fact I felt excited which was completely ridiculous. I felt like a damn teenager.

"Did you need to talk Miss Watson?" I was amused and I needed to break the ice before the silence got the better of me. I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest.

"I erm…" She walked towards me, down the stairs, looking at her feet. She was unsteady and looked nervous as hell, was she going to tell me to back off? "I wanted to apologise, I had no idea you were a Professor." She stood at the bottom of the stairs, I was glad she wasn't too close. I don't know if I'd be able to control myself around her and lord knows I had to. The atmosphere was tense, neither of us really knowing what to say or do, all I could think about was ripping off her clothes.

"There's no need to apologise Miss Watson, I also had no idea you were a student but I was hoping to bump into you again. Funny how things work out isn't it?" I cocked my eyebrow at her, testing her, seeing how she would react to my comment. Something changed and she didn't look quite so nervous anymore.

"I think fate can be rather cruel Professor Hemsworth." The way she called me Professor stirred something deep inside me, a hunger I didn't know I had and when she moved closer to me I began to feel nervous.

"Oh really? Why is that Miss Watson?" She was so close now, I could smell her sweet scent of coconut shampoo. I wanted to touch her badly, I didn't though. I didn't dare because I knew if I did I wouldn't be able to stop myself and I must restrain, she's my student after all. It's wrong. It's forbidden.

I still couldn't stop myself from flirting, like an uncontrollable impulse and as soon as I opened my mouth to try and be professional I would just go right ahead and flirt. She was so outrageously attractive but the kind of attractive where she didn't know it and didn't flaunt it, which I found even more endearing.

"I was hoping to bump into you again too, only now the thought of what could've happened will have to remain a fantasy." My restraint was really being tested now, she was teasing me, egging me on and the fact she'd also been fantasising about me made it extra difficult to resist. I had to loosen my tie again, I needed my fingers to be busy so I didn't touch her. I had an internal conflict going on inside my mind and it was like torture, if this was day one of class how the hell was I meant to survive the whole semester?

"I better get to my next class, we can't have anyone thinking I'm your favourite now can we?" Fuck sake. I ground my teeth together, I was glad she was leaving, I couldn't take the tension any longer but at the same time I knew, with distance the desire would only intensify. She turned to leave and I couldn't stop myself watching her hips sway as she walked, her ass was so round and bouncy, it hypnotised me and that's when I knew I was in deep trouble.

#smut #chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth fanfic #chris hemsworth smut #chris hemsworth x reader #chris hemsworth x you #chris hems x oc #chris hems x you #chris hemsworth thor #chris hemsworth x ofc #chris hemsworth x oc #chris hemsworth imagine #professor #professor x #professor x student

[dirty-bosmer]

okay bc im SO invested in sylawen and her parents because 1. sylawen is so adorable and i think that a kiddie necromancer is an absolutely GENIUS idea 2. damn i wish my parents had loriel and caldemil's vibe so for the oc asks: 7, 8, 21, 29 for caldemil - 7, 8, 24, 39 for loriel - and 1, 5, 48, 49 for sylawen !! im sorry if the formatting is off idk why but <3 from @qah-naarin

Ahh, thank you so much!!! This was so much fun and such a good exercise for character building cause these guys are still so fresh and new to me.

1. What is your character's reaction to a minor inconvenience? Such as getting their jumper caught on a door handle? Sylawen would take personal offense, glare at the doorknob, then contemplate setting it aflame. If it ripped her jumper, then you would probably hear a lot of screaming and some vile curses scattered within. If, however, she was around other people, she would play it cool, do a little *teehee* clumsy me and smile.

2. Tea, coffee, hot chocolate or other? Tea in the morning, hot chocolate at night. Syla shares her mother's sweet tooth.

7. Are they a naturally assertive person or are they painfully shy? I would say Caldemil isn't shy as much as he is unbothered. He's more the type to keep their head down and avoid speaking up even when things get uncomfortable. I think if he went to a restaurant and they gave him the wrong order, he would probably eat it and not even care lol

Loriel is much more assertive, especially in her work as an archaeologist. She's typically a very demure and soft-spoken woman but will not bat an eye to correct you or call you out if she feels she is being slighted. Her mother was a bit of an eccentric academic herself and so she learned from a very young age to speak with conviction

8. Do they consider themselves a friendly person or aloof? Caldemil is straight up a golden retriever in Altmer form. He lives for love and is soooo happy to make friends. Loriel is a bit more reserved, and though she might come across as aloof on first impression, she's very willing to talk and she loves having people over for tea :)

21. What would be one item that they would hate to lose most?Oooh, this was a tricky one! I haven't thought too much about his personal possessions, but I feel like there must be some familial heirloom that was passed down to him through the generations. Maybe like a decorative sword that he hangs above the mantle (I don't imagine he could even wield it properly haha), or like a pocket watch.

24. What are your character's special skills? Loriel is a highly skilled baker! She makes the cakes and desserts for all her family functions and she tried to teach Syla when she's younger, but she just ate all the batter off the spoon and got sick all the time, so eventually Loriel gave up.

29. Are they an organised person? Or more laissez-faire? Caldemil is organized but only in the context of his work. He is an accountant for a big trading company in Cyrodiil, and all of his records are meticulously kept. Everything outside of his study/library is a disaster though. He doesn't ever fold his clothes and it drives Loriel insane because every time he shows up to a party, there's a wrinkle in his shirt. The horror!

39. What's your character's guilty pleasure Loriel loves a solitary wine night and a box of rich, dark chocolate. She'll curl up in her study and read in solitude for hours before forgetting she's the head of a household and is supposed to be watching her kids 😭

48. Is your character easy to make cry? Or angry? Or annoyed? Crying in front of others is a big no-no to Syl. She will avoid it anyway she can. She finds people boring more often than she does annoying, and if they annoy her, she will probably just walk away midway through the conversation before it can even get to anger.

49. What is your character's biggest fear? Most irrational? Another tough one 😭 I would say it's failing to meet her own expectations. She has a very rigid set of standards for herself that has been honed by how she thinks the world perceives her (which is largely with repulsion and scorn the moment they learn she is a necromancer). It's a very sore spot for her, though she denies it. She tries extra hard to look appealing and make herself easier to swallow, but lacks the social grace to understand why she makes people so uncomfortable. Instead, she crafts this idea of what "the perfect image" is and thinks, "if I meet that, everything will be okay."

