#Mock Trials Begin

[fillejondrette]

there's finally a love has won docuseries out. i have been waiting for this.

#i have a mock trial tomorrow and a ton of research and writing to do this weekend #so tonight i am ordering takeout and taking edibles and watching trashy cult documentaries. and then the suffering begins. #16 more days before the end of the semester

[tachiisms]

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#being INCREDIBLY busy at work has coincided with being busy with the beginning of the school year and mock trial #and wow what I wouldn't give for a 3 day weekend so I can just like...rest for a second. #that said though I do want to be here more and write more so *goes to find a meme to reblog* #ooc

[kittenintheden]

Where were you, when I was new?

AO3 Version Here

Even the masters have to start somewhere.

Rating: E Word Count: 5.6k Content: 18+, Virgin Astarion, Pre-Canon Astarion, Law Student Astarion, Young Astarion, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Intercourse, Gender-Neutral Partner (3rd Person), Unnamed Partner (3rd Person)

Astarion Ancunín is twenty years old, a law student, and a virgin. At least, he is for the time being.

It’s not as if he doesn’t know he’s an exceptionally good-looking young man, not as if no one’s ever asked before. Not as if he’s completely inexperienced. He adores kissing. Flushes with pleasure when someone plays with his long, elegant ears. Participates in a little hand stuff here and there. He even received head and gave it back, once, at some party.

Really, it’s simply that he’s had other things to do – other lessons to learn, other books to study, other concerns about his future position – and no one ever seemed worth sharing himself with fully. At least, not the first time. What can he say? He has standards.

It’s neither here nor there, to be honest, because he’s deep in his notes from a recent lecture when a friend puts a hand on his shoulder and draws his attention away. He grumbles, annoyed at being yanked out of his zone.

“What, arthehole?” he says from between his teeth because he doesn’t want to drop the pair of gold-rimmed glasses that dangle from his mouth by one temple. He never did quite outgrow his oral fixation.

His friend tilts their chin toward the large double doors that offer entry to their university’s library, which is where they’re currently holed up. “Look sharp,” the friend says. “The mock trial team from Neverwinter just walked in.”

Astarion sits up and shifts his gaze to the group of unfamiliar students following behind an enthusiastic prefect who seems to be giving them the full tour of the Grand College of Baldur's Gate. They certainly look like standard Neverwinter fare – wizard-chic robes, scrutinizing stares, Northern city attitude. He leans his cheek on his hand, lazily sizing up the competition.

There’s one that stands out and he quirks his mouth up as he observes. This student is smiling brightly, slowly spinning in place to take in the shelves around them with wonder. Their clothing is simpler than the others, more street-friendly than cosmopolitan.

“Huh,” he says to himself.

“I think we can take them no problem,” his friend says. “But what do you say about running a bit of an insurance policy? Some friendly distraction, if you will.”

Astarion glances their way. “I’m listening.”

The friend points to someone toward the front of the line. “I’ll take that one. You know I’m a sucker for tieflings with blue… everything.”

He laughs. “Have at. I think…” He folds his glasses and slips them into his pocket, training his eyes on the student who stuck out to him before. “... I’ll deal with that one.”

“Good man,” says the friend, holding up a hand for him to clasp.

***

Some time later, Astarion leans casually against a support beam in the university’s canteen with his supper in hand, waiting. It isn’t long until the Neverwinter students begin to filter in and he quickly spies his target.

They’re taking in the room and the people around them, eyes soft and gentle as a cow’s. Elven, like him, he thinks. They look over their shoulder and happen to catch his eye for a scant moment. He tilts his head and they give a polite smile before stepping forward in the queue.

Astarion examines his nails closely during the several minutes it takes the group to retrieve their food and find seats. As the elf walks along the line of chairs, he makes his move.

Before they even notice his approach, he steps just in front of them and then startles as they knock into him.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” they say, mercifully righting their tray before anything spills. “I didn’t see you.”

“No, no,” Astarion says, smiling bashfully. “My fault entirely. I didn’t look to see where I was going. I’m terrible that way. Please, join me?”

He pulls out the nearest chair and gestures for them to sit. They blink at him, wide-eyed, then lean around to look for their friends, then back at him in slight confusion.

“Ah, sorry, that’s presumptuous, I shouldn’t-”

“No, it’s fine,” they say, their face brightening with another grin. “We’re supposed to be here to meet other students, anyway, so. Yeah. Yes, I’d be happy to join you.”

“Wonderful,” Astarion says, pushing the chair in under them as they take his offered seat. Behind their back, he casts a look over at his friend across the way. They waggle their eyebrows at him and go back to chatting up their blue tiefling. Astarion smirks.

He schools his features back to neutral as he takes his own seat, giving the Neverwinter student a tight smile, playing the part of the nervy introvert superbly. Right on cue, his glasses slip down his nose a bit and he adjusts them back into place.

“Do you actually need those?” his guest says, their cheek already full of food.

Astarion’s smile drops for a second before he snatches it back and gives a laugh. “What?”

They chew and swallow their bite before pointing at his face. “The spectacles. I was just wondering if they were for show or…” They pause and their eyes go even wider than usual. “I apologize, that’s really rude of me, forget I said anything.”

His surprised laugh is genuine this time. “You know what? I don’t actually need them.” To illustrate his point, he removes them, folds them, and puts them in his jacket pocket. He leans in like he’s about to tell them a secret and quietly says, “Honestly, I just think they make me look smart.”

Immediately, they burst out laughing and he joins them. The conversation flows smoothly, after that.

“What are you doing all the way down at the Gate?” Astarion asks, placing a forkful of his own food in his mouth to chew as they answer. He now knows their name, their year, that they adore snow foxes, and that they are indeed visiting from Neverwinter.

They pick off a piece of their roll, then another. “I’m here with the mock trial group. You know that one? We playact cases like you’d find in the courts. We’re here for a competition with the Gate’s team.”

“Really?” Astarion says, the picture of innocence as he leans in closer, fascinated. “Like theater? I didn’t even know we had one of those.”

“Oh, yes, it’s a lot of fun.” They’re animatedly waving their forgotten roll around as they speak. It’s cute. “We each take the side of either the prosecution or the defense and we sort of, you know, duke it out.”

Astarion giggles. “Maybe I should come watch this thing. Which side are you on?”

“Defense,” they say with a wink. “And we’ve got a killer case.”

“Is that so?” Astarion’s grin spreads wide over his face. “I’d love to hear more.”

***

It had been quite the productive evening. His companion spilled the details of nearly everything that mattered, from their witness list to the evidence they hoped to sneak in last-minute with a legal loophole. Astarion flirted up a storm, keeping them talking. And talk they did, punctuated with laughter and light touches and a general aura of friendship .

Astarion grimaces as he organizes his notes for the trial. It should begin in an hour and he’s been hiding out in the nearby lecture hall that serves as the makeshift judge’s chambers. If he’s really, truly honest with himself… he feels awful. His opponent had been sweet, friendly, and genuinely enjoyable to be around, if a little… south of brilliant. It hadn’t taken long for him to realize he actually kind of liked them. Would maybe consider flirting with them for real, even.

If only they hadn’t been so naively trusting . That was their own fault, wasn’t it?

He swallows the sour taste in his mouth.

Around then, his friend swaggers into the room with a blooming bruise on their neck and a sleepy smile. They flop down in the seat beside him.

“Good night?” Astarion asks, cocking an eyebrow at them.

“Blue everywhere,” they say as if they’re doped up. “Everywhere, Ancunín.”

Astarion chuckles and shakes his head. “But did you learn anything useful?”

His friend doesn’t answer and Astarion clears his throat to prompt them. They focus back in on him and say, “Erm, we were supposed to be learning something? I proposed running distraction.”

“Oh for the gods’ sake.” Astarion rolls his eyes. “No matter. I got all the details from my date, anyway.” He taps his notes against the desk to straighten them and slips them into his satchel.

“You mean their team captain?” his friend says.

Astarion freezes with his hand on the latch of his satchel. Turns his head slowly to gawk at his teammate. “Their. What?”

The friend shrugs. “Guess I did learn one thing, after all. My companion said you were sitting with their team captain. Thought it was a pretty bold choice.” They wink at him. “Good for you.”

“Shit,” Astarion whispers.

His friend frowns, but before they can ask, he’s up and pulling open the door that leads to their mock chambers. The Neverwinter team is already well underway on their setup. He storms down the center aisle and sure enough, there’s his dining companion, looking polished to a fine shine with their hair properly styled and robes of deep blue setting off their elven complexion.

They turn just in time to catch him glaring at them with his jaw clenched.

“Glad you could make it,” they say with a much slyer smile than they wore last night.

Astarion has never been so simultaneously angry and infuriatingly attracted to someone in his life.

***

The first trial of their three-day competition is, naturally, a complete bust for Team Baldur’s Gate. Astarion is completely off his game and operating off of a strategy that proves totally useless. The Neverwinter team absolutely trounces them.

He got played. He got played and he’s furious about it.

Worse, he’s impressed by it. Gross.

Afterward, they come up to him to offer a genuine, friendly handshake. Astarion reluctantly accepts it.

“I’d apologize,” they say. “But honestly, I let you take the lead completely. You didn’t have to listen to a single word out of my mouth.”

Astarion sniffs. “Yes, well. Congratulations. You won.” He leans into their space ever so slightly. “This time.”

They laugh and it sounds almost the same as it did the night before. “Come on, let me buy you a drink.”

“You don’t have to rub it- wait, what?” Astarion says.

They shrug. “Secret’s out now, I guess, so I don’t see any reason for us to pretend that we didn’t enjoy one another’s company.” When Astarion doesn’t immediately respond, they put a hand on their hip and smirk at him. “At least, I enjoyed yours.”

“Well, I…” Astarion huffs and looks askance, then back at them. “I don’t even know which parts of you are real , so. I can’t say.”

The elf reaches out a finger and taps him right on the center of his chest. “You’re the one who saw someone from one of the top universities in the realm and assumed I must be some foolish bumpkin who’ll spill their guts to the first pretty face that comes along because I smile too much. I’m the one who should be concerned, I think.”

“Ugh, okay, fair,” he says, tossing his head. Then he smirks back. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Come on,” they say with a laugh and a tilt of their head toward the exit. “Let’s get that drink.”

***

Hours later, Astarion stands in front of the tiny vanity in his dorm, turning his face to examine his reflection. His cheeks are flushed from a second and then a third drink, his curls looking a bit flat at the end of the day. He pulls back his lips to examine his teeth, making sure the wine didn’t stain them. Fine. He looks fine.

He huffs at his reflection. Normally, his confidence in his appearance is, one might say, inflated . Tonight, he’s feeling unusually self-conscious about it. He pokes at the moles under his eye and grimaces.

It had been a marvelous time. True to their word, his fellow captain had bought him the first cup of cheap wine. He’d pitched in for their second round, and they’d each decided on a third. After agreeing that tonight would involve absolutely no discussion of the next day’s case, they simply let the conversation take them where it would, and took them it did. 

It was… easy. Instinctive. He told them all about leaving his terribly boring hometown behind for the call of Baldur’s Gate, determined to polish himself to a high shine and enjoy everything the city life had to offer. They told him that Neverwinter was a beautiful, sparkling metropolis, but woefully lacking in people who weren’t head-and-shoulders up their own arse.

Astarion fidgets with the wooden comb and brush laid out on his vanity, smiling. Wine loosened their tongues a bit more and they’d given into the compulsion to openly flirt with one another, and it had been… good. Very good. It’s been some time since he’s felt genuinely interested in spending an evening with someone this way. If anything, he thanks his dates for the delightful makeout session and goes on his merry way.

He runs his fingers along his bottom lip, remembering being partway into that third cup and snatched up with the overwhelming desire to kiss them. The air around them felt heated and heady, their laughs going lower in pitch as the night wore on, their eyes half-lidded when they looked at him.

He’d wanted to. He’d wanted to so badly. More than he could ever remember wanting to kiss anyone. And he’d let his nerves get the better of him.

They’d bid their goodnights, he’d come back here, and now he was flopping down onto his too-hard single bed with a huff, covering his face with his hands. He sighs and drags them over his skin, looking at his wall covered in parchment, his reminders and notes to himself everywhere, a few tickets to events he wanted to remember pinned here and there.

He reaches out and taps the flyer advertising the mock trial competition, feeling a slow grin spread over his face. They’d bested him today, but tomorrow… tomorrow’s another story.

***

The look on their face when Astarion delivers his final arguments to the judges is delicious. He’s back in the game, fully and completely, using every bit of performative flair to make sure all eyes stay on him. When he wraps it up, he pays them a smug glance and they’re looking at him with lips slightly parted.

Better yet, they’re blushing .

He positively beams.

Baldur’s Gate comes out victorious, leaving the teams one-and-one. Tomorrow will decide the competition.

Tonight, they all go out together to play.

The Neverwinter team is desperately competitive and worth every bit of the name they’ve made for themselves on the university circuit, but they also love to party. The two groups find a rager of a soiree happening at the winter house of one of the Upper City students. There’s dancing, and drinking, and no small number of heated exchanges.

Astarion doesn’t waste the opportunity to rub elbows with anyone notable – he has long-term goals, after all – but most of his attention is devoted to spending as much time as possible with his new Neverwinter friend.

They share a dance or two on the trellised patio, purple and white wisteria hanging down all around them and perfuming the air. Nothing salacious… at least, not at first. That second dance ends up a bit close, with their hand on his chest and his just the tiniest bit too low on their hip for propriety.

In the twilight, they look into his face, their own expression open and affectionate, and it hits Astarion again – that overwhelming desire to kiss them. His heartbeat quickens, fluttering his pulse up along the side of his neck, and his breath catches. Heat swirls through him from the place their hand sits on his chest.

This is ridiculous. He’s never had a problem kissing anyone else before.

He’s never wanted to kiss anyone like this before, though. This thing between them… it’s chemical. Magical.

The music drifts away and they drift apart.

He does not kiss them.

***

Day three of the competition dawns and it’s the fiercest one yet. Every member of each team is out to win and they bring their very best to the table. The professors and other staff acting as the competition's judges watch the back and forth with raised eyebrows, thoroughly impressed by their students’ passion.

And no passion is so intense as the passion between the two team captains, who pace around one another like a pair of territorial wolves, seeking any weakness at all. They stand on either side of a long table, making their cases back and forth. Occasionally they address the judge, but clearly this is a battle between the two of them.

“The evidence is crystal clear,” the Neverwinter captain states, eyes narrowed. “This man is corrupt, feeding information to the highest bidder with complete disregard for any life ruined in the process. It is unconscionable, and the court must see justice through.”

Astarion slams his hands down on the table for effect and leans closer, eyes on them. “The evidence reveals he feared for his life, for the lives of his family. He performed these misdeeds under duress. The true culprit is not in this courtroom. And that…” He pauses for effect, letting the tension stretch. “... is why I move for a mistrial.”

There’s a bark of laughter behind him from his teammate and the room goes nearly to shambles under the sudden upswing in feverish whispering. Astarion grins.

Astarion stands his ground.

Astarion wins his requested mistrial .

In the end, the final judging declares Baldur’s Gate the winner of the day, but Neverwinter the overall mock trial champions – decided by a single point.

The entire mock chambers breathes a collective sigh of relief for the end of a battle well fought and new friends made. Astarion’s teammates are swarming him, slapping his back and praising his performance. He’s grinning ear to ear and looks up just in time to see the Neverwinter captain come barrelling through the crowd to catch him in a hug. He gasps and instinctively wraps his arms around them in return.

After a solid squeeze, they stand back and put their hands on his shoulders. They’re flushed with the fight, with the win. Their eyes shine a bit in the light.

“Well done,” they say, beaming. “You were incredible.”

Astarion gulps and manages to pull on a smile. “Congratulations on your win.”

“You’ll be at the party tonight?” they ask, looking between his eyes.

“Of course,” Astarion says. “I'll see you later.”

***

And he doesn’t miss it.

Astarion stands in the mock chambers again some time later, the air far less tense and much more celebratory. The teams and their judges and staff mingle amid the catered trays of sandwiches and pitchers of cheap wine. He looks around with two cups in hand, seeking out his new friend. Friend. Friend?

When he spots them, he simply can’t stop the smile pulling at his mouth. He wants so badly to be cool tonight and they make it so hard.

He takes a breath and approaches them. They turn from the person they’re currently chatting with and light up when they spot him. Their companion looks at Astarion and takes their leave with raised eyebrows, clearly aware that their conversation is now over.

Astarion clears his throat and offers a cup. They accept it.

“It’s really very bad,” Astarion says with a scoff. “But it’s something.” He takes a sip.

They continue to smile coyly at him as they bring their own cup to their mouth.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Astarion says, looking into his cup so he doesn’t have to see their face.

There’s a pause, and then softly, they say, “Yes. Late morning. We’re hoping to make it back to Neverwinter before the snows start on the road.”

Astarion takes another drink of his wine and sets it down before he looks back at them. “That’s unfortunate,” he says with a soft, sad laugh. “Because I’ve rather liked the time we’ve spent together.” He pauses and swallows. “I’ve rather liked you .”

They tilt their head, wine held aloft in one hand, and let their smile widen.

When they don’t respond, Astarion says, “That is, you’re very clever to be around. Fun. Fun to be around? I like to be around you because you’re just…” He looks around desperately like he’s going to find help for this. “... incredible.”

They turn and set their cup down on a nearby bench.

Astarion rambles on, “I only thought maybe you might be, I don’t know, interested in letting me show you what else I’m capable of.” High-pitched laugh. “Outside the courtroom.” Clears his throat and blinks rapidly. “If you want.”

With a giggle, they grab him by the lapels and pull him in, pressing their mouth fully to his in a kiss that makes him immediately swoon, his legs going a touch weak as he leans against them for support. The chatter around them goes muffled in his mind as they both adjust for a better fit and he feels his ears flush pink to the very tips.

When the kiss breaks, Astarion can feel his heart beating in his throat, in his fingertips, in his lips, in his… oh, that’s going to be an issue very soon.

They catch his eye and say, “You want to get out of here?”

He’s never nodded his head “yes” so quickly in his life.

***

They don’t make it anywhere close to the dorms.

Now that the seal’s been broken, Astarion simply can’t keep his hands off of them. They escape into the hall together and run a few steps down the way when he crashes into them, wrapping his arms around them from behind until he gets them to turn so he can kiss them again, both hands on either side of their head as they stumble.

