#rc fanfictions

[sluttychanel]

He so handsome oml- 😭🫶

[dystopicjumpsuit]

DJ!!! If it's okay, for the first kiss prompt could I humbly ask for

"are you sure about this" with our voice king, Sev?

Or!!

their hearts stopping when they hear someone's camera click (a friend catching them in the act ?) with Tup?

Whichever one inspires you more! Please and thank you 💙

A/N: Thank you so much for the ask @secondaryrealm! It was so fun to get back into the swing of writing Sev. You’ll notice that I’m incapable of writing him without mentioning his voice. Voice kink gonna voice kink. Prompt is in purple!

Pairing: Sev x Reader (GN)

Rating: T, but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 519

Warnings and tags: fluff, mentions of vomit

Summary: You do Sev a solid.

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“Are you sure about this?” Sev’s deep voice rumbled in your ear, sending a tingle of awareness across your neck.

You turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Kriff, no.”

He smirked and slid his helmet into place. “Too bad.”

Without warning, he spun you around and tackled you, sending you both flying out of the LAAT/i and into the abyss as his arms clamped around your body.

You shrieked, too terrified to be embarrassed by the sound. “Oh, my gods, I’m gonna die!”

You clung to Sev, burying your face against his chestplate as you squeezed your eyes shut, clenching your jaw to try to keep from screaming again.

Sev’s low, modulated chuckle sounded through his helmet speaker. “Relax, I’ve done this hundreds of times.”

“Carrying another person?!” you demanded raggedly, still not opening your eyes.

“Uh… no,” he admitted. “That’s why we needed volunteers for the training exercise.”

Your eyes snapped open, not that it mattered, since all you could see was Sev’s armor and helmet.

“Sev,” you asked nervously, “how many times have you done this while carrying somebody?”

“This is the first. I think it’s going well.”

“I can’t believe I let Scorch talk me into this,” you groaned.

“Everyone who’s ever met Scorch has said that at some point.”

You felt your weight shift as he adjusted the flight path of his jetpack, and your stomach flip-flopped. Gods, I think I’m gonna hurl. Please, please don’t let me hurl on him, you prayed silently to the Force.

“Don’t drop me,” you begged.

“Even if I did, the tether would keep you close.” Sev seemed to sense you didn’t find that as reassuring as he thought you would, and he tightened his fingers on you briefly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

True to his word, he soon landed the pair of you safely on the ground. As he released you, your knees buckled, and he caught you just before you collapsed. He yanked off his helmet with his free hand, and you heard it thud to the ground as he tilted your head so he could see your face.

“You okay?” he asked, scanning you quickly for injuries.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said shakily. “I just need a minute.”

You willed your legs to work as you tried not to stare at his deep, gorgeous eyes or his stupid, perfect mouth that you’d been trying to ignore for months. Why does he smell so kriffing good? He has no right to smell like that. 

You cleared your throat. “I, uh, think I can stand now.”

Sev didn’t loosen the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and he stroked your cheek softly with his thumb as he held your head. You gazed into each other’s eyes, as though suspended in time, and then he closed the distance between you as his lips met yours. His lips felt exactly as soft and stupidly perfect as you’d imagined, and you sucked in a tiny, broken gasp when the kiss ended far too soon.

“Wow,” you sighed. “I’m so glad I didn’t hurl on you.”

---

Looking for spicy Sev x reader fics? Allow me to plug my incredibly spicy fic, “Turn It Up When You’re Gone” Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3. The fourth and final chapter will be dropping next month!

[webanglikethat]

an aftermath of episode 8, a life for a life. (a Devi and Ram oneshot)

also available to read here: ao3 published: 2024-06-06 words: 5,123 btw if you read this and don’t leave a comment a fairy will lose her wings

Devi held herself high, walking towards the garden, almost as if hiding behind dirt and leaves could alleviate her anxiety. she couldn't wrap her head around what had just happened, but she couldn’t let anyone know, she couldn’t let the truth slip … how ironic, how could she demand the truth, if she herself was a vessel overflowing with falsity? and yet she ran, for she knew how to do that the best after all. she had come out of the meeting with Mr Vaish, a meeting whose ending she could not have fathomed, not even in the wildest vision of her most ardent migranes. a meeting in which she had discovered a truth that had been eluding her for five years, a truth hiding right in front of her, a mindgame one might say.

Deviya Sharma was meant to die,and it was a fate she could not escape, for it had been demanded and forged by the Goddess herself.

Devi was going to die when she married Ian.

Devi was going to die, and it was going to be soon.

the prophecy had been clear and crystalline. the stars aligned to seal her destiny, perhaps even long before she drew her first breath, a victim of an inevitability that had haunted her before knowing it. this cruel revelation hung in the air like a haunting melody, echoing through the chambers of her mind, a symphony that could never cease to play from now on. tick tock, tick tock, so the clock laughed in her face, as time went on but she felt frozen in it, trapped in a glacier of her doing. the world seemed to shift beneath her feet, as if the dirth beneath the garden was stairs, and each step was an interminable reminder of the weight of the knowledge she now carried, opening and daring her to fall into the pit of her new reality. the truth, elusive and spectral, had finally unveiled itself. for half a decade, she had wandered through a labyrinth of uncertainty, her heart traveling alongside unanswered questions. but now she knew — and life would never be the same. so what was worse, she wondered, the not knowing or the knowing? which was more haunting, knowing she had been laughing and kissing her lover with an expiration date on her body, or now knowing the expiration date of not only herself, but their relationship too? how could she have not known? even a pig to slaughter would notice. the knowing was a double-edged sword. sure, it provided clarity, putting an end to the endless speculation and anxiety that had lingered in the back of her mind. but on the other hand, it brought a firm finality. the path ahead was now clear, but it was a path she had no desire to walk.

in those five years, she had seen it all; she had experienced deaths, some closer than she could process. she was lacerated with disappointment and she combatted grief, a companion that had accompanied her throughout it all, a constant reminder of that fateful night — the night her brother was taken from her and the flames of arson devoured their joint world, leaving behind an existence bereft of him and all the love she had ever known. her throat closed up as the memories surged back with a visceral force, just another force to add to the list of which she couldn't control nor possess. it was as if she were back in that burning mansion, on that damned mountain, that summer night. she could perceive it all again; from the heat searing her skin to the acrid smoke clawing at her lungs like a tiger approaching his victim. she could hear the crackling of the fire, feel the oppressive heat pushing her towards the brink of suffocation as panic gripped her chest and her heart pounded in her ears as the flames danced in her vision, a relentless specter from her past, an interminable hologram that repeated the same movie every. single. time. so welcome to the manuscript of grief, she said quietly to herself.

act one began, the lights dimmed and the flames rose. Devi could almost hear his voice, her beloved brother, beckoning her to Kamal, demanding of her to run, to just run and not look back, to hide in a safe place because it would be okay. but it wasn't okay, it surely hadn't been okay. Devi could almost smell the charred remains of their life, taste the bitterness of the loss that had settled in her mouth that night. the overwhelming dread, the frantic desperation, the helplessness, the screams, the pair of arms holding her back, scratches of nails as she fought, the clang of jewelry as she shook her face, rain mixing with tears —it was as if she were reliving the nightmare all over again.

but this time it was her life that was meant to flatline, and not his heart. (what a cruel twist, it seems the Sharma family is forever meant to star in a tragedy.)

losing her brother had felt like losing herself, as if a fragment of her soul had been cut away, shattered like their dream of a future in which they could live together in happy bliss. the taste of loss was more than a metaphor; it was a physical presence, a bitter, metallic tang that coated her mouth and refused to leave like a distant relative trying to claim what was hers. sometimes, in the middle of the night, she could swear she would sense it again — that smell of rotting flesh, the blaring and deafening gun, denying her brother of one last wish, an honorable death. and instead of running to him, she ran away, like she had promised him to, but that, my dearest goddess, didn't mean she was able to outrun the guilt. she knew it had been the right thing, the only route to ensuring her family legacy and her own safety, but it gnawed at her like a child tugging at his mother's skirt. she should've been with him that night. she should've protected him, she should've gotten him outside before anyone else, and she shouldn't have let Ram lead her away. this was her brother, half of her soul, the vessel of her blood, the echo of her existence, and she left him. and perhaps, she could have saved him, but the lasting fact is she will never know. and once again, she doesn't know what's worse: the not knowing, the guilt, or the what if, or the knowdlege that his presence had been forgotten, as she escaped the mansion with Ram. he hand't even been a thought in the back of her mind. and what is a sibling, if not the first to love you boundlessly, and the first to leave you shamelessly?

