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[creative-frequency]

Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader: Party Time

Word count: 2k Pairing: Inquisitor Cal Kestis x Female Reader, who is an Imperial Technician on Nur. Summary: Going to a nightclub with an Imperial Inquisitor isn't what you expected. Rated E for mature content, mostly just kissing in this part. Part 1 of 2.

✨ Previous Part // This is the 4th part of the series. ✨ My Writing Masterlist

The comlink on your wrist buzzes and your pulse hits the ceiling so quickly that it feels as if you hit your head.

Finally.

“Y-yes?” Your voice wavers so lamely that you drag a palm across your face. You knew he was going to comm you after what happened earlier, so you were supposed to be mentally prepared for this call.

An extremely confused military officer of the Empire came by your door, holding a box. She handed it over to you and proceeded to explain the current Iseno sector fashion and the colour choice and why it’s important that you wear no jewellery. As if you knew what she was going on about. You blinked through the one-sided conversation, nodding and trying to hold a neutral face and the suspiciously light box you received from her. Before leaving, she swore that she would mention no word of this to anyone as per Inquisitor Kestis’ request.

“Hey. Got a minute?” Cal sounds as obstinately cheerful as ever and it settles your heart racing in a different tone from the peak of anxiety. It’s been three days since you ran from his quarters in less clothes than an average wookiee normally wears and you’ve only passed each other once in the hallway after that. The salacious look he shot you almost gave you a heart attack.

“I assume this is about that dress?” you ask and wait with a bated breath.

“Yeah. You got it then? Good. Thought I’d explain,” Cal says.

“I would appreciate that…” you reply slowly and take the silky fabric into your free hand. It feels cool as it flows over your fingers back into a silvery bundle.

“I need you to come with me somewhere.”

//

The dress fits you like a glove and it’s the fanciest thing you’ve worn in years, possibly ever. Getting out of Nur, even if it’s only for a little bit, feels like finally being able to breathe. Denon wouldn’t have been your first choice for a break but you have no grounds to complain.

“You look good,” Cal says casually. He goaded you into taking his arm, but touching him feels weird. It would be easier to face Darth Vader head on in a fight than act natural in the situation.

“Yeah. It’s the dress,” you reply after glancing down once again. The silvery hem flows down your frame and the fabric is so smooth and flimsy that it feels like you’re wearing no clothes at all. That feeling doesn’t exactly add to making you comfortable.

Cal scoffs and chuckles. “What would you have worn then?”

“Well, I literally don’t have any other clothes besides the uniform.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Thanks,” you mumble at the floor.

Cal leans his ear towards you and grins. “What’s that?”

You really want to stick your tongue out at him but you’re the next in line and the Lasat guard by the door is already shooting heavily measuring looks your way. You try to look like going freaking clubbing is the most natural way to spend an evening. It’s not easy to forget that you’re in the company of an Imperial Inquisitor. Even if he looks as adorable as a puppy in the black casual clothing.

Fortunately Cal lets the chance to tease you go and you just continue jittering as unnoticeably nervously as you’re able to – until you finally get to walk inside and forget everything else. Whatever your expectations were, you could’ve never imagined the nightclub without actually seeing it.

First of all, the place is so full that it’s a miracle you even got in. Cal probably used his Inquisitor mind tricks or his status for a way in. You don’t want to know which. Secondly, your outfit doesn’t stand out at all. You blend in perfectly with every other patron wagging their asses on the dance floor in skimpy clothing. Thirdly and most obviously, you’ve never been to a nightclub before so it would’ve been hard to imagine typical club behavior and interior without even understanding the concept.

Cal lightly squeezes your arm to claim your attention from the dazzling people on the dance floor.

“Let’s get something to drink,” he says right into your ear to be heard over the loud music. Feeling his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear shoots a tingle up your spine.

You seek out Cal’s gaze to find him smiling rather impishly – he seems to be enjoying himself, possibly because of the atmosphere or the suffering that’s evident on your features. Nevertheless, you nod and steel your grip on his arm.

You have no clue what the drink Cal ordered for you contains, besides a red glow stick. His own drink seems to be clear as water and so your suspicions about the nightclub trip’s true purpose grow tenfold.

“So, will you tell me now why we’re here?” As you lean to say this to Cal’s ear, strands of his hair touch your nose and you realise just how good he smells. The memory of his lips on yours surfaces. Your heart rate speeds up.

Cal only smiles as a reply and pulls you with him, hand nonchalantly circling around your waist. You follow without objections, busy trying to hide the fluster growing over your cheeks.

As you look around in awe, Cal’s senses are sharpened and trained on the people partying around you. His eyes skim every patron inside the nightclub, looking for signs that would raise suspicions. He needs to be extremely careful not to touch anything. As long as his hands are busy on you, the danger is easily avoided. Not that he would reveal anything, but you can sense that something isn’t right with his behaviour. Maybe it’s just the “Inquisitor at work” attitude but there is something more. He is trying too much to appear casual.

Cal asked you to try to enjoy yourself, but it’s impossible.

Before you realise you were not just prancing around aimlessly, he has led you to the dance floor.

“Put your hands here,” Cal says right into your ear and places your hands on his waist.

“Oh, no way, I–”

He is persistent and flashes you a smile that melts any resolve you might have gathered to object to what’s about to happen.

With each passing beat of music and awkward sway of your hips you feel more self-conscious. It would be worse if Cal would even glance at your direction but his gaze is fixated on something behind your back.

You turn to look over your shoulder and jolt.

“Cal? We’ll bump right into–”

It’s too late. Cal is already apologising to the Zabrak patron with a plastic smile on his face. Something isn’t adding up but you decide to play along and smile as apologetically as you can while grabbing his arm to continue dancing.

Cal shoots a relieved look towards you and nods to your left, to the opposite direction of the mean-looking Zabrak.

You have no idea what is going on, but you get the sense that the night’s objective and reason for coming to the nightclub has been achieved. Your every sense is sharpened as Cal drags you to the back of the club to a more secluded area. The hallway is empty and the music volume is low enough to allow normal conversing tone to be heard.

“Cal?” you question hesitantly.

Cal looks uncharacteristically anxious for an Inquisitor. He holds a small pouch in his hand, looking left and right before pouring the contents onto his open palm.