They run a ways, kiss a ways, run a ways, and so on until Astarion yanks them down a side hallway behind the library, looking from door to door. When he finds one he likes, he gives their hand a tug and they use the momentum to slam against him until his back hits the door. The pair of them laugh deliriously as they kiss again, tongues testing and discovering, but then they break from his mouth to kiss toward his ear.

The moment they suck on the lobe, his cock goes fully and painfully hard, hips bucking out as he whines into the air beside them.

“No, no, not there,” he says in a breathy whisper. “Not unless you want to call it a very early evening.”

They bury their face in the side of his neck, giggling, and he scrambles his hand around behind him until he finds the doorknob and they both go tumbling inside.

Astarion collapses onto the floor with his companion on top and doesn’t even think before he kicks the door shut with one foot and reaches up to bring their face back to his for another kiss. This time, he uses a thumb to stroke along the length of their own elven ear and then groan into his mouth, grinding down hard against him.

Oh gods, this is happening.

He wants this to happen.

On impulse, he reaches down their bodies until his hand's between his companion’s legs, gently cupping them there, and they sit upright, head thrown back in the very low magical lantern light of this filing room, and rock themselves against it. He does his best to give them the friction they’re seeking.

A minute or so later, they tilt their head forward and meet his eyes, their eyes stormy and lustful. They take his hands and pull them both back to standing, backing him up until he slams up against the side of the nearest filing shelf. Fingers fumble with the buttons of his doublet and he tries to help, getting them undone enough that they can reach their hands inside and scrape their nails over his ribs through his undershirt. Astarion’s chest arches forward, goosebumps prickling over his skin as he makes contented noises through their kiss.

Then they kiss down his neck, giving him a little nip near the collarbone that makes him squeak, which he attempts to cover with a purr. They keep going until they kneel on the floor and work at the lacings of his trousers. His tongue feels so heavy in his mouth, and he’s about to say that they don’t have to do-

But then their mouth is on his freed cock and he throws his head back, swooning into the overwhelming sensation of wet heat surrounding him. He’s done this before, and it was fine, but it wasn’t like this . Maybe it’s because he’s so attracted to them? Maybe it’s because they’re doing… that thing… with their tongue…

He whines and pulls in a deep breath, trying to keep his wits about him, because he highly suspects that one-sided head is not how they want the night to end. Before he reaches a dangerous place, he puts his hand on their head and gently slows them. They pull off of him and look up with a smile, their eyes the exact mix of mischief and sexiness that caught him in the first place.

No one’s ever made him feel like this. Not once.

This one, though. They’ve wound their way around the very core of him.

Astarion gulps and says, quiet and shy, “I haven’t done this before.”

Their eyes go a little wider. “Really?” they say, sincere. “You?”

He laughs. “I mean, I’ve done what we just did, but I haven’t… done what I think we’re about to do.”

They give his cock one more long lick that makes him sway a bit before they stand back up and kiss him. He melts into it. He likes them so very, very much. It hurts that they’re leaving, but this is right. He knows it is. These past few days and nights feeling them take root in him… they’ve all been leading to this.

“Well, then, I’m honored,” they say, and they sound like they mean it. “If we’re about to do what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, yes, please,” he says, kissing them again.

They each separate and disrobe, their clothing building a haphazard pile between them. Soon enough, they swipe the old files off the nearest table and his playmate faces it, bidding him closer with a smile over their shoulder, almost exactly the same as the first one they ever paid him in the canteen only a few nights ago.

Astarion takes his cock in his hand, still spit-slick, and puts his other hand on their hip. They lean over the tabletop, palms flat on the surface, and spread their legs for him. His breath stutters, his legs go weak beneath him. He can’t quite believe he’s here.

Beneath him, they shift their weight so they can put their hand over his. He’s shaking, just a little.

“We can stop if you want to,” they say, their words reedy with need but sincere beneath it.

“No,” Astarion says. Licks his lower lip. “I want to do this with you.”

They give a light laugh. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He nods, then realizes they can’t see him. “Okay. Okay.”

His fingers move from their hip to the middle of their back and he draws the pads of his fingers down over their spine. They shiver under the touch and Astarion swallows hard. His fingers trace all the way to where their arse begins to curve. He shudders in a breath and brings two fingers to his mouth to suck, then reaches between their legs to touch them there, apply pressure, rub small circles.

They arch and hum beneath his ministrations.

Astarion holds his breath and pushes his fingers inside them, losing his footing just a bit as he feels their heat, the pulse of them around his fingers. When he has his wits back, he moves his fingers in and out, pumping slow, listening to their breath beneath him for cues on what he might be doing right or wrong. He turns his fingers a bit, mapping their body, and they give a shuddering sigh.

Their insides grow warmer to the touch. Are they supposed to do that?

“More,” they huff. “You can do more now.”

“Right,” Astarion says, withdrawing his fingers and moving in closer, his arousal pulsing with anticipation. It feels like crossing into a new world, going somewhere that will well and truly mark him an adult. And he’s ready.

His cock rests at their entrance and with one more breath he guides himself inside with his hand. There’s a brief resistance, a pleasant pressure against the head of him, and then he’s half inside. His hips instinctively give a second thrust and then he’s fully sheathed.

He gasps and curls forward into their body just as they arch into his. Astarion’s arm wraps around their waist and he holds them tight.

“Okay?” they gasp again, their legs quivering.

“You feel…” he pants, pressing his forehead to the space between their shoulder blades. “Gods, you feel so good.”

They laugh and reach a hand behind them to tangle in the hair at the side of his head. “You too. You feel good, too.”

Astarion huffs out his breath and tries to place a sloppy kiss to their back, but it’s so hard when this feeling is coursing through him and his thoughts are going haywire because everything is different, now. He’s different, now.

He draws his hips back and rolls them forward again.

They sigh with it, signaling their approval.

So he does it again. And again. And again.

Together they build a rhythm. Every once in a while, they help Astarion angle himself this way or that, teaching him how to make a partner feel, make them shudder, make them moan. He finds a spot near the front of them that makes them squirm and he files that knowledge away. They take his hand and guide him round to their front and show him what to do, how they like to be touched.

He’s a fast learner. Always has been.

Astarion pants as he attempts to commit every second of this experience to memory: being buried deep inside, feeling the shudder and movement of his partner, the way they flush and bloom, the unbearably sexy sounds that float from their throat to his ears. Most of all, he wants to remember how this feels , how much he enjoys the person he’s sharing this with. His heart thuds in his chest, his ears flush with arousal and affection, and he is so happy to be exactly here, in this moment.

The pair of them grow slick with sweat against one another in the unventilated room, their cries stifled and sultry. The minds are willing, but the bodies are young and eager. The passion building between them swells, shivering, laser-focused on the place where they meet.

Their rhythm goes chaotic and Astarion only barely holds on long enough for his partner to fall over the edge before he goes tumbling after.

For a scant moment, the world goes paler than he’s ever seen it.

Then they’re both whimpering through the other side of their peak, movements gradually slowing to stillness.

After they’ve had an awkward disentanglement and a more awkward cleanup, they look into one another’s faces, and then they’re kissing again, touching again, losing themselves again. What youth lacks in experience, it makes up in vigor.

They do it once more, face to face this time. Slower, longer. Astarion learns what it’s like to soul kiss someone while making love to them. He likes it. Very much.

Some time later, Astarion leans against the table and stares down at his doublet while he does up the buttons. Beneath his lashes, he peeks up and sees them looking at him, their mouth titled up in a sweet smile. They’re already fully dressed.

“What?” Astarion says airily. His cheeks are warm and he’s positive he’s rosy pink with a blush.

“You are so pretty,” they say. “And funny, and clever. You’ve been lovely company.”

Astarion raises his eyebrows and looks askance, unable to stop grinning. “Yes, well. You’re delightful, as well, and you certainly gave me a night to remember. Thanks, for that.”

It goes unspoken between them, the knowledge that this is the last and only night. They’re young, they’re dedicated to their studies. There won’t be time for lovesick letters and pining, nice as it might be. No. Best that they keep this memory contained in crystal, sparkling.

His opponent, his friend, his lover walks closer and puts a finger under his chin and Astarion allows them to tilt his face so he’s looking at them. Then they lean in and give him a tender kiss.

When they break away, they stay close and look him in the eye. “What you gave me was a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

Astarion smiles. “Nor I.”

With one last kiss, they say their goodbyes. “Goodnight, Astarion,” they say. “I do hope we meet again, one of these days.”

“Me too,” he says, watching their retreat. “Goodnight, Tav.”

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gender neutral reader

[jubileemon]

Fizzmodeus

Somehow in the infernal landscape of Hell, the relationship between Fizzarolli and Asmodeus, stands out as a sweet love story for the ages.

They were first introduced in the episode 'Ozzie's'. Despite their public disdain for sentimental relationships, they are entangled in a secret romance that defies Hell's social hierarchy and expectations. At first, Fizz and Asmodeus appeared as massive hypocrites, mocking others for their romantic endeavors while secretly harboring their own.

Fizzarolli's life was marked by a traumatic experience with fire, resulting in losing his horns and cybernetic replacements. As he thought Blitzo abandoned him to burn, Fizz began to develop a deep resentment towards his former best friend. Despite his normal jovial nature Fizzarolli suffers from extreme self-worth and self-image issues, the latter of which mostly originating from the severe injuries he received from a circus fire that he was involved in when he was younger. Because of this, he feels like he needs to do whatever Mammon tells him to do, as he feels he must repay the man for all the fame and success being his brand figure has brought, despite how horribly he is treated.

Working under Mammon, the Sin of Greed, further complicates his identity when Fizz became a symbol of Mammon's brand. The cost of fame weighs heavily on him, as public scrutiny and the demands of celebrity challenge his sense of self and personal values. Asmodeus' title as the Sin of Lust comes with its own set of expectations, yet his love for Fizzarolli transcends these. His protective instincts are often on display, particularly when Fizzarolli is in danger or vulnerable. Despite the initial portrayal of their relationship as hypocritical, the secret romance between Fizzarolli and Asmodeus is depicted as both sweet and healthy.

Despite one being a demon prince and one being an imp, and also portraying their partnership in public as purely lustful, Fizzarolli and Asmodeus' relationship is actually as healthy and romantic if not more so than Moxxie and Millie's, where the two are equals who look out for each other. Asmodeus' even lets Fizzarolli go out in public without him or an escort to defend him, despite Ozzie's concerns, because Fizzarolli wants to go alone, a far cry from if Ozzie truly didn't care about Fizzy beyond having sex with him. It's like if Stolas and Blitzø managed to work things out between them and had things be not so rocky.

Hard to believe, but aside from sex jokes, occasional rudeness and his grudge towards his former best friend, Fizzarolli stayed as nice and innocent as he was in childhood, despite all of his trauma. He does admit that it was difficult and challenging at first, but Fizzarolli finding someone who cared so much about him has led to him feeling like he leads a good life.

The relationship between Fizzarolli and Asmodeus is not without its trials. Asmodeus's deep concern for Fizzarolli's well-being is evident when Fizzarolli is taken hostage, an event that ignites Asmodeus's fury and prompts him to take drastic measures to secure Fizzarolli's safety. This protective streak is further shown in their interactions with Mammon, another Prince of Hell, whose abusive and manipulative behavior towards Fizzarolli causes Asmodeus to harbor intense animosity towards him.

In Season 2, Asmodeus reassuring Fizz at the beginning that he doesn't have to worry about being "perfect" for Mammon because perfection is impossible, and that he deserves a break or vacation without having to fend off creeps constantly.

Asmodeus' line when he rephrases his actual feelings in regard to Fizz being in Mammon's clown contest: "I don't like how many creeps you have now, thanks to Mammon. And I don't like designing sex toys with your likeness for him. Pretty sure you feel the same"; this one line has numerous, subtle but still important subtext that really shows how much Asmodeus cares for and respects Fizzarolli. Just the fact that Asmodeus is being honest about his feelings about Fizzarolli being in Mammon's competition.

In most forms of media, when someone doesn't like something that their significant other is doing, they’ll either dance around it until they can’t take it anymore and/or even lie to get their partner to stop. But Asmodeus doesn't do that - when his initial plea doesn't work, he gets straight to the point of him not liking it but in a healthy and mature manner. He doesn't put any blame on Fizzarolli for his own discomfort, instead putting it all rightly on Mammon's greedy shoulders.

Asmodeus' dislike over Fizzarolli as Mammon's brand figure not only comes from a place of concern and worry but respect. In the second sentence of his above-mentioned line, he mentions he does not like having sex toys in Fizz's likeness. Given that he's the King of Lust, one would think he would hardly care, but he does. Because it's his boyfriend using in such a way. Asmodeus also makes sure to note that he's also aware that Fizzarolli doesn't like the sex-bots as well. He's acknowledging not only his own discomfort but his partner's.

After acting like everything's all righr for the majority of the episode and having a full-on panic attack in his dressing room, Fizz finally pours out his insecurities to Asmodeus, telling him that he's terrified of losing him if he doesn't win the pageant because he feels that Ozzie's only with him because of who he is under Mammon's patronage. He even yanks his jester hat off - revealing his scarred, splotchy head and the jagged stumps of what remains of his horns - in an attempt to show Ozzie what he believes he is without Mammon: an ugly, broken, worthless imp.

"Crooked" is a sweet, simple song where Asmodeus and Fizz admit that while they both have their flaws and insecurities.

Asmodeus reassures him of his worth and publicly declares his love, a bold move that underscores the depth of his feelings and his willingness to face potential consequences for the sake of their relationship. Instead of the crowd being shocked or mocking the two, they are all instead excited and reveal they already had theories on it.

Crimson did call Ozzie's relationship with Fizz "the worst-kept secret in all of Hell." Nearly everyone in the crowd probably already knew or at least suspected. Which makes their reaction all the more heartwarming because it's acceptance. One of Ozzie's main worries was being seen as a hypocrite for being the incarnation of carnal hedonism while having a loving, monogamous relationship. It turns out nobody thinks that at all. The King of Lust has fallen in love, and everybody is happy for him.

#helluva boss #helluva boss analysis #fizzarolli #fizzmodeus #fizzarozzie #fizzaroli helluva boss #helluva boss asmodeus #asmodeus x fizzarolli #relationship #couples #true love #romance #hazbin hotel #vivziepop #hellaverse #helluva boss mammon #helluva boss fizzmodeus #why i love this ship

[uluvjay]

Annual Christmas party- M. Samoskevich

Mackie Samoskevich x fem! Reader

In which your fiancé fucks you in the bathroom during the family Christmas party

Warnings?; SMUT; unprotected sex(use protection!), p i v, bathroom sex, cursing, pet names, kissing, a bit of dirty talk, lightly proofread so I apologize for any errors!

Day 6 of my ficmas celebration!

Your head snapped towards the door at the sound of the doorknob moving, “one second! I’m just washing my hands.” You called assuming it was one of your soon to be in-laws.

However when the door slid open and your fiancée slid inside you were a tad bit confused.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, using the hand towel hanging on the wall to dry your hands.

The man didn’t reply to your question though, and just as you went to issue another question-his body was surging forward and pulling you into a kiss.

It was rushed and messy, your body stumbling backwards from the force of his lips.

“Mm, mackie-wait, everyone’s downstairs.” You whimpered as his lips began to trial down your throat.

“I know.”

“You know? Mack we can’t, not here.” You spoke, a hand slipping into his hair to pull him out of your neck.

“Baby c’mon everyone’s to drunk to even notice us being gone, we can be quick.” He whined, trying to pull you into another kiss but the ringed hand you placed on his chest stopped him.

“Matthew” you spoke more stern this time.

“Y/n” he mocked.

“We are not having sex in your mother’s bathroom because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“Baby please, I’ll be quick I promise.” He spoke, giving you the best puppy eyes he could muster up.

You took his plead into consideration, was there a chance of you being caught? Yes. But had the entirety of the samoskevich family had a hefty amount of spiked egg nog? Yes.

“Fine, but we have to be quick.” You spoke.

Mackie didn’t even care to give you a proper reply, he just surged forward and wrapped you in his arms, quickly placing you on top of the sink.

His lips locked with yours in another desperate kiss, his mouth swallowing the whimpers escaping your mouth as his hands began to make their way between your legs.

His large fingers pushed your panties to the side as he ran the tip of his fingers through your folds to gather some of your slickness on his digit.

“Don’t tease Mack, we don’t have time.” You whimpered.

With a nod the boy quickly unbuckled his belt and pulled his dress pants down just enough for his swollen cock to spring out, its head red and glistening with his precum.

He pulled you closer to the edge, legs wrapped around his waist as he jerked himself a few times before slipping inside your warm walls.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he filled you to the halt, his tip hitting the most sensitive spot inside you perfectly.

“F-fuck Mackie.” You cried lowly.

He grounded his hips into yours, moving at a pace that was quick enough to make you cover your mouth to muffle your noises but slow enough to keep the sounds of slapping skin down.

“So good for me baby.” He groaned, head tucking into the crook of your neck as his hands gripped your thighs.

You hands came up to tangle into his dark curls, pulling on the dark stands just how he liked-yearning you a low cry from him.

Mackie’s lips brushed soft kisses against the base of your throat, his tongue slightly slipping out to run along the hot skin.

“Shit, I’m getting close Mack.” You cried as you felt the knot in your lower stomach getting tighter and tighter as he continued to fuck you deep.

“Me to baby, almost there.” He moaned, slipping one of his hands between your thighs to rub desperate circles over your clit.

You could feel your legs begin to tremble at the added pressure on your clit, your hands shook as they came up to grip onto his broad shoulders.

A deep whimper left mackie as he felt you clenching around him, hugging him so tight.

“I-I’m coming Mack, shit!” You whined pulling him into a sloppy kiss to attempt to quiet the cries of your orgasm.

Your body shook against Mackie’s as heat spread through your body like a wildfire, cried getting louder as he continued to fuck you through your high.

“Fuck baby, I’m almost there” the boy whimpered as he pulled back from your lips.

His hands took place on your thighs as he sped up his thrusts, fucking into you at an unforgiving pace-chasing the high he desperately needed.

You slapped a hand over Mackie’s mouth as his climax hit him, his head thrown back as his nails dug crescent moons into your skin, and his large body shook in pleasure between your legs.

You both took a second to catch your breath before Mackie was pulling out with a wince and sliding your panties back into place before he fixed himself.

