#i have a feeling his relationship with his patron is messy

[tuxedo-rabbit]

The game treats a Dark Urge warlock like they remember who their magic comes from, but I think it's way funnier for Estryd if she doesn't even remember she can do magic until that first fight.

And for the longest time she just assumes it's like this innate ability she has because she can't remember anything except her name. Then Gale mentions offhandedly that she's a warlock (because based on his intro conversation about Wyll he can just?? Tell??? based on how people do their spells?) and Estryd is extremely confused and worried because, oh great, now there's another weird supernatural being in the mix.

Also the concept of knowing you made a pact with something but you're not sure who, and you're not sure what you had to give them in exchange? Love that.

[killerlookz]

Heartbeat | Joost Klein

description: Joost Klein x f! reader- In the months following reader and Joost's breakup, neither of you seem to be able to get rid of each other, not even when you've supposedly "moved on" to other people. (heavily inspired by the narrative in Heartbeat by Childish Gambino)

content: 18+ NSFW, cheating, toxic relationships, arguing, angst, some comfort?cigarettes, alcohol, questionable morals, just some mess mess messy stuff, semi-public "suggestive" behavior, fingering, unprotected PiV. This work contains RPF, and has been tagged as such do not click forward if that upsets you and do not share my work to other sites.

word count: 7634

An unlit cigarette hangs from your sticky, freshly glossed lips, your hands racing to tie the slippery satin ties of your dressing robe. A knock at the door draws you from where you stand in front of your bathroom to the front door. You flip over the locks before carefully turning the doorknob to open it.

A tiny smile forms on your lips as the door opens, revealing your boyfriend, staring down at you. Michael, a man nearly a decade your senior, eight and a half years older than you to be exact, a handsome business-type man who had moved to the Netherlands for work from the States, Boston specifically, though, he didn't have the accent. The pair of you had been casually dating for nearly four months now, though, you could sense that at any moment he'd ask to take things in a more serious direction.

You quickly remove the cigarette from your lips, balancing it between two fingers as you speak,

"Hi!" Your voice expressing greater enthusiasm than you were actually feeling, "You're early." You grit your teeth through the grin that spreads across your face, "I thought you weren't supposed to be coming for another hour."

"Good to see you too," He smiles back, but you can sense a hint of patronization in his words, "I figured, it was already getting kind of late, and I didn't see a problem with heading out a little early. I texted you anyways, but you never responded."

You nod, remembering that you had purposefully left your phone in the kitchen to rid yourself of any distractions while you were getting ready. While you suppose it was nice of him to let you know he'd becoming early, it would have been nicer if he asked first instead of just doing.

"Getting late," You force a fake chuckle, one that turns out more like a scoff, "The sun has barely set, who wants to go to the bar when it's still light outside?"

"Not everyone enjoys staying out until the crack of dawn." He raises his eyebrows, his voice serious in a way that makes you uneasy.

"It's Saturday!" You beam, "Come on, let loose a little." Michael wasn't exactly the party type- at least not now, it had taken a whole lot of convincing to even get him to go out with you and your friends tonight. "We're still going to have to wait anyways," you shrug, opening the door wider to allow him inside, "Julia won't be here for at least an hour, but you know her and being on time." You giggle awkwardly, unsure of what the two of you would do to fill the time while you finished getting ready.

"Right," He shakes his head before his brows furrow, "What's all over your face?"

Your facial expression contorts, confused, "Uh- makeup?"

"Oh pumpkin," He sighs, his voice like saccharin, exceptionally sweet and unimaginably fake. The pet name makes your stomach curdle, and you attempt to press a smile to your lips to hide the way you cringe, "I thought we talked about how I prefer to see you naturally."

You giggle, stunned at the fact he was bringing up this argument again, one you had had far too many times for how short of a while you had been seeing each other, "And I thought we talked about how much I hate it when you call me pumpkin."

"I just don't think you look any better with all that shit on your face, is it wrong of me to think that my girlfriend is beautiful?" There's an argumentative tone in the way he speaks, but you can't even focus on the potential fight that is brewing, not when the word girlfriend is ringing in your ears.

"No," You sigh, not wanting to argue not now, all the energy being knocked out of you with that simple word, "Do you want something to drink while I finish getting ready?"

"Yeah," He lets out a breath, slightly annoyed, "Yeah- sure what do you have?" He lets his tone return back to normal.

"Depends," You step backward, away from the man, towards the small kitchen of your apartment "Do you want something alcoholic or..." You trail off, stepping all the way into the kitchen.

Michael's eyes linger on you as he scratches at the back of his neck, "That's fine." He shakes his head, "Just get me a beer or something."

You nod, opening up the fridge, scowering around, unsure if you even had a beer in there. After pushing some things around, you'd found a singular bottle, you push your arm further into the cold to grab it.

You retreat back to the warmth of the rest of your kitchen, beer bottle in hand, as you kick it closed, both hands now preoccupied as the unlit cigarette still rests between your fingers. Wordlessly, you place the bottle on the kitchen counter in front of where Michael is now sitting before stepping back to search for a bottle opener.

From the corner of your eye you can see your phone light up, resting right where you had left it on the counter before you had begun to get ready. Thinking perhaps Julia was letting you know she was on her way or even worse that she was here now, you quickly shuffle over to it

Upon looking down at the screen you quickly realize it is not Julia who had texted you or any of your other friends who you had intended on seeing tonight.

Joost: It's been a while, what are you doing tonight? Come over?

The simple messages nearly make you choke on your breath as your eyes quickly flick up toward Michael. Joost was just about Michael's complete opposite- he was something exciting, the type of person where you could never guess their next move, no routine, no planning, no nothing- just go go go. Perhaps that discrepancy could be attributed to the fact that, unlike Michael, Joost had only been older than you by a year, his 24th birthday approaching in the fall. Still, even at Joost's age, you couldn't imagine Michael being much fun.

Unfortunately for you, you had let yourself indulge in the excitement that Joost brought to your life in entirely self-destructive ways. Joost had been one of the first people you had met when you moved to the Netherlands, and things moved quick between the two of you, from the moment you met it had felt like you had known him your whole life. Within a few months of living in a brand new country, you had already found yourself with a boyfriend, having rushed way too quickly into a relationship with Joost, and you quickly learned that no matter how much it had felt like you two had known each other your whole lives, the truth was you didn't really know him.

It was a true whirlwind romance, taking your life by storm, every moment consumed by each other. You both had fallen hard and fast. But for as hard as you had fallen, you crashed much harder. Joost was a perfect boyfriend in every area except for the ones that really mattered. It was obvious how completely in love with you he was, he was soft, and romantic, and fucked you in ways that made you feel things you didn't even know were possible.

But for all of his good, for all of his sweet gestures and affection, he couldn't seem to crack the communication thing. At first, you didn't mind when he skirted around the little issues that arose between the two of you, you knew he had things rough growing up and so you gave him grace, figuring opening up to people and dealing with certain emotions was probably difficult for him. But soon enough the "little issues" were not so little, turning into large, glaring problems in your relationship that no matter how hard you had pleaded for him to, Joost would refuse to discuss. Eventually, it had gotten too much, the two of you constantly at each other's throats, and with Joost icing you out whenever things got rough, you had had enough.

Still, you don't get rid of feelings like that so easily, and for the life of you, you could just not stay away from Joost. As hard as you tried to, you had never actually stopped seeing him despite the fact how much things had changed, things weren't quite so sweet and romantic anymore, but to be honest with yourself, if he fucked you good while the two of you were in love, he fucks you 10 times better when you hate each other's guts.

But maybe hate is too strong of a word, oddly enough feeling bad for Joost when you decide you're not going to respond to his text. At some point in the week, you had made the decision that with how imminent a serious relationship with Michael felt, it was probably high time for you to stop hooking up with your ex-boyfriend. It wasn't exactly a decision you were planning on alerting said ex-boyfriend of, no- that made it real, if you were to tell him you never wanted to see him again, it would become real, you were never going to see him again. Ghosting him seemed like the better option, simply leaving things open-ended, it at least allowed for you to change your mind- which you were deadset on not doing.

Michael's voice takes you out of your thoughts, quickly swiping away the message and turning your phone over.

"Hmm?" You hum, looking up, fluttering your eyelashes innocently.

"A bottle opener?" He points to the cap of the drink you had set down in front of him. You throw a smile onto your face, nodding incessantly,

"Right!" You search through a drawer for a bottle opener before pushing it across the counter towards Michael. You continue to ruffle through the crowded junk drawer, looking for a lighter with no such luck. Feeling far too lazy to go rifle through your purse to find one, with the cigarette still in hand you walk over to the stove, turning the burner to its lowest setting, just enough for a small flame to erupt. Carefully, pinching the cigarette by its very end, you quickly stick it in the small flame, allowing it to light.

You shut the burner off, placing the cigarette to your lips, inhaling, allowing your lungs to fill with the warm, prickly smoke.

"Do you really need to do that in here?" Michael asks, his face forming into a scowl, "Or at all."

You turn to the side to exhale, careful not to blow the smoke in Michael's direction no matter how bad you want to.

"Relax," You smile, "The windows are open."

"Are you even allowed to smoke in here?"

"What are you, my landlord?" You furrow your eyebrows, taking another drag, "One cigarette won't get me kicked out."

"Can't say I'm enjoying your little miss attitude act tonight."

You're not in the mood to argue, simply sighing and forcing an apologetic look on your face, though you had felt like there was nothing to apologize for.

"Sorry," You mumble, "Let me just go finish getting ready."

The area that surrounds you is noisy, alive with all that the city's nightlife has to offer, almost overwhelmingly so. You lean against a wall, observing the swarm of people that inhabit the bar.

"You know," Your friend, Julia, pipes up from beside you, "You really shouldn't let him talk to you like that."

You bite at the insides of your cheeks, replaying the conversation shared between you and Michael just before entering the bar.

Stepping out of the car, your skirt had gotten pulled up quite a bit from having been sitting, your underwear almost on display as you climbed out of the backseat.

"Jesus," Michael scolded as he followed you out of the car, "Who are you showing off for?"

"Huh?" You whipped your head around, trying to ascertain if you had actually heard him right.

Michael leans over, his voice rough as he speaks into your ear,

"Pull your fucking skirt down, you look like you should be standing in the windows in De Wallen."

You clench your jaw, eyes flicking to Julia who was walking around the other side of the car, she shakes her head disapprovingly.

"What's so wrong with that? I'm sure the women in De Wallen are lovely ladies."

"I don't care how lovely they might be, I don't want my girlfriend walking around looking like a hooker."

You sigh, you know Julia is right, Michael was out of line, as he usually was. You stare the man down from where he stands by the bar, looking to squeeze in amongst the crowd that surrounds it in to order some drinks. Your face involuntarily twists into a grimace as you watch him pathetically try and fail to get the attention of the bartender. You want to go home.

"I just don't know why you keep him around." She shrugs, "I mean, I know he's got money and all, but I don't think it makes up for the fact that he has got to be the most stuck-up, grumpy man I have ever met in my life- seriously he's thirty, not seventy-five."

"I don't know," You furrow your eyebrows, "I guess he's stable and stuff- or whatever, you know?"

"Michael? Stable? The man that not thirty minutes ago all but called you a prostitute because your skirt got pulled up."

"I mean stable like he has a good job and stuff, he's normal, regimented, life with him has a routine- I think I need that, maybe he'll mellow me out, I don't know."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're far too young to be mellowed out," Julia pouts, "I mean, really, the party is just getting started for you." Julia's eyes suddenly widen, her lips parting as she speaks cautiously, "Speaking of party..."

"What?" Your eyes widen too, confused, you quickly whip your head around to look in the direction she's staring off in, "Shit." You mutter as your eyes meet the door, and there he is, Joost fucking Klein followed by a group of what looked to be about 5 of his friends. You barely manage to inhale, "I need a fucking cigarette."

Without looking back at Julia, you're making your way to the door, praying that neither Joost nor his friends see you on the way out.

The summer air hits you as you step through the exit onto the bustling city street. You wondered how mad everyone would be at you if you decided to leave right now- bail without a word, run home, and spend the night alone.

You grab at the purse that sits over your shoulder, pulling it down your arm so you can rummage through it, looking for your cigarettes and a lighter.

You flip open the cardboard box, removing a single cigarette, putting it between your lips before reaching back into your purse to fetch your lighter.

You flick the jagged metal of the lighter, the grooves digging into your thumb as you light the end of your cigarette. You toss the lighter back into your purse before slinging the bag back over your shoulder.

You're able to get a few drags in before you're interrupted by a voice, one that immediately makes your stomach sink.

"Ignoring me now, are we?" You don't even have to look, you already know- you'd recognize that voice anywhere, it's Joost.

You whip your head to the side, confirming your suspicions, seeing the slender frame of your ex-boyfriend hanging just outside the entrance of the bar.

"Stalking me now, are we?" You respond, hoping the snark in your voice masks everything else you are feeling.

"I'd hardly call showing up to the same bar stalking," He smirks, walking toward you, "But I mean- if you're into that sort of thing we can pretend I was."

You roll your eyes, taking a long drag of your cigarette, hoping for some sort of head rush from the nicotine.

Joost's features come better into focus as he nears closer to you, messy blonde hair spilling over his forehead, falling into his eyes, a piercing blue as he stares into you, a smirk lingering on his soft pink lips.

"Can I get a smoke?" He asks, innocently enough. You want to say no, so desperately you want to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, that you need to start a life without him.

"Oh-yeah, sure." A sheepish smile crosses your face, your words betraying you, unable to force out any sort of rejection towards him.

You let your already lit cigarette rest between your lips, taking your purse off your shoulders again, grabbing the cigarettes and lighter once more. You shove your hand, presenting the objects to Joost for him to take, his fingers carefully grazing the back of your hand as he does, his touch lingering on you for just a little too long as the two of you stare each other down. Shivers run down your spine, and your chest suddenly becomes tight, he was completely gorgeous- damn him.

"You okay?" He raises an eyebrow, a chuckle falling from his lips, he's not really asking sincerely. You can only hum in response, not wanting to say too much. Things were not usually this awkward between the two of you, and you could feel that you were the one causing it.

You watch intently as Joost lights his cigarette before pushing the pack into his pocket, and you make a mental note to yourself to get them back from him before you go back inside.

"So," He starts, exhaling a plume of grey smoke, "My place or yours tonight?"

"I'm going to my place, and you are going to yours." You respond, forcefully, annoyed at his insinuation that you would be sleeping with him tonight.

"Is that so?" He responds challengingly, his eyes lighting up.

"Yes." You nod, having none of his banter, "And-" You cut yourself off, debating if you even want to say what is about to come out of your mouth next. "I think we should stop this. Us, we need to stop."

"I've heard that one before," Joost chuckles.

"I'm being serious." You let your head fall to the side, "I can't keep seeing you."

Joost's face suddenly drops, understanding the weight of your words,

"What changed?" He scoffs, bewildered at your spontaneous proclamation, "Because if I recall correctly, just last week you were begging for me to come over."

"It's not fair to Michael," You shake your head, "I need to move on, we need to move on."

A grimace forms on Joost's face,

"You want to pull the good girlfriend act now?" His eyes widen, "As if cutting things off now will erase the past-what-four months?"

"I don't want to argue with you about this, Joost," You bite your lip, realizing just how unprepared you really were to cut things off with him, "I know I can't erase what happened, but I'd at least like to try to be better." Your lip quivers, and you clench your jaw, eyes fluttering as you fight back tears. You don't want to give him the chance to reply, you know with the right words he'd be able to talk you right back into bed with him, you can't let that happen.

You let your cigarette fall from your fingers, crushing it into the ground with the heel of your shoe.

"I'm sorry," You mutter, refusing to make eye contact with Joost as you brush past him, rushing back inside.

It was a miracle you had stayed out this late with everything that had occurred tonight, but there you were, still standing at the bar as the clock neared midnight, a feigned half-drunk smile pressed to your lips as you stared at Michael.

You tried to ignore the way Joost's eyes burned into you from across the room, but no matter what you did you could feel he was there, ever-present.

"What do you say to another round?" Julia smirks, leaning over the bar.

"Fine by me." You grin, anything to make tonight more bearable.

"Nuh-uh," Michael shakes his head, "You're cut off." He points directly at you, his finger almost in your face.

"What?" You laugh, caught off guard by his sudden controlling-ness

"You, you're cut off, you've had too much."

You furrow your eyebrows, you're not completely coherent, but you're absolutely nowhere near blackout.

"I had four drinks," You continue to giggle awkwardly, "Are you joking?"

His face stays stiff, he's serious.

"I don't think that's really your call to make." A smile lingers on your face as you attempt to keep the conversation light-hearted, but you can feel some sort of anger bubbling inside you.

"It is when I'm the one who's going to have to take care of you."

"It's one more drink, I think I'll be okay."

"Sure, one drink, which turns into two, and then three... you don't know how to control yourself, which is why I'm cutting you off." His voice begins to rise, and your eyes dart around the room anxiously, you hope the noise of the bar can drown out the argument that is brewing.

"I don't know how to control myself?" You scoff, "Is that really what you think of me?"

"You haven't exactly proven me any different, I've seen you, I know how you get on nights out, God forbid I don't want to have to deal with you sloppy and belligerent for the rest of the night." His words become harsher sounding, and more pointed as he continues to speak.

"What do you mean 'how I get'? I barely go out anymore because you don't like it, I would just like to let loose a little for once." You begin to match his tone, unable to hide your growing frustration.

"And you should thank me for that," His eyes narrow, "You don't need to be running around partying every weekend, acting like a complete fucking mess."

You clench your jaw, face forming a scowl, you can't believe the words leaving Michael's mouth right now,

"Don't curse at me." You mutter.

"No, I'll say whatever the fuck I want to, and maybe you should show me some respect for once, and listen."

"Oh!" You respond, a little too loud, drawing a few glances from the people who surround you, "You want to talk about respect? That's rich coming from the man who doesn't seem to respect any of my personal decisions, not the way I do my makeup, or how I dress, or when I want to go out, last time I checked, constantly berating your girlfriend isn't exactly respectful."

"Get a grip, y/n," He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, no shit I don't want my girlfriend parading herself around like some sort of fucking tramp."

It takes everything in you to not escalate things further, to not tell him what you had been doing behind his back, if he thought you were a tramp, oh you could show him tramp.

You inhale deeply, deciding to cut the conversation short before you say something you'll regret,

"I don't need this." You exhale, turn around, and head for the door.

The air is cooler than before when you step outside, now that it is later into the night. Immediately you're pulling your purse down your arm, desperately sifting around for your cigarettes, needing something anything to calm you down. Your mind races as your hand combs through your bag, unable to think straight, your mind foggy from all the arguing and the alcohol.

"Fuck," You mutter, Joost, he had your cigarettes. You run a hand through your hair, pulling at the strands, tonight had been a complete disaster.

"Looking for something." A teasing voice calls, resulting in a groan from you, it was like Joost had a sixth sense for when you thought about him, always showing up as soon as he crossed your mind.

"Can you just give them to me?" Exasperation heavy in your voice, wanting nothing more than to just have a smoke, and go home.

"What happened in there?" He asks, entirely ignoring your question.

"It's nothing," You shake your head, "Can I just have my cigarettes back so I can leave."

"Didn't look like nothing." He continues.

"Well, it was," You snap, your voice getting a little too loud for your own comfort, "I'm fine. Please, Joost just give me th-"

"You don't need to lie," He cuts you off, "You know you can tell me."