Wooo, all done! Again, this was great fun. Thank you for asking. These are my little gems 🥰

#Slither and Writhe #Skyrim OCs #OC: sylawen

[fandomn00blr]

OC Questionnaire

@cleverblackcat tagged me into this one a few days ago, and I started filling it out for Delilah Howe (not an OC...an adopted NPC!) and I am still working on it for her. But then @funkypoacher tagged me, and gave me specific permission to do it for *my* versions of Carver or Stroud...lol...

So anyway, here’s Stroud, everyone’s Warden Dad(...dy...? jk jk...unless?)

THE BASICS

Character’s name: Jean-Marc Stroud

Role in story: He’s your dad now...unless you’re Loghain and then he’s your infuriating boyfriend/husband whom you are absolutely smitten with...also, Warden-Commander of the Eastern Wardens after Dragon Age Awakening

Physical description: I feel a bit guilty constantly objectifying this poor man and his mustache, but he is just...*chef’s kiss* (Loghain’s POV, but also mine):

Stroud’s quite fit for a man his age, an unmistakably sturdy V-shaped torso atop well-muscled legs, with broad shoulders and strong, defined arms. He’s never quite realized just how chiseled and square his jaw is, either. And as his eyes rove over his face, he tries not to stare too longingly at his lips, which he’s already been acquainted with, though it feels like it’s been ages since that cave-in, and he certainly wouldn’t mind getting re-acquainted. With any part of him, really.

(LOGHAIN! STOP BEING SO HORNY FOR YOUR BOYFRIEND, YOU GRUMPY OLD BASTARD!)

MBTI/Enneagram Personality Type: IDK

INTERNAL LIFE

What is their greatest fear? Probably disappointing anyone who is depending on him for safety/protection/reassurance

Inner motivation: Is ‘just wants everyone to feel safe’ an inner motivation? No. Shoot. STROUD WHAT MOTIVATES YOU?! Oh, I know...the fact that he lost everyone and everything he cared about to the Game and instead of going on a fucking rampage, he internalized it and joined the Wardens so that their deaths wouldn’t have been a total waste. What’s that called?

Kryptonite: If one of his Warden ‘kids’ is hurting, it hurts him...doubly so if he can’t do anything about it.

What is their misbelief about the world? Ok, so this is a tough one. Dude has been through all of it, and still believes in the power of kindness and duty and compassion, but not in a naive way. He chooses it, right? So I wouldn’t call it a misbelief, but he genuinely believes everyone is capable of choosing good, or trying to do better, or whatever. Shut up. I’m not crying, I swear.

Lesson they need to learn: You can’t save ‘em all (he still has regrets about what happened with Anders and Justice).

What is the best thing in their life? His little Eastern Warden family...Vigil’s Keep comes to feel like home to him.

What is the worst thing in their life? The thought of ever having to deal with Orlesian politics again...which is why he’s so grumpy in Inquisition.

What do they most often look down on people for? He has very little patience for people who manipulate others for their own personal gain.

What makes his/her/their heart feel alive? Seeing his Wardens thrive/come into their own/embrace duty/grow/find love...I SAID I WASN’T CRYING!

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way? Stroud doesn’t need a lot of personal reassurance to know that people care about him and that he serves a purpose...but if someone goes out of their way to do something just for him, he absolutely falls apart. Loghain making an Orlesian-inspired dish for his birthday was the last thing I wrote of this variety, but I imagine that Loghain does a lot of stuff like that just to see Stroud’s cheerful stoicism obliterated...and also because he loves him.

Top three things they value most in life? Helping others/compassion, his found family, and his duty as a Warden (but not in, like, a stupid way...)

EXTERNAL LIFE

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with? He keeps a portrait of his family tucked away among his things...the only item he brought with him from his former life when Clarel recruited him to the Wardens.

Describe a typical outfit from top to bottom. Heavy silverite Warden armor while out on missions, over a dark blue quilted tunic with a silver embroidered griffon and leggings (?). All very official. Off-duty, he wears simple undyed cotton or wool tunics (they’re probably fitted well) and woolen breeches (also fitted...um...well...*fans self*). It’s hot. <- Loghain, again?! Yeesh...

What is their method of manipulation? He’s not big on manipulation (see above), but he knows how to get what he wants from Loghain by wiggling his mustache and just...staring at him...all twinkly-eyed. Maybe chuckling good-naturedly if he wants to bring out the big guns.

Describe their daily routine. (Whoops...I missed this one, I guess!) Wake up early. Breakfast and paperwork in his office. Meetings, etc later in the morning. Then lunch with Loghain somewhere outside, weather permitting. Meetings/more paperwork/drills and training in the afternoon. Dinner with everyone in the dining hall at the end of the day. Quiet evenings. Then bed!

Their go-to cure for a bad day? Feet up in front of a fire...some tea? Maybe with a bit of whiskey in it. And something sweet to munch on like cookies. Bonus if Loghain is there with his little shawl, reading or complaining to him, preferably both...

GOALS

How are they dissatisfied with their life? He still harbors a lot of anger and resentment toward the Game (I mean...), but he’s actually pretty satisfied with his life as a Warden.

What would bring them true happiness or contentment? This is the most selfless thing ever, but he would love to see Loghain and Anora reconciled.

What definitive step could they take to turn their dream into a reality? He would never, but he totally could invite Anora to dinner at Vigil’s Keep or something and pretend it was Loghain’s idea...lol. OMG...AU where Stroud is the meddling spouse...!!!

How has their fear kept them from taking this action already? Not so much fear as it is just respect for personal boundaries or whatever...

How do they feel they can accomplish their goal while still steering clear of the thing they are afraid of? He hopes Loghain will eventually reach out to his daughter himself, or Anora will force her way back into her father’s life. During Inquisition, Loghain and Alistair (who is King and married to Anora in this world state) have a bit of a scuffle, then manage to get over their shit (sort of), so Stroud has some hope that they’ll all figure it out eventually. He just won’t be there to see it cuz he stays in the Fade, the self-sacrificing bastard.