“I can’t believe we just did that.” You laughed as you stood on shaky legs.

“It was fun though.” He giggled as he pulled you into a sweet kiss.

Unlocking the door after you both fixed your appearances in the mirror he guided you back downstairs to rejoin his, and your soon to be family in the living room.

“Wait..when did you guys leave?.” Maddy asked, looking at the two of you like you had just teleported.

“We went eat some pie in the kitchen.” Mackie laughed at his sister, shooting you a sneaky wink.



#mackie samoskevich x reader #mackie samoskevich imagine #mackie samoskevich #mackie samoskevich smut #nhl #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #umich hockey #nhl smut #nhl blurb #jay’sficmas

[bangtangalicious]

placebo (m) | pjm (3)

pairing: jimin x reader (ft. jungkook & namjoon)

premise: you're assigned a soulmate backed by the science of compatibility that hopes to promote healthier, long-lasting, loving relationships. you find yours: park jimin is the exact opposite of you. a member of a notorious resistance gang, he doesn't believe in science, love, or the state.

summary: you find out that jimin isn't your true soulmate. he was a placebo - a series of control trials to see if simply thinking someone is your soulmate would be enough to make you fall in love. the issue is, you did. you did fall in love. hard.

genre: 18+ romance, smut, angst, soulmate!au, dystopian, love triangle, romeo-juliet, opposites attract, hurt-comfort

characters: student!reader, vigilante!jimin, student!jungkook, scientist!namjoon

warnings: 18+, contains smut, angsty smut, rough penetrative sex, creampie, cock warming, breast play, a lot of kissing. like a lot. emotional sex, oral sex (m), fingering, praise kink, jimin is a pro at snapping that bra off, a lot of stimulation, a lot of foreplay, aftercare, they're in love okay it's cheesy, feelings of fear, hurt, government conspiracy, medical procedure, memory loss, cursing

taglist: @tornparts @loona15 @effielumiere @agustdream8 @jnghs @dragons-flare @xiusmarshmallow @ratherbefangirling @infires-imagines @aretha170 @dvalitaes @kookiejeonie @ddaeng-angmoh @idk123906 @cuteipat @uarmyhore @natalie-rdr @yawnkive @sukunabitch @withluvjm @thesmeraldogirl @theceraunophilegirl

wc: 7k | series masterlist | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Jimin—

“We’re not actually soulmates.”

Disappointment couldn’t even begin to explain what Jimin was feeling as he saw your eyes shatter in front of him. His heart was already beating wildly with a sense of pounding worry—all from your tears. He wasn’t the kind of guy who expressed himself. He was a pawn. A soldier, of sorts. He took action.

Right now, he was paralyzed. Every drop of blood drained from him in one rush of cold. He was left with nothing. Not even your touch held enough comfort to warm the life back into him. His breath even, mocking him with a charade of calmness.

You continued to explain. He heard you—he swore he did, but everything seemed to numb him from comprehending.

“It was a placebo, where the chip signals but we aren’t actually compatible. So the basis for everything we felt—or everything we think we feel, was a lie. Jungkook found out and,”

Jimin blinked. Looking at you. You were still there. You were still real. Your eyes swollen with tears. Hearing your words hurt, but seeing you like this hurt even more. He needed to be strong for you—you were falling apart in front of him, and he was too stubborn to let you.

He wasn’t going to let you go.

Because he didn’t care. He didn’t care—in fact, a rush seemed to pulse into him, beckoning him onwards—the fact that you might have been some government-implanted craving he had was the only reason he was trying to stay away from you initially. You fought for him. And fuck, he loved you. It was too soon to say it. Hell—probably too soon to feel it but he didn’t have a doubt in his mind.

Last night, as he fell asleep in your arms, all he could wish for was to have that every day for the rest of his life. He had never felt so strongly bound to another person. Never felt so seen, so cherished.

This wasn’t about some microchip in your necks. To him, it never had been. You cared for him when he was hurt. You were a fucking nerd, obsessed with your geeky job in a way that enamored him. You worked so hard, were so fiercely determined and dedicated to your cause. You were messy, clumsy, a stickler for rules where Jimin liked to bend them, break them, or ignore them altogether.

He loved the person you were, unfiltered—he loved the person you wanted to become, and most of all he loved the way you loved him. Your heart on your sleeve. Calling out his bullshit. And always being exactly what he needed even if he didn’t know it himself.

And he knew all of this. So why did he feel so fucking terrified?

Jimin swallowed deeply. His hand leaving your face as you searched him for a reaction through glassy eyes.

“Tell me what this means to you, doctor” His words were hushed. His fingers gliding over your wrists before circling them into his hold. His lips hovered over yours, foreheads resting against one another.

Jimin wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what it meant to you. But he needed to hear you say it. He knew how hard you had fought for him. He had tried so hard to push you away, but you persisted because you believed in the Soulmate Initiative so strongly. That had been the catalyst. For you—it had been the condition of your love.

“Jimin” You exhaled. The regret in your voice carved into his heart.

“You know that never mattered to me” His grip on your wrists tightened, as if his touch would make you understand. It was all he could do to not scream—not begin to pathetically beg you not to care. Not to change anything—not to leave him.

He could see you scrambling for words. “There’s still a chance—” You attempted to reason. Because that’s who you were. Hard facts and logic. Your voice choked—Jimin couldn’t look at you a second longer. It was too fucking painful. Too painful to sit there and watch as you gave up on him.

He needed to leave. Get far away from you and think. Because right now he felt so helpless, so powerless—he didn’t trust himself not to say something he’d ultimately regret.

His eyes were red, wet with anger. A façade to cover the shattering in his chest.

“I have to get to class, doctor” His voice was serene. His gaze, tumultuous.

“Jimin please,” You tried to pull him back as he stood up. He yanked his hand away from you, rougher than he meant to, but enough for you to get the hint. “I’m so sorry”

He took a few steps towards the door. Turning back, he looked at you one last time. Your tear-stained cheeks. Your quivering lips.

“I’m not sorry” He swallowed thickly. Pulling on his leather jacket and grabbing his helmet, he tucked in under his arm. “I will never be sorry for falling for you, doctor”

“There might—” Jimin held up his palm.

“I’ll come back” His eyes softened as if to ease your anxiety, “We can talk about this later”

He was out of the door in seconds, unable to look you in the eye again. The fresh, cold air hit him like salvation from the tension. He gasped, breathing the sharp air in as his tears unleashed.

Sinking to the floor, he buried his head between his knees. His fingers gripping his hair in frustration as he sobbed quietly. He jerked his head back, hitting the door as he punched the ground next to him. Cursing loudly as he crumbled.

You—

Jimin would be back any second. You’d never felt quite so nervous. So anxious—not even when you opened your decision letter for your PhD program—not ever. He’d be back. Be home. And you two would have to face the impending doom you’d introduced to him.

More than anything, you felt guilty. Guilty that you were responsible for what he was going through right now. After trying so hard to convince him that he even deserved love, let alone from you—to gain his trust and then put him into this grey space of uncertainty. It wasn’t lost on you how unfair it was.

The mere thought of living your life like you had before Jimin—was pointless. He had awoken something within you. As frustrating as he was, as much of a tease and a flirt—he made every day feel like an adventure. He brought you to life in a way nothing else quite did.

But if your real soulmate was out there, you couldn’t help but wonder. Was it all fake attraction? Was what you could find with someone you were truly compatible with even better than this? More magical? More right?

You had to know.

And you knew Jimin wouldn’t see it that way. But even if you chose to ignore it—to let it go, it would drive a wedge between the two of you inevitably. Jimin’s flaws seemed to glare at you in a way that they hadn’t before. Everything impossible about your relationship seemed to weigh on you because you didn’t have the blind faith in the system anymore. You didn’t have the promise that this is how it was supposed to be.

The ring of your doorbell sent your heart into somersaults. You buzzed him, nervously tugging at your sleeves. You wanted to look pretty for him—unsure if that was cruel of you, but you couldn’t help but think that these were a collection of your final moments together.

He walked inside. Tired eyes, raven hair wispy from the wind. The cold tinting his cheek and nose. His black motorcycle jacket hugged his figure. The familiar scent of cigarettes and gasoline which you had come to associate with comfort. A scent that once made you nauseous.

Slugging his backpack off, he set it aside. Neatly, he unlaced his boots before stepping inside. He regarded you with a soft smile. His deep brown eyes were simultaneously relieved and broken.

“Hey you”

You approached him slowly, immediately wrapping your arms around his torso. You inhaled him. His unadulterated bliss. He was cold, but so warm. And when his arms wrapped around you, cradling your head to the crook of his neck, leaning into you—you wanted to simply melt.

You looked up. His pretty eyes—the way he looked at you—God. His touch flushed you over with heat as his palm reached your cheek, thumb caressing over your jaw, teasing your bottom lip.

You didn’t know what to say to him. It seemed, you didn’t need to say anything. Jimin sighed into you, his lips relaxing against yours. So soft. So tender. Incredibly sweet.

And you wouldn’t stop him. Maybe it was avoidance. The impending melancholy of the night you were about to have. The inevitable heartache. You deepened the kiss, pulling Jimin closer to you desperately.

He grinned against your lips as you did. Hands falling to your hips before cupping the backs of your thighs. He lifted you up, still kissing you with the same delicateness. Taking you to the couch where he sat you both down.

Falling to his back, you crawled on top of him. Lips not parting. Breaths getting heavier.

Because when you kissed, nothing else mattered. Nothing else even existed. There was only him. Him and the storm of pleasure brewing in your chest. The heat coursing through your veins. The dizziness spinning in your head.

His fingers curled over your hip as he flipped you down. Hovering over you now, he admired you. Eyes memorizing your every crevice. His chain fell from his neck, the cool metal making you shiver as it glided across your hot skin.

He peeled off his jacket, leaving only his tight white t-shirt, before returning to you. Body caging yours in. Forearms resting on either side of your face as his fingers traced your cheeks.

“I don’t tell you enough” He murmured. You raised your eyebrows, curious. “You’re so fucking beautiful, doctor. So pretty,” His eyes were half-lidded, kissing you chastely, “Sexy..gorgeous..mine” He smacked against your lips between each word—sending a rush of praise to your head.

And you loved it. You loved his words like they were feathers tickling against you. His voice was silk and you wanted to dance in it for eternity.

The pressure of his body felt incredible against yours, his heat like a blanket. You’d never felt so safe—so cherished in his hold.

“Where the hell did you even come from, doctor?” He hummed playfully against your lips, “How the hell find me? You’re a fever. You’re my disease and my cure”

You tugged at his chain, urging him to kiss you harder. To glue his lips to yours.

He groaned, hips rolling flush against yours as his mouth worked you into serenity. You could feel how badly he needed you, but he was taking his time. On the other hand, you were frantic. Your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. Tugging it up his torso as he chuckled. You could feel his scalding skin on your fingertips. Exploring the expanse of him. The contours of his body, the soft skin.

His teeth tugged at your lip, nipping at you playfully as you scratched your nails against his chest. He finally allowed you to pull this shirt over his head, giving you a moment to admire him, chain contrasting against his golden skin before you tugged off your own top.

You were left in sheer light green bra. Delicate. Something you had bought as a joke a long time ago, wondering if it would actually make you feel more confident. Jimin’s pupils darkened.

“Let me” He exhaled shakily. You turned over, on your knees as Jimin held you up—one hand on your neck pulling you back to him. His fingers gripped your jaw as he kissed your cheek, smirking against you as his other hand expertly snapped your bra off. So fast that it sent shivers down your spine. He replaced where the latch once was pressing into your back with his own lips, kissing up your spine until melting at your nape.

You arched your back as the bra slid down your arms, onto the floor. Jimin’s coarse fingers immediately covering your breasts. Pinching your nipple between his fingers sensually. Trailing butterfly kisses up your neck. You twitched under his touch. Small, needy gasps leaving your parted lips.

He hummed with pleasure, tasting you across your jaw, chest pressed against your back.

“So good to me,” He kissed your cheek. The blisters on his fingers against the soft skin of your breasts making his touch so incredibly erotic, it had you weeping in your core. His touches so subtle, and yet you were reacting to him so desperately. Craving him, overwhelmed by how fucking good it felt when he touched you.

“Please” You weren’t even sure what you were asking for. He chuckled softly, teeth grazing against your ear. “Jimin p-please”

“I love that. I love it when you ask me so nicely like that” He pushed you down on all fours. You let out a surprised gasp at his sudden roughness, but your cunt tightened. He pulled off your jeans, and then his own. Leaving your panties on he grabbed a handful of your ass and squeezed it.

“So fucking perfect,” His large hands moved all over the flesh of your thighs. He let two fingers tease along your damp slit. “What’s this huh? Wet for me already baby?”

His fingers pushed the cloth aside, finding your tender clit. You bit back a moan as he began to trace small, slow circles. He leaned down on you, the feeling of skin on skin riling you up even further. His lips caressed the back of your shoulders with hums of approval as his fingers continued to coax you. His other hand holding your hip steady. Pinching your ass tenderly.

“Jimin” You gasped breathlessly, fingers gripping the couch tight. His fingers continued to push you further and further towards nirvana. He pulled you up suddenly, fingers still on your clit—but he needed to see you. Needed to look into your eyes as you came. Hand wrapped around your neck, enough to feel his control but not enough to choke you.

“You gonna cum for me doctor?” Jimin teased, forcing your jaw towards him. A grin on his lips mirrored the mischievous glint in his eyes. You nodded pathetically.

“Yeah?” His tone raised, taunting you further as he smashed his lips back on yours. Tongue pushing through your lips as his fingers circled your clit faster. Your moans were swallowed by him—body going limp as waves of pleasure crashed down on you. Your body bucking forward, taking Jimin down with you. Twitching all over as your cunt leaked onto his hand. His rough, desperate kisses muffling your screams.

“That’s it baby, so good for me” His fingers led you through the aftershocks before dipping into your sensitive cunt. “So good and wet all for me, right?”

He pulled himself off of you, and you turned, on your knees—reaching for his cock.

“I want to suck your cock”

Jimin blinked at you incredulously.

But you were determined. You began to stroke him gently. He hissed, reaching behind you to steady himself against the back of the couch.

“You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you baby?” He leaned down to kiss you cheek. You looked up at him, eyes earnest—because you wanted him to feel so good.

You wanted to make up for all the pain you knew you were about to cause him. He deserved everything—heaven and the stars and everything beyond, you wanted him to have it all. For now, you let your lips kiss the flushed tip of his cock.

“F-fuck,” He reached for your chin, stroking your jaw tenderly. “You’re so good to me baby fuck”

“I,” You diverted your eyes with shame as heat crawled over your cheeks. “Tell me what to do”

Jimin gulped, eyes shifting as he understood your words.

“Open wide” He pushed two fingers against your lips until your mouth opened enough for him to slide them inside. “No teeth okay baby—and then just take it in as far—” He pushed his fingers down your throat. You tried your best not to gag, until finally you couldn’t help it. He pulled his fingers out, a string of saliva following. “As you can”

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, tugging on it playfully as he cooed at you. It was the eagerness in your eyes. The fierce determination he knew you were feeling to please him.

“You’re so” He chuckled softly, “God I—” He choked on his words.

Now was hardly the time.

You beamed at him, taking his cock into your mouth little by little. His head tilted back as he cursed to himself.

You loved seeing him like this—amazed that you could make him feel like this. Motivated by his response, you began to slowly bob your head. He exhaled verbally, letting out a loud groan.

“Just like that baby, fuck—good girl” His voice was pained as if he was losing his resolve and it only fueled you to move faster. He tugged your hair, giving you a warning stare. “If you do that I’m gonna cum baby. Slow down”

You gave him a mischievous look, deciding to disobey.

“Y/n” His voice was low, demanding. He recognized you were teasing him, and as much as he wanted to fuck you—he couldn’t bring himself to stop you. His thumb swiped at the drool from the edge of your lips. A shock rippled through his body as he reached for your shoulder to keep him steady.

“Fuck. Fuck. Baby I’m—” His hips bucked, cock twitching inside your mouth as you felt his warm cum on your tongue. You let him go, swallowing his cum—and before you could even process it, he lifted you up, forcing your legs around his waist and carried you to your bedroom.

He laid you down on the covers gently, kissing the inside of your thighs, all the way up your stomach, where he showed you a little extra love, up to your breasts—he nibbled on them playfully, loving the way you’d twitch for him. His eyes stayed glued to yours. Dark and needy.

“I’m gonna need a little bit” Jimin confessed after deciding your breasts had been abused enough by his mouth. For now. He let his fingers continue to toy with them as he hovered over you. “But we should talk, hm?”

You inhaled sharply.

“Y-yeah we should”

Jimin grinned, taking a peak back into his mouth, this time letting his tongue run rampant on the plushness.

“Jimin” You hissed, grabbing his hair.

“You taste so good baby, I can’t help it” He kept on kissing your chest. Rolling onto his side, he pulled you into his embrace. Your naked bodies intertwined as his hands roamed all over you. You cradled his head against you, fingers running through his silky black hair.

You whimpered, hopelessly aroused by his actions. Your pussy pulsing, wishing so badly to be stuffed.

“I need you” You nudged him. “I need you so bad”

Jimin grinned, pulling away from you. He kissed you softly.

Then his eyes grew serious.

“Y/n” His tone had changed. He wasn’t teasing anymore. “If I asked you to just let it go,”

“You know I can’t” You responded. Jimin looked away. His fingers still tracing your sides.

“Yeah” He said after some time, kissing your cheek, “I know”

You gulped, cupping his face in your hands. “Can I just say that, right now, in this moment, based on every experience I’ve had in my life up to this point—I love you?”

Jimin scoffed, but he couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes.

“I just need to know”

“If there’s someone else, you mean.” Jimin gave you a pointed look. “What happens then, doctor?”

“If someone else is my soulmate, that also means someone else is yours. I can’t keep you from that”

“I know I don’t want that” Jimin gripped your hips possessively, pulling you impossibly closer. “I don’t care. I love you”

A tear rolled down your cheek. The hurt that you so blissfully ignored moments before, returning.