"It just," You pause, lifting your head to look Joost in the eyes, "It just doesn't concern you."

"But it concerns you," His voice suddenly much softer, "So I want to know."

A small smile tugs at your lips, despite everything you were feeling, your heart is slightly warmed at Joost's interest in what had happened.

"Stupid argument," You shake your head, looking back down at the ground, "That's all."

"Seems like every time you tell me about Michael it's about an argument you guys have had."

"Well, gloating about how great of a boyfriend I have doesn't exactly make for good conversation when I'm with the person I'm cheating on him with."

"Well, do you? Have a great boyfriend?" He pushes, but the two of you both know the answer. You bite the inside of your cheeks, bringing your gaze back up to Joost, who seems to be standing much closer to you now.

Your breathing starts to tremble under his intense gaze, the smell of his cologne is suddenly strong in your nose, nearly choking you. He's expecting an answer. But you can't give him one, you can't tell Joost that you didn't have a great boyfriend mere hours after telling Joost you didn't want to see him anymore because of said not-great boyfriend.

"Look," He sighs, "I know I wasn't the best, so maybe I can't talk, but Michael is just a straight-up dick."

His bluntness earns a small chuckle from you, he wasn't wrong.

"Well, I haven't exactly been the world's best girlfriend either." You shrug, any problem with Michael seemed incomparable to the fact that at the end of the day, you were the one cheating.

"You were to me." His tone contained a romance that you hadn't heard from him in a long time.

"Joost-" You choke, your eyes widening, unsure of where he was heading with this now. How were you ever going to get over him when he constantly crossed all the wires in your brain.

You feel your body go numb as he slides his hand to your waist, you should stop him, keep your promise, and never see him again- but you can't, and most importantly, you don't want to.

"Look, I'm not insinuating anything, if you don't want to see me anymore, that's okay, you don't owe me anything not after what you put up with, with me, but what I am saying, is you do owe it to yourself, to find someone who treats you better." His words are genuine, heartfelt, and he almost feels like the Joost you once knew, the Joost from when you two had first met.

There's nothing you can say in response, instead, you push yourself up on your toes, letting your lips meet Joost's in a soft kiss. Joost wastes no time in kissing you back, his hand now gripping your waist. Something feels different with this kiss, no looming sense of guilt hovering over you, it feels right like it's what you should be doing.

You part your lips, deepening the kiss, a small groan escaping you as you feel Joost's tongue brush past yours. Your movements become sloppy, lips lazily working against each other, each kiss filled with increasingly more passion.

Stunned, Joost pulls back from the kiss, a smile on his lips, now shiny from your lipgloss, "So," He breathes, "My place or yours?" It was exactly as you had thought, so easily, Joost was able to talk you back into bed with him.

"Mines closer." You shrug, your voice suddenly timid as you reach a thumb to Joost's lips, rubbing the traces of your lipliner off of them.

The car ride home feels like years, as the vehicle crawls down the city streets you figure you have probably gotten the slowest Uber driver in the entirety of Europe.

You sit in the middle seat, your arm brushing against Joost's, the proximity is comforting, but not quite enough, you want nothing more than to be all over him.

You trail a finger to the buckle of Joost's belt, lazily tracing over the letters engraved into the metal, Albino. The sudden remembrance of Joost's proximity to fame, even if only in the Netherlands, draws a smirk on your face as you think about all the horny fangirls who would probably die to be in your position now.

"What are you doing?" Joost asks, his words slow, teasing.

"Nothing," Feigned innocence in your voice as you let your palm rest just below the buckle of his belt. Joost clenches his jaw as you let your hand trail a little lower, pressing into the fabric of his jeans, his already-defined cheekbones poking out even farther with the way his muscles strain.

"You're going to kill me, you know that?" Joost's eyebrows raise, a smile pressed to his lips. He reaches a hand behind your head, first gripping at your hair before relaxing his fingers, soothingly scratching at the back of your head.

A hum of content vibrates through your lips, satisfied at what amount of power you had over him, even if it wasn't much.

You continue to press the heel of your palm against Joost's jeans, feeling the way they tighten as he begins to stiffen beneath you. Joost sucks in a breath, his free hand moving to rest on top of yours, he grips your fingers, pulling you off of him.

"You didn't like that?" You pout.

"Does it look like I didn't like it?" He grits his teeth. Your eyes wander down his figure, focusing on his lap, a now more prominent bulge in his jeans.

The car suddenly comes to a halt, forcing your gaze to the window- you were home, and now you're scrambling out of the car, unable to wait any longer to get your hands on Joost.

Joost pops his head back in the car for just a moment more,

"Dankje, fijne avond!" (Thanks, goodnight) He says quickly to the driver as you pull at his arm from outside the car, impatient. "God, woman," He chuckles, shutting the car door behind him, "I'm here!"

The climb up the three stories to get to your apartment is intermittent with sloppy kisses and lingering touches. As much as you desire to get to the privacy of your apartment, you can't keep yourself off of Joost, your hips pressed into his he has you pushed against a wall surrounding the staircase, his lips trailing down your neck, surely leaving little marks you wouldn't be able to explain away.

You card your hands through his hair, gripping at the messy blonde strands,

"Joost, please," A strained whisper crawls up your throat, your hips sputtering forward, begging for some friction, "My apartment."

Joost drops his hand from where it sits against your waist, grabbing your hand, and pulling you the rest of the way up the steps.

Anxious hands fumble with your keys as you try to push them into the lock of your door, a breath of relief as you hear the satisfying click of the correct key slotting perfectly into the small space.

Before you know it, you're pushed up against the back of the door, Joost's hands pinned on either side of you, caging you in with his body. Your own hands wander Joost's body, pulling at his shirt, gripping tightly to pull him closer as your lips collide. The way you kiss is rough, animalistic like you're completely starved for him.

Joost shoves a thigh between your legs, the rough denim of his jeans now brushing against the crotch of your panties. You can't help yourself, bucking your hips forward to push yourself further against his thigh. A small sigh leaves your lips as your cunt brushes against him, suddenly feeling your arousal, your movements made slippery.

Joost's hands make their way to your hips, his touch lingering as they slide to your thighs, grabbing at the hem of your skirt, and pulling it up. He drops his leg from where it's positioned between your thighs, his large, tattooed hand now cupping your heat. He presses the heel of his palm into your crotch, rubbing harshly through the flimsy fabric of your panties. His movements send jolts of electricity through your body, only making you crave him more as your arousal pools.

His fingertips push at your slit over what little clothes separate the two of you, teasing what you really want.

"Liefje," He smirks, pulling away from the kiss, "So wet for me I can feel it through your panties."

Your face grows hot, slightly ashamed at how quick you had become so aroused. Joost's fingers find themselves brushing at the seams of your underwear, hooking into the fabric ever-so-slightly. Your body grows tense as he teases you, his position making it seem like he's about to pull the delicate lace to the side, but he doesn't, his fingers, unmoving as he kisses at your jaw.

You can't take it, feeling so pent up that you might just explode, you knock Joost's hand from where it sits between your legs, pulling the crotch of your panties to the side yourself before pushing your fingers to your clit. You rub small circles to the delicate nerves, gasps leaving your mouth as pleasure rushes through you. You let your fingers dip lower, collecting your arousal on your fingers as they glide through your folds, towards your aching entrance.

Joost finally clocks what you're doing, his lips leaving your jaw, his hand reaching down to cover yours.

"So impatient," He purrs, his breath hot against your neck, reminding you of your proximity, "Here, let me help you."

With his own hand, Joost guides your fingers up and down your soaked pussy, before completely taking the work over himself, your hand now resting at your side as he continues.

With a single finger, he teases your hole, rubbing around it, threatening to dip his fingers in, you shove your hips forward, silently begging for it. He gets the memo, as much as he loves to feel you squirm below him, he loves pleasuring you so much more.

Before long he's pushing a second finger into you, a groan leaving your lips at the way you stretch around him. His thumb taps at your clit, sending extra pangs of pleasure through your body. You can do nothing but lean your head against the door behind you, lips parted with your jaw slack, in complete awe of how good Joost could make you feel with simply just his fingers. He knew his way around your body even better than you knew yourself, able to draw you to an orgasm much quicker than when you went solo. He knew just where to press, just where to rub to make you whine, and stutter filthy curses.

"What was that about never wanting to see me again?" He coos into your ear, and you pick up an almost wickedness in his voice.

"Fuck you," You sputter, voice strained from the magic his fingers are working against your cunt.

"Yeah," Joost sighs, "I'd bet you'd like to."

He's right, absolutely, completely right, and you're melting below him, turning to mush under his touch.

"Lucky for you, I'd love to fuck you too," He removes his fingers from your cunt, "And I don't think I can wait much longer."

Your pussy is left throbbing, feeling your heavy pulse between your thighs as you clench around nothing, aching from the lack of stimulation. Joost presses two fingers to his lips, shiny from your slick, enveloping them with his mouth, moaning slightly at the taste of you on his tongue.

"So good," He mumbles as he pops his fingers from his mouth, "Now, c'mon." He's grabbing you by your wrist, pulling you to your bedroom.

You nearly stumble onto your bed, leaning face first on the edge of the mattress while your feet still rest on the ground below you, ass up.

Joost stands behind you, his hips pressed into your ass. You whine as his stiff cock brushes against your exposed cunt through the thick denim of his jeans. You can feel the cool metal of his belt buckle press into you as he leans forward, hands trailing up your torso as he kisses your shoulder blades.

You arch your back farther, looking for some friction, desperately trying to grind your cunt against him. Joost's hands linger on your body as he lets you search for some relief, helping you just a little by bucking his hips ever so slightly. He gropes at your tits, hands crawling into your shirt to get a better feel. He pinches the pebbled surface of your hardened nipples, making you squeal, his breath tickles your neck as he chuckles at your reaction.

Soon enough he removes his hands from you, and his hips no longer press into your thighs. You're impatient as you hear the clinging of his belt buckle. your pussy instinctively clenching as the sound meets your ears like you've been trained to know what's next. You hear a small sigh leave Joost's mouth followed by what sounds like him pulling his pants down, the belt once again clinging as it hits the floor. You peek behind you, biting your lip as you marvel at the sight before your eyes, Joost, naked from the waist down, his cock hard, tip throbbing an angry shade of red. He's gripping the bottom of his shirt, exposing the trail of blonde hair that leads to his pubic area. His shirt comes all the way off, leaving him entirely undressed behind you.

"See something you like, hm?" He asks, teasingly, noticing the way you stare at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

You can't even respond, not as he walks closer to you, your brain dizzy with the knowledge of what is about to come next. You return your gaze forward as Joost's hands find their way to your hips, fingertips gripping your flesh. You gasp as you feel the tip of his cock brush against your folds. You have to fight the urge to instinctively push back against him.

Joost continues to grind the shaft of his cock against your cunt, collecting your slick around its length. He pulls back a little, letting the head tease your entrance, about to push in before he stops himself,

"Wait." He breathes, "Turn around."

Slowly, you flip over, back pressed into the mattress while your legs still dangle off the sides. Joost nods, content as he steps between your legs.

"Take your shirt off, let me see those pretty tits." You obey, pulling the top over your head, suddenly very exposed as you had decided to forego a bra tonight. Goosebumps litter your skin as Joost slowly lowers onto his knees, he's quick about his movements, not taking time to linger or tease as he pulls both your skirt and your panties down the length of your legs. You raise your back to help him a little, lowering back onto the mattress once you feel the fabric hit your ankles. You kick off the heels you had been wearing, the pooled fabric following, now leaving you entirely exposed under Joost's lustful gaze.

He stands back up, gripping the backs of your thighs as he does so, guiding your legs up. You wrap your legs around his thighs, and Joost moves closer, his arms pinned on either side of you as his body hovers over your own. The new position allows you to move your legs to be wrapped around his hips, digging your ankles into his back to push him closer to you.

He presses a rough kiss to your jaw, an indicator of how hungry he was for you now.

"Ready for me," He mumbles into your skin.

"Mhm," You hum, "Please."

You can feel him smirk as his lips linger on your skin,

"So polite, anything for you, liefje," He coos, removing one hand from the side of you, balancing the entirety of his upper body weight on one forearm now.

He grips the base of his cock with his now free hand, messily guiding the tip through your folds before lining up with your entrance. He waits a moment before finally pushing into you, he's slow, careful. The two of you share a gasp as he slips inside of you, the way you stretch around him is familiar, but it never gets any less mind-numbing no matter how many times you find yourself in this situation.

Your fingers grip into his bicep as he slowly pushes into you at a painfully slow pace. A strangled groan leaves your mouth as he finally bottoms out. You relinquish some of your grip on his arm, fingers loosening as he begins to build up a steady pace, thrusting inside of you.

You let your head tip, and back arch, completely relaxing your body, allowing yourself to be entirely consumed by the pleasure Joost brought you.

Neither of you speak for a while, the loud moans that escape both of you were doing more than enough talking. For a split moment you feel bad for the neighbors, and you hope they aren't awake to hear you through the thin apartment walls. But, your thoughts are swiftly taken away from your acute guilt as you feel Joost slam into you, harder than before. Your eyes shut tight, a pathetic whimper crawling from your throat as the tip of his cock hits deep inside you.

"Joost," You gasp as his thrusts become more pointed, the bed rocking beneath you.

"Feels good, right?" His voice is rich with cockiness, "No one fucks you as good as I do?"

"No," You exhale, "No one," Your vision begins to blur, as pleasure completely overtakes you.

"That's right," He groans, "No one knows your body like I do."

He's right, and you're sure no one will ever know you in the way he does,

"Fuck," You swallow, "We're never going to be able to stop this, are we?" Your heartbeat increases as you come to the realization of how badly the two of you need each other- no matter how much it disturbs the other facets of your life.

"No," His fingertips dig into the naked flesh of your hips, "We were made for each other." The way he speaks is barely romantic, his low growl rather implying that the two of you were doomed to forever be intertwined in this unfortunate circumstance, the far of you far too flawed to be with anyone but each other.

You can feel your body tensing up, a pressure burning in your abdomen, threatening to explode at any moment. You screw your eyes shut, your face twisting up, all of the emotion of the night smacking into you as your orgasm approaches.

"So close," You wince the hot coil in your lower stomach about to crack.

"Want to feel you make a mess on me," Joost begs from behind a clenched jaw, "Come on," He urges.

It takes a few more thrusts for your orgasm to overtake you, but as it does, it's strong. What could just be about considered a scream passing through your throat as your legs start to shake, your body tingling.

"Love you," You slur, your brain too fuzzy to even be cognisant of the words as they leave your mouth, your subconscious speaking for you.

"Yeah?" Joost asks, his thrusts becoming sporadic, losing pace, "Say it again, tell me how much you love me, schatje."

"I love you," You whine, your entire body twitching as you lose all control over your reflexes, your climax now in charge, "Love you, love you so much." Your words become slower, jaw slacking as your orgasm rolls over you, reaching its final stages, your cunt spasming around Joost.

"I know," He sighs, his lips returning to your jaw. He's able to slip in and out of you much faster now, his cock covered in your release, his thrusts forcing strangled cries from you, "I know," He repeats, "Fucking love you too,"

His hips stutter, and a string of curses are grunted into your neck as Joost's own orgasm approaches.

You inhale sharply as you feel him begin to finish inside you, his cock twitching in your poor overstimulated cunt as the warmth of his release fills you. It's messy, the way he continues to thrust with as much force as he can muster as he rides out his high, cum spilling onto your inner thighs which each thrust, lewd wet sounds filling the air.

Soon enough Joost is collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy as he tries to collect himself. Your legs drop from hs waist, your entire body lazy.

A certain sense of guilt creeps into you as you realize Michael is right, you have no self-control, unable to give up the feeling that Joost gives you for anything else in the world. You'll forever be chasing the high he gives you, because Joost was right too, you were made for each other.

[ddejavvu]

Hi!! So I saw your post for Anakin request and I thought of one. Remember that scene where Anakin and Obi wan go in a club? So I was thinking that scene with Reader and Anakin seeing Reader getting hit on and his being a little jelly. Reader gotta remind him that its him that she wants

Debilitating Desire - Anakin Skywalker x Reader (18+)

Summary: Anakin doesn't handle jealousy well. When a sleazy patron of a bar you're investigating decides he's got the right to touch you, and Anakin can't react because your relationship is a secret, he has to save his outburst for later. Unfortunately, he's only able to make it a few steps down the street before he decides he needs you, right here, right now.

Contents/Warnings: jedi!reader, fem!reader, smut (minors dni), p in v, rough sex, biting, overstimulation, semi-public sex (they're in an alleyway), jealousy, reader gets grabbed by the wrist by a creepy guy </3, lots and lots of messy kisses, anakin's a little possessive but is anyone surprised

WC: 5.2K / navigation / inbox / send me anakin requests!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Scouting information from bartenders is next to impossible, but scouting it from their patrons is much easier. Loose-lipped drunks are your targets tonight, and you reconvene with Anakin to corroborate information after gathering intel.

"Okay, I've got a Twi'lek male," You start, and Anakin shakes his head.

"No, no, one of the men I talked to said he was Neimoidian."

"Someone else said Rodian," You groan, "Anakin, maybe we should be asking people who aren't drunk."

"Look around," The man before you scoffs, gesturing to the bar full of nothing but reeling, wobbly drunks, "No one here is sober but him."

"He doesn't have a translator on hand," You drawl, looking at the Ithorian bartender who purposefully 'forgets' his translator whenever someone tries questioning him, "And we don't either."

"We're not getting anywhere," Anakin concludes, a sour scowl on his face as he reaches for your waist to lead you out. "No one's sober, so let's just go, and-"

"I'm sober." A raspy, near-hoarse voice comes from a table nearby, and a hand catches your wrist. Your instinct is to reel back but you don't, even when Anakin's hand tries prying you away with its gloved grip on your waist.

It's a human speaking to you, as far as you can tell, and he's leaning back into the shadowy corner of the bar that he'd been occupying. You're not sure for how long, but if he knows anything about the incident you're trying to gather intel on, you'd like to hear it.

"How long have you been here, sir?" You question, tensing slightly when the man's hand stays firm around your wrist.

"Couple hours," He looks smug, knowing he's holding prized information from two Jedi, "Something you'd like to ask me?"

"You've been here for a couple hours and you're sober?" Anakin questions, pressing you harder into his side in his futile attempt to casually tear you away from the man, "I don't believe that."

"I can hold my liquor," The man boasts, voice far more harsh when addressing Anakin than yourself, "Among other things."

Anakin's had enough. He grabs your hand, stealing it away from the seedy man's grasp and scoffing something unintelligible at him. But you yank him back, a tense smile on your face as you tilt your head towards him urgently.

"I'd like to find out what he knows," You speak forcefully, leaving no room for argument even if Anakin is especially good at creating them.

He scowls at you with an intensity that would normally excite you, though you're not sure you're capable of any feeling other than creeped in the bar you're standing in now.

"You're welcome to go back to the transport if you'd like," You narrow your eyes at Anakin, and the man in the booth leans back smugly at the offer, "But I'm going to do my job."

"Yes, boy," The man disregards Anakin's hands clenching at his sides, "Go back to your ship. You're not needed."

"I'm fine here," Anakin snaps, and the second you sit down across from the man, his hands are on your shoulders as he stands behind you. He grips them tight but the gloved hand clenches just a little more into your skin, and the firm grip grounds you, keeping your voice steady when you speak.