#dragon age #character questionnaire #it's a good thing yall keep tagging me in this stuff cuz i sure can't write #stroud #jean-marc stroud #best warden #best dad #best husband #best #loghain #stroghainoff #chokedamp and feelings #also in #warden hawke #together into the abyss #kieran #omg they're in like every fic I've written this past year

[taetaespeaches]

“Is that drawer still available?”

namjoon x reader (or oc) genre: fluff; angst word count: 3.8K

a/n: Hi lovelies! This is what takes place after Joon and Daisy have their fight (sort of fight?) in “The strings are attached already.” We start with Joon’s perspective of things before moving back into Daisy’s mind. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :)) 

Oh, also, this features a bit of Yoongi, coming in clutch with some subtle-ish advice. 

p.s. this also fulfills a prompt request by @bulletproof-eternally​ (hi love) from ages ago: “We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers. Like Romeo and Juliet, but without the ending.” 

THE beat sounding from Yoongi’s monitor was hardly even registering in Namjoon’s mind with you filling every corner of it, taking over each one of his thoughts.

Staring at the screen mindlessly, he didn’t recognize Yoongi’s voice calling for his attention until at least the fifth time the older man spoke, “Namjoon.” Eyes snapping to his work partner, Yoongi shrugged. “What do you think?”

Running his hand over his face, Namjoon sighed. “Play it again.” Without asking the questions that were present in his mind, Yoongi simply restarted the instrumental.

As the beat played on, Yoongi interjected thoughts such as, “this is where you could do your verse,” and “I’m thinking a pre-chorus by Jin and Tae here.” But at receiving no response, Yoongi paused the music and turned to Namjoon. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

“Huh?” Namjoon asked in surprise. “Nothing, I just- I’m gonna get a coffee.” Yoongi huffed, sitting back in his chair as he stared at the monitor, the unfinished beat with an impending deadline putting him on edge. “Do you want-” Namjoon started to offer as he began to stand up, but slamming his knee of Yoongi’s desk sent him right back in the chair. “Fuck!”

Yoongi looked at his younger member in concern, not sure what to do for the man. “You ok?”

“I’m fine,” Namjoon said dismissively and shortly.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Yoongi retorted disbelievingly. Placing a hand to the younger man’s shoulder to keep him seated, Yoongi stood and walked toward the exit. “I’ll get the coffee,” he said just before slipping through the door.

Namjoon needed to get his head on straight. Replace the relationship problems from his nonexistent relationship with concerns of work. That’s what he needed to do.

But when Yoongi returned with the coffee, and Namjoon proceeded to spill the hot liquid over his own hand, he realized removing you from his thoughts would be an impossible task. He was distracted by you and the look on your face as you tried to hold back tears. Even if they were of your own doing, they hurt him to see.

“Ok, what the hell is wrong with you today?” Yoongi asked, beyond annoyed by his friend’s lack of focus.

“Nothing, I just need to reel my thoughts in,” Namjoon told him, trying to avoid a conversation about you with his band member who hardly knew you were a concern to be had.

“Maybe it would help to talk about it,” Yoongi suggested, feigning disinterest as he took a sip of his coffee. When Namjoon scoffed, Yoongi simply shrugged. “We’re not getting any work done anyway so,” the man said, cutting himself off as he awaited Namjoon’s next words.

“What are you meant to do when you’re seeing someone and want to make things more exclusive and official but they’re resisting?” Namjoon asked, embarrassment spreading across his cheeks in a light pink tint.

However, Namjoon didn’t realize how close the question would hit Yoongi, the older man clearing his throat as he sat up, setting his coffee down. “Uh, why do you ask?” The two guys sat in silence for a moment, Namjoon giving Yoongi a look as if to say, you know why. “So I met the reason last week,” Yoongi realized, Namjoon nodding. “It’s safe to assume you two aren’t just friends then?” Yoongi asked dumbly, Namjoon letting out a single laugh.

“Uh, yeah,” Namjoon breathed out. “Haven’t been since the first night.”

“Right,” Yoongi nodded awkwardly, acting as though he didn’t already know you and Namjoon were fucking around. “So you want to be more and she doesn’t?”

“Yup,” Namjoon nodded, staring in front of him at the beat displayed on the screen. “Maybe I deserve it.”

“What?” Yoongi asked, eyebrows pulled together in question at the ridiculous statement. “What are you on about?”

“I just think- Maybe she’s too good for me,” Namjoon said, rather pathetically in Yoongi’s opinion. However, the look on his face showed the older man that Namjoon was in serious doubt about his own worth.

“That’s ridiculous, you’re great,” Yoongi told the man bluntly, Namjoon looking toward his friend but avoiding his gaze. “Look, I don’t know her all that well yet, but it was obvious to every single person in the dorm last week that she likes you as much as you like her.”

“Well, I mean, that’s how it feels sometimes but then why won’t she be with me?” Namjoon asked in frustration. “She’s so confusing.”

“She is with you,” Yoongi pointed out to Namjoon with a sense of understanding. “It’s just the label that’s scaring her.”

“Scaring her?” Namjoon asked, not having totally thought of that possible conclusion himself. He knew you were holding yourself back, but he assumed it had to do him and his worthiness.

“She’s probably scared of committing for whatever reason,” Yoongi shrugged. “And it’s probably not related to you. If it is it’s probably because she doesn’t feel deserving or something, I don’t know.”

Pulling his eyebrows together in curiosity, Namjoon met his older member’s eyes. “How do you know this?”

“Experience,” Yoongi said simply before grabbing the mouse and clicking something on the screen.

Nodding slowly, Namjoon realized just how much his friend had been keeping from him. “How long have you been seeing whoever is on the other end of that phone you’re always on?” He asked with an edge of playfulness in his tone.

Trying to hold back the curve of his lips, Yoongi smiled as he continued facing the screen. “It’s new.” Namjoon smirked, happy for his member having found someone, even if he was holding out on introducing her. “But I almost fucked it up. Because she’s too good. And I thought I was undeserving.” Yoongi didn’t elaborate anymore on the subject, but Namjoon understood what he was saying.

“Well, shit,” Namjoon breathed out in realization that there was probably an entire thought process going on in his potential lover’s head that he knew nothing about. “I should probably talk to her, huh?”

Nodding, Yoongi took a glance at his younger friend. “Just ask her about it. I can almost guarantee it has nothing to do with you not being good enough,” he gave the tiniest of reassuring smiles. “It’s probably the opposite.”