“I’ll meet Dr. Kim Namjoon at the conference in a few days. He can check for us, and then”

“You already know though, don’t you?” Jimin challenged. “You think we aren’t compatible”

You paused. “Well I—”

“Go ahead, doctor” Jimin smiled, a hint of despair in his gaze, “Go meet your soulmate. No one in this universe will love you the way I do, I am sure of it. So sure that I’ll take the chance of losing you forever if it means you’ll believe me one day”

He began to get emotional. You ached for him. Ached for the pain he felt in his chest. The pain you didn’t want him to feel.

Your hand rested on his chest. Feeling the beat of his heart against the tense silence.

He kissed you again. Desperately. His fingers tugging your panties aside as his now hard cock slid against your folds.

You kissed him back—even more desperately. Savoring whatever you had left with him. Losing yourself in him as though time were running out. Spreading your thighs to grant him entrance, he fucked into effortlessly. Filling you up until you felt so right—so whole. He stilled, nose tracing yours as he gazed into your eyes.

Tears threatened the edges of his pretty brown eyes.

“I don’t trust them Y/n” He whispered, the tear unleashing, “What if they brainwash you—what if seeing your soulmate resets your brain chip and—” He gasped, lip trembling.

“I won’t forget you, Jimin” You assured him with a comforting hand stroking his back.

“You don’t know that” Jimin gulped.

The true fear in his eyes hit you like a reality check. Reminding you that this man had no trust in the system, and you were asking him to take a gamble on it.

“Maybe you’re not supposed to know about the Placebo. Maybe they’ll do something to you, and me—and you’ll be in danger and I won’t know”

You kissed him sweetly. “Baby” You mumbled, knowing you’d never called him that— “Don’t think like that”

“I mean the fact that we fell in love, without the compatibility assessment, means the whole system is bullshit—doesn’t it? They could pick any two people and condition them to love one another with the chip. That’s not something they’d be okay with people knowing”

“N-not necessarily” You sighed. “Baby—move” You urged him, as if he forgot his cock was nestled deep inside of you. He hadn’t.

He gave you a tight thrust. Your lips parted, and he did it again, watching your expression intently. He held you close—you held him close. He buried his face into your neck, pushing you onto your back so he could fuck you deeper. His hips slammed against yours, deep, quick thrusts that you could feel throughout every inch of your body.

“You’re heaven” Jimin gasped, kissing your cheek again, “I don’t think you fucking understand what I feel for you, doctor—I swear I”

“I do, Jimin” You assured him, “I feel it” He began fucking you faster. “And I love you”

He stilled so he could kiss you again. “Say it again” He begged, “Please. Say it, mean it, please”

“I love you” You stared into his starry eyes. His fingers intertwined with yours, pushing your arms above your head as he resumed his ruthless pace. His lips pasting against yours in between your confession, “I love you Jimin—I do—So much”

He burst inside you, but he couldn’t stop. The moment was too charged, too emotionally ripe. He kept himself sheathed inside of you, cum stuffed deep. Hugging you close, he kissed you—a man addicted, and you were his vice.

You fell asleep, at some point.

You heard him whisper against your eyelids—I won’t give up, at some point.

You woke up, at some point.

He was gone.

You—

You arrived at the conference. You hadn’t heard from Jimin since that night—but preparation kept you distracted. This was a huge moment for your career—and you’d worked too hard to fall short now.

Jungkook was by your side, dressed in a light grey suit—the conference badge contrasting the plain white button-down shirt that gripped his chiseled chest. Around you were folks of similar adornment—chatting with their colleagues, setting up posters and grabbing coffee.  

“Good—you made it” Your boss, Jung Hoseok, who you loathed approached the both of you. “Is everything set up for my talk later?”

You exchanged an irritated look with Jungkook, who bit back a smile. “Yes, sir”

Dr. Jung hummed, pleased with your response. “Very well. Go network. This conference has the best of the best. Y/n, I know you were interested in meeting Dr. Kim, would you like me to make an introduction?”

You stiffened. Dr. Kim Namjoon. He was the most brilliant biochemist of your time. He single-handedly piloted the Soulmate initiative with the help of his neuro-engineering team. He developed the compatibility algorithm that you spent your whole life studying. Appreciating.

He was infamous. And it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous too—you had all of his books, memoirs, magazine articles. It was safe to say you knew quite a bit about the man. And soon he’d be right in front of you. In the flesh.

“If you don’t mind” You held back your excitement, but your hand trembled, gripping onto the pamphlet that a volunteer had forced into your hold earlier. Dr. Jung nodded, motioning for you to follow him.

“I’ll come too, if that’s okay” Jungkook quipped. You made a face, but knew you had no right to take this opportunity from him either, as much as you preferred to meet him alone to discuss your dilemma.

Up the elevator, Dr. Jung led the both of you to the top floor of the hotel in which the conference was taking place. From the clear glass, you could see the city sprawled out—serene, snow beginning to melt off of the ground. More folks were out and about. Children playing in the now cleared-up parks. Spring was coming, soon.

You stepped out of the elevator, and were met with a series of guards lining the hallway. It made sense; you mused. Kim Namjoon was a high-ranked State scientist. Which meant he was a prime target for a Resistance kidnapping or attack.

Your lips wavered. A part of you was disappointed at the lack of hope you had that you’d find out you and Jimin were compatible. Your gut knew you weren’t. But you loved him, so it could be. It could be him, right?

Why did you love him, if you weren’t compatible? It was so easy to think of all the reasons—so simple in your mind, but hard to find the words. You trusted him with your life. He was attractive, kind, in a bad situation but had big dreams. Dreams to make change, and you admired that.

As you walked past the guards, Jungkook’s hand brushed against yours. You looked his way and he winked at you excitedly. “You ready?”

He whispered against your neck. Too close—maybe it hadn’t been before, but now it felt too close. Nevertheless, you smiled back at him and nodded.

It occurred to you that Jungkook might be your real soulmate.

“Namjoon!” Dr. Jung opened the double doors to the suite. You took the room in. Hardly a room—there was a whole lab set up in there. Humming with the soft whirr of state-of-the-art machinery, bright white lights everywhere. Translucent monitors display complex molecular structures and neural pathways. Simulations.

The middle of the room had a holographic interface projected a three-dimensional model of a chip. The chip. Tiny filaments extended from the chip, resembling delicate neurons connecting to an unseen network.

Your heart skipped a beat. This was paradise.

There was not a drop of chemicals in this lab. Everything was tech-based, simulation and modeling predicting chemical interactions, hormonal regulation, neural response and bodily action.

“Hey Hobi” You heard a low, smooth voice. Your clenched your fingers into your palm. Taking a deep breath, you turned the corner where Dr. Kim was sitting.

God.

He sat casually on a stool set up by a plain workstation. He was dressed in a black turtleneck, black trousers—his black hair gelled up. You’d neve seen him without a white-coat on, as that’s how he tended to appear in media pictures. Here, in front of you now, he was relaxed. He was just a person. He was a man.

His dimpled smile made your throat tighten. A smile that reached his eyes with such a genuine glimmer. He greeted Dr. Jung with a suave fistbump, exchanging some words with him before chuckling lightly, patting him on the back and swiveling his chair towards you and Jungkook.

His smile widened.

“Hey there” He nodded his head politely. Both you and Jungkook bowed slightly. “So you’re the poor kids who got looped into helping this motherfucker” Your eyes widened at his comment, but Dr. Jung simply rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah—I’ll see you downstairs. Drinks tonight? The usual?” Dr. Jung pointed at him for confirmation as he reached the door. Namjoon nodded.

“Of course Hobi, I’ll see you later” He redirected his full attention to the both of you, shutting the computer in front of him. “Please, take a seat” He motioned behind him and a small robot pushed two stools over to where you were standing.

“I’m Y/n L/n” You extended your hand to him.

“Ah yes, I’ve heard about you. You study my work, huh?” He winked, making your face rush with heat. His eyes passed over to Jungkook. “And you?”

“Jeon Jungkook, honored to be here, sir”

“Good. Good, so tell me about yourselves”

“Actually” You exhaled. “Dr. Kim, if you don’t mind—there’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you”

He raised his eyebrows. Folding his arms over his strong chest in a way that made you aware that this man worked out, he leaned back. “Oh, sure. Let’s hear it then”

You were about to speak when Jungkook interrupted.

“Y/n’s soulmate was a placebo. We’d like to run the compatibility test to find out who her real soulmate is”

Your mouth felt dry. Namjoon’s eyes flashed with interest, gaze remaining steady on you.

“How’d you figure it out?”

You looked at Jungkook.

“I uh, hacked some data” Jungkook confessed, shyly.

Namjoon let out a soft laugh.

“Well alright. As you know, any scientific RCT trial needs a control group. We use these placebos to understand the actual effect of the Soulmate algorithm’s deployment on the outcomes of interest. Procreation, individual health and wellness, etc.”

He was speaking to you. Directly to you, even though Jungkook was right by your side.

“The way the chip works is that you see someone who surpasses your compatibility threshold. There isn’t one soulmate. I suppose there could be, but we have to factor in proximity and chance for encounter. That’s why the microchip will only give the Soulmate signal once you meet someone who has also passed the cognitive-sexual threshold who surpasses your compatibility level. Another threshold, unique to each person and defined by many metrics”

It was nothing you didn’t know. Jungkook on the other hand, was fascinated.

“Wait so, both and Y/n and I were past out cognitive-sexual threshold and we saw each other all the time before she met…her placebo. I didn’t meet her compatibility threshold?”

Namjoon seemed to bit back a giggle. “Well, Jungkook? Is it? Right, it goes both ways. She didn’t meet yours either” His eyes flashed at you. You couldn’t help but notice that they were honey-brown, almost gleaming gold in the light.

Jungkook seemed to recede into himself.

“Is there a way I can check my compatibility with my placebo soulmate?” You asked, tugging at your sleeves.

“Well, I suppose” Namjoon took a second to think, “If you know where they are right now, and get to them without looking too many people in the eye” He chuckled.

Right, you mused.

“Because if you reset my chip, and I see someone else, it’ll register they’re my soulmate before I can even look Jimin in the eye” You mumbled.

“Exactly. We can do that, if you’d like. But no law says you must be romantically involved with your soulmate. Either way, your choice is still your own”

You gulped. You just had to know.

“Please, if it’s alright, can you reset my chip?” The words felt like acid leaving your mouth. Namjoon shrugged nonchalantly.

“Sure thing. Jungkook—this is a medical procedure, technically. We will need some privacy”

“Oh, right” Jungkook scrambled to his feet, rushing out the door rather quickly. Namjoon reached for a tablet set near the window and tapped a few buttons. Some robots arrived, removing the table and stools and setting up a medical bed in it’s place.

“Do you not like your placebo soulmate?” Namjoon asked, while the robots were at work.

“Actually I like him a lot.” You confessed. “But I believe so strongly in the benefits of your algorithm. So I just need to know for sure”

Namjoon squinted at you, but nodded.

“Do most placebos work out?” You blurted, covering your stomach with your crossed arms. “Is there a statistically significant difference between outcomes with truly compatible soulmates and placebo ones?”

A grin tugged at Namjoon’s lips. The robots finished setting up the medical equipment and he motioned for you to lie down.

“What do you think, Y/n?” Namjoon mused as he connected a few wires to the back of your neck. “Do you think placebos would work out the same way? Is believing someone is your true love enough to make you love them?”

You gulped. His fingers brushed against your nape as he plugged in your chip. 

Until it hit you.

“It doesn’t matter” The thoughts came to you as the words left your mouth, “It isn’t even about love. Compatibility. Or health.” Your eyes quivered as you noticed Namjoon’s grin widening.

“I-It’s about your faith in the State” You drawled, “If you believe in the State—in the Soulmate Initiative, then it’ll work. And if you don’t—”

You sat upright suddenly, feeling uneasy. Jimin’s fears echoing in the back of your mind.

“Don’t worry—you did fall in love. You clearly believe, so you have nothing to worry about.” Namjoon admired you for a moment. “You’re very smart, Miss. Y/n. It’s a shame it took us until now to meet”

Namjoon proceeded to tap a few more things on his tablet.

“Now before we do this, you should know. There is a small chance the reset will cause both you and your placebo soulmate to forget that you’ve seen each other. Not to worry, though, I can make sure that you head his way after the procedure to see if you two are compatible”

You gripped the edges of the seat with your trembling fingers.

“But don’t worry, you’ll be unharmed”

Forgetting Jimin—that’s harm. That’s fucking harm. Your mind was screaming warning.

“Wait actually I don’t—”

“Relax,” Namjoon placed a hand gently on your shoulder, pushing you back to your chair. “I’m here. I’ll tell you to go find this fella and look him straight in the eye before anyone else. You can trust me”

Strangely enough, you believed him.

“Okay”

“What’s his name?”

You hesitated. Drawing attention to Jimin’s citizen file wasn’t a smart idea given what you knew about him.

“P-park Jimin”

“Good. Now close your eyes. This might give you a brief migraine”

Jimin—

It had been pathetic. Jimin showed up at the steps of Jin’s home—the home he shared with a few other members of the resistance. It was late—he could hear the debauchery happening inside loud and clear. The familiar stench of tobacco and liquor radiated from the dim light behind the shuttered windows.

He inhaled sharply. He spent the whole day wandering. Trying to drown himself in schoolwork until even that seemed pointless. He needed a distraction. Something to ease the pain. Until he figured out how the hell he would get you back. He needed anything.

He sat down on the splintered porch steps, ignoring the fleet of giggles from what he assumed were sex workers. Staring at his palms, he recalled the sensation of your touch. His fingers curled into his palm, wishing your hand was there but instead grasping at the crisp late winter air.

“Well look here,” Jin’s familiar voice boomed from the entryway. Jimin looked back to see him, a flimsy tank top under his leather jacket which was being pulled off by a beautiful, voluptuous woman. “Ay, fuck off whore—that’s my little brother and oh,” Jin pouted, shoving the woman off of him, “He looks so sad” Jin leaned down to tug Jimin’s cheeks in a way he always used to do when Jimin was younger.

“Why you sad baby boy?” The woman cooed, “If you’d like, I can make it all better”

Jimin rolled his eyes, “No, thank you.” Redirecting his attention to Jin who slid down to sit by his side, a bottle of beer in his hand— “God, doesn’t it ever get a bit old hyung?”

Jin scoffed, “I’ve had about enough of you sitting on your high horse and judging us, Jimin. You are one of us. We’re at war. Well—” He took a sip, “We will be, soon enough, and we need you. Your brother was—”

Jimin hissed. Jin took the hint, luckily.

“Look,” His tone grew serious, “We had one of our mole’s hack into the microchip database. We were right. The kind of data they collect and the way they use it to strategically puppet aspects of our society—it’s robbing free will. Altering memories. Manipulating thought through exposure and environment. And because there’s not specific legislature that oppresses people, they play it off as the way the world works. No. They built these structures, Jimin-ah. We have proof.”

Jimin gazed up at the obscured night sky. Clouds veiled any semblance of starlight, mirroring the shadow over his thoughts.

“She isn’t even really my soulmate” Jimin chuckled bitterly. “It was a fucking placebo”

Jin stared at him for a moment, before his eyes softened with pity. “Fuck Jimin,” He handed him the bottle. Jimin took it, sipping the sour & bitter liquid. “You really like the bitch, huh?”

“Hyung” Jimin snapped. Jin simply chuckled.

“My bad, my bad. The scientist. Whatever the fuck her name is. Listen. If you want to know if your feelings are genuine or not, you need to take out your microchip. It’s the only way you’d know for sure. The fact that there is a placebo cohort for something like this is kinda fucked up. Whatever happened to ethics?” Jin scoffed. Jimin took another swig of the beer.

Should he? Should he take it out? The microchip was the physical embodiment of the state's reach into his very soul.

Jin could sense that Jimin was considering his idea.

“Honestly, it’s about damn time you did Jimin. Things are getting serious around here. We’re going to start taking real action, advocating for our cause. We want you in—we’ve always known you’re a smart kid. Good with words and all that. Hell, you’re not meant for the battlefield Jimin. You’re meant for a throne”

Jimin set the bottle down, again looking up to the skies. “I don’t want a throne. I just want to not be a fucking puppet anymore. For them, or for you guys”

“Then take what’s yours. This is what your brother wanted, Jimin. Be more involved. Take charge. Your girl didn’t give up on you—the state fucking manipulated her to give up on you. They took everything from you—it’s damn time you see that. It’s damn time you fight for what you deserve”

Fight. He was going to fight for you. He had promised you that. Promised himself that.

He reached for the back of his neck.

“Fuck the State” He mumbled, “I want this out. Let’s go”

Jin grinned ear to ear, “Fuck yeah!” He patted Jimin on the ack excitedly. “We’ve got a bot that can do it in the back, come on”

You—

“Y/n?” The soft call echoed in the sterile room. Your eyes, weighed down by the fog of unconsciousness, fluttered open. The harsh fluorescent lights above you forced a squint. A lingering scent of antiseptic filled the air, accompanied by the gentle hum of machines.

Behind you, a subtle tug and disconnect confirmed the unplugging of your chip from the machine. The cool room air kissed your skin, sending a shiver of unease through you.

“Good, your vitals are all normal. You’re doing great,” Namjoon's voice reassured. Turning, you saw his back as he typed notes on his laptop.

It came back to you: where you were. Who you were. Everything seemed to click. Your heart seemed to hurt. You couldn’t understand why.

“Do you remember Park Jimin?” Namjoon asked. You blinked in his direction.

“Who?” Your response was automatic, a clouded memory of someone fading into obscurity. The emptiness inside of you seemed to pulse.

Namjoon continued typing, his focus on the screen. “There’s a man,” he hummed, “I need you to go directly to him and look him in the eye to see if he is your soulmate or not. His file suggests he may be at the University Law Library. Try to minimize eye contact with strangers as you head there.” Namjoon turned back around.

You looked at him.

In those honey eyes. Those sweet, smiling, kind eyes.

A sharp pain in your neck burned.

They say you’ll just know.