"If you've been here for a couple of hours, you probably witnessed an unfortunate incident a little while ago, didn't you? A fight?"

"There's lots of fights here," The man hums, pretending to think on it, "Can you be more specific?"

"The victim had seven blaster wounds," Anakin seethes, hands only tightening in their grip on your shoulders, "You happen to hear seven blasts?"

"Eight." You mutter, pointing at a singed hole in the wall, "One missed."

"Ah, blaster fight," The man in front of you strokes a hand thoughtfully along his stubbled jaw, "Yeah, 'think I can remember something like that. Some incentive might help jog me a bit, though."

You're not sure whether he means money or sex, but you can't rule either out with the way he's staring. You'd have expected the modest Jedi robes you're wearing to deter any wandering eyes but evidently, some people can't be discouraged.

"We don't have any incentive to offer," You narrow your eyes at him, and Anakin takes over.

"Unless by incentive you mean your life. Tell us what you saw, or you'll envy the target of those blasts."

Your annoyance boils just beneath your skin at Anakin's threats, but you know he won't listen to your urgings to be more careful with his word choice. This man doesn't exactly seem like he'd file a formal complaint with the Jedi Council, but if word ever got around that Anakin was threatening unnecessary violence, you're sure it wouldn't go over well.

Despite Anakin's words having been nothing but a bluff, the man changes his tune when he notices the saber clipped to Anakin's belt, your own hidden beneath the edge of the table. He straightens in his seat, sighing in annoyance, "It was two Neimoidians. Dressed real fancy, stood out like sore thumbs in this place. They cornered some unlucky human over there," He points to the corner of the bar where the singe mark hangs over the cheap decor, "She tried to run, but a Rodian shot her down."

"One Rodian?" You ask, and the man nods.

"Hell of a shot." The man muses with a gnarled grin, and that only makes you more worried. Hell of a shot but he'd fired eight? Clearly they wanted this human - who you have good reason to believe was an undercover informant working against the Separatists - dead.

"The shooter and the Neimoidians were working together?" Anakin confirms, receiving another nod from the man opposite you.

"Thank you," You stand, and to your delight, Anakin's hands snake down your back, the strong, gloved one finding your waist again like a magnet.

"I'm here most nights," The man calls out before you can leave, and you turn to glance at him in disdain as he props his feet up onto the dingy table, "Love to see 'ya off duty, sweetheart."

"Go," Anakin spits against your ear, grip on your waist turning harsh. Your breath hitches and you let Anakin practically push you out of the bar and onto the streets, teeming with civilians until you duck into an alleyway three blocks down from the door.

You're immediately backed up against the wall of the building behind you, but you're too fired up to care as you glare at Anakin, "Don't start with me. Threatening him, Anakin? What if Obi-Wan found out?"

"Obi-Wan is going to be too busy tracking down those Neimoidians to care how we got it out of the guy," Anakin scoffs and the exasperated breath hits your face. His expression only darkens further at the mention of the older man, "That's not the point. Did you see the way he was looking at you?"

"That doesn't matter," You assure Anakin with a soft sigh, but from the distasteful curl of his lips into a hard sneer, it does matter. He's standing tall in front of you with ragged, angry breaths coming from his chest, brows furrowed and jaw clenched as he tries containing his upset. It's not aimed at you, of course, but it's a sight nevertheless. He's all sharp features and tense muscles, rage brewing inside of him that's sure to spill over if you don't turn down the heat in time.

"Men like that are creeps," You dismiss, but Anakin is much less eager to let the situation go, still pressing you against the wall of the dingy alleyway, "Women don't talk to him unless he pays them to, is it any surprise he was forward when I approached him for free?"

"But you gave him no indication-" Anakin gushes, poorly-contained rage grating at his rough voice, "I don't understand. I don't understand how I'm supposed to be yours, how you're supposed to be mine, if people like him think you're theirs for the taking."

"It doesn't matter what he thinks, he can't have me, Anakin." You assure him. You know it's hard for him, being secretive about your relationship. Anakin is highly devoted, to his work, to his training, but most of all to you, and to have to stuff that down whenever you're not alone grates on his nerves.

Your answer doesn't seem to persuade him, so you brace your hand against his rapidly rising and falling chest, "He can't have me because I'm yours, Anakin."

Whatever hateful haze has clouded over his eyes clears like fog as he blinks at your words, probably muscling down hot tears of frustration. He surges forwards to kiss you, and it's hard to be upset that you're pressed against a dirty wall when Anakin's mouth is on your own.

His kisses are fervent and desperate, lips relentlessly catching your own between them. They're sloppy as his hands find your waist like there's magnets in your blood, his palms oppositely charged.

"I want you," He pleads, voice rough and ragged, "I want you all the time. I wanted to take your hand in there. I wanted to take more than your hand," He pants, speaking against your lips that have grown dewy from his saliva. "I wanted to grab your jaw-" He mimics the action, gloved hand clenching at your chin, "And- and kiss you, and bend you right over his table and take you."

"Right in his face," Anakin grunts, and you feel his cock beginning to stiffen through the layers of his robes as he presses himself to you. "Right in his fucking face, angel, I wanted to have you."

"You have me now," You breathe, equally as lustful as you press sticky kiss after sticky kiss to Anakin's tense jawline, "Ani, you have me now, and you have me forever."

"Forever," He groans, and you can see his eyes dilate at the thought. He's perpetually breathless as he chooses to spend his oxygen by kissing you once more. It's all heavy pants and strings of drool, appropriate for the dark, damp alleyway you're hidden in; a dirty fuck for a dirty place.

"Anakin," You moan, your pussy pulsing as his tongue smooths over your top lip, "I need you, here-" Your words muffle as Anakin licks flat over your lips, practically drinking the words out of your mouth, "-here and now. I know it's dirty, but I- I need it. I need you. Please?"

"Say it again," He orders, kissing you so that you can't.

You have to speak while he's still dragging his thick, wet tongue over yours, "I need you."

"More," He presses, his nose now nudging at your cheek as he tilts his head, granting himself only deeper access to your warm mouth.

"I need you," You vow, words garbled as he never backs away from your mouth, "Anakin, I need you."

"You have me," He groans, reveling in the pleasure that your words bring him. His hips roll compulsively against yours, grating through the many layers of robes you're both clad in like he can't stop them if he tries. "And I have you. Angel, I've got you, come here."

He says it like you're trying to leave, like you're not smashed flat between him and a wall. But you try anyways, slinging your hand around his neck to drag him in closer.

Anakin was focused on undoing your belt, but when you pull him close with your arm wrapped behind his neck he pauses, eyes closing as he knocks his forehead against yours.

"Ani-"

"He touched you," Anakin remembers, reaching up to take your wrist in his hand. He holds it delicately, bringing it between your faces to kiss the soft skin against the inside, "He grabbed you. He touched you right here," He peppers more soft kisses against your wrist, "Did he hurt you?"

"No," You hum softly, lips still slick with Anakin's spit, "It was just creepy, that's all. It didn't hurt."

"I'm sorry. I love you," He tells the skin of your wrist, and your hand naturally fits against his cheek, your fingertips ghosting over his ear.

"I love you," You repeat him, and his eyes flit back to your own.

"I love you." He rushes in for another kiss, this one just as desperate as the last. His tongue probes freely through your mouth, he's always been good with it, and your cunt clenches around nothing as Anakin's hands slide back to your waist. This time he lets you sling both of your arms around his neck, shuddering into the kiss when your nails scrape up the baby hairs at the base of his neck.

"Fuck," He groans against your mouth, fingers tugging more desperately now on the belt that he's so accustomed to putting on and taking off. Finally he undoes the buckle, letting it slide down to your ankles. You feel dirty as you hear the clatter of your saber against the ground; you're getting stripped and fucked in a dingy alleyway. But It releases the waistband of your pants, and shame gives way to pleasure as Anakin pries eagerly at the clasp.

"Touch me," You beg, and he's one step ahead of you. His hand presses flat to your belly as he snakes it down your pants, his warm skin pressed flush to your slit as he cups your needy cunt. You feel slick gathered in your pussy, and you're sure if he slips two fingers inside, it'll gush over his digits.

"You're warm," He murmurs, and you're not sure whether he means the spit he's lapping from your mouth, or the way your cunt bleeds heat against his palm. Either way, you know he likes it as his hips buck into your own again, pressing his hand further against your pussy.

"Ani," You feel his bulge through the layers of clothing he's sporting, still dragging him impossibly further with your arms around his neck, practically smashing his face into yours. "Ani, I need you inside, please?"

"I'll take care of you," He promises, kissing sweetly across your jaw, and down to your neck, "Angel, I want you to touch me."

"Hm?" Your brain is dazed, comprehending little as Anakin rolls his palm against your clit.

"Use this hand," He reaches for the one that the man inside had grabbed, "Use this hand, angel, and touch me with it. Get me hard, use the hand he touched."

"Okay," You breathe, scrambling for his belt and letting him help you with the hand that's not down your pants. A part of you is worried someone will see the two of you, but halfway disrobed and shrouded in shadow, you're not recognizable as Jedi, nor are these streets ever free from filth; you blend right in.

When Anakin's belt is undone he lets it fall just like your own had, and you gratefully slip your hands beneath the tunic it had been holding down. You have easy access to his pants now, and slipping your hand inside like he's doing to you means you're met with a half-hard dick.

"You're leaking," You observe, as precum oozes from the head of his cock. You smear it around the tip with your thumb, and his hips jerk into your hand. It's an awkward angle that you're at, stroking his dick while he cups your pussy in the palm of his hand, but it's apparently not uncomfortable to him, because with each pump of your fingers around the length of his cock, it hardens in your grip.

"Oh- fuck, get it- get it messy," He pants, straining as he tries not to cum right then and there at the sight of his pre smeared over your hand.

It's hard not to get it messy. His sticky precum oozes from the head of his dick like a steady stream, beads and beads of the stuff smeared away by your hand to help lubricate the measured strokes you're pumping over his dick.

Your fingers are soon tacky with precum, and his dick makes obscene squelching noises as you run your fist down it. He's panting as his palm grinds hard against your clit, and your hips snap into his hands, moving your entire body forwards. It means your fist slides roughly, sharply straight down to the base of his cock, and he bites back a hiss at the slight pain you've inflicted upon him.

"Now," He breathes rough and ragged, "I need you now. Maker, I'm gonna fucking-" He cuts himself off with a grunt, the hand that's cupping your wet heat flipping and twisting to yank the waistband of your pants down. It catches you by surprise, and the tantalizingly small amount of friction you'd been able to gain while grinding against his palm is gone, leaving the cool air of Coruscant's dingy lower levels to shock you.

"Put it in," He orders, his head downturned, forehead pressed against your own, "Baby, put- get me inside of you, I need-to-be-inside-of-you- there y'go."

You use your fist to line up his cock with your needy entrance, his hips more than willing to close the distance to make it easier for you. You don't get a second to adjust to the heavenly feeling of his tip brushing against your folds before he's jackhammering into you, chest now pressed tightly to your own as he slams you once more against the wall.

You let out a garbled scream as you're instantly full, the pace Anakin sets absolutely merciless on your sloppy cunt. You're well wet enough to provide lubrication for his lengthy cock, but just because you're wet doesn't mean you're ready, and the sensation of him bypassing any cautious thrusts and heading right into jackrabbit territory is one that has you crying out.

"Scream," Anakin hisses, his teeth digging harshly into your plush bottom lip. He licks over the stinging bite mark seconds later, the wet muscle sweeping over your own, "Scream as loud as you can, angel. I want him to hear. Tell him," He pulls away from your mouth only to wrestle your face to the side, his gloved hand gripping tight at your jaw.

"Tell him," Anakin urges, kissing and licking sticky stripes up your neck, "Tell that miserable old creep who makes you scream. Tell him who you love, tell him who fucks you into the wall."

"A- Ani-" You try, but it's not good enough for the man still relentlessly pounding his hips against yours. His free hand is gripping the pliant flesh of your ass with a force that surely means your chub is spilling through his fingers, and he uses the grip to hike your leg up, giving him a better angle to destroy your drooling cunt from.

"Louder. Say it louder." Anakin demands, forcing your jaw open with his hand, "Tell him!"

It's terribly difficult to power through the rather attention-grabbing sensation of Anakin's rock-hard cock bullying your wet cunt. He's rougher than he needs to be, balls slapping hard against the flesh of your ass that he's got in his hold.

But you have to try, and with an embarrassingly loud, desperate pitch to your voice, you scream, "Anakin!"

The second his name comes spilling from your lips in a wanton cry he manhandles your face back towards him, jamming his lips over your own.

"Maker," He growls, "You're so fucking perfect. I tell you to scream my name and you do it," He revels in your obedience, tongue licking a hot, wet stripe over your mouth. He holds it open with his fingers pinched into your cheeks but he doesn't venture inside, merely flattening his tongue over your stinging, swollen lips to leave a drooly residue behind. Only once you've been marked does he delve his tongue between your lips, licking at your own like it's his last meal.

"You're so good for me," His words slur together in their intensity, voice thick and raw with obsession, "Nngh, you're so-" You reach down, barely able to coordinate enough brainpower to take his balls into your hand, massaging them as best you can while his hips piston in and out of you at record pace, "-you're so good to me, Angel. More, give me- more, I want more." He begs, the words spilling over your tongue. He grabs tighter at the flesh of your ass, surely bruising the skin and leaving you sore tomorrow.

"Ah! Anakin," You cry, the feeling of his tongue lapping at your own and swapping spit until there's pools of it around your teeth sending a pulse of electricity straight to your core that makes it throb. Anakin feels your cunt convulse, only pushing his tongue further into your mouth. He's a presence; every part of his body is touching every part of your body. He's all-consuming, he's an enigma, he's yours.

Anakin fucks you harder and faster than ever before. All of his strength training must have done wonders because you can't fathom how he's able to generate that much power this fast, but his hips ram into you while his gloved hand releases your ass to pinch at your clit. He abuses the sensitive bud, pinching and rolling it between his fingers to coax more convulsions out of your sticky cunt.

It works.

The pressure that Anakin presses around your clit lights a live wire of hot, heavy arousal that trails up your spine, heat flowing from where Anakin is still latched onto your shoulder right down to your throbbing core. All of a sudden it's too much, everything is too much, and you feel your orgasm hit you like a speeder, knocking the breath out of your lungs as white hot pleasure burns at your cunt. It's a sensation that splatters firework-worthy bliss from your head to your toes, and your thighs tremble as Anakin fucks you through what might be the most intense, violent orgasm of your life.

"Anakin!" You scream.

Everything he does is rough, from the way his teeth nip at your lips, to the way he's trying to suck your tongue down his throat, to the way his fingers bully your puffy clit, to the way the head of his cock pounds into you with enough force to bruise. It's rough, it's messy, it's aggressive, and it's wonderful. You've never felt such pure jealousy radiating off of Anakin before, and you think it's because you've never been able to indulge him so soon after his jealousy blooms. If he's wary of someone in the temple you have to wait until nightfall to fuck, and if the incident occurs any time before dinner he's more mellow when he finally has you. But now it's fresh, now the brand of raging jealousy is still sizzling against his brain, and he's pumping all of the residual heat straight into you.

"Kriff," He grunts, nearly biting the tip of your tongue as he tries latching onto your lower lip, "Cum. Fuck yeah, angel- angel cum for me, cum- aagh! Cum on my dick," He demands, and you couldn't deny his request if you tried. Your pussy clenches wildly around his cock, convulsing with the force of your orgasm and you claw at his back, regretful that you hadn't stripped off his shirt so that you could scratch up his skin.

All too soon the effects of Anakin's pacing and strength flip a switch, and you're twitching in overstimulation added to your bliss. There's a distinct stinging sensation that's now alongside - and possibly contributing to - your residual ecstasy. The ache is a product of Anakin's sharp thrusts, but his movements are getting sloppy, and all the while he spills obscenities in drool over your tongue.

"You're mine. Gonna fucking cum in you, gonna make you mine, gonna- aah!" He rambles, words and spit alike spilling hastily from his mouth and into your own as he struggles to keep himself steady. He's jackhammering into you so fast that you think he could knock you right through the wall if he tried. You're plastered against it, head thrown back and chest heaving as you try not to collapse under the intense amount of sensation you're receiving.

"Ani," You grip at his biceps, dragging one hand up his left arm and digging your nails into his scalp, "Ani- cum, please cum! Please," You whimper, not sure if you're begging because you need the delicious sensation of his release painting your insides, or because you might pass out if your cunt gets fucked by Anakin's stupidly big cock much more than it has been already, "Please cum!"

"You want me to cum?" He asks, a dreadful rasp to his voice as he ravages your mouth. He bites at your tongue, latches on with his teeth like a wild animal and digs them into the squirming muscle until your saliva runs hot, "You want me to cum in you, angel? You want me to fill you up- stuff you 'til you're leaking?"

"Yes," You moan, one hand still clutching his arm while the other tugs at the base of his curls, "Yes, fuck Anakin, please, I need you to give me your cum! I need your cum, please!"

"You need my cum," He revels, a growl lacing the edge of his voice that sends perpetual shivers down your spine, "You fucking need me. Wish that creep could see you now. Fucked stupid, begging for my cum. Beg for it again, baby. Beg for my cum."

"I need it!" You cry, desperate as you yank tighter at his hair, "Anakin, please, I need it!"

All of a sudden he's no longer invading your mouth, his own latching tightly to your shoulder as he sinks his teeth into you.

"Take it," He grunts gruffly against your skin as he latches onto it, dick finally twitching before spurting hot, thick globs of cum into your spent cunt. Nothing is more gratifying than the feeling of Anakin biting at your shoulder while his hips fuck his cum relentlessly into you, and you're sure you'll be sore all over tomorrow morning. He's letting out the filthiest, most obscene string of grunts against your shoulder as his teeth barely avoid breaking your skin, and though your limbs shake with overstimulation your body doesn't move because it's in his strong grip.

The feeling of him cumming inside of you is like a second orgasm of your own. It's not really a release for you, you haven't cum twice, but Anakin's warm cum flooding your core and squelching as he jerks his hips through his climax feels almost as satisfying as if you were the one cumming. His grunts and growls slowly fade as he comes down from his monumental orgasm, and when he unlocks his jaw from around your shoulder, he leaves behind a ring of teeth marks and a sheen of drool on your skin.

"Kriff," He pants, chest heaving and dick softening as he slumps against you. You're not ready for his added weight, but the little strength he has left is used to hold you upright, so you don't flatten beneath his frame.

"Are you okay?" He hums, lips moving lazily against your neck. They're still wet with spit, and you feel the stuff cooling on your skin.

"I'm okay," You decide, "But- but I don't think I can walk, Ani."

You feel him smile, hear him huff out a laugh even though his eyes are drooping, "I'm sorry. I- It's like I couldn't control myself," He admits, breath fanning warm and wet against your neck, "Not after seeing him grab you."

"I know," You stroke a gentle hand through his sweaty curls, happy to be close to him now that your veins aren't pumping lust through your entire system.

"If Obi-Wan asks," Anakin straightens up, his limbs surprisingly strong for how aggressively he'd fucked you, "You got shoved around by a nasty patron, okay? We'll say they caught you by surprise when you were trying to talk to the bartender."

"Okay." You nod, letting him do all of the work in retrieving your belts from the ground and securing yours around your waist. He hooks his own tightly, his saber thankfully unharmed from being dropped.