Sighing deeply, Namjoon thought of you and the internal conflict that must be going on inside your head at the moment. That is until Yoongi interrupted his thoughts, pulling Namjoon’s attention back to the work that needed to be done.

“Or maybe it is you and you should just forget about this whole thing and focus on this fucking song that’s due today,” he teased in a joking tone, Namjoon letting out a light chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he apologized bashfully. “Restart the track, I’m here now.”

When Namjoon left his apartment that morning, you were still there, failing to hold back tears as rain threatened to fall outside. He left you with a decision: stay and be with him, or leave, possibly for good. When he returned that afternoon, the rain was pouring, drenching his hair and clothes as the weight of your decision sat heavy in his mind.

The trek from the doors of the apartment building to the elevator had his heart racing more than usual, the fear of what he’d find, or not find, within his home suffocating the man. How would he accept the conclusion to this thing with you if you weren’t there?

Over the course of your fling, he’d come to know your heart as a hearth. The center of his home. He’d felt its warmth, the comfort and security you provided. But he also knew the bitter cold that chilled him to the bone when you locked him out. He wasn’t sure anyone else’s warmth would be able to thaw his numb existence if you walked out of his life.

Yet, reaching his apartment door, he still had hope. Because no matter how many times you’d tried to keep him at a distance, you always pulled him even closer than before. He trusted you. You’d given him a million reasons to expect disappointment, and he still believed in you.

Unlocking the door and pushing it open, all he could hear was the drum of his heart pounding against his chest. Scanning the living space, his heart dropped just slightly at no trace of you. But the hope remained. You could still be in the bedroom. Or the bathroom. He felt you in there still. It didn’t feel like an abandoned home.

Calling out your name, he strode toward the bedroom, peeking inside the open door to see… emptiness. The room was filled with his belongings, as full of meaning and personality as ever, but it felt so barren. With the bathroom door down the hall open as well, his heart stopped for a moment. You were gone.

Entering the bedroom, he scanned the space, the chill of the outdoors already filling the typically warm area. Or perhaps it was the absence of you. The top drawer of his dresser, the one he offered to you, was left ajar, drawing him closer to check its contents.

If there could just be one piece of you in there, just a single item, he’d have that hope to hold onto for just a bit longer. He approached the furniture much slower than he did the bedroom, his confidence significantly faltering the longer he stood in the apartment without you there.

With his index finger, he tugged the drawer open just a bit more as he peered over the edge to look inside. A sharp exhale left him as tears instantly pricked his eyes, a lump of emotion forming in his throat. It was empty.

Placing his palm flat against the outside of the drawer, he prepared to slam it shut when the dirty clothes hamper to the side of the dresser caught his eyes. Appearing purposefully placed, sitting on top of his clothing, was your lost shirt. As if you mindlessly placed it there, unknowingly designating the domestic space as a shared one.

Slowly, he reached for the garment, lifting it out of the hamper just as the echo of the front door opening filled the otherwise silent apartment. His legs were moving him toward the bedroom door before his mind could even comprehend the situation.

He was standing in the door frame before his head and heart caught up with him. There you were, the drenched t-shirt he offered you that morning hanging off your frame, your hand clenched over the strap of a tote bag, your eyes wide as you stared at him in surprise, your chest heaving as if you ran all the way there. The sight of you simultaneously knocking the air from his lungs and filling them with life.

Lifting the tote you carried, gesturing to the contents, you sighed. “Is that drawer still available?”

Heart racing, you watched as Namjoon marched toward you, your eyes filling with tears because it was him. And he was yours. Fuck, you were terrified, but he was worth it. When his arms clasped around your waist, pulling you tightly against his frame, your arms easily wrapped around the back of his neck as you exhaled in relief.

“God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled against his face as you pressed repeated kisses to his cheek. “I’m so so sorry.”

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he complained lightheartedly, pulling away just enough to bring his lips to yours, pecking you softly in a quick succession.

“You’re home early,” you explained between kisses. “I meant to be here when you got back.” The man’s lips curved into a grin, his stunning dimples greeting you.

You did mean to be there. You meant to have that fucking drawer filled with your belongings. You meant to be sitting in his room when he returned, smiling at him, telling him you wanted him and you were sorry that the decision wasn’t this simple from the start but it was simple now and you were choosing him.

To be honest, the conversation with Jungkook a week ago had been weighing on your mind. He’s happy with you, Jungkook had told you. Namjoon was happy with you. And you were happy with him. It was that simple.  

Resting his forehead against your own, his rapid breathing began evening out, your fingers running comfortingly along his neck. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark,” you apologized sincerely, a tear sliding down your face. “For giving you so many mixed signals.”

“No, no,” he quickly negated, dropping the shirt to your feet as his hands came to hold your face, his thumb wiping away the tear. “I’m sorry for putting pressure on you,” he counter-apologized, you shaking your head sadly.

“Joon, don’t do that. Don’t you dare apologize,” you cried. “You’ve been so amazing, you just- you are amazing. Like so amazing that you terrify me,” you admitted, Namjoon pulling away from you so his eyes could scan your features, his thumb catching another tear as it escaped your bottom lash line.

“I terrify you? Babe, how is that possible? You scare the living hell out of me,” he chuckled, you letting out a light laugh with him as you glanced downward.

“I gained feelings for you so easily, and-” you looked up to meet his intense gaze. “You’re so incredible, and this kind of thing,” you gestured between you both, “doesn’t always work out,” you explained, Namjoon’s stare softening in slow realization. “You’re so much to lose.”

“Babe,” he whispered empathetically, your words paralleling the talk he had with Yoongi. You weren’t holding back because Namjoon wasn’t good enough, but rather because you felt he was so good. And the thought of losing something so good was too much to bear.

“I didn’t plan on feeling this way toward you, and when it happened so quickly, I just got scared,” you sobbed, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as tears fell onto your cheeks. “If I lost you, I don’t know if I’d recover,” you told him, followed by a sniffle.

When tears formed in Namjoon’s own eyes, your heart swelled in affection and you wanted to protect him. “I just have had this persistent belief stuck in my brain that it’s better to not have something so great at all than to have it and lose it,” you explained shaking your head. “But that’s so stupid, because you’re the best and I want you, I’ve wanted you. I’m still scared but I fucking want you, Joon.”