as she reached the end of the garden, hidden away from any gaze that would drown her with snotty remarks, Devi’s thoughts swirled like leaves caught in a tempest, and honestly, she thought to herself, comparing her life to a tempest was an understatement. it was a litote where each one was a fragment of the revelation of her path in life, or more accurately perhaps, the path to her death. the reality she had known, the life she had lived, now seemed like a mere fragile illusion, a puppet show designed for the immortals’ joys. how could she reconcile the world she knew with the truth that had just been unmasked? she couldn't hide it, not to herself at least. tomorrow she would wake up, raise her head proudly, wear her Sharma ring, adorn her body with jewelry others could only dream of wearing in the afterlife, participate in the Dozen's meeting, smirk and hold her foot down as she quickly remarked every word or action from the others, and she would smile as if nothing had happened, as if her life hadn't turned out to be a slaughtering transaction. she couldn't let them know and she wouldn't let them know — because any sign of weakness would be seized upon, a chink in her armor that could quickly unravel the balance of respect and authority she had fought so hard to attain along with the place she had so forcefully carved for herself in society. her presence was no longer personal, it was political. and she would do everything to not lose it, even if it meant losing herself first.

but that is the funny thing about attaching your existence to a role so strongly. the very armor you wear can become your prison. and sure, it gave Devi power and respect along with strength, but it subsequently isolated her from her own humanity. and yet, despite it all, she couldn't fraud herself into forgetting or into pretending this truth wasn't a ghost now living in her room and her mind, occupying every land and surface of her existence, as the British had done with her homeland.

and … how different truly, were the British from her destiny, she wondered. she knew it was a foolish comparison, one that could have her even imprisoned and exiled from the Dozen, because how could one compare the brutality of the invaders to the path forged by the merciful goddess herself? the British, with their seemingly insatiable hunger for power and domination, had carved a path of destruction through her land, leaving blood and hope behind every one of their footsteps. they had plundered and pillaged, leaving nothing but devastation in their wake. and the goddess — she was her creator. Devi was her child, but mothers often give birth to victims and not lovers, and Devi felt like a pawn in a game she hadn’t agreed to. so how different truly was the act of the British demolishing her country to the act of the Maharani demolishing her existence as she had known it? how difference is brutality truly, for isn’t it the same, regardless of names, status and history? the essence of brutality lies in its capacity to dehumanize and dominate, to destroy and relish in the chaos, to lead astray and drown the blindly faithful. power, whether human or divine, can be equally merciless. names and faces might change, but even a blind woman would agree that the suffering remains the same.

Devi had always been a fighter as her spirit was unbroken even by the worst trials she had faced. she hadn’t always been like this, but the death of her brother and the crowd of people beneath her, who urged her to give up her place in the Dozen, had turned her into a calculating woman. she had been a gentle and laughing child before, but she had to ice her heart because in a war between compassion and intellect, the winner was clear. “so this was no different”, she told herself. she could swim against the current, forging a new way forward. surely she could undo the reins of destiny, unstitch the tapestry of fate, and redo the prophecy. she has done this before, hadn’t she? she had showed everyone who told her a woman couldn’t possibly lead a family’s legacy that she in fact could. she could manage the finances, she could close a deal with the British Lord, she could gain the respect of Vaish, she could take part in meetings on her own without a guardian. she was Devi Sharma, head of her family, the last one remaining, a legacy standing longer than her grief so she would face whatever challenges came her way with the same stubborn determination that had carried her family through centuries. only time would tell whenever the manuscript of premeditated divine revelation would crumble first, or if it would be her stubborn heart.

as immersed as she was in her thoughts, she didn’t hear his footsteps, but she felt his presence and knew immediately who it was. she could’ve recognized him blindly, deafly even perhaps, though she wasn’t sure how that would work. after all, you do need ears to hear footsteps. she smiled to herself at her own joke. he hadn’t even approached her yet, and she was already joking around, if that wasn’t the premise of their relationship, then she didn’t know what it was. a lighthearted back and forth of teasing, of kissing between droplets of wine, of hiding behind curtains and dancing in front of thousands, of chase and run, of passion and a joy she wouldn’t have ever imagine.

Ram stood a few paces away, his expression a mix of concern and quiet determination, a mix she hadn’t seen before. his face used to be a shrine of teasing, of smirks and small smiles, which never truly left his face when she was around, but this time it was different. «Deviya», he said softly, his voice breaking through her reverie. he rarely called her by her full name, it had always been either Devi or Rakhasi — so called man-eaters monsters, his stupid yet loving nickname for her. but what better setting to use her name? so she turned to face him, her smile fading as the weight of the prophecy settled back on her shoulders. his fingers grazed her cheeks, as he often adored to do. that was the thing with Ram — he would always find an excuse to touch Devi; whether it was holding her hand to lead her somewhere, brushing his fingers over her cheek, cupping her face, putting a hand on her waist to surprise her, “trapping” her against the wall to kiss her, putting his finger on her lips, tracing words in her hair. it had always been a game of push and pull, of hide and seek. but it seemed now, they had been found and couldn’t hide, not from destiny, not from Ram’s duties as the goddess’s will’s interpreter, not from Devi’s imminent death. just uttering those words aloud asphyxiated the teasing out of Ram.

«Ram», she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. but Ram could see the turmoil in her eyes, the fear and uncertainty that had taken root — for it was a twin to the one in his own eyes. for how much she could try and hide it, Ram wasn't called a seer for nothing. he put his hand around her waist, bringing their bodies closer, as if the warmth of his body could ease the coldness of this reality, their new reality. «we can change this», he reassured her, but his eyelashes betrayed his calmness as they were shaking.

Devi let out a shaky breath, her eyes searching his, analyzing the face she had gone from finding annoying to being her only anchor in her slowly unraveling madness. «change this?» she echoed, a hint of her usual defiance creeping into her voice, the one he had learned to poke and to adore. "and how exactly do you plan to defy destiny, Ram? by charming the goddess with your smile? because that’s too egoistical even by your standards” she arched an eyebrow, looking directly at him with that signature smirk he had learned to trace even with his eyes closed at night, when he missed her the most.

Ram chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into her, a sound she wishes she could trap into a bottle, perhaps a box, so wherever she went, she could have him with her. «if only it were that simple, my dearest demon. it might have worked with you, but I don’t think it will with her» he murmured, his hand sliding up her back to cradle her head. «but I’m serious. together, we are stronger than any prophecy. we will find a way. there is no way we were connected by Mahakali, if not because there is a way, an escape. nothing she does is ever a mistake, our connection is inescapable» his fingers grazed her lips and she leaned into his touch, her fingers gripping his shirt as if holding on to him could anchor her in this storm. «always the optimist„ she teased him, «you know, despite all the fun you make of my rule breaking streak and finding trouble even with eyes closed .. if this were a game, you'd be the one breaking all the rules». «and you'd be right there beside me», he countered, his lips brushing against her forehead, letting out a barely audible sigh. «my partner in crime, my rakhasi.» Devi's smile widened, her heart lifting slightly at his words. «well, someone has to keep you in check», she quipped. «we can’t have you, Mr Doobay, running off and getting us into more trouble than we are already in.» he laughed again, a rich, warm sound that made her momentarily forget the prophecy, as she wanted to just drown in it. Devi knew how to play many instruments, knew many dances, but she had never came across a tune she liked so much that she wanted to replay it and replay it until she went deaf from it. «I wouldn't have it any other way, miss Sharma», he said, his eyes locking onto hers with a determination that sent a shiver down her spine. «we will face this together, Devi. no matter what comes. I will be by your side, even if it means abandoning everyone else’s.» 

Devi shook her head slightly, as if he just told her a joke, «how can you be by my side, when we are akin to spies in the shadows? we can’t shine in the daylight. you can’t be seen with me, I can’t be seen with you .. well not like this. we are both heirs to different legacies, so how can you promise me this?» she said, her voice shaking on the word promise. what were promises, if not meant to be broken? her brother had promised her it would be alright, but it hadn’t been. it hadn’t been, not since, not ever again. so how could she trust another promise, from another man, once again? but what she didn’t say was how she deeply dreamed to shine in the light, to raise her head proudly, him beside her, and shape her own destiny so whatever they had wouldn’t be a secret but kept akin to a prayer. for what distinction exists between the tender caress of a beloved upon her visage and the heavenly benediction bestowed upon the devout? what semblance does religion bear if not the tender embrace of her lover in the nocturnal hours? and what is prayer is not if not the fervent plea of "remain with me" uttered in the hushed dawn's embrace? what is love, if not the first religion you put your faith in?

«what are promises worth, Ram?». she continued, her tone filled with a bitter edge, shaking away her thoughts. «my brother promised to protect me, to keep our family safe, and look where that got us. promises are just words, easily broken and forgotten when the weight of the world comes crashing down. why should I believe that your promise is any different?», she asked him, almost immediately regretting the vulnerability she had let slip, like a secret she couldn’t contain. but it was alright, for she knew he would keep this moment their secret, as they already did with their relationship. it seemed they were both amazing liars and thieves of truths, just how ironic.