­come scream in my asks! thanks for reading you hotties~ lmk what you think <3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

#bts masterlist #bts series #bts soulmate au #bts smut #bts jimin smut #jimin x reader #bts fic recs #park jimin smut #namjoon x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts fic #jimin fic recs #bts fanfiction #jimin fanfic #jimin smut #park jimin x reader #jimin fluff #bts scenarios #jimin angst #bts scifi au #bts smut recs #jimin #jimin bts #jimin x you #bts jimin x reader #jimin x reader smut #jimin series #jimin fic rec #pjm x reader

[darkdemeter]

AUGURIES OF LOVE & DYNASTY

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN (ONESHOT) #4 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — Another little smut trial for you guys and the pup/family dynamic, most of all I'm testing out my strengths and weaknesses and what my limitations are; and if they can maybe be improved on. GN smut is rather tricky for me to really get into the groove of if I'm being honest. That doesn't mean I'll stop writing for GN entirely but I may have to find a work around. Not only that but I fucking LOVE writing the angst, hardened wolf most of all with Wanda. Fuckin' love the angst and shit... so soft stuff like this is kinda a small bone in the mix but my main go to is the more hurt and angst genre, that and the tension, the build up for me is just *chef kiss*. But little a/n rant over. Enjoy!

WORD COUNT — 2.9k

READER DISCRETION — fluff content — wolf family and pups — pregnant Wanda — SLIGHT SMUT 18+, MINORS DNI* — clawed fingering — sliver of breeding or pregnancy kink? — remote location — minor and implied torture and stuff (left to reader's interpretation) — mention of scars — profanity — use of Y/N — named pups — I think that's it?

SUMMARY — Another morning rises over the snowy peaks. Your home in the wilds is peaceful and undisturbed. This winter, your first litter of pups are eager to begin to live as the young wolves of your dynasty. Meanwhile, Wanda happily carries your second litter.

Your very heart beats in time with the earth, each heavy footfall of the paw echoes beneath. Your blood runs alongside the rushing current of rivers. The chill of snow sinking under your weight feels familiar in contrast to unclean pavement. 

Sunlight bleeds over yonder just beyond the snowy mountain peaks. The amber glow of its rays paint an overlay over the blue and black tinted landscape littered with white. Branches above shiver in the breath of winter and birds chirp amongst each other, calling out in the early morning. You stalk the hidden and unmarked path now all knowing of where it leads you. When another breeze sweeps across the river beds below, its chill runs along the fur of your back with a hollow greeting. 

Still, you continue to walk at your own leisure, enjoying the pleasantries of the wilds offered to you. Sanctuary is a place where one feels safe, away from the harms of the world beyond. Everywhere you have been there have been many great dangers. It was high time to return home to that sanctuary and your loved ones with you. 

Your fur is dotted with a feathered dusting of white flakes, the shift in your weight occasionally shakes your coat to a near-cleansed appearance. Your long tail sways in motion to your movement, every so often lifting when a pair of small, sharp teeth graze it in hopes to play. 

The pitter patter follow behind you with adoring loyalty and familiarity, your station the highest ranking, one earnt of respect and reverence since day one. 

But still, there remains the habit of play. To take in the world around them, piece by piece; gathered in their clutches of their curious, short muzzles. 

In your journey to scout out the territory you take a minute to admire the scenery, a specular luxury granted to you for your unwavering protection to the land. You stand atop the lifted rise of dark stone layered and moulded together by the force of nature. A perfect spot to use as a vantage point. 

Your cluster of pups, the first litter of many to come, whine and yelp together in their time of playing, small paws scraping across the hardened surface. Keena and Leo engage one another in a mock fight. Their teeth pulling and tugging each other by the scruff and ears, Leo barks in retaliation when Keena becomes a little too rough. 

With a snort, Keena wanders closer to you whilst Leo is entertained by his other siblings. Curious as Keena was to find whatever it was that grasped hold of your attention, there is still much to see, to smell and explore. She devises a plan and bows her body in preparation, tail wagging from side to side when your lips curl up in warning. A rumble bellows from the cavity of your large chest, steam clouds across your dark nose. 

Keena’s plans are disrupted and with a tucked tail, she submits and sits between the pillars of your front limbs. Not too long are the remainder of your pups under your protective stature but with a summoning huff, you beckon them to follow after you. 

They’re still new to the changes of their wolf bodies, uneven on their paws as they keep their best of balance, tricky as it might be. You sure don’t make it look easy but the grace of your form inspires them to not give in. They’re determined to share this side of their bloodline with you. 

To be as steady as you, as dangerously graceful and practised as you. 

The sun shines higher now and the world has grown a tad bit warmer, if only a little. That doesn’t mean your pups still endure the cold without sacrifice, shivering with a series of pitiful whines of complaint. But they have the heat of your body to thank for warming them during the trek back home, their small bodies lined down your back, nuzzling further into the thicket of your winter coat with content sighs. 

They fared better this time around before the tiredness in their bodies wore them down. 

You near the wooden refuge you call den and with a newfound surge of eagerness, your pups leap from the towering height of your back and race for the front door. Keena is the first to change back and pound her small fists on the door with utter demand that the door be opened, yet unable to reach the doorknob herself. 

When you reach the pile up of your offspring waiting impatiently at the door, having now shifted back into the second skin not covered in fur, you reach forward and push the door open for them. Relieved to be out of the cold they charge into the house and down the stretch of hallway.

“Mama! Mama!” They bark and yell, the beckoned person answering their cries exits the kitchen. Her green eyes meet them with a light akin to a lighthouse, bright and burning in the lone distant night to call them home. 

Her wide smile stretched open to reveal the row of pearly white teeth assures them that their mother’s love sparks ever true, no matter the time nor place, that their eagerness for her attention remains just the same as any other. 

“My pups,” she greets softly. She bends down to meet them, arms warm and inviting to her embrace. Leo snuggles tightly against her chest when Keena tugs at the nape of his neck. “Careful! Our siblings are in her tummy.”

Truer words had never been spoken by one of your young ones. The second litter of your dynasty resides safe and snug in the large bulb of Wanda’s womb, nursing them until their eventual birth into the pack. 

“Did you enjoy yourselves?” Their mother asks them, focusing one each of their round, devoted eyes that marvel her loving gaze. She made each of them feel equally special. They nod and hum, undoubtedly smiling from ear to ear as she entertains them.

You linger back in the hallway to simply take in the picturesque of it all as your pups recount their adventure with you this morning. The smile of your wife is oh so sweet, a sculpted visage of unmatched beauty to beat against your brutality. 

Often you do as you’re doing now. Sit back and observe your family. The intimate nature of mother and pups is always a favoured sight of yours, how tender she caters to them and how they bask in the wonderment of their mother; the woman who gave them life and brought them into the world through darkness and pain. 

She endured the months of labour for them. Forever, a mark of her true strength and courage and pure love. 

All you simply do is admire and love her in return, despite it being incapable of comparison. She carried the first litter without complaint or regret and she’s a soldier for the second litter. Unfazed by the barrage of kicks and movement within the womb, pups fighting for room amidst their growth. 

Truly a marvel. A woman who you happily call wife and mate. Your arms fold over your chest, the corners of your lips tilted up as you continue to observe from afar. That’s when Wanda’s eyes finally meet yours and that hunger within the glaze of green ignites your own. You growl deeply under your next exhaled breath.

‘The moment I get you alone…’

Wanda smirks at you with a cheeky glint you know well, but her attention is stolen by your pups once again. She rises to her feet, hands held to her large bump, she beckons the pups to sit at the dining table. You don’t miss the flash of scarlet warning you that your presence is mandatory.

With a submissive shrug to her silent order you follow behind. But you pause just as you pass one of the frames, reflection faint in the glass. Your eyes scan the faces of those you left back in the city for your remote life with Wanda in the wilds of your sanctuary. They were not forgotten nor were they truly left behind in the past forever. You plan to visit them sometime and vice versa, but plans become muddled and complicated in the matter of saving the world. 

A feat that took its hefty toll on you. Never one to consider yourself the type to retire, it was for the best. There, the wolf was caged to fight, moving from one fight to the next it seemed or to be confined in a cell; seen as an animal unworthy of complete trust. 

The ring of skin around your neck is still marred in its process to heal. For how much longer is undetermined but the pain tied to it left you no choice but to resign yourself to the wilds of home. 

And Wanda would come with you. 

Now here you are, sitting around the table together as Wanda fixes you both your morning coffees while your children devour their plates in record time, their mother scolding them to chew their breakfast. Keena’s face had already been stained with the sticky substance of syrup from her pancakes, Leo and Tymon opting to race each other while eating their cereal and the youngest of their litter, Peeta munches on a piece of buttered toast. 

You never really had an appetite in the winter morning - if you didn’t count Wanda that is - you often kept to a simple coffee to be your wake up call. Wanda’s lips meet your hairline for a quick, affectionate peck, hand sliding your mug onto the table. But you have other plans. With a husky growl you pull her into your lap.

“Y/N!” she yelps in surprise. Her laugh fills the room as a joyful prophecy. Your pups cannot contain their own comings of laughter as well at the loving sight of their parents sharing in one another’s orbit for a short moment. 

Wanda swats at you with a hand but you remain adamant she stays in your lap. “I have dishes to wash up,” she argues only for you to shake your head, nose nestling her mark. “We can do that together afterwards. Let me hold you a while.”

How can she resist your wolfish charms? You purr in your victory when Wanda gives in, knowing just how much she loves it deep down; to be held in your protective arms and your exploring hands wandering over the curve of her bump. 

You feel the pups kick and push against the wall of her womb to greet your hands. Their desire to touch grows stronger by the day, it was due to happen any day now. 

Wanda sighs softly and you join her in watching your pups eat together, talking amongst themselves for their planned activities for the day. Wanda’s hands fall over the top of yours and her fingers dance over the cool surface of your wedding band. 

The overly large size of her winter sweater leaves the skin of her shoulder exposed for your lips to ghost across it, causing a shiver to run the length of her spine.

“You’re getting me excited,” she whispers to you and your smirk, fangs speaking over the bottom of your lip. “Good. Just how I want you, Honey.”

Wanda pushes her body against yours in the midst of her battling desire, the action screaming desperation. And you weren’t one to refuse your wife - your mate - her pleasure. After all, she was carrying your pups. Your successors. 

Your dynasty. 

“Tell me what you want, mate,” you say against her lips. The kiss is heated and messy, tongues mingling together in the hot throw of combined passion. She whines softly and the sound causes your hips to jerk forward. 

“I want you…” you devour her words with a hungering growl. “I want you to touch me, please…”

There it was. She misses your touch. Exactly what you wanted to hear. Parting your lips from the kiss you chuckle, the sound dark and dangerous in your infatuation with the woman under you. 

“Good girl.”

Your fingers brush up her exposed thigh, her little maternal dress doing things to your wolf brain that made it go haywire with unbridled, primal desire. With a groan you push aside the damp fabric of her panties and use your thumb to circle her clit.

The quiver in her legs a telltale sign of her weakness for your touch, leaving her to turn into putty and you’d only just begun. “Is this what you wanted, mate? You wanted my fingers to be buried in you?” You taunt. 

“Please.” She continues to beg. You tilt you head, obvious in your torture to hear her beg for more, for what she craved.

“Please what?”

“I want your fingers inside me, oh fuck, please!”

Shit, her sounds are music to your ears. You use two fingers to smear the slick of her arousal along her awaiting entrance, her hips grinding with enthusiastic vigour. 

“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby. So needy for me.”

She mewls in response to your fingers teasing her cunt. She wants to feel your fingers stuffing her full, ploughing her tight tunnel until you’re all three knuckle deep fucking her. She wants to cum around your clawed fingers, to feel that dangerous and sharp coil that leads her right over the edge of bliss. 

The pools of her euphoria by your ministrations await her. 

“Let me feel your claws.”

“Oh, Sweetheart,” you drawl lowly, “I love it when you ask for the claws.”

You waste no more time. You push two fingers past her folds, her walls wet and welcoming and hot; tightly wrapped around your clawed digits. She moans sharply and her head leans back into the pillow. You thrust your fingers at a steady pace. You ensure that you reach the very end of your knuckles to reach as far as you’re able, your claws gently scrape her spongy walls, dragging moans from deep within her core. 

Wanda moans again when your fingers brush that sensitive, deep spot, her hips buck up to meet the next thrust of your hand in hopes of reaching it again. You chuckle again at the pure, chaotic need in her eyes that plead for you. 

“You want to cum around my fingers, mate?”

“Y-yes!” she can feel it in her core, the rubberband ready to snap with her climactic high. “Please, Y/N, please let me cum.”

“Go on, Sweetheart. Cum for me.” Her mouth falls apart just as she does around your thrusting digits, her teeth sink into the plush bottom of her lip to conceal the volume of her pleasured cries. Her fingers ring the sheets in an iron grip until she’s threatening to tear them apart. 

You whisper soft praises against the skin of her cheek with a smirk. Nobody knew the gorgeous visage of her face when she came, only you and that was a sight you’d treasure to the end of time. Nobody else would bear witness to the way her body silently begs for you, how she grinds and thrusts her hips in response to your electric touch. 

She breathes in deeply through her nose while you slow your fingers down, dragging her high out that little bit longer until you bring a complete stop. Fuck, how her swollen form looked utterly beautiful in the sunlit curtain of day, eyes clouded in their post-sex state, you slide a hand over the curve of her belly. 

“You look so beautiful like this,” you sigh with a wistful look, “so full of my pups.” Wanda can see the excitement grow in your eyes, that glow of amber unable to be hidden when your desire becomes well known. 

“Your pups,” she says in agreement. You hear the lust in her tone, the want for more evident. 

“Oh, little witch.” Wanda could’ve sworn she could cum again just from hearing your husky, lust-laced voice use the nickname. You lean over her until she is pinned between you and the bed; the two greatest comforts she could ever know. 

She smiles shyly up at you. “So fucking beautiful, so round with my pups. Our second litter.” She moans softly and her hands run through the mused length of your hair as you ravish her neck with love bites. The sensation tickles but once your teeth graze over her mark, her legs quiver together before they lock around your hips, already pulling you down to where you both connect so perfectly. 

“Fuck, I need you.”

“And I’ll give it to you.”

Before you can begin to tug down the waistband of your pants does Wanda stop you. Your amber hues glow brightly in interest to her sudden need to halt the sensual operation. You hum to her softly to urge her to continue. 

“I… I thought maybe we could try something a little different,” she says, biting her lip harder this time. Okay, now you’re fucking curious. “What is it?” 

She takes a moment and you see the hesitance in her eyes. She’s reconsidering saying anything but you lift her unsure eyes to meet yours. You offer a kind smile, one that she knows she can trust without fear, that you are on her side; always.

“Whatever it is, I’m game.” 

That’s all the remaining push she needs from you to ask. 

Thank you for Reading! (◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —

@alexawynters

#marvel #female reader #gn reader #male reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x werewolf! reader #wanda x reader #werewolf reader #wanda x werewolf! reader smut #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff fluff #werewolf #marvel mcu #treehouse taglist #the dark demeter writing catalogue

[apollodarling-writes]

yan! dbd ghostface (danny johnson) headcanons

cws: yandere themes, danny is a perv, non-consensual picture taking, stalking obv, slight nsfw themes but danny is just a freak, danny is a sadist, gore, danny makes out with your wounds, obsessive! danny, possessive! danny,

— yan! ghostface whose eye you catch in your first trial. you who are wide eyed, disoriented, and hyper-aware of your surroundings make easy prey.

— yan! ghostface who stalks you for awhile before approaching you, using your disbelief and naivety against you.

— yan! ghostface who explains your situation, portraying himself as a fellow survivor and guides you through the motions of the match before pressing his blade to your throat.

— yan! ghostface who smirks beneath his mask, watching as your eyes widen with fear and betrayal. he feels himself become aroused as your pretty optics glisten with tears, groaning as you beg for him to let you go.

— yan! ghostface who is stunned by a flashlight, feeling you wriggle free from his grip and sprint off like a frightened bunny.

— yan! ghostface who you are wary of in each match. he singles you out and taunts you, describing each horrific thing he’ll do to you once he gets his hands on you, finding that this little obsession of his is growing by the day.

— yan! ghostface who begins thinking about you even outside of trials. it started as wondering what he would do to you next, turning into lustful daydreams and palming himself at the thought of you.

— yan! ghostface who snaps polaroids of you while you do mundane things. assembling a medkit or toolbox, finding materials for offerings, talking to your fellow survivors…

— yan! ghostface who loathes the sight of you smiling at the others in the survivor camp. you belong to him. that smile of yours is reserved for him. your laugh is reserved for him.

— yan! ghostface who slowly feels those lustful feelings of his grow into something deeper. he finds himself thinking less and less about ways to kill you, and more about ways he could make you smile.

— yan! ghostface who, in your next trial with him, brings you the body of each survivor, dropping it in front of you much like a cat would gift its owner a dead mouse.

— yan! ghostface who corners you, sitting on your stomach and wrapping his fingers around your throat. he swiftly snaps a polaroid of this beautiful sight, crazed ramblings about how you’ve caught his attention leaving his lips.

— yan! ghostface who is amused at how quickly you’ve gained his interest, his favorite pastimes stalking you and leaving just enough of a trace for you to know he was there.

— yan! ghostface who finds it incredibly romantic to hold your hand while you bleed out beneath him, his mask lifted to show off the frenzied look in his eyes, blood dripping from his chin and onto your paling features.

— yan! ghostface who looooves to makeout with your stab wounds. he’s always sure to leave you for last, finding motivation in the fact that if he rids the trial of all other survivors, he can spend as much time with you as he pleases.

— yan! ghostface who coos at you as you beg for him to let you go… or to just end it already. a frown tugging at his lips as he feels his heart pang with the slightest of remorse. he quickly covers it up with a mocking sneer, telling you that you should be proud to bear his love in such a way. no one’s ever had it but you.

— yan! ghostface who singles out each person you talk to in their next trial with him, mercilessly slaughtering them as he tells them to stay the fuck away from you.

— yan! ghostface who somehow convinces the entity to let you spend some time with him on a random day, designating it as your new birthday. he’ll watch with interest as your shaky fingers grip the rusted fork, shoving the mediocre cake down your throat. he’s never seen a better sight.

— yan! ghostface who loooves everything about you <33

#yandere x you #male yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere hcs #yandere dbd #yandere ghostface #dbd killer #dbd ghostface #dbd survivor #personal headcanon #yandere danny johnson #yandere jed olsen #dead by daylight #dbd x reader #dbd x you #dbd x male reader #dbd danny johnson #dbd jed olsen #yandere dead by daylight #yandere dbd ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen #ghostface x reader #jed olsen x reader #danny johnson x reader

[sparklz02]

Cat Out Of The Box

[Lyney One Shot…🪄]

[Contains spoilers from Fontaine Archon Quest. You have been warned.]