"Come here," He holds his arms out, but you barely move to help him scoop you up. He does the lifting on his own, letting you sling your spent arms around his neck and laze your head against his shoulder.

Anakin makes it out of the alleyway, but when he should turn left towards your speeder, he veers right.

"Anakin," You frown, lifting your head wearily to see him approaching the bar again, "Anakin, our speeder's the other way."

"I want you to talk to him," His voice is firm, not much of its honey-sweetness left that had been there after you'd fucked in the dingy alleyway, "I want you to stand there, while I hold you up, and I want you to inform him he'll be questioned by the Jedi Council about what he saw. I want you to lie to him while my cum drips down your legs, angel." He murmurs, his words impossibly filthy even for the setting you're in, "Can you do that?"

"He won't be examined by the Council," Your hazy brain struggles to keep up, "What do you mean?"

"Lie to him." Anakin repeats, eyes slightly darker than they usually are, "Make him afraid while your pussy leaks my cum."

"Okay," You nod willingly, letting Anakin brace your feet on the ground with one of your arms slung over his shoulder to lead you into the bar. Your legs are shaky, you look a mess, but you could be perceived as someone coming away from a nasty fight, so you hold your head high and try to control your thoughts.

"There," Anakin murmurs, spotting the old man where he's already watching you from the corner, "Do it, angel."

Anakin leads you over, stopping short in front of the man's table so that he can't touch you again. He looks pleased at your return, albeit confused as to why you're a mess.

"The Jedi Council wants to speak with you," You recite obediently as the man's eyes widen slightly in apprehension. You can already feel the slow trickle of Anakin's thick cum leaking down your thighs now that you're upright, and it almost distracts you from what you're saying. "They want to know your role in the fight, and what you observed if that's truly all you did. They suspect that you might be working against the Republic, and-"

"I'm not talking to the Jedi Council," The man's face curls into a sneer and his voice is gruff, but not pleasantly so, like Anakin's. He stands from his seat rather uncoordinatedly and bolts for the door, surely expecting you to chase after him. But you don't, you couldn't if you tried, and Anakin gathers you back into his arms.

"Good." He hums, resisting the urge to kiss your forehead for fear of outing your relations, 'You did good, angel. I'm proud of you."

"We'll have to sneak into the temple without interception," You plan as your head rests once more on Anakin's shoulder. He navigates the crowded bar perfectly with you in his arms, and this time he turns towards your speeder like he's supposed to. "Obi-Wan will be waiting for us, but you can tell him to gather the Council, that way we'll have time to clean up."

"Oh, no." Anakin's chuckle is dark as he lowers you into the seat of your speeder. He kisses at your forehead, strokes away a bead of sweat at your hairline, "No, angel. You'll speak to the Council the same way you spoke to that lowlife. With my cum dripping down your thighs."

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[brain-rot-central]

Hey Jealousy

Rating: M/borderline E? (for now) Pairing: Spawn!A/Fem!Tav Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: NON-CANON, 18+, degrading speech, somewhat dubcon for certain parts but not totally?, adult themes, mentions of past sexual relationship, alcohol mention, alcohol use, blood mention, possessiveness, jealously, stalking, dry humping, ANGST, some fluff, bitter petty nonsense overall tbh

Summary: Astarion and Tav split at the end of the game due to a huge miscommunication. She tries desperately to move on, Astarion not so much. He finally gets ahold of her, aaaaand some messy feelings come out.

A/N - 1/28/24: Reuploading this! Not much has changed; mostly pulled it for grammatical editing purposes. Hopefully the story flows a bit better now!

The tavern is bustling with the usual weekend crowd. Upbeat music fills the air of the small establishment as this evening’s band continues their set. Drinks cascade like waterfalls into the hands and mouths of the tavern's parched patrons, each desperate for a distraction to drive out the unsettling reality of their lives, albeit for a few hours.

Astarion is perched in a corner of the tavern, circling the tip of his finger around the edge of his wine goblet. The unpleasant flavor of piss and vinegar lingers on his tongue from the spirit, mouth salivating. He sucks his teeth instinctively, trying to rid himself of the taste. 

Reaching into the pocket of his favored violet and gold doublet, he retrieves a small vial of crimson liquid. He pops off the stopper and deposits the contents into his cup, bringing the cylindrical glass to his mouth to lap up the small droplet that rolls down its side.

He hums in satisfaction as the sweet flavor spreads across his tongue, floral and lively, before returning the stopper back atop the vial. Using a single finger, he swirls the additive into his wine, bringing the goblet back to his lips for another sip. 

Ah, much better.

Surveying the bar, Astarion catches the attention of a young elven woman. She's aesthetically pleasing on the eyes - blonde hair with tan skin. Were he here for another reason, he may have tried his luck with her.

Astarion nods politely. The woman then rises from her seat, walking toward him. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, adjusting his positioning. He hurriedly repockets the blood vial within his doublet and hangs his head low just as she takes the seat at his booth, opposite him.

“Well, you’re certainly different from the usual fare,” she says, confidently. “Not often we get you teu-tel-quessir folk in here.” 

Astarion absently swirls his wine. She believes I'm a moon elf?

Assuming that she's a regular of this tavern, this woman may be somewhat oblivious. Were she not, she’d have realized this is his third visit this month alone.

Astarion decides to play into her little game - he’s compelled to see how long he can keep the charade going. “I’m but a weary traveler, just passing through,” he lies. It rolls off his tongue like the caress of an old friend. Creating a fictitious life for himself is something he’s had quite a bit of practice doing.

“Is that so? I, too, happen to be passing through here.” The woman places her elbows on the table and leans forward, giving Astarion better access to the cleavage threatening to spill over the top of her bodice. His eyes fall briefly to the woman’s chest, but he doesn’t look at her face. Not yet. “Got the room rented out upstairs for a couple more days,” she adds, tone hushed.

Sliding her hand toward his, she gently rubs her fingers over the ones he has encased around the neck of the wine goblet. Astarion shudders, not expecting such an intimate touch, and finally lifts his gaze to meet her own. “Care to make a few mistakes with me?” she asks.

Astarion snickers. He can tell part of her story is a facade, though he doesn’t care enough to discern which. 

“My apologies, love, but I’ve made enough mistakes to last a lifetime,” he replies. Pulling his hand from her, he grabs his wine by the cup, bringing it again to his lips. “I’ll have to decline.”

The elven woman softly hums in disappointment, standing up from her seat at the booth. “Such a shame,” she says, “you really are something beautiful.” She raises a hand to her lips, kissing the pads of her fingertips before extending them out toward him. Gently blowing on her fingers, she says, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Astarion raises his cup to her and she walks off, returning to her group of friends on the far side of the tavern. He groans a sigh of relief.

Wasting little time resuming his attention on the crowd surrounding him, another is quick to catch his eye. He's seen her before - long auburn hair flowing down her back with streaks of blonde scattered throughout. She wasn't dressed in her evening best, but even so, the blouse and slacks she wore left little to his imagination.

She's sitting at the bar in the middle of the tavern, a young tiefling gentleman holding her attention at present. He’s not her usual type, Astarion notes to himself, though he remains transfixed on their interaction.This is the second man he's seen this evening trying their hand at impressing the young human woman. 

A smile forms on her lips as she converses with her current suitor. Astarion once again swirls his goblet of wine before bringing it back to his mouth for another taste.

He knows this woman, rather intimately, at that. He’s held her hair within his hands, traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. The smell of her skin is ever present in his mind. The saltiness of her sweat on his tongue as he lavishes her throat, the intoxicating roll of her hips against his as he bites down into the tender flesh of her neck… the rush of blood cascading down his throat.

He swallows thickly around the memory.

They've been together a handful of times throughout their travels to save the Realm from the threat of the Absolute, but that was neither here nor there, at this point.

The tiefling begins skirting his fingers along her forearm, and she leans into his touch. Astarion seethes from his place in the booth, a rush of warmth flooding his core and quickly spreading outward to each of his limbs. It’s been months since they decided on this new agreement, though his reaction is just as strong whenever another encroaches on her.

Astarion looks on as the red-head gently pats her companion’s arm before standing from her seat. His eyes follow her toward the back of the tavern. After downing the rest of his drink in one quick swing, he’s following her, careful to keep just enough distance not to rouse suspicion.

The music from the band thumps loudly in his chest as he draws closer to the crowd of people gathered before the stage. Lucky for him, they’re so entranced by the show that they hardly notice his mindless weaving, trying not to lose sight of his target. Astarion stops for a moment to refocus, looking around. It doesn’t take him long at all to zero in a glimpse of those fiery locks disappearing down a hallway off to the side.

His feet bring him to the start of the long corridor and he peers cautiously around the corner. The woman is not to be found, likely in the powder room. Astarion sighs, some of the built up tension beginning to wane from his shoulders, and comes to stand with his back against the window across from the facilities.

The residual tension within him is beginning to bleed into anxiety and doubt the longer he waits. His mind is rapidly exchanging scenarios, all of which cause his stomach to become unsettled. Gooseflesh spreads over his arms and the fine hairs covering them stand on end. Why is he doing this? They'd agreed to be friends and nothing more. It’s his fault for not being able to honor his end of the deal, he knew, but by the Gods, he simply does not care.

Since the first drops of her blood spread across his tongue, Astarion knew something within him changed. He wasn't sure if it was due to her being his proverbial “first,” but he felt… compelled by her from that moment forward. Bonded almost, in a strange way. 

In a sea of crimson, her blood would always sing loudest to him. It horrified him in the beginning, recalling memories of Cazador's puppeteering ways. The fear ebbed into compassion, after a time. As their physical relationship grew more intimate, compassion melted into an overwhelming desire to guard her. A want to protect what was his, finally his, after so many godsdamned years of pure, absolute shit.

Their… whatever it was they shared, was his. And he would gladly throw his life on the line any chance he could to insure its sustainability.

He catches a glint of red in his peripheral vision again. The human, oblivious to his presence, begins her trek back to her seat at the bar. The thought barely has time to process in Astarion’s head before his body reacts, reaching out to grab the side of her arm, pulling her back toward the wall with him.

“What the-!” the woman exclaims in shock. Her other hand comes up to begin swatting at the offending appendage. She stops midway as her eyes meet his face, recognition washing over her. “Oh, Astarion,” she says, voice flat, “what… what are you doing here?”

A practiced smile graces his lips as he releases the grip on her arm. “Am I not free to seek my own pleasure, darling?” An uneasiness begins to take root again, mind scolding him once the words leave his lips. What in the hells kind of question is that? 

Astarion clears his throat. “I was simply out for a drink before returning home when I saw what appeared to be a fire in the middle of the bar.” Unsure of what response he's hoping for, he's praying she doesn't catch onto his desperate attempt at recovery.

A quick blush spreads across her cheeks and she bows her head, giving a genuine smile. Astarion huffs out a breath in relief. 

During their time together, Astarion would often tease that her hair reminded him of a raging fire. Eventually, he adorned her with the pet name of “spitfire;” she thoroughly enjoyed solving the majority of her problems through brute force. She favored it, evidenced by a deep blush that would spread across her features.

Not unlike the one rising to her face at this very moment.

Were he honest with her, he’d tell her that this isn’t the first time he’s followed her since they parted - watched helplessly from afar as she rotated through potential nightly suitors. He chooses not to, however. Chooses to not tell her that he’s noticed every man she’s taken home has platinum hair. How they’re always of elven lineage.

She seems to buy his excuse as she visibly relaxes before him. “Oh, no, of course, Astarion,” she sighs. “It's uh, it's been a few weeks, hasn't it?” Her eyes are soft as she shifts her weight onto one hip. “How have you been?”

She's nervous, he can tell. She's doing that thing with her lip, chewing the inside of it. The rush of blood in her veins crashes and bellows in his ears as her blush settles deeper across the top of her chest.

“As well as one would imagine,” Astarion replies, “after having their heart broken.” There’s an air of nonchalance decorating his tone. A well-worn smirk tugs at his lips. He's fuming inside at the thought of another touching her, but he doesn't want to play his cards outright yet. 

No, he wants to see her squirm, wants to inflict just a touch of the torment he's experienced since their parting.

What a spiteful creature.

Her expression falls flat, jaw tensing. “I'm not sure what you mean by that,” she retorts in a meek tone. She pulls her shoulders back. "I-I thought we agreed to be friends, no?”

Astarion glances over his shoulder to see the young tiefling gentleman from before passing behind them. Their eyes meet, Astarion furrowing his brow. His jaw tightens, lips curling upward, and the peaks of his fangs are visible. He watches for the tiefling’s reaction, elated to find that the boy is clearly shaken by his display. The Tiefling turns to speak but decides against it, turning his back to the scene before him. 

Astarion sneers.

Yet another unworthy fool. 

Though… a fool who has touched her. Something he and only he should be privy to.

An inferno erupts within him.

Astarion grabs the young woman by the arm again and leads her toward the supply closet at the end of the hall, making quick work of the lock. Astarion scans their surroundings before opening the door and shoving her in, a small squeak pushed past her lips from the impact of his hand on her back. Quickly closing the door behind him, he yells, “Ignis!” a fireball lighting the lone torch in the room.

“Astarion, what-” she shouts in protest. Before the opportunity arises he’s back on her, pinning her in place to the wall with his hips. His hands fly up to cup either side of her jaw.

"Do you truly believe I meant that?" he growls low in his throat, their eyes meeting in a whirlwind. “That I only wanted to be friends?” he adds, mockingly. 

He's desperately searching her face for something, anything to show him he's not alone in this. Her tense expression stokes the fire raging within him.

Suddenly, he's spiraling.

The small voice in his head, his conscience, is yelling at him to stop - to pull back. She’s made it quite clear how she feels, you love-sick idiot. 

Logic fails him - he cannot form a single cohesive thought. Not when she's looking at him like that.

A doe caught unawares in the middle of a forest. Eyes blown wide, mouth slightly agape. Not unlike those he's hunted multiple times in the past. His chest heaves as he drinks in her expression, a wave of heat rising up within him. 

The compulsion is overwhelming, rapidly losing the battle with the rational part of his brain. Bitterness bites at the back of his throat like acid. 

He absolutely must continue.

“Is that why your home has become a revolving door?” Astarion says, watching her face shift. 

“Excuse me?” the human asks, offense evident in her tone. A rhetorical question, though he pushes forward.

“Of men who look just enough like me?” he continues, driving the thorn deeper into the woman's side.  

Suddenly, she’s stone, cold and unwelcoming. Her face twists into something sour, nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Astarion Anunín… Have you been stalking me?” she nearly yells.

Oh, he has her right where he wants her.

"The color of their hair does always match my own…” Astarion ponders aloud, head tilting to one side. “Have any of them fucked you as thoroughly as I have, darling?" he chides.

Pulling in a quick, ragged breath, the young woman shudders beneath him, her head falling forward. Her hips involuntarily twitch against the knee he’s suddenly wedged between her thighs and she whimpers, biting her lip to stifle the sound. 

“Astarion…” she groans, eyes falling closed. 

She’s upset, he knows. Yet, he’s privy to how she can barely resist the call of his body against her. Why not use that knowledge to his advantage?

A heavy flush settles across her face and she reopens her eyes, looking up at him through hooded lids. Astarion sees it then - the unabashed desire emanating from her. 

How ironic, he thinks to himself, that her eyes have a hunter green hue. At this moment she feels like prey, wrapped up in a delicate satin bow, all for him.

The remnants of his eternally damned soul sing in delight at her unraveling before him. Saliva pools thick on his tongue as he lavishes the thought of pushing forward, closing in on her.

Astarion leans toward her, cocking his head again to one side. “Hells, Tav… Did it really never occur to you that we made love the last time we were together?" he asks quietly, mouth hovering just above her lips.

Tav shivers beneath him, body writhing against the wall she's leaning against. Her hands come up to press against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his shirt as she grinds herself again on the knee between her legs. The flush on her face is so deep, practically matching the color of her hair.

“Y-you’re hardly playing fair,” she huffs out. She moans again, genuine and clear, making little attempt to subdue the noise. Astarion groans in response before closing the distance, finally capturing her lips in a kiss. 

He’s timid at first, wanting to gauge her reaction. Tav doesn't resist nor push him away, giving him the encouragement to continue. Her jaw grows pliant under him and invites him deeper into her mouth, tongues entangling for a quick moment. The kiss is brief - just enough until she settles beneath him. Both of their chests heave as they part.

Astarion’s eyes rest upon her lips before he draws his head back. His hands fall from her face and he lays his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head. 

"My biggest regret is that I lacked the courage to tell you with words..." he admits, voice trailing off. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he adds, "so, instead, I used the one tool I'm most versed with.”

Tav's pupils blow wide at the implication of his words.

Of course, Astarion used his body - used himself as an instrument. Again. To him, this is familiar territory. This is safe. 

This is all I’m good for.

"It appears I must have gotten my translation wrong," he quips.

Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “It wasn’t wrong…” 

She adjusts herself against the wall as Astarion’s leg falls back into a normal position, no longer wedged between her. 

“I was so sure… and then the morning after, I- '' She cuts herself off and swallows. “I didn’t know what to think, Astarion.”

Astarion pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps back from Tav to give her space. 

“I don’t understand,” he begins, folding his arms over his chest. “I thought I made my position rather clear that morning. About…” He shrugs his shoulders. “Us. This.”

Huffing out a quick laugh, Tav shakes her head again, her discomfort in their current conversation mounting. “You started talking about being free, and-” 

She stops herself again, choking back a sigh. “It just seemed so selfish to ask you to be with me. You were just getting yourself back, after so long.”

Tears begin to gather at the corners of Tav’s eyes. Gently with the pads of his thumbs, Astarion wipes them clean.

“Oh, my silly little love,” he says, lowering his face to place a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “How I wish you would have spoken to me first.”

Tav’s hands come up to cover his, removing them from her face. “I think… I think I need to go,” she tells him, urgently. 

Nodding in silent agreement, Astarion lets her dip out from under him, seeing her inch closer toward the door. 

Before she grips the door’s handle, she turns to look at him. “...Can we talk more about this?” She quickly gestures to their surroundings before adding, “In a better situation, maybe?”

Astarion can only sigh, chest rising and falling heavily. “Of course, my dear. Do you have a particular place in mind?”

Her eyes fall to the floor. Tav knits her fingers together nervously, rubbing her thumbs over the other. “Well… where are you staying?”

A quick laugh escapes his throat and he averts his gaze. His voice is soft and tender as he focuses on a broom leaning against the corner of the wall behind her, “...I went home.”

Tav furrows her brow before asking, “What do you mean by home?”

“Home, to Cazador’s,” he states, devoid of emotion. Astarion’s eyes fall back onto her, watching as she adjusts her posture.

“It’s not as though I know much else,” he continues. “I lack the gold or the ability to work. I have only what I’m able to pilfer off the unassuming, and I’ve grown tired of playing such a role.” 

Astarion sighs heavily again before adding, “There are a number of… resources available to me, now that Cazador is gone. It would be foolish of me to squander them.”

Tav only nods in his direction, her expression falling flat. “Alright,” she says, “I’ll meet you… there, I guess.” She unlaces her hands and turns around, heading back toward the door.

“Tavaria,” Astarion calls to her as she wraps a hand around the door handle again, freezing in place at the use of her full name. “If you do decide to visit me, you’re going to need the passcode for the tower door.” 

Looking over her shoulder, Tav waits for him to continue. Moments pass between them, the air growing thick and stale within the small closet. When she doesn’t speak, he pushes forward. 

“It’s spitfire,” Astarion tells her.