Ram didn’t hesitate for a single moment and pulled her closer, his embrace a fortress against the world, as if the weight of his body against her could calm her turmoil, as if that nearness could be healing. (to him it was). his gaze softened, as it often did when his thoughts traced back to her. «I can’t promise that it will be easy, or that we won’t face more challenges. we both are too smart to believe that. we could die trying, our names could be dragged into the mud if this was ever revealed, but I can promise that I will stand by you, fight for us, and never let you face anything alone. I know that together we have the power to redefine what our legacies mean and rewrite the story. lion and falcon, remember? we can take both the earth and the sky.»

Ram couldn’t believe his own words, since when had he become so sentimental? since when did he began thinking of offering himself to bear her weight? when had his mindless teasing turned into emotions he couldn’t put a label on? all his life Ram had known one thing; relationships weren’t meant to amuse or to revere. they were to carry their surname, carry the weight of their household, carry their legacy. relationships weren’t personal, they were political. an alliance, a partnership, a confederation of sorts, an union for a greater good — a good that was never considerate of his own. 

but with Devi, everything was different. her laughter, her fiery spirit, her unwavering determination, her endless teasing, that raised eyebrows accompanied with her smirk, her eyes when she felt passionate about something, her quick remarks around him — she had so quickly become more than just a fleeting companion in his hidden world. he always joked that she was caught in his trap, but he now realized that if she was flame, he was the moth. the more he tried to distance himself, the more irresistibly he was drawn to her light. that was why he always searched for her in a herd of people, that was why he searched for her condescending smile during the Dozen’s meetings. Ram had always prided himself on his control and his ability to navigate the dance of duty and expectation with precision. but with Devi, all of that seemed to fall away. her presence ignited something within him, a longing he had never known, a longing he couldn’t put a name on. or maybe he could, but he wouldn’t admit it to himself. Ram had always believed that his life was predetermined, a series of obligations and roles he had to fulfill. it wasn’t a matter or if or when. it was a clear road ahead, made of stones he couldn’t turn around and demolish. he had to carry their name, get married, have an heir, and watch the story repeat, unfold in front of his eyes for decades to come. yet here he was, offering promises he never thought he’d make, driven by an impulse he couldn’t ignore, standing in front of a woman he shouldn’t pursue. now he knew; being trapped by her was more freedom than he had ever known.

Devi looked up at him, taking in the scent of lavender and sandalwood, a scent that already felt like her own when he pulled her towards him, «those in charge bend the rules to their will. you are my equal, and .. don’t you dare laugh», she interrupted her sentence, thinking Ram would make fun of her, of little miss Sharma comparing herself to a Doobay, but he didn’t tease her so she continued «we have enough power to change rule to suit ourselves.» Ram's eyes softened as he listened. there she was, the Devi he knew, the one who was able to find escapes in the darkness, solutions to problems no one else could. that was his girl, but for how much longer he wondered. «Devi, I've never doubted your strength or intelligence. you’re not just my equal; you're my partner in every sense.» Devi smirked, raising an eyebrow. «in every sense, huh? so does that mean you'll finally start taking my advice instead of just pretending to listen?» Ram chuckled, a teasing glint in his eye, «only if you promise to stop 'accidentally' forgetting our religious rituals.» and what he didn’t tell her was how often he found himself thinking of her during those, how his eyes searched for hers, just to catch a glimpse of her walking past him. in those moments of chanting and solemn tradition, Ram’s mind often wandered to her, more often than he’d probably admit to anyone, himself at the top of the list. while others were lost in prayer, he found himself lost in thoughts of Devi. (and what is love, if not a prayer? what is a prayer, if not thinking of the one you love?). he would remember the way her eyes sparkled with defiance and mischief, how her laughter could light up even the darkest of days. he would remember how she awkwardly flirted with him when she lost the bet with the Basu twins and how he enjoyed teasing her and seeing the pink in her cheeks, a shade of roseate he could wear everyday. he remembered hearing the wildest stories about her; of her running away riding a horse and getting injured, of closing a deal along with the British Lord, of creating trouble when she couldn’t find any. so he sough her out, lingered between doors to catch a glimpse of her, pretending forgetfulness had put roots in his mind just so he could turn back and linger in her presence again. catching her had become quite a challenge, one he was willingly participating in. in his almost thirty years of life Ram had never known a sentiment even coming close to this. he had always deprived himself of feelings, for he knew he was but a pawn in a game out of his reach, and he had accepted it. as a Seer, he was expected to support Mahakali’s will, under any circumstances or situation, but here he was, defying this one simple rule for a girl he knew he couldn’t have. but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t die trying. after all, Doobays are known for being stubborn. (so in a way, he is carrying the legacy by being stubborn, isn’t he?)

Devi chuckled and nodded, «I suppose I’ll attend, as long as you’re there too» and what she omitted was how grateful she was for him. she knew he was a mere mortal like her, but sometimes it felt like he possessed a healing power in addition to his Seer skills. a power that she could feel flow in her vein whenever he reassured her, a power as intoxicating as his words were, and she was but a drunk girl, hanging onto every word, the way a spider hangs onto its web.

Devi flashed a mischievous grin, and added «you know, Ram, for someone who's supposed to be the great interpreter of the goddess's will, you're looking a bit too serious today. did you forget to consult the stars this morning, or did they just refuse to cooperate with your grand plans?» she chuckled softly, her teasing tone a welcome relief amidst the weight of their conversation. «or perhaps I’ve been spending too much time daydreaming instead of focusing on my duties», he countered, a playful glint in his eyes, leaning in closer to her. «who needs duty when I can have the thrill of chasing after you instead?» he replied, watching the pink glow on her cheeks reappear and gods, he swore he’d love to die in a sea of that same shade. Devi arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. «well, in that case, you better keep up, Mr. Doobay. because this rakhasi isn't one to be caught so easily», she declared, her voice lowering, as she challenged him.

and so he took the challenge, as he finally kissed her, her lips on his, her arms around his neck, anchoring themselves to each other like doomed lovers drowning. their lips met with an urgency born of desperation, of “stay with me” hidden on their eyelashes, of “I will” on their noses grazing axis. Ram’s lips, soft and inviting, were a sanctuary that Devi sought refuge in, her own lips a testament to the depth of his longing. how could they kiss like this, if their relationship was a mere fleeting teasing object of foolish affection? they held onto each other as if they were dissipating colors and it was okay, as long as their shadows were inked together, imprinted on an immortal book of their story. each movement was a silent plea for their love to defy the cruel hand of fate. and as she felt his smile against her lips, his fingers tightening their grip on her waist as he could transcribe his fear of losing her in that simple act, Devi knew that whatever happened, it would be alright. if her past was engulfed in flames, he was the soothing stream, quenching the fires of uncertainty. if all she had ever known was a lie, the shadows of them in this moment were the only truth she believed in. «it will be alright», she told herself, and she didn’t realize she had said it aloud until she heard Ram whisper «it will be» back.

and so, at her soon to-be-grave they stood. they knew better than to beg or fall on their knees, pleading to the sky, to their creator. but that wouldn’t stop them from trying to redo the prophecy. destiny after all is just a tapestry made of stitches, and even the greatest pieces can be undone. and if not, if the threads refused to be shattered, at least they would live with the certainty that they, in this exact moment, had existed. Deviya Sharma and Raj Doobay had existed on this day, on the day where life and death had swirled into one. they had existed on this day, and they had tried, for love is trying, trying and trying, until your last dying breath. even as the threads of their existence began to unravel like cards, they knew they would have had each other on this day. and though the threads may never break, and their love may fade into a non existence, lingering between expiration and life, in this moment of certainty, they knew they'd never be bereft of love, even if they refused to utter those four letters — those two vowels and two consonants they weren’t ready to concede and confess. all came in pair of twos — vowels, consonants, mouths, eyes, hands, promises; Deviya and Ram.

falcon and lion, sky and earth, wings and roar — Deviya and Ram. the game has just began for in death one learns life, in drowning you learn the shore, in a trap you learn resilience. their fight had just started. but for now, they would hold onto each other, for their embrace was a temple of their crafting, a religion they wouldn’t let crumble. if their destinies were anything but not each other, the pen was in their hand and they’d craft another.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

taglist: @liykaii

[angelasscribbles]

What Once Was

Fandom: Vying for Versailles (Romance Club)

Summary: Renee married someone else. But what happens when Alexandre comes back into her life?

“Madame, you have a visitor.”

Renée looked up from her writing desk curiously. She hadn’t been expecting anyone. “Who is it, Beatrice?”

Beatrice had served Renee since she had first set foot in Versailles all those years ago. She had risen from lady’s maid to maîtresse d'hôtel. Her duties now involved overseeing all the other household servants at Chateau de Marly.

“It’s Monsieur Bontemps, Madame.”