The man didn’t say anything, instead choosing to kiss you hard, the action full of passion and understanding, his lips working perfectly against your own. Before, you wondered if you and Namjoon had met in another lifetime. In that moment, however, it felt as though you’d been waiting for this in every lifetime, or possibly fighting it, never fully getting it. Getting him. But in this moment, this lifetime, you finally got it right.

Pulling away from the kiss, Namjoon’s hands held your face as his eyes scanned your features. Letting out a breath, he wrapped his arms around your head in a hug, your face finding solace against his neck, his skin still wet but characteristically warm as always. “When I got home and you weren’t here, I could see my whole life continuing on without you and everything was,” he sighed, “cold.”

“Joonie,” you whispered, your face scrunching up in emotion.

“You make me happy,” he assured you. And there were those words again that made this whole thing so simple. “Being vulnerable around you- I’m scared too,” he admitted. “And maybe the fear of losing all of this will always be there, because we are a lot to lose. But we’re so much more to gain.”

The words sunk in slow but penetrated deep within you, his sentiment being the first time you ever thought about fear and love going hand in hand. Of course it was scary. Life is unpredictable. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t live while you can, especially when something so wonderful presents itself. And with that thought in mind, you had no doubt that you were exactly where you wanted to be.

“Do you still want me to be your girlfriend?” You asked through a small smile, Namjoon loosening the hug to look at you, his lips curving up, his dimples appearing as perfect divots. “Because if so, I would really like for you to be my boyfriend.”

“Then it looks like you’re my girlfriend now,” he grinned happily, kissing your forehead gently.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

“What? You’re my girlfriend?” His eyebrows raised with the teasing question.

“Yeah,” you giggled, kissing the man’s lips tenderly. “Again.”

“You’re my girlfriend,” he repeated before deepening the kiss.

Losing yourselves in the kiss, his lips on yours, your fingers threaded into his hair as you desperately tugged on the locks, Namjoon smirking against your mouth just as you lightly bit his plump bottom lip. His hands moved to hold your hips, pulling you closer to him, causing you to step forward, effectively slipping on the clothing that the man had previously dropped at your feet, your forehead hitting Namjoon’s cheekbone with a light force.

“Oh my god, are you ok?” You asked, inspecting his face, Namjoon chuckling in amusement as he squeezed your hips in his grasp.

“Are you ok?” He countered, you giggling as you nodded.

“Come here, babe,” you cooed, angling his face so you could leave a few sweet kisses to his cheek. “Is that-?” You asked, looking to the floor, spotting the source of the near fall.

Bending to pick up the shirt, you let out a small gasp in surprise. “Guess where it was,” Namjoon playfully started, you pulling your eyebrows together in question. “The clothes hamper.”

“No way,” you giggled, realizing you must have put it in there with unknowing purpose. “Well, I prefer this shirt anyway,” you teased, looking down to the t-shirt Namjoon had given you to wear.

“It looks a little wet,” he said suggestively, looking down at your frame in a way that made you want to strip everything off that very second.

Shrugging, you cocked your head at him, your fingers toying with the damp strands at the nape of his neck. “Maybe you should take it off me then,” you suggested with a smirk, Namjoon immediately tugging on the material. “Yours is a little wet too, babe,” you pointed out playfully as you ran your hand down his chest.

“Well,” he looked down at his own shirt for a moment. “Would you look at that.” Laughing at his remark, you kissed him softly before smiling against his mouth.

“Hey, before we go any further with this whole taking these off,” you tugged on the fabric over his pectoral, “can we talk about something real quick?” You asked, knowing you were completely killing the mood but needing to be on the same page.

“What’s up? You ok?” He asked, a nervousness seeping into his tone and features, though he tried to appear calm.

“No, yeah, everything is fine, it’s just,” you tilted your head to the side in thought. “Can we keep this whole boyfriend girlfriend thing between us for now?” You asked, hoping the question didn’t come across in any way other than how you meant it. “I just want to take our time getting used to the label and the new terms and be able to adjust to everything that comes with this before we invite other people in.”

“Other people as in,” he started, “my members?”

“I just want to be really certain and comfortable and properly established before they know,” you said guiltily, the man smiling in amusement to your nerves.

“That’s fine, babe, I get it,” he nodded, kissing your cheek comfortingly. “Properly established,” he teased you, causing you to groan as you poked his chest in slight embarrassment.

“Stop teasing me,” you giggled. “The guys just mean a lot to you and honestly they already mean a lot to me so I just want to know exactly what we are and feel good about where we’re at before us includes all of us,” you explained unnecessarily, though it felt very necessary to you. “Does that make sense?”

“Of course it makes sense,” he assured you with a fond smile. “You’re really cute, you know that?”

Grinning at him, you nodded, jokingly confirming that you did indeed know that. Namjoon laughed before kissing your lips quickly, you slightly chasing him, causing the man to flash you a smirk. “This could be fun,” he commented, you raising your eyebrows at him.

“Yeah?” You asked, Namjoon nodding, causing you to hum in agreement. “We could be an epic novel of forbidden lovers,” you said seductively, dragging your finger along his collarbone. “Like Romeo and Juliet, but without the ending,” you added, Namjoon chuckling at you as he pulled you closer once again, nuzzling his face against your neck. “We’re not really forbidden either but you get the vibe,” you continued, Namjoon’s breathy laugh tickling your skin.

“I get the vibe,” he confirmed humorously, you giggling as he kissed the spot on your neck a few times, you biting your bottom lip in response. “Although, Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy,” he pointed out, you groaning in annoyance at him.

“I said without the ending, you said you get the vibe, Dimples,” you complained, Namjoon laughing further.

“Sorry, sorry, I get the vibe,” he playfully told you, trailing kisses along your jaw.

“I don’t think you do get the vibe,” you teased, though a small moan cut you off.

“I get the vibe, babe,” he assured just before attaching his lips to yours once again, you immediately deepening the action as you started pushing him backward toward his bedroom.

With him so close, your door wide open to his presence, a warmth spread across your body at the feeling and the realization that he was yours and you were his, and in the kind of way that you both could feel secure in being each other’s. You were still scared, but you were happy.

You never planned on meeting Namjoon, and you definitely weren’t planning to fall for the man. But standing in his apartment, in his embrace, you found yourself feeling as though you were home. As unexpectedly as Namjoon entered your life, he never felt foreign. In fact, he’d felt familiar since the first night you spent with him. Just now, you were finally allowing yourself to make yourself at home, take your coat and shoes off, well, and the rest of your clothes, and even leave them in his dirty clothes hamper. Because you were finally home.