It’s a small, blue crystal – that much you can see before Cal’s hand suddenly spasms. The crystal falls from between his fingers and your first not-so-wise instinct is to pick it up. Against all expectations, nothing happens as you touch it. It just feels warm.

When you look back up, Cal’s whole body jerks and he starts to lean heavily on the wall and slide down.

“W-wha– Are you okay? Cal?” You grip his shoulders to stop him from falling face down onto the floor. He isn’t responding.

Cal collapses into your arms and the leftover colour drains from your face.

“Cal? Cal? What’s wrong?” You frantically seek eye contact. “Tell me what happened!”

He struggles to find words. His body is limp and beads of sweat dot his forehead as you sink to the floor under his weight and push him to lean against the wall.

You look fervently around to seek for help, but Cal grabs your arm and hisses: “Quiet.”

He is pale, eyes glassy and unfocused. His hand befalls over yours, the one holding the blue crystal.  It’s hot in the club but his skin feels clammy and cold. He seems to be regaining his composure, albeit slowly.

“This isn’t just a pleasure trip, right?” you ask in a grim tone.

Cal finally looks at you with empty eyes. His head makes a miniscule shake as if the motion causes him nausea.

“Are we in danger?” you ask with a bated breath.

“I wouldn’t have brought you along if we were,” he says dismissively, still looking weak and nauseated. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.

You huff in utter disbelief, the true nature of the outing gradually dawning on you. “That’s kind of you. We should probably go now. If you can stand..?” Your eyes skim over the Inquisitor’s rather lithe frame on the floor.

“Y-yeah,” Cal nods, “Just– just gimme a moment.”

You were about to stand up already but settle back down. He is still holding your hand, tightly. As you look around to make sure no one is paying attention to you, Cal’s fingers suddenly touch your cheek and he is much closer than just a second ago.

“I’m glad you came along,” he says in a husky tone.

You blink. “W-what are you saying?”

Cal doesn’t give you a reply but you don’t stop him from pressing his mouth on yours. The moment your lips touch you realise how your heart rate speeds up with anticipation. He has been touching respectably all over your body during the evening and each touch has only added to the tension, waiting when it would finally cross the line. And it’s a semi-public space, no less.

It starts out as a gentle feeling out of each other’s lips. Slowly, Cal stands up, pulling your mouth with him and conveniently tugs you flush to him from the waist – only to turn you both around and push you against the wall he was just leaning on. You sigh into the kiss, still clutching the crystal in your fist. Cal seems to have forgotten about it as his hands rest on your hip and cheek, tongue inviting you into deepening the kiss. And you can’t wait to oblige and give him something else to think about, because that is what this desperation reeks of.

Cal’s hip and thigh press against you, and his knee pushes between your legs. At the pleasant wave of friction you hum into his mouth and your fingers curl into his soft, ginger hair. You no longer need air. You just need him. Closer. Deeper. More.

Cal’s hand circles from your hip to your back, grabbing your ass and he suddenly hoists you up, inviting your leg to hook around him from the slit of your dress. The proximity leaves little to imagination and heat sinks its tendrils deeper into you, tingling and desperate to have more. To have him.

“Hey! Take it elsewhere!”

The shout almost drowns in the euphoria of your tangled bodies, but Cal stirs only a little while you freeze. With all the time in the world, he kisses you deeply one last time.

You wouldn’t want to be in the shoes of the Lasat porter, who has to face the Imperial Inquisitor’s stare.

“We are leaving,” Cal manages to spit out. He takes your hand and drags you out of the nightclub. Somehow you’re not sad to see your evening cut short as you struggle to catch your breath.

Cal’s demeanour is as silent and hasty as your trip back to the Imperial shuttle. He doesn’t say a word, only gripping your hand in his so hard that twice you almost open your mouth to ask him to ease the vice a little.

//

→ PART 2 - Coming soon!

[creative-frequency]

I am too tired and I miss you too much.

Simone de Beauvoir (via quotemadness)

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Wine, Grapes and Fire

Diluc Ragnvindr x Fem!Reader

→ A/N: 1.6k words, visionless reader, slow-ish burn, from strangers to friends to lovers, rating eventually up to M aka me again writing 10k before the actual "plot" smh

Vol. 1 You’re Hired!

Sunday’s here, the skies are bright, Lord Barbatos sends the winds in flight. Soft and gentle, breezes play, Bringing joy to start our day. — A verse from a popular nursery rhyme in Mondstadt

The Blacksmith scratches his beard in thought.

“Fifty-thousand and it’ll be better than new.”

Your jaw drops. Fifty-thousand Mora. After surviving the road to Mondstadt with almost nothing but the clothes on your back, the sum is astronomical.

“That’s just too much,” you whine.

Wagner folds his arms over his broad chest. “If you bring me the ores needed, it’ll go down to thirty.”

“And how am I supposed to go out there to gather some without a weapon?” you snap, upset. Your loyal companion lies on the table, snapped in half and then some.

The Blacksmith shrugs. It’s not his fault your sword is broken, but it’s hard not to launch your frustration on him.

“What should I do?” you utter, not actually looking for an answer. Will this be the end of your travels? Despite having seen so much, it feels like you have only just begun the journey. You’ll have to return to your family in Sumeru with your tail between your legs. A shame you’ll never live out.

The smith’s apprentice steps closer and clears his throat to get your attention.

“I think The Angel’s Share was looking for help. You could try asking for work there,” he says.

“Work? What kind of work? What’s Angel’s Share?” you question with wide eyes.

“Ah, it’s a tavern on the other side of the city,” the apprentice explains and shrugs. “Or you could always buy a new sword?”

You give the first suggestion a good two seconds of thought, promptly ignoring the second, unbelievably stupid suggestion. You will never give up on that sword, not if you can help it.

“Alright, thanks for the tip. Blacksmith, please take care of my blade. I’ll return for it when I have the Mora,” you say perhaps a tad too boastfully since Wagner rolls his eyes.

“Very well then, Miss. Fifty thousand, remember.”

After a wistful glance back at the broken weapon and asking for directions from two passerbys, you find yourself in front of the Angel’s Share. It seems like a clean, cosy place, which is a relief. You don’t feel like being accosted by drunkards in a slummy watering hole.