The door to the study swung wide as the mistress of house backed away, revealing Alexandre, his fingers twisting nervously at the hat clasped in his hands.

Renee rose from her desk with surprised delight and swept across the room to greet him with a hug. “Alexandre! This is a pleasant surprise! Wait….” She drew back with a worried crease across her brow, “Is all well? The king—”

“The king is fine, Madame.”

Her good mood faltered as her eyes tracked his face noting the agitation in his stance. Very little rattled the king’s spymaster. “Then why are you here?”

“I was hoping we could have a private conversation.” His eyes darted around the room. “May I come in?”

“Certainly, but I think we would be more comfortable in the small sitting room.” She stepped out of the study and led him down the hallway to the smallest of the sitting rooms. It was cozy, plush, and private.

She gave Beatrice instructions to send a maid in with tea service then she shut the door. Turning back to him, she crossed her arms and studied him closely.

He was fidgety, clearly wound up about something, which was completely out of character for him. She couldn’t help the smile that crawled across her face as she took in his agitation. “Do I still make you nervous, Alexandre?”

“You do have a way of knocking my equilibrium off balance, Madame.” He gave her a small smile.

The affection and heat in his gaze sent butterflies exploding through her stomach. “That is good to know, Monsieur.”

He arched an eyebrow skeptically, “You think me indifferent to you?”

“Perhaps.”

“I could never be indifferent to you.” The pure, undisguised longing on his face sent shivers cascading down her spine.

There was a brief lull in their conversation as the tea was served. Renee watched the maid retreat as she stirred her tea. With her eyes focused on the cup in her hand, she softly said, “You should have stayed.”

“Renee…I couldn’t stay in close proximity to you knowing I could never touch you again.”

She glanced up at him and her tone was sharp as she told him, “Those were the choices you made.”

He sighed as he carefully sat his cup on the table. It was the same argument they’d had before he had left for Geneva to serve the king’s interest in Switzerland. “You didn’t choose me.”

“I did. I simply didn’t choose only you,” she reminded him. “And it’s not like you were ever going to marry me anyway.”

“A spymaster—”

“I know. Believe me, I remember all your excuses.”

“They weren’t excuses.”

“Weren’t they?”

He didn’t answer. He had told her that they could never be a couple. He hadn’t had a noble title back then and his work made it almost impossible to conduct a love affair. But when she had accepted a proposal from the Prince du Sang, it had felt like a knife plunged into his heart.

He drew in a deep breath and decided to tell her the truth. “There’s something you don’t know, Renee. I did approach Louis about a possible match. The king had been offering to ennoble me for years. I thought, maybe…”

Renee jerked in surprise, nearly spilling her tea in the process, “What?”

“My request was rejected out of hand and when Philippe got down on one knee in front of the entire court a mere day later, I understood why.”

Louis loved him like a brother. But Philippe was his brother. And he had probably asked first. The prince was a better match for her anyway. He knew that.

Renee quickly sat her cup down and tried to quell the shaking in her hands. “Alexandre…why didn’t you tell me?”

“After witnessing firsthand your pure joy at accepting another man’s proposal? What would have been the point?” He had, instead, determined to keep his distance from her.

And yet when their paths crossed, he had found that he still could not resist her. “Do you remember that night in Paris, right before your wedding?”

Madame de France, princess, duchess, and marquise did not blush easily, but her cheeks colored at the reminder. “Of course I do. But why are you bringing that up? Why are you bringing any of it up now?”

“Pardon?”

“Why discuss these things now? After all this time?”

“Ah, yes.” And here was the reason for his visit. “Do you remember when you told me that you would recognize me anywhere?”

“Yes. And you said the same. What does that have to do with why you’re here?”

“Only that I by chance saw you last time I was in Paris on the king’s business. I only saw your profile as you climbed into your carriage, but I knew it was you.”

“And you didn’t think to say hello?”

“I started to but then I saw your son.”

“Louis-Philippe?”

“Yes. One of the servants handed him up into the carriage to you and I got a clear view of his face, Renee.”

Her heart stopped. “And?”

“And he favors neither the prince nor a certain count that you are overly fond of.”

She ignored his reference to Armand as her heart started to thump even harder. She knew exactly who the child favored but she wasn’t going to make this easy on him. Her hands and her voice were steady as she looked him directly in the eye. “What are you asking me, Alexandre?”

“Is he….is he mine?”

She jumped up from her seat and stalked across the room to stare out the window. After a long pause, she replied, “You are not a father in the way that Philippe is. You do not tuck him into bed at night nor ease his fears when the thunder booms. He does not know you.”

He stood and followed her across the room, resting a hand on her shoulder. “That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it.”

Without turning to look at him, she whispered, “Yes, he was conceived that night in Paris.”

Alexandre’s world tilted on its axis. He had known, of course, the moment he had seen the child’s face. But to have confirmation…. He dropped his hand and stepped away from her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Anger flared through her as she spun to face him and flung his own words back at him. “What would have been the point? You ran away from me fast enough the moment you didn’t like my choices.”

“But a child, Renee!”

“By the time I knew I was with child, I was already married! What would you have had me do? Put it in a letter so your enemies could use it against us both? You well know how easy it is to intercept correspondence.”

He nodded in acquiescence. He could not fault her logic. “And the Prince du Sang... does he….”

“Philippe knows. He does not care.”

“I find that hard to believe, Madame.”

“Did you think we were cuckolding him every time we were together?”

“Well…”

“I told you, before he even proposed, what our arrangement was!”

“Yes, but I—”

“You what? You thought I was lying?” She stepped closer. So close she could smell the vanilla and cardamom scent that always clung to him. So close that she could feel the heat radiating from him, sense the tension in his body, “I may lie to everyone else in service to my king and my country, but I have never lied to you nor him! I do not lie to the people that I love.”

Alexandre froze, shock, pleasure, and disbelief coursing through him at her words. She loved him?

Oblivious to his reaction to her unintentional confession, she plowed on. “And your assertation that I would have divided loyalties was preposterous! My loyalty to my husband would never put me at cross purposes with you, Alexandre and you know it! Philippe loves his brother and is loyal to him. Furthermore, I do not tell him everything that I know or that I do. He understands and respects the need for discretion when it comes to my duties as a spymaster! He would never ask me to betray—”

“Alright! Alright!” He held both hands up in surrender with a bemused chuckle.

“It’s not funny, Alexandre!” She stood in the middle of the room, just inches from him, cheeks red and chest heaving with emotion.

He was struck nearly speechless by her beauty. She was even more breathtaking when she was angry. How was that possible? He took an involuntary step toward her.

She froze, her eyes trained on him, but she didn’t back away.

He took another step toward her, this one purposeful.

They stood, unmoving, staring into each other’s eyes; two hearts pounding in anticipation. He lifted a hand and reached out for her just as the sitting room door banged open.

“There you are, my love! I—oh! I didn’t realize we had company.” The prince stopped short, causing the chevalier who had been hot on his heels to collide into his backside.

Alexandre jerked his hand back and stepped away awkwardly. “My prince! I…” he executed a low bow. “So lovely to see you again.”

Philippe’s eyes took in the valet’s flushed and guilty expression and then his wife’s stoic demeanor. Renee had not backed away when he entered the room. She had stood her ground. Her ire was evident and he smothered a smile. He understood everything. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Alexandre, but let’s not pretend you came here for me.”

“I….” For the first time in his life, Alexandre was struck completely speechless.

Renee finally moved, closing the distance to greet her husband with a hug and a quick peck on the cheek. She murmured in his ear, “He knows about Louie.”

“Hm,” he hugged her back, but his gaze was trained on his brother’s spymaster.

Renee moved around her husband to greet the chevalier with the same hug and kiss she had just given her husband. “How was grouse hunting?”

“As usual, we didn’t find a single grouse but at least we didn’t end up drunk in a fountain again.” The chevalier laughed at his own joke as he returned her hug. Not a day passed that he didn’t count his blessings.

There had been a time when the king had been adamant that Philippe make a political marriage, likely to some English noblewoman who would expect fidelity from him. He would forever be grateful that Louis had allowed the prince to marry Renee and that Renee had never blinked at the relationship between the two men. Now he practically lived at Chateau de Marly and was both a godfather and cherished uncle to their son. They functioned very well as a threesome and while his whole heart belonged to the prince, he wasn’t completely indifferent to Renee.

He also liked the life they had built together very much so he glared suspiciously at the intruder. “Why are you here, Monsieur Bontemps?”

Finally recovering, Alexander stiffly replied, “I had some…business to discuss with the duchess.”

Renee snorted. “Business? Is that what this is, Alexandre?”

He flushed scarlet which caused the other two men in the room to laugh.

The prince spoke first. “Let’s drop the pretense, shall we? Renee and I have no secrets from each other nor do I keep secrets from the chevalier. His discretion is not in question. You may speak freely. Everyone in this room knows that Louis is your son. So why are you really here?”