And you’d finally fill that fucking drawer.

#namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x oc #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon drabble #namjoon drabbles #namjoon fic #namjoon fics #namjoon scenario #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fanfics #namjoon imagine #namjoon imagines #namjoon oneshot #namjoon oneshots #rm #rm x reader #rm x oc #rm drabbles #rm fics #rm oneshots #bts #bts rm #bts namjoon #bts x reader #bts x oc #bts fluff #bts angst

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

pt. iii: tra i due litigante terzo gode ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of animal death (canon-typical), clown on clown violence.

rating: m/t

notes: putting this little project of mine up on the internet for strangers to see was incredibly nerve-wracking, but i have been so lucky to be received so kindly by folks! thank you to everyone who reads, it really means the absolute most to me.

i don't know if i mentioned this before, but you can find translations for the (google-translated) italian at the bottom of each chapter on my ao3. i know it's a hassle, i'm sorry!! just can't find an easy place to put them here without spoiling what's going on in the chap ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

thank you as always to my lovely beta @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife; this could not be done at all without you. ♡ and to @belorage, who loves euphie enough to send me the cutest message that managed to kick my ass into gear to get this chapter edited!!

Two days after the engagement party, when Santino has finally made up for his delay and lateness, is when he ruins it all again.

Later, Euphemia will think that he can’t help it—he is destined to be a wrecker, a ruiner, even if it’s for himself. It’s not his fault, not really, she’ll say. Ignoring that he is a perfectly autonomous adult means that she can excuse his thoughtlessness and not call it selfishness.

One of Santi’s men tries to tell her that he’s busy as she strides through the museum, heels clipping the floor with a strict, stark cadence. The smell of the doctor’s office is still stuck in her palette. She feels a wad of anxiety, anticipation, coiling deep in the pit of her stomach, a black stone dropped there to torture her with its heaviness. Santino will be happy, she thinks absently, chewing the inside of her cheek as she moves. He’s always wanted this.

The man is keeping pace with her well enough, despite her long legs and the purpose with which she walks to one of the back rooms of the museum.

“Bella,” he says, reaching to stop her, “per favore, he is in a meeting.”

The words put a sour taste in her mouth. Busy, the man is trying to say, too busy for you, for this, right now.

“Trust me, Gianni,” she replies dryly, “he’ll want to make time for this.”

She takes two steps into the room past the other guards, who don’t bother trying to stop her. The room is marked primarily by a high ceiling, which allows all of the paintings to be hung in it in their varying degrees of size. Euphemia recognizes Santino sitting on the bench first, and then another man that he’s talking to. The man looks like he’s just come off of the streets, his hair dark and the scruff that she can see on the side of his face manicured enough to look like he just hasn’t bothered recently.

It takes Euphemia’s brain a few seconds to register the facial features of the man who turns to look at her over his shoulder. He would be nothing, mean nothing, to her if she didn’t see the way his expression flattened, his gaze sweeping over her—calculating. Measuring. Identifying.

He looks dirty, unshowered, covered in soot, and she thinks back to two nights ago when Santino showed up to their engagement party smelling like fire and gunpowder.

Santino stands abruptly. He might be angry, or perhaps worried; it’s hard to tell the difference with him. But she can’t look at him, anyway, her gaze fixed on the stranger who is not much of a stranger at all, who she knows because of the scary stories. The rest of the world may as well be melting down around her, some sick Van Gogh painting, and she can’t look away.

John Wick has dark eyes. Shark’s eyes, she thinks. Black, soulless. Like the glass eyes on a teddy bear. She feels her stomach lurch as fear washes over her in a slick, wet wave, reminding her that she’s already received one bout of stressful news this afternoon.

He watches her. She’s sure he’s sizing her up—that is what John Wick is made to do—but after a second, he glances to Santino, gauging his reaction. If he thinks she's any kind of a threat, he's not letting it show.

“I told you not to let anyone in,” Santi says angrily to Gianni, helpless behind her—because Gianni would have never dared to grab her arm to stop her, would have never thought it acceptable to handle her like street rabble.

“Santi,” Euphie says, feeling very small and very far away and somewhere that her body isn't, “who is that?”

She knows, but she wants to hear him say it.

He steps around the bench, excusing himself from his conversation with Wick and crossing the space between them to guide her out of the room with his hands on her arms. She lets him, not because she isn’t burning with rage but because if Santino doesn’t show her where to go, Euphemia will just stand there, fear driving icy-hot spears through her chest.

He takes her as far as around the corner of the room, maybe to put as much space between her and John Wick as he can afford, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She starts to shrug his hands off of her, and oh, there it is—the shrieking, panging fear, and fury, boiling inside of her. Venomous, indignant. Her mind is a mess of color and noise and she’s vaguely aware that maybe she should be working hard to keep her voice down, but it no longer matters.

A lot of things shouldn’t have happened that did. What’s one more?

“You brought him here?” She can feel her voice bordering on hysteria. “Are you a fucking idiot, Santi? What part of I don’t want John Wick near my life—”

“Euphie, Euphie, Euphie,” Santi says, trying his sweet-talk; condescending, like he’s speaking to a child. “Lower your voice, tesora, and we’ll talk about it.”

Her hand moves of its own accord, a knee-jerk reaction to Santi sweetly telling her to shut up, and she slaps him. Hard. As hard as she can manage. The second her palm connects with the side of his face, and the needles start stinging in her palm, she thinks that she regrets it: but all she can really think about is the pure fear and rage coursing through her body, pummeling adrenaline through her bloodstream until she feels like she’s going to be sick.

And, a little, too, a warmth blooming in her chest: satisfaction.

Santino's head doesn't turn back to her right away. There is a heartbeat of a moment where only silence reigns, where his fingers reach and touch the place her palm had made contact with, like he can't believe she did it. Maybe he can't, but then he'd be a bigger idiot than Euphemia thought.

He turns to face her again and holds up a hand—perhaps to call for a moment of inaction, or to be prepared for a second blow, she’s not sure and she doesn’t care. Santi begins, his voice a low threat, “Do not do anything else you're going to regret, Euphemia.”

Anything else you’re going to regret, he says, as though she will regret having done this.