There indeed is a poster next to the door:

Help wanted! Ask Charles for details.

After mentally psyching yourself up, you step inside.

It becomes very quickly very apparent that your appearance is welcomed like a blessing from the Anemo Archon himself. Charles needs a few weeks off because of family reasons and he doesn't have anyone to cover the bar while he is gone. Every potential employee is either sick, working elsewhere or otherwise occupied. And Charles has to leave on the following day.

“I have experience tending a bar,” you assure him.

Which, mostly, is true. Technically, you have experience in customer service, mixing potions and drinks, and cleaning your parents’ flower shop. The odd jobs you have done during your travels also include working at a restaurant in Liyue. So close enough for bartending. Not to brag, but you’re even in the possession of the most charming customer-service oriented smile on Teyvat. It’s a family trait.

“Splendid!” Charles rejoices after you recount your work history to him.

“Before we shake hands on this, what’s the pay for two weeks?” you ask, nervous if you can ever get your sword back.

“I believe Master Diluc said two-hundred and fifty-thousand Mora,” he replies.

Two-hundred and fifty-thousand Mora. Your head is spinning. Such a sum could easily pay for the repairs and provide an ample amount of cash for your next adventures. Maybe you should’ve become a bartender instead.

“Is that okay with you?” Charles inquires.

“Yes! That’s, umm. Totally fair compensation. You can rest easy, I’ll take good care of this place for the next two weeks,” you perk up.

“Good, good. Now then, there are some things you need to know, of course. Master Diluc will come by tomorrow so you’ll get the full rundown of the place,” Charles says.

You nod eagerly. Master Diluc, yeah? During your short visit to the nation, you have already heard some talk of him. The wine industry tycoon from Mondstadt, unmatched in every possible way. Aloof, but the perfect gentleman. And apparently single, too.

“Naturally, the weekends can get hectic, but he usually helps out on the busy nights, so you won’t have to worry,” Charles continues.

“Great! I’ll be here tomorrow then, an hour before the place opens?” you suggest.

“Sounds good. I’ll let him know. Good luck.”

You shake hands and so the two weeks of working your ass off in a tavern in Mondstadt officially begins. Two weeks, then you’ll be free to go wherever the wind guides you. You haven't stayed this long in one place before, but then again, your sword hasn't been broken before. You feel weirdly naked without a weapon, but as long as you don't venture outside the city during night, you should be fine.

—

The uncrowned king of Mondstadt is indeed worth every rumour you’ve heard and more. For some reason, you assumed he would be older, at least middle-aged, but instead you’re thrown against a young and extremely handsome nobleman. No wonder the ladies swoon over him.

You decide to conduct yourself with the utmost professionalism in his company.

“Diluc, of Mondstadt. Good to meet you,” your new boss introduces himself.

You take a tad too long a look from his blazing red ponytail down to the pyro Vision on his belt before reciprocating the introductions.

Forget extremely handsome, he is too attractive for your own good. This is the person you’re supposed to work with for the next two weeks? Archons, you need to get ready to make a complete fool out of yourself. Mentally, you reprimand yourself from getting any hazy ideas. He is still your employer, who is going to pay a lot of Mora to you in two weeks. Then you will be on your merry way to Inazuma.

“Charles informed me of your qualifications. I’ll show you where everything is and then we can take a look at the menu,” Diluc says and leads you behind the bar counter. “Two of our most important items are Dandelion Wine and Apple Cider. Both are produced at the Dawn Winery.”

As you nod, you can’t shake the feeling that his eyes are drilling right into you, scrutinizing. It’s time to make an impression with your amazing bartending skills and a few tricks you picked up in Sumeru from an old witch living in the desert.

Caramel Pinecone, Boreal Watch, Gray Valley Sunset… You nail them all.

“You’re good,” Diluc admits, unable to hide his surprise, “I might have work for you in the future, too. Where did you say you came from?”

“Liyue before coming to Mondstadt, but originally I’m from Sumeru City, born and raised,” you say as you add some finishing touches on the Wolfhook Juice. It’s the last one of Diluc’s pop quiz tests and you’re feeling rather proud and accomplished. You truly hope the feeling will last until the end of your first real shift behind the bar counter.

Diluc just hums in thought and you guess that the time for his over-exaggerated praise is over. At least you passed his tests with high marks.

“Are you ready to open the place?” he asks.

“You bet!” you reply eagerly, nervous excitement thumping inside your chest.

Diluc pauses on his way to unlock the front door and turns around. “Oh and one more thing. No tabs or free drinks. The bard is no exception.”

You nod, zero idea who he is talking about. “Got it, Master Diluc.”

“Just Diluc.” An almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips. You can truly tell why he has hoarded all those unofficial titles and amassed his popularity among Mondstadters.

The man is hot.

“You got it, boss. Diluc.” You quickly correct yourself and grimace.

Diluc acts as if you said nothing.

Good thing you were already mentally prepared to embarrass yourself in his company.

Your first shift at the tavern is fortunately a calm one. Diluc hangs by the bar counter, not giving out a word of advice, praise or criticism. It’s almost easy to forget he exists. You just need to focus very hard on everything you’re doing and not dare to look his way, which proves difficult because the blazing red hair is constantly disturbing your peripheral vision.

At some point Diluc steps out for a few hours to “take care of some business” and you find yourself breathing a little easier. The work is going better than you anticipated. It will be easy Mora.

As the last of the tavern patrons twaddle out close to midnight, Diluc scoots by closer. You raise your eyes from polishing the glass in your hands.

“We should call it a night. I’ll show you how to lock this place up,” he says and grabs a key from his pocket. “Take this.”

“Right, thank you.” He drops the key to your open palm. It reminds you that you don’t have a place to stay in the city. The previous night you slept in your old, leaky tent, but surely there are better options.

“Listen, I just arrived in Mondstadt, so…” you begin and inhale to calm the distress in your voice. You don’t really have the funds to pay for accommodations.

Diluc’s brows raise a bit. Another assessing glance washes over you before you’re deemed worthy of the trust.

“You can stay here for the night and find more suitable accommodations tomorrow,” he offers and adds: “But only for tonight.”

“Oh, thank you! I promise I’m not planning on drinking the bar empty on my own.” You even manage a small chuckle at your own sad joke. Diluc doesn’t acknowledge it.