You scanned him very carefully, making sure what he was saying was the absolute truth. “If this is your testimony then…I must go on with the belief and understanding that what you are saying is the truth.”

Lyney gives you his charming signature smile, “I always tell the truth Y/N~. Thank you once again for being our attorney with the Traveler.”

You shake your head and answer politely, “This is me doing a favor for my friend. I believe that you and Lynette are innocent. You guys would never hide something from me.”

Lyney chuckles and flips his hat upside down and says, “Place your hand inside my hat mon ami~.”

You roll your eyes dramatically and place your left hand inside. You begin to rummage around until your fingers feel something very soft and fragile. You grab it carefully and pull it out to reveal a rainbow rose.

Lyney flips his hat dramatically before placing it on his head and asks slyly, “When this trial is over, care to join me for dinner at Hotel Debord~?”

You reply smugly, “Riddle me this Mr. Magician. Is this dinner to celebrate victory or is it a date?”

Lyney chuckles softly and says, “Why not both mon ami~. Or would you prefer mon chéri~?”

You chuckle amusingly, “Whatever helps you sleep at night monsieur. Now I must regroup with the Traveler and Navia. Don’t miss me too much now~.”

Lyney places a hand over his heart and wipes away fake tears with the other, “The idea of being away from you is already enough to hurt my fragile heart!”

Lynette walks in and sees the whole situation and looks at her brother with disgust. She grabs him and speaks to you in a gentle tone, “We won’t be bothering you anymore Y/N. Thank you for helping us.”

She begins to drag Lyney away by force and he whines, begging for Lynette to let him talk to you for a few minutes longer. You giggle at their unique interaction and walk away to regroup with the Traveler and Navia.

🎩🪄🎩

“And you didn’t hear anything else at all? Nothing that might leave an impression of any kind?” The Hydro Archon asks curiously.

Lyney replies with certainty, “No, nothing.”

Time begins to slow as you have come to a realization. You look down at the papers that contain his testimony and the evidence that you have gathered along with Navia and the Traveler.

‘Oh no….’

The Hydro Archon’s expression hardens, “I see, but when the count reached thirty seconds or so, there was a thud—one so loud that I believe practically everyone heard it.”

Lyney was stunned, “Huh!?”

The crowd began to whisper among themselves. Some even had the courage to speak up and testify that the Hydro Archon was correct and there was a thud. You drown your surroundings with the heavy thoughts that invade all of your senses.

You were left in disbelief that Lyney, who you were very close with, lied to you. You began to wonder what else he lied to you about.

The Hydro Archon drops another bomb, “Tell me. Aren’t you and Lynette actually from the House of Hearth?”

Another jab to your heart.

Lyney responds calmly, “That’s irrelevant. Our identities have nothing to do with what happened.”

Your grip onto the papers tightened harshly. The Traveler and Paimon were also left stunned. The crowd slowly gets out of control but Chief Justice Neuvillette quickly demands order.

Neuvillette asks Lyney calmly, “Are these claims true Mr. Lyney?”

Everyone held on to their breaths, waiting anxiously for Lyney to either confirm or deny the claim. Regardless of the answer, more thrill would be added on to the spectacle of the drama that was slowly unfolding in front of them.

Lyney sighs defeatedly and replies sadly, “Yes, they’re true your honor.”

The crowd began to whisper excitedly at the revelation and began to mock Lyney and Lynette. Some even took pity for you and the Traveler who were equally shocked by this newfound information.

Your heart shatters and you begin to shake slightly in anger. The Traveler was also hurt by this deceit and quickly requests for a brief adjournment.

Neuvillette nods understanding the situation, “This trial will reconvene in one hour.”

🎩🪄🎩

All five of you walk into a quiet space and stand there in awkward silence. Paimon and the Traveler cross their arms in disbelief, waiting for the twins to explain themselves.

Your mind was scattered, you weren’t sure if you were defending innocent people anymore. You didn’t have the heart to look at the twins who you held dearly to your heart.

Lyney quickly speaks to break the awkward tension, “I’m sorry—”

You couldn’t take his apology and slammed the papers on a nearby desk and left the room. Everyone flinched at your behavior and watched as you left. Lyney tried to go after you but the Traveler blocked him and looked at him disappointedly.

You left the four to converse if they even managed to get that far. You sit down on a sofa and cover your face with your hands. You sigh shakily as you try to cool your head and look back to the trial and the evidence you found and attempted to find the truth.

After fifteen minutes of recollecting yourself, you felt someone sit next to you and place a hand on your right shoulder. You tear your face away from your hands and look to the side to see the Traveler who had a sad smile.

They ask cautiously, “Are you alright? It’s ok if you want to drop out…”

You exhale deeply and fix your posture, “I’m assuming the twins gave you their true testimony?”

The traveler nods slowly. They retract their hand from your shoulder and say hesitantly, “The twins would like to see you…if you’re fine with it.”

You answer firmly, “I’m fine with it but before that, lay it all out for me. What’s our new evidence that we must present?”

The traveler updates you on the situation and you two brainstorm briefly before reaching a conclusion. The two of you begin to walk towards your designated room.

As you enter, Paimon’s eyes light up in joy and cheers in joy. The twins however looked away in shame. You ask the Traveler and Paimon, “Could you give us some privacy?”

The Traveler and Paimon nod and begin to leave you with the twins. When the door finally shuts close, you look at the twins and cross your arm and give them a sharp look of disappointment.

“How long were you two planning on hiding this information from me?”

Lynette looks down and whispers, “We are truly sorry Y/N…”

Lyney holds onto his hat tightly and also looks down but doesn’t say anything.

You shake your head sadly, “Was our friendship a lie as well? Did you guys become ‘friends’ with me for ulterior reasons?”

The twins quickly look up in shock and shake their heads. Lyney quickly spoke up, “No! Our friendship isn’t a lie! We just….”

“You just what?”

Lyney couldn’t continue his sentence and goes back to finding interest in the floor, same goes for Lynette.

You sigh, “I admit that I can understand why you guys wouldn’t admit this to me. But I want to hear it from the both of you, not from our archon, and not from the Traveler, and whoever else knows of your identity. From you two.”

The twins look at each other hesitantly and finally meet your cold gaze. Lyney holds onto Lynette's hand and answers firmly, "Lynette and I belong to the House of Hearth. We have no ill intentions and only wish to seek a solution to the prophecy that is threatening Fontaine and its people."

Your gaze softens and you sigh, "Well, I'm glad there was no resistance and the truth has been revealed."

The twins look at you anxiously waiting for you to say more. You quickly replace the soft expression to a more serious one, "I will still be your attorney. With the new evidence given to me by the Traveler, I still believe that you two are innocent and that there is something more complex going on."

The twins look at you in relief but before they could celebrate you said, "However,"

They became stiff at the sudden continuation. You continued in a serious tone, "After the trial ends, I wish for us to start all over again."

Their expressions drop. Lyney speaks in disbelief, "But why? We don't have anything else to share so why–"

Lynette tugs onto his arm gently, signaling him to shut up.

You replied seriously, "I feel very betrayed by what has transpired. I believe you two are innocent but only because the facts support this conclusion. My trust is…"

Lyney sighs and gently tips his hat, "I understand. Things could've been worse I suppose…"

Lynette replies quietly, "We perfectly understand Y/N…"

You place your hands on your hip and quickly change tune, "Seems like our time is up. Let's go show everyone and the oratrice that you two are innocent shall we?"

The twins nod and you add in a cheerful tone, “Don’t be too sad. Once this trial is over…how about we start our new journey over a meal at Hotel Debord~?”

#lyney and lynette #genshin impact #fem!reader #teyvat #detective #fluff #mild angst #fontaine #lyney x reader #archon quest #traveler #paimon #hydro archon #genshin impact lyney #genshin impact lynette #romance #court trial

[dionysus-complex]

you mentioned you specialize in roman violence. can you rec any good works on the subject, especially during the late antique period? how much (or little) time/writing did latin authors spend on the question of the necessity/morality/glory of violence, especially when bound up with empire and borders? did rhetoric around domestic violence evolve?

It's obviously a massive topic, so it's difficult to know where to begin! For looking at violence in Late Antiquity, I highly recommend the work of Maijastina Kahlos as a starting point - most of her scholarship deals with tensions between religious communities in the Roman Empire in Late Antiquity, and I've found it extremely clear and illuminating. For Late Antique slavery, I'd look at Jennifer Trimble's work, especially "The Zoninus Collar and the Archaeology of Roman Slavery" (2016, JSTOR link here). On the intersections of violence and the legal system, I'd recommend Sarah Bond's 2014 article "Altering Infamy: Status, Violence, and Civic Exclusion in Late Antiquity" (JSTOR link here) as well as Julia Hillner's 2015 book Prison, Punishment and Penance in Late Antiquity. Amy Richlin is essential reading on Roman violence in general, and I'd highly highly recommend her piece "Cicero's Head" in Constructions of the Classical Body (ed. James Porter, 1999) if you have access to an academic library and can get a hold of it; it's explicitly framed as a Jewish, post-Holocaust reflection on the violence of the Roman proscriptions and civil wars and has been profoundly influential on my own thinking.

In general, Imperial-era Latin authors spend a lot of time thinking about the necessity/morality/glory of violence, to the point that I'd say violence is the key theme in Imperial Latin literature. It's often bound up with Stoic philosophy (in the 1st-2nd c. CE; Seneca's De Ira is a key text - you might take a look at sections 3.18-19 on torture under Caligula), and given the bias of our sources which skew toward the elite/senatorial-class perspective, it can be harder to track down texts that explicitly make the link between violence and Roman imperium. One famous example is the speech of Calgacus in Tacitus' Agricola 29-32 (link to a translation here), which purports to be the speech of a Celtic general in Britain rousing his troops to battle against the Romans in the 80s CE. Given that speeches in Roman historiography are generally regarded as being compositions by the historian, it's important to ask why exactly Tacitus of all people gives a prominent place to a scathing critique of Roman imperium - there are lots of ideas on this and few definitive answers, but it's a startling passage to say the least.

Imperial Latin epic poetry (e.g. Lucan's Bellum Civile; Statius' Thebaid) is well known for being graphically violent in the extreme (as in brutal torture, dismemberment, and one infamous instance of brain-eating in Thebaid 8), and there's a lot of work on how and why violence becomes highly aestheticized for Imperial Latin poets. There's also the genre of Roman declamation (difficult to explain, but essentially something like mock trial cases that were used for rhetorical education and showmanship), which frequently explores extremely violent scenarios involving torture, kin-killing, etc. Most scholars these days tend to read declamation as a space where (elite, male) Romans worked out and interrogated various cultural anxieties and taboos. Because of this, you get some of the strongest condemnations of violence found anywhere in Latin literature in the declamatory corpus, but it's difficult to extrapolate from that because again it's something like mock trial and rhetorical showmanship that does not necessarily map on to real-life Roman attitudes.

I've barely scratched the surface and there's a lot more I could say but I'll cut myself off here - I might be able to offer more specific recs if you're interested in e.g. violence as spectacle, aesthetics and artistic representations of violence, etc.

#thanks for the ask!

[sillygoosealert]

hiii🌚🌚 you should totally make a little thing where we’re running from danny during a trial and get stuck in a window while trying to vault and yk.. he fucks us from behind and it’s like a “help me step bro i’m stuck🥺” kinda position yk HEHEHE 😈😈😈

Sorry i fell off the face of the earth for a few days i had to like idk reset myself ☆(≧∀≦*)ﾉ

Never say step bro I'm stuck again I'm not even joking I'll block you, Stinky

Danny Johnson NSFW, raw, has no aftercare, and a little plot but mainly smut, he’s MEAN (cannon bc because he murders people), um actually he's also COCKY (cannon bc he kills people), and he calls you piggy ( cannon because he likes horror and that is a black Christmas reference) knife stuff

Fog whisps around you as you are forced into another trial. Another day another round. Is it day, or is it night? You may never find the answer.

The entity is cruel in your clothing, a skirt to your mid-thigh, and a button down. Nothing to keep in the warmth. Nothing to hide you from the reality that is the cold red forest.

You think your teammates must all be together- not including you, because a generator is done at lightning speed. Then you hear guttural screams, plural, also at lightning speed. Maybe you shouldn't get them, you'll too just die. Survival of the fittest. They won't remember the trial if you let them die, it's like they have a reset- or something.

You're crouching, lurking, and waiting. Not for long, as The Ghostface jumps out at you.

‘Boo’

He's snickering and taunting you. Mocking the screams of your now-fallen teammates.

A jungle gym is in sight, if you abuse the window and stun him, perhaps the hatch could be located. Maybe you're too tubby, or maybe because the entity is against you, but the window gets blocked from the top halfway through. You do not make it, you are stuck.

He’s snorting and making animal noises behind you.

‘What’s the entity feeding you that you can’t get through the windows?’

‘Oh, it’s blocked.’

He grabs your thighs and tries to pull you out. However, his pullout game must be weak as you do not budge.

He keeps his hands on your thighs as he whistles.

‘Can you not get out?’

‘No?’

‘Does this happen a lot?’

‘First time actually’

You're shivering, it's too much. He's too casual about it.

‘I could cut you in half and play magician, that would be rather amusing ’

‘Please don't’

‘Do you have something else in mind, piggy?’

Nothing. Actually, you're crying a little, but you don't say anything.

He starts to coo and awe at your noises, rubbing and kneading your ass.

He goes around to your other side and pulls out his camera. You’re a mess. Wiping away tears from your cheeks and eyes.

‘That's it. Perfect. That's the picture I'll keep of you.’

He’s taking a couple photo’s. More than needed. Maybe he likes it when you cry, the glossy kind of look.

‘Just me and you babe, whatever will we do?’

He snaps the band on your panties. You just realize nothing is left to his imagination from where he is now standing again.

‘Are you scared?’

‘A little’

There isn't any reason to tell the truth or lie to him. But you think he likes it when you're scared, something kinky.

The cold plastic of his mask is pressed into your ass. He's sniffing you..?

You can feel the squeeze of his hands on your thighs, groaning into them.

He takes off the mask, not that you can him. But the feel of his warm tongue is enough to assume he took it off.

But that's not the only thing to come off, as he slips off your panties as well.

Spreading open your folds, you can hear the shudder of the camera as he takes pictures of your pussy.

You know it's wet, it was dripping on your underwear. What lewd photos he now will have. Blackmail material?

He begins sucking on your clit, shoving his face into you.

Messy, unplanned, and purely out of want.

That's not how Danny usually went. Besides all the times he did things out of rage, like the laser tag incident..

After he's mixed his spit into your cunt, he's ready.

Pulling up his cloak and pulling down his pants, he stares at you.

You're pretty. And you have a nice ass.

Maybe you would make a good girlfriend, maybe.

But he just wants to fuck you right now, really hard

He pumps himself before sliding in.

He's thick, but also kinda lean?

You're shaking again, this is much too abrupt for you

Pinching your leg, he pulls out his blade.

‘A little blood never hurt anyone, right?’

He starts to cut into your thigh. His thrust growing more erotic

Putting the knife away, he smacks the place he just sliced up

Yelping, you start to cry, again.

‘I like that- you crying. Sob for me’

‘You're doing good, do you like merely laying there as you get violated? This could happen to anyone, whore or not. Does that scare you?’

A rhetorical question, he just wants you to cry while he scratches your bleeding leg.

He starts to rub your clit, whipping his knife out again.

‘Where do you want me to put my signature?’

‘It hurts- stop, please..’

Caving GF into your back is a blur to both of you, as he is still occasionally slapping your body around while thrusting considerably too hard

He pulls out and cums all over your wounds, covering them slightly in semen.

‘People would be shaking if they saw this. Are you shaking because of me?’

You didn't even realize you weren't stuck anymore. Only after you fell backward you realized.

‘I'm going to let you go back. But I want you to tell them what I did to you- scare them. Let them know they are not safe from me.’

‘Okay, I promise, I'll tell them’

He picks you up and walks around with you clinging to him.

When you are near the hatch, he puts you down.

‘A picture- for you, to keep’

He's sitting with you on the ground, keeping you in his lap. Putting his face right next to yours- actually, you don't remember when he put the mask back on. You didn't get to see his face.

The light hurts, but he gives you a little polaroid with the two of you face to face, cheek to cheek.

It would be cute if he didn't just cut up your legs

Tucking the photo into your bra, he drops you into the hatch. How kind of him.

He waves goodbye, you do not wave back.

It wasn't bad, it was just a lot. Rushed? Scary? Harmful?

Kinda hot, but you really hope he doesn't keep those photos. For blackmail reasons..

🎀

#dead by daylight #dbd ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface #dbd killer #dbd #dbd x reader #dbd x you #dead by deadlight #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight x you #dbd ghostface x reader #daisy writes #danny jed olsen johnson #danny johnson #danny johnson x reader #danny johnson x you #jed olsen

[thecousinsdangereux]

if i'm falling wrong [1/1]

notes: over on Twitter, moonyriot has been working on a multi-part journal from Ava's POV covering her time in Switzerland and beyond. She asked me if I wanted to join in on the fun and write a short one-shot to cover some of the events in part 6. (If you haven't seen any of her posts, here's the first one. They are incredible so definitely check them out.)

—

��The integrity of the upright guides them,” Ava reads, taking care to enunciate each word, “but the crookedness of the treacherous destroys them. That’s Proverbs 11:3, Beatrice.” 

Beatrice definitely knows, which is — Ava thinks — what makes it so funny. Or. Funny to her, at least. Maybe not so much for Beatrice, whose lips have flattened into a thin line that hides almost all of their pretty pink hue (a color Ava has taken a liking to in a way that definitely relates to how often she finds herself staring at Beatrice’s mouth). 

“It is better to promise nothing than to promise something and not be able to do it,” Ava continues, because she’s never been any good at knowing when to stop. “That’s Ecclesiastes. And — ooh, this is a good one — A person who promises a gift but doesn’t give it is like clouds and wind that bring no rain. That’s — ”

“Proverbs again, yes, thank you, Bible.com.” 

“It’s actually Biblereasons.com.” She shows off the screen of her phone, the one that she’s definitely supposed to be using sparingly (and never does). “But sure, I can go to your bible website of choice. Whatever you want. Pretty sure I’m still going to find the same answer, though. Honestly, I would’ve thought a nun would know that lying is bad. Not to brag, or anything, but I learned that one when I was like five, or something.” 