“Fuck you,” she snaps, her voice rising in volume further yet. The poison reverberates on the high, smooth glass ceiling, bouncing off of the marble walls until it’s all echoing around them. “He knows what I look like, what—what I sound like, he knows my name, Santi, you—”

She's pushing him, hitting his chest; an impatient and weak battering. She wants both to get him away from her as much as possible and keep him close. Santi catches her wrists with bruising force, trapping her and making her look at him.

“Euphemia, basta—if you had waited,” he bites out, “then—”

“I’m pregnant!” The words leave her in a visceral, furious shout, her heart thundering in her chest, her flight or fight demanding one or the other. She rips her wrists from his grip. It feels like her entire body is vibrating. “You fucking idiot—I was late, I just got back from the doctor, and—and you’re not supposed to have him here anyway! You promised me, Santino D’Antonio, you promised me!”

There is a heartbeat of time, of space, where her fiance stares at her like he doesn’t quite think that she’s real. Red blooms on his cheek where her hand made contact and the dark of his pupils has all but swallowed up the beautiful green of his irises. Finally, something seems to kick the gears back into motion, and he plunges on, catching his footing.

“Euphie,” Santi says, reaching for her again, “Euphie, listen to me. John came to me, I didn’t—”

“I don’t need a fucking history lesson, Santino!” Euphemia spits, brushing his hand away from her arm. Blood is rushing through her head, louder and louder, demanding she raise her own volume to be heard over it. “I told you to leave him alone. You insisted, and I thought that was the end of it—you came late to the party that night because of him, isn’t that right? So why is he here, Santi? Why is John Wick near me and my baby?”

Santino stares at her. She can see the flex of his jaw when his teeth clench, trying to maintain what shred of control he has. He swallows, lifting a finger, to indicate one minute, and it takes all of her self-control not to scream at him that he doesn’t get any more minutes. But there is some pleasure in seeing him a little ruffled; to see the way his eyes dart over her face, trying to keep everything collected neatly in his mind, filed away for premium use. She wants to shake him until he is really rattled.

“It may have taken more persuasion than I anticipated,” Santi says finally, at last.

Euphemia makes a sound something like wrecking, like grief, because she knew this was going to happen and he told her it wouldn’t but here they are anyway. It’s a death knell, ringing in her ribcage, in the cavity of her chest. Dead, dead, dead, we’re all fucking dead now, don’t you see it? You, and me, and now our baby, dead like stones.

He continues quickly, over the sound of her agony, “But that doesn’t matter—cara mia, listen to me, it doesn’t matter because now John will do what I ask him to, and we don’t have to worry about anything else. Euphie, Euphie—come here, we'll talk about this.”

She’s going to be sick. The doctor’s words are still rolling around in her head; avoid stress, make sure you sleep and eat well. Can’t be worrying that baby, can we, Miss Volpe? Make sure your fiance does all the work, hm?

“It does matter. It matters the most, Santi, I—I told you to leave him be, I told you, and you said that you would only ask and that would be it—”

She’s grieving, now, lamenting the loss of her happiness, the hysteria taking a melancholic edge in her voice as the sorrow sweeps over her. Santi keeps reaching for her, to try and ground her back to him, and for the first time since she met him she just can’t stand to feel him touching her, saying her name, trying to sweet-talk her. His hands sweep her shoulders, coming up for his thumb to brush the nape of her neck; instinctively, her shoulders scrunch up to disembark them, arms shoving his off of her.

He says, “Tesora, we can talk about this—”

“You did exactly what I asked you not to,” she manages out, taking a step back from him. “I ask you for two things, Santi. Helping my mother, and not putting yourself at war with John Wick. I do not—you should not have asked him at all!”

“Euphie—”

By the time Santino reaches for her again, she’s turning and walking away, her steps unsteady. She’s sure that she’s sweating, or crying, or maybe both or neither and her body is just kicking into overdrive with gut-wrenching sweeps of grief rocking through her body now that she’s got Baba Yaga fifteen feet from her. From her and her baby.

“Euphie!” Santino’s voice echoes down the main hall of the museum, lighter now. Almost like they never argued at all. “We’ll talk when I get home, si? Mi amore?”

Euphemia is certain she’s never heard a sentence more infuriating in her entire life. It sparks something violent in her. It had been dormant, had stepped aside for her mourning, but it catches fire the second Santino says, we’ll talk when I get home.

Incensed, she turns and slides the engagement ring off of her finger, throwing it as hard as she can at him. Gianni had been trailing her, certainly at Santino's behest, and he tries to stop her—but it's too late, the fury inside of her forcing her to move more quickly than Gianni anticipates.

He catches her around the waist and she considers, briefly, the logistics of wrenching Gianni's arm off of her to go and slap Santino again; instead, she watches the expensive engagement ring bounce off of the front of Santino's jacket and clatter on the floor.

The way he tilts his head, as though expecting her to lob it at his face, and the irritated expression that comes over him is almost as good as actually having hit her original target of that pretty face of his.

Then, it’s pure, sheer, furious indignation that crosses Santi’s face, but she has no time to think about what that means for her.

“Fuck you, Santi,” she bites out venomously. “Fuck. You. Don’t fucking bother coming home.”

“Bella,” Gianni says, “we should get you back.”

Euphemia debates slapping Gianni, too, but it would be unfair; in his defense, he did try to keep her out of the room. She turns and marches her way out, the doors slamming shut behind her and the cold air of New York in the fall washing over her. As Gianni speaks on the phone and calls the driver around, she glances up at the sky; gray and soft as wedding silk, it stretches, endless, cut in pieces by the skyscrapers parsing it out.

A fool, she thinks. Santino has always made a fool out of me, and this is no one’s fault but my own.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Two hours later, Euphemia hears him enter the loft. He lets the door click shut softly behind him, not slamming it, not storming through. She expected no less; Santi so rarely lets the anger really take hold of him, so rarely lets himself scream or yell or throw something. I’m marrying a fucking sociopath, she thinks, but there’s no heat to the thought; only exhaustion, only a tiredness that goes bone-deep

Even now, she still thinks of it as present tense: she’s marrying a sociopath, as though she didn’t try to hit him in the face with the engagement ring he picked out for her just hours ago, as though in the end, she will still be his. She will.