“There’s a room upstairs, first door left,” he says. “But first I’ll show you how the locks work, come on.”

—

→ Vol. 2 Friend or Foe: The Cavalry Captain - Coming soon!

[creative-frequency]

Got some Diluc qued for tonight 🥰

[creative-frequency]

Wriothesley x F!Reader: #73 “This can’t be real.”

I don't know what is going on here, but enjoy a drabble!

This was supposed to be your amazing vacation week in Fontaine.

Instead, you’re sitting in a lone chair in a mostly empty room. A single lightbulb hangs hauntingly above your head, your wrists handcuffed to a heavy, plain metallic table. You have absolutely no idea how you ended up in an interrogation room — of all things.

A tall man with dark hair slams his hands against the table, and you jump slightly, startled by the sudden sound. You’d gotten used to the silence in the room. You look at him — his blue eyes glow dangerously. His expression is nothing short of menacing, with a cold seriousness that chills you to the core. The table feels like it’s growing colder by the second.

“Let’s start from the top,” he says, placing a photo on the table. There’s a jar full of jam in the photo and you recognize it instantly. But you act indifferent.

“What were you planning on doing with this jam?”

You blink, incredulous, your gaze shifting from him to the photo, and back again.

“We found this in your bag,” he continues, his tone quiet but coiled, ready to strike.

“Are you aware of the Fontainian laws, miss?”

You lean back against the chair’s backrest in a feeble attempt to distance yourself. A chill runs down your spine.

“You claimed to the officer of the Marechaussee Phantom that you didn’t have any — clearly, you lied.”

You look at the picture again, recognizing your own handwriting on top of the jar.

“I— It’s not mine— I mean, it is, but I swear I don’t remember bringing it with me!” you stammer, nervous prickles dancing along the back of your neck.

His cold expression shifts into a triumphant half-smirk, as if he’s finally cornered you.

“How convenient,” he hums, straightening up and melting into the shadows.

“You just happened to forget.”

“...This can’t be real,” you mutter, pressing your face into your palms.

He bends down with a satisfied grin.

“See? That’s how easy it is to corner criminals.”

You lift your head from your hands with a pout.

“You’re just mean.”

Wriothesley chuckles and unlocks the cuffs, his hands brushing against yours—lacking the coldness they held earlier in the room.

“Such a shame I have to uncuff you already. Wanna go again?”

“I think you’re enjoying this way too much,” you laugh. “You’ll have to do it over a cup of tea next time. I do have job privileges, after all.”

“Are you bribing me with tea?” he tuts playfully.

“Only if it works.”

“Better brew it strong,” Wriothesley murmurs slyly, “I play rough.”

[creative-frequency]

"Take away their free will and they call you a tyrant, allow them to indulge it, and they become tyrants."

Raphael, Baldurs Gate 3

[creative-frequency]

Peel me an orange trend with

Raphael/ his favorite client 👀

Would you peel the devil an orange? 🍊👀 I wouldn't lol

Raphael x GN!Reader: Oranges

You woke up with a jolt and a raspy breath. Snugly covered in silken sheets, you made an effort to move your sore limbs. The bed carried the easily recognizable scent of palmarosa and pepper, but there was something else too. Something citrusy, maybe oranges?

As per usual, when your memories of the events leading up to your current disposition were hazy at best, you found yourself in the House of Hope. It was probably the eighteenth time. Or the twentieth. You weren’t exactly counting anymore.

“Still drawing breath, I see. How fortunate.”

It hurt to direct your eyes to the devil sitting in an armchair by the bed. No horns or wings today. His fingertips were pressed together and – well, fuck – did he look pissed.

“H-hey,” you greeted him in a hoarse voice. How long had you been out this time? Hours? Days? A week? You felt as if you had been wrestling with a pit fiend and lost.

Raphael’s frown deepened and his brows knitted together. He leaned forward in his seat and you could feel the aura of strong… displeasure radiating from him. It might not take many more times like this for him to finish you off himself, any contract be damned.

“Consider this the first and last time I will dig you from under a pile of bodies,” Raphael said in a tone as smooth as the sheets wrapped around your undeniably naked body.

This tone was worse than the times you had seen him lose his composure; it implied you had really been within an inch of your life – and so had his existence, by extension. You swallowed. Some pieces of distressing and gory memories surfaced and you felt sick. You had to pull at every bit of your willpower to not puke. What in the sweet Hells had happened?

Raphael stood up promptly, no doubt having only waited to see your eyes open and declare you alive. It was a habit he had formed during the previous seventeen times you had woken up in his house.

“Here, eat. You’ll need your strength to recover,” he said, motioning to the side table.

You turned to see pieces of a colourful fruit, neatly laid on a silver plate. That was why you had smelled oranges. The sweet scent was mouth-watering.

You cleared your throat and said: “Um, hey Raph?”

The devil stopped in his tracks, glaring at you over his shoulder. He absolutely hated the nickname, but it had never stopped you from using it. Annoying him was the greatest pastime House of Hope could offer.

“Thanks. I’ll pay you back for this one,” you continued, voice still a bit shaky and hoarse.

One side of Raphael’s mouth curled up and he nodded. “Rest now.”

And rest you did. And ate oranges. For three days you barely left the bed after initially going for a hunt for clothes. Raphael showed up only once a day to check that you were recovering. Haarlep kept you company and you accelerated the Archivist’s descent into madness by making him fetch you books from the library at least fifteen times a day. Raphael didn’t want you to socialise with his indebted souls, so besides the devil, you only talked to the incubus and the unlucky tiefling.

On the fifth day, Haarlep had trusted you with a knife and you were just digging into the second orange when Raphael walked in.

Once again in his human guise, his head tilted at the sight of you sitting up on the bed, a book splayed open across your lap and a knife and an orange in hand. Disapproval settled onto his features. You didn’t really care if you made a mess. He could always undo it with a snap of his fingers.

“Peel one for me?” Raphael asked and paced closer.

“I most certainly will not,” you replied instantly and plopped a piece of the juicy fruit into your mouth.

He sat down in the armchair and hummed. “A pity.”

“Can I leave today? I’m feeling fine now,” you said casually and chewed the fruit without any regard for table manners. Though, technically you were eating in bed.