“Do you wish to challenge me to a duel, Monsieur?” Alexandre asked carefully.

Philippe looked at him askance. “Why would I do that?”

Alexandre shook his head slowly. “Most men in your position would.” It was dawning on him that Renee had been telling the full truth of the matter. Philippe showed no signs of rage or jealousy.

Of course, it was an open secret at court that his affair with the chevalier never ended, but for most men indulging their own desires did not mean they were tolerant of their wives doing the same.

Philippe’s face broke into a wide smile. “When have you ever known me to be like most men? Come now, stay for dinner and we can discuss everything.”

“As tempting as that sounds…I have some urgent business matters I must attend to tonight. However….”

“Yes?”

“With your leave, I would like to visit the child. As a family friend, of course. I would never disclose the true nature of our relationship to him.”

“You want a relationship with our son?” Renee asked so quietly he almost missed it.

Turning to face her with beseeching eyes he answered her. “If it pleases you, then yes.”

Renee closed her eyes briefly as she fought against the onslaught of conflicting emotions that collided inside her at the thought. When she opened them again, she blinked up at him. “I think I would like that very much.”

Profound relief swirled through him at her answer. He had not known what to expect when he knocked on her door, but things had gone better than he could have imagined. Turning his attention back to Philippe, he asked, “And this is alright with you?”

“It is. You’ll find Louie is a capricious and wild little hellion who delights in his friendships with children and adults alike. I think he’ll be good for you.”

Alexandre barked out a surprised laugh. “He’ll be good for me?”

“Yes….” Philippe drawled out with a mischievous grin. “I think you need to loosen up and he’s just the person to help you do it.”

The king’s valet turned to go but an idea had taken root in his mind and he could not let it go. Turning back he asked, “And your wife?”

“What about her?”

“May I have permission to resume our….friendship?”

“Oh, he wants to court your wife!” The chevalier chortled out loud.

“Monsieur,” Philippe shook his head. “You disappoint me. I thought you understood. You do not need my permission. You need hers.”

Alexandre turned slowly, his heart thudding in his chest. “Madame. I would be most grateful if you would agree to indulge me in a conversation soon. I think we have many things to discuss.”

“For how long?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How long will these discussions go on? When do you leave again?”

He nodded in understanding. “Given today's revelations, and assuming you will continue to welcome me as a visitor in your home, I will start making the preparations to return to my house in Paris immediately and permanently.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment and then she nodded. “I would like you to get to know our son and I would be open to you and I having a conversation about where we go from there.”

He couldn’t help the smile that crawled across his face. He left the chateau with a spring in his step.

The truth was, he had not been happy since he’d left court shortly after her wedding. He hadn’t thought he could share her, open relationship with her husband or not. But an even larger concern had been his fear of openly loving her, thereby making her a target for his enemies, which were many.

He would never be comfortable being physically affectionate with her in front of others, he was more private than that, but if there was still a relationship to be had with her, there couldn’t be a more perfect cover than her marriage. No one ever had to know what she meant to him, or that he had a child. They could therefore never be used against him.

The thought of rekindling what they once had made him feel something he hadn���t felt in a long time….happiness.

It was entirely possible that things had worked out for him after all.

[longbobmckenzie]

dream hunter - Titian/Evthys (SCN)

First of all, thanks so much to @queen-of-boops for gifting me this GORGEOUS artwork of my man Titian. The work was commissioned from @erixadraws who did an amazing job!!

Second, I've been working on this Titian/Eva fic for legit 5 months, and it's fiiiiinally done! Hope you enjoy!

Summary:

It’s a good thing shesmu don’t dream… or this man might haunt hers.

Wordcount: 8,995

Rating: Explicit

read dream hunter on AO3

[lucas-koh]

KISS, KILL

In his dreams, he kills her.

But the worst dreams are the ones where he doesn't.

Amen (Song of The Crimson Nile - Romance Club) x Eva. This is a dark fic so please read and heed the tags.

[0shewrites0]

Me when I read my mutual’s fics:

Lmao I swear some of y’all’s fics are hitting harder than books from professional writers and I love that

[dutifullynuttywitch]

Heaven's Secret 1: Revisited

Series summary: This is a completely self-indulgent rewrite of Heaven’s Secret 1. It will stay mostly true to the original story, delving into some of the main characters’ motivations and POVs, and more world-building. Expect a Dino-Lucifer-f!MC love triangle and explorations of Vicky's relationship with Malbonte. Other pairings may come up.

Swearing, graphic descriptions of violence and smut to be expected.

Fic is on Ao3

Chapter 1: Dying

Chapter 2: First Assignment

Chapter 3: Dark omens

Chapter 4: Visiting Hell

Chapter 5: Death of an unclaimed

Chapter 6: Angelic hospitality

Chapter 7: Assignments on earth: Race day

Chapter 8: Satan's Punishment

Chapter 9: Offense is the best defense

Chapter 10: The Flying Tournament

Chapter 11: Push and Pull Ⓜ️ (cw: smut NSFW Dino x f!mc)

Chapter 12: An assignment with the Prince of Hell

Chapter 13: A Mexican getaway Ⓜ️ (cw: smut NSFW Adi x Sammy; major character death)

[trudemaethien]

How about Sev/Glitch and "fill, separation, registration"? (Asdfghjkl those are genuine results i got and i have the screenshots to prove it lmfao)

how far is kashyyyk from draay 2 i wonder? (i did not check *handwave handwave*) you get one definite prompt fulfilled and vibes on the other two.

Sev is four places back from the head of the line when his attention gets drawn. “Where is your registration,” the droid intones, and a far too familiar voice responds.

“Here, you see my registration,” the clone says in a smooth cadence. He sounds like… Bard’ika trying to mind-rub some two-cred lowlife.

Does he really think he can use the Force? Does he think it’ll work on a droid? As far as Sev knows, it doesn’t. That guy is so screwed.

He doesn’t have a registered chain code either; Sev had been planning on trying to jam or slice his way past the tinnie. He needs to get off this waystation just as badly as the other clone seems to.

The droid is making increasingly obstinate noises, so Sev shoulders past the queue and steps up. “Give my brother here a pass, bolt-brain, or we’ll start realigning your vital circuitry, cozen?”

“Attempted security breach has been reported, please proceed to the waiting area without further deviation,” the droid says, and that’s enough for Sev. Who knows what it’s called down upon them.

He busts its bucket and proceeds somewhere decidedly other than where they’ve been instructed to. “Let’s go,” he growls, manhandling the other clone along with him by a firm grip on his bicep.

He hasn’t seen another clone in months. He’s not leaving him behind, not like some guys might.

“Hi,” the clone says, sarcastically hysterical, “how are you? I’m just fine, thanks for ruining my plan to keep my head down and get through here quietly, appreciate it!”

“You’re kriffing welcome, di’kut,” Sev says. “You’re plan wasn’t working, I improvised and adapted it. You packing heat?”

“Do I look like I—through a security checkpoint? You’re insane. You’re insane! Let go, I can kriffing well walk on my own. Insane,” he mutters, capping off his tirade.

“Sev, actually, a commando,” he introduces himself.

“Glitch,” the trooper grudgingly responds. “And I do have, uh…” At this juncture he flashes open his poncho a bit to reveal a honest-to-goodness lightsaber.

He does think he’s a Jedi!

Alarms have begun going off around them. Sev moves faster, as quickly as he can on his fucked leg. Glitch sees it, ducks under his arm, and loops his arm around Sev’s waist, seamlessly falling into step and taking weight off the injury.

It’s been even longer than the last time he saw his squad since Sev’s been touched, and he flinches, accidentally making overly honest eye-contact with the Jedi-clone. Now’s not the time to be thinking about the heat and press of a body against his vulnerable side, the comforting heft of a brother under his arm, the familiarity and the disparity of it being a total stranger.

Glitch is startled by it too, and his tongue reflexively darts out to wet his lips.

“So, Commando, you want to, hmmm, share the rest of our escape plan?” he asks, and Sev ruthlessly jerks his brain back into tactical mode.

First they have to make it out of here, and then they can figure out …everything else.

Lost Boys 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51594406

[northernthiefcranberry]

i wonder how difficult it really is now to find readers for someone who writes about the “romance club”?..

i started writing a collection of drabbles, but the number of readers is literally minimal - despite the fact that I'm writing about the most popular love interest of the story.

i understand that I found the fandom at the wrong time, when all the hype had already passed, but are the people on the site where I post fan fiction really that uninterested in new authors?

[quarantineddreamer]

Umbra Memoriae

Whumptober Day 19

The pace at which I have been writing the past few days is so insanely unusual for me. Apparently the magic words are "the rest of the prompts will be easier." Who knew? Comments, reblogs etc. forever appreciated. Snippet below and click above to read on AO3. (This is part 1 of 2!)