“Are you calmed down?” Santino asks, in the way that only he could manage—condescending, and soft. Euphemia can’t withhold the vicious scoff that rolls out of her the second he talks.

“I told you not to come home,” she replies tartly, “but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You are apparently as deaf as you are stupid.”

“So no, then.”

“What do you want me to say, Santi?” Euphemia demands, looking at him now. She’s got a suitcase out but there’s nothing in it; she can’t bring herself to pack, to think about going back home to Tuscany where her mother is waiting, barely sober because she can only stay sober for about a month at a time before she falls back to her old habits. “Why don’t you invite our friend John Wick up for dinner, hm? I’m sure he’d like that, after you did whatever you did to make him show up here. Perhaps you took a page out of that idiot Iosef’s book and killed his new dog?”

“He owes me,” Santino insists, glossing over her needling, “and I will get what I am owed.”

She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you know how fucking stupid you sound?” she asks, incredulous. “If I die before telling you how incredibly, disgustingly stupid you sound when you say that, then I will—”

Santino kisses her. He does it because he knows that she’s not expecting it, and it has its desired effect; she stills, all of the furious energy like bottled lightning capped again. He kisses her softly, with no rage, but she can feel it woven into the sinew of his posture.

She thinks about slapping him again. But he probably knows that, because he grabs her hands, gripping them in his; the pressure is more relaxing than it is infuriating, which almost drives her mad, but it does what Santino always does. It pulls her apart until all that’s left is the hurt, the fear, welling up inside of her like a tidal wave crashing into the shore.

“He’s doing what I asked,” he murmurs. “And then we’ll be done with John Wick. Mia piccola volpe, look at me.”

“No,” she says, trying to sound angry but it comes out an agonized sound; she’s crying before she can stop herself, tears burning the edges of her eyes and a big, wet gasping breath necessary for her to keep going. “No, I don’t want to look at you anymore, Santi—”

“He’s doing what I ask, and then I promise, you and I will be done with John Wick forever.” His voice is urgent and insistent. “The three of us, tesora. Isn’t that right? You weren’t just saying that to get back at me?”

She nods, numbly. They had been careful, because she’d said she wasn’t ready—but mistakes happened. Pills got forgotten. She wishes that she could have lied about it and kept it secret. Maybe he’d be acting differently now if she wasn’t carrying his child; maybe his face would be something else.

“Euphie,” he whispers, taking her face in his hands. “My perfect, gorgeous Euphie—my greatest piece of art.” He kisses her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. “And the one with the most bite, too, even when you are so ungrateful for the things that I do. My face still hurts.”

“Good,” Euphemia manages out, her voice wobbling. “You deserve it. Idiota.”

“Maybe,” Santi replies. He tucks her against his chest and kisses her hair. “I never thought I would piss you off enough to get you to hit me—and you did cause quite a scene in front of Wick.”

“Stop.” Just the sound of that monster’s name makes her stomach churn. “Stress is bad for the baby.”

He laughs, the first real laugh in what feels like days since he’s decided on this path with John Wick. “Fine, I will not mention him again. But know that after this, it will be done. Permanently. Forever. Si? Tell me you understand, Euphie.”

She’s so tired. She’s so tired down into her core, the kind of tired that doesn’t go away with a nap or a cup of coffee. “Si,” she replies, closing her eyes. “Capisco, Santi.”

Somehow, Santi’s words that things will be done “permanently” with John Wick only manage to make her more uneasy.

She can’t remember what exactly carries her through the rest of the evening. She remembers calling her mother to check on her, to ask if she’s keeping up with her meetings. She can’t bring herself to come clean about the surprise pregnancy; it’s early, anyway, and her mother would only stress her out more.

“Sei la mia stella più preziosa,” her mother says. “Ti amo, Effie.”

“Yes, mama,” Euphie sighs, unable to say the words back. “Buona notte.”

She hits the red end call button on the phone screen, setting it face-down on the countertop and leaning her palms against the marble. God, she knows that she’d fucking kill a man for a drag of a cigarette—but she could never. Not now. Not when she has—

The sound of paper on the countertop stirs her from her half-bent position. Santino slides it across to her, setting a pen down next to her hand. It’s their marriage certificate. He’s already signed it, and while she stares at it numbly, he takes her left hand and puts the engagement ring back on her finger, but this time with the diamond wedding band he’d picked out as well.

“Santi,” she starts, but he tsks his tongue, quieting her. She’s too tired to be offended.

“Sign the certificate, amore,” he says. “Do not fuss. You’re going to stop throwing this ring at me, yes?”

There are a million reasons not to sign it: but the words that came out of her mouth are, “We don’t have the witnesses or the officiant.”

“Do we need a witness or officiant greater than God himself?” Santino replies. He leans against the counter from the other side, watching her. He is polished, pristine. Any remains of her earlier transgression against him are now completely gone, at least the physical marks. She’s sure that he won’t forget very soon that she raised a hand against him. “Sign it, Euphie, and be my wife.”

She stares at the paper. She feels like she’s melting; her life can’t be real anymore, not when John Wick was, just hours ago, feet away from her, and she’s pregnant, and now Santino is asking her to sign their marriage certificate right now.

The implications fill her with dread. What’s the rush? If nothing’s wrong, if they’ll be done with John Wick, what’s the rush?

“You said that you had nothing before me,” Santino says, breaking her out of her eerie, absent-minded disconnect. He brushes the hair from her face. “You will never have nothing again.”

Euphemia signs the certificate in a haze. It doesn’t feel any different after; she doesn’t feel different and neither does Santino in relation to her, and the realization that they had felt married for a few years now sinks down on her.

Santino rounds the counter to her, taking her face and kissing her; her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, the corner of her mouth and eventually just kissing her. His hand smooths over her stomach, admiring, and he brushes their noses together.

“Perfetto e tutto mio,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Isn’t that right, Euphemia?”

She replies, without thinking, “Si, sono tuo.”

Always, she thinks, always yours, whether I like it or not.

#santino d'antonio/original female character #john wick oc #santino d'antonio/ofc #john wick #spilled ink #c: euphemia volpe #c: santino d'antonio #c: john wick #x: senza tentazioni senza onore #oh yeah baby real good love the SUFFERING #ugh i wish i could convey how much it means to me to have people reading and enjoy this #alas i can only!!!! cry in the tags #thank you everyone <3