For reasons unknown, this pries Beatrice’s lips wide, dragging them out into a full smile, pink mouth and small indent at the corner appearing just as quickly as Ava’s pulse picks up, heart slamming up against the poor, battered walls of her chest. 

“How odd,” Beatrice begins, in a low drawl that means Ava’s in trouble (in so many ways). “Because I seem to recall you telling Hans, just yesterday morning, that you were allergic to apples. As a result, he traded pastries with you, leaving you with the chocolate eclair you’d been all but salivating over since you first noticed it in the break room. Given that I know that you were perfectly able to consume a slice of apple pie that the neighbors brought up last week, I am forced to conclude that — ”

“Okay, okay! Jesus. Pump the brakes, Miss Marple. I’m allowed to lie; I’m a dirty sinner or whatever. But you hold yourself to a higher standard, right?” (Unfortunately, Ava adds, but only mentally, because yeah.) “So when you said ‘Ava, if you’re able to best me in a mighty trial of combat, I will bequeath to you a single portrait wherein my lips are upturned in joyous felicitations’ or whatever, I took that as an oath, Bea. A serious, serious oath.” 

“One, I don’t sound like that. Two, no English person alive sounds like that. Why do you default to the Regency era when you’re trying to mock my accent?” 

By now, Beatrice’s smile has really started to crack open, showing off the slightest sliver of white behind those lips. It’d be unfair to say that this (the moment where Beatrice’s eyes crinkle with a laughter she most likely won’t release) is always Ava’s goal in any conversation she has with Beatrice, but maybe it is always an intended stop along the way, whatever the actual destination might be. 

(Other pitstops of note include: the cute scrunch of her nose whenever she’s focused on Ava alone, the half-tilt of her head whenever she’s considering something Ava’s said, the almost absentminded brush of her fingers along Ava’s forearm whenever she wants her to pay especially close attention. There’s a common theme here, but Ava’s well-aware of her own preoccupation, so it’s fine. Probably.)  

“Uh, because I’m paying you a huge compliment? Ungrateful much? Mr. Darcy is like… the hottest the British have ever been. Not that that’s hard because otherwise they kind of really suck, but I’m trying here, Bea, and you’re giving me nothing but attitude. And lies.”

Beatrice sighs. It’s cute enough that Ava nearly sighs too, longing bubbling up behind her lips.

“I told you I would smile for one of your pictures if you pinned me during training. It was implied you would do so without cheating.” 

With a tsk that doesn’t sound anything like the one Beatrice sometimes uses (a low sound from the back of her throat that always did very little to help Ava concentrate), Ava takes a half-step closer so that she might properly waggle a finger in Beatrice’s face. 

“I’m only doing what you taught me, Bea I thought I was supposed to use all the resources at my disposal?” 

Beatrice promptly bats the finger away. But that’s sort of the point. (Sometimes, it’s a little pathetic, the lengths Ava will go to make sure Beatrice is touching her at literally every possible opportunity, but Ava’s never really minded being a little pathetic for a good cause. And Beatrice is honestly never hard to bait, at least in this particular way.) 

“Ava, you bit me.” 

“Which was using all the resources at my disposal! Come on! If I’d been in a real fight, you would’ve called that innovative!” 

“Perhaps if you hadn’t used your — ” Delightfully, Beatrice takes a small, steadying breath before her next word, which, to Ava (who’s spent months studying Beatrice with the rigor of a staunch academic) is as much of a giveaway as one of her cute little blushes. “ — tongue.”

“I think the element of surprise would still work just fine,” she insists, but then Beatrice gives her a look, one that she knows won’t allow for any debate over the merits of licking her enemies, and she gives in nearly instantly. (Ava’s really only interested in using any part of her mouth on one person alone, anyway.) “But fine. Okay. Good note, teach.”

Winter has begun to fade from the air and, as they walk back towards their apartment in the meandering pace that has become their custom, Ava is pleased by this for two reasons. One: their neighbors — who bake enough that Ava’s convinced they’re working up to competing on one of those bafflingly polite baking shows — now leave their windows open, filling the air with the most delicious smells, noticeable even a block away from their home. And Two: Beatrice has taken to wearing short-sleeves again, which means that when she nudges Ava now (with a charmed little roll of her eyes), it’s bare skin against bare skin. 

In training, this is both a pleasure and a problem, because then it’s Beatrice’s shorts and Ava’s shirt being pushed up as Ava gets pinned to the ground and it’s the skin of Beatrice’s inner thigh against the skin of Ava’s hip and that’s a lot more than the casual brushes she’s gotten used to. Ava had long ago realized that any and all logical thought flies out the fucking window when faced with a muscular thigh, so really, it hadn’t been all that much of a surprise when it’d resulted in Ava doing something completely insane. 

Like taking Beatrice’s thumb into her mouth. And biting it. And maybe sucking a little. Honestly, it’s all a bit of a haze, because Beatrice had then made a noise that would most certainly be featured in Ava’s dreams for the next week or month or year, in the most mortifying (and sexy) way possible. 

And to be fair, it had worked in getting Ava out of the chokehold she otherwise would’ve probably happily died in. 

So there’s that.

“Something with chocolate today,” Beatrice comments, and Ava short-circuits for a second, thinking about chocolate and fingers and skin and the really incredible potential combination of the three, before she remembers the neighbors and the smell and the baking and feels her cheeks burn.

“Uh — yeah. Maybe they’ll have extra to share.” The windows on the first floor apartment are (of course) open as they approach, and Ava raises her voice just enough for it to carry through. She catches the intertwined laughter of the neighbors that results, and shoots Beatrice a wink that dispels some of the heat building within her, an emergency vent that she’s learned to rely on. 

“You’re shameless,” Beatrice says, in the exact way she always does whenever she doesn’t mean it (lips quirking at the corners). 

“And you’re welcome, when we end up getting brownies, or whatever they’re making.” 

The door to their building never unlocks easily, but it’s gotten worse as the temperatures have started to rise; Beatrice shoulders it open, muscles bunching in her back, and Ava does absolutely nothing to help, watching the flex of her shoulder blades under the tight, gray fabric. 

“You know me,” Beatrice says lightly, knocking the side of her sneakers against the bottom of the stairs before heading up (and Ava does know her, enough to wait patiently for her to complete this small ritual). “I’m always craving sweets.” 

“You are sometimes! Whenever you come home from a night shift, you break into my stash! And since you have a lot of those coming up, on account of you losing our bet…” 

Beatrice laughs, a soft huff that turns into an adorable little squeak when Ava shoves past her on the staircase and snatches the keys from her fingers, bursting through their apartment door with far less effort than Beatrice had needed below. 

“You’re not letting this one go, are you?” 

It’s probably response enough when she snatches her camera off of the kitchen table and points it at Beatrice as soon as she steps across the threshold, but even this (pretty impressive!) sneak attack fails. Beatrice is quick enough to throw a hand up before the snap, lowering it only when Ava does the same with the camera. She continues to eye her warily as she bends down to untie her shoes, only abating to cast a significant look in Ava’s direction, which persists until Ava kicks hers off far less elegantly.

“It’s one photo, Bea!” she grumbles, watching as Beatrice arranges their sneakers in a perfect little line. “Just… one smile. Let’s just get it out of the way, you know? Look up and … ”

Beatrice does look up. 

Ava has to give her that.

It’s the only warning she gets before Beatrice is standing and her fingers are wrapping around Ava’s wrist and she’s pressed flush against Ava’s front and well. Sure. That’s one way to get Ava to shut up. Probably the only way. Ava knows this about herself, but really can’t find any regret when it’s led her right here. 

“You cheated,” Beatrice murmurs lowly. “Why would I reward that?” 

Ava has a lot of thoughts around the concept of Beatrice rewarding her, and absolutely none of them are good. (Or, rather, they’re all extremely good. Very good. Far too good for her to be able to say out loud, those curling, irreverent thoughts that stick her tongue to the roof of her mouth and keep her up at night.) So it’s really out of mercy that she phases then — slipping out of Beatrice’s grip the only way she knows how that doesn’t involve cheap tricks — stepping back and lifting her camera again. 

What follows transpires a bit too quickly for Ava to track. 

She’s seen Beatrice fight in all sorts of situations — at full speed in back alley brawls and at half-tempo when leading her through a new form — but Ava’s pretty sure she’ll never see enough to lose the surprise that comes from being on the end of one of Beatrice’s first strikes. She’s in front of Ava and then she’s not; it’s really as simple (and terrifying) (and hot) as that. One moment, Ava has her camera ready, and then she’s facing a different direction entirely, her hand twisted behind her back, her camera falling from her grasp. Beatrice is fast here too, swooping down to catch it before it hits the floor, but this allows Ava to throw an elbow backwards, a hit that surely would have broken something in Beatrice’s face had it landed (but which Ava knows by now never will). 

“Double or nothing?” Ava pants, stumbling forward and twisting back around to face Beatrice, who’s gently placed the camera on the floor, carefully out of the way. 

“Two photos if you win and you take my night shifts for two weeks when you lose?” 

“Wait, I don’t like the if/when placement in that senten — ”

She barely ducks out of Beatrice’s grapple, cutting herself off mid-word to manage it, a little breathless already. It occurs to her that she’s definitely made a mistake here, looking up and finding Beatrice serious and focused, strands of her hair slipping out of the low bun that’s already started to loosen. Even in the warm light filtering through their apartment windows, Beatrice’s eyes look dark, and Ava spends a second too long suppressing a shiver at the sight. Which means, of course, she’s unable to avoid the next hit: a full tackle to the floor. Either Beatrice really doesn’t want Ava to take this photo or she really wants to get out of her night shifts, because she’s not going about this in the calm, measured way Ava is used to. (There’s a third option and it’s one Ava likes best; maybe Beatrice just really wants to pin Ava to the floor, to feel Ava underneath her, to feel Ava squirm against her front, fighting to get out of the hold. This is the option Ava relates to best and maybe it’s the one driving her now, putting her at a disadvantage just as significant as all the other ones.) 

Ava hits the ground hard, enough to knock air out of her lungs, but she’s saved, partially, by starting on a twist mid-air, mindful of how dangerous it’ll be if Beatrice gets her flat on her back. Not that Ava is opposed to this idea. Not on a normal day. Not even today, if only Beatrice would — 

“Good,” Beatrice says, breaking through Ava’s thoughts, though not in a way that is helpful at all. Beatrice most certainly notices the jerk of Ava’s hips the single word causes, but almost equally as certainly dismisses it as part of Ava’s attempts to break free. “But you over-rotated. Just slightly. See how I can use that to put you on your stomach?”

Always the instructor, Beatrice explains precisely how she’s going to best Ava before she actually does it; if Ava were better at this (if Beatrice were worse) this might actually be of some help in countering Beatrice’s efforts. Sadly, she’s not, so it isn’t. 

“Fuck,” Ava grunts, face pressed directly into the carpet of their bedroom. It’s honestly painful, the way Beatrice’s knee presses into the center of her back, but it’s a sort of pain that Ava’s come to find — over their months together — that she doesn’t especially mind or maybe even likes and maybe gets a fair amount of pleasure from and maybe thinks about it from time to time whenever she gets a moment alone and — yeah. Fuck is really the only word for it. 

“What now, Ava?” Finally, there’s a hint of the breathlessness in Beatrice’s voice: when she locks one of Ava’s arms behind her back, and Ava attempts to land some kind of backwards headbutt, pushing herself up off the floor with her free hand. “What’s your best option?” 

Beg you to have your way with me, doesn’t really seem like the response Beatrice is looking for, but Christ a girl can only take so much. And right about then, Ava knows she’s going to cheat (because it’s either cheat or blurt out something that will inevitably be extremely horny) but is it really cheating if there hadn’t been any rules put forth in the first place? 

She’s gotten better about controlling the Halo, so it barely gives off any light before she lifts onto one knee and throws herself backwards, phasing neatly through Beatrice’s front. The effort Beatrice had been using to hold her down works against her now, effectively swapping their positions as she falls forward, and Ava’s quick to use that momentum, reaching around to grab the front of Beatrice’s shirt so she’s flipped with the motion. Another (gentle) Halo blast lands Beatrice on her back, Ava straddling her hips and pinning both of her hands on either side of her head. 

“You didn’t say no Halo,” Ava says in a rush, as though the victory will be taken away instantly, as though she cares at all about some stupid bet instead of being on top of Beatrice whose eyes are wide and lovely, whose lips are parted and pink, whose chest is — not something Ava is looking at, thank you very much. Because she’s respectful, she can be respectful, she has to try to be respectful. 

“I didn’t,” Beatrice says finally and then fucking licks her lips, like God Himself has decided that Ava needs to be punched directly in the face with attractiveness or whatever and holy shit. 

Holy shit. 

“Then I — that means — uh — ” She releases one of Beatrice’s wrists like it’s burning, very much aware of the intensity of the gaze resting on her, and blindly roots around on the floor behind her until she finds the camera, resting just where Beatrice had left it. “I get to do this.” 

Her fumbling with the camera is hardly graceful, but honestly, the fact that she’s able to produce words at all is nothing short of a miracle, so she’ll take it. Her right hand is still wrapped around Beatrice’s left, fingers circling her wrist as she pins it to the floor, and she takes a picture of this first, holding her breath all the while. 

“For — uh — proof?” she offers, a little weakly, and Beatrice’s stare finally breaks, intensity replaced by something much softer, something that seeps into the corner of her eyes and mouth in equal measure. Ava’s struck by the sight as much as she is by anything else, and her grip relaxes enough that Beatrice can slip out of the hold, both hands drifting down until they come to rest just alongside either one of Ava’s knees. 

“Proof for who?” 

“What do you — proof for literally everyone, Bea; Hans, Camila, Lilith, Mother Superion, Jillian, the regulars at the bar, our neighbors, the lady who runs the bakery down the street, any random person I walk past for the next month. Hell, I might take out an ad in The Guardian, or something, are you kidding?” 

Beatrice laughs and it’s like a crack in the universe, or something equally and unequivocally earth-shattering. Lungs empty, air knocked fully out, Ava lifts her camera almost instinctively, only to find her view devastatingly obstructed, Beatrice’s arms flung over her face (the grin, still wide with laughter, barely peeking out from underneath). 

“Beatrice,” she groans (or maybe pouts).

“I’m sorry!” And she sounds it too, even through the smile, the half-giggles now petering out. “Truly. I’m not used to being photographed. I can’t think of a time it happened before you took up this hobby, not outside of unpleasant family photoshoots and the like.”

Ava’s heart flips painfully in her chest, but Beatrice is quick to soothe, fingers falling back down to brush against the outside of Ava’s leg, as though Ava’s the one in need of comfort.

“I’m not protesting, Ava. Just tell me what to do.” 

Photographs are meant to reproduce moments, memories, emotions, but Ava’s not sure the best photographer in the world, with hundreds of thousands of euros in equipment, would ever be able to fully capture Beatrice as she is now, fondness bleeding from the tips of her fingers, affection lighting the brown of her eyes, and love — or something an awful lot like it — bending her mouth, a bow pulled taut with an arrow that might be Ava herself, as inconceivable as the notion is. 

“Pretend the camera isn’t here,” Ava rasps, her breath hot (heated by all the things boiling inside of her now). “Just look at me.” 

Beatrice looks at her. 

Ava stops breathing. 

She takes the picture. The camera lowers. And Ava forgets about it entirely, object permanence completely obliterated by a force far stronger than something as trivial as human development.

Underneath her, seemingly content to be straddled, Beatrice looks calm, which isn’t unusual, because she almost always looks calm, so maybe it’s that she feels calm too. Like all the things Ava can always sense running through her at speeds only known to light have slowed down or disappeared entirely. The mission, her duties, her vows, her expectations, these things have washed away (temporarily but completely) until it’s only Beatrice left, staring at her lips. And Ava had thought she’d experienced wanting Beatrice in every way, but this one is new.

(She wants Beatrice like this: exactly herself, without anything else getting in the way.)

“Beatrice,” she says, a hitch in her voice breaking the name into three, distinct syllables. “I’m — ”

Cursed. Saved. Ruined. Blessed. Fucked. 

Ava’s not sure which word applies when the smoke alarm goes off downstairs.

It is not especially loud, or piercing, but it goes off and all of the easy calm flees from Beatrice’s eyes as she jerks upwards, back lifting off the floor until she’s close, closer than before, so close and it’s too much, maybe, or maybe Ava’s instincts are working against her (or for her?) because she falls back as soon as Beatrice completes the motion, balance disastrously (helpfully?) disrupted. 

Oh well, Ava thinks, as she lets herself fall back. Maybe a bit of brain damage would do her some good. 

Except that, of course, Beatrice catches her, a simple slip of her hand around Ava’s back, palm pressing to the middle of the Halo, shocks spreading out from the point of impact. 

“You’re what?” Beatrice asks, terribly quiet, as though she feels the air rearranging around them, molecules shifting back and forth between possibilities and outcomes. 

And if Beatrice were still calm, if everything else were still pushed away, if Beatrice was just Beatrice in that moment — just as she’d been so briefly before — it would not be a choice, what Ava did next. And maybe it isn’t one now either, but it’s in the opposite direction: pulling away rather than pushing forward (creating space rather than closing it). 

“I’m — just — I’m done. With the photos.” Decision made, breath returning, she shrugs, a little bashful now, the steady beep of the alarm and the laughter of their neighbors drifting up from below. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Beatrice’s head tilts, a small crease forming in between her eyebrows. Some people want money or power or peace or the answers to the universe, but Ava thinks she would be content, if only she could know what Beatrice is thinking right now.

“No,” she murmurs. “Not so bad at all.”

#avatrice #warrior nun #ava silva lives on #Ava's Journals #moonyriot #happy new year! #writing

[maverickbabes]

Can't Handle It Baby?

Can't Handle It Baby?

Aged!Up!Lo'ak Sully x female!navi!reader!

Lo'ak and Reader are both 20

Warnings: Soft!dom!Lo'ak, daddy kink, oral fem receiving, teasing, squirting, cussing, praising, use of nickname "pretty girl" "ma girl" "princess", fluff and cute funny ending

Summary: Y/n told Lo'ak that he has no game and can't make a girl cum. Lo'ak decides to prove her wrong ;)

Y/n back arches as she tries to close her legs but Lo'ak groans against her heat as he trails his hands softly up her thighs leaving goosebumps in his wake. She feels his hands grip her thighs before pushing them apart and holding them down as he teasingly bites her bud, grazing his fangs against it.

