#ncs scribbles

[unintentionalseductress]

Prescription For Pleasure

Warnings: MDNI, sex, masturbation, medical masturbation, use of vibrators, clit play, piv sex, use of latex gloves, oral (fem receiving), some praise, kinda slow burn A/n: I am not normal about this man in any way. Not really proofread. Please do not use my banners without permission.

You’re seated in Zayne’s office, trying not to squirm as he sets up your appointment. Although this was now the third time you were seeing him for this regular inspection, it didn’t alleviate your nerves the slightest. Each month, according to the Hunter’s Association regulations, every hunter needed to be seen by their primary care physician for 3 consecutive days for their health.

And although the association deemed it a necessity, it was an embarrassing requirement according to you. The Hunter’s Association had done a survey and discovered that many of their employees suffered from high levels of stress because they were isolated and lacked much-needed human contact. To combat this, they made it mandatory to get physical contact by a medical professional every month.

But when all the fancy jargon was pushed aside, all the hunters called it the same thing - medical masturbation. It had become wildly popular amongst both men and women hunters, eagerly marking the days on their calendar for when they could come in. When you heard about the rule, you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole. You had tried talking to Jenna to insist that you were indeed taking care of yourself in that aspect, thanks to your trusted vibrator, but she had shaken her head no. 

“We need documentation. I’m subject to it, and so is everyone else in my order.”  Defeated, you’d walked out of Jenna’s office before remembering another mortifying fact with a jolt. Your primary care physician was Zayne. 

Your childhood friend, your trusted cardiologist, stoic and calm, who remained reserved during your general checkups, was going to be your medical masturbator. You had almost turned yourself into a ball on the floor, tweaked out at the insanity of it all. Although Zayne was your general physician, you had a separate gynecologist, and apart from asking if you’d had your annual PAP smear, Zayne had left that part of your anatomy unquestioned. It didn’t help that you were attracted to him, and sure, if he’d asked you out on a date, you would have been more than happy to let him inspect you all he wanted down there.

But this clinical setting, enforced by your organization was a little too much to bear. Wondering how to tackle this situation, you wander over to Tara who was humming as she made her medical bookings on her phone app. “Isn’t this exciting?” she squeals as she sees you. “God knows the dating pool is thin right now. This is just what I needed!”

Tara’s primary care physician was a woman, and you wondered if that was a pro or a con. On the one hand, dropping your panties for a woman doctor seemed less unnerving than for a man. But if you had a preference for men, would it work against your arousal? You shook your head at your ridiculous musings and focused on talking to Tara. “Are you really that excited about this?”

“You have no idea!” Tara taps her feet as she talks to you. 

“And you’re ok about having a woman stimulate you?” You probe, trying to gauge Tara’s reaction. Tara giggles and lightly pats your shoulder. 

“I don’t know but the idea is kind of hot. I mean, getting it on in a doctor’s office? Besides if I don’t like it, I can change the doctor the next time.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. “You can change your doctor?”

“For this yes, the app gives you an option since it involves showing off a lot of intimate areas. You have to be able to trust your doctor right?”

You logged into the app, finding the little button to request a change in doctors, but for some reason, the page kept refreshing and crashing. With a sigh, you decide to get the worst of it over with and call Zayne, hoping he can make the change for you on his end. His voice is cool and professional when he answers your call.

“Yes?”

“So, you must have heard about…the new regulation?” you had put forth nervously.

“I am aware of it, yes.” 

“Well, for obvious reasons, I would like a different doctor.” 

Zayne smoothly says, “Of course. Patient comfort is always first. Do you have a doctor in mind?”

“Maybe my gynecologist? I tried doing it in the app but it keeps crashing.” There’s a moment of silence and you can hear Zayne’s fingers tapping away at his keyboard before a low hum leaves his end of the line.

“There appears to be a problem.”

“Problem?” you’d parrotted back.

“Yes. Because so many people are booking appointments at the same time, most of the available doctors are already taken. Including your gynecologist.” 

It felt like watching a bird crashing into a window in slow motion, that brief moment of hope that it wouldn’t hit the glass shattering in an instant. “Oh.”

There’s a pause before Zayne delicately says, “I’m sorry but it looks like you will have to make those appointments with me for this month. 3 of them according to the regulation. Hopefully, you can make the change for next month.” His voice sounded slightly apologetic.

“Won’t it be weird given that we know each other personally?” The question had fallen from your lips before you could stop yourself. 

“I promise not to treat you any differently than any of my other patients who are coming in for this inspection. I understand this may be a little unexpected, but I assure you I did a term of gynecology during my internship.”

A tinge of mirth carried over in his voice and you can’t help but make a noise of embarrassment. “Zayne, please!” His laugh was dry but not unkind, and you can’t help but want to hide your face even though he couldn’t see you. 

“Don’t worry too much. But I do advise you to make the appointments soon. My schedule is filling up rapidly.”

With those words, he’d disconnected the call and you were left wondering if an unknown god from another planet had cursed your existence. 

And changing doctors had proven to be more difficult than you’d thought. The entire organization seemed to be having a single thought. They had made appointments in the app almost halfway into the year, essentially blocking you from being able to do anything about your situation. Now on your third month with Zayne, you watch as he checks his notes from your last session, feeling like you want to scamper from the room.

The last two sessions had been incredibly stimulating, your arousal heightened by the fact you were attracted to Zayne. You’d never considered having someone watch as you touched yourself but found that you’d enjoyed it, at least, when it was him. He had remained professional, but you’d avoided him these last two months, save for when you had to get your monthly cardiac profile. He reads his notes from his computer as he prepares for your session. 

“Preferred device for stimulation still a vibrator, with a large, rounded, flexible head?” His eyes remain on his screen and you’re grateful for him giving you this smidgen of privacy. 

“Yes.”

“Preference for the doggystyle position still?” 

Your face burns. “Yes.”

“Still consenting for verbal stimulation?”

You nod your head.

“And still consenting for internal vaginal stimulation?” You make a noise of consent, squeezing your thighs together, your panties uncomfortably chafing against your already swollen pussy. 

“All right, I have everything I need.” He logs off and removes his lab coat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his well-corded arms, and your mouth almost waters at the sight of them. Clearing your throat, you shyly reach into your bag and pull out the vibrator in question, which he takes from you and clamps into a stand, adjusting it over the examination table you’d be on. A bottle of lube awaits on the tray next to the table and you swallow as he finishes the setup. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says in that deep voice, and feeling like your fingers are wrapped in thick woolen mittens, you reach behind you to untie the hospital gown you’re wearing, and it falls to the floor with a swoosh, your nipples pebbling under the sudden chill. A small set of sensors were taped to your chest and on the sides of your forehead, essential medical devices to ensure your orgasm was satisfactory. Unperturbed, Zayne gestures to the table and you make your way onto it, letting your feet settle in the stirrups as he settles on a stool between your legs, pulling on latex gloves before gently spreading your folds apart. You stare up at the ceiling as he does his initial checkup.

“Labia look healthy, no signs of trauma or abnormal discharge,” he murmurs, then runs a finger down the edge of the fold that separates your inner and outer lips, causing your core to clench involuntarily. You hold still, knowing very well he saw the action, holding your breath, letting out a little sigh as he lets go. 

“Normal reaction to stimuli, already semi-aroused,” he says, trashing the gloves and making another note on his computer. He glances over at you, leaning back uncertainly on the table. “You may begin.”

You swallow, then carefully turn onto your hands and knees, crawling towards the head of the table, grabbing the bottle of lube and squeezing the viscous liquid onto the head of the vibrator, avoiding eye contact as your breasts sway under the motion, nipples painfully hard from anticipation. You could feel Zayne’s gaze but can’t bring yourself to look up. Even though this was the third time, it hadn’t gotten easier, stripping naked and pleasuring yourself in his office. 

Once the rounded head of the vibrator is slick, you turn, the chill of the lube against your heated membranes causing more blood to flow into your already engorged nub, and run your moist slit across the surface to spread the liquid onto your slickened folds. Your hand fumbles for the little remote control and with a buzz, the vibrator turns on at the lowest setting. You click the button a few more times until it gets to the speed you liked, then fail to hold back a moan as the sensations pleasurably begin to take hold in your clit. 

The first time you had done this, nervousness had made you set the vibrator on the highest possible setting hoping to get a quick orgasm and sprint out of the office. Unfortunately, the sensors relayed this information into Zayne’s medical record that your climax had been unsatisfactory, and you had endured being lectured by him with the medical gown loosely draped on your body, your rear open to the cold office air. 

His tone wasn’t unkind but it hadn’t helped you feel better either. “It helps neither of us if you rush this. The whole purpose of this examination is to ensure you’re relaxing. I know it’s embarrassing but if you fail to have a proper orgasm, I’ll have to make you repeat the process until I get data that says otherwise.”

“The sensors are-”

“The only way to measure anything. Without involving another person anyway.”

His words had left you gobsmacked and your retort had died in your mouth. After that incident, you had learned. Even with the chagrin of having him watch you, you had learned to take your time and let the feelings build, leading to incredibly savory climaxes that made your body squirm from the aftershocks. 

Your hips sway, setting up a rhythm to brush your sensitive slit onto the head, letting it vibrate from cunt to clit, the lube aiding the frictionless sliding and making your core drip. Quiet noises of pleasure leave your throat as help yourself, arching your back and changing the curvature of your ass to maximize the sensations, then when the perfect pattern emerges, you let out a keening sigh, and try to remain still, letting the vibrator work its magic. 

Zayne, who has been quietly observing the computer this entire time, observing the spikes relayed from the sensors, asks, “Have you found your optimal pleasure form?”

“Yes,” you gasp, the timbre of his voice sending an arrow of lust into the deepest parts of your clenching core. You knew what was about to come next. The sound of Zayne’s desk chair moving, followed by the snap of latex gloves as he pulled a fresh pair onto those beautiful hands. He approaches the examination table and takes the bottle of lube you had set aside earlier, a wet squelching noise issuing from it as he squeezes it over his gloved hand, gathering the fluid on his index and middle fingers. He leans over to whisper in your ears; the verbal stimulation has begun.

The humiliating reveal that you had a heavy praise kink had come up during your initial session and despite your insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Zayne, the ever-diligent worker, had made a note in your profile, and he’d been fulfilling it each time. A tickle of hot breath near your ear, before he murmurs, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

The hum of the vibrator in the background coupled with his voice makes your breath catch in your throat. You nod, knowing you didn’t have it in you to form coherent words. 

“That’s a good patient. Good patients listen to their doctors you know. And you’re doing a wonderful job.”

Your hips snap back to push your clit against the rubber pad, letting out a whimper of pleasure, the action pushing your ass up higher, revealing your pathetically drooling cunt, fluttering with the dissatisfaction of being unfilled. 

“Are you ready?” He waits for your consent and you manage a husky, ‘mm hm’.

“Good girl. Take a breath.”

You inhale, trying to relax, then let out an uninhibited moan as Dr. Zayne inserts his middle finger into your needy cunt, the ring of muscles offering no resistance to the probing digit. He gently thrusts a few times, before curling the tip of his finger up into the delicate patch of nerves on your upper wall, the smooth come hither motion awakening a new level of pleasure in your body. Your fingers tighten on the edges of the table, sobbing, trying not to scream at the feelings that threatened to explode from you. He keeps up the gentle assault before asking, “Are you ready for another one?”

“Yes…” your voice comes out shakily, knowing you desired more than just his fingers, but that you would never get to experience it. 

“Perfect. So well behaved, taking exactly what I give you.” Zayne’s sensual voice floods your ear before his index pushes into you, the thickness of both his fingers sending you into overdrive. Your walls clench welcomingly around him, inciting an exciting pull of liquid heat in your abdomen, the muscles tensing in anticipation for the exquisite release you knew was about to occur. 

Feeling your inhibitions abandon you as you are stroked closer to orgasm your self-control slips and his name falls from your lips as he pushes over the edge.

“Zayne…” some partially functioning confine in the back of your brain registers what you had just involuntarily purred, but the spasms rocking your core, those gratifying waves of delight flooding your body made it easier to ignore it as your being is reduced to a pliant mess of pleasure. His fingers ease up as the fluttering in your pussy calms down, your clit pulsating weakly as the final vestiges of pleasure are wrung from your body. 

With a wet noise, his fingers leave your moist hole, the glove coated with your juices and the lubricant. Awareness finally comes crashing around you as you realize what you had uttered in the throes of passion. 

“I…I didn’t…I wasn’t in control…” You try to find a way to explain, to let him know you had very little choice in the matter of sobbing his name as you orgasmed, but everything feels flat, almost on the fine line between explaining and insulting. 

“There’s no need.” Almost as if he’s read your mind, Zayne matter-of-factly redirects the conversation. “It’s not uncommon to blurt out things during climax. Some people swear, and others call out names. It was a very normal reaction considering I was the one in the room with you.”

He throws the gloves in the trash and goes to check the computer, to ensure the sensors had given him the information he needed before starting the second round of the appointment.

“Oh.” You say quietly as he sits at his desk, feeling dejected. Although relieved he wasn’t making a big deal out of it, you can’t help but feel disappointed with his reaction. Shouldn’t a man be flattered when a woman cried out his name when she came? Maybe he really was treating you strictly as a patient. And here you were, pussy exposed and spread after being probed by his dextrous fingers, mooning over him like a high school girl. Perhaps the limit of your relationship with him was in fact, doctor and patient, the childhood friends aspect fading. 

So there was no romance here at all. You had a crush on him, and he was doing his job. Reality sucks. You sniff and suddenly feel cheap, and get out of the doggystyle position and try to find the hospital gown to preserve some of your modesty. Zayne glances over at your sudden movements.

“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.”

“I’m fine.” You try to sound normal. 

“Your records show that you usually rest about 10 minutes before you are ready for the next round. Do you feel like that will be the case this time too?”

You find the gown and drag it up to your chin, covering your body as you lay back on the table. “Yeah. Actually a little sooner today maybe. I have somewhere to be.”

“You can’t rush these things. Your body will cum when it wants to. A forced orgasm doesn’t promote anything beneficial.”

“Well can we find a way for this to happen quickly and in compliance with the sensors?” You’re trying not to let your frustration show, the pleasantness of your orgasm fading. “I don’t think I have the patience to do two more rounds.”

Zayne listens to you impassively, but those amber eyes flecked with green had an underlying intensity you couldn’t place. “You don’t have the patience to do two more rounds?” He gets up and comes over to you. “You want to just leave then?” He approaches the edge of the table and there’s tension in his jaw. Perplexed, you look at him, his reaction unexpected. 

“No, I’m sorry, I know I can’t leave because of compliance and all that.”

“Compliance,” Zayne mutters under his breath before grasping your chin and forcing you to look at him, a gasp leaving your throat. 

“You’re getting frustrated because you have to do this a few times every month while being supervised? Do you have any idea what I have to do before you come in for these sessions?” His voice is a growl and you clam up, shocked by this aggressive display of expression from him.

“Every month I have to remain professional as you come in, pleasure yourself, and then leave. I have to endure seeing your beautiful body bare in front of me and control all my impulses to touch you, to not overstep my limitations as your doctor. I pleasure myself remembering the noises you make and ensure I’m well spent before coming in to do your appointments. You sit there, acting like it’s hard for you, but do you have any idea what you do to me?”

One of his knees is on the table, and he’s looming over you making you feel like a tiny animal caught in his fury. “It’s torture, to watch you. You’re not like the other patients I see. You never have been. Because with you, I always feel like I’m on the verge of losing control. Do you know how difficult it is to not do things to you that aren’t specified on your medical record? To have my fingers so intimately inside you, feel every little drop of pleasure clenching around my fingers, knowing at the end I can’t have you to myself? To hear you call my name and know that you only see me as your doctor?” 

Your face is a bright shade of red but you can’t look away from his face. His teeth are gritted, and when you dare to glance down, you see the noticeable bulge that has formed between his legs. He follows your glance and clicks his tongue, letting go of your chin. 

“I know I crossed a boundary today. It’s all right. You can go. I’ll reschedule you with another doctor. I know you didn’t want me in the first place.”

Your mind is a blur as you quickly reach out to grab his hand, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. His admission was like a prayer answered, and you weren’t going to meek about this. His breath hitches as he feels you pulling at his hand and gives you a look of uncertainty. Your lips part but the words you want to say refuse to come out. 

“Damn it,” he whispers ferally before his mouth captures yours in a rough kiss. It was wild and demanding, a contrast to the reserved, patient man he usually was. You’re swept up in the feeling of his mouth on yours, the taste of his tongue, and the softness of his lips. When you break apart, his hand cups your cheek, his eyes searching your face.

“This isn’t just because of the session right?” He asks keenly and you realize what he’s asking you. He’d been aching for you before this whole stupid policy came into place. The same way you’d been longing for him. 

“No, it’s not. I had a crush on you back when you became my doctor to check on my heart condition.” A sigh of relief leaves him before he tenderly presses his forehead to yours, and you’re caught up in the sweetness of the moment. 

“I just had to be sure.”

Boldly, you raise your head, delighted when he meets you, pulled back into his kiss, your tongues sliding over each other, your fingers tangling into his hair, scratching the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasp as he breaks the kiss to drag his tongue down the column of your throat, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the heated flesh, your blood humming in your veins as your eyes flutter closed. He pulls away the gown and pulls your perked nipple into his mouth, and you revel in the jolt of pleasure it brings you, each suckle felt in your clit which had already swollen up again in need. His fingers capture your other nipple, softly tweaking and pulling it and drawing little whines of desire from your throat. 

Your hand finds the junction between his legs and cups the heavy bulge, drawing a groan from him, palming him through his slacks, feeling it grow and tent the fabric under your ministrations. A low guttural sound leaves him and he gets off the table, and you almost protest until you see him dragging the small wheeled stool from earlier towards the table. He settles down on it, looping his arms around the tops of your thighs and pulling you closer to the table's edge until your feet find the stirrups again. 

“Stay open for me darling,” he instructs, his eyes glittering and you shiver as you feel his breath against your swollen folds. You squeak as he pushes your folds apart with his nose, inhaling your scent, his eyes growing dark with lust. “You smell delicious. I always wondered. Had to stop myself from sniffing my gloves after you climaxed. Not professional you know.” 

The musky tang of your pussy fills his senses, and his tongue darts out and dips into your slit, finding the swollen bud and licking it with just the right pressure that makes your toes curl and stars pop into your vision. 

Your hand rests on his head, tugging his beautiful dark locks, his name falling from your lips without barriers. Your hips rock against him, moaning, then let a sob as his lips suction around your clit. His fingers, free from the gloves at last, probe your entrance, scissoring inside to prepare you for what was to come before they curl up into that gummy patch that he knew too well. 

The sensations flood you, and the sheer knowledge of knowing you had Zayne touching you this way, unbound by the usual rules was sending you into a frenzy. Incoherent noises leave your mouth, crying out hotly as he teases the orgasm from you, your body shivering from the intensity. 

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and takes in your appearance, so soft and satisfied on his table, a dreamy look in your eyes.

“Are you prepared for the after?” he asks, you nod, more than eager to experience him. A sly smile crosses his face before he reaches over into the little chest of drawers by the table and pulls out a condom. 

“Hospitals have free condoms. It would be impractical to not use one when it’s on hand.” He explains seeing your questioning look and stands to undo his pants. You watch curiously as his cock is finally freed, eyes widening as it faces you, so impressive and veiny, standing proudly with a slight curve in its length. His pubes were neatly trimmed at the base, ebony curls visible behind the shaft. As he starts to roll on the condom, you feel your whole body heating up in anticipation. 

He leans down to kiss you before taking your feet and resting them on his shoulders, his cock at the perfect angle to enter you. As he sinks into your welcoming heat, you let out a sigh of longing, feeling the delicious stretch of muscle as he pushes up inside you, gasping as you feel his full length sheathe itself. As he bottoms out, his eyes close in bliss, hardly daring to believe that after all this time, he is finally getting to fulfill this private dream. 

Each stroke has him brushing against your gspot and kissing your cervix as he paces himself, feeling the primal urge to take you roughly and selfishly calling at his self-control. A growl leaves his throat as you whimper, straining towards him as the both of you struggle to keep a grip on reality. He feels the seductive way your walls clench around him, hears the soft noises you make, sees your face contort in pleasure with every roll of his hips. 

“Oh you feel so good,” he pants hotly, glasses askew, almost at the tip of his nose as he thrusts. “Clenching me so needily. Gonna milk me dry.”

Your response is a shuddering whimper, your back arching greedily to feel all of him, creating the perfect curvature to brush your clit against the base of his erection with each push of his hips. He feels the little bud on his heated skin, your combined fluids dripping onto his shaft, slickening the bundle of nerves with each stroke. 

“Be a good girl and cum on my cock the way you do on my fingers.” Zayne’s voice is husky as he tries to hold on, damned if he came before you. “I know you want to. I can feel the way your walls are spasming. They always do this pattern before you orgasm.”

The fact that he had memorized this knowledge of you was too much and you let go, your voice filling the room as you climax. Zayne’s hips stutter as he feels you around his length, pussy fluttering so him. His pace quickens, the sound of slapping skin becoming more and more urgent, his balls hitting your ass each time as he chases his orgasm. 

A shiver passes through his body as it happens and he buries himself in your warmth. You hum in satisfaction as you feel his cock twitch and pulse inside you as he spills his load. He pants, sweat on his forehead as he bends down to kiss you again, carefully lowering your legs which burn from the stretch as they settle on the stirrups. 

Threading your fingers through his hair, you brush your noses together, smiling shyly at him as he smirks, his eyes closing as he catches his breath.

“Can I see you outside of my office sometime?” he asks and you laugh at the invitation. 

“Are you asking me out on a date after having sex just once?” you tease as he grips the base of the condom and slides out, your pussy feeling the loss keenly. 

“I have been wanting to for a while. I was just wondering if I was misreading the signals. But I think I have a solid answer now.” He helps you sit up and cradles your body against his, idly stroking your skin, before gently removing the sensors off your body. 

“Let’s get dressed,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead after a moment of cozy silence, and the both of you hunt down your clothes. As he fixes his tie, Zayne passes by his computer and lets out an amused huff. 

“Something funny?” you ask as you button your blouse.

“The sensors definitely gave enough information to make anyone’s head spin.” You walk over and snort as you see the window, full of sharp spikes. 

“Well, at least I am guaranteed you had a good time.” Zayne’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he pulls you in for another kiss. 

“I’m not changing my doctor,” you reassure him as you pull away. There’s amusement in his gaze when he replies. 

“Oh, definitely not. I think if the Hunter’s Association ever sees this record, they’ll heavily advise you to remain with the same healthcare professional.” 

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating support banner by @/ cafekitsune @theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @actuallysaiyan

[wuthering-tempest]

dads and the pet they didnt want

[jinmalos]

man starts playing rhythm games as anger management. 20 killed 2 injured 3 missing

[astrcmoni]

ᯓ☆ star’s midnight caller ☆ᯓ

MASTERLIST

☆ series masterpost: I II III

pairing: billie eilish x sex-hotline-operator!fem!reader

genre: fluff, smut(kinda)

synopsis: in the quiet of the night, you answer a call that pulls you into a world of mystery and intrigue. what starts as a simple conversation with a stranger turns into a connection you never expected, leaving you craving more with each ring.

wc: 2.4k

warnings: light cussing here and there

authors note: let me know what you guys think, i really liked writing this and i want to make a part two. also there’s no smut in this part but the concept of the hotline is sexual (idk if that made sense) anyways imma stop rambling byeee ☆

phone call style story — reader is in bold italics, billie is in blue italics.

————

wednesday 12:43 am — incoming call from +1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC)

“thanks so much, babygirl,” richard says from the other side of the phone, his voice soft, tinged with something like gratitude. “you always know what i need.”

richard is one of your regulars, calling at least twice a week. he likes to imagine that you’re his long-lost girlfriend, reaching out from some parallel universe. you let him ramble, your voice smooth and coaxing, playing into his fantasy like a script you know by heart. a light laugh here, a soft hum there, the occasional breathy moan when it fits the moment.

“anytime, boo,” you reply, fingers already grazing the disconnect button. “take care of yourself, okay?”

the line clicks off, leaving a brief silence that feels heavier than it should. you exhale, stretching your arms above your head as you try to shake off the remnants of his voice. just another call. just another night.

soft light spills through the corners of your room, golden and warm against the pale lavender of your walls. the curtains billow lazily, carried by a breeze that whispers through the cracked window. outside, the city hums—a distant siren wailing, cars rolling down the street below, someone leaning on their horn too long, too loud.

at your desk, you lean forward, catching your reflection in the mirror perched precariously against a stack of books. sticky lip gloss catches the lamplight, glinting like glass. your lashes look decent—lifted enough to remind you of your own femininity. normally, you wouldn’t bother. no one can see you, after all. but it helps, this small ritual. it’s armor in a way, a mask you slip behind before stepping into this role.

“alright,” you mutter, rolling your neck to release the tension settling in your shoulders. “one more call and i’m done.”

the surface beneath your elbows is cluttered—textbooks splayed open, scribbled lab reports fighting for space with overdue bills. it’s not glamorous, but it pays. and it’s enough, for now.

you adjust your headset, letting the padded cups press comfortably against your ears, and clear your throat. the practiced warmth creeps back into your voice as the phone chimes again, flashing another number across the screen.

wednesday 12:49 am — incoming call from +1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, california)

“hello, and thank you for calling the pulse network. this is star speaking.” your voice drops an octave, soft and inviting, the words sliding out like honey. “who do i have the pleasure of speaking with tonight?”

there’s a pause on the other end—static filling the silence like a breath held too long. then, a voice cuts through, low, smooth, and distinctly feminine.

“uh…hi?” she sounds hesitant, her voice fraying at the edges like she’s second-guessing herself. “is this…is this a-uh…hotline for…you know?”

your brows knit for a moment before relaxing. most callers know exactly what they want, their voices heavy with intent. but her hesitation feels different. delicate, almost.

“that depends,” you say, leaning forward slightly, your tone light and playful. “what are you looking for, my love?”

she exhales sharply, and you can hear the faint sound of movement—like she’s pacing, the rhythm of her footsteps soft and uneven.

“honestly?” she says after a beat, her voice quieter now. “i don’t even know why i called. jus’ bored, i guess. curious. didn’t think this would even work.”

a smile tugs at your lips, though you bite it back. calls like these are rare, but you don’t mind them. there’s something refreshing about the uncertainty, the lack of pretense.

“well,” you murmur, letting your voice wrap around the words like a velvet ribbon, “we’re here now. go ahead, tell me whatever’s on your mind. no pressure.”

there’s a pause, long enough that you glance at the timer on the screen, wondering if she’s about to hang up. but then she sighs again, the sound softer this time, like she’s giving in.

“is it weird that i’m calling?” she asks, her voice dipping into the quiet like it’s unsure of its place.

“no judgment here, love. everyone has their reasons.” your response is soft, easy, laced with practiced charm. but something about her feels different.

“i don’t even know mine.”

the line falls into silence again, thick and heavy, broken only by the sound of her breathing—steady, almost meditative. it’s the kind of silence that feels like it’s waiting for you to fill it, but instead, you let it linger, listening.

“what’s your name?”

you blink, caught off guard. most callers don’t ask that unless it’s part of the fantasy they’re crafting. most don’t care to know.

“well, what do you want it to be?” you counter, your voice tipping into something playful.

she laughs softly, the sound low and throaty, curling through the line like smoke. “no, that’s not what i asked. i wanna know your name.”

there’s a pause as you weigh her words, the sincerity behind them.

“star,” you say finally, keeping it professional, your tone steady. “you can call me star.”

“what’s your real name?”

her question lands heavier than it should. it’s not forceful, not even intrusive. just curious. like she’s asking for a story rather than a fact.

you hesitate, fingers tracing the edge of your desk absentmindedly. something about her voice makes you want to give in, but you push the temptation aside, slipping easily into deflection.

“you know, most people don’t ask me that,” you murmur. “they usually want to know what i look like, what i’m wearing. things like that.”

“guess i’m not most people, then.”

“come on, you’re telling me you’re not even a little curious?”

she chuckles, warm and low, the kind of laugh that sticks in your chest. “okay, i’ll bite. what are you wearing, star?”

you smirk, leaning back in your chair as the city hums faintly through the open window.

“blue and black pajamas” you reply, your tone light. “lace trim. very cute, if i do say so myself.”

“where’d you get it?”

“some victoria’s secret around my city. they were having a sale.”

“cute.” her voice dips, carrying a hint of a smile. “now, back to my question.”

you roll your eyes, though there’s no edge to it. she’s persistent, you’ll give her that.

“you’re just gonna have to call me star. can’t give you my name. not tonight, sorry sweetheart.”

“no, it’s okay.” she pauses, then repeats it, like she’s trying it on. “well, star.” there’s something deliberate about the way she says it, slow and careful, testing its weight. “i’m billie.”

her name sits soft and sure in the air, settling between you like it belongs.

“you seem like a billie.”

“do i?”

“mhm,” you hum, leaning forward against the desk. “so, billie. what do you want to talk about?”

“hmm.” she draws the sound out thoughtfully, the silence stretching just long enough to make you wonder if she’ll answer. “why do you do this?”

the question hits you in a way you don’t expect, cutting through the usual rhythm of calls. most people don’t ask—don’t even think to ask.

you consider lying, giving her something easy, but the weight of her question lingers, tugging at the edges of your honesty.

“it pays the bills,” you admit finally, your voice soft. “and it’s not as bad as people think. i meet some…very…interesting people.”

“like me?”

the corner of your mouth quirks up, her words pulling at something playful in you.

“you tell me. are you interesting?”

“guess that depends.” she pauses, her voice curling with quiet amusement. “you think i’m interesting so far?”

“so far? i’ll give you a solid maybe.”

her laughter spills through the line, warm and unexpected, and it lingers in your room long after it fades.

“oh really? how long have you been doing this?”

“for about…” you pause, eyes flicking up to the ceiling like the answer might be scrawled there. “for about a little over a year now.”

“damn. that’s a long ass time.”

you chuckle, the sound warm and easy. “it is, isn’t it? i don’t know, i don’t mind it though. all i do is answer the phone. sometimes i do schoolwork, cook—small things like that. not like i necessarily have to be fully present for it, as long as i’m paying attention, you know?”

“you’re in school? just exactly how old are you?”

“wait—before we continue, you’re aware it’s a dollar seventy-five per minute, right?”

“uhh, i wasn’t, but i don’t mind it.”

“ooh, so you’re rich then?”

she laughs, a low, honeyed sound that settles in your chest. “i wouldn’t say that. i’d say i’m… comfortable.”

“only rich people say they’re comfortable. but to answer your question, i’m twenty, in my junior year. babe, you?”

“okay, not bad. i’m twenty-three. though i did think you were much older.”

you snort, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it. “not bad? we’re practically the same age.”

“mm, i got about three years on you, so… no,” she laughs, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “what are you majoring in?”

“criminology. mainly forensics and things like that.”

“that’s so fucking cool. so you’re like those people on tv who examine bodies and shit?”

“yeah, but doing it in real life is way different than it looks on tv.” you close your eyes, the memory of your first dissection flashing briefly. “especially lab work. but you get used to it after a while.”

“still, that’s badass. you must be super smart.”

the compliment catches you off guard, heat crawling up your neck. “i guess you could say that,” you mutter, a quiet smile tugging at your lips.

the conversation flows easier after that, like water finding its way downhill. you don’t even realize when you’ve moved to your bed, your headset cast aside as her voice fills your room through the speaker.

she asks you everything—your favorite movies, the hobbies that keep you up at night, the kind of music that makes your soul hum. the questions are simple but intimate, slipping past your usual defenses like she’s known you for years.

and you answer her. honestly, without hesitation. there’s something about her voice, warm and unhurried, that pulls the truth out of you.

you find yourself smiling, more than you have in days, fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair as you lean into the sound of her. it feels oddly intimate—like a late-night call with someone who’s already carved out a space in your life.

“so,” she asks after a lull, her voice soft but curious, “what’s your favorite movie?”

you grin, closing your eyes as you let the answer roll off your tongue. “pulp fiction. it’s a classic, don’t judge me.”

“no judgment. i respect it. but you gotta admit, it’s a little basic.”

“oh, and you’re not basic? let me guess—you’re gonna say something artsy like ‘a clockwork orange’ or whatever.”

“wrong. mine’s ‘the shining.’”

“oh, so you’re a horror girl. noted.”

she laughs, the sound warm and easy, and you realize you don’t want the conversation to end. not yet. not with her voice lingering in your room like this.

“what about you?” you murmur, breaking the soft rhythm of silence that had settled between you.

“hm? what about me?” her voice lilts, curious but guarded.

“what do you do? like for work?”

there’s a pause, long enough that you wonder if she’s going to sidestep the question entirely. but then she exhales, the sound quiet, like she’s carefully letting something go.

“i’m a musician,” she says finally, her words tentative, like they might break if handled too roughly. “or i guess i was… i teach music now.”

her admission catches you off guard, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through the connection. but you don’t press her, sensing that whatever she’s offering is enough for now. instead, you let the conversation drift, carried by the quiet ebb and flow of her voice.

the hours blur like watercolors, the world outside fading until there’s only her.

eventually, her tone softens, the edges of her words rounding with sleep. “it’s getting late. i should let you go,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

you glance at the alarm clock on the wall, the soft red digits blinking 3:35 a.m. back at you. exhaustion tugs at you, but the thought of ending the call feels heavier than it should.

“but…” her hesitation pulls you back to her. “can i call you again? i had a really good time.”

your heart stumbles over itself, a small hitch in your chest. “yeah, of course you can.” your voice dips into something softer, something closer to truth. “i had a good time too.”

“great. goodnight, star.” there’s a smile in her voice, light and unguarded, and it lingers in the air even after she’s gone.

“goodnight, billie.”

the line goes quiet, and for a moment, you sit there, the warmth of her voice still brushing against you like an afterglow.

you slip off your bed, padding into the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. the cool water shocks your skin, but it doesn’t chase away the heat curling low in your stomach.

when you return to your room, the lamp clicks off with a soft snap, plunging the space into shadows broken only by the shifting colors of your tv. you slide under the covers, the faint hum of a late-night rerun filling the silence. the images blur on the screen, but all you can think about is her voice, the way it clung to the edges of the night, soft and sure.

a ding pulls you from your thoughts. your phone glows faintly on the nightstand, and you reach for it, the sudden brightness making you blink.

new transactions — 4:03 a.m.

+1 (254) 783-0184 (dallas, TX) - $26.25

+1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC) - $43.75

+1 (310) 807-3956 (los angeles, CA) - $315.62

you smile, the corners of your lips twitching up involuntarily. it’s nothing unusual, but tonight it feels different, lighter somehow. you turn the screen off and set the phone back down, a quiet sense of contentment settling over you.

for the first time in a long time, you find yourself looking forward to your next call.

inspired by @whore-era

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[emmitaaa4]

i just found an analysis—i.e. a brain-dump on the narrative patterns established in SF & on Nesta vs Elain’s romantic arcs—that i had scribbled down ages ago in an insomnia episode, and…

not to gas myself up but i ate that. Nothing revolutionary—basically what most of us have been saying—just funny to be validated by my old thoughts in a random notebook.

———

While Feyre/Nes are “two sides of the same coin,” Elain /Nes are character foils. Adjacent traumas, near opposite responses; similar upbringings in society, but regarded/treated/raised very differently…

… ACOSF directly contrasts and parallels Elain & Nesta’s romantic arcs through their mother’s expectations. (The roles they were raised to fulfill would be the roles they break away from.)

SJM cements that by introducing Eris as their mother’s ideal partner for Nesta: Nes ends up choosing against her mother’s wishes (power & conquest) => choosing against what she was groomed for.

So what of Elain?

“Groomed” to be a wife to a man of her mother’s choosing —> Given away to a mate of the Cauldron’s choosing.

Their union would be used to further her family’s social standing —> The elucien bond is openly regarded as what keeps Lucien loyal to the NC + political ramifications are highlighted in the bonus.

Their mother’s expectation of Elain is that she—the complacent, simple, unambitious doll to be married off—would marry for “love & beauty” (while her cunning Nesta would marry for conquest)…

That phrasing implies that she perceives these qualities—love & beauty—as superficial, unimportant, and secondary to her plans.

It also implies that Elain is expected to fall in love with the man that was chosen for her => Elain would not question/notice their machinations.

Analogously, Elain’s (apparent) disinterest for Lucien—the man who was chosen for her—is assumed to be temporary, rebellious: it’s expected that she will fall for him. Her voice is rendered secondary to fate’s plans => Her love is a given (mates are everything, after all), while her disinterest is positioned as an inconvenience.

Elain’s story will be about reclaiming that narrative.

Elain will marry ‘for love & beauty’… just not in the way that’s been expected of her: ‘love & beauty’ will outweigh other’s plans—fate will be a consequence of her love, rather than her love being a consequence of fate.

On the concept of free will—what is true love? “Is it something that is destined? Is it something that you make? Or is it both?” ~ SJM, 2024

———

"Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother once said, but she has no ambition. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds, but it will be our own maneuverings, Nesta, not hers, that win us an advantageous match."

You know what? I don’t think so.

[swiftjay23]

HEYYYYYY:) I’ve read lots of your posts and I’m OBSESSED. you’re such an AMAZING writer soooo. I’m CRAVING a Jun ho smut if that’s fine with you 🙏🙏🙏

Thankssssss

HEYYYYYY ANON!!! 🫂🫂🫂

First of all, HELLO??? YOU’VE READ LOTS OF MY POSTS??? YOU’RE OBSESSED??? I’m literally malfunctioning right now like a Squid Game guard with a gun jam 😭😭 Thank you SO much for being here and for saying this!! Seriously. You have no idea how much that means.

AND OH, A JUN-HO SMUT????

Say less. This man?? In that black turtleneck?? Flashlight in one hand, other hand pinning you to a wall?? Yeah okay I see the vision. I see it clearly. I’m already scribbling. This is a small one (Me is sorry😔🙏)

"Loaded."

(Hwang Jun-ho x VIP!Reader | NC-17 | Gun Kink | Power Play | Explicit Smut | Enemies-to-Lovers Energy | Dangerous Game)

Squid Game, Season One. The VIP Lounge, After Hours.

No one’s watching now. No other masked men. No waiters. No guards. Just you and Jun-ho.

You’re stripped bare, gold jewelry still on, heels still sharp, but the silk dress is long gone. Pooled somewhere on the cold marble floor of his suite.

And he? He’s still fully clothed. Black shirt, black gloves, black gun.

The cold barrel of his weapon traces a path down your sternum, grazing between your breasts. Your nipples pebble under the chill of the metal. You shiver, but not from fear.

You’ve always liked to dance with danger. You just never thought you’d get this close to it.

Jun-ho’s breath ghosts over the shell of your ear, hot in contrast to the gun’s steel. “Talk.”

His voice is low. Commanding. “Who are you really, sweetheart? You think I didn’t notice? You’re not like the other pigs in there.”

You smirk. Just a little. “Maybe I’m exactly like them.” His lips graze your jaw. His grip tightens on the gun, index finger feathering the trigger, but not pulling. “No.” His tone darkens. “You’re not sloppy. You’re not drunk. And you’re not here to watch.”

The barrel slides lower. Over your belly. Down between your thighs. Right to the slick heat between your legs.

“Who sent you?” he growls. “I’m not telling you shit.”

Click. Safety off. You feel it. The shift of his finger.

Your pulse skyrockets, but your thighs press together anyway, grinding down on cold steel. Your body is betraying you. Heat coils in your gut. Your chest heaves, nipples tight, skin flushed.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Jun-ho murmurs. “So are you.”

He yanks you closer. One hand knots in your hair, tilting your head back so he can breathe against your neck. His other hand? Still holding the gun. Still pressing it against your bare cunt.

“You wanna test me?” he whispers. “Maybe I do.” That’s all it takes. His patience snaps.

He flips you, pulling you into his lap, back against his chest, legs spread wide across his thighs. Your ass grinds into his hard cock, straining in his pants. His breath is ragged now, his mask of control cracking.

His left arm wraps tight around your waist. His right hand slides the gun back up, pressing the barrel to your abdomen this time, just under your ribs, while his fingers finally push inside you.

Two. Knuckle-deep. Curling exactly where you need him. You’re shaking. Not from fear. From how fucking good it feels to have him everywhere at once, his gun against your belly, his lips at your throat, his fingers knotted inside you, fucking you open like he owns you.

“You’re dripping all over me,” he whispers, voice wrecked now. “So wet for this, aren’t you?” Your hands clutch his wrist, the veiny part, right above the joint, your nails biting into his skin. You can feel his pulse hammering beneath your grip.

“Say the name,” he hisses. “No.” His thumb circles your clit, lazy and cruel. The barrel of the gun slides up, rests at the base of your throat again. Your heartbeat slams against cold metal.

“You’re gonna come like this,” Jun-ho growls. “On my lap. With my gun on you.” And you do.

You come hard, body locking up, thighs trembling, eyes squeezing shut as you grind against his palm. Your slick coats his fingers, his wrist, his lap.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your ear, kissing the corner of your jaw, voice sharp with frustration and lust. “Still not talking?”

“No,” you pant. “Make me.” That’s when he snaps the gun down onto the mattress. And finally, he undoes his belt.

He fucks you from behind. Hard. Brutal. Desperate. Your back is arched, hands clawing at the sheets. His hips slam into yours, cock thick and pulsing inside you, stretching you to your limit.

But his gun isn’t gone. Oh no. He picks it back up, presses the barrel to the base of your spine while he fucks you. Uses it to keep you pinned.

“Say the name.” “Fuck you,” you gasp. His cock thrusts deeper, angle brutal. The slap of skin-on-skin echoes in the room. His fingers dig bruises into your hips.

“You’re fucking me already, officer.” You hear him laugh, low and bitter, breath hot against your ear as he leans over your back.

“Yeah?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Then let’s make it count.”

His rhythm gets rougher.

The bedframe knocks the wall. The gun is still on you, tracing lines along your spine, resting at the curve of your lower back, sometimes sliding back between your thighs.

Each time the cold barrel grazes your clit, you jolt. He keeps doing it. Over and over, until your vision goes white, mouth open in a silent scream. When you collapse, spent and wrecked, he leans down. His lips brush your ear. “You’re gonna tell me eventually,” he whispers. “And when you do?”

Another thrust. Deep. “You’ll say it with my cock still inside you.”

END.

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands,⟡ @yuriloveshee,  ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @add-this-to-that,  ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx, ⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie,  ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk  ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful,  ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw,  ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy,  ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001  ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq,

[thebeatles-world]

yay!! Odd request but could you write something about John realizing the reader is turned on by his bad eyesight? Like when he squints or holds something close to his face to read it??

Also I hope you and your family are doing all right !! We got hit pretty bad in FL but I saw some pics from NC and it's so sad :(( please stay safe

Stay safe as well! We are still recovering ❤️‍🩹😭💔

John squints at the paper in his hand, holding it closer to his face in an attempt to make out the scribbled words. His brow furrows, and you watch as his lips form a tight line, concentrating harder than usual.

“Bloody eyes,” he mutters under his breath, pushing the paper away in frustration. He glances up at you, catching the way you’re watching him a little too closely, like you’re waiting for something to happen.

“What’s that look for?” he asks, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. He narrows his eyes at you, leaning forward, squinting again. “You making fun of me?”

You shake your head quickly, embarrassed that he noticed. But the heat rising to your cheeks betrays you, and John catches on in an instant. His grin widens, that mischievous gleam in his eyes making you fidget.

“No, wait a second…” he says slowly, holding the paper up again, squinting harder this time just to test his theory. “You like this, don’t you?”

Your heart skips a beat as you realize he’s onto you. John chuckles, lowering the paper and leaning in even closer, his voice low and teasing.

John tilts his head, his eyes still narrowed as if he’s trying to see right through you. He lingers there, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath, the smell of cigarettes and something distinctly him—maybe leather, maybe a bit of cologne. It makes your pulse quicken, but you try to play it cool.

“You’re daft,” you say with a nervous laugh, though your body betrays you, shifting in your seat.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating between you. “Oh, am I now? Don’t think I didn’t catch that little stare you were givin’ me. Thought I was squinting too hard to notice, huh?”

Before you can come up with a snappy response, John leans back a little, holding something close to his face again, as if inspecting it. His brow furrows with exaggerated concentration. You can’t help but laugh this time, shaking your head.

“You’re impossible.”

John drops the act and grins. “That’s why you like me.” He pauses, studying you in that intense, unreadable way of his. “It’s funny though, the stuff that gets to people. Didn’t think my eyesight was part of my charm.”

Your cheeks heat up again, and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “It’s not— I mean, it’s just—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, love.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing yours for a moment, sending a spark through you. “I kind of like it, y’know. Knowing something so small makes your heart race.”

You swallow, trying to hold onto some sense of composure, but his voice—low and teasing—wraps around you like a warm blanket.

John shifts closer again, the humor in his eyes giving way to something more serious, more… intentional. “Maybe next time I’ll leave my glasses at home. Give you more to look at.” His voice drops to a whisper. “And maybe I’ll look a little closer at you too.”

You’re not sure what’s happening more—your heart pounding in your chest or the dizzying feeling in your head. But with John staring at you like that, you don’t care. You only nod, breathless, already imagining what happens next.

[sutashii]

Hoshina Soshiro x Writer!Officer!Reader

setting: you are an officer of Third Division, and one of your hobbies is to write different fictional stories. as soon as Soshiro finds out about your hobby, he, as a true fan of literature, will never leave you alone anymore.

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Writer!Officer!Reader

warnings: lots of lolz because Soshiro is a tease, but nothing explicit here

notes: yes, Soshiro have read even NC-17 works of yours hehe. it was really funny to write lol. btw this one is about 3,8k words, it’s longer than my usual drabble-like works. but i still hope you will enjoy!

tag section: @moon-cakiie Thank you again for your support!

On the Edge of a Sword

You worked hard to finally become who you are today.

Long days and even nights of training sessions, reading books about kaiju up and down, each time more and more dangerous battles on the battlefield made you the one who can lead others. The one who can assess the situation with a second glance, react quickly, or hide and wait for the right moment when you can deliver the most devastating and accurate blow.

But, naturally, you, like all officers, had your favorite hobbies. After all, you were a simple person who loved, for example, to eat well or sleep longer when the situation allowed it. On weekends, you went out into the city to look at the shop windows and walk around the shopping centers, absorbing the noise of the crowded streets and seeing with your own eyes what you were trying so hard for.

And you also really loved to write.

There were times when inspiration would hit you, and for several days in a row you would scribble something in the notes on your phone in any free minute - during meals, in between workouts, before and after showers. These were short notes about ideas that came to your mind and that you absolutely could not lose. They were about the development of the plot as a whole, about some small details that were definitely worth mentioning, about dialogues between the main characters.

But there were also days when you didn't want to dive into it at all because of the accumulated fatigue, so you put off writing the next chapter until next time. The fatigue had been especially strong lately, considering how much more dangerous kaiju attacks had become. However, you still found time for what really made you happy.

One such day, during your lunch break, you hurried to finish your lunch as quickly as possible and go out for some fresh air. You thought much better outside, even though you were surrounded by the polluted air of a noisy city. At Defense Forces’ Base, by the way, the air seemed cleaner, but you tried not to fill your head with such details, because otherwise you risked losing the thread of the story. You fished your phone out of your uniform pocket, opened your notes, and, exhaling, began typing.

Today, it took you only a couple of minutes to get into the right mood. Your fingers flew across the touchscreen keyboard, and your breathing seemed to have almost stopped, concentrating a small influx of fresh air at the very top of your lungs. You already knew how you wanted to continue your new story. All that was left was to write a few chapters in which the main heroine's dilemma would come closer to its resolution, and in which her love story would reach its climax.

"I wonder who you're texting with that excited expression," a painfully familiar voice sounded in your ear, making you flinch and your heart sink into your heels. You instinctively pressed your phone to your chest, hiding the screen, and carefully looked up.

In front of you stood your vice-captain himself.

"N-Nobody," and it wasn't a lie, you noted with your inner voice. You really weren't texting anyone at this moment, so you couldn't be caught doing anything. And anyway, is it even forbidden to write love messages during a break? Why vice-captain was looking at you with such a sly squint?!

"Yeah? And it seems to me that I had never seen anyone other than you who typed so fast," Soshiro said with feigned thoughtfulness, clearly testing your strength. You felt that he had been watching you for a long time and noting your actions, and today was clearly no exception. You attributed his behavior to his vice-captain duties, to the need to keep an eye on each of his subordinates so as not to miss any danger. However, you did not expect that he would appear in front of you so clearly and ask you a question directly.

With Soshiro… let’s just say it was a bit complicated. You knew you couldn’t be too open with him. It would sound stupid from the outside – everyone knew that the vice-captain was always reliable, that he would always listen and support, even if he didn’t forget to have a good laugh. However, you knew very well that if you dug a little deeper than his carefree nature, you could find a calculating mind that noticed every detail about everyone. You were wildly impressed by his ability to pick up even the smallest facts and put them together to give a crushing verdict. Naturally, you were both fascinated and scared by this.

Because there was no way Soshiro should have known that you were in love with him.

"You misunderstood," you smiled awkwardly, turning your phone back on. The screen showed an unfinished sentence, and you sighed tiredly. "I'm not texting anyone. I'm finishing up the chapter."

"The chapter?" Soshiro asked, opening his eyes slightly. Your heart skipped a beat, because every time you saw the vice-captain's gaze, your own lingered longer than it should have.

"Yes," you nodded, smiling nervously. He wouldn't scold you for doing something like that during lunchtime, would he? "I promised my readers to post the chapter last week, but, as you know, the kaiju attacks make their own adjustments to our plans."

Silence fell between you. You anxiously chewed your lip, a bad habit that should’ve been gotten rid of a long time ago. Soshiro froze, his gaze piercing you with a very serious expression. Did you do something wrong? Was it really written in some regulation that you can’t do this, especially during duty? Did it even apply to breaks?

"Vice-captain, I assure you, I do not write anything that could somehow reveal our officers’ duties," you hastened to justify yourself, so that Soshiro would not think in any way that you were giving away Defense Forces' secrets. It would never have occurred to you to do so, because you knew perfectly well how important and dangerous your work was, and any ill-wisher would certainly learn something from your works. You could not and would not take such a risk.

"I know that you would not do such a thing," he finally said, and you felt your heart begin to beat at a normal speed again. "However, I will certainly take it personally that I am still not on your reader lists."

You froze, unsure of what to say. Did you hear wrong, or did Soshiro really just complain that you didn't share the link to your author page?

"Sorry, vice-captain, but I don't think you'd like that," you said, and Soshiro's grin only widened.

"Oh, I get it. Fanfiction and all that stuff, eh?" Soshiro sat down on the bench next to you, his smile oozing with cunning and something else you didn't quite catch.

"Well... not only that," you cleared your throat, the awkwardness of the whole situation causing a slight blush to play on your cheeks. "My page used to only have fanfiction on it, but I've been writing more original stories now."

"Interesting," Soshiro nodded and handed you his phone, to which you could only raise your eyebrows in surprise. "I'd like to read it in my spare time. If you don't mind, of course."

"S-Sure," you nodded, trying not to squeal in joy, shame, and excitement. With slightly shaking hands, you took Soshiro's phone and began to type in the address of your author's page. "Here, you don't have to register, even unregistered users can read and comment here," you expertly instructed your vice-captain on how this Internet platform works, to which Soshiro nodded in satisfaction.

For the next few days, your interaction with Soshiro was reduced to almost nothing, except for training and sparring sessions. You were tirelessly practicing your fighting skills, training almost to the point of exhaustion, so you could not find even a second to ask Soshiro his opinion. And, frankly, you were too embarrassed to do so, so you decided to simply ignore the situation, and Soshiro only helped you in this, literally evaporating into thin air after each training session.

After a few days of hard work, you finally found enough strength to look at the updated statistics for your works. The platform allowed you to track the daily growth of views, likes, and comments on your works, and it was very convenient because you did not have to manually scroll the page and keep track of it. When you opened the statistics this time, you were surprised to find that even on your very old works, the number of views began to increase proportionally to the number of chapters, and you turned off the screen of your phone in a panic and buried your face in the pillow. You should have expected this, having given your vice-captain your page, but you still felt awkward. Did Soshiro really even read this?!

It was more than strange for you to feel two such different worlds touching each other, especially in such a strange manner. You even partly regretted giving Soshiro your account with a bunch of similar works, because after reading them all, Soshiro would definitely not let you live a quiet life. You secretly hoped that Soshiro would quickly get bored of reading second-rate fanfiction on unfamiliar fandoms, but on the other hand, you were offended that he would not even get to your latest, more serious works, and the difference between them and fanfiction was colossal both in time and in the quality. And why did Soshiro start reading from the very beginning, and not from the latest works?! After all, if he understands that there is nothing to catch here and gives up reading, only your worst works will remain in his memory!

You let out a heavy but quiet breath, trying not to wake the officers in the neighboring bunks. Shame and disgrace, that's what had been playing in your blood for the last few days. There was something thrilling in the fact that your love had paid so much attention to your work. You smiled to yourself and mentally crossed your fingers in the hope that Soshiro would finally tell you his opinion.

The days continued to slip through your fingers, and the interactions between you and Soshiro continued to be limited to just a few words during training. You began to worry even more. Was it really that awkward to talk to you after what Soshiro had read? You continued to practice your close combat moves with particular thoughtfulness. Punch, dodge, counter, dodge again. Suddenly, it hit you, and you almost squealed right in the middle of training.

Did he even get around of reading NC-17 rated works?!

You were ready to bang your head on the floor from indignation and shame. You hadn't thought about this at all when you gave Soshiro the link to your page. The awkward feeling you had felt earlier? It was nothing compared to what you felt now, knowing that Soshiro had probably already gotten to the particularly intimate works that you had started writing a little later. You tried your best to continue training as if nothing had happened, but these thoughts just wouldn't leave your head.

"Don't get distracted, or you'll be eaten alive on the battlefield," Soshiro reminded, coming closer. Even he noticed that you weren’t feeling well, and you hurried to tidy yourself up as much as possible - at least to remove the "I'm dead" expression from your face.

"Yes sir," you said crisply and continued practicing your close stance and punches. Soshiro's gaze lingered on you a little longer than it should have, and you were about to ask if everything was okay, when suddenly...

"A true samurai never backs down from the obstacles that Lady Life throws at him," Soshiro said with feigned loftiness. His lips were still adorned with the same mischievous smirk that he usually bestowed on his subordinates when he was plotting something or noticed something incriminating. At first you didn't pay much attention, but a few seconds later, when Soshiro had already gone off to give help to other officers, you felt as if you had been doused from head to toe with ice water.

It was a quote from your fanfic.

You really wanted to bury yourself in the ground and never show yourself from under it again.

Which is essentially what you did. Now you were deliberately avoiding Soshiro, unobtrusively, but still trying to cross paths with him less. The feeling of shame was growing in you exponentially, and you didn't know what to do.

For the first time in your writing life, you were afraid to open the statistics. However, once every couple of days you still did it, looking at the phone screen and squinting, afraid to see the obvious. You sighed heavily. Soshiro really did go through the NC-17 fanfics and also liked them, like the previous ones. At least he didn’t write comments, you thought. On the other hand, you really wanted to hear his opinion about your writing skills, because it was obvious that the newer the works were, the better their quality changed. At least, you wanted to believe it.

Weeks passed. You carried out your duties as an officer of the Defense Forces responsibly, training hard and bravely defending the city from the attacks of the kaiju. The battles were not easy, and despite the support of Hibino Kafka as Kaiju No. 8, it became more and more difficult to deal with the threats. However, at the end of the day, you were happy that you were all a team that stood up for each other.

You were standing on the balcony of the main building. The setting sun was slowly disappearing behind the horizon, and the air was starting to get cooler. By your calculations, Soshiro should have gotten around to your original works by now, and you were especially curious about his opinion, but you didn’t dare to ask him directly. Since then, you hadn’t had a chance to talk. Your conversations had mostly been about work, barely touching on aspects of your personal lives, and not a word had been said by him about your works. This could only mean two things: either Soshiro was simply choosing a more convenient moment to share his positive impressions (and the thought of this warmed your heart), or things were so bad that it was easier for him to pretend he hadn’t read anything (and this thought had already hurt you and your writer’s ego). Or maybe Soshiro was just trying to make sure that you really didn’t include work details in your works. This option seemed the most reasonable.

But most of all, of course, you were worried about your latest work, which was in progress. As already said, you would never take details of your officer entourage to write a work, and for the sake of everyone's safety, you were going to stick to this rule in the future. However, the only detail that could be latched on was the love interest of the main heroine. A short, dark-haired man with an athletic build, a traditional swordsman who devotes all his free time to training, cheerful, but at the same time serious in the right places, did not leave your regular readers indifferent either. Hino Shigekazu became the absolute star of your work, and you understood why. His entire image completely repeated the image of your vice-captain, and from the very beginning you understood what thin ice you were walking on, but you could not find the strength in yourself to delete or stop working on this work. In many ways, the main heroine reflected your values ​​and principles, and her love interest in Shigekazu only added color to the existing plot. The two of them really were a great couple, and that was the only thing stopping you from deleting this work.

It was too filled with your hope that something similar would happen in your life someday.

"It's almost time for lights out," a familiar voice said from behind you, and you flinched. A smile appeared on your face involuntarily, and you turned around. Hoshina Soshiro was standing right behind you. His body didn't show any tension even after a long day of training, and his neat but strong hands, usually so deft with swords, were now hidden in the pockets of his uniform.

"Yes," you nodded and forcibly returned your gaze to the sunset creeping behind the night clouds. "I'll be leaving soon."

"Don't worry, I'm not a mother to keep track of who goes to bed at what time," Soshiro came closer and leaned his hands on the balcony railing, also turning his gaze to the setting sun. "However, if you stay up late, as your vice-captain, I will be obliged to intervene."

You smiled and exhaled in relief. You missed your casual conversations so much, missed Soshiro's attention, which at such moments was directed exclusively at you. His presence always caused an indescribable storm of emotions in you, even if you were just silent next to each other. You felt his care, albeit sometimes hidden under a layer of strict remarks and bitter jokes. Despite the difference in your positions, you always felt equal to him when it came to the two of you.

"I never thought that fanfiction is such an interesting thing," Soshiro chuckled thoughtfully, and you almost lost your balance. Is he going to discuss all of this right now?!

"I'm glad that, uh, it gave you some pleasure," you muttered awkwardly.

"At first, of course, I thought it was a hopeless undertaking," ouch, you thought. Soshiro really knows how to press on a sore spot. "But as I read, I couldn't help but be amazed about how quickly your writing skills have grown. I can confidently say that your latest works can easily compete with the current authors on the market."

Gods, it was so nice to hear those words after so many weeks of uncertainty.

"Vice-captain, you're too kind to me," you tried to return your face to normal state, but you couldn't wipe the stupid, satisfied smile off it. Praise from Soshiro meant especially much to you.

"Oh, no, I have a lot of complaints too," Soshiro said playfully, crossing his arms. "Let’s take your latest work, On the Edge of a Sword, for example. Why is Hino Shigekazu such a slowpoke? I understand that it's the author's intention, but didn’t you think that he may have noticed his feelings for the main heroine a lot earlier, not after 16 long chapters?" you couldn't believe your ears. Was he criticizing his own image? "He's not stupid, after all. You pointed out his attentiveness to his surroundings, so why do you think he wouldn’t notice such an important detail from the start, especially with a woman he clearly cares about?” Soshiro shook his head, and something inside you clicked. This conversation was hardly a normal critique. “When writing a love story, pay more attention to the chemistry that occurs between the characters. Many of their interactions may not seem like what they seem at first glance.”

“Vice-captain,” you began cautiously. You weren’t stupid either, but you still really wanted to check your guess. “Are we really talking about my work now?”

Soshiro smiled slyly. “Like a kitsune, huh,” you thought, and an idea for your next work instantly popped into your head. However, for now, you quickly pushed those thoughts aside.

“What if not?” Soshiro raised an eyebrow and looked thoughtfully into your eyes, and you quickly looked away.

“Then… you know my answer,” you said with a tremor in your voice, this whole situation was so absurd, but at the same time romantic, just like in the books. The sunset, the one-on-one conversation, the veiled confession of love - all of this ignited your writer's heart and gave it inspiration, but, of course, it was all secondary. You couldn't believe that Soshiro really, really admitted to you that he noticed your feelings from the very beginning. And that he approved of them and believed that they were mutual. Oh, Gods. You were ready to pass out right then and there.

"No, I don't know," Soshiro smiled, and your breath caught in your chest. He really wanted a direct, unvarnished answer from you, even though he had admitted his own feelings in such a sophisticated way just a minute ago. You just shook your head and smiled. Something about the vice-captain remained unchanged.

"Vice-captain," you said, plucking up the courage to meet his gaze. "More precisely... Soshiro." You narrowed your eyes slightly, tasting the name, savoring it on your lips. "I... I care about you, as you may have already realised. No, not like that. I could even say that I love you, and those feelings are much more than just the relationship between a vice-captain and an officer. Of course I do not expect you to reciprocate, and if you decline my feelings, I assure you that our relationship will remain the same as they are now. This will not affect my duty as an officer in any way," a bitter lie. Of course it will, but you still will do everything possible to survive this. After all, your duties cannot allow you to behave recklessly because of emotions.

"I believe you. However," Soshiro said thoughtfully, his gaze radiating seriousness as if he was in the middle of a battlefield. "My feelings for you have gone beyond a work relationship for a long time ago already," he went silent for a moment, but then his face lit up with a sly smile again. "You specifically wanted me to say that out loud, didn't you? Tsk, well, 1:1."

You laughed heartily, happiness filling your lungs and your stomach twisting unpleasantly with excitement, but you were willing to put up with this feeling. You knew that in the end it was justified and even pleasant.

"Sorry, vice-captain," you breathed out and smiled again, still not believing what was happening. This wasn't another one of your fantasies, not another one of your works, but reality? Wow, you really could be considered lucky.

"Well, I'll be looking forward to new chapters," Soshiro stretched, moving away from the balcony railing. Despite his outward calm, you could tell from his voice and posture that he was nervous too. It was cute, you thought, but you didn't dare say it out loud. "And be sure, I'll be expecting even more interesting plot twists from you."

"Yes sir!" you said, a wide smile still playing on your face.

Soshiro always knew how to make you happy.

[itstheghostofmypast]

Tornado Warnings

Idol Song Mingi x (F)Reader

Summary: She had to tell him one way or the other, but she didn't want him to take it any other way than it really was. Who was she confronting though, at the end of it all, herself, him, or their relationship?

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: insecurities, depression, anxiety disorder

Est.Read Time: 25 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels

Ratings: nc-17

Banner: @cafekitsune

Song Rec: Tornado Warnings (Sabrina Carpenter)

Staring up at the ceiling she wondered if she should tell him or not. He had been sitting at his desk, hunched over, the expanse of his broad shoulders making it look extremely painful. Ever so often he'd mumble to himself, reading out a verse, shaking his head, and then scribbling it out, the room littered with paper balls. After an hour of collecting them and throwing them in the bin, she had given up and decided to read instead- that was 3 hours ago, and by now, the room looked like it belonged to a toddler.

Slamming his hand on the desk he groaned, the wood shivering under his large hand. He was frustrated, she could tell, and he could tell too, but he wasn't frustrated because of the lyrics- no that was just part of the frustration. He was frustrated because he wasn't able to pay attention to her today, spend time with her, or talk to her, even though he had invited her over today. They were supposed to be free today, which they were, which is why he called her but as soon as he saw her face he felt as if the world had stopped and his brain had begun to jumble words together for some coherency- it frustrated him how she was his source of inspiration, yet the subject of neglection.

"Mingi?" She finally decided to break the four-hour-long silence. Shit. She probably wanted to leave, she was probably tired of waiting for him, of course, she was, why wouldn't she be?

"Mingiiiiiii~" she whined, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at him, the soft material colliding with his head with an umf. Rubbing his head he turned around, staring at her, eyes filled with dread. 

"Yeah- I- am almost done-"

"I want to go to a therapist."

"Sure-" he paused, confused, staring at her for a second, brows knitting together in confusion, why? Was he the reason? Did someone hurt her? Was there something she never told him-

"Mingi, if you keep making that face and zoning out, I'll beat you with a pillow."

Snorting at the threat he stood up, shaking his head before stretching his arms over his head, making him look even taller. Tilting her head up to meet his gaze she frowned, unsure if he was going to take this well or not, but the moment he jumped on the bed beside her, his action causing the whole bed to rock, a laugh wracked through her body.

He laid there on his side, facing her, head resting on his palm, elbow digging into the sheets, most of his legs dangling off the bed as he smiled at her, "Okay, no more intrusive thoughts or work, you have my full attention".

"Finally," muttering, she reached over to run her fingers through his brown, unkempt, spikes, "Look at this nest..." His eyes closed at the kind gesture, only to snap open at the latter statement, "It goes with the concept- does it not look good?"

"Of course it does."

"Then?"

"Just makes it harder for me to...." she trailed off, averting her gaze and pulling her hand back to her lap. Sitting up straight he frowned at her, reaching over to clasp her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze, "Love...what is it...you- we promised to always share right?" His voice was calm but she could sense the desperation in his words, slowly pulling her closer, both now sitting cross-legged on the bed, she was glad his bed was as big as him because even with his legs folded in and back pressed against the wall, he was taking a lot of space.

"I told- I mean, you know how I said that I kind of feel off these days?"

"Yeah?"

"I've been seeing this therapist and-"

"You're going to therapy? You didn't tell me? Is everything okay? Did something happen? Wait, you want to or are you going to one?" Brows knitted together he licked his lower lip, ready for more of his interrogation, why hadn't she told him? Did he have a role in this? What was the premise of the situation, were they going to be, okay?

Raising a hand gesturing him to stop and calm down, and for herself to do the same, taking a deep breath she exhaled and gained some form of composure. "I... okay, so, I only went once, free trial kind of thing, but then, she asked me a few questions I couldn't really answer, so I stopped- its been a week so yeah..."

Nodding in return he pursed his lips in thought before muttering, "What kind of questions?"

"Relationships..." He nodded at her short response, thinking for a moment before humming, "And...that makes you feel uncomfortable?"

It wasn't like she felt uncomfortable, in fact their relationship was one of the most important and joyous highlights of her life, but it was one that she was to keep to herself, at least for some time. It's not like she didn't know this before committing to this relationship.

"I- the thing is..." She began slowly, he could tell by looking at her expressions that she was choosing her words very carefully, "I just feel like I'll be lying, so it'll make the session pointless, on the other hand, I don't want to talk about us because what of it is leaked or something else..."

Nodding he thought to himself, humming as he leaned against the wall. He understood where she was coming from, on one hand, he knew how important it was to have a clear head, a cluttered mind often leads one to some form of depression. On the other hand, he wanted to be selfish and keep her all to himself, but letting her go...would make her happy, then the question is, did he love her enough to let her go?

He took a deep breath, pulling his hand away from her, choosing to cross his arms over his chest, as if he were holding down what was bubbling within him, and began his question, trying ever so hard to ensure his voice didn't betray him, "Do you...want to" only it did, turning into a faint whisper " ...you know?"

'"What?" Confused she looked at him before noticing the way his eyes had watered, connecting the dots, only to gasp and yell, "NO YOU IDIOT!"

Grabbing the closest object, she smacked him, over and over again, lucky for him it was a pillow, "WHY WOULD I WANT THAT?" she continued, hopping off the bed, after he had jumped off, to run from her.

"I DON'T KNOW?"

"MINGI! I JUST DON'T WANT TO LIE ABOUT YOU" She threw the pillow that hit the desk, things falling off, wells he had thrown it at him, but he had ducked out of the way, "YOU GENIUS, WHY WOULD I WANT TO LEAVE YOU!" She could feel the bottled-up emotions ready to blow, all the insecurities and second thoughts, the side comments and feelings fuzzing up, ready to spill, mixed with anger and sadness. To think that he would jump to such a conclusion so quickly. Was she not there for him enough? Did she not express her love enough? Or did he not feel the same way for her- in terms of depth and intensity, perhaps he was looking for a moment, a moment he could use to finally escape from her broken form, she was basically a whole package as it is, a burden he had to hide and conceal from the world- perhaps he was tired of keeping secrets too, only unlike her, maybe he wanted to completely let go, but who was she to say no to him, who was she to cling onto him?

"WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM? IT’S NOT LIKE YOU DISCUSSED THIS WITH ME BEFORE GOING TO ONE!" He yelled back, frowning at the mess, standing a good distance from her. Okay, perhaps he was upset, not only did she never mention the therapist before, but now he felt like maybe he was the problem. Though his voice had betrayed him, choosing to side with his bottled-up frustration, doing that one thing he had never wanted to do when it came to her, yell at her, to raise his voice and put the blame on her, even though he could clearly see her façade crack, yet here he was shoving it until it shattered.

For a moment she stared at him, quietly trying to arrange her thoughts, to understand her feelings, trying to deal with the turmoil, trying to compose herself, she knew she should have consulted with him before even getting an appointment but, perhaps she was not ready for the yelling. Letting out a frustrated sigh and closing his eyes, he rubbed his face, trying to calm down, to block out all the noise running around in his head. He didn't mean for it to get out of hand, especially not like this.

"I..." she began, only to sigh and shake her head, "Never mind, please forget I ever mentioned it." Walking over to the things that had fallen off his desk, picked up each item, and lined them up neatly against the wall. She could pretend this never happened, that therapy never happened, that her feelings getting the best of her never happened, the feeling of being choked by her own thoughts never happened- not because he had yelled at her, no, but because of the fear of losing him, she’d rather watch herself slowly crumble away than to lose him like this. A toxic trait, it really is, she could now see what the therapist had meant when she told her ‘You must love yourself first before being able to love someone else’, but how could she just let him go? When he had always been there for her, and for once when he couldn’t help her, what was she to do? Leave him- perhaps that would have been better for him, but maybe, just maybe, the jealous little insecure girl in her wanted to hold onto him as long as she could.

"Mingi?" his eyes snapped open at her soft tone, meeting her meek gaze she patted the bed, "Why don't you lie down for a while, I'll order something to eat-"

"Why are- " he corrected himself, "were, you seeing a therapist? " Cutting her off, he stood there on the same spot. Watching her sigh as she sat down on the place she had cleared for him, staring at her lap, "Because...I just...sometimes I feel things...Mingi and I can't understand them and it's like I'm being choked by my thoughts."

His gaze softened at the confession, sighing as he walked to her, taking a seat next to her, he pulled her into his side, arm wrapped around her shoulders, "I- do you feel like that because of me? Because of us- I mean I'd understand because we have to hide our relationship." his words were soft, but she could sense the desperation. Leaning onto him she shook her head, reaching for his free hand, as she began to play with his fingers.

"Never," whispered she clasping her smaller hand in his much larger one, "It was and will never be you- you, this relationship, us, this is the highlight of my life." A smile grew on his face at her words, pulling her closer, if that were even possible.

"But" she pulled away, much to his disappointment, “The thing is, if I lie in therapy, then I won't get a proper diagnosis" She paused staring up at him. Silently nodding he scrunched his nose, trying to push up his glasses without letting go of her hand. An extremely inefficient way, but he didn't want to ruin the moment, maintaining eye contact right now was vital. He knew when she looked up at him like that, she'd be hinting at him to process her words instead of reacting. The way her eyebrows were slightly raised, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, ready for her tongue to roll off the next list of words.

"But?"

Reaching with her free hand she slowly pushed his glasses up, sliding them up the tip of his nose to the bridge, "I don't want to lie about you, I can't pretend you don't exist. How can I say I am single? Forget our relationship for an hour I spend there, skip through the pages of our days spent together, like a chapter pulled out by the editor at the last moment." pulling her hand away she sighed, laying back down on this soft bedding, legs dangling off, arms folded above her tummy as she looked up at the ceiling- it would've been impossible to confess her insecurities and fears while looking right at him. The innocent face he'd make, pouting at her like a child, slowly processing her words.

"How do I lie about you in that office, then come back out pretending I never did such a thing, how do I get back to the rhythm without missing a step?"

Mingi let her pull away, knowing she needed a bit of space, he did do- more than often. So, he sat there, staring ahead, but his attention was solely on her words, patiently waiting for her.

"Even if I convince the doc you don't exist, does this mean I'll end up convincing myself that too- or worse, what if I end up convincing you that I- we, no longer exist."

She had no idea when she had begun to cry, not even a memory of when her vision had turned blurry, but a hand reached up to furiously wipe away the leaking emotions, the guilt that had begun to choke her soul, with a grip so tight and strong that it scared her.

"The worst part is, that you're not even the problem, you aren't the reason for my trip, but factors in my life I cannot control. My family, apparent friends, and this pressure- sometimes I just text you at night, knowing you're asleep, knowing you're tired, knowing you won't reply instantly- but you're like the light at the end of the tunnel, and I can't help but reach out for it when I'm being pulled back into my pit and-" she paused when she felt the bed shake, sitting up on her elbows she noticed his trembling shoulders.

"Min... are you okay?" sitting up, placing a hand on his shoulder, she gave it a light squeeze. "I just...the reason why I walked out was because she asked me if I had anyone around me, I could rely on with my eyes closed. And Mingi...I sat there, staring at her face like an idiot, how could I tell her, the person I blindly rely on is the goofy, giant, artist- I came to know about another idol whose doctor exposed him and well, I can't risk that, but I don't want you to have a partner that's not emotionally fit...you deserve the world Mingi, you deserve to be with someone who will love you as much as you love me, you have a big heart Mingi- I…I don’t I’m selfish, even though I know you deserve all that, I can’t let you go, and I’m not really sorry for that…I-" With a slight pause she pressed her forehead against his shoulder, trying to control it all, for the sake of it, for him, she whispered, “I can’t lose you.”

When she got no response from him, she moved closer, shaking him a bit, "Mingi?" she leaned closer only for him to turn away whining as he let out a choked, "Don't, Yunho says I look ugly when I cry."

She couldn't help but snort at that statement causing him to frown and turn to glare at her. Unfortunately, his red, puffy eyes and trembling lower lip made it too difficult for her to take him seriously as she gushed over him, "Awww don't cry -"

"You're an insufferable woman," he pushed her hands off as she wrestled to not move them, her laugh resonating across the room.

"What? you look cute!" she tried to pull him closer as his large palm pressed against her cheek, trying to push her away, "You’re a masochist, you can't say such things and then laugh! You do need mental help!" he half cried; half yelled in protest trying to not ruin his "cool" image any further.

Their little banter was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by its opening a bit as a head poked in, "Hey, sorry to bother you, but are you guys okay-" Seonghwa paused at the sight before him.

With one hand she was pulling on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, while her other hand was gripping the leg of his track pants. His eyes scanned the other idiot, whose palm was squished against his girlfriend's face, fingers covering half the side as if he was trying to push her away, while his other hand, arm extended completely, was gripping onto the edge of the bed like he was trying to escape. He noticed their puffy eyes and tousled hair, but he was so confused.

Seonghwa had been asked by Yunho to go check on Mingi. He was in his room when he heard the younger one yell, followed by a few things falling on the ground. He knew Mingi well enough to know he wouldn't do something stupid, but he also knew that the idiot had no control over his tongue when he was emotional. However, this was not what he was expecting to see.

"uhh... never mind."

The door closed as the two exchanged a look and burst out laughing, Seonghwa who was on the other side of the door shook his head and walked away, leaving them be.

She was too busy laughing to realise when he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight as she wheezed. Her face was buried in his neck, giggling against him. He let out a sigh, letting the silence envelop them both for a while, her body still pressed against his, arms not budging an inch, both of them lying on the soft bed. The sound of their calm breathing, mixed with the low buzz of the air conditioner had almost lulled her to sleep, his warmth wasn't helping her either. Just as her brain was about to slow down to neutral, she was violently shaken awake, "Excuse me, don't you sleep on me."

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU~" whining she pulled away only to almost fall off the bed until he pulled her closer. "I'm sorry for yelling at you." he smiled at her, when she placed a soft hand on his cheek, pinching it, "I'm not upset Mingi."

"You know Hongjoong is a great person to talk to" he suggested but stopped when he saw the face she was making, "what?" he asked, placing a limp arm on her waist.

"You realise he once advised me to put laxatives in your juice when you pranked me on my birthday."

"WHAT-" He gasped sitting up, "SO IT WAS HIM?"

"So, I think I should just stick to talking about my problems with you." she sighed, laying on her back and closing her eyes, "After a nap though- and you treat me with a nice meal, after ...that," she mumbled, feeling the fatigue left by the rush of various emotions. A few seconds had passed and she was almost asleep, her reflexes slowing down. She was almost asleep until she felt something soft press against her lips for a quick second before she was enveloped by extreme warmth, which could only be him pulling her closer, ignoring the problems and insecurities of the world for a few hours- just the two of them together, alone, peacefully happy in their dreams.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @marsvillee

@mlysalt @spooo00oky @the-kpop-simp

[harukasangel]

𝓗𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓡𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓬 𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓾𝓴𝓪 𝓢𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓲

now playing: Two Breaths Walking - dhl 0:01 ❍─────── 4:28 ↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺ Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

Characters: Haruka Sakurai x Fem!reader

Content: Fluff. Just tooth rotting fluff. Non-MILGRAM au, but everyone is friends somehow. Pre!relationship and boyfriend!Haruka is adorable asf. Haruka is a bit stalkerish pre relationship, but it's lowkey cute if you squint.....yeah, hehe. Uhhh....Haruka can, and would, still kill someone for you

A/N: Don't argue with me. Haruka 100% is a hopeless romantic. Let me pump out brainrot

Pre relationship!Haruka who is genuinely so confused over this foreign feeling that washes over him whenever he sees you. It's a good feeling, he loves you, but....he also feels funny. As if butterflies are fluttering like crazy in his stomach

Pre relationship!Haruka who finds himself blushing and practically swooning whenever he sees you walk by and smile at him. Bonus if you wave and just greet him a simple "Hey Haruka,". Omg, you paid him attention. YOU--his not so secret crush. Cupid just struck the man down with a million arrows

Pre relationship!Haruka who, unbeknownst to himself, smiles like a madman and giggles as you sit next to him and spend time with him, even if you're just hanging out as friends. Even giving him a sliver of your time is enough to make him feel so overjoyed. He doesn't even realize it's manifesting outwards until you ask him what's up, earning a quick blush of embarrassment and a million apologies from him

Pre relationship!Haruka who scrolls through your social medias on his phone (courtesy of Muu gifting him one for his birthday). He finds himself staring at your photos a little....too much....and printing out your pictures to put on his wall (he doesn't find it weird, I mean, they were already public!)

Pre relationship!Haruka who finally puts the camera Mikoto got him as a birthday present to good use. Too shy to ask for your picture, but he manages to snap a few in secret. He feels so happy as if some sort of deeper connection exists between you two

Pre relationship!Haruka who is basically compliments galore with you. Agrees with you on literally anything, surely someone like you can't possibly be wrong, yeah?

Pre relationship!Haruka who asks Muu and Mahiru about this new found emotion when he gets frustrated trying to solve it himself. They both giggle, since it was obvious to....well everyone BUT Haruka ;-;

Pre relationship!Haruka who starts to dress better and think he got more handsome when the girls start to doll him up and pretty clothes and accessories. It was Mahiru (and some of Muu's) idea to put some distance between you and Haruka so you would yearn for him too

Pre relationship!Haruka who basically undergoes Mahiru's class in romance 101 during the few months he goes NC with you. Muu assures you it's nothing against you, but....let's just say...Mahiru's plan is working a bit too well....

Pre relationship!Haruka who misses you greatly and wants to see you again, but is reassured that it's for the best he practices his confession and it'll work out if he waits just a little longer. He'll definitely be gazing at his album of your photos during this period

Pre relationship!Haruka who feels like his heart may burst when he finally says he wants to see you again and he finds himself staring....too long at you. He tugs at the hairpin Muu styled his hair with, along with the new clothes that made him look all the more cute to you

Pre relationship!Haruka who hands you a prettily decorated letter that has the confession scribbled in messy, but eligible enough kanji. It definitely has some...feminine influence while creating it

Pre relationship!Haruka who can't take it anymore and just blurts out that he loved you for such a long time and your attention meant the absolute world to him. He apologies furiously after realizing what he said, but finds himself shocked when you smile and reciprocate the feelings

New Bf!Haruka who has all his friends cheering him on and going "couples goals" when you two finally get together (Yuno teases the FUCK out of him)

New Bf!Haruka who has Mahiru gushing and already planning the wedding, while Muu boosts about how great of a friend he is for getting Haruka the second prettiest girl she knows (she's the first :P)

Bf!Haruka who is so so SO happy that you're finally his! He wants to show you off and brag about you to everyone, but is way too shy for PDA (at least this early in the relationship)

Bf!Haruka who is such a protective boyfriend! His overprotectiveness shines, no matter how much he tries to conceal it. He can't help it, he just wants to make sure that you don't feel scared + make use of what he knows he's good at (his physical strength)

Bf!Haruka who needs to be held back when he sees you in danger. Your protector....you can trust that as long as you're with him, no harm will come to you (granted, the person causing you trouble is smaller than him....he's trying his best!)

Bf!Haruka who is honestly a fairy tale knight with no rizz/aff. Headcanon he read lots of fairytale books as a kid, and found comfort in them. He might as well see you as the princess from the books!

Bf!Haruka who canonically believes in god, and genuinely thinks that you're one of god's holiest angel sent down from the heavens. In exchange for taking care of him, he'll protect and worship you

Bf!Haruka who (with the help of Muu and Mahiru), picks out a promise ring for you. That, along with clipping his mother's necklace on you, makes him so happy. He honestly just loves to make you feel so important to him, cause you are!

Bf!Haruka who loves loves LOVES to kiss your hand. Worships every part of your body/nsx. Afraid of not doing lip kisses right, but his cheek kisses are so wholesome. Like getting injected with a dose of his love. And his hand kisses....princess treatment or ANGEL treatment?

Bf!Haruka who takes great pride in being your sleep aid when you can't sleep at night. Having trouble staying asleep? Come cuddle with him! Make a blanket fort, snuggle up with him as he watches your favorite anime/movie with you, do you want him to order some insomnia cookies for you?

Bf!Haruka who discovers he LOVES to take care of you. Yes, you taking care of him is great, but don't you THINK for a second it's one-sided! He struggles down the line, but improves with time! He just wants to be useful to his angel, and with his new skills, why not put them to use? You could've sworn one day when you came home from work, he was baking our favorite dessert and managed NOT to burn down the kitchen!

Bf!Haruka who doesn't understand shopping, but will gladly accompany you! Follows you around like a puppy, carrying your bags, and getting all giddy when you pick something out for him. Doesn't matter if you think its nothing, to him, any present from you is basically his most prized possession

Bf!Haruka who takes your temperature when you're sick, touching your forehead with his, cause that's what his mom did when he was young. You could remind him that thermometers are a thing, or just let him do that....

Bf!Haruka who sits near you instead of across from you in public places so he can be close to you as possible and give/receive affection easier

Bf!Haruka who LIVES for PDA! Both giving and receiving. After PROPER communication and confidence building ✨, the dude can't freaking keep his hands off of you! Fuuta gets annoyed, telling you guys to get a room when you're out with friends. Mahiru shushes him, assuring you he's just jealous. After all, why would Haruka move his head off of your shoulder when it's so comfortable?

Bf!Haruka who seriously wants to marry you and daydreamed about your nuptial night more times than he likes to imagine....

Bf!Haruka who just loves you so much and wants to be the perfect boyfriend for you <3

[rorywritesjunk]

Let’s be one another’s present tense

Buggy ‘rescues’ you from an abusive situation, and after a less than stellar introduction, he has you audition for his crew to keep you safe. You want safety, security, and joining a circus seems like the best idea.

Rating: Soft NC-17 for this chapter. Warning: Communication is a THING. These two are trying. Buggy is mopey. They're working on it, okay. Talks of sex, some touching happens, Cupcake needs her man. A/N: Still dealing with relationship stuff.

Title comes from “Crater Lake” by Lady Lamb

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 (NC-17) + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @neuvilleteismybby @fluffybunnyu @sinning-23 @the-angriest-angel @ane5e @fanshavegottensotoxic @honey-deerling

Chapter 13

The two of you took a ‘break’ from what you had been up to for a month, instead going back to more simple sex. Buggy still thought writing up scripts was the way to go, but you were neutral on the idea. While you understood where he was coming from as it was to make you more comfortable, it felt like maybe some of the fun and spontaneity was taken out of it, which you told him when he brought it up again one night, leading to an argument.

“It’s for your benefit!” He insisted as he held out the blank sheets of paper to you. “I don't want you upset again!”

“Buggy, I appreciate it but I don't think it's going to work!” You told him from your spot on the bed, refusing to take the stack from him. “Why does it have to be a script? Why can't we just write out some things that are not okay to say?”

“Becaaaaause!” He whined pitifully. “What if I upset you again? Baby, I don't want to make you cry!”

“If we talk things out we’ll be okay.” You sighed as he pouted at you. He looked silly, face still full of makeup, hair pulled back in his bandana, lips pouty as he looked down at you with the papers in his hand. He kept trying to get you to take it from him, which you knew if you did it meant the possibility of him wanting to write out extravagant scenes of sex that could either be incredibly cringy or incredibly arousing, you weren't sure.

“Okay, okay, here's my suggestion.” You finally said. “We can try it once and if it ends up working then great, but if it doesn't we don't do it. How does that sound, babe?”

Buggy stopped pouting long enough to think it over. He could win you over with the idea, he just had to make sure the first time was perfect. He didn't want to be the reason you cried.

“Okay, fine.” He agreed. “I'm going to write the most mind blowing sex scene for us, babe. You will be begging me to fuck you.”

“I kinda already do, Buggy.” You reminded him. “Frequently, I might add.”

~

You knew Buggy had focus when he wanted it and right now he was the most focused you'd ever seen him since meeting him and you were the center of it. He was laying on the bed on his stomach, kicking his feet as he stared at you with a stack of paper in front of him, scribbles, words, things crossed out were scattered across them as he chewed on the end of his pencil while you sat back against the headboard knitting a hat. It was evening, the two of you dressed down for the night with him in boxers and you wearing one of his shirts to sleep in. It wasn't worth sleeping naked in case either of you had to get up in the middle of the night for an emergency.

“Might as well illustrate what you wanna do, babe, since you've been staring at me for so long.” You said, not looking up from your project. “ What are you planning in that head of yours?”

“Oh, you'll find out.” He grinned, reaching over with the pencil to tap you on the foot lightly. “You'll love it.”

You glanced over at him, nudging his arm with your foot gently. He grabbed it and kissed the top of it before he returned to his papers.

“You like me being fearsome, so I gotta make sure I'm like that for you.” Buggy said as he wrote some things down. “And I love what you do for me, y’know, all that shit you say. The filth that comes out of your pretty mouth is so surprising, babe.”

“Aw, well, I'm glad I can surprise you.” You grinned, setting the knitting aside before stretching out on the bed in front of him, laying on your side as you propped your head up on your hand. “So, what do you have so far, Buggy?”

He looked at you, down at the scribbled pages, then back at you. “Nothing… yet! Art takes time, babe, you can't rush the process!’

“Okay, okay.” You chuckled softly. “Just let me know what you need.”

Buggy shrugged as he looked back down at his papers. He just wanted it to be perfect. He didn't want to see you upset like that again. He didn't mean to upset you that day; a month had passed but it felt like yesterday. He was determined to make sure you two could still continue what you had been doing but without anyone feeling put out. With a sigh he wrote some things down again before tapping the pencil against the paper.

“Would it help if you said out loud what you wanted to write?” You suggested. “I won't say anything, I'll just listen.”

He shrugged again, crossing something out again as he mumbled, “I just want it to be perfect.”

“Babe, I love you and I'll love whatever you write out, okay?” You assured him. “It's not like we’re going to have an audience, y’know, so don't worry.”

“Still.” He frowned and crossed his arms in front of him, resting his head on them. “Just want it to be perfect.”

You sighed and reached over to run your fingers through his hair gently. This was something you had been worried about, that he would stress about it more than he needed to. You got up and crawled over to him, pushing him onto his back before settling on his thighs. He looked up at you curiously, his hands moving to rest on your thighs as you placed your hands on top of his.

“Here's the thing, babe. I love when you fuck me.” You started to tell him as your fingers laced with his as you looked down at him. “You are sweet, gentle, and caring and I love that about you. And I also love it when you're rough and when you tell me all the things you'd do to me if only we had time.” You grinned down at him. You always loved seeing him under you. “Y’know, about making sure I can't walk for a few days, how you'd fuck me ‘til I'm seein’ stars and your name is the only one I'd know after you're done wrecking me.”

“Fuck, Cupcake-”

“Yes?” You pulled your hand free from his and reached down to touch his cheek. “I can stop if you want. Just let me know, okay?”

“Mm, no, no, it's fine, just…” He turned his head to kiss your palm softly. “Give me a sec, babe.”

You nodded, stroking his cheek softly as you moved your other hand to his chest, sliding your palm over his chest slowly, running your fingers through his chest hair, occasionally tugging at some of it. 

“I love you, Buggy.” You murmured as he nodded, taking a deep breath before he sat up suddenly, arm wrapping behind your back to keep you from losing your balance from his movements. Your hands went to his shoulders, steadying yourself as he pulled you in for a kiss.

“You fuckin’ better.” He growled, catching you by surprise. He grinned, keeping you close as you stared at him. “Aw, babe, did I startle you? You thought you had me all relaxed and cozy under you, thinking you were in charge.” 

“Yea, um-”

“Shh, shh, don't talk, baby.” He murmured, tightening his hold on you as his free hand moved between your bodies and between your legs. “This is okay, yea? Tell me this is okay.”

“You um, just told me not to talk, Buggy.” You assured him, digging your nails into his shoulders as his fingers dipped between your folds. You had opted not to wear underwear, just out of laziness, and you were glad you didn't. “But, um, this is okay, really.”

“Good.” Buggy grinned as he touched you, teasing you just enough that you were squirming in his lap. “What should I do to you, hm? Keep touching you like this, or should I watch you fuck yourself on my cock while I sit back and watch?”

“Oh fuck.” Honestly, you didn't care. He was touching you so carefully, fingers circling your clit, brushing over your entrance, the gentlest of touches, when really you just wanted him to get to fucking you. You let your head drop onto his shoulder, letting out a pitiful whine before he was tutting and shaking his head.

“No, no, I need to see your gorgeous face.” He scolded gently. “Cupcake, baby, do I need to back you into a corner to get you to look at me?”

“Gimme a second, Buggy!” You huffed at him, digging your nails into his skin as he pressed his finger in slowly. “J-Jus’ wasn’t expectin’ this.”

He grinned, his hand still while you took a deep breath. You didn’t anticipate this happening, but you weren’t complaining. You just wanted him to relax, to stop worrying about every little thing, and if him taking charge like this and teasing you until you wanted to scream then fine, you could cope with him slowly pushing his finger in, barely to the second knuckle, whispering to you how much he loved you, that you meant the world to him, that he was going to fuck you slow tonight, take his time for sure until you were a mess underneath him.

And he did pull his hand back to flip you onto your back, looking down at you. Buggy had no filter. He couldn’t stop himself as he looked at you, wearing his shirt, spreading your legs for him. He suddenly blurted out, “Will you marry me?”

That was not what you were expecting to hear.

[unintentionalseductress]

Telling The LADS Men to Ditch The Condom

Them reacting to you saying you want them to fuck you raw. Warnings : MDNI, sex, oral, handjob, and general smut These banners are mine, please do not reuse them.

Zayne, as a doctor, preached safe sex. He appreciates the responsibility and nothing is more attractive to him than a woman who is aware of her birth control options and doesn’t mind communicating openly with him about these decisions. After all, having sex was such an intimate act for him that he wouldn’t even think about it until you’d been dating for at least a month. He likes the exclusivity and the closeness of sex, and that includes being held accountable for the choices both of you made in the bedroom. So when you tell him to lose the condom, he blinks, making sure he hasn’t misheard you.

“You…want to do it without a condom?”

His head is between your thighs, kissing and nibbling the soft flesh as he edges his way towards the moist and sensitive folds, and he raises up on his elbows to ensure his ears aren’t being obstructed by your legs.

You nod slowly, blushing as his dark eyes fixated on yours, the flecks of amber in them lightening at the idea. His pupils dilate at your affirmation, and he hoists himself up a little higher, resting on your belly, gently stroking your flanks. “You’re sure about this? There’s no pressure you know.”

“I know. But I feel like we’ve been together long enough to allow ourselves to go one step further. And I’m on the pill. We can monitor the situation later if you want to but honestly Zayne, I think any step I take with you isn’t going to be something I regret.” You say the words candidly, reaching down to stroke his black, silky, locks of hair, heart skipping a beat as he plays with the squish of your belly, nuzzling his face into the softness. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

His eyes flutter closed for a second, the ebony eyelashes resting like fans on his cheekbones before he sighs, the little puff of air sending a shiver across your middle. He crawls up towards your face, capturing your mouth in a tender kiss, tongue sliding across the slit of your lips before entering inside. You cup his face and deepen the kiss, heat gathering in your body. Zayne pulls away only to come to your ear, hot breath tickling you as he speaks.

“I don’t think I’ll regret this either.” He licks the shell of your ear, making you twitch. “But remember, if you change your mind, I’ll stop. No questions asked.”

His words are so sincere and spoken with love, adding fuel to the fire. Zayne, patient and considerate, is looking at you with those sharp eyes as if you’re his last meal on earth. He kisses his way down, pausing briefly to shower some attention over your perked nipples, giving them soft licks and kisses that make you mewl and whine with need. Once he’s back at his original spot between your legs, your arousal has increased a hundredfold, your sex soft and swollen, leaking fluid as he parts your folds.

His tongue darts out, tasting you, licking slow lines from cunt to clit, before slurping the swollen pearl into his mouth, suctioning it with his lips. His middle finger flirts with your entrance, teasing it until it starts sucking in his fingertip, drawing a moan from you as he strokes it along your upper wall.

Zayne knew his anatomy and he never wasted a second in touching you exactly in the spot that made you feel like you were turning into a pile of goo. Never in a hurry, always taking his time, coaxing orgasms from you like a hobby, the breath tearing from your throat, your core spasming from the pleasurable waves that radiate throughout your body. Zayne nudges you through the final vestiges of your orgasm before stroking himself, readying his hardened cock.

He’s done this before but what gets to him as he aligns his tip with your hot entrance is how heightened the sensation is, the absence of latex allowing him to profoundly feel every muscle contract and fully experience how wet and welcoming your body truly was. He grits his teeth, his balls throbbing, desire surging through his veins, almost snapping his self-control.

He inches in slowly, splitting you apart, marveling at how you stretch to fit him, the little noises that leave your throat music to his ears. Once fully sheathed, he looks at you, hair tousled and splayed across the pillow, a flush across your face. He thrusts with care, drawing a moan of longing from you and softly rolls his hips, adjusting himself at an angle he knew you liked.

Every movement brushed his mushroomhead against your gspot, soft sighs filling the air, his lips descending onto yours, his thumb working your clit, gradually bringing up your pleasure to another peak.

“You feel so good darling,” he pants, his thrusts becoming steadily faster, his willpower fading away to primal need. “Taking me so well,” he whispers, capturing your lips in another passionate kiss.

Your body is reeling from the stimulation and with Zayne’s gentle ministrations on your clit you cum with a cry, his hips stuttering as he feels the orgasmic spasms of your core around his cock. He tries to hold on, but it’s too much, his head growing sensitive as your second orgasm sucks him in deeper into your warmth, his balls tightening up and the coil in his belly compressed to a limit until it snaps, and with a grunt, he spills himself into your body.

Afterwards, he holds you tenderly, gently easing out, and cleaning up your messy slit with a warm washcloth, playing with your hair until the both of you fall asleep.

This is a man who’s been taught condoms are the best way to avoid complications. It’s a golden rule that he will not have unprotected sex for both health reasons and to avoid making the person he’s with uncomfortable. You don’t have condoms? He’s running to the pharmacy to get some. He takes these things seriously and understands that it’s simply gentlemanly to be the one to buy condoms. Xavier wants to feel like he can be relied on in situations like this and that you should never feel awkward asking him to make a condom run or any kind of run.

He’s reaching for the box to roll one onto himself when you hold his wrist. Curiously, he looks at you, a sight to behold, a heavenly sight laying on his bed, lips plump and swollen from his kisses, body glistening with sweat from your recent orgasm.

“Ditch the condom Xav,” you murmur, tracing his arm with your fingers, causing goosebumps to bloom on his skin, his usually slow heartbeat picking up a few paces.

“Are you sure angel?” He lays down gathering you in his arms, his erection tickling your belly as he breathes in the perfume of your hair.

“Positive.” You stroke his cheek reassuringly, feeling like you could drown in the depths of his blue eyes, unable to control the little giggle that leaves your throat as he blushes at your confirmation.

“Xavier.” You grasp his chin, forcing him to look at you. “I’ve never been more sure. I know I can trust you, rely on you. And right now, I can’t think of anything I want more than to feel you inside me, no barriers.”

He’s shy, his smile so awkward and his face so pink. This was new to him, and the fact that you’re asking so sweetly is pulling at his heartstrings. After hesitating for another moment he places the condom back on the nightstand.

“All right angel. Since you're sure. But tell me if you feel uncomfortable at all ok?” Xavier rubs his thumbs over your cheekbones in circles, a sweet and tender gesture, carefully laying over you, his chest coming into contact with yours as he tips your face up for a kiss, his hands slipping under you and clasping your shoulder blades to bring your body as close to his as he could.

While his tongue explored your mouth, he raises slightly on his knees and effortlessly finds your moist entrance with his tip savoring each tiny inch that envelopes his cock with aching warmth. He's unable to control the sigh that escapes his lips, lost in your mouth as he feels the wet muscles contract around him, pulling him in. The feeling is inexplicable, the intimacy of skin on skin making him feel heady and light, heart racing in his chest.

His brilliant blue eyes begin to darken at the edges, turning into a darker shade of midnight as he bottoms out, little noises of contentment resounding in your throat as you feel the hot velvet column of his cock fill you, feel the way it pulses as he occupies your pussy.

“Xav… You feel amazing,” you gasp as you pull away from his mouth, his hips coming to lay flush against yours as he thrusts into you, stroking your inner walls and teasing all the right spots inside you. He's hot and flushed, watching your face as it contorts in pleasure, his blush settling across his cheeks and nose like adorable pink freckles. You smile hazily as him and his head dips down to suckle as nipple, his tongue caressing the little bud, turning your moans into sighs of longing.

When his thumb starts to circle your clit you almost cry out from the pleasure of it all, every sensitive spot being hit at the same time with aching perfection. His breath mingles with yours, sweat forming on both your bodies as you rock against each other, creating delicious friction, matching the other rhythm for rhythm, strike against long stroke.

The edges of your vision blur as your climax grows nearer and Xavier’s jaw grows tight, a moan escaping his lips as he tries to hang on, determined not to climaxes before you. His thumb picks up its pace and with a shaky gasp, your orgasm hits, the sweetness of it making you sob as it grips you, feeling your core spasm, and with a final push of triumph, he allows himself to succumb to his own desires, cock twitching and spasming along with your pussy as he cums, coating your walls with his seed.

Tired, he collapses on top of you as gracefully as he can, your hands and soothingly rubbing over his back, kissing his hair, murmuring praise to him as he floats down from his high.

“Angel…you're so wonderful. The best.” his head is on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as he tries to grasp into reality. You can't help but laugh lightly. Xavier always gets pussy drunk and now without the condom it appeared to accelerate to an entirely fucked out state.

His eyes gleam like sapphires as his breathing returns to normal. “Well how am I supposed to be the guy making the condom run now after knowing what it feels like without one?”

You roll your eyes affectionately at him and flick his forehead.

Rafayel isn't unfamiliar with sex and intimate relationships but he doesn't often engage in them. He's quite shy and doesn't tell you what he's thinking. With patience and a little experimentation, Rafayel slowly came out of his shell and learned to feel comfortable enough with you to express his desires and wants. However, he's nervous about how you'll react to him admitting he's been wondering how it would be without a condom so he clams up.

His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are half lidded, whining as he rests between your legs, his back against your chest as you pump his erection with aching perfection.

“Feeling good baby?” You coo at him as he writhes under yourself ministrations at your mercy.

“Yeah… So close… Don't stop… “ he pants, hips desperately thrusting up to meet your strokes, feeling his thigh muscles quiver and his abs growing tighter with each passing second.

“Talk to me Raffy… how good am I making you feel?”

“So good…” His eyes, a lovely shade of lavender gray are starting to turn into smoke as his impending climax builds and rises. His cheeks are flushed and there's sweat on his forehead and chest from the exertion, the gentle crescendo of pleasure building to a steady peak.

He gazes up at you in a haze, those adorably plump lips parted as he gasps for air.

“You're so pretty when you pout you know?” you ask teasingly and as predicted his brow furrows, displeased at your amusement.

“Don't… say things like… that!” the color in his cheeks rises and your own control slips slightly as you lean down to give an admonishing nibble on his lower lip. The extra stimulation is enough to push him over the edge and with a groan he pulses, his cock warm and needy in your palm, spilling his cum into your hand.

Your clean hand plays with his pretty hair as you continue to pump him with care ensuring he rides out every drop of his orgasm, a few more more spurts of viscous fluid leaking from his tip before stopping.

Rafayel relaxes on your lap as you reach over to grab a tissue and wipe off your hand. His eyes linger on your messy hand, sticky with his arousal and he feels his cock twitch despite having just cum.

“I wonder what it would look like slipping out of your pussy instead of your hand,” he says in a quiet pondering voice that has you pausing, a wicked grin forming on your face.

“Raffy… Did you just say you wanted to fuck me without a condom?” You emphasize the word ‘fuck’ on purpose because of how flustered he gets when he hears it and sure enough, he pouts, a noise of embarrassment escaping his lips, rolling onto his side to hide his face.

You quickly discard the used tissue and lay down to face him, pulling his struggling hands away from his face which looks like a setting sun now, adorably flushed, eyes bright and averted.

“Raffy tell me what you want.” You reassuringly pull closer to him, nuzzling his warm neck.

His cheek rests on the top of your head and with a sigh he admits with a hint of bashfulness, “I fantasize about it sometimes. But we don't have to,” he adds quickly.

Your laughter is muffled by his neck as you lean back to look at him. “I think we've been together long enough to discuss doing it raw.” You look at him imploringly.

“Cmon baby. We can ditch the condom today. I kinda want to know what it feels like too.”

His smokey lavender roam over your face, still carrying hints of hesitation in them. “You're sure? You're not just doing this because I want to right?”

“Oh Raffy. There's never been a day where you've made me feel forced to do anything. I'm very sure.” You cup his face between both your hands and gaze at him lovingly.

He laughs awkwardly, smiling shyly and you feel his erection press against your thigh as the both of you draw in for a kiss, Rafayel pulls your knee over his hip, stroking your moist folds with his cock. You whine in pleasure as he holds his cockhead up to your clit and you slide along his length, both of you sighing passionately at the intimate touch. His engorged tip cups the base of your clit so perfectly and you feel your core clench in anticipation.

Rafayel drags his length between your folds one more time before sliding down to your needy hole, groaning as your wet heat circles his tip. You push down on him, feeling the heat of his member, enjoying the way he fills you so wonderfully, his head sitting snug against your gspot.

The thrusts were shallow in this position but it allows you to snuggle into his chest, look deeply into his eyes and kiss him at leisure, each stroke hitting that sweet spot inside you with aching precision. He toys with your clit , pinching and rolling it for your pleasure.

He's amazed at how good you feel, how tight you are around his length, how wet you really are. The condom almost dulled this sensation and it feels like he's woken from a dream and experiencing reality for the first time.

Your orgasm hits sharply, making you cry out and cling to him the combined fondling of your clit and gspot too much for handle. As it starts to settle down you moan in his ear.

“Baby… Give it to me. I want to know what your cum slipping out of my pussy feels like too. Please… Cum for me… Like how I came for you…”

Your voice is whiny and pleading and Rafayel's hips stutter as he reaches his peak, letting out noises of his pleasure into your ear as he cums, and you feel his hot seed fill your eager pussy. As the both of you catch your breath, kissing each other in the afterglow, everything feels right.

Rafayel's erection softens and as it happens you feel the unmistakable feeling of your combined cum sliding out of your pussy, pooling at the crevice of your thigh.

“That's so hot,” you murmur and from Rafayel's expression he's thinking the same thing. He gathers a little bit of your mixed fluids on his finger, fascinatedly tasting it, his eyes intoxicated at the flavor.

“See what happens when you tell me what you want?” you strokes his arm. He nods then gets close to your ear.

“I don't think I want to use a condom ever again.”

Sylus is that guy who loves going in raw but only if he's sure you're into him. And despite the talk of him being the ruthless leader of Onychinus, he's a true gentleman and would never bring the topic of having unprotected sex unless you initiate it. He prides himself on being someone you look to for security amidst the chaos in the N109 zone.

His fingers are knuckle deep into your pussy, wet squelching noises filling the air as his long fingers expertly tease that bundle of nerves inside you while his thumb rubs circles on your clit drawing out a moan of longing from you, your walls clenching around his thick fingers.

“That's it good girl… Give it to me,” his deep voice rumbles in approval as you writhe desperately on his fingers feeling your body tense in anticipation at what was to come.

His lips hover over your collarbone nibbling leisurely and you roll your hips, moaning as your climax washes over you, pussy spasming from the gratification.

He licks his fingers clean, savoring the tang of your arousal before pulling you in for a deep kiss, pulling you snugly against his chest, and pressing kisses to your hair. You taste the musky flavor of your orgasm, transferred from his tongue to yours.

Your hands are already busy with his cock, tickling his thighs and cupping his balls drawing a chuckle from him.

“Easy kitten. We have all night.” His tongue slips between your lips again and gives you a sloppy kiss, a noise of delight leaving you as you stroke the hot velvet of his cock.

“Sylus?” you stroke him in a steady rhythm that has him humming, the noise sounding like a cat purring, his abs contracting in response to your touch.

“Yes doll?” he licks and nibbles down the side of your neck making you shiver. His crimson eyes fixate on you as you hesitate to speak.

“What is it? You know I'll do anything for you right?” He grasps your chin firmly and makes eye contact, feeling flattered when you blush, your nipples perked from your recent orgasm, skin covered in a sheen of sweat, looking divine.

“I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

“Um… How would you feel if… we didn't… Useprotection?” the last few words are said in a rush, and your cheeks grow hot as you make your request. It's not normal for you to feel so shy, after all Sylus was incredibly open to experimentation and exploring kinks with you. But there was something so personal about asking this of him, letting a part of him sit within you so intimately and the vulnerability made you feel exposed.

Sylus rises a contemplative eyebrow, his lips curling into an indulgent smile as he sees how flustered you're getting.

“The kitten has gotten bold,” he says approvingly. “You wish to have all of me? Feel my cock in all it's exposed glory inside your wet little cunt?”

The crudeness of his words sends a rush of arousal straight into your already dripping core. Heat fills your cheeks and you slap his shoulder.

“Don't say it like that!”

“isn't it the truth though?” Sylus rolls you on top of him as he lays back against the pillows, enjoying the view of your soft body. “Don't you want to feel every inch of my veiny cock fill you, rub your sensitive walls and fuck you senseless? All the while your tight little pussy keeps getting wetter for me and you can't do anything except helplessly moan and let me stuff you with my seed?”

His ruby eyes glitter sinfully as he watches you squirm under his gaze. How cute. His fingers idly stroke your sides, your hands full of his cock but momentarily frozen from his teasing.

“Don't feel like you have to stop on account of me sweetie,” he prompts, then can't stop himself from laughing as you hasten to continue with your strokes. “You fluster so easily.”

“Anyone would if spoken to that way!”

“Oh no sweetie. I doubt anyone else would have such an adorable reaction. Why can't you just admit that you want me in you, no barriers, just raw and primal like animals?”

Your nails scratch over his abs, feeling them quiver. “If you don't want to just say so.”

“Don't be that way.” His red eyes narrow, hands tightening around your waist. “You know I want to.” His large hands cup your breasts and squeeze.

“Then why do you keep laughing like it's funny?” you whine as he twists your nipples, and grind his upper thigh.

Sylus's eyes soften slightly before he leans up to kiss a nipple and pull it softly with his lips. “Mhm… Sy…” your nails scratch his scalp as you cradle his head.

He lets go and blows a puff of air over the hardened peak, causing it to perk up more before circling it with his thumb. “I adore you doll. It’s not that I find it funny. I'm very flattered that you want me that way. But if I let my desire for you consume me, you may find yourself pushed to a limit.”

He traces a finger from between your breasts down to your navel. “You may find me… being rough. More than you're used to. Because kitten…” he leans up with you balanced on his body and with a soft tickle of hot breath on your ear that has you jerking slightly in surprise, he says in a feral whisper, “the thought of burying myself in your cunt with no condom on, feeling how you clench and get turned on for me makes me want to eat you alive.”

Blood rushes to your face and Sylus watches with satisfaction. He caresses your cheek. “Ride me kitten.”

His eyes darken as you glance at him under lowered lashes. You crawl over his body on your hands and knees hovering your slick core over his hard length. He sucks in a breath as you lower your hips, teasingly brushing his tip against your wet hole, the sensation of so inviting it takes all his willpower not to slam into you mercilessly. He knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if he was on top, wouldn't be able to stop himself from taking. Putting you in control was the wise choice here.

“Fuck kitten,” he growls, his fingers digging into your hips. “You feel so good. So wet for me.”

Sylus's cock stretches you deliciously as you take him in, feeling his veins and heat pulsate achingly inside you. You whine as you fit him in, you whine each time because he's just so big, and it takes a while to adjust and take him. It never fails to make him smirk but today he's watching intently wondering how he's supposed to last with your pussy gripping him like a glove and enveloping him with your needy heat.

When you finally bottom out, both of you take a collective breath and feeling so full, feeling how he fits inside you. Resting your palms on his chest you start to move, lifting your body up feeling him stroke your inner walls and start to ride him.

You start slow, setting a pace that has him groaning, holding your hips so tightly it hurt but you continue, angling your body until you feel his engorged head brush your gspot. His teeth are gritted as he slips a finger between your legs and finds your hardened clit, stroking it to match your movements.

The texture of his cock has you moaning, his gentle movements on your clit pushing you closer to him edge. Sylus lets out a hiss of air, trying not to disturb your pace but his will is being ripped to shreds.

You were so warm. So tight and wet. And claiming you without a condom in his opinion only solidified further that you were his. Marked, claimed, and rightfully his in the most biblical sense.

Your pace picks up as you ride him, needing more friction pathetic noises leaving your throat as you chase your orgasm. Your thighs quiver and burn from the effort but you're so close that you push through the pain, gasping as Sylus firmly presses into the little bud.

“You're so cute like this, struggling on my cock. Let go for me sweetie… Make a mess all over me.”

His words are a sinful request mingling with the sounds of slapping skin and lewd noises of need. With a loud breath of desire, you cum all over him, eyes squeezing shut at the pleasurable spasms that rock your body.

It's too much for Sylus to handle, and taking advantage of your momentary lack of movements, he thrusts upwards into you, fucking you through your orgasm desperate to cum with you.

The absence of the condom aids him and with a loud bark he feels his balls tightening and his orgasm hits him like a train, holding you tightly as pleasure flows through him, his seed filling into your needy pussy.

Fuck he was addicted. He rolls you onto the bed and holds you close to him.

“You're going to be the death of me kitten.”

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[nikethestatue]

Every time I see a comment like Azriel only wants Elain for sex I can't help but think how stupid these people are.  I am really tired.  Nesta knows Azriel's secret, that's the whole point.  And the secret is not that Azriel masturbates every night.  Nesta knows Azriel's feelings for Elain and consoles him. She sees the pain filling Azriel's eyes and understands it.  and this all happens in the book.  This is everything.  The distortion of such a simple truth leaves me baffled.

I dont know if you were here for the Great Who Sat By the Fire Place Debate, with actual seating plans scribbled on a napkin or something. The conclusion: Apparently Azriel's 'secret' is.............Mor.

Apparently he was suffering because of Mor. And now Nesta knows his unsecriest secret. That literally everyone in the IC and probably in the NC knows. But you know, Mor is 'Azriel's secret.'

And it's always 2 things for Azriel and 1 thing for Elain.

"He wants a sex toy"

"He doesn't want her. He wants Mor".

For Elain it's simple:

"She is a slut'

Overall diagnosis: He needs copious therapy. She is a slut who is cheating on her fiance.

Lord give me strength.

[my-favourite-zhent]

New Tricks - Chapter 19

Status: Work In Progress

Version: 1.01

Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC

Rating: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)

Genre: Adventure/Romance

Summary: Misadventures of Rugan and the original Zhentarim Gate's crew before and during the year of three sailing ships.

Notes: When one chapter becomes three. The main scenes for the next two upcoming chapters were written way back when I was struggling with chapter six. It was meant to be chapter eight but the plot got away from me a bit. This chapter started out as a little extra tidbit at the start but ended up growing into its own thing and for once I didn't delete an Izzy POV chapter.

Thank you to @fistfuloftarenths, @captainsigge, @dustdeepsea for always being my wonderful betas and providing me with encouragement. If it weren't for you all I think I would've deleted this chapter.

Dust also had the great suggestion of including the clip from Izzy's notebook and showed me how to do all the lovely formatting you will see in this chapter <3. (Check the AO3 link for that and additional footnotes as it's not in the tumblr post)

Also a shout out to @coreene for having such a treasure trove of lore on her tumblr! Always super helpful for fleshing out the background world lore.

Table of Contents

Read Here on AO3 or below the cut.

By now rotten luck had coloured most of Isolde’s life. 

It seemed to her that it had all begun after her parents' untimely deaths when she was sixteen.

What had begun as one bad year became two, with her exile to some gods forsaken farmlands and her first heartbreak at seventeen. 

The following year had appeared to break the trend—she had been offered the position of sizar at the university where her parents once taught. Only in reality it had simply been a year spent building the framework for a truly devastating nineteenth year and an end to her academic aspirations. Her first lover came and went. First friends came and went. Corra was the only good thing to come out of her short-lived scholastic career.

The jobs had been like that too. Someone would turn traitor or stupid. Load bearing beams would give way. Priceless urns would be full of fucking venomous spiders. Only now she had been prepared for rotten luck. Moulded by it.

Now she always slipped a spare trinket under her blouse or in her boot just in case the job didn't pay. Now she kept her valuables in a safe deposit box on the off chance her room got ransacked again. Now she slept in her road breeches with a knife under her pillow, and while she'd never been trained to kill, jabbing someone who wasn't expecting it gave you a good head start on an escape. 

Seventeen years of bad luck had taught her to be prepared and to be persistent. She had survived and even sometimes thrived because of it.

So now, as she watched the sailors drag her chest up onto the deck of the ship, she felt especially stupid.

“My tools are in there! I've paid you good coin to transport those!” She screamed, but her voice could barely be heard by the man next to her over the crashing of the waves. 

The ship rocked under another violent tumult of wind. The tempest had come upon them without any warning, clear blue skies had become turbulent greys streaked in black and white in mere moments. There wasn't even supposed to be storms like this on the Sword Coast for another month. It was just her luck. 

Distantly she heard cries to cut the main sail.

The sailor looked as contrite as one could in the midst of a squall. “Sorry lass, bitch queen needs her offering!” 

And despite the pelting hail and whipping winds it was the word lass that made her flinch. 

‘Should have never gotten aboard a ship out of Neverwinter,’ she thought bitterly as she watched them tip her chest into the sea.

The contract she had taken in Baldur's Gate was an easy forgery job. She could've sat nice and safe in a room at the Elfsong scribbling away before meeting Rugan. She would've made a mint for doing hardly anything at all. But now her seals were gone and with it the contract.

Standing on the docks, Isolde weighed her options. It was alright. This was manageable. She still had the clay impressions of her fake seals in her pack. The sheep’s bladder she kept them in had protected them from any water damage from the storm. A half-way competent smith could recreate the seals from the pressings easily. But just how much would halfway decent cost her? More than she had left, it turned out. Most of her coin was now at the blacksmith's, and that was only the first half of the payment.

Her hand strayed time and again to where her insurance necklace would be, but she had pawned it. Pawned it for the same reason she had come to the city. The same reason she was flat broke. At least she could make that bastard buy her a drink. Blame him heartily for her misfortune. And if he smiled at her even once her fool heart would find the whole venture worthwhile.

“Sorry, miss, believe his caravan is on the road right now. Haven't seen him in a tenday.” The man behind the bar at the Elfsong shrugged.

It was just her rotten luck.

In weaker moments of her life she had considered leaving offerings to Beshaba at those little roadside shrines made of antlers and twigs. But no, fuck that deer-headed bitch. And fuck Umberlee too, while she was at it.

The barkeep looked apologetic, just as the sailor had, but that wasn't going to help her out in any way, shape or form.

She would need to find another job to take on. Isolde considered the other local contract she had ignored on account of the risk. There was nothing for it now. She leaned back in her stool and sighed. So long and low and frustrated that the man gave her another sympathetic look.

“Drink might help with that, miss.”

She opened her coin purse and eyed the few bits she had left.

“Give me the strongest thing you've got for two silvers.” She said sliding the coins across the table.

The man nodded and exchanged them for a pitcher of wine and a tall glass.

“If it's not a pressing issue,” he added as he poured the first glass full for her. “Could leave a letter with me if you like. He's in here every night when the caravan’s not on the road.”

Isolde perked up at that. “If you wouldn't mind.”

“Half the point of an inn is to have a place to send letters. I even mail some out if you've got a coin for the ship’s captain.”

Isolde almost took out her pen and ink right there, but then thought better of it. No sense trying to hastily scribble a note at the bar where some other patron would knock their elbows against hers and make the barman regret his offer.

Scooping up her glass and pitcher, pack slung over her shoulder, Isolde tipped her head in thanks and made for one of the alcoves at the far end of the taproom.

The Elfsong was much nicer than she had expected. The floors were worn but well-maintained, the drapes were not frayed and had minimal patching. She had been told more than once this place was a tourist trap, but when Rugan had called it his local she had presumed it to be something more akin to a dive bar. Had that been unkind of her? The Blackstaron and the Prow in Waterdeep had both been nicely kept inns, even if they had managed to get themselves kicked out of the first one.

She was broken from her train of thought when another patron collided into her, the wine from her glass sloshing over her hand.

“Sorry, love.” The man offered though he didn't even bother to meet her eyes as he and his date brushed past and grabbed the seat she had been eyeing. The date gave her a look that was half amusement, half pity, and Isolde muttered a curse under her breath as she stalked down to the next alcove.

Carefully she placed her wine down on the table, mindful of how it still undulated in its confines. With her clean hand she withdrew a rag from her pack and wet it with her waterskin, wiping clean the other before finally seating herself. 

As she unpacked her writing tools she wondered idly if this was the same seat Rugan liked to frequent. Would he have a regular seat? She should've asked the barman. No, on second thought that was a terrible idea. Isolde had seen and chosen to ignore the pitying look the man had given her when Rugan's name had slipped her lips. Didn't need to let him know how badly besotted she was, admitting it to herself was embarrassing enough.

She drained her first glass before setting pen to paper. This one was easy enough to write, and feeling a bit bold she applied a thin layer of vermillion to her lips as the ink dried. She marked the page with her lips and hoped it would make Rugan suitably unhappy about standing her up.

There was another letter she should write, though she wasn't too pleased about it. 

��It might not be necessary.’ She tried to tell herself. 

She pulled out her leather bound notebook. It was a tiny thing, worn at the edges, about as wide and long as her hand but maybe two finger-span thick.

The contact information for the job had been hastily scribbled on one of the thick pages, just in case.

It had been Isolde's father who had taught her how to bind books, but it had been her mother who had taught her how to spot traps.

There were many things to take into account, but it came down to a few large considerations:

Was this culture known for booby-trapping tombs? Was this a place or person of importance?

An Imaskari noble would have a much more dangerous mausoleum than a Tharrian peasant.

Was there irregular wear on the ground that might suggest its builders walked a specific, safe path?

Pressure plates were a simple trap and thus effective trap. They stood the test of time better than more complex machinery.

Were there intricate patterns on the structure that could conceal glyphs?

Metal lasted long but magic lasted damn near indefinitely and could do far more damage.

One should be wary on any job, but if the answer to any of these questions was yes then doubly so.

Isolde had a similar list of tell-tale signs when it came to selecting jobs.

Was this client known to her network?

One tended to see the same familiar faces handling these operations. Sure muscle and labour would be locals, but the showrunner was usually one of two dozen folks who had the training to identify a site or the connections to fence the goods. Some characters were more trustworthy than others.

And no, the folks named here were not known to her or anyone she had asked.

Was the site near a city centre?

They oft times were—cities tended to grow on the bones of their forebears, like Luskan and Illusk. This meant more secrecy was necessary, but also less violence. Harder to hide a body and its eventual rot. Out in the wilds you didn’t even need to bury a corpse for it to never be found.

This job was definitely not near a city.

Was the pay reasonable?

Too high meant this was a con, you were lucky if you only came out empty-handed. Too low meant whoever was in charge didn’t even know what their goods were worth, if anything, and they didn’t know the running cost of a black market archaeologist.

Too low, far too low.

She had already known all this, but somehow had hoped the details might have changed since she last looked at the notebook. Isolde groaned and threw her head back against the wall of the booth. She was going to have to write the second letter.

Isolde poured and downed two more glasses of wine before she was sufficiently over her shame of having to ask Corra for money. If the forgery job was still around when she returned she’d pay Corra back two-fold.

Maybe she could just wait till Corra’s letter of credit came through, there were cheaper inns in the city, certainly. Gods, maybe a flophouse? But no, after hunting around the lower city and Norchapel it turned out Baldur’s Gate was almost as overpriced as Waterdeep.

‘Should’ve sent the letter and waited before paying for the tools.’ She thought dejectedly.

There ended up being roughly enough coin for a night or two in a flop house, some food for the road and a ride on a caravan heading west. So that was what she resolved to do.

Hopefully, stupidly, she looked for his face amongst the various caravans on the morning she made her way out of Baldur's Gate.

The wagons outside Basilisk Gate were packed end to end—or end to horse as it were. Some people pushed handcarts, perhaps to visit the nearby farms. She also saw oxen hitched to sturdy wagons loaded down with heavier goods. Merchants with lighter goods like the one she accompanied had horses to carry them along faster.

It was a decently nice carriage. Nothing fancy like the wooden conveyances that nobles used, but it had a sturdy canvas roof which was more than most.

The air by now was rank with the dung of a hundred beasts of burden, idling while their masters impatiently waited behind the traffic of a several dozen handcarts.

‘Just like Crimmor.’ She thought with an amused sort of wistfulness.

Isolde noticed then a group dressed in that familiar black and yellow, and her heart struggled to break free from the confines of her ribs. She leaned out the back of the wagon to get a better look. Though she squinted hard there was no one she was acquainted with. Just some red-head with clownish hair, though he had a familiar sort of chin.

“Don't want to be looking too long, dearie. Not a friendly bunch.” Warned the old woman across from her, not unkindly. The merchant’s mother as she understood it.

“Of course, my thanks.” Isolde bowed her head and sat back down on the wagon floor. 

They began moving at last, just as the dawn's early light was obscured by heavy soot coloured clouds. A wry smile twisted Isolde's lips.

“Something funny, dear?”

Isolde turned to meet the woman's gaze. “Just my luck, that’s all.”

[r-aindr0p]

i don’t understand French and only know a few words or phrases because of toys I had growing up(San Antonio, Tx and Oxford, Nc) but I am LIVING to see your stuff

Aa it’s always nice to know that my little french adding to shitposts are appreciated ! And you had toys that ?? Spoke French or with written stuff ?? I’m kinda curious ngl

Aight bonus info with the written word on the scribble : Cimer is simply a form of slang for Merci ! It’s a form of slang where you invert the syllables of a word (mostly word in two syllables) Idk how used it is outside of France in other french speaking areas but it has become common here, at least for a few words. Like "meuf" which is phonetically the inverted syllables of "femme" (woman) it is commonly used among younger generations (millennials and the rest after ) to more or less casually refer to a girl, mostly a random one !

[chicleeblair]

I Swim for Brighter Days |||[FFN]

Rating: NC-17/Explicit

Pairings: Meredith Grey/Derek Shepherd

Derek thought he understood how strong his wife was the day they signed the vows scribbled onto a blue Post-it. When she asks him to take her into the water for the first time since the ferryboat crash, he sees the beauty of her vulnerability.