He hears more than sees the small inhalation of breath she takes as his words register. Turning her head forward again, Astarion watches her finally twist the knob to the door, pushing it open. Tav steps out of the closet, looking at him briefly before disappearing down the corridor of the tavern.

Astarion slumps against the cool stone of the supply closet wall, light now pouring through the open doorway. His head is throbbing, an uneasy ache beginning to take root deep within his chest.

What a day.

[vinylfoxbooks]

June 7 - Welcome | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 994 This is part 1 of a five part series Part 2

“I’m going on break, Reg.” Remus calls after he finishes wiping down the counter, “I’ll be out back.”

“Yeah, go smoke. You’ve been grumpy all day.” Regulus hums, putting the box that he was just sorting through on the ground by his feet so he remembers to shelf them later. Remus flips him off as he’s walking by to get to the back room, which makes Regulus roll his eyes, “You’re just proving my point.” And with that, the door to the back room closes and Regulus is left alone in the shop. 

It’s been a slow day so far -- what else would you expect from a small shop like theirs on a Wednesday of all days, especially since school is in session now so most of their regulars are going to be busier -- so Regulus isn’t shocked when only one person comes in seven minutes into Remus’ break. 

So Regulus takes this as ample time to grab the box he placed by his feet and start shelving the books inside. And just his luck, as he’s doing that, the bell over the door rings.

Regulus groans, picks up the box from where he’s got it on the floor after putting the last book in his hands on the shelf, and walks out of the shelves and towards the front desk, “Welcome.” He says to the patron that had just walked in, “What can I do for yo-” 

Holy shit.

Who is this man?

Tan skin with dorky glasses sitting over wide eyes. Tousled dark brown, almost black, hair that is falling absolutely everywhere in messy curls. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a physique that is badly hidden by his satin red button up and a kind smile graces his face when he turns his warm gaze on Regulus.

“Hi, is Remus in right now?” The man asks, walking towards his desk, “I told him that I would run his cane.” He holds up his hand holding a cane -- Remus’ cane, “But I don’t see him.” “He’s on his break right now.” Regulus informs him, deciding that it’s his best option to turn his gaze onto something else before he says something he shouldn’t and setting the box on the counter in front of him, sorting the books inside into stacks, “Do you want me to give it to him for you so you can be on your way?”

The man shakes his head, “Nah, I don’t have anywhere to be today, so I’ll wait for him.” Then he leans forward, resting an elbow on the counter and his smile turns into something more of a smirk, “But I wanna know more about you? I didn’t know that Remus worked with such a beauty.”

“Well I’m glad Remus isn’t going around talking about my looks since he has a boyfriend.”

“I guess.” The man shrugs with one shoulder, “But I’ve been in here several times and I’ve never seen you here before, I’m James by the way.”

“Regulus.” Is all that Regulus feels like he can say. He was expecting someone that looks like that to be in a full-fledged relationship. But here this man is, leaning over a counter and flirting with Regulus. Then Regulus clears his throat and, still avoiding James’ eyes, “I don’t like to interact with people so I’m not usually at the counter.”

“Well you should be here more. I think everyone seeing your face when they walk in would really make their day.”

“You’re horrid at flirting.”

“And yet you’re blushing.” James remarks, smirking just a bit more and tilting his head. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but before he gets the chance, Remus walks out of the back room, “James, stop harassing Regulus.” 

James laughs and stands up properly, meeting Remus in the middle and handing him his cane, to which Remus looks at him with pure gratefulness, “If you had told me about him earlier, maybe I wouldn’t be coming on as strong.”

“I’m ninety percent sure that I’ve told you about him before. And so has Sirius, because that’s his brother.” 

James’ eyes go wide and he whips his head to Regulus, looking him up and down before humming, “I do see it. Well, either way.” Then he turns to Remus, checking his watch, “I should go. Lily asked me to pick up Harry for her.”

“Alright,” Remus shakes his head, “Stop flirting with my coworker and go get your son.” James laughs at him, swats his friend on the shoulder, and walks out of the shop with a called goodbye. 

As soon as Regulus can no longer see James through any of the glass in their store front, he leans towards his coworker in a way that’s almost conspiratorial, “Who was that?”

Remus laughs, “That’s Sirius’ best friend James. The person he moved in with when he moved out.”

Regulus balks, “That was James Potter? The guy that I’ve hated for years? Why didn’t you tell me he was exactly my type?” At that, Remus’ laughter turns into a full belly laugh and he leans against the counter, “Why would I know your type? I was specifically avoiding talking to you about him because I knew that you hated him.”

“Also, did you say that he has a son?”

“Yeah,” Remus says through his dying laughter. Eventually, he’s able to calm down enough to walk back over to the cafe counter, “He found this girl he really liked in school, married her almost as soon as they graduated, had a child with her, then they learned that both of them are gay so they split ways and now they co parent.”

“So I wouldn’t be breaking up a family if I started flirting with him?”

Remus snorts, “You might break up your family. I don’t imagine Sirius would be happy if you two started dating.”

“I don’t give a shit what Sirius thinks of my dating life.” Regulus rolls his eyes.

[pearlywritings]

Your bed is enough

synopsis: after experiencing a not so nice day at work, Diluc decides to stay at your place tonight

prompt: 27

requested by: @bobaboob

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader

tw: pure fluff, domestic moment, established relationship (you are engaged)

word count: 1.2k+ words

a/n: check my Token of appreciation writing event!

It feels like hours have passed since the moment Diluc put the key from the tavern in his jacket’s pocket and took your inviting hand to follow you home. Though home in your and his case could mean two places - either the winery, where he offered you to move in with him a couple of months ago, which with the recent engagement feels absolutely right, or your apartment, situated in the city itself.

And tonight it’s the latter.

Diluc rarely complained and even more rarely he complained out loud, but the evening was worse than he could ever remember. Nothing functioned right - both Charles and a couple of waitresses had fallen sick the day before (he’s gonna find and strangle that merchant from Inazuma who’d offered them, as it turned out, expired snacks from his land), the number of patrons was surprisingly and almost overwhelmingly high, some barrels came with broken taps and he’ll have to deal with extra work tomorrow both with the casks’s supplier and the workers who missed the defect… Oh, and then one of the drunkards must’ve been in such a stupefied haze that he mistook the red-haired male with someone and intentionally spilled a bottle of wine all over his already messy uniform, blaming him for seducing his wife and taking her away from him. The Ragnvindr nearly exploded back then, and the man was out of the door before he could realize who’d he just offended.

You got it - the evening was horrendous.

And even now, in a bath, in your oh so familiar bathroom, in the comfort of your - now also shared - living space, with you getting ready for bed on the other side of the door, he can’t shake off that exhaustion that enveloped him like a heavy cocoon. Hopefully he’ll manage to scrub the smell of alcohol off of him at least.

When he emerges into the bedroom with a towel on his head and some loose sleeping pants sitting low on his hips, he finds you standing in front of your bed, already dressed for sleep, and staring at the piece of furniture with utmost concentration. There is a line between your brows, your pretty lips are pursed and arms crossed. In his eyes even this looks ethereal - if that’s one of the views he’s going to witness once you become his wife - getting to see you focused and serious while helping the winery owner with his work affairs, - then he wants to marry you as soon as possible. He really can’t wait to add another ring to that beautifully crafted engagement one on your finger.

Forcing himself out of his blissful dreams and deciding to finally ask what brought you to such a state, Diluc makes his presence known with a polite cough. You immediately whip your head in his direction, and the previous signs of your brooding are gone, replaced with a soft smile and a bright glimmer in those eyes he loves so much.

“Oh, you are out already,” uncrossing your arms, you make a step closer and he does the same, until you two are standing in front of each other and your hands reach to the towel. “Are you feeling better, dear?”

“Somewhat,” he answers honestly, lowering his eyelids, letting you wipe the heavy mass of his hair dry. “Do I still smell of alcohol?”

“Hmm…” You move your face even closer, sniffing air close to his chest. “No, I don’t smell any. Oh wait, how about here…” and you shamelessly press your face into his neck, making the man shudder and open his eyes. You caught him off guard and shook him out of his drowsy state.

“My flame?” He feels your hands still in his hair and you softly giggle, tickling the sensitive skin even more.

“What?” Is muffled against his shoulder and Diluc shakes his head. But there is a slip of an adorning smile and he can practically feel some weight of the evening disappear.

“Nothing, my dear. If you haven’t suffocated yet, then there is none.”

You plant a kiss where his neck and shoulder connect and draw your face away, tugging the towel and completely dragging it off of his head. Ah, here it is, the bright grin he loves so much and readily mirrors in response.

“Yeah, there is none. Only an amazing smell of my body wash. Now you smell like me.”

“And I am honored,” he says sincerely, to which you happily hum, disappearing in the bathroom and reappearing only a moment after. “But I can’t help but wonder what got you so deep in thought?”

At first you raise a brow at him, but when he motions to the bed it clicks, and you hum, long and thoughtful.

“Oh, nothing, really. I was just thinking that maybe I should get a new bed. You know, enough to fit two people?”

Ah, that’s what it was about. Admittedly, Diluc is a big man - both tall and muscular, and you have only a one-person’s bed, which he alone could take over completely if lying sprawled. He knows he could always take the couch, but in those few times he stayed at your place, you insisted on sleeping together. And those closely tight embraces under the same blanket are ones of the fondest memories the redhead possesses.

“You know, we could redecorate this place a little and use it more frequently when one of us doesn’t have enough strength to go all the way to the winery. And the bed could be the first step.”

“Is your bed cramped when we sleep together?”

He is as surprised as you are when the question hangs in the air - he didn’t expect it to just burst out of his mouth. However, he also doesn’t want to let go of this tight, but so comforting space just yet - admittedly, it gives him some indescribable sense of completeness.

You stare at him silently, as if trying to guess what he’s thinking about and what answer he expects. But nothing is better than the truth itself.

“It is,” crimson eyes widen slightly and are immediately cast down. Not letting him dwell long on whatever he’s already imagined in his head, you step closer, touching his scarred forearm, gently gliding your fingertips over the skin, asking for his attention. And when he gives you just that, Diluc sees a reassuring smile. “In the good way.”

You chuckle softly when he releases a sigh of relief, and reach to cup his cheek, feeling your heart skip a beat when he leans into your open palm.

“But I am worried that you are uncomfortable. I see how much you love to stretch in the morning while in bed at the winery, and there is not enough space in my bed. And I can be in the way of your outstretched arm-”

“You are never in the way,” the words are firm and the dancing flame in the depths of his eyes is proof enough. “You are right by my side. And that’s why it’s perfect.”

“Oh, you…”

With the trilling laughter you let him fall onto his back, landing on the soft mattress, and draw your body right on top of his. Your chemise rides up, bearing your thighs, and rough fingers don’t wait long to dig into plush skin. You stare down at him, with palms firmly planted on his wide chest, feeling the steadily beating heart under the fingertips, relishing in the appreciative look he is giving you. And for all of that and so much more your bed is perfect, because it's enough.

[herejusttosufferalong]

Alright, fellow patrons of the WH, listen up! Coffee and pancakes on me! Let me give yall some words of comfort? Wisdom? From a veteran of the Tomdaya War of 2019-2020.

People like to look at Tomdaya’s relationship as a paragon of the perfect, most romantic costars to friends to lovers story when they have gone through their own messy shit. Tomdaya nation had their own version of Papgate, arguably way worse than Luke and A papgate because Tom was actually holding hands with the person. Tom then also was biding time with another person during lockdown, even “soft” launched her by posting a pic of her on IG, quite literally right before going back to filming with Zendaya again. 

Zendaya also did her own petty shit by publicly dating someone the total opposite of Tom, someone he also had met during the times he was on the Euphoria set. (The pic of all three of them will continue to haunt the fandom). Went on a birthday vacation with him to Greece. Went to his mother land of Oz. Got papped kissing him in New York. Even referred to him as her “best friend” during an awards show (that was the one that really did me in LMAO).

Things were looking BLEAK. But FORTUNATELY they rekindled their relationship (as the fandom expected them to lmfaooo and I’m sure some people on set tried to parent trap them) and became stronger than ever, and imo moreso than when they first got together before breaking up. 

The point is, we can try to rationalize what’s happening right now all we want, but like it’s been brought up many times, humans are messy and complicated and don’t act in the most rational ways, even when they are clearly in love with someone. And this being compounded by your every move being dissected by the public, they’ll stubbornly do the opposite of what we expect them to do. But if the feelings are that strong and true, they eventually figure their shit out. We really just have to let them do it at their own pace, as frustrating as it can be to witness from the outside looking in. All we can do is just send them good energy, support and hope that they do AND I BELIEVE THEY WILL I’VE SEEN THIS FILM BEFORE!!! 

💜🥃

[yeoja-dream]

Found/Fated/Forever

Part 1

Pairing: BTS OT7 x Reader

Genre: Fantasy, eventual smut, porn with plot, slow burn, hurt/comfort

Characters: Supernatural!BTS, Vampire!Jungkook, Supernatural!Reader

Content Warning: Woman in danger, roofie mention

Word Count: 3,500

It was a miserable fucking night. Granted it had also been a miserable fucking day, The rain had come down in sheets all throughout the day and well into the night, bringing the temperature down considerably. It was certainly summer, but as your thigh-high boot clicked against the wet sidewalk, you swore you could see your breath. 

I just had to fucking go out. You grumbled internally, shivering in your mini skirt and leather coat. It should have been plenty warm enough for a summer night, but even the weather seemed to be flipping you off today. Let’s just get black-out drunk, hook up with a stranger, and forget today ever happened. You hyped yourself up while rounding the corner to your favorite nightclub. 

The line was sparse, on account of the rain you supposed. Not that you ever really had to wait in line for this place anyways, you knew all the bouncers and if any gave you a hard time, you’d flash a little cleavage and be on your way. 

Despite the minimal line outside, indoors was as lively as any other Saturday night. The DJ tonight was someone local, you overheard, not bad you mused, moving through the crowd to an empty bar seat. Mostly trap beats, but his remixes were decent and the dance floor reflected his musical proficiency. 

“Y/N” The bartender, a salt and pepper man in his 40s regarded you warmly. “What will it be tonight?” 

“David.” You said back. “I thought you had a date tonight? I was expecting to see Vanessa. Sure the usual.” You slid your card forward, starting your tab. 

“You drink so many cosmos we are going to have to start calling you Nebula, you know,” David said, picking up the ingredients to your drink. “Vanessa and I switched. Date bailed. She must have known you were coming in and got jealous,” He added with a wink. 

“You flatter me.” You replied. “Nebula is too metal of a knick name for such a girly drink.” 

“Eh,” David replied, sliding your glass toward you. “I’ve seen you, you could out-drink any man in this place. Makes me feel bad for your wallet.” 

“You and I both.” You said, sipping on the pink liquid. “It’s good. Strong. Make yourself something, it’s on me.” 

“And that’s why you are my favorite customer, cheers,” David replied, before sliding off to the other end of the bar, busily helping other patrons. 

The bar seats here spun, a trait you always appreciated for easy people-watching. Picking up your drink and swiveling your seat around, you surveyed the crowd like you did most weekends. Mostly, it was boring. You watched them have fun, be messy, get into arguments, meet new friends, new lovers, it was fun, like watching a TV show of what your life could have looked like if things had been different. Some nights you’d spot a creep, someone slipping drugs into drinks or stalking ex-partners and you’d alert the bouncers to kick them out. Some nights you’d chat with someone silver-tongued and deep-pocketed to keep you interested, some nights that person would talk you into bed. 

It was cyclical if you had to really psychoanalyze yourself. The theme: unfulfillment, dissatisfaction, and unhappiness. It was easy, much easier anyway, to find comfort in these fleeting, temporary flings, to find purpose in playing superhero and saving a drunk woman from a creep, to find community in the transactional relationships held with people like David. But maybe you were thinking too much about things again, what the hell did you know? You were there, in that nightclub, just like everyone else.

You swiveled around again, signaling to David you were ready for your next cosmo. He had it ready just as soon as you could raise your hand. 

“Looks like you got something on your mind tonight. I’ll keep ‘em coming,” David said handing you your next drink. 

“Thanks.” You said, taking it from him. “Don’t forget to make something for yourself!” You called after him.

“I love drinking on your dime, don’t worry about me~” He replied with a hand wave. 

Before you can turn back to your self-centered musings, a zip of light darted through your periphery. Magic? It had been a minute since you had seen someone else use it, but surely you had to be mistaken right? Why would a place like this have magic?

You snapped and turned to the side, scanning the patrons carefully, but it only took a few seconds to realize who it was who had been casting. A man stood in the corner, tall with dark, masculine features, his shoulders were broad, his chest and torso the perfect V. He wore a plain, dark, fitted t-shirt that showed off large, corded arms. He was the picture of masculinity, attractive by anyone’s standards, and as you regarded him now, he was entirely silhouetted in magic. The silver, translucent aura was unmistakable. Glamour magic. 

He had to be an incubus right? The only other creatures capable of glamour magic like that are the tirions, but those were exceptionally rare. You could relate to that. As you pondered the possibilities, you noticed a small, curly-haired blonde woman, undoubtedly human by the way she seemed in awe of this male. You needed to get closer, you decided slipping off your seat and pushing through the bodies until you were in earshot. 

“So, why don’t you finish your drink and we can enjoy a few more at my place?” The male voice spoke. 

“Well, I - I - I uh, f-f-friend I, uh…” The female voice spoke, a mix of slurred speech and nervous babbling. 

Another wave of magic pulsed from him. 

“I think we should get out of here, beautiful.” He insisted again. 

“I think… that is… okay.” The female replied voice halted, disconnected. Stiffly and robotically you watched her put her drink on the bar top, then equally as robotically begin turn around and begin to exit.

Incubus or tirion, you would be damned if you would let them feed here. You too put your drink down on the bar top and made your way to the exiting couple. 

“Hey! Girl we were looking everywhere for you!” You walked right up to the woman, placing a hand on her shoulder. You were admittedly a bit rusty, but your connection to magic was as inherent as the ability to breathe. You called forth your magic from deep in the ground, willing it to run through your body. You could see the magical charm this male held on this woman, and while willing your magic into a sword, you severed the charm. 

The woman blinked up at you, dazed and confused. “The rest of us are dancing over here!” You now link arms with the woman, her considerably smaller frame putting into perspective how powerless this woman was to this male. As you begin to walk away with her, the male voice calls out from behind you. 

“Hey.” The voice is stern, flat, and deep. More noticeable to you, however, is the overwhelming rush of glamor magic that washes over you. You will your magic up, shielding the smaller woman from its power. 

“Hey sorry!” You turn around. “We came out as a girl's night and we wanna keep it that way! No hard feelings!” With that, you pull the woman with you and away, towards the exit. 

“It’s time to go home, sweetheart. Are those your friends over there?” You ask the woman. She nods in response. 

“Come on, let's say goodbye and then I’m going to walk you to a cab.” You lead the woman to her friends, who all in a drunken stupor thank you for taking care of their friend, and forget to ask why it is she needs to leave. It is probably better that way anyway. 

You lead the woman out the door, up the stairs, and out into the cold rainy night. You held the umbrella for the two of you, walking in complete silence. 

“The taxi rank is around the corner, but this time of night and the weather I’ll bet it's empty, so I’m just going to call ahead.” You said to no one in particular. You weren’t sure if she was really listening, but you felt better saying something. 

Sure enough, when you rounded the corner, the taxi rank was completely abandoned. 

“Figures,” you grumbled, watching the poor, shivering woman stand next to you while you waited, the sound of the rain hammering on your shared umbrella punctuating your silence. Wordlessly, you shed your leather jacket and place it over her shoulders while you wait, willing the magic from the ground to keep you warm. It was totally against the rules, but hey, it had already been a weird night. 

“Do you remember your address?” You asked the woman. She nodded in response. 

“Do you have enough money to get home?” Another nod. 

“Did you drive to the club?” A shake this time. 

She didn’t want to talk, obviously, and another extended silence descended upon the two of you. 

The woman broke the silence this time. 

“What happened to me?” She asked, voice sounding hollow, hurt, and confused. 

“You were roofied.” You replied, matter-of-factly. “The man you were talking to was very bad, which is why I’m making sure you get home.” 

“I’ve been roofied before. It didn’t go away in one second. I spent the whole night puking. You touched my shoulder and the fog lifted. Isn’t that crazy?” She spouted off, looking up at you for support answers. 

You knew what she was looking for, and yet you couldn’t give it to her. “They’re coming up with new drugs all the time. Maybe this one clears your system crazy fast. I am really sorry this happened to you.” You replied. 

“Thank you for helping me.” She replied, and as if ordained by a benevolent ruler, the taxi pulled up. You helped her into the car, wished her a good night, and saw her off before turning on a heel and marching back to that nightclub. You had a bone to pick. 

-----------------------------------------------

Where the bumping music of the club before gave the area a cool, hip-hop vibe, now contributed to your fuge state fueled by rage. The male, miraculously, was stood in the same spot, tied up in conversation with another man. An accomplice perhaps, you thought. You’d figure it out as soon as you rocked this dude's shit. 

Pushing passed the crowd and shoving the man he was locked in conversation with aside, in a flash you willed your magic up to protect your fist and you let loose the meanest right hook you could muster, for that woman and all the other women you were sure this scum had victimized. 

Your fist collided solidly with his jaw, knocking him over and staggering him. You hit him hard enough that the bystanders around you audibly reacted. The male straightened back out, rubbing his jaw in pain. Looking down at you in what could only be described as bewilderment. 

“I would say there is a special place in hell for people like you, but you would know something about that, wouldn’t you?” You spit at the male. 

“So what if I do?” The male replied, voice rich and baritone. “What’s it to you?” 

“There are clubs for people like you.” You replied venemously. 

“And you…?” He replied, lifting an eyebrow.

“I am not here looking for prey.” You said, looked at him with a disgusting look. “Just because you can’t hack it in the supernatural clubs doesn’t mean you can just come out to the human clubs looking for easy pickings.” 

“Do you condemn the wolf for breaking into the lamb pen? Or do you just understand that the wolf, too, needs to eat?” 

“Ask a sheep farmer what he does to wolves in the lamb pen.” 

“Is that what you are to them? The farmer? Watching over the little sheep? Or perhaps you are just a little puppy, barking at the big bad predator” He leaned in closer. “There will come a day when your pathetic little yaps won’t be enough to chase away the big bad guy, what will you do then, little puppy?” 

“Get. Out.” You said through gritted teeth. “Or so help me I will put you back where you came from.” Rage, pure rage coursed through you, mixed with magic, you felt it zapping and prickling at your skin, your hair standing on edge as if the lighting was about to strike. 

“Now now, no need to get so wound up.” He started pushing past you, before stopping to continue. “I was going to hurt you, for taking my dinner. But now, now I hope to meet you again very soon, little puppy.” He finished, walking out the front door, a swagger in his footsteps that made you want to blast him from behind with every bit of radiant damage you could physically muster. 

“Hey.” A different male voice snapped you to the present. “You’re going to call attention to yourself. Just accept it.” 

Another wave of glamor magic washed over you, a different spell though, a calming one you readily identified having used it before. You allow the stranger's magic in, the new stream slipping in, soothing your breathing, calming your heart rate, and slowing the stream of magic through your body, before exiting. 

“You were about to make us all do the electric slide.” The man said with a chuckle. “Sorry, dated reference. I am kind of old.” 

“Me too.” You commented, still internally reeling from the events of the last hour. “It was funny, thanks for the hand.” You turned to him, finally. The man who was keeping the incubus engaged. You were calm, but you were still warry. You regarded him more carefully now, he too was exceptionally handsome, but in a less brutalistic way than the incubus was. He was also shorter than the incubus and considerably more lithe in his frame. His baggy streetwear and half up half down hairstyle betrayed a surprisingly strong body, you were willing to bet, however. “With that being said, who the hell are you?” 

“That is a complicated question with a complicated answer.” He replied. “I am sure you can relate. Shall we?” He gestured to two conveniently empty seats sitting on the corner of the bar. 

“You drink cosmos, right?” He said handing you a pink cocktail. You looked at him incredulously. 

“On a normal night, I don’t accept drinks that I didn’t watch David make, after all that what makes you think I’m going to accept this?” 

“Oh my god, you are so right. You know what I will drink this don’t even worry about it, I’ll flag the bartender and you order whatever you want and I’ll pick it up.” He replied, pulling the drink back to him. 

After a few minutes, David walked up to your end of the bar, regarding the two of you silently. 

“What will it be, sir?” David asked the man. 

“Whatever the lady will have.” 

“Whiskey. Top Shelf.” 

“Coming right up, ma’am,” David replied, pouring a glass and sliding it to you. With that, he made himself scarce. 

“How do you know the incubus?” You asked the man, keeping your tone flat, disinterested in case they were buddies. 

“Not at all, to be frank” He replied, sipping on his Cosmo. 

“When I walked in after getting that woman home, you seemed to be engaged in lively conversation with that man.” You said, bemused. “What was it that you were discussing?” 

“How we were going to hurt you.” He replied, matter-of-factly. 

“And how was that?” You asked. 

“Well, he was angry when you left with that woman, really angry. I had a feeling that you’d come back and I wanted you to get your revenge, so I placated him with stories of how I would help tear you limb from limb and eat your insides in front of this whole club, the usual.”  

“Uh-huh.” You replied, skeptically. “And why should I believe that? Maybe the two of you are waiting to jump me as soon as I leave out that door.” 

“Nah, you’d kick my ass.” He replied. “Besides, I have this.” He held up a clear, tear-drop-shaped glass pendant on a cord around his neck. Suspended in the glass were a clear liquid and a red liquid, yin and yang. “Because of this, it is impossible for me to lie.” 

“Obviously you are going to have to prove it.” You replied, scoffing and sipping your whiskey. 

“Easy.” He replied. “The sky is purp-” Before he could finish, red and blue light pulsed from the pendant, and the man doubled over in pain, grabbing his chest. “Pigs can fl-” and again, before the man could finish the sentence, he doubled over in pain clutching his chest. 

“You could have programmed it to react that way with certain voice commands.” You replied back, still skeptical. 

“Hard to convince, that’s fair enough.” He replied, shrugging. “Tell me to say something, and I will say it, scouts honor.” 

“Okay…” You replied, thinking for a moment. “Tell me I’m ugly,” you said with a smirk. 

“You’re ug- ak!” The same reaction as before. 

“Thank you I know.” You said, flicking the hair off your shoulder. A devilish smile crept across your face as another prompt crossed your mind. “Say this one and I will believe you.” 

“Anything.” 

“Say I have a tiny penis.” 

He looked at you incredulously, but nonetheless began “I have a tiny pe- ah! Enough please believe me this hurts!” 

“Good to know~” you chuckled. “Alright George Washington, what are you doing here anyway? What are you?” You asked him. 

“I am a vampire. As for what I am doing here, that question is a bit more difficult to answer.” 

“Are you looking for prey? Just like that incubus?” 

“What? God. No. I don’t need to look for prey thank you very much. I am very much mated.” 

“Mated? But you’re hanging out in a human club?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Okay, start the bigger picture then if the smaller picture is hard. What is your name?” 

“Jeon Jungkook. A pleasure.” He extended his hand. 

“Y/N. It is steadily becoming a pleasure as well.” you shook his hand. “What brings you to this city, Jeon Jungkook?”

“I live here with my mates,” he replied. “Most of us work in the city, myself included. I sing.” 

“Oh wow!” you recoiled in surprise. “What do you sing? Do you perform?” 

“No, it's a little hard to be a public persona when your face is never changing, ya know? I do backup vocals and I am the voice behind a few recording artists, some big some small.” He shrugged.  

“Some big?” You asked. 

“I can’t really talk openly about it. I’ll tell you another time.” He added with a wink. 

“Fair enough.” You replied, taking another sip of whiskey. 

“I was right behind you, by the way.” 

“Hm?” You replied. 

“Maybe I should back up a little.” He started. “I’m here, in this human club tonight, because I was called to be. By whom or what I do not know, but I knew I needed to come in. I arrived shortly after you did, I think. You were already drinking at the bar, people-watching. I saw the magic too, and I saw what he was attempting to do to that poor woman. You and I stood up simultaneously.” 

“You want a congratulations for thinking about stopping a rapist?” You scoffed at him. 

“No. No, I am explaining myself poorly. I am trying to say I had your back. I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You said, giving him a half cheers with your glass. 

“At first I thought that this is what I was called here for, to save you or to dispatch this creep, then I could fuck off home and be the hero. But then I saw how powerful you were. How readily the magic came to you, how you bent it to your will like you were folding paper. It was only then I came to understand, that I think I was called here to meet you. And I am extremely glad I was.” 

You glanced at his chest and then, at the pendant hanging on his chest. The light remained dark, and when you slid your gaze up to meet his, there was an intense sincerity there that made you blush and shy away. 

“I am not really sure I understand what it is exactly you are getting at.” You state looking down at the melting cubes in your whiskey. 

“I think I might, but I will need you to go with me on this one.”  --------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi-ya this one has been cooking in my brain for like 3 years so enjoy plz! I am just going to post parts one and two consecutively because fuck it they're finished and the Ritalin hit and so I WROTE. I'm working on Intertwined, I just had to get it straightened out from this story because of their similar themes but we good, let me cook. I will update the tags as WHAT each member of BTS and Y/N as it is revealed but for now, no spoilers eheheh. Put what you think they're going to be below!

[avocado-writing]

notes: i did this instead of anything in my inbox. sorry but it overtook me and became much longer than I thought. also I wrote raphael as the little sub he is teehee.

relationships: raphael x reader; enver gortash & reader (platonic, parent & child); eventual enver gortash x tav

words: 4k

rating: E

summary: a warlock of Raphael's, you visit the House of Hope one day and find a child. he cannot remain there.

Your life, really, is fine. Maybe a bit empty. But fine.

You’ve had Raphael as your Warlock patron for a while now. It’s fine too, he’s fine, there are definitely worse devils to be indebted to - the fact he’s attractive isn’t so bad either. You started fucking a few years ago and he’s basically wrapped around your little finger at this point. He’s still annoying as all hells but he bottoms well enough and the two of you enjoy being on each other’s good side, so it works out. Mostly what he has you do is track down and kill people who’ve pissed him off - and a lot of people have pissed him off, he’s very piss off-able to be fair, so there’s always plenty of jobs and you come to the House of Hope often, in between the mercenary work you do to survive.

This time you just finished hunting down someone who tried to weasel out of their contract. Raphael had you bring him the man’s head as proof of your work, and then you made him give you head after. Par for the course nowadays.

You peel yourself out of Raphael’s embrace as he bathes in the afterglow of getting spoiled in bed by you. You throw on your pants, and go to grab a bite to eat. Your patron always has a feast ready. It’s something to keep his servants distracted with, the constant cooking and replacing of dishes, and it’s nice to never be hungry when you’re here. You saunter into the banquet room and go to pick up a fistful of grapes…

… pausing when you see something utterly fucking shocking.

A little boy. Making himself as small as possible, dark messy hair and darker sunken eyes, all curled up by the fire. He looks at you with terror and you yelp in surprise, grabbing a spare tablecloth to quickly cover yourself with.

“What the fuck?!” you manage, looking around for answers to the unasked question. Nobody is here to give you any. Fucking lost souls, never here when you need them. You turn back to the boy who looks utterly terrified. “Are you meant to be here?”

He visibly swallows, nervous, and nods. Okay, right, great. Kid in the middle of hell. Of course. You're about to find Raphael and give him a grilling, when you hear a little stomach rumble.

You freeze, raise an eyebrow. Almost impossibly he shrinks further into himself.

“Have you eaten, kiddo?”

He shakes his head, unable to meet your eyes. Oh, well, that won’t do.

You grab a plate and begin to load it up with food for him. He looks hopeful though he tries not to show it too much, as if you’ll punish him for the very idea of it. Gods it must have been torture for the child, sitting in front of a banquet with no invitation to gorge. 

When the plate is so full that it threatens to spill over, you squat down and put it in front of him. The boy stares at it for a long moment before looking up at you.

“Go on. Dig in.”

It’s all the permission he needs. He tears into the food you’ve presented as if he’s never eaten before. As if it is ambrosia. You watch him wolf down chicken thighs so fast that he threatens to choke on them, and you feel your heart ache at the wretched sight.

“This really isn’t a place for kids. What’s your name, lad?” you ask, absent-mindedly swiping some greasy hair out of his eyes. You wonder when was the last time he washed, poor kid. He flinches at your touch a little but doesn’t stop eating, somewhat aware you’re probably the first person he’s met here who doesn’t mean him harm. 

“Enver,” he says through mouthfuls of bread. You tell him your name in return, though you aren’t sure if he really listens.

“I didn’t say he could eat.”

Raphael’s voice cuts through the moment, severe, and the boy freezes mid-bite. Terror floods him. He begins to visibly shake.

Oh, no. No. You won’t be having that.

You speak aloud, voice firm.

“Well, I said he could. Ignore him, kiddo.” 

You stand and put yourself between your patron and the child. This little boy has no idea who you are, but he can sense that you have some sort of power over the demon who’s walked into the room. Timidly he continues his meal. When you’re satisfied you turn to your devil, thunderous.

“Raphael? A word.”

Your tone leaves no wiggle room. He harrumphs and follows you far out of the boy’s earshot, where you unleash your fury. 

“Why is there a fucking child here, Raphael?!” He rolls his eyes.

“Oh, his parents sold him to me. Well, to one of my other warlocks, actually, so through the upline he’s mine.”

He speaks as if reading from the paper, not discussing a child’s life. Your blood boils. You want to slap him, but he’d just enjoy it.

“This is no place for… well, fucking anyone, let alone a literal kid. What were you thinking?!”

He shrugs. For a devil meant to be full of cunning, Raphael rarely actually thinks through his short-term impulses into long-term plans. 

“Torture him, I suppose.”

“Don’t you fucking think about it,” you say, hand instinctively summoning your blade. Raphael narrows his eyes. 

“Be careful when you reach for your sword, warlock, lest you forget the person who gifted it to you.”

Fuck. Shit. What an arseache. Okay, you can’t go about this by violence, he’s right. You need to be cunning. You let yourself soften and approach him, laying your hands on his chest. He raises an eyebrow but allows you to caress him. 

“Raphael, come on. You really want a child hanging around here? He’s going to ruin all our fun. I was going to have you on the banquet table later. You don’t want me to ride you while feeding you slices of apple? You enjoyed it last time…”

Your devil huffs but softens under your touch. Gods he really is easy to manipulate when you know which buttons to press. 

“You’re really up in arms about him, aren’t you? Look, they gave him away for a reason. He’s not some sweet innocent. He’s a little bastard, as far as I’ve been told.”

“Please don’t do anything too harsh to him? For me? For your favourite warlock?” you ask, pouting, sliding down Raphael’s body to your knees, ready to nuzzle into his cock in exchange for his agreement. 

He sags, weak for you. Got him.

“Ugh. Fine, you win, kitten. Spoilsport,” he mutters, and you slip him out of his underwear.

The next time you see Enver, it’s been a couple of weeks. You’ve just finished up a hunt and are reporting in - but he’s the first thing you check on. You find him sweeping one of the hallways, eyeing a wailing lost soul warily. 

“Hey, kiddo. How are you doing?”

He jumps a little, however he looks genuinely pleased to see you. Not enough for him to smile but at least some of the tension leaves him. 

“I’m alright,” he says quietly. He still looks sort of greasy. You’ll have to tell Raphael to let him bathe. 

“The boss been treating you okay?”

Enver nods. 

“Doesn’t really talk to me. Just tells me to do chores.”

Well that’s better than torture, you think. You reach into your pocket, root around for a bit, and hand something to him. His eyes go wide and then narrow in suspicion, and you have to reassure him that it’s not some sort of trick.

“Do you know what that is?”

“A sending stone,” he says, confidently, weighing the blue rock in his hand. You grin.

“Look at you! Clever kid. Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. So I take it you know how they work?”

“Each holder can send a message of twenty-five words a day, and the other can reply with twenty-five. Total of fifty each.”

“Precisely! I’m giving this to you for if there’s an emergency, okay? If you’re in trouble, I want you to give me a message and I’ll get here as quickly as I can.”

He eyes the stone. It’s as if he can’t quite bring himself to believe that someone genuinely cares about his wellbeing.

“Why?” he asks, after a while. 

“Because you shouldn’t be down here, and Raphael can be an arsehole. But don’t worry, I can sort him out,” you say with a grin, and for the first time, Enver chuckles. You hear the sound of Raphael calling your name from down the corridor and you roll your eyes.

“Speak of the devil. Take care, Enver, alright? And remember, let me know if there’s a problem.”

He nods, tucking the stone into his pocket before you head off to tie your patron up.

You don’t hear from Enver for a week or so, but one day, when you’re on the road, you get a message coming through.

“Hello. It’s Enver. Are you having a good day?”

You look confused and reply, “Yeah, kiddo, I’m fine. Is there something the matter? Nobody’s hurting you, are they?”

Then, because it is the nature of the stone, you add: “If they are then you just say, I’ll come and set them straight.”

There’s a beat. You can imagine Enver considering his response.

“I’m fine. I just wanted to say hello.”

That’s as much communication as the day will allow but it hits you hard. Oh. He’s lonely.

And from that day on, you have a sort of penpal.

Enver messages you everyday without fail, always excited to see how you’ve been doing. He has very little to report, which you’re thankful for, because you live in fear that he will need to use the stone for its intended purpose. Occasionally he lets you know that Raphael has said something cruel or Haarlep is teasing him, and then it’s just a matter of heading to the hells and setting them straight. Haarlep is like a cat, difficult to make to do anything, but to be honest he’s your friend and will usually acquiesce after some teasing. Raphael is always a bit more difficult to persuade. He still sees the boy as his property, his thing to treat as he’d like, so you have to pull out all of your best tricks in order to convince him.

You always end up coming out on top, though. Funny that.

Your visits to the House of Hope get more regular. Enver greets you with smiles and then with laughs and then with hugs, and you find you’re growing fond of the kid. Every now and then you see a bit of the little bastard Raphael warned you of - you’ll catch him tormenting one of the damned souls down here, or attempting to trap and harass some sort of insect who accidentally crawled through one of the portals. But a soft but firm hand to turn him in the right direction is enough. He’s a boy with a bright future… if he’s nurtured.

And this place has no time for that.

You make the pitch to Raphael one night at the end of a long weekend in hell. You’ve been doing everything he’s asked of you, indulging his every whim, being ever so sweet and obedient for your master - and fucking him within an inch of his life. You relax in his bed, cuddled up to his chest, walking your fingers along the expanse of his pectorals.

“Raphael…” you say, dreamily, and he hums.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to push your luck?” he chuckles. You rearrange yourself to look up at him, eyes wide and wanting.

“Me? Push my luck? Never…” you run your tongue over his nipple and he groans.

“Spit it out then, kitten.”

“It’s the boy, Raphael. Can I have him? Please?”

He huffs.

“Why?”

“Why not? What does he do around here apart from take up space and eat your food? Surely you don’t really want him hanging around, do you? I’d like to be able to ride you and scream your name without the fear we’ll be overheard.”

Raphael considers this for a long time, and for a moment, you think he won’t take the bait.

“You’ll extend your pact with me. I want your soul. Forever,” he decides. 

Ah. That’s quite the price. You consider it for a moment.

“...You never get to interfere with Enver’s life again,” you reply, because this is how you deal with devils. Your bargain to gain their respect. He laughs.

“Fine. The boy is off the hook.”

“Done. And I get to take him out of here and do what I want with him, no questions asked. He’s free. And I’ll do that thing you like, right now.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Deal.”

The next morning, body aching, you read through your new contract. You make some amendments in blood but sign it. The rest of your existence signed over to this damned devil. Raphael kisses you on the lips, long and languid - and when you walk out of the House of Hope it’s with Enver’s hand in yours.

“Where are we going?” he asks, quietly. He’s scared. You squeeze his fingers in reassurance.

“Well, I’m on the road a lot. We’ll be travelling. Is that okay with you, kiddo?”

He nods, excited, and you can’t help but notice how much he’s grown since you first met. He’s more than a head taller - gods, how long has he been down here? It’s not worth thinking about. He’s still pretty skinny, but you’ll fix that. Now you’re in charge of feeding him, you'll make sure he gets a good meal every night. Make sure he walks with his back straight and chin up.

Make sure he never has to feel small again.

It isn’t a perfect life, but it’s a damn sight better than what he had to put up with in the Hells. He smiles now, every day. Isn’t scared of people. Slowly grows confidence in himself because he knows that you’re in his corner, come hell or high water (literally). One day you see him drawing in a little notebook you got him, some sort of diagram far more complicated than you can understand - he explains the intricacies of the machine, so you get him some spare parts to start tinkering with. Gods the kid is a natural. So intelligent. Far smarter than you, and you’re worried you’re letting him down because you can’t keep up - but every time he shows you a new invention he seems so pleased when you compliment him.

“Look at you, kiddo! You’re amazing! I bet there’s nothing that you can’t do.”

And he looks like for the first time in his life that he believes what you’re saying.

Life isn’t easy, but it is worth living. You’re on the road more often than not. You don’t have a home to call your own, but you make sure your mercenary work is well-paid enough that you can put the two of you up in inns overnight, keep you both fed and entertained. Enver seems happy and that’s what matters.

You go back to the House of Hope as little as you can, now, reporting in when you do a job and fucking Raphael into submission. He asks you about the boy every once in a while and you palm him off with a laugh, acting as if you barely care about Enver rather than the truth: you’ve been actively putting money away towards a fund for his future.

You come back from one of your meetings late one night. You’re exhausted from what your patron has put you through and are looking forward to sleep. The portal opens into the inn you’ve booked for the night. You expect Enver to be dead to the world, but instead he’s wide awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you doing up so late? Is everything okay?” you ask, surprised. Enver fidgets with his fingers.

“Does Raphael hurt you?” he blurts out. You’re shocked.

“What?”

“Do you want to be in a contract with him? Because if you don’t, I promise I’ll find a way to free you, like you freed me! I’ll get strong, really strong, and I’ll kill him for you.” His hands are balled into fists, jaw gritted. His eyes are dark in a way that’s troubling and he drops his gaze to his lap.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where’s all this coming from? Kiddo, nothing is wrong. Everything between me and Raphael is fine. I’m not unhappy or being forced into anything, I promise. What’s the matter, Enver, eh?”

When he looks up at you, there are tears pooling. He launches himself into your arms, holding you so tightly it’s as if you’re his anchor to this plane.

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I love you…” and then there it is. He calls you ‘mum’, or ‘dad’, or some other word that settles what you already knew: he’s come to think of you as his parent now. He freezes when he hears himself say it and you think back to when he was that scared little boy, longing for a bit of food by the fireplace.

You hold him back.

“I love you too, son,” you tell him, and the two of you stay like that for a long while.

He asks if his last name can become yours. You introduce him as your child. You are a family. 

You’re right. He’s far smarter than you are, and you can’t keep up with him. It becomes more and more obvious as he gets older. He goes from brilliant teenager to incredible young man, and you’re glad that you have the funds to be able to send him to a good college and nurture his spark. You’re aware that you’re beginning to slow down a bit now. Your joints aren’t quite what they used to be, and though Raphael still covets you, he’s not oblivious to the fact that you’re getting on. His contracts for you become less vigorous. He likes to have you in his bed more than on the field. You don’t mind it, being pampered by your patron. It isn’t a bad life.

Enver doesn’t need to become Gortash. And what use has Bane for this man, this good man, this man who has made something of himself despite all of the odds stacked against him? None whatsoever. He never becomes the chosen of Tyranny. He is safe from the person he might have been.

The day he graduates at the top of his class is the proudest day of your life. You clap and cheer for him until you are hoarse, and he pretends to be embarrassed as you give him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek in front of all of his friends, every inch the glowing parent.

He becomes chancellor because of his own merits, not due to any underhanded trickery. He is a master when it comes to machines. He never invents the Steel Watch because he does not have the warped mind to create them. Instead he focuses on technology to help the city of Baldur’s Gate: cleaning machines, security automatons, things which help with the admin of running to place so those in government can focus on supporting Baldurites. 

He buys you a house in the upper city. You settle down there as you grow older, make friends, get plenty of visits from your son. Everyone knows how loved you are. He eventually hires a young woman named Karlach as a bodyguard who you grow fond of: she makes up in brawn what he lacks, and she always puts a smile on your face when you have the two of them around for tea.

The Absolute comes. Raphael is poking around because of course he is. He’s got some new toys by now but you’re still one of his old favourites, and a couple of his most loved tricks with your tongue mostly keep him out of the way. Plus he promised not to interfere in Enver’s life, and he’s bound by that, the tricky bastard.

Some other person is Bane’s chosen, but it is not your Enver. Instead he fights for the side of good against the Dead Three and the mindflayer invasion, an ally to this Tav, the hero of Baldur’s Gate. Through their trials the two of them end up falling in love and it’s all you could ever want for your son. When the city fights against the Elder Brain you pick up your pact weapon for the last time despite his pleas not to: you’re a Warlock, damn it, and you’re going to defend your home until your last breath.

You don’t die, which is a nice bonus.

Enver and Tav help rebuild the city once the invasion has been stopped. Not too long in the future you have grandchildren, and they are the light of your life, always silly and giggling and joyous to hear the remarkable stories from your mercenary years.

You help out where you can but your age is weighing on you. One day, you take a tumble, and suddenly you’re bedbound; Enver and your family are visiting you every day as you get weaker, and you know that your final days can’t be far off.

He sits at your bedside, your hand clamped in his. Ah, a workman’s hand. The hand of a man who is constantly inventing and working and making himself useful. The hand of a good and decent man.

“The little ones go back to school tomorrow,” he says, fondly, “Tav is relieved. They’ve been rushed off their feet during the holidays– so many years since that Absolute business, yet the legislation is still going. They need a break, really.”

“It’s exhausting being a parent, isn’t it?” you ask with a grin, before being interrupted by a rattling cough which you can’t seem to shake. Enver lifts a glass of water to your lips and you drink, thankful. “Eurgh. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I’ll call the doctor again in the morning, see if she can get you any more of that tincture. Or maybe Halsin might have some ideas…”

“Oh, Enver, don’t go through all that fuss for me. Just sit here with me, kiddo.”

When you call him that, he knows he has no choice. You are still his parent, after all. He shifts to make himself more comfortable in his bedside chair, never letting go of your hand.

“I want you to know,” you say, voice soft, “everything has been worth it, Enver. My whole life was made better because you were my son. You’re the thing that I’m most proud of.”

His eyes go wide and glass over with tears, jaw grits.

“I… don’t say things like that, please,” he says, because he’s scared of what will come after.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, kiddo. I’m right here.”

He rests his head on the side of the bed, and you can see his shoulder heave as he cries. You bury your hand in his hair, smiling when it’s still a little greasy, and then you close your eyes.

When you open them again you’re in the House of Hope.

Your body feels lighter than it has in decades. You look down to see the wrinkles and liver spots in your hands are gone. You’re wearing what can generously be called an outfit, though it’s more straps of leather criss-crossed over your body.

“Well, did you have fun? Was your deal worth it in the end?” Raphael asks. He’s leaning against the doorframe, swirling wine around in a glass in his hand, another held out to you. You take it and frown.

“Were you… were you just standing here, waiting for me to bloody die?” you ask. He harrumphs.

“You didn’t answer my question, kitten.”

You take the wine, quaff it, then pull him into a kiss. He moans into your mouth in surprise and rapture.

“Yes,” you answer, honestly, because it was worth it. You’d never have made a different choice, “now, are we going to bed, or are you just going to stand here being smug for the rest of eternity?”

Raphael grins and pulls you to the bedroom.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget

[sluttyten]

Eros & Psyche

Yesterday <- || -> Kinktober Masterlist

Day Eleven: Anonymous Sex w/ Taeyong

Word Count: 9,568

Summary: you don’t know his name, you never see his face. he’s a perfect hook-up, absolutely no strings attached when you meet up for just sex. but how long can the anonymity truly last, and is it a cure-all for catching feelings?

The first time was a drunken mistake.

A careless night out at a club in LA. It was dark except when the lights flashed in quick bursts, and he was wearing a mask. Not like a normal face mask, but a Jason mask from the Friday the 13th movies. It was mid-October, and this club was doing Fright Nights with a costume contest every Saturday night this month, so the mask wasn’t out of place.

At first when he approached you, you were creeped out, but you were tipsy and horny and sad, reeling from the end of two relationships, due to a cheating bastard and a betrayed friendship, so you were just looking for something, for anything to numb the pain. The club, the drinks, and this Jason-mask wearing guy were exactly what you needed.

You didn’t care who he was or what he looked like, all you knew was how it felt when you pulled him into a messy stall in the women’s restroom, hiked up the skirt of your already very short dress, and when he slid up behind you. You barely even spoke to each other, no more than was necessary, but what little he did speak came with an accent from somewhere you couldn’t identify.

By the time you woke the next morning, you barely remembered the encounter, only a vague memory of getting fucked in a filthy bathroom by Jason Voorhees. But you felt better, odd as it may sound.

The second time you were still a bit drunk, and it was still probably a mistake.

You were being mature about your ex-friend and ex-boyfriend having an affair, so you were running away from your problems, seeking a life where you weren’t tied down to the city where they were.

New York was as good a place as any, you figured, and a week after that lapse in judgement at the club in LA, you found yourself in another club in New York City.

This was another Halloween-themed night, though only about half of the patrons seemed to be wearing what could pass as costumes. Much like the last time, you weren’t wearing a costume, you were just dressed in something tight (“something that screams ’fuck me’” a friend you’d brought along on this adventure told you).

The costumes here ranged from lazy to frightening to Marie Antoinette (Sexy Version). There were sexy cops, sexy nurses, sexy anything you can imagine.

Your friend was swept away by a person of an indeterminate gender who was dressed in a floor-length lacy black gown and long black hair a la Morticia Addams, but with a nicely trimmed beard. And just like that you were left to seek your own fun. You were standing at the bar, watching the bartender make your drink when a man dressed in a fitted black button down and black jeans wearing a skull mask leans against the bar beside you.

“Are you following me?” He says, speaking loudly to be heard over the music.

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s speaking to you. But he’s looking directly at you, there’s no one on the other side of you, and you decide, if this is some kind of pick-up line, it’s not a very good one.

“Excuse me?” You laugh, accepting your drink from the bartender as he hands it over.

The skeleton man looks at you, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“Sorry if I’m wrong,” he says the words slowly, and you detect that he’s searching for the right words. “But you were in LA last week?”

You feel strongly tempted to tell this guy no, to lie about having ever been to LA, but then he leans takes a step back, giving you some space.

“I’m wrong, maybe.” He lingers. “I was, uh, Jason at a club last week in LA, I thought maybe you were the girl I met there.”

And just like that your memory is sparked. You get flickers of his breath against your neck, hands on your thighs, your breath rasping out of your lungs as he’d fucked you against the wall of the stall like a nightmare-fueled fantasy.

“Oh!” You cover your mouth. “Yeah, that was me. I— Are you following me?” You ask, putting on a teasing tone, but you’re also a little bit serious. It’s weird. You meet in a random club across the country last week, and this week he finds you in New York? A voice that sounds a lot like the voice of reason whispers in the back of your mind that he could be a stalker.

He laughs, and for the first time you realize that his skeleton mask ends beneath his cheekbones, the rest is just very detailed paint. “I’m here for work,” he tells you, leaning closer again so you can hear him over the music. “I travel a lot, but I’m trying to have fun too.”

Now you can hear the familiar tones to his voice, that accent that you still haven’t placed.

“Where are you from?” You ask, leaning in as well. You’re close enough that when the lights strobe, you can see his eyes through the holes in the mask. Gorgeous eyes, large and dark.

“Uh, Korea,” he says after a moment. And then, “Can I buy you a drink?”

You won’t turn down a free drink, although some of your friends cite that as a problem, but tonight you’re celebrating freedom rather than mourning jt as you had been last week, so you take the drink gladly. He orders two shots of something, and you each throw one back.

You don’t know this guy. He’s a stranger that you’ve fucked, just some guy who travels a lot from Korea. Jason the Skeleton Man.

Your voice of reason grows quieter with each shot, until you find yourself stumbling out of the club with this Skeleton Man. He’s equally as tipsy as you, if not more so. His hair is bleached to a perfect, silvery shade of white that gleams beneath the streetlights as he tugs you away from the club, both of you tripping over your feet.

You’re not really sure where you’re going. He’d taken you out to dance together, bodies pressed hot and sweaty together in the mass of all the other partiers, and at some point he’d touched his lips to your ear to ask you if you wanted him to fuck you again. His hands had been on your body for the better part of the last thirty minutes, his cock grinding against your ass.

The sound of that word from his lips—fuck—had sounded so tempting when paired with the drinks and his touch, so you’d said yes. What did you have to lose?

Your friend was nowhere to be seen, so you shot off a quick text, a shared location, and you’d let the Skeleton Man lead you out of the club. Reckless and potentially quite dangerous, you weren’t thinking with your head but with your pussy.

It was a hotel he brought you too, just several blocks away through the city. It took longer to walk those blocks than it should’ve, possibly because you kept stopping him to pull him against you, kissing him until the skull makeup around his lips was smudging into gray.

By the time you reached the hotel, his hand was tight in yours, and he led you quickly by a group of young women who lingered outside on the curb, giggling over their phones. He all but dragged you through the lobby, and the moment you were alone in the elevator, he pressed you against the wall.

You were a mess of giggles, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt as you kissed him. The edge of his mask dug into your cheek a little uncomfortably, but not enough that you really minded.

There wasn’t much of anything you cared about then. You were feeling the confidence and carelessness of someone who’s had several shots, of someone who just wants to get dicked down by a man who you know knows what he’s doing. All you cared about was getting your hands inside of his pants the moment that his hotel room door opened.

The door wasn’t even swinging shut before you had him back up against the wall beside the door, your hand diving down the front of his pants, your lips on his. He moaned against your kiss, nipping at your lip as you pulled back, chasing after you with his lips. He lets you jerk him off like that, hard and rough, a little dry, but he seems to like that.

His long fingers pulled at your dress, tugging the straps down over your shoulders, the top down over your breasts. Your skeleton man has you naked in seconds, walking you backwards into the room while your fingers work down the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest, revealing a piece of a tattoo on his hip, but you don’t get much of a chance to get a better look at it.

When he spins you around and presses your chest up against the window of the hotel room, your whole body lights up like a storm, caught between the cool glass and the heat building inside you.

He fucks you just like that. Up against the window with the busy city street down below you, the world laid out in front of you. He cums first, spilling into a condom as he grinds into you, trying to make the most of your tight heat around him.

Your orgasm he gifts to you on a silver platter. He drops to his knees, and fills you with his fingers, soothing the throbbing need with his tongue on your clit. He moans and slurps loudly, so noisy, but you kind of love it. Especially when he pulls away from your pussy to moan something in Korean when you’d tugged on his bleached white hair.

You can feel the coolness of the rings that decorate his fingers as he thrusts them knuckle-deep inside you, and feel the sharp and cool sting of the rings as he brings a hand up to your ass, squeezing massaging, pulling his hand back a little just to slap it back down as he sucks at your clit and crooks his fingers just right inside you to prod against that spot inside you that sets your world on fire.

He slurps up you wetness, the unavoidable gush of cum as you orgasm. You’re basically sitting on his face as he kneels behind you, and he lets you rock against his face, just licking you out as you chase the endless high.

Afterwards, when you just have to stumble away from him, pressing your cheek and hands and tits once more against the cool glass, you swear and pour out praises for his skills. You glance back over your shoulder at him just in time to see your very sexy skeleton man rock back on his heels and rise up onto his feet.

“Thank you,” he says as he wipes at his mouth and chin, smearing his makeup and even wiping it away in some places. “You’re really, really good too,” he tells you, and then he’s fumbling with his phone as he pulls it out of his pocket. You catch a glimpse of the time, quarter past two in the morning.

You should leave. Go back to the club or to the Airbnb you and your friend were renting for the weekend. You should definitely not stay here and sleepover tonight.

As much as you like sexy Skeleton Jason guy, you also really like the anonymity of this. You like not knowing what he looks like, not knowing his name, not knowing if fate is going to push you together again, maybe next time just passing in the street of some other city without you even knowing.

“I’d better go.” You peel yourself away from the window, skirting around him on your way back towards your abandoned dress on the floor. “But it was nice fucking you again.”

He laughs, and the sound makes you halfway turn around. “It was nice fucking you again, too,” he says. “Maybe we’ll get the chance again in the future?”

You’d like that.

“How long are you going to be in the city?” You ask, unable to help yourself.

“Ah,” he lifts a hand to rub the back of his head. The skeleton mask slips forward on his forehead a little bit. “Not too much longer. Back to Korea in two? Three days, maybe?”

That gives you at least another two days to chance running into him again.

You pull your dress back up, tugging the straps into place on your shoulders. “Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

“Maybe. But you might not know I’m me.” He grins as he says it. “You know, if you’re ever in Korea, in Seoul, let me know.”

“How?” You slip your feet back into your heels. “I don’t have your number or your name?” And you would kind of like to keep it that way. The anonymity is half of what makes this so hot.

“Give me your phone.” He holds his hand out, and you find yourself passing your phone over without a second thought. “This is my contact for, uh, kakaotalk. It’s an app we use instead of, like texting or, like, calling. If you’re in Seoul, use it.”

When he passes your phone back to you, you lock it without looking. “I will,” you promise. “But you have to promise that when I do, you’ll remember me. Okay?”

He smiles and nods, a slightly ominous sight with the skull mask. “I promise.”

You leave a few minutes later, and it’s only when you’re in the elevator, descending to the lobby, that you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the doors. Your mouth and cheeks and chin are smeared with dark gray makeup. You look like you’ve been making out with a piece of charcoal. You wipe at it until it comes off.