“You’re saying if we wait, she might get her memory back?” Cassian asked. “It’s a possibility, but we have no way of knowing the odds of that happening. There’s a greater likelihood she will continue to wake up with only the memories she had at 10, or 16, 20… And you have to know,” the medic cautioned, “she has lived more life without you than with you, so the chances of her remembering your life together are–” “Hold on a second,” Jyn cut in, turning towards Cassian. “What’s she talking about? What does she mean ‘your life together’?” All she knew was life alone, there was no way that... She shook her head, resolute. “I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong person.” Somewhere out there in the galaxy was a very lucky woman who happened to look like her. Who was living a life Jyn couldn’t even dream of. Someone who people called hero. Someone who was admired, loved. A reflection, the polar opposite from her.

[harmonyverendez]

Hidden Feelings ~ Evthys ( Romance Club/ Song Of Crimson Nile )

Title: Hidden Feelings

Pairings: Evthys x Isman (Platonic/kiss) Evthys x Livius ( Romantic )

Warnings: Kissing ( that's it )

Summary: After working with her boyfriend one morning Eva tells Livius about her and Isman's first kiss.

Author Note- This is for fun, I'm aware Isman and Evthys are friends / see each other as siblings. This is strictly for fun, so do not come at me with nonsense or hate.

Fandom: Romance Club.

~

Evthys hummed as she lifted the body up allowing her boyfriend to examine the body, Livius glanced at her for a brief second and winked.

Eva felt her cheeks heating from the gesture, she smiled and looked away.

“ Are you okay? You are a little quiet this morning, my dear” Livius' soft voice echoed around the room.

The person underneath them was not dead, but almost there. So they were lucky they could speak freely without interruption.

Evthys shook her head and felt her heart clenching, memories of her and Isman's life flashed before her eyes.

Before she knew it, her mouth was moving and she was suddenly thrown back into the past.

“ he was 15 and I was 13”....

< 13-year-old Evthys laughed loudly as she ran and hid behind a bush, her 15-year-old best friend laughed and chased after her.

“ I'll find you honey” Isman's voice echoed around the area. Honey was a name her best friend had been calling her for the last few weeks, and it never gets old.

Eva braced herself and covered her arms with her legs and tried to calm her racing heart, but it seemed her breaths came out quicker than she could stop them.

She cursed herself as she was caught.

Isman grabbed her arm and pulled her out from the bushes. Eva gasped as she dust off the dirt from her clothes and scowled her.

She didn't seem to listen, because she was focused on his face. Since when did her best friend become attractive?.

She could feel her heart racing, speeding up.

What was this feeling?.

A hand snaps in front of her face.

“ Eva are you okay? I wasn't too rough with you, was I?”.

Eva finds herself shaking her head no.

Her best friend smiled at her and that was when she knew, she had feelings for her friend.

Isman walked her and himself back to the house, where she hid her feelings from him.

~

* Two years later *

15-year-old Evthys held her hand over her heart and wiped away the tears from her face.

Why was she still feeling this why? What was wrong with her?

She stood up from her bed and went down the front entrance of the living room.

And there he was, Isman.

Her best friend, the one who took her in when no one was there for her.

Her mother was dead, he Father was dead.

Her family was gone.

But Isman's family had taken her in.

And she was so grateful for them.

“ Hey, Eva h-” he trailed off as he noticed her facial expression.

“ What's wrong?”.

That question startled him.

How was she supposed to bring up this topic?.

How was she supposed to tell him the truth?.

She needed to tell him now.

But from the look on her face, he knew what it was.

“ Is it still there?”.

Eva knew what he meant.

Was her feelings/crush still there for him?.

The question was hard.

Isman sighed and reached for her hand. Evthys was confused. “ Huh? What are you doing?”.

“ Come here, let's get this over with. Come to my room, Eva”.

Evthys heart skipped a beat. What did he mean by that?. She didn't speak but only followed him.

When they reached Isman room, he opened the door and motions for her to go inside.

She did so with ease, she walked over to his bed and sat down. He followed a few seconds later.

It was quiet for a few minutes until Isman spoke up. “ I allow you to kiss me, but no tongue. No clothes off, and no touching inappropriate, got it?.”

Eva's ears perked up. “ Why? I don't understand?”.

Isman sighed. “ So you can get over your feelings over me Eva, I want you to experience this.”

Finally, she nodded.

“ Fine. Your funeral.”

The two friends adjusted themselves, and prepared for themselves for what was about to happen.

This will change this.

This may or may not make things work, they both just wanted this over with and behind them.

“ Alright. Come here” Isman's voice broke the silence. Evthys leaned forward, as did he. He grabbed her face with both of his hands and softly pressed his lips against her lips.

The kiss lasted for five minutes.

Eva took things in her own hands, and kissed him harder. She opened her mouth so she could feel him, he did, but without tongue.

After two minutes, the two friends pulled away. And Isman opened his eyes and looked at his friend in front of him.

“ Well?”.

Eva opened her eyes and looked at him confused. “ Well, what?” she asked.

“ How do you feel, silly?”.

“ Oh” she laughed. “ I feel wonderful. You were right, it wasn't nothing strong. Just a little crush.”

“ I told you” Isman laughed.

They laughed together and fell on the bed, their friendship still as strong as ever. >

Evthys snaps out of her memories and looks at her boyfriend. Who was silent the entire time.

Livius waited a few minutes as he went around the room searching for things.

Finally, he came back and spoke up. “ So you kiss your friend I thought you had a brother / sister relationship?”.

Eva couldn't tell, but she swore Livius sounded jealous.

“ Oh, we do.”

“ Do you still have feelings for him?”.

She chuckled. “ No, that was just a crush. I was young, and vulnerable and we were around each other a lot. So I guess I was hormonal as well. And besides I don't think that was a crush, I think I only did that because I wanted someone like him to be with. Kind, listen, protective, and yeah, you know?” she finished.

Livius laughed then and pointed at himself. “ Someone like me then?”.

Evthys giggled, and hid her hand behind her face. A blush begin to form on her cheeks.

She could never stop blushing around her boyfriend, that was one of the reasons why she loved Livius.

He made her feel special.

“ yes, and I love you ” she replied.

Livius gasped and walked forward towards her. “ what did you say?”.

Her heart was beating hard. “ I said I love you”.

He beamed at her. “ I love you too, darling.”

He walked close and leaned down to capture his lips against hers.

And Eva allowed him.

The End

Author Note- yeah, I know this doesn't make sense. This was just Evthys telling her lover Livius about her and Isman's childhood memories and their first kiss. It made more sense in my head.

Once again do not come at me with Hate, I am aware Isman and Evthy's relationship is Platonic, and I am aware Eva was practically adopted by her best friend's parents and they think of each other as friends/brothers and sisters.

This was just for fun, I am allowed to write for what I felt. And for those who may like it.

Well enjoy!.

Until next time -

HarmonyVerendez.

[delicatebluebirdruins]

re9

i am way to fond of the opening for RE9 being Mia at a laptop typing something up we can't see because of the brightness of the screen.

Mia keeps looking around checking her surroundings after she is done she sighs with relief and then hears a hiss or a thud or a very not normal sound and grabs a gun we only just notice off the table near the laptop and screen fades to black with a claw in shot

then boom we swap to Jill looking at something on her phone (again not seeing it yet) and gameplay starts

------

we don't know it yet but Mia is inside the connections hq after getting intel they were up to something big and she spends time earning back their trust whilst funneling information to Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield. it means she doesn't see Rose as much anymore but the alternative would be the connections still being a huge danger to her and yeah Rose is powerful but she is still a child

[webanglikethat]

How can he be guilty as sin? (A Wyatt one shot)

Published: 08/06/24 Words: 1,767 Summary: Wyatt, a member of the royal guard, struggles with forbidden feelings for Princess Ellaire, knowing that his duty demands unwavering loyalty, not love. as he battles his heart's desires, he begins questioning whether his deep devotion is a sin or the truest expression of his allegiance. Ao3: read here and please leave a comment!! Note: I haven’t finished HoT yet so don’t spoil anything !! and this is for my best friend Agrima 💙

Wyatt knew it was wrong. he had always known that harboring feelings towards the princess, the future Queen of his homeland, was a mistrial in the temple of his feelings. he shouldn’t be feeling this way because no other emotion other than interminable loyalty should flow through the veins connected to his heart. or at least that’s what he kept repeating himself as she walked past him, gifting him one of those secret smiles of hers that she kept just for him, like an oath only they knew the words to. he knew, deep down, that harboring such feelings for the princess was not only forbidden but also fundamentally wrong. a a member of the royal guard, his allegiance was first and foremost to the crown, to serve and protect without question or hesitation. anything beyond that — especially feelings of affection or longing — was a transgression and transaction he could ill afford.