"Hm can't handle it baby?" Lo'ak hums against her heat and y/n whimpers in pleasure as she tries to lift her hips up but Lo'ak plants them firmly on the hammock. "You look so fucking beautiful like this ma girl. All spread out for daddy with your hair all messed up and your legs trembling just for me" He praises as he raises himself up and hovers over her, enjoying how her dark blue skin glowed and her amber eyes blown wide with pleasure.

Y/n closes her eyes but Lo'ak is quick to grab her chin squeezing it gently, getting her to open her eyes once more. "No closing your eyes pretty girl, I want you to look at me" He says tilting his head which makes his braids fall over his eyes. She reaches up a shaky hand and plays with the fallen braids then resting her hand against his face.

She pulls him downward and crashes her lips against his and wraps her legs around him, catching him by surprise. He moans into her mouth and juts his cock against her heat, breaking the kiss as he begins biting at her flesh while his other hand trialed up and grabs some of her braids.

In one swift motion Lo'ak was on his back looking up at y/n who was straddling his lap and looking down back at him while biting her bottom lip. She leans down and kisses his neck grazing her fangs against it, earning a groan from Lo'ak as his hands squeeze her hips before fiddling with the beads that rested against the waist of her loincloth.

"Can't handle it baby?" She mocks leaving a trail of love bites and marks from his neck and down his chest. Y/n looks up at him innocently before moving her hand under his loincloth and grabs his cock, pumping him slowly. "Don't tease me pretty girl, you know better" He moans taking a fistful of y/n braids again and pulling her up.

Lo'ak flips them over once more and hovers above y/n's small frame as he thrusts himself into her, instantly bottoming out. "Fuck!" Y/n moans as she arches her back and tries to grab at Lo'ak but he grabs her wrists and pin them above her head. "Going somewhere pretty girl?" Lo'ak teases as he slows his thrusts causing y/n eyes to roll in the back of her head while letting out small whimpers and whines.

"You feel so good ma girl so fucking good" he moans quietly as he grabs her thigh and lifts her leg up to his shoulder, going even deeper with his slow thrusts. "OH FUCK RIGHT THERE LO'AK" Y/n screams as she squeezes around his cock, practically sucking him into her and holding a vase grip on him. "That's not my fucking name" He growls as he moves his hips in a tauntingly slow pace driving y/n mad.

"Mm... Lo'ak pl..p-please" She stutters out and Lo'ak grabs her chin forcing her to look at him. "Not. My. Fucking. Name" He says each word with his hard and fast thrusts. "Daddy Daddy please I'm mm so close I erm hmm" y/n rambles out as he smirks in satisfaction as he releases her wrists and grabs her hips.

"That's a good girl, cum for me princess let me see how good I make you feel" He praises pounding into her relentlessly and y/n lets out a sound mix between a moan and a whine as she comes undone, him climaxing seconds later. Y/n passes out from the amount of pleasure coursing through her veins, unknowingly squirting in the process.

Lo'ak groans as he looks down and sees her juices covering his chest, some droplets running down to his v-line. "Baby hey baby wake up" He says, a hint of concern in his voice as he shakes y/n gently and she slowly opens her eyes looking up at him. "You squirted baby" He says, pride all over his face and y/n looks at his chest in disbelief, seeing her juices running down his chest.

"Holy fuck" She says embarrassed and covers her face with her hands as Lo'ak chuckles from above her. "Aw baby it's okay, it's good actually cause that means I made you feel amazing" He reassures and gently moves her hands away from her face, kissing her passionately. Y/n breaks the kiss and grabs his face, caressing his cheeks softly.

"You sure it's fine?" She asks embarrassingly and Lo'ak places his hands on hers and smiles. "Yes I'm positive baby" He assures before wrapping his arms around her, lifting her into his lap. "At least I fucked you dumb" He jokes cheekily while smiling proudly.

Y/n slaps his shoulder "Lo'ak!" she says with utter shock and he lets out a hearty laugh before tackling her to the hammock once more.

"Round two ma girl" Lo'ak says as he lays on her

"No!" Y/n giggles before letting out a shriek while her mate tackled her to the hammock before laying on top of her

#lo'ak imagine #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak avatar #lo'ak sully #lo'ak sully x reader #lo'ak smut #lo'ak sully x you #lo'ak sully fluff #lo'ak fanfiction #lo'ak sully smut #avatar fanfiction #avatar jake sully #avatar smut #loak sully #avatar loak #loak smut #loak sully smut #atwow loak #loak x you #avatar #avatar way of water

[sweetteaanddragons]

Pick Your Battles (Pick - Different Battles. Put That One Back.)

(I wrote this at Christmas and put it up on AO3, but it looks like I forgot to crosspost it here!)

(Having written a lot of time travel stories where people wish they could just attack Melkor, I decided it was finally time to let someone. Time travelling Fingon seemed perfect for the job.)

“You attacked Lord Melkor,” Fingon’s father said with incredulous emphasis, “with your teeth.”

“With a chair, first,” Fingon said. He had attempted to use weaponry before resorting to unarmed combat. “I wanted Uncle Feanaro’s sword, but I didn’t think I could get it away from him in time.”

He was aware that this was not actually helping his case. It might have helped his case if he had collapsed into some kind of mock breakdown instead, puddling onto the desk in his father’s study in heaving sobs, but he had never been much of an actor, so he stood before it instead, a reporting soldier before his general, instead of a penitent youth before his father as he should have been.

He might have been able to dredge up some penitence, actually, if only for the pain on his father’s face, except the provocation had been so very great that he really felt he could not have done otherwise.

His father at last stopped his pacing and collapsed into a seat behind his desk, holding up his hands in supplication. ”Why, Findekano?”

Fingon paused.

His reasons were entirely natural and entirely irresistible.

However.

They were not reasons that would have been at all comprehensible before Findekano had found his way to Thangorodrim and become Fingon.

“I had sworn to do so,” he tried.

The last time he had seen his father look so despairing, it had been right before he went off to go fight Morgoth, although not, admittedly, with his teeth.

He thought. He'd never actually asked.

“You swore to hit one of the Valar with a chair,” his father clarified in the flattest tone Fingon had ever heard from him.

Technically, no.

Technically, what he had sworn was to never let Morgoth lay a hand on Maedhros again. The fact that he had not pictured anything remotely similar to these circumstances when making that vow did not exempt him from it; nor did he particularly wish to be considered exempt from it.

Just because he had somehow found himself in a time before Morgoth had revealed the evil in his heart did not mean that evil was not already beginning its foul work.

“Swore an oath to whom?” his father demanded.

Fingon did not think the truth would be useful to family tensions, or the fully explained truth to the recently shaken belief in his sanity.

In the face of his stubborn silence, his father’s exasperation slowly drained away, leaving only his weariness behind. “You could have been killed,” he said. “If Lord Melkor had lost his restraint for even a moment - “

For a moment, it was not his father’s current, unblemished form, that Fingon saw.

Whatever his father saw on his face, it made him change tactics. “This cannot be kept quiet. If we can assure the Valar it has been handled, perhaps it need not come before Manwe, but - “

An idea suddenly blossomed, one born of a very different case before Manwe.

He did not wish to approach the Valar with the truth of his situation, not when he didn’t wish it undone.

But certain other truths . . . well, they had come out in a trial once before.

“Let it go before Manwe,” he said, interrupting his father. “Let it all be handled in the open. It will be better that way.”

“Findekano - “

“It will be,” he promised with a quick bow before darting out of the room without waiting for leave.

He suspected his father wouldn’t want him to leave the house at present, but he really must; he needed to find Maitimo as he had a horrible suspicion he might have accidentally hit him with that chair.

#time travel #fingon #silmarillion #first age #fingon finds himself back in the first age #he also finds himself ten feet away from Melkor #and conveniently close to a very throwable chair #Nolofinwe has a headache #Feanaro has a new favorite nephew #Maitimo is very confused about why Findekano had this reaction to Melkor offering Maitimo a handshake

[etirabys]

did you guys know about courtly love??? because I didn't

My introduction to courtly love was reading a Diana Wynne Jones novella that made no sense unless you know what courtly love is. After crawling confusedly through ancient Livejournal reviews to piece together what the story had been about, I took away that it was a weird medieval knight thing where you talk a lot of guff to a (married) woman without ever expecting it to turn into more than what it is.

The first chapter of CS Lewis's The Allegory of Love explains the concept much more thoroughly. His account is pleasantly bonkers. I now relay it to you. (Note: not only am I skeptical of parts of his account, I read it while sleep deprived, so salt liberally.)

First, a sketch of the relationship:

The lover is always abject. Obedience to his lady’s lightest wish, however whimsical, and silent acquiescence in her rebukes, however unjust, are the only virtues he dares to claim. There is a service of love closely modelled on the service which a feudal vassal owes to his lord. The lover is the lady’s ‘man’. He addresses her as midons, which etymologically represents not ‘my lady’ but ‘my lord’. The whole attitude has been rightly described as ‘a feudalisation of love’. This solemn amatory ritual is felt to be part and parcel of the courtly life.

This seems to have been both literary trope and a real-life interaction pattern (of which the former came first). A specific example in Arthuriana:

It is only later that [Lancelot] learns the cause of all this cruelty. The Queen has heard of his momentary hesitation in stepping on to the tumbril[, a humiliating cart he rode into the city where she was held captive, to rescue her], and this lukewarmness in the service of love has been held by her sufficient to annihilate all the merit of his subsequent labours and humiliations. Even when he is forgiven, his trials are not yet at an end. The tournament at the close of the poem gives Guinevere another opportunity of exercising her power. When he has already entered the lists, in disguise, and all, as usual, is going down before him, she sends him a message ordering him to do his poorest. Lancelot obediently lets himself be unhorsed by the next knight that comes against him, and then takes to his heels, feigning terror of every combatant that passes near him. The herald mocks him for a coward and the whole field takes up the laugh against him: the Queen looks on delighted. Next morning the same command is repeated, and he answers, ‘My thanks to her, if she will so’. This time, however, the restriction is withdrawn before the fighting actually begins.

So, huh. How did this cultural script come to be?

Courtly love as a literary trope began in 11th century Provence. Here's Lewis's sketch of that time and place:

We must picture a castle which is a little island of comparative leisure and luxury, and therefore at least of possible refinement, in a barbarous country-side. There are many men in it, and very few women—the lady, and her damsels. Around these throng the whole male meiny [i.e. attendants], the inferior nobles, the landless knights, the squires, and the pages—haughty creatures enough in relation to the peasantry beyond the walls, but feudally inferior to the lady as to her lord—her ‘men’ as feudal language had it. Whatever ‘courtesy’ is in the place flows from her: all female charm from her and her damsels. There is no question of marriage for most of the court. All these circumstances together come very near to being a ‘cause’; but they do not explain why very similar conditions elsewhere had to wait for Provençal example before they produced like results. Some part of the mystery remains inviolate.

So that's the material background – a lopsided gender balance. But more fascinating is the cultural background where the passion and devotion of romantic love – a passion/devotion Lewis claims simply did not exist as a mode for men to treat women in Europe before courtly love was invented – could not be channeled into marriage because such a stance is incompatible with the social role of a husband:

The same woman who was the lady and ‘the dearest dread’ of her vassals was often little better than a piece of property to her husband. He was master in his own house. So far from being a natural channel for the new kind of love, marriage was rather the drab background against which that love stood out in all the contrast of its new tenderness and delicacy. The situation is indeed a very simple one, and not peculiar to the Middle Ages. Any idealization of sexual love, in a society where marriage is purely utilitarian, must begin by being an idealization of adultery.

In fact, courtly love's rightful predecessor is not heterosexual love but the love of a vassal for his lord. (I am quite skeptical of this as a claim about reality, but less skeptical of it as a claim about literature.) Reiterating a sentence from the first quote in this post:

The whole attitude [of a knight in courtly love with his lady] has been rightly described as ‘a feudalisation of love’.

CS Lewis on that feudal relationship:

We shall never understand [the affection between vassal and lord], if we think of it in the light of our own moderated and impersonal loyalties. We must not think of officers drinking the king’s health: we must think rather of a small boy’s feeling for some hero in the sixth form. There is no harm in the analogy, for the good vassal is to the good citizen very much as a boy is to a man. ... He loves and reverences only what he can touch and see; but he loves it with an intensity which our tradition is loath to allow except to sexual love.

So it's that relationship that courtly love remixes into heterosexual romance. Courtly love ennobles the lover – there's a religious parallel here for sure. And it is necessarily adulterous because marriage is not a matter of personal passion, because distance is conducive to recreational idealization, because the lack of potential sexual consummation is pleasantly purity-coded in a Christian society, and because a wife, being a knight's inferior, cannot ennoble him. So, finally, Lewis says bluntly:

The love which is to be the source of all that is beautiful in life and manners must be the reward freely given by the lady, and only our superiors can reward. But a wife is not a superior.

Coming back briefly to Diana Wynne Jones's The True State of Affairs: I understand much better now the behavior of the protagonist's love interest. He's a bored would-be king in captivity who decides to make the other visible prisoner his midons. He expects her to understand the convention he's following. Why shouldn't he take her on as a concept like this? She, also bored and deprived, benefits from his gifts and minor heroics. He wants an ennobling influence. And besides, isn't idealizing a beautiful woman you never intend to make a move on fun?

#rambl #courtly love #eti reads the allegory of love #the true state of affairs #dwj

[devildomwriter]

🪷:

I haven't TOUCHED nb! in a while (left after playing through lesson 13 I think) the last scene i remember playing were mc was in coma while brothers confessed and yea I left after that

Recently I see some uproar about lesson 37 💀 I am so curious but sooo lazy to play through it myself. Will you be so kind to spoil the entire nb! lore for me? Lmaoo

Seriously though I see spoilers of Lucifer RAGING and I have no idea 🤌

Wow that’s a lot to go through haha I’ll try and give a brief summary

Michael saves MC from their comma and the boys and MC are reunited and they are accepting of MC being a human

Diavolo decides he must send Mc back to the human world but before he can he is forced to undergo trials to prove his right as the king because the House of Lords is angry with him

Afterwards Henry goes missing and the brothers search for him. Shortly after it’s announced Raphael will be coming and they are all on edge.

When Raphael arrives he tells everyone they will be allowed back to the Celestial Realm and their father has pardoned their crimes and warns if they don’t accept they will “intervene”

The brothers individually decide they cannot leave Satan behind because he is their brother but Lucifer wants them to go back and he alone with stay with Satan because his actions are what caused his brothers to fall. In the end they all reject their pardon and stay with Satan where a ball is thrown by Diavolo to officially announce them as the seven rulers of hell.

The end credits scene reveals that Raphael was actually Michael in disguise coming to check on his brothers

Season Two

At the beginning of the season the brothers are working with Diavolo, Barbatos, and Mephistopheles for a more solid set of rules and classes at RAD and participate in mock classes

As that happens the brothers begin succumbing to their sins one by one

First Mammon succumbs to greed and his Little D. (which are revealed to be a reflection of themselves) is the key to saving him by delving into Mammon’s psyche. They then form a pact.

Next this happens to Asmo who becomes strong enough to enslave all his brothers until Solomon and MC use his Little D. to stop him. They then form a pact.

Next Satan meets Little D. no 4 and is embarrassed by his behavior and sinks into a coma but since he was born with his sin he doesn’t succumb to it but Little D. is needed to save him from within his mind where it’s revealed the first things his brothers ever gave him are his greatest treasures. They then form a pact.

Next Beelzebub grows much hungrier but doesn’t succumb and instead grows weaker. It’s thought that Beelzebub is becoming weak because he is the least demon-like of his brothers. Little D faces against Beelzebub in an eating competition and Beelzebub proves himself the avatar of gluttony.

Belphegor won’t let MC form a pact with Beel as he isn’t sure they can be trusted so MC undergoes the angel’s trial where they cannot tell a lie or the bracelet will break and they will not forge a pact with Beel. MC ends up telling Solomon his cooking is bad which devastates him but tells a lie to cover for Luke and it’s revealed the trial isn’t not to lie but to know the weight of a lie.

Leviathan overhears MC talking with Solomon about how they need pacts to get back to their world. Leviathan becomes upset and hides away in his room. He succumbs to envy and his powers rage out of control and flood the Devildom. Eventually MC is able to get through to him and Leviathan saves them.

Belphegor doesn’t want MC to leave and won’t accept the news so he uses his powers to keep his brothers too slothful to do anything and traps MC in the attic so they can’t leave but MC uses his Little D and breaks him out of his own psyche.

In the attic everyone reunites and agree to help MC return home so Belphegor, Beelzebub, and Leviathan makes pacts with MC. Everyone believes Lucifer will hop of board but he states he doesn’t want to, a sentence that makes Diavolo laugh.

Lucifer begins suggesting MC get used to life in the Devildom as they won’t be able to return home.

The brothers discuss how odd this is when MC wins a trip for two on a Devildom train owned by a noble. Lucifer invites himself as the second guest and during the trip is hinted his pride is at play and they may need his Little D. Before this can happen, Diavolo sends Mephistopheles after Lucifer and MC to make sure they are safe since a noble who hates Lucifer and his brothers owns the train.

Mephistopheles intrudes on their vacation and he and Lucifer butt heads often. The train is then hijacked and it’s pinned on MC, Mephistopheles, and Lucifer. Mephistopheles and MC are freed but Lucifer is sent to the lowest layer of the underworld, Cocytus, for punishment.

The brothers reveal the underworld is technically Celestial Realm territory so it’s weird that Lucifer is being punished for a crime committed in the Devildom in Celestial Realm territory. The brothers and Luke and Simeon venture to Cocytus to save Lucifer but the brothers are each restrained on different levels of cocytus for their crimes.

They reach Lucifer who is surprised to see MC and horrified to learn his brothers came along since the final layer of Cocytus is where you are punished for crimes against their father. As he’s yelling demanding to know where his brothers are is when Raphael is forced to read Lucifer his crimes and that he and his brothers are trapped in Cocytus and will be punished forevermore for their crimes in the Celestial War.

Lucifer is saddened for Raphael and enraged his brothers are suffering and in his rage he breaks free of his chains.

Meanwhile Diavolo is more furious than Barbatos has ever seen and is meeting with the House of the Lords to uncover what they plotted to get Lucifer arrested by the Celestial Realm.

That’s where we currently are in the game.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer