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remembrancer-of-heresy · 1 year ago

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Replica (Part 5/Finale)

Summary: You finally accept his love.

Perturabo/fem!Reader

Warnings: incest (kinda), possessive behavior, manipulation, smut, dubious consent.

Word Count: 2426

It was an interesting experience. It's very sad to say goodbye to this story. But there will be others. You know, I thought that my beloved traitor-primarch Konrad Curze. But judging by the way I described these two, probably my favorite is Bo.

Song: Mitski - Washing Machine Heart (I can't even describe how perfect this song is for this story)

You didn't know how much time had passed. A couple of minutes or several hours until your quiet tears turned into sobs. The Iron Lord, who had been lying next to you all this time, looked at you with displeasure. He expected you to either fall asleep or be happily drawn to him after such closeness. But the primarch’s face quickly smooths out after you speak.

"It's hurt".

He carefully examines you from head to toe. A semblance of fear flashes in the eyes. Perturabo quickly gets up and lifts you from the bed as light and gentle as a feather. All you can do is press yourself against his massive chest. Blood is still seeping from between your legs. You almost don't feel them. While belly and bones are almost burning with pain. You wanted to tear off the lower part of yourself and throw it away just to stop experiencing these torments. Your body doesn’t listen and all you can do is close your eyes and fall asleep. Hoping that you'll never wake up.

But the Iron Lord decided otherwise.

From now on you live in the primarch's chambers. According to the man, he needed to monitor your condition, and now there is no point in you living separately. You thought he would call an apothecary or a mortal physician but Perturabo was quite knowledgeable about how to treat you. He gave you the best medicine. He fed his own blood so that the wounds would heal faster. You couldn’t help but think that it tasted exactly the same as your rations.

You could already feel your bones and your hips hardly hurt. The bruises were almost gone, which greatly pleased the primarch, who could not deny himself the pleasure of touching the exposed areas of your skin with his fingertips. A lot of time passed, but the man was in no hurry to make love to you again.

The primarch was too keen on the idea of trampling his main enemy into the mud and spending almost all his free time at work. But you, seeing his gaze, felt how much he longed to enter inside you again. But Perturabo waited, savoring the anticipation of the desired victory. You were supposed to be a reward for his efforts and pains, which no one appreciated.

And if the body gradually developed, the spirit was broken. There was no way you could get his behavior out of your head. How he took you. Appropriated you as his lover. He loved you. But along with this... someone else.

You've never heard this name. Didn't know who this girl was. But one could guess that it was someone important to the primarch. So important that at the moment of closeness he remembered someone else. And the worst thing was that at the same time he called you his... sister. That guess alone made you feel sick, and you desperately hoped you were wrong.

It's no wonder that you soon became withdrawn into yourself. Perturabo did not notice the quiet depression, focusing on your physical state. And of course, in his main goal in life. Creation of the Eternal Fortress. The greatest masterpiece that could break the body and spirit of his sworn brother Dorn.

You lay on his massive bed, putting down the book about architecture that you were reading with interest. But when the primarch speaks, all your attention must be focused on him and only him. No excuses. Perturabo enthusiastically told you how his Legion and slaves were completing the final work on Sebastus IV. Soon the fortress will be ready and the noble Rogal Dorn will fall into a trap. The Imperial Fist will lead his legion to destruction and will finally be humiliated.

“Who is Calliphone?”

You couldn't stand it. No, you couldn't do this anymore. You never asked questions, never contradicted him, and obeyed him in everything. Even when Perturabo lay in bed with you, you didn’t resist, although you were scared.

Silence reigned in the room. Perturabo sat at the table with an unreadable expression on his face. For a second you thought he was going to explode in rage. But he remained frighteningly calm. Moving the drawings aside, the men approached the bed on which you were lying, wrapped in a blanket. Sitting down on the very edge, the man carefully began stroking your knee.

“I see that human memory is failing you. The flaw of your kind, but how can I be angry with you.” - the primarch looks straight into your eyes with a grin. - "It's you. My adopted sister from Olympia.”

You feel a lump forming in your throat. Sister. He called you his sister when... when... You shudder and pull your legs up to your chest. Disgust and denial overwhelmed with renewed vigor. You wanted to hide under the blanket like a little child. You're almost babbling.

"It's not me"

“No, it’s you, my dear sister. Daughter of a tyrant, maiden of Olympia... Forgive me.” - the man, clearly not understanding the whole gamut of emotions, speaks the cherished words almost with a breath. With difficulty and with relief. Completely opening the soul that was closed from everyone. Giving his hearts to you alone. - “Please... forgive me. How could I think that you are nothing to me? You are the only one who has loved me all these years. Not one of my brother primarchs is worthy to spend even a second with you. Especially him.”

Bo moves closer and softly whispers your real name. Almost purring with pleasure, inhaling the smell of your own hair. You look at him in disbelief. Weren't you his sister a few seconds ago? Why did he suddenly remember your real identity now? The man carefully twirled your curl in his hands.

“The False Emperor always preferred Rogal to me. He wore his mark, built him a Palace... and he had you. He dared to hide you from me. To pick you up while a decrepit old woman lived at Olympia. Daring to be insolent to me. A pathetic replica, incomparable to the original. Frankly, now the memory of how I broke her neck brings only pleasure.” - all the primarch’s envy and irritation immediately disappear when he meets your gaze. The man takes your face in his giant hands, smoothing your cheeks with his thumbs. - “I will make them all regret it. They will all suffer. For you. And now I want you to sing.”

Perturabo climbs onto the bed and for a second you think he'll rip your clothes off again. But instead, the man slowly lifts your dress to your knees. You see his steely eyes mist and his mouth moves closer to your lower lips. Oh. You want to pull away, but the man squeezes your thighs forcefully, leaving new bruises that only recently disappeared from your body.

You feel his tongue slowly running along your insides. These were not passionate and uncontrollable caresses, but cold calculations. He knew exactly how he wanted to touch you, how to make you squirm. The primarch kissed you as if he was planning another attack. Measuring every movement, stoically and impartially. As if it wasn’t your moans that caused the pain in his crotch.

If only your soul were as submissive as your body. All this time he saw her. All this time he spoke to her. And in those moments when you were different from Calliphone, Perturabo saw you. And he accepted. Because you are not made of iron, you bend, you curve as it suits him. Melting under his gaze, not challenging him. You are a twisted memory of years gone by. A living replica, an imperfect but improved version. And you can't wonder. Is he kissing her now or you?

But your thoughts are lost as soon as Perturabo accelerates. A shiver runs through your body, you moan loudly, feeling your body relax after a minute of tension. And again you feel the heat, feeling how someone else’s tongue greedily collects your juices, not wanting to leave even a drop. You feel bad, scared and sad. But at the same time it’s so good.

Didn't he promise to take care of you and cherish you? This is exactly what he is doing now. You just need to let go. You no longer wanted to tremble and cry from horror or sadness. You wanted everything to be as before. So that he can show you his wonderful inventions again. So that you can talk again about the books you read, drink wine and eat fruits with him. You wanted to see a smile bloom on his gloomy face and if you are the reason for this. Then why are you still resisting? It doesn't matter who you are. He loves you. And you him?

The man, having finally had his fill and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, hovers over you. With one hand leaning on the bed, the other grabbed your waist possessively. Perturabo carefully, almost analytically, watches your tired but pleased expression on your face. The corners of the lips tremble, ready to stretch into a smile of pride.

“I have dreamed for so long that we would become truly close. But I couldn’t even think that it would be so.” - almost growling, he touches your lips with his, tongue penetrating inside. There was little tenderness. Perturabo wanted to subjugate you, appropriate you, brand you so that everyone would know who you belong to. And you…

You kissed back.

***

This place was wonderful. Your little personal paradise. Where you can be safe and no one will ever hurt you. Bo took care of it. He himself recreated your chambers in his native Olympic style. Massive columns supported a gigantic ceiling, and the snow-white walls were decorated with golden birds. Your chambers were exactly like the golden cage you saw on the first day you met Perturabo.

He often visited you after he took care of business. The rest of the time you were devoted only to yourself. Alas, the servants could not entertain your pastime. The Iron Lord took care to rip out their tongues and eyes. Slaves should not offend your ears with their voices. Should not look at the property of the daemon-prince.

You stood on the balcony, leaning on the railing. The Fortress of Hate had the best view of Medrengard. Absolutely black buildings were buried in smoke and fire from constantly working machines. Neither the smell nor the heat could touch you. Perturabo has ensured that your chambers are well protected from the stifling surface temperatures.

You could see the Iron Warriors arriving from the Imperial world with a new regiment of slaves. Frequent guests, the Dark Mechanicum, were already leaving the residence with a very satisfied look. It appears that the meeting with the primarch ended satisfactorily for both parties.

There is no limit to the genius of the Iron Lord. Only he could create such a truly terrifying fortress world. The Imperial fists were not one iota able to create such perfection. Remembering your young years on one of Rogal Dorn’s controlled worlds, you could only marvel at your naivety.

No, you were from Olympia.

You hear the massive door of the chambers open and a menacing voice orders the slaves to leave the chambers. You almost choke on air and with incredible difficulty restrain the desire to joyfully run out to meet the primarch. But until the servants leave, you must save face.

But how happy it was to see Bo again. He has come to you! You can see him again, hear him. Feel the touch on your body. As a sister, as a lover, but you are not his sister either. To feel with every fiber of the soul his demonic presence, his divine greatness. Only when the door closed behind the last servant did you exhale. It turns out you weren't breathing all this time.

A mutated hand, blessed by chaos, rests on your shoulder. Claws gently touch your delicate skin. The blood of a primarch with rejuvenation drugs did not allow you to fade away. Bo said that you, like him, cannot grow old, cannot die. No, not just can't. Should not.

“Another world of the Corpse on the Throne has fallen. Soon the galaxy will be cleansed and you will never feel in danger.” - the mechanical rumbling voice hardly turns to a whisper. - “I remember you saying that you could become a remembrancer of Dorn. How long ago it was. But you became mine. Always was."

Oh, yes, you were his former captive from your homeworld Rudah. You will always be. You've never seen Olympia. It was Perturabo who told you about the wonders of his home world, and you fell in love with his culture. Exactly. How could you forget? Bo himself didn’t remember who you were.

He says your name. It sounded like a cacophony of sounds the most beautiful melody. You turn around and look at him adoringly. He's so handsome. Black flesh with red veins fused with iron. The once human face resembles the symbol of the Iron Warriors.

Perturabo was with you again. You will drink wine, he will talk about his grandiose plans, and then you will either go to the baths or end up in bed. Or maybe all at once. You hug the primarch tightly around his wide waist, unable to clasp your hands.

“Bo, I love you so much.”

The daemon-prince rumbles with pleasure as he allows the frail mortal girl to touch him. The claw gently lifts your chin, forcing you to look straight into the black eyes of the primarch. Perturabo kneels down to be at eye level with you.

“As always, you can’t contain your emotions, dear sister.” - the man pulls your small seductive figure closer to him. Even in his world, in his tower, he strives to hide you from everyone. The iron mask opens slightly and a long black tongue touches your neck. The skin hisses with the primarch's saliva. - “But enough words. It's time to get down to business."

You just smile happily, holding back so as not to moan at the top of your lungs. The personality is bursting at the seams, sticking together again like plasticine, as soon as Bo tells who he sees you. Whom does he desire right now or in the future.

And you will be anything for him.

#primarch x reader #primarch x oc #perturabo x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #tw: yandere #tw: obsession #tw: incest

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stardustgates · 2 years ago

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Author’s Notes: Possibly OOC behaviour? I’ve done my best to stick by Canon as much as I can, but given I’m a newer player, I don’t know the relationship between Kafka and Silver Wolf or the characters individually as well I’d like to. Though I did do my best, please be aware that I may have taken some creative liberties in their characterisation and inner thoughts regarding each other. Also I am aware that this may just be 5.5k words of nonsensical BS but I haven’t written proper fanfiction in a hot minute so take it with a grain of salt. Not so much of a reader/canon thing and more like a reader AND canon thing currently. Perhaps that will change in future works, who’s to say? Oh yeah this is a SAGAU.

Warnings: Canonical In-game violence, references and descriptions of dissociation via player-induced body possession, references to drug use (one sentence), yandere tones if you squint really hard (shes a slowburner ya’ll), and a single swear word :3

Beyond the mind, within your body.

Description: Unaware that your presence has been made apparent to the eccentric duo during your first run through of Honkai Star Rail, you happily indulge yourself in the immersive (tutorial) world before your eyes. Kafka and Silver Wolf attempt to adjust to the feeling it brings, which leaves their minds constantly switching between distrust and euphoria, and all the things in between.

Word Count: 5.5k

Hoyoverse’s newest game hadn’t seemed much to your liking when you’d first heard the announcement. For one thing, you weren’t particularly pleased with the constant stream of ‘HONKAI STAR RAIL - PLAY NOW’ interrupting your YouTube doom-scrolling every other ad; Not to mention, you weren’t very keen on the gacha aspect.

Within your small circle of friends, you’d been known to cave easily when attractive anime characters were involved and you weren’t planning on another hyperfiction to solidify your position as the group’s resident simp. That being said, with such a title swaying above your head like a shiny silver dagger, you’d held a metaphorical death grip on your wallet, solemnly swearing that you’d keep your distance from the game for as long you were able.

Ultimately that so-called iron will of yours didn’t last so much as a year, as just seven months after its release a simple character trailer was enough to break your steadfast resilience. Well, it wasn’t ‘simple’, if you were being honest with yourself- It was a brilliantly unique masterpiece, tailored to the exact essence and spirit of his character. You were sure Argenti wouldn’t be released for a good while, so you decided to pick up the game and grind what you could before his arrival.

That was your plan at least. Your friend had warned you a few months prior (Though admittedly, you hadn’t been paying much attention at the time.) that the download and installation would take an exhaustingly long time. Well, it was better than Genshin Impact had been- but still, you were getting bored and subsequently decided to fetch yourself something to drink in the meantime.

With your back turned to the loading screen, you waltzed out of your bedroom with little care in the world- oblivious to the ominous glowing cracks slowly sprawling across the screen of your device.

As you returned a few moments later, you found that it had finally finished installing! You’d certainly waited long enough. Sure, it wasn’t as soul-sucking as Genshin had been but your patience wasn't that of a saint’s either. With a renewed sense of anticipation, you hit start and breezed through the usual terms and conditions without reading anything and let out a sigh at the beautiful change in scenery.

It perhaps wasn't the smartest idea to skip it completely- but you had spent so long waiting already that you weren’t going to bother wasting time reading a document filled with dolled-up words you could barely pronounce.

✄————————————————

Herta’s Space Station’s defences hadn't been particularly difficult to slip past surprisingly, though Kafka didn’t recall any mention of difficulty regarding entry in Elio’s script, so she supposed the lack of security wasn’t of any particular importance.

Despite the calm confidence that usually accompanied her on these little operations, Kafka couldn’t shake the strange feeling of being watched. It wasn’t the usual sort of lingering gaze or sharpened stare, but a vague pulsating heartbeat that faded in and out, as though blinking through blurry vision.

Needless to say, she kept her guard up. Playing none the wiser and bowing mid-air to the tempo of a rather graceful tune. She forced her shoulders to relax and gently swayed her body, controlling her every little move with practised ease- even as that strange pulsating presence slowly sped up and stroked the fires of an oncoming headache- as the elevator descended to the station’s ‘ground’ floor.

(You remained none the wiser to her sudden awareness, the rapidly changing scenes flashing past your eyes far too quickly to pick up on a single, brief second of stillness in her body.)

A sudden explosion reverberates across the station's cold, metallic body and brings Kafka’s impromptu air-violin session to a screeching halt. Simultaneously, that presence settles over her body like a thick blanket of fog. That ‘gaze’ she had felt becoming so vivid she could feel its weight pressing down on her tongue.

She has little time to process the feeling before the usual blueish glow of Silver Wolf’s communications screen flickers into existence before her very eyes.

“... Seems I came at a bad time.”

“No, No – I think you couldn’t’ve timed it better. Twenty-three-fourty-seven-fifteen system time. Very punctual, Kafka.” Silver Wolf almost sounds impressed, though Kafka suspects she’s only trying to butter her up so she’ll let the girl go off task again. Perhaps, under different circumstances, she would have been kind enough to allow it, but with the nature of their current mission and this inexplicable presence, Kafka doesn't find herself in a very generous mood.

Kafka merely hums in response and ignores the empty praise.

“Elio always tells the exact future. So What’s with the explosion just now? Was that part of his script?” Silver Wolf picks up on her cue to focus without any fuss.

“Twenty-three-four-four-fifty-nine system time: The pulses from the explosion cause a massive breakdown from the master control system.”

Pulses. Perhaps it’s linked to the feeling curling itself around her senses?

“You did that?” Kafka doubts that Silver Wolf would waste effort on something so minor.

“No, the antimatter legion did it. They completely invaded the space station two system hours ago.” She whistles in response and glances down the glass panelling to the approaching ground floor. A small group… annoying, but manageable.

“Alright, so do we need to fight the legion?”

“Dunno, Elio didn’t say anything about it, so it doesn’t matter.” Hmm. Silver Wolf made a good point.

“Got it. So from now on, I'll be in charge of this operation.” She feels that tingle of a smirk reach the corner of her mouth, and smiles a little wider in anticipation.

“Copy. Can you let me have some fun this time? Our last few operations turned out to be pretty dull.” Kafka lets out a playful hum as she ponders over her colleague’s request with faux consideration. She can practically hear Silver Wolf’s stifled groan in the second of silence that passes.

“...Sorry~ I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you- our task this time is just to ‘place’ the target properly.”

Her choice of words is careful, though not enough to cause any alert in potential eavesdroppers. The feeling still hasn’t left.

“But if you wanna go look for some fun yourself, I won’t stop you.”

“I mean… after all…” she chuckles lightly as the blue hologram blips out of her vision, and reaches for the holsters tucked into her lower back. “After all…” Kafka readjusts her footing just in time to watch the elevator’s doors slide open, the sound of metal dragging against metal pinching at her ears.

“Elio didn’t put it in the script… Why would it matter?”

Just as the impact from her gunshots flitters across her skin, Kafka feels her mind being pulled back to the edge of her skull.

The group of voidrangers in front of her feel distant and smudged, the sockets of her eyes creating a blurred tunnel of vision that refuse adjust no matter how much she tries to blink it away. Their dark forms bleed into black speckles that crowd her already limited vision until she’s staring directly into the singed edges of the universe.

Kafka’s body… is no longer hers to command.

✄————————————————

She returns to her mind with startling swiftness. Her memories of the brief battle suddenly bubbling up as though pushing themselves through a thick soup of aether. She feels disconnected from the memory but can at least recall that she’d lost control of her body before blacking out.

She attempts to think back on that burnt, golden memory but is stopped by a sudden wave of nausea. She opts to set that aside for another time and refocus on the operation. Elio had not mentioned this happening anywhere in the script- so either this had no significance or…

Still, those Voidrangers hadn’t proved to be much trouble- in fact, they’d been less of an annoyance than she had prepared for. Either she’d been far more ruthless than intended or the antimatter legion had lost its touch.

“When did the anti-matter legion become so weak?” She asks out loud.

“I could only attract this much. Did you really want the entire legion to come here?” Silver Wolf speaks in feigned annoyance, her usual behaviour.

She hadn’t even realised. Kafka chooses not to mention anything for the moment, instead opting to subtly gauge the extent of control this presence… or rather... Entity, seems to have over her.

“This lot won’t be able to slow down the Astral Express crew.” Silver Wolf sighs in response on the other end of the device.

“Relax, a doomsday beast is also here.”

As she approaches one of the station’s automatic doors, Kafka feels it slip back into her body as if wearing her like a coat. Its influence feels… less heavy than it previously had been a few moments ago. At the very least she remains conscious this time; A strange lightness in her feet as she feels herself stealth towards a lone voidranger lounging about the area.

Her movements come to her now like instinct, striking down enemies with admittedly far more efficiency than she was naturally capable of. If it weren’t for her body being strung along like a puppet against her will, she’d almost be grateful for the power and resiliency it granted her.

Kafka has barely had her fill before a euphoric sense of power seems to swell up all at once; Killer instinct pumping through her veins like a well-oiled machine.

Ahh. Now this… this particular feeling wasn’t so bad.

Truthfully she’d liked to have toyed with this one a bit longer, but she knew all too well that it wouldn't manage to survive her next attack. She chatters to no one in particular, the ecstasy in her mind clouding whatever decorum she would have usually displayed.

“Good times never last… time to say bye.”

“Ah- She’s so cool…”

Kafka tenses up at the stranger’s voice, just as the swirling dark mass in front of her collapses into itself.

She sheathes her sword and adjusts her gloves, ignoring the voidranger approaching her from behind. Just before its darkened claws reach her, Silver Wolf’s ability activates no more than a hands-width from her shoulder blades.

“Cleaning up other people’s mess isn’t in my job description… y’know Kafka?” Silver Wolf huffs out, but her voice has no real bite in it. Was it her? She wasn’t usually one to doubt herself, but that fog of exhilaration certainly could have played with her mind.

“Yeah, yeah. Where did you send it Silver Wolf?”

Kafka turns in time to hear the gooey pop of the silver-haired girl’s bubblegum as she hops to her feet. She isn’t sure if it's Strawberry or Grape, but the artificial sweetness and scent of no-fruit-in-particular is so strong it actually grounds her mind for a moment.

She sighs for no real reason, but it brings her relief regardless.

Oh.

She hadn’t realised how bad her headache was.

“Some random Co-ordinates, not important.” She avoids Kafka’s gaze for a reason she couldn’t care to name before taking on an adorably defiant stance, her hands placed at her hips as though it would help her short stature in any way.

“You care about where that voidranger ended up?” She doesn’t. But she’d rather think about that than, well… She didn’t know what to call it at this point. But it was distracting and she needed to focus on literally anything else for the sake of what sanity she had left.

Though some could argue that she wasn’t sane at all- which was only half true because most people’s definition of sanity varied greatly from her own.

Oh, Silver Wolf was still blinking up at her expectantly.

“Of course not- I’m just amazed at this fancy technique of yours, as usual.” she smiles down at her colleague, who only rolls her eyes in response. To the girl’s credit, she’d been dealing with Kafka’s empty flattery for quite a long time.

“Just a little trick of tampering with the data of reality, I wouldn't call it fancy.” Kafka smiles a little wider, following behind as Silver Wolf strolls down the hallway. Her tells were always so obvious.

“What were you looking at just now? Let me see.” Silver Wolf huffs a bit as she settles herself onto a desk and faces her.

“Herta’s toys,” she begins in an almost mocking tone

“A catalogue featuring the space station’s collection of rare items.” Her fingers briefly tug on the white fluff of her jacket as she speaks “They’ve got quite a looot of interesting gadgets~”

Kafka’s previous interest (however feigned it may have been) dies down a little at the prospect of these ‘gadgets’ but nonetheless she indulges Silver Wolf’s unspoken desire to share what information she’d dug up.

“Like what?”

“There’s this gun, it can rate any creature within its crosshair as a score from 0 to 100.”

“... Doesn't sound very interesting.” Her brows pinch together and her mouth stretches into a thin line of clear disappointment. Not one to be disheartened so easily, Silver Wolf continues on

“Aren’t you curious how much you would score? I kinda wanna know mine.”

So this is what she’d been hinting at since earlier. Kafka crosses her arms and takes on the tone of an exasperated mother having finally given up after being nagged at for far, far longer than the reality of it.

“Fine. I guess we can swing by and play with it, if it’s not too far. What’s our destination?” She redirects Silver Wolf’s distractable attention onto their current objective with practised ease.

Hmm.

She feels a little cold for some reason… and those watchful eyes haven't left during the entirety of their conversation. Kafka’s guard raises a little further than before.

Her colleague’s eyes flit down to a small blue hologram, her fingers swiping past various screens until arriving at what Kafka could only presume was a list of directions given to her by Elio.

“Go down the corridor, behind the door… ooon the left. There’s a room where some kind of rare item is stored.”

Kafka feels the entity strongly now, she stares just beyond Silver Wolf’s shoulders where it feels most concentrated. The feeling she is met with is a dense smouldering hotness. It’s like melting iron dripping down her throat and burning it in the process. It feels almost itchy.

She redirects her gaze back to Silver Wolf far quicker than she’d intended to and resists the urge to scratch at her throat.

“So that’s where the Stellaron is?” Kafka is somewhat relieved when the feeling seems to simmer down. She once again debates speaking on the sensation during the slightest lull in their conversation but when Silverwolf turns her head back to face her, she finds the girl’s gaze to be much sharper than before.

“That's where we can find out where the Stellaron is.”

Kafka immediately knows that Silverwolf has finally caught on to this feeling and says nothing as she readies herself for the next half of their mission. Almost instantly, she feels the presence shift and roll over her shoulders, like a cat stretching out its limbs.

It's languid and smooth and she feels her tense- She had been tense this whole time?- muscles slowly relax until she finally feels that usual calm focus she’s so intimately familiar with. She hadn’t realised the extent of how cold she’d felt when it had stepped- strange, it feels like a person?- away.

Kafka decides that her feelings towards this... Being- She isn’t totally sure if it feels sapient, but it certainly has some form of will… That much she can tell- are mixed, to say the least. She wonders one more why Elio hadn’t mentioned anything about something so foreign and strange but sets the thought aside and refocuses on the task at hand.

She locks eyes with Silverwolf briefly, and just as she thought, Silverwolf is most definitely aware of it at this point.

“The central area of the space station is up ahead. There’ll be loads of Legion Void rangers there.” Silver Wolf hops to her feet and saunters toward the door’s control panel. A bit too casual to be natural, but it doesn't cause the feeling to stir, so she says nothing.

“Okay.” Kafka breathes out.

Then that feeling of puppeteering seems to stitch itself into her mind once more, albeit in a much more faded sense- it feels more like muscle memory than it does being pulled from her own body. She allows it to pull her along and lead her toward whatever it wants. As her fingers glide over the room’s control panels and her heels click against the cold steel of the station, she feels that fog of exhilaration settle over her again- that almost euphoric surge of strength from earlier suddenly vivid and fresh in her mind.

Silverwolf seems to feel the building strength in her own body too, as she quickens her pace when they turn the corner to find themselves at the back of a particularly strong-looking voidranger. She huffs out in bemusement and half-heartedly mutters out some encouragement to her colleague.

“May as well kill them all.”

Not needing much more encouragement than that, Silverwolf leaps forward with as much grace as her short form can allow her and drags her digitally enhanced blade across the muscles and sinew of its chest. She leaps back beside Kafka as it staggers on its feet and tries to regain its footing. Kafka’s arm pulls itself up, gun in hand, and fires out a cascade of bullets that each burrow and pierce into its flesh.

“This… seems a lot easier than it should be.” Silverwolf comments under her breath quietly.

“Well, let’s count our blessings–” Kafka is cut off as her arm is singed by the blast of the voidranger’s fire canon.

“Tch. Didn’t hurt.”

Silverwolf pulls out her holographic system at such speed that Kafka feels the static waft across her skin.

“Hmph, still. This combat needs optimising.” Just as the creature aims its weapon once more, it’s hit with a blast pulled from the loosened strands of reality itself.

“At that speed? Too slow!”

Kafka almost feels sorry for it, as she watches its body disintegrate while collapsing into itself.

Unfortunately, the girls are not left with time to bask in their victory- Silver Wolf lets out a small yelp- the entity has left its place on Kafka’s shoulders and draped itself over her companion it would seem. Her short colleague adjusts to the sensation of its guiding hand far better than she had, if her losing conscious was anything to go by.

Kafka follows behind silently, eyes trained intently on the girl in front of her for any indication of danger.

“Hold it. Someone.. Or something is up ahead.” she warns quietly, arm extended out to her side like a makeshift barrier. They both come to a sudden halt as the entity violently rips itself from their bodies and settles just beyond their skin.

Goosebumps this time.

The cold seems to get worse and worse each time it separates from them… well, her. Silver Wolf grits her teeth. Kafka notes the tiny pearl of sweat rolling down the side of her face. Still a shock to the system then.

“Looks like we’re the ones getting ambushed.”

“...But they’re the ones getting besieged.”

✄————————————————

The game has felt pretty cool so far, and you quite like this Kafka woman. You don’t recall her being part of the main cast your friend had rambled about however many months ago it was, but you hoped you’d get to see a lot more of her.

Her design was really nice- though strangely familiar?- and her voice was pretty too! Silver Wolf was alright, but she hadn’t really caught your interest so far, so you werent sure what to make of her yet.

They did seem to be close though, but less like friends and more like tired workmates who’d been stuck in the same dead end job for a decade- that is to say, it definitely felt like they were used to dealing with each other’s nonsense.

Were they a ship? You could see it. Ah, another battle, sweet!

The combat system Star Rail used wasnt particularly innovative or anything, but it’s playstyle was strangely addictive- especially the Ult animations! Kafka’s especially had you nearly squealing with how badass it was. Did the MC have a cool one too? You could hardly wait to see.

✄————————————————

The mood is light despite the circumstances, they both feel a sense of safety and confidence while the presence pulls them along, as though leading them in a dance. The Voidranger’s movements stand out like a pindrop in an empty room. Predictable, and delectably so.

Silver Wolf barks out a short, quick laugh- a taunting thing that aggravates the musclehead stomping around in front of her- before decapitating the creature in a single, swift move.

“You took the bait, just like that?” Her jubilance is cut short by an attack from her blindspot, it isnt fatal- hell it barely counts as a battle wound- but its enough to flip her mood in the opposite direction. “Tch.”

Kafka laughs lightly at her, amused with her momentary lapse in spacial awareness. Silver Wolf scoffs and scowls lightly at her. Really, like she hadn’t gotten hit before?

Just as she opens her mouth to hurl a barely-an-insult-but-im-still-annoyed-with-you comment towards the magenta haired woman next to her, Kafka’s aura shifts somewhat. Time seems to slow down for a second as Silver Wolf watches the woman’s pupils dilate in slow motion.

Had she appeared like this? When that wave of energy had swelled within her?

She receives no answer to her unvoiced question, and instead hears Kafka’s voice ring through out her ears.

“That breathing sensation. Remember it.” Silver Wolf gulps in a breath of blood-scented air and breathes out a sickly, golden-sweet taste. As Kafka’s bullets rain down upon the bodies of their would-be-ambushers she can't help but feel pure ecstasy in the moment. Truly…if this was a drug she’d be hooked like a fish to water.

Even just being near it is enough to cloud her mind.

“Alright, now that that’s over with…” Silver Wolf’s body relaxes significantly as Kafka speaks, the strength of whatever had possessed them slowing dripping out from their bodies like tree sap. She feels like she just got a massage.

“I could get used to that.” She isn’t sure who she’s talking to, but it feels appropriate to voice. Kafka ignores her and spins her around to face the door, and Silver Wolf seems to go into auto pilot as she unlocks the control panel blocking their path, stepping lightly as her taller colleague gently pushes her forward without a word.

The monitoring room is completley empty. Nothing but the quiet beeping of a few monitors and the rustling of swaying leaves, courtesy of the air conditioning unit humming softly above them.

“Huh. not a single soul here. Impressive evacuation work. Did herta organise it herself?” Kafka seems mildly impressed- and entirely unaffected by the sensation Silver Wolf is still trying to shake from her skin.

“According to the access history, she hasnt logged in her for over six months. The evacuation was directed by the acting lead researcher - a girl named Asta.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Oh, right. Elio said we wouldn’t run into herta. It seems she really isnt here.” Though something else definitely was, but Silver Wolf supposed they weren’t going to be making any conversation on that topic.

She sighs, and scrolls through her holograms nonchalantly.

“Elio’s Script doesnt include any info about the location of the stellaron. Which means in the future he foresees…”

“... we would find the stellaron in a non-physical way?” Kafka crosses her arms, easily having picked up on her train of thought and already dipping her metaphorical toes into several different plans of action. She was always efficient like that. Silver Wolf strolls over to the water cooler and pours herself a cold cup. She gestures to Kafka who only shakes her head in response.

“This space station is packed with extraordinary objects, I wouldnt be surprised if theres one that can make it happen.” She takes a long sip, the cooling sensation bringing relief to her sweltering body. The combat efficiency was nice, but she was left feeling like an overheating graphics disk everytime it took control of her. She idles on a page in her hologram briefly before continuing on her scroll-fest.

“Hiding something extraordinary with something extraordinary… this is pretty Herta. I assume you know what to do? I mean, You’ve been reading that cataogue for a while?” Ah. Perseptive as ever, Kafka never changes. She ignores the heat building in her ears at the prospect of being caught slacking-off, and bins the styrofoam cup as she turns to the older woman.

“Hmph. I’ve got all the clues we need. The only piece missing is a simple trick- maybe this entity thats been stringing us along could lend a hand? After all, it doesnt have a physical form.”

(You didn’t expect them to involve the player like this! What an awesome storytelling device, and it would hopefully grant a lot more player agency too! Hoyoverse had truly out done themselves this time. Feeling a surge of excitement at being learning you’ll be able to lend a helping hand ‘directly’, you decide that Silver Wolf is also really cool.)

Kafka says nothing in response, only staring down at Silver Wolf in consideration.

“Why dont we have it help us investigate the terminals around here, that item we’re looking for may be inside.” The magenta haired woman only sighs, internally cursing the girl’s lack of caution. Though… she couldnt deny that it had only been helping them so far.

“Alright, lets give it the spotlight.”

“Oh god, I hope I don’t fuck this up…” Kafka stills. The same voice from before. So it can speak? She tucks the information away in her mind for later.

She watches it guide her along the messily arranged desks and flickering monitors. Stopping at a memory storage cart- which is, of course, missing its memory. Not useful for her current objective, but it at least told her that whatever it was could see the same things she could.

“...I cant see the memory storage for this terminal.” Her body shifts slightly.

“This is the monitoring room, the must have deleted the records and made a run for it. Classic.” Silver Wolf is still scrolling through the holographic catalogue, idling against a desk in the middle of the room. She doesn’t look up, even as Kafka is strung along past her towards a monitor on the other side of the room.

“You don’t seem to be very affected by it? Its control over you, I mean.”

“And you? You seemed a little weary earlier.”

“I wouldn’t say that. It’s just new, thats all.”

Kafka’s hand reaches out to flick through various active surveillance cameras, interesting but ultimately fruitless.

“Hmmm… I can see the whole space station on the surveillance screen. But not the Stellaron.” Silver Wolf scoffs indignantly behind her, she almost sounds offended.

“Even if you could it’d be a trap. Herta doesn’t display her collections.” She turns to her hologram once more.

“This thing isnt very good with investigating, is it?”

Kafka expects some form of insulted rage to squeak in her mind’s ear, but she hears nothing. Though faintly she imagines a rather adorable ‘Hey! I’m trying my best!’ echoing in her skull.

Kafka staves off the sudden urge to get defensive in response and clamps her mouth shut.

Silver Wolf sighs at her lack of response and shifts onto her feet.

“Make your way over here then. There’s no point in trying to search like this.”

“So? Got a master plan? I’m all ears.”

Kafka’s tone takes on a slightly irritated edge, for a reason she herself doesn’t quite understand. If Silver Wolf picked up on it, she chooses not to say anything and instead gestures to the warping static of the holographic screens lining the walls of the office.

“Its a matter of hacking the surveillance system directly.” She says matter-of-factly, smirking playfully as her iconic vandalism plasters itself onto every screen in sight.

“Aha, I see. Herta’s collections aren’t in the system so anything unaffected should be our target.”

Their heads are guided to turn and face the back of a lone monitor by the main desk. Ah. that one then. As they both stroll over to investigate, Kafka feels a strange sense of pride bubble in the back of her mind. Not for Silver Wolf’s accomplishment- that much would be expected from the shorter girl- but for the entity curling along the edge of her mind. What exactly she was supposed to be proud of she couldnt tell, but the feeling was pleasant regardless.

Silver Wolf slips into a chair and slides forward to the desk, cracking her knuckles and wiggling her fingers as she readies herself for some data mining.

“Crude, simple, but effective. Look, found it.” The computer’s cursor circles a line of code tauntingly. Kafka doesn’t understand what any of the values mean.

“Item number two-eleven, ‘Blind Spot’ : a simple light-deflecting field. It allows an object in its field to pass unnoticed, but if a different item ceases to be obvious, the object gets revealed.”

She isn’t sure which set of numbers.. Or letters? That item is supposed be, but it does seem like a very… uncomplicated form of security for someone like Herta.

“So, Herta the genius… hides her collection with something as simple as this?”

“the simplest method is the hardest to spot, isnt that our motto?”

“Huh? How is that simple?” Kafka nearly chokes on her saliva while trying to hold back a bark of laughter and wonders why she’d kept her guard up for this thing. She follows Silver Wolf towards the glitching hole in the wall and sighs bemusedly.

“The data suggests its just an ordinary hologram. But it has an added layer… “ Silver Wolf eyes the frayed edges of the hologram cautiously, despite the confidence in her voice.

“Lets take a look. Dont worry, this place wont be our grave.” The girl only puffs her cheeks and steps forward, ignoring Kafka’s words of comfort completely. Well, she’d expected that much at least.

As she follows behind, her vision melts into a stark change of scenery.

The bright, ethereal glow of the Stellaron coating the walls of the closed off room in a golden-blue light. A strange combination, but one that was all too familiar; the everchanging strands of reality warping and stretching around itself, as the Stellaron sat patiently- sealed away- in the center of the room. Such an otherworldly treasure was exactly what all Stellaron hunters across the universe strove for. Though admittedly it was a mere front for their true purpose, a fact that Kafka was intimately aware of.

Their true goal would see this stellaron- sealed away, courtesy of Herta- to another use. Once said seal was removed by Silver Wolf, all Kafka would need to do was take hold of it and place it inside that vessel.

It had been laying in wait for this exact occasion…Kafka smiles fondly at the memory of it. Silver Wolf makes a small noise of surprise, catching her attention. She steps over towards the girl and the control panel, asking a question without speaking.

“It has its own security system… I guess even for herta, a Stellaron is no ordinary rarity.” Silver Wolf sounds genuinely surprised at this fact, though Kafka feels this was a rather likely outcome.

“Can you get it?”

“Of course, even the genius Herta cant compete with me when it comes to hacking.”

“Good. Then I’ll also count on you for the preparation of the receptacle.” Not to mention, she was quite sure this being wouldn’t be able to provide much help if Silver Wolf couldn’t figure it out herself. Speak of the devil, she feels the entity waft away like smoke in the wind and settle in the air around them as she lifts the Stellaron from its prison. She turns to her Silver haired companion and unspoken words flicker between their eyes.

This is Kafka’s decision.

Or perhaps it isn’t, she corrects herself over the distant sound of Silver Wolf’s voice.

When it enters her body, it no longer feels like being puppeteered or controlled.

She recalls that first feeling of possession, and the bleeding darkness making way for glowing golden edges of a burnt milky way. Her mind is dipped like an apple into the thick syruppy taste of synethesia. The amber eyes of the vessel- piercing into her soul and leaving her tongue sizzling in an almost addictive sort of pain- briefly flash open before collapsing to the floor in Kafka’s arms.

The Stellaron has found its place. And something else entirely has made its home there too.

(What an amazing tutorial and intro! You get the feeling you’ll be playing this game for a very long while!)

#not super happy with how this turned out honestly but I can’t be bothered looking at it anymore #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #(sort of?)#hsr kafka #kafka x reader #silver wolf x reader #hsr silver wolf #kafka honkai star rail #silver wolf honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #yandere hsr #my writing

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f4iryt3a · 7 months ago

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Antiva's Night - Rookanis (Lucanis*Rook) +18

Back with a Rookanis OS! This the the winner of my GA : @/drdevoraak (on twt!) btw Kat is a really good author! don't hesitate to read her work!

The Antivan Palace sparkled with a thousand lights, a cathedral dedicated to extravagance and the art of concealing truths. Every detail seemed crafted to dazzle: from the golden and mother-of-pearl arches sculpted with an almost otherworldly precision, to the vast mirrors adorning the walls, reflecting the brilliance of monumental chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Crystals, cut to capture and scatter light, sent kaleidoscopic bursts across the sumptuous gowns and intriguing masks of the guests.

The evening was steeped in an intoxicating fragrance, a blend of exotic spices, rare flowers, and spiced wine. The heady notes seemed perfectly matched to the music resonating through the hall: a sensual melody played by violins and lutes. The smooth rhythms guided the movements of the dancers, their masks concealing expressions behind faces of silver, feathers, and gemstones.

Each guest was a mystery wrapped in dark or shimmering fabrics, with delicate embroidery trailing along the cloth like whispers from another world. The voices, hushed and velvety, added to the air of enigma, muted laughter and murmurs gliding from one corner of the room to the next.

Lucanis, on the fringes of this opulent display, observed it all with a keen eye. His imposing figure, draped in a black velvet cloak trimmed with silver, seemed made to draw attention—even in a crowd this extravagant. But the mask he wore—a masterpiece of ebony adorned with crimson patterns—emanated an aura that discouraged onlookers from lingering too long.

He stood apart, positioned to take in the entire room. His sharp eyes, shadowed beneath the mask, tracked the movements of the crowd with calculated precision. Every step, every gesture, was a potential clue for his mission. Yet, behind that cold and professional vigilance, another fire burned—wilder and harder to tame.

His thoughts, despite himself, drifted to Rook. She was supposed to join him tonight, her presence vital to maintaining their cover and advancing their objective. But it wasn’t merely strategic necessity that made him restless. An indefinable tension stirred within him every time he thought of her—a strain he fought to suppress, yet which refused to fade.

And yet, she had not arrived. An hour had passed, and though he knew she would come, the waiting had begun to wear down his composure. His hand brushed firmly over his mask, as though grounding himself, his gaze lingering on the grand entrance where each new arrival brought a flicker of hope… only to extinguish it moments later.

"Pathetic."

The voice, sly and mocking, echoed in his mind. Spite, the shadow that had plagued him for far too long, could not resist commenting on such a display of weakness.

"Here you are, a Dellamorte, scanning the crowd like a lovesick adolescent searching for a dance. Is this really why we’re here, Lucanis? Or have you forgotten the purpose of that mask you wear ?"

He clenched his jaw, his fist tightening involuntarily. Spite always knew where to strike, each word carefully chosen to press on raw wounds. But this wasn’t the time or place to let that voice win. Not tonight. Not here.

"She’ll come" he replied mentally, his conviction teetering on the edge of desperation.

"Oh, I don’t doubt it" Spite shot back with venomous amusement "But when she does, will you still be focused ? Or will you already be lost in your little illusions ?"

Lucanis lifted his chin, forcing his attention back to the crowd. He couldn’t afford to waste time on internal quarrels. Yet with every beat of his heart, the weight of waiting grew heavier, and the thought of seeing her finally step through those doors became more urgent.

The game had only just begun, but he knew the real dance would start with her.

She appeared in the doorway of the grand hall like an apparition, her sculpted silhouette bathed in the warm glow of the chandeliers. Everything about her exuded an intoxicating blend of mystery and confidence. Her mask, a masterpiece of black and gold filigree, clung to the delicate curves of her face without revealing her features, framing eyes that glittered with mischievous intensity.

Rook wore a gown of deep midnight blue, embroidered with silver threads that caught the light with every movement. The daring cut of her attire, revealing just enough to intrigue, contrasted with the elegant flow of the fabric that brushed against the floor. A delicate belt adorned with sapphires accentuated her slender waist, and her lips, painted a vivid red, completed the picture of calculated seduction.

But it was the details that captured Lucanis. The fine line of golden eyeliner accentuating her lids reminded him of sunlight glinting through a dusty window during a mission they had once shared. The way she moved, each step precise and gracefully measured, was a dance he had seen countless times yet never without fascination.

No one in the crowd seemed to recognise her. To them, she was just another enigma, an elegant and masked woman detached from any identity. But to Lucanis, there was no mistaking her. It was Rook.

She crossed the room with a disarming confidence, her eyes sweeping over the crowd as if searching for something—or someone. Lucanis felt his heart quicken slightly as she approached, her heels clicking softly against the marble. When she finally stopped before him, she tilted her head slightly, her mask rendering her smile unreadable.

“You look rather lonely, sir…?” she said, her voice light and tinged with feigned curiosity.

Lucanis arched a brow behind his mask. She was playing, as always, and he wasn’t sure he had the patience for her theatrics tonight. Yet, despite himself, he felt a flicker of amusement.

“Just another guest” he replied evenly “Though it seems you intend to change that.”

She let out a soft laugh, a sound both gentle and sharp “Perhaps. You seem intriguing… but I’ve learned to be wary of black masks.”

Before he could respond, a sarcastic voice slithered into his mind “She’s good. Look at you, Talon, already melting. You’ll be on your knees before she even lays a hand on you.”

Lucanis clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening for a moment " Not now" he replied silently to Spite. Rook noticed. She tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering in her expression.

“You seem tense. Something on your mind ?” she asked with a falsely innocent tone “Nothing you could solve” he replied, his words sliding out with measured smoothness.

She laughed again, mischief glinting in her eyes “Then let’s dance. Perhaps it will ease your troubles.”

Rook extended her hand, her fingers delicate but assured, inviting him to join her on the floor. Lucanis hesitated briefly—not out of reluctance but caution. Yet, at last, he placed his hand in hers, the warmth of her touch awakening something he strove to keep in check.

They moved to the centre of the room, where couples were already swaying, the music wrapping around them like an intimate whisper. Rook slid a hand to his shoulder while his own found its place at the small of her back. Though their bodies maintained a respectable distance, it felt as though an invisible force pulled them closer.

The melody rose, slow and sensual, guiding their steps. Rook led subtly, her hidden smile evident in the curve of her lips and the sparkle in her eyes. Lucanis, so accustomed to commanding every situation, felt his control falter slightly. Each step, each turn, seemed to amplify the tension between them.

The glances they exchanged became their own language. His dark eyes followed every movement of hers, catching the chandelier’s light that danced on her skin. She, in turn, seemed to delight in testing his composure, her hand brushing his elbow or arm with a softness that was almost imperceptible but wholly deliberate.

Spite’s voice slithered back, mocking yet oddly admiring. " She’s got you. Like a puppet on strings."

Lucanis ignored the voice, focusing instead on the sensation of Rook in his arms, the faint, intoxicating scent of her, and the peculiar blend of control and surrender that seeped into him. For that moment, the mission was miles from his mind.

When the music stopped, it felt as though the world around them had vanished. All that remained was the fragile tension between them, an equilibrium neither seemed willing to break. Rook offered him one last smile—enigmatic and full of promise—before stepping back, leaving the void of her absence to strike him with unexpected intensity.

The evening still buzzed with the revelry of the grand celebration, yet for them, the world had narrowed to a murmur. Rook, with a gesture both subtle and commanding, caught Lucanis’s hand and led him away from the dance floor. He followed without a word, drawn by the mischievous gleam in her eyes. She navigated the crowd with calculated ease, the masks and opulent gowns fading into insignificance around them.

They finally stopped in a hidden alcove, concealed behind a curtain of deep purple velvet. Beyond an archway, a balcony offered an unobstructed view of the gardens, glowing softly under golden lanterns. The music, now distant, was little more than an echo, replaced by the gentle rustling of the wind through the leaves and the quiet murmur of a fountain below.

Rook turned towards him, her mask glinting in the pale light of the moon. She hesitated for a moment, but the mischievous curve of her lips did not waver. Lucanis, ever on guard, felt his heart quicken slightly. This isolation, this unexpected closeness, stirred something within him that he had carefully buried.

With deliberate slowness, he raised a hand and brushed the edge of Rook’s mask. "May I ?" he asked, his deep voice barely audible.

She didn’t respond with words but inclined her head slightly, a gesture so subtle it was almost imperceptible—yet it was all the consent he needed. Lucanis removed the mask with care, his fingers grazing her skin as if he feared shattering the moment. As her face was revealed, his breath caught.

Rook was stunning. Not merely in the obvious sense, but in the way she looked at the world—with defiance and amusement, a spark in her eyes that always seemed poised to disarm him. Yet tonight, there was something more. A rare, almost imperceptible vulnerability that made this moment all the more precious.

Their eyes met, and the silence between them grew almost tangible. The mask he still wore suddenly felt oppressive, like a barrier he longed to break. But before he could dwell on it further, Rook lifted a hand to touch his jaw, her touch light yet electrifying.

Their breaths quickened, and the space between them narrowed ever so slightly. He could smell her subtle perfume, a blend of flowers and spices, intoxicating and familiar. Lucanis was tempted to give in, to close the infinitesimal distance between them, yet something in his stance still held him back.

As their faces hovered mere centimetres apart, a mocking voice echoed in his mind “Well, Talon, are you planning to undress her here, or will you find a bed? Because, frankly, this hesitation is becoming embarrassing.”

Lucanis closed his eyes, fighting to shut out the remark. He drew in a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but Spite, as ever, persisted “Look at you, like an overexcited pup. It’s almost pathetic. Perhaps I should intervene ? Or are you planning to drown yourself in these pointless emotions a while longer ?”

A flicker of frustration passed through Lucanis’s eyes, and Rook, ever observant, caught it. She stepped back slightly, studying him with a hint of curiosity “Something bothering you ?” she asked, an impish smile tugging at the corner of her lips, as though she already knew.

Lucanis shook his head slightly, but before he could answer, Spite chimed in with one last jab. “Go on, tell her you want her.”

He mentally rolled his eyes, suppressing the urge to sigh. Rook, however, seemed entertained by his silence. Tilting her head, she let her fingers briefly graze his hand “You seem... tense again” she said softly, though her tone carried a playful edge.

Lucanis straightened, summoning his usual composure “Nothing I can’t handle” he replied, his voice low and steady. She smiled then, more genuinely this time “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on letting you escape that easily.”

The air between them grew charged once more. Despite Spite’s intrusive presence, Lucanis felt a wave of warmth and desire wash over him. Rook, in a subtle yet loaded gesture, let her hand brush against his again, a silent invitation to pick up where they had left off.

The quiet of the balcony was broken only by the uneven breaths of the two would-be lovers, their hearts beating in unison. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, caught in a shared contemplation that seemed to stretch beyond time itself. But the tension, too powerful to remain contained, finally broke.

Lucanis was the first to give in, leaning towards Rook, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that began soft and searching but quickly grew fervent, almost desperate. Their masks fell to the ground with a dull thud, forgotten, as they moved closer still. Their bodies, drawn together by an irresistible force, pressed tightly against one another, hands exploring every curve, every contour, with an intensity that silenced all hesitation.

Lucanis’s hands slid down Rook’s waist, caressing the curve of her hips with palpable desire. He grew bolder, his fingers trailing lower, lingering on her forms. She let out a small whimper into the kiss, a sound that sent a shiver through Lucanis from head to toe.

Rook was not holding back either. Her hands gripped his back, her nails tracing invisible lines through the fabric of his suit. She pressed herself against him, surrendering to the all-consuming pleasure that overtook her with every touch.

The kiss deepened, their tongues intertwining in a carefree and passionate dance, as if the world around them had ceased to exist. Rook’s dress, so elegant just moments before, split slightly as she moved, revealing one of her thighs. Lucanis, unable to resist, allowed one of his hands to glide down the soft, warm skin.

His fingers gripped her thigh with controlled firmness, making her shiver at the touch. Rook, electrified by the gesture, pressed herself even closer to him, craving more of the contact that drove her nearly mad.

Despite the fever of the moment, Lucanis’s mind remained alert. He glanced around them. The balcony seemed calm, almost deserted, shielded from prying eyes. However, he knew they had to be cautious. In a swift decision, he gently took Rook by the hand and led her to a discreet corner, a ledge where the balustrade offered them a little more privacy.

There, sheltered by the shadows and the height, he pressed her against the balustrade, his burning gaze locked on hers. His hands returned to her waist, this time more insistent, exploring with growing boldness.

His mouth left hers, slowly descending along her jaw, tracing a heated path on the tender skin of her neck. Each kiss was a tribute, a silent promise. Rook let out a trembling sigh, her hands shaking slightly as they caressed the still-clad chest of Lucanis.

Her fingers brushed over the folds of fabric, almost frustrated by her inability to reach the skin she desired. She bit her lip slightly, half-drunk on her own thoughts. Lucanis’s hand, however, continued its exploration, sliding up her thigh until it rested just below her bottom.

Rook, feeling the bold caress, arched her back slightly, her hands gripping his shoulders as if to anchor herself in reality. Lucanis, still methodical but driven by an uncontrollable desire, lowered further, his lips brushing the hollows and curves of her throat.

Each movement, each touch, was a crescendo, a rising tension that consumed them both. Trembling yet eager, Rook gave herself fully to the wave of emotions. She knew they had to stay discreet, but the burn of his caresses and the heat of his kisses melted all her inhibitions.

On his side, Lucanis barely controlled the fire burning within him. Every sigh, every shiver he drew from Rook was a victory, a reason to push even further. Yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice reminded him that they had to remain cautious. But for now, this hidden balcony was their entire world, and nothing else mattered.

Rook, her cheeks already flushed with desire, felt an irresistible urge take over. One of her hands, trembling but determined, slid down Lucanis's chest, her fingers gliding over the fabric like a silent promise. The heat beneath her palms seemed to consume her, every muscle she touched vibrating under her caress. When she reached the prominent bulge marking Lucanis's erection, a shiver ran through her.

The contact of that hardness, so evident, so hot, made her gasp lightly. She dared to place her fingers more confidently, savoring the contrast between the softness of the fabric and the firmness of what it hid. With her other hand, as their lips met again in a kiss full of passion, she began to undo the buttons and fly of Lucanis's pants. Every movement, though precise, was slow, as if she wanted to prolong this moment.

With exquisite delicacy, she slid one hand into Lucanis’s underwear, her fingers finding their way to the object of her desire. When she gently wrapped her fingers around his erection, a hoarse groan escaped Lucanis’s lips, making the air around them vibrate.

Encouraged by his reaction, Rook began to move her hand with deliberate slowness, alternating light caresses and subtle pressures. Lucanis's breathing became erratic, his usual control faltering. Spite, in a corner of his mind, stirred violently "Let me take over, Talon." The voice, mocking but urgent, wormed its way into his mind. But Lucanis, though tortured, resisted, clenching his jaw to avoid giving in.

To respond to the rising, unbearable pleasure, one of Lucanis’s hands moved up to the generous curve of Rook’s backside. His fingers, firm but respectful, gripped it, expressing with this gesture all the burning desire consuming him. The sigh she let out at this contact only fueled his inner fire further.

Rook, feeling that he was about to lose control, couldn’t help but laugh softly. "You can barely hold on, Lucanis," she murmured, her voice laced with teasing.

Lucanis responded by diving into her neck, planting a series of hot, devouring kisses that made Rook tremble. He didn’t stop there, his lips moving with calculated slowness over the skin of her neck to slide down along her chest.

As Rook shuddered under his kisses, she placed a trembling hand on Lucanis’ head, her fingers sliding through his hair to encourage him to continue. Her breath quickened, her gaze following his every movement with an almost unbearable anticipation.

Lucanis, determined and precise, slowly knelt before her, his hands sliding beneath Rook’s dress. He found the delicate fabric of her lacy panties and, maintaining intense eye contact with her, slid them slowly down her legs. Rook gasped, her eyes betraying the intensity of her desire, her chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm.

Every second of this undressing was a ritual, a silent homage to the woman before him. When he let the final piece of fabric drop, he wasted no time. His lips moved closer, pressing a tender, reverent kiss to her vulva.

Rook, unable to stifle a muffled moan, gripped Lucanis’ hair with one hand while the other steadied herself on the balcony railing. She parted her legs slightly, offering him the space he needed to continue.

Lucanis didn’t hesitate for a moment. His tongue traced exquisite circles around her clitoris before descending to savour every inch of her. He alternated between gentle kisses and firmer strokes of his tongue, exploring every reaction he drew from her.

She, in turn, struggled to contain her moans. The nearness of the balcony and the risk of being overheard made every sound feel all the more forbidden, heightening their excitement. Her legs trembled slightly, and she knew she was already on the brink of surrendering to this wave of sensations.

Lucanis, feeling his own desire reaching its peak, continued his worship with an almost agonising precision, determined to make her unravel. Rook, clutching his hair more tightly, felt a warmth rising within her, a tide threatening to sweep her away entirely.

Rook, feeling the wave of pleasure swelling within her, placed a trembling hand on Lucanis’ head, silently asking him to stop. “Not yet,” she murmured breathlessly, her cheeks flushed with the effort of restraining her desire.

Lucanis obeyed, pulling back with a smile laced with satisfaction. He slowly licked his lips, savouring the lingering taste of his lover, before sliding back up her body. Once level with her face, he pressed a tender, deep kiss to her lips, their breaths mingling, hearts pounding in unison.

Foreheads touching, he murmured in a voice husky yet uncharacteristically soft “Are you sure ?”

Rook nodded, her eyes gleaming with trust and desire. Without another word, she slid one leg along Lucanis’ hip, anchoring him firmly against her and granting him access to her intimacy.

Lucanis, trembling with palpable anticipation, let his hand trail down to grasp his erection. With an almost teasing slowness, he began rubbing it against Rook’s vulva, tracing lazy circles that coaxed a series of delightful little squeaks from her lips.

Spite, unable to remain silent, stirred in his mind: “Are you playing games, Talon? Strike where it hurts, or let me take over.”

Lucanis ignored him, focusing entirely on the pleasure he was giving Rook. He let the tip of his erection glide down to her entrance, their breaths mingling in a crescendo of anticipation. Without further delay, he pushed gently into her, the tight, searing heat of his lover enveloping him completely.

Rook, wrapping her arms and legs tightly around him, clung to him like a lifeline, her body trembling under the avalanche of sensations. Stifled whimpers escaped her lips, which she bit to stifle louder moans.

Lucanis, now fully buried inside her, paused to allow her time to adjust. His gaze scanned her face, watching for any signs of discomfort or pain. But Rook quickly adapted, her hands gripping his back for support. She gave a small roll of her hips, a silent signal that she was ready.

With care, Lucanis grasped her hips and began moving, slow and measured. Each thrust drew soft groans from him, his pleasure mingling with intense focus.

Rook, her head tilting back slightly, was consumed by pure, rippling pleasure. Her fingers dug lightly into the fabric of Lucanis’ coat, seeking release from the overwhelming sensations. Her moans remained soft, but her expression betrayed the ecstasy building within her.

Lucanis couldn’t stop himself from murmuring compliments between his growls, his deep voice vibrating with passion: “You’re perfect… So beautiful…” These words, whispered into her ear, made Rook blush even more, etching this moment permanently into her memory.

After a few minutes of this almost unbearable tenderness, Lucanis felt a more primal urge rising within him. His grip on Rook’s hips tightened, and his movements became faster and deeper.

Rook, swept away by this newfound intensity, finally let out more audible moans, her body arching beneath Lucanis’ powerful thrusts. She bit lightly into his shoulder to stifle a cry, her pleasure soaring to heights she had never experienced before.

In a surge of raw passion, Lucanis let out more unfiltered, yet genuine, words that deepened the trust and surrender between them. Every movement seemed to seal their connection, the chemistry between them tangible in the air thick with desire.

The rhythm quickened further, their bodies perfectly in sync in a passionate dance. Rook, feeling an irresistible warmth building within her, couldn’t hold back her climax any longer. With a broken gasp, she murmured Lucanis’ name, her body tightening around him.

Lucanis, spurred on by the sight and sensation of his lover, let out a final guttural growl as he reached his own release, trembling with the force of it. Rook, clutching at the back of his neck, let out one last squeak as they both nearly collapsed against each other, their bodies still quivering.

They stayed still for a moment, their breaths short and their hearts beating in unison. Lucanis, eyes closed, pressed a kiss to Rook’s forehead, murmuring in a husky voice “You’re incredible…”

Rook, still trembling, replied in a soft, playful but sincere whisper “It’s you who make me like this…”

They savored the stolen moment, their bodies still entwined, fully aware that the outside world would eventually catch up with them but determined to relish this pause in time.

As the atmosphere between them softened, their breaths still uneven and their bodies gradually relaxing, hurried footsteps echoed nearby. Before they could react, a hesitant voice shattered their bubble.. “Lucanis ? Rook ? Are you there ?”

It was Viago, clearly uncomfortable, his silhouette emerging from the shadows of the balcony. Behind him stood Teia, arms crossed, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and amusement.

Lucanis and Rook exchanged a panicked glance before quickly composing themselves. Rook, still slightly disheveled with her dress slightly wrinkled, straightened up, hastily adjusting her clothing. Lucanis ran a hand through his hair to smooth the disorder and swiftly fastened the buttons of his trousers. “We’re here” he called out, his voice still hoarse, attempting to mask his embarrassment.

Viago, despite his evident discomfort, couldn’t help but notice the tension in the air. He quickly averted his eyes and said, perhaps too fast “Sorry to, uh… interrupt, but there’s a problem. Someone inside is asking questions about you, and it might compromise the mission.”

Teia, raising an eyebrow, added dryly “I assume you’ll have plenty of time to… talk later. For now, you’d better get back inside.”

Rook, struggling to suppress a laugh, cast an amused glance at Lucanis. He sighed deeply, his face a mixture of exasperation and embarrassment. Extending a hand to help her up, his fingers pressed lightly against hers in a silent, tender acknowledgment of their bond. “We’re coming” he replied simply, his tone professional once more, though a faint flush lingered on his cheeks.

As they made their way inside, Spite seized the opportunity to make one last comment, his mocking tone echoing in Lucanis’s mind “What a shame. I bet she would’ve screamed your name one more time if they’d given you another two minutes. Maybe you should ask them for an extension ?”

Lucanis closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly to keep his composure. Rook, noticing the fleeting tension in his expression, teased him with a soft whisper “What did he say this time ?” Lucanis shook his head, exasperated yet unable to hide a small smile “Nothing important. As always.”

Rook chuckled lightly, squeezing his hand briefly before letting go to assume a more composed posture. Together, they reentered the room, their faces flawlessly concealing what had just transpired, though the lingering warmth between them remained palpable.

Thanks for reading, feel free to follow me :

instagram @/murrqiyu twitter (x) @/naerian17s

my OS commissions are open, so don't hesitate to contact me :)

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #lucanis romance #lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #dragon age lucanis #da4 lucanis #dragon age rook #rook

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sleepypenz · 7 months ago

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Gonna get this done before 2025 comes in like an hour and a half so sorry for the tags lol

And also a trigger warning because there are mentions of possible life ending themes, I know a lot of people might not like that so I’ll try to hide it in a read more thing.

2024 was full of uncertainty in the beginning. Like a lot of questions, a lot of stress, and unfortunately, not a lot of hope for the future.

It got to the point where I was questioning whether or not I wanted to willingly be around to grow old and do the whole rest of your life thing. And you know you’ve hit your lowest when you have times like those. And just when it seemed like things weren’t looking bright, an otome game out of all things somehow managed to connect me to a whole community of people I didn’t think I’d even make friends with.

Around April was when I decided to hop onto tumblr and start looking for fanfiction or art related to love and deepspace. I wasn’t too keen on interacting with a lot of people, I just wanted to read stuff and interact from the sidelines. And somehow, I found @rose-tinted-kalopsia and her blog, a literal cotton candy dream of beautiful stories that manage to integrate your whole being into the LADS universe. It started out interacting as anon, then 🎨 anon, and now as her little sapphire. 💙 I’ll never let that go.

Then out of the literal blue, I come across a post looking for someone to make Nero’s blog. I had already become comfortable with talking online more, so I ended up taking the plunge and deciding to make one and join that little family. That’s how I met @lost-oasis , someone I believe was sent to me to help heal old scars I can’t help reopen at times. She believed I’d fit in, even when I didn’t think I’d be a great fit as the wanderer fanatic. She never gave up hope on me. I don’t even know how to thank you, if anything else. The sun to my moon.

That’s how I met @skynapple, @unluckywisher, @mooncrestedwaters, @inkblotgalaxies and all my other friends on our discord server I’m so lucky to wake up to each morning and wonder what silly chaos we’re going to get into today. That’s one thing I’ll never get tired of. You guys are my second family and I love you so much for that.

And then through all the turmoil of this year, leaving my old house to go find a new one in a different location, it made me want to escape all those problems even more. And then people I started making friends with that I didn’t even think was possible, @aeyumicore and @anxiousgoddest ?! How?! @tbaluver too?! I love you guys and I love all the things you write, you’re all so amazing. Never stop creating these masterpieces, you’re so loved here.

I can’t believe I’m still here, about to leave this crazy year behind. I don’t know what 2025 is going to bring, but I hope it brings more priceless moments and friendships like these. I don’t want to ever let go of you guys, ever. I know these are words on a screen but it comes from emotions that are very real, raw, and from a vulnerable place.

I know there’s people I just had the honor of meeting too. I’m so happy you’re here. For the first time in a long time, I’m actually looking forward to tomorrow because it means there’s something better coming along, I haven’t felt like this in a long time. I hope the sun shines as brightly as it did today for the future.

Take my hand and jump into 2025 together, we’re going to be ok. I promise. Love you guys so much.

- Lots of love and endless happiness,

Milkandstarlight (Emi) ⋆ ₊ ﾟ ☽ * ₊ ⋆

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p1nkcanoe · 2 years ago

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the polaroid collection: cumulus

this is part one of the polaroid collection, based off of 'picture this'. you can either find the masterlist here, read on ao3, or read below:

“Mark them up good,” Cumulus breathes, moaning pretty when Swiss sucks a nipple between his teeth and nibbles, her other enveloped by his palm. His hands are large, it drives her crazy, but her breasts are larger and spill out on all sides. In most cases he’s able to make his partners feel small. Not here. Here, her breasts and her thighs and her tummy make him spin with desire, long to get his mouth on them. She loves the hold she has on him.

“Get them all pretty for the picture. You only have one chance to make it perfect.”

This is untrue. Swiss actually has eight whole tries to get the photo right, and another fresh cartridge of film waiting for him in his bedroom, but he lets it slide, nonetheless. Besides, it’s a lot hotter like this: when he’s sucking his own name into her skin with his mouth and getting her all ready. Making sure she’s picture-perfect.

“I’m trying,” he says while pressed up against her skin. “Making my mouth all sore.”

Cumulus sighs, rolls her eyes for dramatic effect and tsks as she looks down into Swiss’ big brown eyes. He’s already cum twice, once inside of her and the other across her stomach, and they're somehow still flooded with lust and desire, pleading and begging silently to devour her again. She doesn’t know how he does it… Her own clit twitches and throbs at the sight of him, nearly lost in the thin patch of curls painted across his chest, but she tries not to make it too obvious. He can probably feel it where it's buried in the hair on his tummy and making him slick with burning need. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s your picture,” she says, much too cool for how he’s spitting and drooling over her breasts like she’ll combust if he doesn’t, spreading it thin with his fingers and his tongue until they shine and present themselves exquisitely under her warm bedroom light. “Don’t mess it up.”

She doesn’t mean the cold bite behind her words, of course, but it still makes Swiss work harder nonetheless to make sure the messy ‘S’ he’s marked into the top of her breast, just above her nipple, is at least semi-legible for the camera. It sort of is. It looks as if a child had tried to write the letter for the first time with a bleeding marker on wet paper–uneven and bulging at different sections–and it’s obvious that he’s not going to be able to get the rest of his name on her if he wants to keep his erection up. Just to save time he unsheaths a claw and carves his name into her breast with the tip, smiling while she keens with the painful burn and waits for her pale gray skin to bloom with pretty purple lines, all while allowing his right hand to float down between their bodies to tug quickly at his dick.

He looks over his masterpiece, at hickeys old and new, faded greens and yellow and fresh purples and reds. They’re gorgeous alongside the various crimson-colored bites he made with his teeth and the tin, pinprick holes he accidentally made with his fangs when he got too carried away sucking on her sensitive nipples. And right on top, standing out like a beacon, is his name.

His name.

Just looking at it on her, claiming her, telling anyone who sees her who she really belongs to, makes him throb and his balls clench up. He drops his forehead right into the valley between them and groans as he circles his palm over his sensitive head and thumbs at the tip.

Cumulus arches her back to bring him back to her–force him back into the present. He unhinges his jaw and bites into her flesh, leaving behind an angry red print of his teeth before angling his face back up towards her own. He’s pained with desire.

“Need to fuck them. Let me fuck them?”

Cumulus huffs out a laugh from her nose, one of her hands wrapping around one of his horns, the other in the back of his curls, forcing him down, back towards where he should be. She nods and whispers when he whines all high and pretty, “I’m yours, baby. Use me.”

He doesn’t need much more convincing than that.

He crawls up and straddles the ghoulette with his last ounce of self control, inching forward until he’s perched right over her chest. His dick sits heavy between the valley of her breasts and he experimentally thrusts his hips forward, testing the feeling of her tacky skin and the ease of the slide. It’s not nearly enough and he leans forward over where he sits, drools a thick line of saliva down and over his cock, lets it drool into the space where they meet so he can spread it thin with the push of his shaft through the mess.

“Hold ‘em, Lus,” he says, breathless, and leans down to plant his hands down on either side of his head. “Make ‘em all tight for me.”

He pushes his hips forward while she places her manicured hands on either side of her tits and forces them together, smooshing them over his dick until they create a tight pocket for him to fuck. Immediately the pressure makes him groan and he pulls back, thrusting forward hard and pointed until the tip of his dick kisses the bottom of her chin and makes her bite her lip to stifle a groan.

At first he tries to go slow. He tries to savor the moment and memorize the sight of his cock disappearing and appearing between her gorgeous rack that’s branded with his own name, but then the ghoulette begins to talk, spit honey-laced venom, and he loses his mind a little bit.

“You like them? Aren’t they pretty?”

Her voice sounds smooth like honey. Burns like smoldering coals deep in his core.

“All pretty for you, only you. Gonna be even prettier when you cum all over them. Really claim them. Make them all yours.”

He whines, drops forward to bury his nose in her hair just above her short horns and breathes her scent in until he’s high on it and his head spins. His hips move on their own accord, sliding quicker and faster between the space made just for him in a mixture of his own spit and his pre that leaks from him with each desperate thrust. The last “-ss’ of his name disappears behind his dickhead with every slide. He pants, whines at the sight, and Cumulus never stops talking.

“You wanna cum? Gonna cum on these pretty tits? Get them all creamy? Think of how jealous everyone will be. When they see your picture. They’re all gonna want what you have here. Right now.”

His voice catches in his throat. He thrusts forward so hard he hits the bottom of her chin again and forces her to shut up. She gasps, rolls it over into a pretty laugh that makes his stomach flip and his balls tighten up dangerously.

“Yeah, c’mon, Swissypoo… Go ahead, make them pretty. Make that flash go off so you won’t ever forget what you did here tonight.”

He chokes on his tongue as his tummy burns and tightens, coils so hot that he can’t help but fuck her tits so fast that the only choice he’s left with is to build and build and build until he nearly caves in on himself, counting on the strength of his arms to hold him up as his balls finally tighten up so tight until they spill over and he cums hard, painting the ghoulette’s lips and chin so pretty and obscene despite it being his third orgasm. He spurts all pretty over her skin and paints her like his masterpiece.

Even the ghoulette cannot believe what he’s done. She darts her tongue out between her teeth but stops when she tastes him.

It has to stay.

“‘Lus,” he breathes out. His voice is nearly lost to the pretty little noises that escape her lips while he spreads his cum thin between her tits. “Can I–”

“Take it–,” she says, gazing up into dark brown eyes like she’s never needed anything more in her life. “Take the photo, Swiss.”

The ghoul reaches an arm out and fumbles for the camera. His muscles feel like they’re buzzing with radio static. When he finds it he clicks the button until it turns on and glows orange, signifying that it’s on, raises it up above her to capture her tits and the debauched, bottom half of her face, dragging his hips forward and back through his own mess with smooth thrusts of his hips. Cumulus readjusts her hands and makes sure her painted claws are perfect and framing her nipples between her middle and fourth fingers, spreading around the spit he’d let fall from his tongue earlier in miniscule squeezing and groping motions until he tells her to hold still.

“There,” he says. His bottom lip gets bitten between his teeth. “Don’t move.”

Her tongue darts out–she bares her fangs, licks over them with a forked tongue for the camera lens.

Swiss presses his index finger into the button and tells her to smile.

And finally, the flash goes off.

#cumulus x swiss #cumulus ghoulette #swiss ghoul #p1nk ficlet

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bookmuseum · 8 months ago

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[REVIEW] The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri

3/5 stars (★★★)

DISCLAIMER: This review is very unserious and mostly just me giggling over Dante and Virgil's gay tension.

Even with my Catholic upbringing and theological + historical Christian knowledge, The Divine Comedy was very difficult to read for me. All three parts were dense. Not only that, but this deluxe edition went all-out with the notes on the text and annotations, so even if one canto was only like 150ish lines it had 5 pages of heavy context that I had to slog through and try to apply to the canto itself. I ended up learning a lot about Dante and Italian socio-religious politics leading up to the 14th century, which was wild and, though objectively interesting, still extremely boring to me.

I will honestly say though that I was not prepared to read TDC when I first started it. Like I said, you need a lot of context and background information to even understand most of what Dante is even saying. He goes into theory, geometry, and philosophy so deeply (this edition had GRAPHS and CHARTS in the additional notes that's how insane this man was). While I would say you don't necessarily need that much context to read Inferno (which I agree is the best one out of the three), it is suicide to just throw yourself into Purgatorio and Paradiso without doing some research first, which is definitely why the later two parts TDC aren't as popular as Dante's shenanigans in Hell. I honestly would've given the entire trilogy a 1/5 star rating (based on my personal taste, mind you -- I acknowledge it's a 5/5 masterpiece that is truly worthy of being called "divine" so nobody come at me), but Inferno was entertaining enough to bump it up to a 3/5 stars. I never want to (re)read this again though. Phew!

Some necessary words on Inferno: The gay moments between Dante and Virgil sent me into empyrean heights of delight. When Dante realizes Virgil's ghost is in the dark wood at the beginning, he goes, "[M]y brow, in shy respect, bent low" and then Dante, totally unprompted, proceeds to say,

"You are that Virgil ... You are the light and glory of all poets. May this well serve me: my unending care, the love so great, that's made me search your writings through! You are my teacher. You, my lord and law. From you alone I took the fine-tuned style that has already brought me so much honor."

HELLO?????????? Then later on their way to Hell Dante hesitates before entering and asks Virgil, "You, my poet and my guide, look at me hard" and asks for reassurance that going down to eternal damnation is a good idea so Virgil, considerate boyfriend that he is, comforts Dante, which leads him to compare himself to "little flowers" bending "low" and "closed tight" and only open up as the sunlight (AKA Virgil) makes them "grow upright on their stems and fully open." EXCUSE ME!!!!!!?????? There were so many other points that went so heavy on the queer sexual tension:

"'...You, as you speak, have so disposed my heart in keen desire to journey on the way that I return to find my first good purpose. Set off! A single will inspires us both. You are my lord, my leader and true guide.' All this I said to him as he moved on. I entered on that deep and wooded road."

My God Dante you fruity little man.

Anyway, back to practicalities: I don't really recommend this Penguin Classics Deluxe edition of the texts if you want to actually read TDC in earnest. The annotations and supplementary notes were great and I think Robin Kirkpatrick (the editor) did an amazing job composing the entire thing, but I felt like a lot was lost in translation (and over-relied on explanatory notes), which really took away from the overall reading experience, so if you want to grasp the linguistic and poetic depth of Dante then this version is definitely not for you. The cover is very pretty though.

Lastly, even if I didn't really vibe well with TDC, I do now have a soft spot for Dante. I mean, how couldn't I? He spent over a decade composing this epic poem and he made it his personal goal to be as much a hater to the Vatican whilst also being such a pathetic boyfailure to all his literary seniors (crushes) as possible. There were literally so many times he portrayed himself as a little kid crying to his parents in the presence of Virgil or Beatrice. There was even a section in Paradiso when he described drinking holy water as like when a baby faceplants itself on its mother's boobs and I died laughing. I also think it was really funyn that when Dante finally reunites with Beatrice at the end of Purgatorio she's just mean to him. Like she's so mean and Dante eats it up like the FREAK he is.

#the divine comedy #inferno #purgatorio #paradiso #classics #book review #dante #dante alighieri #commedia #italian literature

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coal15 · 2 years ago

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Here's another little snippet from my latest chapter of All Roads Lead Back. In this chapter Muriel and all the other Angels have successfully taken over the Corrections Department, and they're preparing for war against the Metatron.

***************

And just like that, quick as you please, the Corrections Department becomes a secret fortress.

Castrum Ineffabilis, Muriel chuckles to themselves. No one else would get the joke, but the troops have decided they want their former prison to have a new name, so after a few rounds of voting they all become official citizens of Castrum Veritatis. The Fortress of Truth.

Plans become action.

Dominic, a former worker on the Angel assembly line, was sent to Corrections seventy years ago for expressing the belief that God created everything in existence . . . except for maths. They theorised God formed into existence when a self awareness evolved within the maths’ immense pool of formulas. Then this first awareness slowly puzzled out all of the maths, and with that knowledge became a divine being, able to conjure matter and manifest will.

Now as a rebel officer, Dominic feigns re-education and returns to the assembly line. Having been off the job for so long, most of the halos he makes are apparent duds and have to be tossed out. ‘Tossed out’ herein meaning ‘smuggled into Castrum Veritatis’ where he and a team of keen-minded scientists pick apart the apparatus and reverse engineer a halo that can be used against Angels as well as demons. The Higher Angels then miracle up a halo manufactory in a former prison space, and hundreds of soldiers get to work filling up the war chest. Dominic pulls similar tricks with flaming swords, lightning swords, freezing swords, screaming swords, etcetera. He even invents something called a Medusa Helmet, which is exactly what it sounds like except it only immobilises whomever the wearer wants it to. But most important of Dominic’s creations, his masterpiece, is the Egg. He and Muriel can hardly wait to show off the Egg when Crowley and Aziraphale arrive.

Everyone is ready. All that’s left is for the Captain’s allies to show up. Excited chatter on the subject fills the air. Thrilled theories and hopeful visions discussed amongst the ranks. At first the anticipation is crackling and wonderful, but after a while a nervousness creeps in. Confidence, for some of the Angels, begins to waver. Such an ambitious mission . . . so many things could go wrong . . . how do we know the Supreme Archangel and his Demon haven’t already failed?

*******************to read from the beginning go HERE

#Good Omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #Captain Muriel #aziraphale #crowley #The Higher Angels are SO FUCKED #Because the Ineffable Army RULES #Okay they're not officially called the Ineffable Army at this point #but I'm considering it

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astrojulia · 2 years ago

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Hi this is for the game!!

My birth details are: July 31st 1991, born at 1:19am and my birth place is Cadillac Michigan USA.

The Emoji: 🐬

My question for you is: What's your favorite thing in life besides astrology?

Thank you for your awesome blog by the way!!!!!

Hello Siren! This is an ask related to my Sirentale game that is already closed! So there's no point trying to participate now, as there are no more "spaces". If there is a good interaction, I may open a new game in the future. Kisses from the Sea!

Navigation: Masterlist✦Ask Rules✦Feedback Tips

Askbox✦Sources✦Paid Readings

In a distant realm where the mystical and the mundane intertwined, there resided a young adventurer named Dani. With an unwavering determination in their heart and an insatiable curiosity in their soul, Dani embarked on a journey that would rival the most captivating of fairy tales.

Dani's birth chart, a celestial masterpiece woven by the heavens themselves, narrated the tale of their life in the most enchanting manner. The Sun, akin to a radiant crown, graced the 4th house of Leo, casting a warm and illuminating glow upon Dani's path. It was amidst Leo's vibrant energy that Dani's courage and passion were ignited. From a tender age, they were schooled in the ways of royalty, learning the essence of leadership and its many facets. Whether they would use their royal prowess for benevolence or dominance remained a mystery, a story yet to unfold. Their inner and outer selves coexisted harmoniously, allowing them to effortlessly transition between the roles of a princess in distress and an indomitable dragon when the need arose. Yet, it was the fear of judgment from others that occasionally hindered them. Dani's greatest adversaries were not the external demons but those that crept into their life sporadically, casting a shadow over their heart and ego.

Beneath the dreamy Piscean moonlight, within the 11th house, Dani's emotions flowed like a tranquil river, connecting them to the collective dreams and aspirations of the world. It was this deep well of empathy and intuition that guided Dani on their quest, enabling them to grasp the hearts and desires of those they encountered. Dani's dreams were timeless, eternally present from their earliest days, be it the aspiration to be a revered queen or a valiant warrior.

Yet, it was the triumvirate of Mercury, Venus, and Mars, all residing in the analytical 5th house of Virgo, that set Dani apart. Their mind was as keen as a blade, their love meticulous, and their determination unparalleled. With the precision of a master craftsman, Dani could breathe life into their ideas and wield their passions with grace and finesse. Their social adeptness was astute, innovative, and at times intimidating, navigating countless "yeses" and "noes" along their journey, all while striving to discern what was best for themselves and society as a whole.

On a remote mountaintop, within the 10th house of Aquarius, Saturn stood as the stern yet wise overseer of Dani's destiny. Saturn presented challenges, sitting on its throne of ceaseless activity, assigning seemingly insurmountable missions that demanded trust in oneself and in others. It urged Dani to shatter conventions, compelling them to follow their own unique path. The rebellious spirit of Uranus, dwelling in the 9th house of Capricorn, echoed this sentiment, fueling Dani's thirst for adventures beyond the known horizon. As the years unfolded, Dani realized that embracing the new was essential to preserving the old, discovering the strengths and weaknesses of their rebellious nature, and witnessing the same transformative journey in their younger comrades.

And so, our intrepid hero embarked on a quest to unearth the treasures concealed within their birth chart. With Pluto's transformative influence in the 6th house of Scorpio, they were ready to confront the shadows within themselves, emerging from each trial stronger and wiser. Challenges with darkness were a daily occurrence, yet Dani met them with familiarity, as Pluto had found its place within them, an integral part of their story.

Dani's journey led them through mystical forests, across expansive deserts, and into the heart of uncharted waters. Along the way, they encountered a diverse cast of characters, as numerous as the stars in the night sky. Some became allies, drawn to the radiance of Dani's Leo Sun, while others tested their resolve, pushing them to evolve and grow.

As Dani ventured deeper into the uncharted territories of their birth chart, they unearthed the true essence of their being. They realized that their purpose wasn't merely etched in the constellations but was a living, breathing adventure waiting to be embraced.

With each revelation, Dani's spirit soared higher, their heart beat louder, and their smile radiated brighter. They welcomed the delightful surprises that life bestowed upon them, savoring the joy of self-discovery and the thrill of the unknown.

Thus, the legend of Dani, the intrepid adventurer guided by the stars, became a cherished tale in the mystical land. Their journey served as a testament to the power of embracing one's unique path, heeding the call of the heart, and uncovering the magic within their celestial tapestry.

As the sun descended on their final adventure, Dani stood on the precipice of the 10th house in Aquarius, gazing into the limitless possibilities of the cosmos. Their heart overflowed with gratitude for the enchanting odyssey that had led them to this moment, knowing that their Sirentale would inspire generations to come.

(CC) AstroJulia Some Rights Reserved

#astrojulia #astrology #astroblr

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rcreveal · 9 months ago

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The Trouble with a Keen Manager, Ch13

In a deep, crusty fissure in the hallways of Hell, Shax studied the sheafs of reports for Usher’s new mandatory demon requisitions. Ferrying requisition reports from Furfur to Usher to keep a finger on the most interesting action going on in Hell wasn’t the only thing she was up to, (especially since Intake was more and more empty with Usher withholding nearly anything the demon agents on Earth requested). Everything she did was a scheme to get ahead. Here was something new after years of same old same old. There had to be a useful angle in this mess. Her lip curled reading the labored penmanship of the demon agents on Earth (if questionable substances scratched onto a scrap of something vaguely leathery could be called penmanship). Most of the demons barely seemed to know what to ask for: “Demon stuf. Evilitude. Icker” were common and absolutely sure to be denied.

But, Crowley… she ran her taloned fingers over the smooth white paper printed with increasingly complex requests and snidely sophisticated explanations of why he needed them. Crowley’s reports made Earth sound like a never ending playground of opportunity.

Shax lusted to get up there and do the things one could do with such powers. Hadn’t she schemed to get ahead? And where had that gotten her? Still in Intake. It was maddening.

Pouring over Crowley’s requisitions, she kept seeing him suggest ways to identify weaknesses, foibles, flaws and use those to manipulate a target. She could certainly see those things. Manipulating them might be the key to getting up another slippery rung in the snakes and ladders game of Hell.

One step closer to a post on Earth.

***

Crowley, without a demonic power to his name this morning, woke up to luxuriate in the Whickber Street Intimate Massage and Corrections’ narrow infirmary bed, drowsy and, for once, nearly content. Amazing what his own clothes and a safe place to get his head down could do. But since he was professionally interested in the temptations on offer in the establishment and needed to keep himself in the good graces of the hardworking ladies who had taken him in, he pulled on his damaged clothing to investigate.

When Wendy found him up a ladder oiling some gears, he’d already roamed about the place, making little repairs and adjustments here and there to the equipment. She only pouted a bit that he was wearing his tattered black pants and not his kilt, but relented enough to tell him to get down to breakfast before it was all gone.

When he sauntered barefoot into the kitchen, Jen was at the hob dishing out something extensively fried.

“Here ya go. Anthony,” she pulled the offered plate out of reach just before he took it, “And mind you chew this morning,” she teased.

Taking the plate she put it back into his hands, he grinned winningly at her and the girls around the kitchen table, saying in an overly posh voice, “May I dine with you ladies?”

Laying a tea towel over one forearm like a footman, he claimed an empty chair, flourished the napkin over his own lap and sat ramrod straight. Taking a delicate bite from his primly raised fork he’d meant to say something witty like the characters on a Masterpiece theater show. Instead, he emitted the kind of noise Aziraphale made on first biting into Crepe Suzette. And kept making those noises until he'd finished the plate.

He did chew, this time.

Maisie padded into the kitchen while his eyes were closed in blissful contemplation.

“Cor blimey, Anthony! I thought Gwenie was impersonatin’ one of the clients! I'll have what he's havin”!”

They all guffawed while he blushed crimson. Bloody fried crispy bits were his undoing.

Crowley was able to trash talk back while eating his second helping, delivered in front of him with a knowing smirk.

“My fry ups aren't the only thing legendary ‘round here,” Jen purred.

Snorting he retorted, “I know that! I saw you handling a bullwhip the other night!”

Crowley realized with some dismay that it was going to be a delicate matter to lodge here. They had rescued him, sure. Madame had taken him on as a project. Now the ladies of negotiable affection were trying to figure him out. He'd not been this closely enmeshed with humans since trench warfare in World War I and knew how bloody attentive they could be! Keeping them entertained while misconstruing their advances might work? Unless that enraged them. Argh, he missed the solitude of his Bentley already. Navigating social dynamics without being able to scrub their memories and start over was like tap dancing around unexploded ordinance.

After volunteering to do the washing up by himself Crowley went in search of Madame.

“Thank you for seeing to some of the equipment, Anthony. You've been quite industrious today,” she remarked calmly.

“‘S the least I can do…” he replied before she waved the comment away. “If you are still intent on working at the Dirty Donkey tonight, I shan't stand in your way. You are remarkably recovered today.”

“I've always been a fast healer,” he replied, thinking Aziraphale certainly helped matters.

“Mmm. Your clothes are back from the cleaners if you wish to maintain your kilted persona at the Dirty Donkey.”

Lifting the plastic covered hangers from the door, he drew himself up to a spindly 6’1”, voice heavy with Scottish accent, “I’ll have ye know, woman, this is me native dress!”

Clapping politely, she retorted, “Bravo, young man. Then you'll want to polish your spog,” tossing him some saddle soap and polish.

After an industrious half hour, he dressed in his kilt to head out to check Hell’s latest requisition denials miraculously appearing in the Bentley’s dash. Tucking the denial reports down the back of his kilt, he started heading over to the bookshop to print more counter-requisitions. Midway across the street, he decided to go to the Dirty Donkey first. He still had a promise to keep to Dave and might as well be seen where the gossips were surely watching for him. Spinning away from his initial line of travel, black and green kilt flying, Crowley stomped the deep lugged Doc Martens towards the pub, indulging in a little fantasy about what he would like to do to the demon manager Usher’s…reports.

Dave looked up from the bar when Anthony sauntered in, a smile on his lips, kilt swishing around his legs, arms still bare from wearing just an undershirt and that black leather waistcoat of his. The better to display the bruises showing on his face, arms, and neck, and a heavy chain now worn over his shoulder, Dave guessed.

“Got some new jewelry there, Anthony?” Dave asked blandly, not mentioning the fight if the lad didn't.

“Just a souvenir I picked up,” Anthony said lightly, “But that’s not important. Where’s that paperwork you had for me?”

Wiping his hands, Dave leaned on the bar, “So you ‘found’ your ID then. Let’s see it, lad.”

Anthony handed him a driver’s license. The license even looked slightly worn about the edges. Dave eyeballed him, but Anthony just stayed cool. This wasn't the first time Madame had helped someone find their documents. Best to shake them down here, if they couldn't pass muster, “Where’d you leave it, then?”

“Oh, it’d fallen in between the cushions of me car.”

“Uh-huh. And you’ve got your NIN, too?”

“Yup, and a copy of my birth certificate!” Anthony said triumphantly, pulling the paper from his spog and planting it on the bar with a flash bastard grin.

“Well then, looks like you have some paperwork to fill out,” Dave smiled to himself as he headed back to the office and came back with employment forms and a pen. Sitting down next to the lad to answer his questions, he whispered, “You’re looking remarkably fit for a bloke that got worked over the other night,”

“Constitution of an ox!” the lad said happily, pen in hand. Anthony had funny old spiky copperplate handwriting. Scottish public schools still taught copperplate? Dave shuddered, remembering his own penmanship classes.

Completing his paperwork with a triumphant flourish, the red headed youngster announced, “I’ll be back tonight, just have to run an errand or two,” Anthony said, grabbing a pasty from a full tray.

“Over the road to work on your book?” Dave asked, tapping the documents into a neater stack.

“Yeah, I’ve got some writing to do,” Anthony swung up, sauntered out the door. With luck, Aziraphale would help embellish his ideas on how to spin his new lodgings into his Hellish reports, especially if he brought brunch.

Masterpost to other chapters and fics.

Thanks for reading! Your kudos and comments make my day.

#good omens fanfic #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #1990s #good omens shax #whickber street #the dirty donkey #miracle blocking #crowley lost powers #pre antichrist #seamstresses #original character pov

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heli0s-writes · 4 years ago

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Queen please give us Steve when the reader chokes him while sitting on his face 🙃

a/n: Thank you for sending this in!! Y’all love choking boys, good for u. Bucky’s version. 1k words. please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

ride*

Love carves a wild streak in him a mile wide.

Behind closed doors, his respectable poise turns dangerous; he’ll slink over on his knees, crawl up beneath your skirt and get you to sing.

You’re thrilled by it. You’re also a little shit who eggs him on by proclaiming, “Captain America, sir! Fucking you creatively is just fulfilling my civic duty!”

As if Steve isn’t a little shit himself.

He replies, “How ‘bout creatively fucking my face, citizen?”

You blink.

He’s usually very sentimental with oral. Licks you for hours like you’re the last bit of sweetness in the world, savors it long and lazy and delicate. But now he’s looking at you like a predator and your suspicion that the Venn diagram of Sex Acts Steve Rogers Is Interested In and Shit You’ve Seen On Brazzers might end up being one big circle just keeps being proven right.

Well, perfect.

You pat his chin, counting enthusiastic flecks in his eyes. Gorgeous and green and all that mouthwatering darkness slowly simmering behind it.

“What, you want me to sit on this pretty thing?”

“Civic duty and all that. You up for it, sweetheart?”

What an obscene image: Earth’s Mightiest Hero a slobbering and breathless disarray, coming up for air, licking the gloss of your cunt off his lips.

You salute, “Yessiree.”

Steve’s trying to pass out or something. At the very least develop a bruised jaw and a mean cramp for a couple of days.

He’s fastened his grip to your legs, grinding your slit on his swollen lips. He looks up from time to time, grabbing your tits and waist, but for the most part, he’s holding on tightly and making a real goddamn mess.

“You’re delicious, baby.” The color of his cheeks is a stark white briefly as you lift off, then red again when he pulls you back down. “Uh-uh. Gotta have more of you.”

You moan on his velvet tongue at the sloppy sounds he makes, how he strokes himself behind you, turned on by your juices in his throat. He’s always stunning. Eager and devoted to the singular task of lapping at you like a starved man.

Two fingers twist inside before he corkscrews them back and shoves them in his own mouth. He repeats this again and again, like pulling a secret from your body only he’s allowed to enjoy.

“Yes,” he sighs, “Fuck yes—mmm—"

You’ve already come once, and your head is still fuzzy with the aftershocks of it, growing fuzzier following the rapid buildup of his insatiable need for more.

You want to flip the script. Reward him, in a way.

You turn around, arch for the right leverage, the right angle.

This position gives you an incredible, uninterrupted view of his chest as it expands on a gasp—his tight abs flexing, his strong thighs rippling with power. And beneath you, his face, that glorious and prodigious mark of history revived as a man like a masterpiece, is currently being used as an object—a plaything— and he loves it.

You bear down, make him grunt.

“Steve,” you prompt, “I’m gonna put my hands around your neck. Tap me three times if it’s too much.”

His only reply is a sharp slap to your ass that makes you yelp—his signal for try me. Great. If he wants you to break his neck, fine. He heals fast anyway. You take your hands to his throat and wrap your fingers around as much as possible.

Steve’s muscles constrict, cock flexing with new arousal. You do it again and the sound he makes vibrates all the way up to your scalp.

He strains against your hold, pelvis thrusting into empty air as he makes a quick and keening noise. You release his trachea and Steve inhales a strangled breath, muffles a loud fuck! into the meat of your ass.

Excited, you tilt back and forth, ride his tongue, getting the suction of his mouth right, squeezing another warning when he moves away from it. You press a smidge harder, feeling the errant quiver of his Adam’s apple on your lifeline, thumping against your pulse.

Brazzers, eat your goddamn heart out. Captain America used like a fuckdoll out of his own volition. Getting choked while he works to come all over himself.

Right on cue, his fist returns to his groin, stroking himself— chasing the thrill of being restrained. His forearm and bicep are bulging, knuckles pale, thumb repeatedly and expertly slipping over his swollen purple cockhead. His other hand cups around his sac, tugging and rolling the sensitive skin.

It’s fucking hot, seeing him turned on, playing at weakness, trusting you. You watch him edge closer each time his shaft drives out of his fist. His mouth is causing a racket with how he sucks and slurps. His breath is hot, puffing out in short, frantic pants. He’s nearly there, toes curling, thighs enormous and stiff—and then— with both his hands on his cock—two more twists and a full-body shudder that you’ll commit to memory for a long time.

He spills all over himself, impressive lines landing nearly up to his blushing chest. He stutters, ah—shit—fuck, mmmfff-- ah-ah, baby—and goes slack.

“That was…” he mutters, dazed, and loses his train of thought. His wet hair is splattered on his forehead and he’s gulping air like he’s trying to make up for what you smothered from him. “We gotta do that again.”

“Maybe,” you say back, pulling yourself off and next to him, kissing his pink nose and cheek, giggling when it smells like fresh pussy, “But there’s lots of other stuff to do, honey.”

His face lights up, giddy like a kid with a bag of new toys.

“I can slap you…” you suggest. “Get inside you. Fuck you like a girl.” And from the corner of your eye, you can see the subtle twitch of his cock, interested in your proposition.

“Y-yeah?” He swallows thickly, “You think so?”

You dip a finger into the sticky mess of his come pooled at the creases of his abs and smear it up. “Yep.” You pop the p and Steve’s eyes roll back, another grin pulling his face open.

His wild streak is a mile wide already, but you can’t wait to carve another.

#steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #marvel #fanfiction #mcu #reader insert

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wakaoujisenhime · 4 years ago

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Hi Hi could I request Kuroko, Kagamai, Akashi, Midorima and Murasakibara reaction to their s/o who's into photography and loves to take photos of them because they think their the most beautiful muse. They say things like "the light is hitting you perfectly please don't move until I take this picture." something like that lol

A/N: anon…this, THIS is a masterpiece of an idea and I love you for it (๑♡⌓♡๑) please enjoy! ♥️

Tags: the boys [KKMMA] x reader ✅ SFW ✅ fluff ✅

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Kuroko:

ok so the first time you took a picture of him was during lunch break

since he usually likes to spend his free time in the classroom while eating his homemade bento, the moment you became a couple you’d always join him

one day you were a bit late because one of the teachers had held you up, so you quickly texted him an apology for your delay and told him you’d be there soon so he can start eating without you

when you finally arrived, you immediately proceeded to apologize but promptly shut your mouth as you saw the scenery before you

Kuroko was reading one of his many novels, his elbows propped on the very edges of his desk, bento box and chopsticks untouched before him, blue eyes fixated on the text before him

everything about this was perfect as is, but what really gripped you and made you unconsciously reach for your camera, that you always had dangling from your neck, was the way the morning sun hit his face casting an ever so small shadow that only further accentuated his beautiful and calm facial features

as if in trance you gently push the small button on top of your camera and the shutter goes off

surprised by the sudden sound he turned his head in your direction and wanted to greet you but you cut him off even before he uttered a single syllable: “Tetsu, don’t move! The way the sun hits the back of your head right now is perfect…I just need to take a picture so bear with me for a moment.”

the way you had your left arm outstretched to stop any of his movements while your eyes were hidden behind the small rectangular object didn’t stop your boyfriend’s light blush to spread across his cheeks

he wasn’t used to being the only one in a photo so that alone made him a little nervous and embarrassed, but your silent comments and compliments on how his hair looked even more remarkable under the sunlight or how his facial features managed to perfectly cast shadows on his face that made him look more mature made his heart race faster than any game

luckily for your lover, this situation showed him another side of you that he rarely got to see, and who was he to interrupt your adorable mumbling just because of his embarrassment?

since then you used any and every opportunity to take his photo, whether it was in Maji Burger as he drank his usual smoothie or when he waited for you in front of a fountain in the park where you scheduled your date

when he finally asked you about it you proudly announced: “I’m sorry, but I can’t help the fact that my lover is such an amazing model for basically any type of photo! I always thought that you were hiding your beauty beneath those bangs and turns out I was absolutely right!”

you continued showering him with compliments until he couldn’t take it anymore and shut you up with a gentle kiss

“If it weren’t for your keen eye, I could’ve continued hiding myself and avoid the other’s gazes”

“Do you hate being the center of attention that much?” you whispered out, your eyes directly peering into his own big ones

with a smile he gently caresses your cheek and answers: “Your attention is all I need.”

Kagami:

Kagami was aware of your fascination for photography, I mean how could he not be when every time the two of you were out together for different reasons, you’d always take your camera with you and snap a photo or two

what he wasn’t aware of though, was what or better said who the subject of your images was

every time you reached for your camera the lens was always aimed in his direction and it never bothered him, because he figured that you were taking a photo of the scenery behind him so he never bothered to pose, smile, or anything of that sort

one day though it made him wonder whether his presence might disturb whatever images you’d taken so the next time you aimed your camera he turned his head, looking directly into the object’s circular lens, and just as he was about to say something the familiar sound of the shutter shut him up

“Perfect…that might be the best one yet” you silently praised and smiled to yourself

W-Wait a second…

“(Y/N)?”

“Hm?”

“What did you just photograph?”

you looked at him with slightly wide eyes, confusion spreading across your face as you answered: “Why of you of course”

and that’s when it clicked

all this time you’d taken pictures of what he thought to be the nature and scenery but in actuality, it was him you’d focused on

“W-Wait! You mean to t-tell me that I wasn’t in the way of your photos a-and that you actually photographed–“

before he could finish his sentence he realized something else that made him blush even harder

Perfect…Absolutely breathtaking…I’m so glad that I took my camera with me…The lighting and wind make you even prettier…What tranquility and gentleness, I’m in love…You’re so beautiful

all these comments that he’d brushed off, thinking that they were some kind of weird quirk of yours that resembled his captain’s whenever he talked about his samurai series, now made perfect sense

when the reality of the situation hit him he couldn’t help but bury his face in his hands and grunt at his stupidness, meanwhile, you tried to wrap your head around what Kagami had been believing up until today

looking at him being that frustrated with himself made you chuckle, but it also made you feel bad since you never directly told him so you decided that now might be the best time

with a gentle smile, you once again raised the camera to your face, waited until his figure became the focus and blurred the background, and gently pressed down the shutter

the sound made the young man beside you flinch and ever so hesitantly glance up to you with a dreading expression on his face

after pushing some of the buttons you cozy up to your boyfriend until your shoulders touched and showed him the image you had just taken with a proud smile

“I’m sorry for not telling you about it, but if I shared the fact that you’re my muse with you, you probably would’ve never allowed me to take any” you reasoned as you looked into his eyes and observed the way his cheeks reddened the moment you called him your muse

“I’m your muse…?”

you nodded and showed him a few other photos that all showed him do average everyday things such as eating something, chatting on his phone, warming up, etc. and even though they weren’t that special, the way you managed to capture him, his expression, and even some of the background made them all look professional

“Taiga, you’re such a nice guy that you would’ve probably offered to be my model if I had asked you to, but I wanted to capture that raw beauty of yours, the one that you display on every basketball match and that was the only way to do it…or at least that’s what I thought”

you paused before returning to the most recent image

“Having you being aware might be better after all…just look here at the way your eyes sparkle and your posture, both tense and relaxed at the same time gives off the impression of confidence and a tinge of uncertainty, both summing up your profound character that I love so much”

listening to your explanation made his heart beat harder against his chest and to stop you from fawning even more he covered your camera with his big hand and murmured: ”I-It’s fine already…I get it”

after seeing yet another unexpected expression on your boyfriend’s face you tried to get another shot of him, but this time he tried his best to avoid you and the two of you ended up chasing each other around the park, attracting the attention of many fellow visitors, but to you, it was as if only Kagami and you existed

Midorima:

one afternoon during the end of basketball practice, you had joined your green-haired boyfriend with his supplementary exercises, observing him and the perfect way he shoots one three-pointer after the other

you’d asked him long ago whether it was alright with him to take his photo and despite the many protests he’d agreed under the condition that it happened during basketball practice

unfortunately, the way he played didn’t manage to ignite the spark you needed to snap that one photo you’ve always been hoping for, neither his skills nor his playstyle were to blame for that, there was just something missing that you couldn’t name

the way you sighed caught Midorima’s attention and made him stop mid-throw so that he could take a glance in your direction and when he saw the disappointed face you made it made his heart ache

“Is something the matter (Y/N)?” he suddenly asked as he sat beside you, towel in one hand and his drinking bottle in the other

you shook your head and tried to play it off, blaming your bad mood on one of your earlier classes and the complaisant boyfriend he was he let it go (also partially because he was afraid that if he prodded further you’d get mad)

out of the corner of your eyes, you could see how he took off his glasses and started cleaning them

and that’s when your heart throbbed

the way his long fingers carefully handled the fragile black frames, the skillful and cautious way he removed any speck of dust from the glass, mixed with the way some of his green hair’s strands stuck to his slightly sweaty forehead, and lastly his beautiful long eyelashes were what won you over

before you knew it, you had grabbed your camera and had taken a photo of his profile, the shutter’s sound startling both him and you

“D-Did you just take a ph–”

“Shush! Stay just like that!” you blurted out, your hand on his chest to restrict his movements and keep him in that exact pose he was right now

with a reluctant expression on his face, he avoided looking in your direction, hoping that you wouldn’t notice the light blush spreading across his cheeks, meanwhile you smiled to yourself at his futile attempt and once again snapped another picture…

thanks to that one coincidental photo you managed to take back then, you finally knew what you have been missing all this time, namely your boyfriend being himself and not the Midorima Shintaro from Shuutoku who never missed a shot

in order to achieve that “normality” you had to take as many sneaky shots as possible, but they unfortunately never stayed as secretive as you would’ve wanted them to be because he either caught you mid-photo or your own comments betrayed you

Just like that Shin, look more to the side!

Leave your glasses be, you’re even more beautiful without them!

Don’t touch your hair! The way it is right now compliments your face perfectly!

Even if you scowl at me, you still look good!

he’d always run up to you afterward, blushing at the entire situation and no matter how much he ended up protesting, scolding you, or trying to take the camera from you to delete the photos, he never truly was upset about it

the reason Midorima let it all slide was because he enjoyed the way you smiled when you looked at the images you’d taken

the way your eyes practically sparkled mixed with the slight flush of your cheeks made his heart race every single time

“Is something wrong Shin? You’ve been staring at my face for quite a while.”

embarrassed of being caught by you, he squeezed your nose and stuttered: “I-It’s nothing, k-keep looking at y-your photos!”

Murasakibara:

taking Murasakibara’s pictures wasn’t an issue, you simply asked him and he agreed with no resistance whatsoever

you were over the moon at first and even made sure to have your camera with you at all times so that when an opportunity presented itself you’d be ready

from a pedestrian’s point of view, you looked like a cute touristic couple which consisted of the somewhat bored boyfriend, who agreed to have his photos taken for your happiness, and you, who couldn’t hold the excitement of being together with this young man back while happily snapping one pic after the other

their thoughts weren’t that off from the truth, you truly were delighted to be able to practice your hobby, and even having the tall young man as your model made it even better

thanks to the amount of muscles he’d gained from his daily basketball training, his height, his beautifully long and purple hair, his constantly relaxed expression, and his surprisingly gentle facial features, your boyfriend was already photogenic as is so any photo you took was downright breathtaking

and yet, those fulfilling feelings were rather short-lived

as time went by and you shot one photo after the other you came to realize that you hadn’t managed to take a single photo where he genuinely smiled or grinned

getting him to do either was nearly impossible, even for you

all you ever managed to summon was a very loving and gentle smile that resembled that of an angel; it was so pure that you could read all of his emotions from it, but that smile was reserved for your cuddle sessions that always ended up with him almost crushing you with his embrace and his low giggles as the result to your mixed reactions

“(Y/N)-chin, let’s go over there and sit down…I can’t walk anymore”

you giggled and took his hand that he’d extended to you, following him to a bench that was protected by a couple of trees, which cast down a perfect shadow on the wooden surface

the young man plopped down as if he’d ran for hours without a single break and wrapped his big arms around your waist, burying his face in your tummy

his childish behavior made you giggle and you softly caressed his head

“Didn’t you want to eat your snacks?” you asked after a short while, only to receive a silent growl as an answer

“Let me stay like this for a while…please”

his cute way of pleading with you only broadened your smile, which turned it into a grin as soon as an idea popped into your mind

with one hand still on his head, you used the other to aim the camera lens at the young man’s head as you asked your lover to look up at you

it took him a short while to comply because he kinda had the feeling that you wanted to ask for yet another photo, but he ultimately gave in and cast his purple eyes up to you

still smiling you glanced at the small screen on your camera in order to make sure that everything was perfect when you subconsciously blurted out: “Everything about you is charming Atsushi, the way the wind caresses your hair, perfectly accentuating your gentle face’s features…I’m so glad to have you as my muse”

…

your eyes went wide as you noticed the change in his expression

his cheeks had taken on an unexpected shade of deep red, one that you’ve never seen on him before; his eyes were a bit glassy and maybe equally as wide as yours, and his mouth was slightly agape

“Wha-! What are you saying (Y/N)-chin?!” he screamed out and once again hid his face before you could manage to snap a picture of this rare expression

“Atsushi, wait don’t hide! Let me take a photo!”

your protests fell on deaf ears and no matter how much you struggled or tried to loosen his grip around your waist, his strength made sure to make all of your attempts futile

“I-If I let you see me like that…I won’t be cool in your eyes anymore a-and I don’t want that” he finally admitted in a low voice

it took you a short while to comprehend what exactly he was trying to say; and when you did you couldn’t hold your laughter in any longer, ruffled his hair, and kissed the top of his head, waiting until he had regained his composure and returned your affectionate gestures

Akashi:

having the famous Emperor as your lover was like a dream, but when it came to keeping things a secret you were at a clear disadvantage because this man read you like an open book

no matter how hard you tried to act innocent or clueless, he’d always be able to add two and two together and expose whatever you were hiding within a matter of minutes

same goes for your fondness of photography and the fact that you had your eyes set on him as your muse

one day when you visited his home the two of you were in the living room and he was playing a round of shogi against himself while you sorted your camera’s gallery

when you took a glance at the young man your heart throbbed

the soft light of the sun that managed to come forth between the many clouds of that day shone right at him; in order to block the light from disturbing his vision, he’d leaned his chin on his hand and let his fingers extend to the corner of his mesmerizing eyes; a soft smile adorned his lips as his left hand stretched out to move one of the many wooden pieces before him

you couldn’t help it and immediately proceeded to take a picture, successfully catching him off guard

“Did you take a picture of me?” he asked without shifting his line of sight from the board, a hint of amusement in his voice

“Mhm, I did…sorry” you apologized before sighing to yourself, “it’s just that you looked really beautiful and I thought it’d be a shame if I didn’t use the opportunity.”

being called beautiful was something he wasn’t used to, so as he heard that word pass your lips, he froze up and finally tore his attention away from the game, and now gazed at you with a warm smile

“You can take more if you’d like.”

“R-Really?”

and with that, he became your conspirator in your mission to take as many photos of him as your camera’s storage could handle

“Just like that Sei…look more to the lef- yes, perfect!”

you spat one command after the other as the young man before you held onto the reins of his gorgeous white horse and let his hand gently run along the animal’s head

after snapping a few more photos you looked at them in silence, an unusual scene for your boyfriend

“Is something the matter (Y/N)? Aren’t you satisfied with these?”

your head shot up and you violently shook your head, explaining that it was nothing and you were just lost in thought; even though he quickly realized that you weren’t telling the truth, he chose to keep silent until you were ready to tell him what truly bothered you

unexpectedly, your silence lasted longer than he’d hoped for and no matter how unique he tried to organize these little photo sessions you did, your mood never seemed to improve which frustrated him

when he saw you sitting on the couch all sad and unmotivated while you scrolled through your camera roll, he immediately turned around and went back outside to his garden to mull over ways in which he could help you out

so to distract himself, he picked up his basketball, started dribbling, and began perfecting his shooting

the sound of the ball hitting the wall caught your attention, causing you to get up and search for its source

when you opened the front door you were greeted by a similar sight as the one back when you’d first taken Akashi’s photo which made you smile

“Sei-chan, that’s what I was looking for” you whispered as you subconsciously took a photo of the exact moment where the young man jumped and gently threw the ball against the wall, simulating a layup shot

still unaware of your presence the young man wiped his sweat with his shirt’s collar and the moment he felt your arms wrap around his body he jumped ever so slightly

before he could ask you anything, let alone say something, you kissed his cheek and whispered: “I knew it…you’re always beautiful, but the moment you shine the brightest is when you’re being yourself”

moved by your words he turned around, returning your embrace and kissing your lips as he then proceeded to hide his blushing face and glassy eyes from you by pressing you closer to himself

#knb headcanons #knb imagines #knb fluff #kuroko no basket x reader #knb x reader #kuroko x reader #kagami x reader #murasakibara x reader #akashi x reader #━𝙺𝙽𝙱 #━𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽'𝚂 𝙴𝙲𝙷𝙾

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waspenned · 4 years ago

Text

atomic • peter parker (18+)

it's not like you actually think peter parker is stupid, you just know he likes it when you call him names • 2k

warnings: NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!! sexual content, sub!college!pete, that beautiful balance of degradation and praise, a splash of mirror kink, pete recieving oral, gender non-specific reader !!!! light choking

now playing: atomic by sleeper

a/n: this is my first foray into smut to please forgive me for the cringefest ur about to attend anyway sub Peter rights and anyone with any genitalia can read this because I believe in smut 4 all !!!! this is also dedicated to @subspider for the masterpiece, my pillar, my bible, wolf-teeth. title inspired by atomic by blondie but specifically the sleeper version bc its hornier. im still taking requests and now have a taglist to join if you'd like to be told when I upload fic :)

slow and steady, his hand inches towards you like a spider, trekking the hills and dales of his striped note sheets before resting beside yours; his index finger scratching at your knuckle. there’s a long moment of silence between you as he scratches away, before he eventually evolves to poking.

“hey bestie.” he prods, like you haven’t already made it obvious you’re ignoring him. usually, studying with peter isn’t an entire pain in the ass, but he seems to be hellbent on distracting you today, jostling you with his shoulder and bumping you with his knee. any other time, you would have been happy to play along - it wasn’t like you were above doodling on his paper when he was distracted - but nothing was fun with the threat of midterms hanging over your heads.

outside, the pigeons coo and rustle in the nest near his dorm room window, the general hustle and bustle of campus droning away three stories beneath you. the two of you are poring over study notes at his desk, buried under reams of worksheets and notes and hand-outs, and when you look up at him he’s got that sappy look on his face, like you can take the pain of schoolwork away. if only.

“i’m studying, bestie.”

“i’m bored.”

“good for you.

“my brain hurts.” he’s whinging now, scratching and scratching at you, a feather-light touch, until you drop the biro from your lips and look at him, unimpressed. peter is pouting at you, his bottom lip set into a jut, feigning a tremble. “what?”

“we have midterms, pete.”

“it’ll be fine!”

“yeah, you’ll be fine. we’re not all midtown tech prodigies.” you stick your tongue out at him, and his face crumples for real now, his eyebrows furrowing into an unhappy knot. “what is it?”

“don’t say that. you’re really smart - smarter than me.” it’s a blatant lie - it’s not like you’re an idiot, but only one of you manufactures spider-web technology and takes down supervillains in between classes, and it’s certainly not you. you can see what he’s trying to do from a mile away, his head cocked keen like a flower turned to the sunlight, but you don’t have time for what you know he wants. instead, you roll your eyes at him, but it only seems to goad him on.

“shut up.”

“you are!”

“i’m not doing this right now, pete.” he’s playing dumb as usual, but he can’t stifle the smile that tugs at his mouth, breaking into a sheepish grin. you should have anticipated it really, he always gets like this around exam season; you’re not really sure what it is, but you suppose the expectations get to him. he spends most of his time stressing over his grades, and his aunt, and whether or not manhattan will be intact when he wakes up, that you guess he just enjoys a little simplicity - for someone else to be in charge for once.

it started off as simple sex last year, nothing complicated, just as a stress reliever and a wind-down to a long day of studying. ‘simple sex’ quickly snowballed into something else after you’d accidentally lost your balance while riding him, your hand slipping to his throat to catch yourself. it had wrenched a groan from peter that was so embarrassingly loud, he had to hide in the bathroom for ten minutes, stewing in shame until you coaxed him out again. now, you were at a stage where he enjoyed the embarrassment of it, sought it out. it made sense really; he spent all day having to be so smart and responsible, that all he wanted when he saw you was to switch his brain off and be treated like an idiot. he spends most of the run-up to exams as putty in your hands, and usually, you’re perfectly happy to take the pressure off of him; it’s just that you’ve now got an entire semester’s worth of material to study, and not a lot of time to actually study it.

“doing what?” scratch scratch scratch. you’re quickly fed up with it, your hand snapping and suddenly his wrist is locked into your grasp, pinned against one of his hardback textbooks with a light thud. the room falls into a lull, the november gale dropping to a whisper and stilling the planetrees outside. some wild glint is sparked in his eyes like a flint - you’re both the steel and the tinder, igniting and fuelling it.

“peter.”

“please.” the lilt in his voice seems to seal the deal, every atom in his body thrumming at the cadence of you, ringing like a tuning fork. he’s got that look again, the one he knows melts you, and something gets you by the throat. not peter, no, but perhaps the situation of it all.

ah, fuck it. he needs it. you need it.

in an instant, you're both up on the desk and you’re pushing him across the cool surface, your arm on his chest forcing him down, down, until he’s pressed to his notes on metaphysics. he’s absolutely delighted, a breath tugging itself from his lungs in an ecstatic huff.

“is this it? is this what you’re so desperate for?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“don’t be so fucking stupid, parker.” he fidgets under your lap, eyes blown wide and dark, hands grasping reflexively at your thighs, using them as leverage to rasp his hips into yours. you rise up on your haunches, denying him the sensation, and he whines, his voice small, a low and gentle murmur.

“say it again. please.”

“don’t beg, it’s pathetic.” his back arches with your tone, his nails skimming your skin. peter is settling into this character far too well, leaning into your touch as you grasp his jaw, mouth lolling open. you adjust your grip, pressing your palm to his cheek and forcing his head to the side, sinking him into his ruffled chemistry notes. his face is turned to face the mirror on the wall parallel, but he’s just looking at you, legs scrambling on the oakwood in search of purchase - his hips canting up, up, up.

“stop moving.” there’s a small whine, the crack of a whip in his throat, and he freezes. your fingers crawl, moving, wrapping, holding a grip around his throat, pinning him in place - peter is thrilled at the sheer force of it, gasping. “look at you. there’s nothing in that pretty little head, is there?”

there's an attempt made to nod his head, but your hold on him tightens at the movement, a breath hanging in the air, his adam’s apple bobbing beneath the heel of your hand. his flesh is warm and pliable beneath you, but the hair he hasn’t had a chance to shave yet scrapes against your palm as he flexes his jaw. the way he’s staring at himself is almost criminal, lips parted as the flush on his face spreads like fire to his neck and ears - burning your fingertips.

“harder.” peter whispers, and you squeeze, his body curling up, straining, strung taut. his hand reaches for you, tracing the pad of a trembling finger over the slope of your cheek, outstretched like michelangelo’s adam. “harder, pleasepleaseplease.”

“jesus christ.” you breathe out, watching a smirk tug at his mouth, head thrown back as he watches you in the mirror. his hair spills into the stacks of your notebooks, splayed out, a chestnut halo. dropping your hips, he jolts like something’s shocked him, grinding up and into you with a groan. he’s hard and hot against your thigh, the weight of him caught between you and the plane of his stomach, your hand sliding up his throat into the dip where his neck meets his jaw, tipping his head back. between gasps and semi-desperate rutting, he still has time for sarcasm.

“my name is peter.”

“shut up.” you want to tighten your grip, to punish him, but he’d probably like that. instead, you indulge him, working the stress and tension out of him like a knot, shifting down his body until the drawstring of his sweatpants is in your sights. they’re shucked down his hips as he lifts them for you, releasing him from the confines of cotton and polyester, swelling against his happy trail. there’s no hand on his neck anymore, but he stays where you put him, willing and obeying with every fibre of his being. as he turns his head, you see an smudged equation printed in blue across his cheek, pressed there by freshly-written ink.

“you wanna ask nicely for me, or did you forget how?” you ask, and he keens at you, shifting under your weight, desperate, until you pin his hips still, thumbs stamping bruises into the peach-soft skin in the dips of his pelvis. you want something akin to devouring him, digging in your teeth, sinking in your nails, tasting him on your tongue like syrup and grenadine. “come on, show me there’s a brain in there, sweetheart.”

“will you go down on me? please. please.”

“good boy.”

his honeyed gaze is fixed on you through the mirror, watching you as you take him into your mouth, and the gasp that hangs in the air seems to be the only sound in the world; pealing like a church bell from saint patrick’s. it sinks quickly through his chest into a moan, sweetness mixed into the timbre of it, like the bursting of pomegranate seeds from hades itself. his chest heaves, rising and falling under his university hoodie, sweat beading at his temples. hair falls over his forehead as he tenses, shoulders curling in on himself, brows furrowing. your tongue slides over him, drinking up what beads at the tip as if it were ambrosia, and the sounds he produces are nothing short of illegal. you feel every vein and ridge of him, the plush slit at the tip, the petal-soft velvet of his skin.

“love you.” peter huffs, head lolling back and exposing his rosied neck, stumbling over his words. his hands flutter over you, moths to the flame, before settling into your hair, pushing it from your face and exposing it to the plane of the mirror. you watch each other in its surface, his eyes starried and captivated by your ministrations, like narcissus in the pond. “so hot."

you leave him with a pop, spit slick, and smile at the acme of him, your lips brushing the taut skin at the underside.

“is that all you can manage?”

“while you’re doing tha- that-” you’re moving again, his speech juddering to a stop, a moan stuttering out of him. he curses once, then again, hands fisting in your hair as you increase in speed, tongue flat against him.

“fuck, i- 'm gonna-!” he cuts himself off with a hitch of his breath, hands pulling his practice chemistry exams into tense fistfuls. your response is a low hum, your mouth full - ‘already?’

it’s only when his come pools in the fold of your tongue like oyster pearls, strings of your name falling from his lips like a rosary, that you realise he’s sprawled over all of your test notes, crumpling them. you swallow him down, and he falls back, spent.

“if you’ve ruined any of my notes, parker, i’m blaming you for my grade.”

“you can blame me for anything you want if it means you do that to me.”

“no,” you muse, swiping your thumb at the corner of your mouth, and then his cheek, marring the ink into a blue stripe. his nose is smushed against the wood, eyes closed in bliss as he stretches out like a cat that got the cream. “that’s only for when you’re being annoying.”

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