and yet, each time her eyes met his, Wyatt felt a pull stronger than his sense of duty, tempting him to forget his role and forget it all, as long as he didn’t forget her. her smile, delicate and sweet, stirred something deep within him, a longing he had no right to feel, a longing that didn’t belong to him, a longing he couldn’t spare. after all, he was but a mere queensguard and he had been one since the age of two, when he was elected for this specific role, thanks not only to his skills but in part to the legacy his father was building. but that didn’t mean Wyatt had the right to feel what he felt, for he was a mere civilian, and she the Queen to be. how could he even dare to think of her like that? how could he dare envision his lips tracing doodles on her body, immortalizing it as a piece of art? sometimes he could swear he felt her warm hand squeezing his, and differentiating wishful thinking from reality had become his newest enemy, one he couldn’t escape or reach. how cruel fate was, to play such games with his mind, holding his heart hostage, squeezing it until it confessed the emotion’s name his lips didn’t dare to utter. 

so he clenched his fists, trying to force the inappropriate emotions back into the recesses of his mind where they belonged, like a dirty secret he couldn’t risk being brought to life. for some people, the skeleton in their closet was an actual corpse, but to him, it was his own traitorous heart. so loyalty, he reminded himself. honor. duty. a legacy to uphold. he repeated these four terms in his mind until they all swirled into one, but being warned by God didn’t stop Eve from biting the apple and therefore, forcing himself to not feel anything didn’t stop the emotions from threatening to overflow. not even the shackles of fate can hold back a lover’s desire. 

as she drifted further down the corridor, her laughter ringing softly in his ears, a melody he couldn’t stop replaying in the secrecy of his room at night, Wyatt couldn't help but wonder if she sensed his turmoil. did she know the effect she had on him? did she feel the same forbidden spark? did she feel the same pull, forcing her to linger by his door sometimes, just to hear his breath and know he was alright? did she too keep these longings locked inside? was he too more than just a friend to him? the questions gnawed at him, the way a monster would play with his victim to elongate the pain, threatening to unravel the tight control he prided himself on. he shouldn’t think of this, for he didn’t know what was worse — the not knowing, or the knowing — in a scenario where her answer was a refusal.  and perhaps that would’ve been better, he told himself. a clear no, a distinct refusal and maybe he could turn off his heart, an organ he didn’t - couldn’t - claim as his own anymore. or perhaps he should stay in his own bubble, drown in memories where holograms of her were the only actress starring unendingly every moment of his existence. perhaps having her there, a place no one else could get into, was more than he should already be grateful for. 

it was especially in the quiet hours of the night, as the world around him slipped into slumber and he eluded the sleep fairy that his thoughts invariably turn to Ellaire. night seemed to always unfailingly be the time his mind's inner thoughts gravitated to her. he wouldn't be surprised if, in the undoing of the grand tapestry of his existence, all else faded but her memory. it was in those moments, bathed in the gentle glow of moonlight, that he would find himself consumed by a most exquisite and excruciating tenderness for her. he had known her for his whole life, had begun caring for her before he could even learn how to draw a sword since he was raised to protect and care for her, so truly, who could condemn him for his affection love? she had been the foundation of his existence, and he’s so anything to keep hers intact. 

to him, she was akin to the moon for she was the only glow in his longest nights, a light he could always count on to guide him home. she was a star, one of those important ones that you never get tired of contemplating — the one you run to look for as soon as the sun goes down and a golden light begins to twinkle behind the clouds. she held that same light that guides lost fools in a storm’s disaster, which makes you fall in love with the night and makes you plead to remove your own eyes, so you could bask in it eternally. at last, Wyatt understood why kingdoms would lose their minds over love, why rulers would forsake their crowns for just one kiss from the woman they adored.

and he .. well, what was Wyatt? there were so many small stars in this vastness called universe so how could he expect to be important to her? he was just one doodle among many more, another black shade in this sky, a planet out of human sight. even if he dared to imagine himself next to her, he knew it could never be the way he painted it in his mind. there would be no great dark ink depicting their story, no grandiose declaration of devotion etched into the annals of history, and he would remain a footnote in the story of her existence, a forgotten annotation in the manuscript of her grandeur. but as long as she was the name on its cover, he didn’t mind being nothing more than a spectator. for as long as she shone brightly, he could drown in the darkest shadows and he’d laugh with the utmost joy. 

but even as he belittled himself, Wyatt knew that his loyalty and devotion were unmatched. he knew that wherever Ellaire went, he would follow. should she ask him to close his eyes and lead her to inferno itself, he wouldn’t deny her request. together, they would face the unknown, and he would protect her, as he had always sworn to do. for Wyatt, the thought of denying her anything, of refusing her even the most perilous of requests, was inconceivable. he would risk his life, if it meant she got to exist in his stead. he’d give her his heart if she’d only ask him and he’d unstitch every vein to give her the prettiest part, deign of a Queen. he’d bleed himself dry to keep her warm with the tepidity of his vital claret if she was cold. he would’ve done anything for her — unraveling his sanity to preserve hers and giving up all knew for her, for who was he, if she wasn’t there? he’d grown up knowing her, and so he would die. 

in her, he found his purpose to exist. she was the embodiment of everything he held dear, the light that illuminated his darkest corners. and though he may never be more than a shadow in her radiance, he would stand by her side, hanging onto every ray of light she shone, akin to a drunken man holding onto the lips of their lover knowing their doom. in her luminescence, he discovered a solace that outweighed anything he had ever seen or felt before, willing him to face any fate as long as he could remain even as a fading phantom in her orbit. 

as the echoes of her laughter faded into the distance, Wyatt found himself enveloped in the stillness of the night, his thoughts consumed by the woman who held his heart in her hands. and maybe, giving up something so vital was freedom in itself. and for a moment, Wyatt dared to entertain the possibility that his love for Ellaire was not a sin to be condemned but a sacred calling to be embraced. what if, he thought to himself, the way he felt was not a betrayal of his allegiance but the truest expression of his devotion? what if the way he held her was the holiest subject of his faith? what if the words slipping from her lips were a religion he had woven into his soul? what if his lingering touch, so wrong yet so right, was the prayer he whispered in the quiet of his heart? so truly, how could he be guilty as sin, when love is the first virtue a person learns? was it not love that led Eve to take that fateful bite, trusting in the bond she shared with Adam? and if love was the foundation upon which humanity was built, how could he be faulted for following its lead? love, the most primal and pure of all virtues, surely could not be a sin. if Eve’s love for Adam sparked the beginning of life, then how could he be condemned for allowing love to guide his actions?

so he wondered, how could his love be a sin, when it was the foundation of his existence, of humanity’s history ? so may them condemn him all they want, he thought to himself, for he know that love was the longest-standing temple of humanity, the only divinity to be revered. and he’d die fighting for his religion, his love, his Ellaire. 

love, above all, was the truest form of sanctity, and he’d rather die a sinner for her, than a nonbeliever. 

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

taglist: @annn-starrr, @pawaki17luna, @goddessofwonderland, @liykaii💙

[angelasscribbles]

Mortal Ascension Chapter 1: Arrival

Series: Mortal Ascension

Fandom: Heaven’s Secret (Romance Club)

Word Count: 854

Rating: MA

Warnings: None

A/N: Here we go! Fair warning, I am planning to change a lot of things so don't expect everything to line up with canon. There will also be polyamory involved. If anyone wants to be added to the tag list for this, just let me know. If you missed it, there is a prologue here.

Romance Club fanfiction master list.

All of the things: Master List.

Eden McClain was sucked into a swirling vortex of light, hurtled through dimensions, and deposited out onto hard-packed dirt. She landed unceremoniously on her ass.

Picking herself up, she brushed at the dirt on her pants and gazed around, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

She was standing in a vast barren landscape; the sky was dotted with vortexes like the one she had just come through. They were constantly opening and closing, a new person falling from them onto the ground each time they did.

After all, there were, on average, two deaths every second on Earth.

She knew she was dead, but she couldn’t say how she knew it. She had no memory of her death. Her fingers flew to her temples, where a headache throbbed. What had happened?

She scanned the environment for clues.

Angels and demons walked among the newly dead, touching them on the shoulder and then pointing them in one direction or the other. Eden turned her head to see what they were being pointed to.

To her far left was a vortex, like the ones in the sky, but oriented so you could walk into it. Indeed, there was a line of souls walking toward it, stepping in and disappearing. It was bright, giving off a warm, golden glow.

To her far right was another similarly oriented vortex, but this one was pulsing with dark energy. Black sparks flew from the opening. There was also a line for it, with some people stepping through and others being pushed. She watched as one desperate soul broke free and made a run for it. A futile attempt, as it turned out. A grinning demon grabbed the man using one arm and flung him through with a bellow.

An angel with flowing white robes approached her. His hand reached toward her shoulder, then stopped as his eyes widened. He pointed not toward either vortex, but behind her. She turned to see a small white gazebo. It looked out of place sitting in the middle of the desolate, dry landscape. An oasis in the midst of chaos.

She turned and hurried to the small pavilion, casting a glance back at the human souls being sorted into the portals to heaven and hell.

She knew where she was. Umbra. The place between realms where human souls arrived after their mortal death. Her mother had explained that much to her. But Eden wasn’t strictly human, and her mother hadn’t explained, or perhaps hadn’t known, what would happen to her after her mortal death.

Of course, no one expected her to die so young. She should have had more time.

As she approached the gazebo, a figure materialized in it. Judging from his white hair, robes, and wings, he was an angel, but the scowl on his face was more reminiscent of a demon if you asked her. He glared at her as if he already hated her, though they hadn’t even met.

She gave him a hesitant, hopefully disarming smile as she climbed the gazebo’s steps. “Hi, I’m Eden Mc—”

“I know who you are.” The angel snarled. “Another abomination.”

Her steps faltered. “What?”

“Your parents should be ashamed of breaking all the laws of heaven and hell.”

“I don’t know what you—”

“Ignorant too. Wonderful. I see they didn’t bother educating you about your true nature?”

Her chin lifted definitely. “I’m not ashamed of what I am.”

“Hm.” He barked a short laugh devoid of any actual humor. “Well, you should be.”

Anger flared through her, enough to forget to be scared of her strange new circumstances. “You should be ashamed of your rudeness! It’s not very angelic. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you have no right to speak to me that way! My mother—”

The soft chuckle that escaped him was genuine this time. “Feisty. Keep that. You’ll need it where you’re going.”

Her chin lifted again as she pushed down her anxiety. She would not let this being know she was frightened. “And where am I going?”

“The Lyceum in Concordia.”

“What is the Lyceum? Where’s Concordia? Who are you and by what right—”

His smile vanished, replaced by his original scowl. “You ask too many questions.”

“I think I have a right to know where I’m going.”

“Fine.” He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “The Lyceum is an institute of learning for beings with demonic or angelic energy. Even mongrels dulled with human blood like you. You’ll be properly educated there.”

He reached for her, but she jerked away. “Who says I’m required to go anywhere with you?”

Malicious amusement slid behind his eyes. “The high council that rules by divine right on behalf of Yatsar, that’s who.”

“But who are you?” she demanded again.

His face twisted into a mask of anger. “Fencio, the archangel in charge of the Lyceum. Now stop being a truculent child! I have better things to do today than deal with the likes of you.”

He lunged for her, grabbing her by the shoulder, and they both misted out of existence.

[clone-anon-after-dark]

Being Known (Darman Skirata x Fem Reader)

Word Count: 1448

Warnings: younglings be gone, NSFW, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), unprotected PiV, aftercare

A/N: This is my first time writing this character. I wrote this with an established relationship and per request from @trixie2023, first relationship for Darman. They’ve been intimate before, but I still wanted there to be some sense of newness.

The way he desperately kissed you made your heart melt. His fingers traced every part of your body, feeling the fabric and yearning to touch the skin underneath.  He hadn’t even gotten his armor all the way off. He came through the door, put his helmet down, and within two strides had pulled you into his arms. Darman had never been with anyone like this before you. He had never been trained for anything other than being a commando. He couldn’t explain why his legs felt like jelly when he first started talking to you. He swore the entire universe stopped the first time you kissed him. He felt like he was fumbling the first time he had sex with you, but you gently reassured him that the first time can be awkward and you loved him. That had only been a few weeks ago, but things were better already. He was learning your every vocalization. And somehow he was still surprised you were interested in learning his. He wasn’t quite used to this type of attention.  Now here he was, home for the night and he wasn’t going to waste a moment. 

“I want you,” you said. He couldn’t stop the flutter in his chest. The wanting and being wanted.  He picked you up and took you to the bedroom. He kneeled in front of you and helped you out of your clothes. As he went to pull your panties off, you stopped him.

“Your armor,” you said, indicating he was still wearing most of it. Although he couldn’t wait to have you, he still took his armor off with a kind of reverence. It meant a lot to him. It kept him safe.

You grinned at him as he turned around and slipped out of his blacks. You finished stripping and laid naked before each other. You cupped his cheeks and kissed him deeply, feeling his rough digits trace along your shoulders and down your arms. He tentatively reached for your breasts and ran his hands over them gently. Your skin pebbled and you let out a sigh. He whispered how much he adored you between leaving kisses on your neck. You ached to touch him. He grinned as you pushed him back onto the bed and kissed a trail down his chest. Your hand grasped his cock and he threw his head back slightly, still getting used to the feeling of you touching him. His breathing was already quickened and he groaned as you licked the underside of his length. You popped each ball into your mouth gently, letting your tongue tease him.  He swallowed hard.  You took the tip into your mouth and started sucking, taking in more of him with each bob of your head.  You smiled as you felt him throb in your mouth and loved the feeling of his velvet skin against your lips. You paused, grinning up at him as you continued to work him with your hand. You were just as greedy for him as he was for you. 

“You better stop or I won’t last long,” he said.

“I don’t mind,” you replied. “We could always go another round.”  You thought of the first time you gave him oral. He was so overcome with the sensation that he came almost immediately. You’d smiled up at him, surprised and impressed that you had such an effect.  He didn’t want it to be over quickly this time, as much as he was enjoying himself.

Darman shook his head sweetly. “I want you. I want to taste you. Please, cyare.” You nodded and he laid you down. He wasn’t going to rush to the finale.  He held your hands and kissed your knuckles. He left trails of kisses all over your belly and breasts.  His hands cupped your rear and he kissed the inside of your knees and thighs as he lifted your legs over his shoulders. He was still new at this, but he was proving to be a fast learner. He looked into your eyes as he gently spread your folds. He started little kisses before his tongue started licking each fold on the way up to your clit. He traced your entrance and pushed a finger inside before he started sucking on your clit. It was gentle, but enough that you instinctively spread your legs further for him. You felt him smile and kiss your clit as he added a second finger. The rhythmic motion of his hand now timed with the attention to your sensitive bud had you panting his name.

“Can you come twice for me tonight,” he asked. “On my mouth and on my cock?”

“I can if you keep this up,” you replied, looking down into his deeply expressive eyes. He continued to press his fingers to that spot inside you as he swirled his tongue around your clit. He had learned your body and what touches worked best, but he felt like he was really starting to get the hang of it as you whimpered. He loved watching your squirm under his touch, knowing that he was making you feel good. When you came against him, a rush of heat radiating through you, he was breathing almost as heavily as you were.  He nuzzled his head against your thigh as he smiled at you, taking a moment to enjoy you laid out before him. 

You weren’t done yet.  You sat up and he got back on the bed.. “How do you want me,” you asked as you kissed him.

“Whatever pleases you,” he replied.

You raised an eyebrow.  You knew he wanted to be everything you needed, but you wanted so badly to please him too. “Darman, my love. How do you want me?” This time the question was pointed. He took a breath and swallowed.  He had to admit to having one position on his mind.

“I want you sitting on my lap.” Heat pulsed through his ears at making the request. It was rather innocent, but this was still new for him.

“You want my tits in your face,” you added, feeling excitement just thinking about it. He nodded with a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

He sat up, his back against the headboard, and you got on top of his lap, lining yourself up and sitting on his cock.  He moaned as you did so. His arms wrapped around your back as you started to ride him, taking him in long strokes.  As you buried him inside you, your breasts bounced in front of him and he held one in his mouth, playing with your nipple. You huffed out a series of moans at the sensation and he gave your other breast the same attention.  You arched your hips so that your clit made contact with each thrust and you picked up the pace.  You felt him start to come undone beneath you.  Despite trying to hold on it was all too much and he came inside you.  The feeling of being filled by him, loved by him, hearing his groans, sent you over the edge and your own climax hit you in waves of pleasure.  He held you while you rode out the sensation, leaving a sweet kiss on your shoulder when you came to a halt.  He laid back down with you on top of him. He held you close and kissed your forehead. You both took the time to catch your breath. 

As you laid there together in the afterglow, he couldn’t stop thinking about how this was his purpose. Not just making love, but making you happy. Allowing himself to be seen and loved as he was and making a life with that certain someone. Being known by someone in all ways. He may have been built for war, but that was not his sole purpose in life. He wanted nothing more than to be with you and share his life with you.

As if you could read his mind, you searched his face and thought about how happy you were to be his.  You kissed the underside of his jaw.

“I love you, Darman.”

“I love you too, cyar’ika. I always will.” He kissed your lips sweetly. 

Once you both rested, you got up, bringing a warm wet cloth to clean you both up. He normally would do this, but you wanted him to feel cared for as much as he cared for you.  You each put on comfortable clothes for a quiet evening in. He interlaced his fingers with yours and held your hand as he walked you to the kitchen. Just his little extra way to show you he cared.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @staycalmandhugaclone @dukeoftheblackstar