“If you so insist,” Raphael nodded, “Although, there is one more matter I would raise.”

“What’s that?” you asked and munched on the last piece. Before leaving, you would have to ask Haarlep where Raphael got the fruits. They were delicious.

“As this was not a transaction, you’re not obliged to ‘pay me back’ as you so aptly put it, but I would request a small favour,” Raphael said and rested his ankle on his knee, fingertips once more pressed together as if he was negotiating a contract.

You groaned. Of course he wanted something. “And that would be?”

Raphael’s lips curled into a foreboding smile and he said:

“Peel me an orange.”

Any hint of amusement died from your face. “You’re truly the pettiest person I’ve ever met.”

[creative-frequency]

DAY 6: Neuvillette (Genshin Impact) x Reader: 10. “If I could go back in time, I’d still choose you.”

It’s raining in the Court of Fontaine.

You take a lingering look outside as you pass a window inside Palais Mermonia. The weather looks miserable; you see people darting here and there on their business down at the plaza. Plump raindrops splatter against the window in a gush of strong wind and start a diagonal race down the surface.

Your eyes close for a heartbeat. There is something comforting in the rain and the sounds of its rhythmic dance. It soothes an ache you never realise you’re feeling on a clear day.

“Is… everything alright?”

The soft tone startles you, but simultaneously you recognise the voice.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” You curtsy before the Iudex, pulling your eyes off the cloudy, grey sky. “Apologies, I was… daydreaming.”

You look up to see Neuvillette chuckling quietly, looking endlessly amused for some reason.

“It’s quite alright. The weather has me feeling ponderous, too,” he says and casts a look of his own through the window. Only it seems that his eyes see far more than yours ever could.

You take advantage of the quiet moment to inspect him. Since you were just on your way to see Neuvillette, this seems as good a time as any to broach the topic.

“Monsieur…” you start and pause to find the right words.

“Is there something on your mind?” Neuvillette asks, head tilting and slightly leaning forward on his cane. His full attention weighs on you, prodding at the insecure thoughts swirling in your mind.

“I’ve been wondering… You never told me exactly why you chose me for this?”

The words are out in a surge of desperation and it feels like jumping from a ledge into the great deep sea. Momentarily, the impact on the surface stuns you, but quickly you’re able to gather your bearings and face the Iudex with your head held high.

His expression is contemplative with a flash of warm curiosity. He has probably been waiting for you to ask this for a while now.

Neuvillette steps closer, carefully, and reaches out to take your hand into his. He cradles your hand between his palms, humming to himself. Warmth swells inside your chest at the contact.

“I chose you, so you could reach your full potential, undisturbed,” he finally replies in a soft voice.

You huff in disbelief. “You must regret the decision already.”

“If I could go back in time, I would still choose you.” 

Neuvillette’s hold tightens just slightly, as if emphasising the words. Your heart flutters like the wings of a tiny bird taking flight. The connection you feel is not just physical, but there is something deeper as you gaze into his searching, lilac eyes. The moment lingers and the raindrops continue pummeling the window as you stand still in the corridor.

[creative-frequency]

Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader: Bright Time

Word count: 2321 Pairing: Inquisitor Cal Kestis x Reader Notes: Thank you all for the support and the lovely messages I’ve been receiving concerning this fic. You guys are definitely what has kept me writing since I never would’ve thought anyone else would be interested in this Inquisitor AU. So, thank you ❤️ This is the third part of the series!

Previous Part

My Writing Masterlist

It’s been another tedious week in Fortress Inquisitorius. Each day has been filled with dull tasks, really making you work for what they pay you. In a sense, you’re glad that there is no shortage of work but still time has moved extremely slowly. You’re anxiously waiting for any sign or a message from a certain Inquisitor.

You haven’t heard of or seen Cal ever since the day you fixed the melted control panel of the door to his quarters. Just thinking about the incident makes your blood boil and the Inquisitor will certainly get what he deserves. Somehow, one day. The details are still a little unclear, but you’re determined.

Keep reading

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Rafayel / Reader: Starfish

You and Rafayel fall into a comfortable after-mission routine. Established relationship, rated E for adult content, very vanilla smut Word count: 3k

27 new messages.

14 missed calls.

Dammit. You tuck the phone into a pocket.

“Is something wrong?” Tara asks.

You raise one shoulder to your ear in an attempt at half-shrug and pull the woolen sweater over your head. After four days on a mission and wearing the hunter’s uniform, the soft material feels like a fleecy, puffy cloud on your clean-scrubbed skin.

“Oo-kay,” Tara mumbles at your non-answer and watches as you speedrun your way through the motions; brush your hair, throw all the necessary things from the locker into your backpack, and break the Linkon City record of tying shoelaces.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to grab a bite on the way home?” she attempts, still blinking.

“No, sorry, I need to go…” You flash her a smile that is hopefully apologizing.

You toss the hair brush into the bag and quickly hop on the bench in front of the locker to see if you forgot anything on the upper shelf.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Tara chuckles, mostly to herself.

You hop down and zip up the bag.

“See you later! Good job today,” you say on the way as you rush out of the door, fingers already fishing your phone out of your pocket.

You tap at the notifications and pick the number that has tried to reach you 14 times in the past three days.

“Sorry, the number you dialed is not in the mood for phone calls. Please try again later–”

Straight to voicemail, of course. You make a one-eighty on the street and head towards the closest bus stop.

Not surprisingly, the iron gate into the art studio is open when you arrive. Everything looks peaceful in the morning sun. It’s a perfect day for a brunch on the terrace – would the owner of the place be so inclined. You press your thumb into the front door lock, half-expecting a rude beep and red light, but it opens with a soft click.

With so many missed phone calls and incoherent messages mostly consisting of sad emojis and “what r u doing?” and “where r u??? call me”, you expected the place to be ransacked either by art thieves or fans.

You grumble and groan under your breath, kicking your shoes to the side before stepping into the foyer. The large place is as full of light and gentle sea breeze as always. The wind from the open studio windows has carried a few sketches to the foyer to litter the floor.

“It’s difficult to keep you safe, when you can’t be bothered to lock the gate!” you yell as a way of greeting.

Rafayel appears from his studio, bare feet tapping against the wooden floor and wearing a casual (casual for him) navy blue shirt and dark pants. He frowns as your eyes meet, folds his arms and leans a hip against the doorframe.

“Oh, look, you’re not dead,” he jeers, eyebrows scrunched.

You roll your eyes. “I was on a mission, as you well know.”

“I do?”

Abandoning your backpack on the nearest free surface, you shuffle up to face Rafayel, mirroring his pose.

“I sent you a message,” you say in a conciliatory tone.

Rafayel pulls his phone from a back pocket in a theatrical gesture and opens the private chat between you two. The 27 messages from him, most recently consisting of question marks and emojis, flood the screen. He shoots you a meaningful look, and scrolls up in grand motions, up to the last message he has received from you.

It’s an image of tacos from a street vendor cart.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. Unbelievable. You quickly open the same chat and come to the undeniable realisation that you never actually sent the message informing Rafayel you would be out on an unexpected mission for a few days. You click send and his phone buzzes.

“Better late than never,” you quip and peek up from under your lashes to see if he is actually mad.

“You forgot about me,” he whines and pouts, but not really. His signature tell is revealing that he is trying to hold back that gorgeous smile. It makes his cheek twitch. The fishie is trying to set up a trap.

You narrow your eyes and poke that twitch.

“Ow, hey–! You’re ruthless…”

He swats the hand away first, then grasps it from the wrist as you’re about to pull away, and rubs the spot your finger dug into.

“I can see right through you,” you deadpan to which he rolls his eyes, now bright and amused.

He uses the hand he is holding hostage to reel you closer. It’s impossible to look away and every inch that disappears from between your bodies makes your heart beat faster. Right until it’s racing and your cheek is pressed to Rafayel’s chest. You close your eyes and inhale; he smells like the salty sea breeze, fresh linen, and faint nodes of distilled turpentine, which reveals that he was painting when you walked in.

“Whatever you say, Miss Bodyguard.”

“I’m sorry that I made you worry,” you mumble against his chest.

Rafayel’s fingers tread lightly into your hair and he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, but he doesn’t reply.

You stay like that for a short minute. It’s comfortable and safe and just right – like a tranquil breeze seeping into your soul, reminding you of the definition of calm. Right there, you’re home. After one last inhale, you tip your head back to see Rafayel’s face. His eyes are bright and content.

In wordless agreement, Rafayel leans to press his mouth gently on yours. His lips are as soft as always; the perfect warmth in the perfect motions and you barely register your surroundings anymore.

He pulls away too soon, but not before a deadly lick of his tongue on your lower lip. Heat rises to your face. Stupid siren.

“Shower, nap or dinner?” Rafayel asks, apparently satisfied with his payback as he is falling into your comfortable after-mission routine.

You step towards the large living room which also functions as his studio. A new canvas is propped against the wall. It's only painted with a turquoise hue that reminds you of a tropical ocean. Different colors of paint are littered on nearby surfaces with splatters of them on the floor, and the large windows are open to let in as much of the natural daylight as possible. The curtains wave gently in the sea breeze. Everything looks just as it was before you left for your mission.

“I already showered at the HQ,” you reply and are about to slump down on the plush, orange couch, but Rafayel grabs your elbow and turns you towards the bedroom.

“Then I’ll cook while you nap,” he says gently.

“I’ll help.” Your body is so exhausted but you don’t want to waste a minute together by taking a nap. You try to resist, but Rafayel decisively ushers you forward.

“Do I need to tug you in bed, cutie?”

“Depends…” you reply and allow him to walk you into his bedroom. The flick of his soft tongue still warms your lower lip like a faintly smoldering spark of fire.

His bedroom is a large, circular room surrounded by high, ornamental windows and a glass dome roof. Intricate knick knacks litter most surfaces and some lay on the floor, next to the walls. You spot a new sundial and a small-scale model of the solar system. He must have been doing some online shopping again.

In the middle of the room lies a large king-size bed, covered in white sheets and a cream-colored duvet.

“Rest. You can later tell me all about the Wanderers you defeated,” Rafayel urges.

At his insistence, you climb on the bed, pulling the bedspread to the side. You take off the sweater and drop it on the floor, leaving only your top and the comfortable leggings on.

“I’ll wake you in an hour,” Rafayel murmurs and presses another kiss into your hair. He pulls the duvet up to your chin, tucking you in neatly. 

Comfortable warmth floods into your soul and exhaustion washes over you like the tide as soon as you let your body relax. The sheets smell like Rafayel and that alone is enough to lull you into a deep sleep.

“Sweet dreams, cutie,” you think you hear Rafayel murmur as you fall into the ocean of slumber.

A blink passes and you stir into gentle fingers drawing stars and circles on your bare arms.

“Mmh?”

“I witnessed a miracle,” Rafayel whispers somewhere close.

“Huh?” You try to blink away the sleep and focus your gaze on him. He sits at the side of the bed, leaning towards you. His eyes glint with mischief.

“This is the first time I’ve seen a person transform into a starfish.” He chuckles. “You really conquered the whole bed like that, cutie.”

Your arm flails out from underneath the duvet, about to smack the sass out of him, but Rafayel snags your wrist and brings it to his lips.

“Dinner is ready,” he hums with a grin. He inhales the scent of your skin, lips grazing the inside of your wrist. A tender feeling whooshes into your middle; A tsunami of yearning.

“It can wait,” you reply.

You cup Rafayel’s chin and pull him down. From his sitting position by the bed, he has to lean over you to take purchase from the mattress – he eyes you curiously, the depths of those pearly eyes taking on more of the red, fiery hue. Soon he docks into a sweet, unhurried kiss.

Your hands wander over his cheeks, neck and shoulders, and into his soft, lush curls. You hum into the kiss, content but eager for more.

Suddenly Rafayel pulls away and throws a leg over you, straddling you over the duvet. He locks your wrists over your head with one hand, an almost predatory gleam in his eyes. A tide of familiar excitement rushes over you, leaving a pulse of wanting in its wake.

You should’ve known this fishie would trap you as soon as you laid down your guard. And yet, you don’t mind.

Rafayel leans down to kiss your neck. Each small, wet sound adds a drop into the need pulsing in your core. You arc to allow him better access. Rafayel’s scent fills your nose. Familiar, safe, comforting. The fingertips of his free hand continue creating art on your skin, finding and caressing every soft and sensitive spot.

“I take it you’re not hungry for food yet?” he murmurs low against your collarbone. His vice loosens on your wrists.

“Starving,” you quip and seize the opportunity to reach up to unbutton his shirt.

Rafayel chuckles low, sending ripples of desire through you that concentrate into that sweet aching sensation between your thighs. He tosses his shirt to the floor, revealing his toned chest, and helps you out of the top before eagerly claiming your mouth. His damned tongue peeks out skim across your lower lip and for a surging second you need him so much it hurts. Every shallow, hungry breath of his is music to your senses. Every spot your skin touches him leaves flames of desire in its wake. The need is all-consuming and you love every breathy moment of it.

The duvet is still crumpled between your bodies, like a sheen of pesky propriety. You start yanking it off, trying to reach body contact. Rafayel moves to the side, off you. He peels back the covers and you seize the chance to switch positions.

“Ah–!”

Rafayel’s yelp of surprise urges you on as you plant your lips on his exposed collarbone. You deftly ignore the flash of disappointment on his beautiful face and focus on coaxing out the blush on his cheeks. Your tongue flicks out in vengeance.

Rafayel’s chest starts to rise and fall more rapidly, his body squirming under you. His hardening length starts to grow against your thigh and you heed it with a grinding motion. He inhales sharply and his fingers grasp your bare hips.

You grind again, slower and with more intent. Rafayel groans under his breath. Your mouth trails over his neck and with each grazing kiss you can feel every anticipatory twitch of his cock.

When you look up from your ministrations, you’re rewarded with a sweet blush and an annoyed, but surrendering look. Rafayel’s bright eyes hold an almost pleading glaze. It’s been too long since you’ve had each other. The longing boils in your bones and souls as if the fire on your skins has just seeped deeper.

You straighten up to get rid of your leggings. The moment you’re about to unceremoniously yank your panties off too, Rafayel’s hands find yours and stop you. Distracted by the following kisses, you don’t get to see the expression on his face when he slowly removes your hands and caresses a finger down the front of your panties. 

You shudder with pleasure, barely containing a moan.

Rafayel smiles into your lips and continues gently circling the tips of his fingers over the cloth. The resulting pulsating ache has surely ruined your panties with wetness. Another tsunami of need crashes to the shore and you palm the front of his bulge. Rafayel is momentarily distracted so you start fidgeting with his belt, relieving him of it.

“So impatient…” he mumbles, moving on to help you with the task.

Rafayel pulls his pants down, freeing his hard, beautiful length. Your fingers curl around him carefully, luxuriating in the feel of him. Your mouth waters with anticipation and you give him a couple of good strokes, unable to wait for him to sink into you. Rafayel’s breathing grows ragged and his eyes fill with pleading that he can’t quite mask with all that usual bravado.

“I want you,” you whisper into his ear, fingers around his cock that twitches as the words sink in.

Rafayel essentially pushes your back to the bed, climbing on top of you while shedding the rest of his clothing. Your mouths barely pull apart and you ache, ache so much to feel him – can almost feel him already as he hovers on top of you.

Rafayel seems to want you as urgently as you do him – with a rigid motion, he drags his cock over your beseeching entrance, smearing the head with your wetness. You feel his delicious length as it slides back and forth, teasing, preparing you while his lips wander down on your neck and chest.

His mouth circles around your budding nipple and that damn tongue flicks out just as he pushes inside you, deep and slow. Your inner muscles spasm a little at the sensation of pure pleasure, a sure sign that it’s been too long.

Rafayel drags himself out of you carefully and gives you a couple of shallow, experimental thrusts. He kisses you deeply on the mouth, tongue skimming over your lips in a plea of entrance, and starts moving at a slow pace, dragging out every inch until the very tip of his cock, then buries himself right back into your heat. He feels so perfect. Every time, every thrust and pull. Your siren.

The muscles on his arms bunch as he holds himself over you, hips conjoing with yours in a steady rhythm like the ocean waves. You kiss Rafayel’s lips and let yourself drown into the rhythm, taking in every inch that he deigns to give you. Each smooth push and pull, every inhale, your hands caress across his body, finding soft edges and hard muscle and he thrusts and thrusts.

Your release builds steadily, closer, inevitable and all-consuming like the tide’s pressure until it hits the point of release with a drive of his hips. Gasps of air fill the sea of pleasure. Rafayel’s hips stutter against yours and he pushes deep to reach his own release. His cock spasms inside you as you clench around him, waves of ecstasy finally surging forth from the motion, satisfying and calming. His breaths are hot and moist in the crook of your neck as you come together.

You love, love, love this so much. Love him so much it has long since stopped making sense. Your fishie, your siren.

Your Rafayel.

Out of breath and satisfied, neither of you is in a rush to leave the bed. Head resting on Rafayel’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, you want for nothing.

Except maybe the dinner waiting in the kitchen since your stomach makes a gurgling protest of a sound, at which Rafayel chuckles lightly, still catching his breath.

You turn to peer at him. His fingers lazily draw patterns over your ribs.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” you say as your eyes meet.

“You already apologized, cutie,” he responds. His eyes are soft, swirling whirlpools of blue sea and red flames that have been quenched, for now.

“I know. I just… thought how mad I would be if our roles were reversed.”

Rafayel smiles and his arm coils tighter around you. He presses a kiss into your hair.

“Actually, I called the Dispatch Center and they told me the UNICORNS were on a mission,” he explains without a shred of remorse.

For a few seconds, you just gape at him. You should’ve known. Sneaky siren.

“Uh-huh. When did you and Colin become so chummy?” you ask since what else is there to really ask.

Rafayel grins and tries to hide it by pressing a kiss to your palm. You roll your eyes and decide to let it go. For now.

“C’mon, dinner should be perfect by now,” Rafayel says.

He tugs you closer from the hand and catches you into a deep kiss.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he murmurs, barely an inch away, as if confessing a great secret.

Maybe it is, one shared just between you two. After all those worried phone calls and texts, you should think so. You show him a conspiratory smile and say:

“Me too.”

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I'm going to be binge reading a bunch of your asks tomorrow and then day after, because I am going to be in dire need of a distraction. Just wanted to thank you for posting, because it means I have something to distract myself from my ever growing dread (anxiety is ✨fun✨ like that). 🫠

(I'm so sorry, it seems that I totally missed this ask and it was probably sent ages ago TT_TT)

I sincerely hope you're now doing better, dear anon 🧡 anxiety is a real bitch. If reading brings you even a moment of solace, please indulge. Sending you virtual hugs and support!

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I request #22 with Caleb! 😜

Save a plane, ride a pilot? ✈ Rated M for the horny.

Caleb x Reader: 22. A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.

Today, another one of Caleb’s hidden talents is revealed: he is really fast at pitching a tent.

“Wow, that took less than five minutes,” you say in awe and clap your hands.

You’re camping in the national park outside Linkon. The impromptu trip was poorly planned and only cooked up because you found an unopened bag of marshmallows that needed roasting, and Caleb remembered his old tent was lying around at his place. So, you took the chance to pack camping supplies and take a shuttle bus to the national park area. After trekking for a few hours, you decided it was remote enough to set up the tent. Which Caleb managed in three minutes and forty-two seconds with the aid of his Evol.

“My record is one and a half minutes,” he brags nonchalantly and swipes his hair back from his forehead.

Eagerly, you crawl inside the two person tent and sit cross-legged in the middle of it. The scent of the resinous forest and the tent cloth permeate the air. Distant memories from your youth lurk in the back of your mind, but obstinately refuse to surface. You can’t recall camping in the woods before, yet the scenery feels familiar.

Caleb hoists your backpacks and sleeping bags inside and follows on all fours. He is way too tall to even sit properly inside and you laugh as he tries to settle, forcing you to move closer to the wall.

Caleb shuffles around, opening and spreading the sleeping bags. He lays down on his back with a groan, then pats his chest to invite you over with a smile.

You crawl over and lean your cheek on his shoulder, safely tucked against his side.

“Tired?” Caleb asks.

“Mhm.”

“Maybe we should take a nap so you’ll have energy for later,” he says and pets your hair.

“Energy for what?” you ask with furrowed brows and tilt your head to look up at the smirk on his face. Your stomach makes a jolt that is followed by a tender feeling. He is teasing you again.

“Well, I don’t know. We still gotta eat all those marshmallows, right?”

You prop yourself up with an elbow to have a better look at his sly expression. Your eyes narrow.

“Caleb,” you warn him, prolonging each syllable.

“Yeah?”

He grabs your waist, but before he can make another move, you climb to shamelessly straddle him and start to lean down. Caleb blinks a few times, then his eyes flutter closed and a dust of pink rises to his cheeks. His grip on your waist slightly tightens. Biting your lip to hold the giggle in, you keep him waiting until his eyes open again in confusion. 

Then, you boop his nose with a finger.

“Pipsqueak..!” Caleb lets out in a mix of disappointment and disbelief, staring at you.

“I got you,” you hum, pleased at seeing him flustered.

Suddenly gravity’s pull strengthens to tilt you towards the ground and Caleb handily rolls over, ending up on top of you. He pins your wrists by your head and all your traces of amusement crash into a smoking heap.

Inside the small tent, his body seems even larger and his bright eyes fill your field of vision like purple nebulas.

You find yourself breathing much more heavily than seconds ago.

“I got you now,” he whispers with enough heat to make you spontaneously combust.

Caleb leans down, slowly, as if trying to detect any traces of resistance on your face. Surmising he finds none, he catches your lips into a kiss that starts as light as a feather’s touch. You melt under him. The kiss gradually deepens into a demanding one that makes you lose track of the center of gravity as your body orbits toward Caleb.

Your hands slip away from his grip and splay over his chest and bicep, greedily feeling out the toned muscles underneath his clothing. Caleb’s weight on you relaxes slightly and his body presses more tightly against yours as gravity tries to reclaim its share.

The kiss never pauses as if neither of you can–or want to–stop it anymore. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips and you open up to him with a content hum. The snuffling sounds of your hasty breaths fill the tent. A tender and warm pressure pulses through your body, zeroing in on the places where you feel Caleb against you. Your hands find the hem of his shirt and you began yanking it up just when–

Beep! Beep!

Your Hunter’s watch suddenly bursts with warning flashes. Caleb is already on his feet, reaching for the gun in his bag.

“Wanderers!” he exclaims, halfway through the tent flaps.

You want to stomp your feet in frustration and scream, but duty calls, so you follow suit. Next time, you will camp at the Linkon central park instead or just get a hotel.

[creative-frequency]

video game challenge: [4/7] male characters – Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3)

This is the first time in 200 years I've seen these streets in the sunlight. You can forget just how much color there is in the world.

[creative-frequency]

Gifts of Eos :: A Fan Exchange Event Blog

Hello, and welcome to the Gifts of Eos tumblr! We are currently still being put together by @primamchorus and @destinidestati at this current time, but we're looking forward to being able to organize an event that allows FFXV fans to uplift and create for one another. :>

So what's the goal of Gifts of Eos?

Community, really. Helping to bring fans together and celebrate an exchanging of fan made content. :>

Do you have a date for the event?

Not yet, but we'll post when we do! Currently discussing and making sure we know how we'll be hosting this. :>

What is allowed in the exchange?

Anything that you can make with your hands that is set within the realm of FFXV. Art, writing, music, physical goods as long as the recipient of your gift is okay with it! We are also open and receptive to fan characters within the setting. So if some people would like to say they want their FFXV OC and/or their OC ships, that's fine, too.

What artistic skill level is allowed?

Creatives of all skill levels are allowed to participate.

Will you allow Gen AI content?

If you use Gen AI, you're giving both admins and anyone else who is interested permission to melt you in lava. If we find out any of your work was made with Gen AI, we hold no reservations about blacklisting you from the event and any future events we hold.

I'm worried about being paired with someone I have blocked.

Just let us know when sign-ups are live, and we'll make it so you're not paired with that person / those people.

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fanfic writers what font do you write in

i know on ao3 it's all in verdana but when you're drafting the fic in word or docs or whatever

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Happy birthday, Caleb!

Congrats on your first on-screen smooch. You didn't disappoint!

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This is the annual notification that I started re-playing ffxv