You hurry out through the lobby, back out onto the street as you pull up a map. To your surprise, your Airbnb is only two blocks back towards the club and then three blocks north, an easy enough walk, but it’s chilly and too late to be walking alone, so you order an Uber instead. It’s once you’re sitting in the backseat of the Uber, clearing out your open apps, that you see your contacts open.

He created a new contact, and the page is still open to it. There’s what you suppose must be his username on that kakaotalk app, and at the top of the screen, for his name, he put only two letters:

TY

and beside it, a small emoji of a rose.

Fate was a tricky bitch, presenting you with tricks and treats and twists of fate.

It was Halloween morning, a Monday of all days, when your boss approached you at work in the office. She was offering you a promotion.

In the weeks since discovering the affair between your boyfriend and your best friend, your life had felt quite messy and topsy-turvy, and basically every single day you woke up wishing for a fresh start. New York had been a fun break, but that was a couple weeks in the past now, and in the days since then you’d been approached by your ex-friend begging for forgiveness, seen them out together in public, and had to deal with the fallout in explaining to friends and acquaintances and family that you were no longer together with the cheating asshole.

So a fresh start, a promotion, that was exactly what you needed. And you accepted her offer only half an hour after she first presented it to you.

“The position will require you to uproot yourself,” your boss warned you. “You’re going to have to move wherever the company decides to place you. Are you sure you don’t need more time to think about this?”

No, you absolutely did not need more time. It was exactly what you needed.

Within days you were making preparations, by the end of the week your higher-ups in the company had contacted you to let you know they weren’t just moving you to another city, but another country.

When you received the email with the news, when you read your office location as Seoul, South Korea, you laughed out loud, dissolving into a fit of laughter that had you literally rolling off the bed onto your apartment floor. Your roommate had to come check on you.

Fate, the tricky bitch, she was up to something, you could feel it. It was only too convenient for your life that the mystery TY had fallen into your lap, given you some of the best random stranger sex you’d ever received, and your company was now moving you across the world to be perfectly positioned to be able to run into him again at your convenience.

It was closer to December when you were finally able to make the move. Your passport and work visa, your transfer of information within the company, and your housing in Seoul all had to be organized and confirmed, so by the time that you were finally stepping foot on the foreign soil to start your life anew, you were beyond ready for it.

Settling in took a bit longer than you might have liked, but your apartment was nice, just a fifteen minute walk from the office. There was another girl in the office who had actually transferred from your original office at home about two or three years before, so she was a big help in getting you settled, showing you around, helping you with the language as you found yourself immersed in a culture and language you’d only begun learning about a month ago.

When you finally had a moment to look at your recently downloaded kakaotalk app, you realized, although you had TY’s user ID, you had no way to identify yourself to him. Just as you didn’t really know his name, you’d never told him your name either. And what would you say to him anyway? Surprise! I just moved to Seoul! Now you’re the one that would sound like a stalker.

But then came a night after work, following an evening of after-work drinks with your coworkers, you were feeling confident enough to message him.

“I don’t know if you remember me, but you promised you would. I’m in Seoul for work now.” That was the basic gist of the message, but with several typos (your fingers felt a bit more drunk than you thought they should) and with a winky-face attached on the end.

You passed out before a response came, but in the morning when you woke with a hangover, you found a response waiting on your phone.

“I remember!”

It was a booty call like you’d never done before. Arranging it was difficult because he seemed to be quite busy here at the end of the year, but to be fair you found your schedule growing rather full as well. You kept trying to arrange times to meet, but it would interfere with something he had to do, even after normal work hours, he was always busy, and you were getting to the point where you wondered if he was just trying to get you to leave him alone.

But then he messages you to say, “I feel like it would be so much easier if we just met somewhere in the city, had sex, and went on our ways. I don’t have time for much of anything else, definitely not a relationship of any kind.” And then shortly after that, “and if we could keep it anonymous, that would be good too.”

You weren’t looking for a relationship either. Keeping it anonymous worked for you too. After the debacle with your ex-boyfriend, you still weren’t ready for a relationship because you didn’t think you could trust anyone enough. TY staying anonymous, as just basically a booty call, that made it so much easier, giving you no chance of developing feelings if he was little more than just a dick for you to use.

The first time in Seoul, you meet up during your lunch hour at a coffee shop. Or rather, behind the coffee shop. You can’t make out any of TY’s features as he approaches, and you turn to face the alley wall as he comes closer.

“We’ll be quick,” he tells you, coming up behind you as you pull down the waistband of your pants.

He’s wearing a hat and sunglasses and a mask, obscuring every part of his face. Not that you care. He fucks you fast against the alley wall, covering your mouth with one hand, the other on your clit, and as soon as you’ve both cum, you each pull you pants up and walk away.

The second time he sends you an address with specific instructions and a time. It’s a park, and you’re sitting on a patch bench with a scarf tied around your eyes.

You hear approaching footsteps, hear his voice as he says, “Open your mouth,” and you obey, letting TY fuck your mouth.

The thrill you get from not seeing his face, not knowing his name or his job, not having any idea what his favorite food or color or movie or hobby is, you love it. You love knowing nothing about him, the whole meaninglessness of your sex.

When you meet him in a public restroom, on your hands and knees on the floor so he can fuck you under the gap in the stalls. When you meet on a dark street or in a parking garage or on a back stairwell, anywhere neither of you can see clearly. You love it. You fuck and leave, only speaking when you first arrive.

He always speaks first, letting you know in some way that it’s him and not some random stranger that means you harm. He always fucks you from behind or blindfolds you in some way. He normally asks you to meet him late at night, while you normally ask for earlier in the day.

It’s all fun and sexy, thrilling and risky.

But after about a month of this, you get tired of just quickies. You want something more. You want the foreplay, the slow burn of taking each other apart, you want multiple orgasms, consecutive rounds. You want…. Well, not a relationship, but something a little more solid than what you’re doing now.

The next time you meet up after you come to that realization, you do something a little different.

You’re on a walking bridge through a park. It’s surprisingly not well-lit, but you can still see as TY approaches.

You can usually tell it’s him now just by seeing him approach, though his face is always hidden. You can tell by the way he walks, by his clothes with their certain style, by this fuzzy bucket hat that you think must be his favorite because he either wears that or a beanie pulled down below his eyebrows.

Tonight he’s wearing the bucket hat, the brim of it shading his eyes. He’s wearing a facemask too, black to match the rest of his outfit, and it covers his entire face from his jaw to just beneath his eyes. But you can see a little of his hair peeking out beneath the hat. Over the time you’ve known him his hair has cycled through a couple colors—bleached silvery white when you first met, bright red when you first saw him in Seoul, fading to pink over the last month, but tonight it’s a new color, a soft lavender color.

Your heart pounds in your chest at his approach. An odd feeling like nervous anticipation. The feeling trickles down into your belly, stirring up a fluttery feeling.

He comes to stand right behind you, his body curving against yours with a sense of familiarity, hands braced on either side of you, pinning you up against the rail.

“Can I admit something?” He asks.

You roll your ass back against him, humming your consent.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he says. “Touching you. Feeling you against me, around me. It was so cold this morning when I woke up alone in my bed, and I jerked off before I had to work, thinking of you. You’re so soft and warm inside. And all day working, I, uh, there’s this woman, her perfume must be the same as yours.”

TY dips his head forward, and you can feel him nosing against your neck, his mask still in place. You sigh, leaning back against his chest, into the nest of his arms tightening around you.

“Every time she walked by me, I could smell you.” He grinds forward again, hard against your ass.

You reach back, a hand grasping at his hip, your head tipping back on his shoulder.

“Can I admit something?” You ask, your voice catching, gasping out when he slips a hand around your belly, fingertips tugging your shirt free of your waistband, exploring over your warm skin beneath. TY hums, his lips pressed against your throat through his mask. This close, all you can see of him is the rim of his fuzzy hat, a hint of his purple hair. You can smell his cologne and the underlying taint of sweat.

“What is it?” He asks, his voice rumbling against your back and your throat. His fingers brush higher under your top until he reaches your breasts.

“I wouldn’t mind keeping your bed warm. You fuck me well, but sometimes I want more.” You sigh, and your breath clouds in front of your face in the cool night air. “Not love. I’m not asking for that. I want more sex. For a longer time. Not just you behind me, making quick work of getting us both off.”

He freezes against you. His hand slips down away from your breasts. He lifts his head from your neck.

You’re not expecting it when he forcefully turns you around to face him.

“Why do you want that?” He asks, and although you can’t really see his eyes, you can feel his gaze burning against you.

“Why shouldn’t I want it?” You reply. “Weren’t you just telling me that you thought of me this morning, warming you up on a cold morning? Why can’t I want the same thing?”

He makes a semi-frustrated sound behind the mask. “I thought you liked meeting up like this? Keeping me a secret, not knowing who I am?” He’s right. You knew you shouldn’t have told him that, but he seemed to like it as much as you. “How could we keep it like this if I take you to my home?”

“We can go to mine.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. “I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I just, I feel like the best time we’ve had was the hotel in New York. When we had privacy, the time to do more than just fuck like we’re strangers bumping against each other in the street.”

That draws a small laugh from him. “Is this how you usually bump into strangers?”

You reach out to push at his chest lightly. “You know what I mean.”

He grabs your hand as you pull back from your light hit to his chest. “I can still wear a mask, or you can be wearing a, uh, what’s it called?” He gestures to covering his face with something.

“A blindfold?” You ask.

He nods. “Yes. We can keep that part the same.”

You agree. TY agrees.

“But are we still doing this here tonight?” He asks, reaching back for your hips.

Of course you are. You’ve been thinking about this all day, just like he has. You let him get you back into the same position as before, his arms caging you in against the railing. You tug the long skirt up above your ass, TY drags your tights down underneath, and he fucks you against the rail, until your knees quiver and your skin is covered in goosebumps, until you’ve both cum.

TY pulls your tights back up with a playful pat to your ass, and then he lets your skirt fall again.

“I think we should still do this sometimes,” he tells you. “It’s fun.”

You have to agree. Having quickies in places you definitely shouldn’t is a good chunk of the fun in doing this, in addition to the anonymity.

That night as you get home, you think about how neither you or TY really knows anything real about each other. You know how to get each other off, but you don’t know each other’s names. You don’t know what he looks like. You don’t even know how old he is, you realize, but you can only assume that he’s somewhere around your age, possibly a few years older, maybe a couple younger. But even after about a month of doing this, he’s still a stranger.

You haven’t had the guts to tell anyone you know about him. None of your coworker friends here, none of your friends back home. Even the friend you’d been with in New York, you hadn’t told them about this. They just knew that you’d hooked up with a guy from the club that night, but not that it was still going on, or that it had happened before that night.

You know what people would tell you if they did know. That you need to know who he is. You need more than just a TY to know him by. He could be anyone. He could be a psychopath, a murderer. He could be a known criminal. Everyone would go to the dark side of things, you’re sure, imagining the worst out of this man.

But your gut instinct tells you that he’s nothing like that. You don’t know him, but you do know him. It’s a difficult thing to describe.

And you truly don’t think you want to know. You like the anonymity, the blank slate that he is. You can fantasize, imagine him as anyone in the world that you want to. You can pretend that he’s your ex (on your dark days of missing the man you spent so much time loving). You can pretend he’s a celebrity. He could be a CEO or a convenience store clerk. TY could be anyone.

It’s strange having him in your apartment. This is your space. It’s the least anonymous, the most vulnerable you’ve ever been with him.

He’s wearing a balaclava, the kind that only reveals his eyes and his mouth. It’s very reminiscent of your first two times with him; a little creepy, a little hot. TY just looks around your apartment for a moment, standing there in the doorway when you let him inside.

It’s not a lot. Just a very simple place, underdecorated since you’ve only lived here for a little over a month. The walls are bare, the kitchen is just a tiny corner. You have a sofa shoved up against one wall, a small TV, a cluttered coffee table that doubles as a desk, your twin-sized bed. A rack of clothes and a chest of drawers.

While he’s looking around, you look at him.

He looks comfortable, wearing a pair of shorts despite the chill, a long sleeve shirt beneath a long coat. He stands there inside your apartment, his socked toes wiggling on the floor, his shoes abandoned by the door. A small chunk of his lavender hair peeks through one of the eyeholes of the balaclava, but you like it. You like all of it, these tiny things that humanize him, that make him seem a little more real, less like a random man.

Not that it really matters, because this isn’t anything. It’s not anything real. This is just fucking, just using each other without any of the strings attached.

TY fucks you in your little bed. He spreads you across his lap and he plays with your pussy, teasing your clit, giving your bottom little smacks that grow progressively rougher until you’re dripping down his fingers and he fills you with his cock instead while you bounce yourself back into his lap. He pulls out and flips you onto your back, he fucks you in the missionary position, kissing you although the mouth opening in the balaclava is a bit insufficient for that, and you both end up spitting out little pieces of fuzz, laughing about it.

When he cums, TY pulls out, lowering himself down between your legs to eat you out. You clutch at your bedsheets, writhing against his face and moaning, grinding your pussy against his tongue.

And then it’s your turn. You get him on his back in your bed, and you start at his hips, lifting his shirt to kiss his abdomen, pushing it higher.

He moans, his hands covering yours in his shirt, pushing it back down before you can lift it even above his navel. But even with it lifted just that high, you see the tattoo on his hip, a cartoon of astroboy as you can see now.

He jerks his shirt back down. “No,” he tells you.

You back away. You’re not here to cross any boundaries. You can fuck him again with his shirt still on, you don’t care.

He does let you sit yourself in his lap, kissing him, touching his cock until he’s hard again in your hand. You ride him this time, your hands at his shoulders, his lips on your chest while he pulls you down into him by your hips.

You cum again while kissing him, moaning against TY’s lips, riding out your orgasm rolling and circling your hips, until he’s moaning too, biting down on your bottom lip as he fills the condom inside you.

That night isn’t the last night it happens. He comes over sometimes, either when you message or sometimes just when he wants you. Sometimes you wear a blindfold, sometimes he wears a balaclava, a costume mask, or the classic hat pulled low and a facemask. But it happens again and again, TY satisfying you in bed, only to leave immediately after. He never stays, not that you blame him. That keeps it as casual as it can be.

The only issue arises one early spring morning, about three and a half months into your new life in Seoul.

You’re rolling out of bed, feeling the sweet ache in your muscles of having been fucked well the night before, when your foot bumps against something. It’s his, that’s something you realize immediately. A necklace he always wears, but it must’ve fallen off last night when you were clinging to his neck as he bent you backwards off the bed, laughing against your neck as you moaned and cried and laughed that he was gonna break your bed.

For safekeeping, you put the necklace on, liking the way it falls against your chest. It’s a thin gold chain with a charm shaped like a dog’s head. It’s precious, and you can’t help wondering if TY has a dog, or what this necklace means that he wears it so much.

You think nothing else of it as you get ready for work, nor as your day begins at work. It’s not until one of your coworkers approaches you to ask you a question, as you lean forward to look at a document she’s showing you that you even remember you’re wearing the necklace. It swings forward from the front of your blouse, the gold charm catching the light.

“Oh?” The other woman says, looking at it. “I didn’t know you’re an NCTzen, unnie!” She smiles brightly.

To be frank, you don’t know why that is. “What are you talking about?”

She laughs. “Your necklace. My best friend is Yongie biased, and she’s got a necklace just like this.”

Now, in the months you’ve been living in Seoul, learning the culture and the language, you’ve picked up a few things about K-pop music, the groups, the idols. It would be impossible not to when you see the handsome and beautiful faces of idols watching you from ads all over the city. So you understand when she talks about a bias she’s talking about her friend’s favorite member of a group, but you don’t know which group, and you don’t truly understand the relevance at the moment.

TY probably just bought this necklace from the same brand as your coworker’s friend, which apparently has something to do with an idol named Yongie or Yonghee or maybe even Younghee, you’re still not the best at differentiating similar sounding syllables.

Again, you forget about the necklace and your coworker’s reaction until later that afternoon as you’re leaving work for the day. You stop in a cafe on your walk home, just wanting a quick drink, maybe one of the pretty cakes in the display case. But while you’re in there, there’s a couple teen girls sitting at a table, giggling over their phones. While you stand in line, you pick up enough from their excited conversation to know that they’re talking about a male idol updating on Instagram.

Reminded of the necklace, you pull out your phone to search first all the iterations of Yongie/Yonghee/Younghee that you can think of. You get a few results, but nothing that really helps solve your mystery. But when you search that along with NCTzen, you find a result.

You look at the first picture that comes up, grabbed from a news article posted online earlier today about an upcoming album release for NCT, a boy group. There’s a pretty handsome man standing on-stage in the middle of performing, his heavily made up eyes sparkle, and you get the appeal. When you look at him your belly does a silly swoop that you only ever feel when you have a crush.

You swipe backwards, returning to the search results, and you type in ‘dog necklace’ alongside the name and what is apparently the fandom name. This yields more results. A close up picture of a neck and chest, a necklace almost if not exactly identical to the one around your neck.

You click on the image, and when the article it’s been pulled from loads, you see second photo beside the first. A small tattoo that matches the charm on the necklace. Curious, you scroll further down in the article, wondering if it’ll mention the brand name of this necklace anywhere. But as you scroll down past a chunk of text you don’t want to read, you see another picture of a tattoo, this one of a bunny. And then another, a whale. You scroll past a few more, and then you see one that makes you go still.

You don’t even hear the barista call out you name the first two times. You’re too busy staring at your phone in confusion and slight shock at the sight of a tattoo of astroboy.

Everything about it from the color to the placement to the exact shape of it is too familiar to be a coincidence. Over the last several weeks of getting TY in your bed, various stages of undress, though he usually wears his shirt, you’ve gotten a couple glimpses of the tattoo at his hip. And it looks the same as the one in this picture.

The barista calls your name one more time, and you finally hear him, thanking him and apologizing as you take your to-go order from him.

You leave the cafe with your mind reeling, trying to find a way to quickly translate this article. Maybe it’s just talking about tattoos all done by a certain artist, although they don’t all seem to be done in the same style. Maybe it’s something, you don’t know what, but something that means anything other than that you’ve been anonymously fucking an idol.

You can’t find a translation of the article, so you search instead. You get back to your apartment, plop yourself on the sofa, and start searching.

You learn several things very quickly.

NCT has a member, the leader of the group actually, named Lee Taeyong. He has a few nicknames, one of which is TY. He has a necklace with a little golden dog head charm that one of the members had custom-made for him after Taeyong’s dog Ruby passed away. He has a tattoo of the dog. He has several tattoos, including Astroboy on his hip. Also he recently dyed his hair lavender for the upcoming album release. The fans love it, as do you. Though at the present moment, you feel a little bit like ripping your own hair out.

What the fuck?

How did you just accidentally discover the identity of TY? Your mysterious, anonymous lover had clearly been so careful to avoid this exact thing. He did his best to hide his tattoos, he hid his face. He didn’t even let you see his hair color normally, you only caught it in glimpses. But everything makes sense now. Why he’d been so easy to convince to keep this anonymous. Why he’d been so busy some days at such odd hours. It made sense too why he’d been in LA and New York.

Everything just clicks into place, and you wonder if maybe you should’ve been able to figure this out a long time ago.

Going along with the theme of you forgetting things all day, you’d forgotten that the night before you’d agreed to TY—Taeyong, your mind helpfully reminds you—coming over this evening. You forgot too that you’d given him the code to your door when last week you wanted him to surprise you with the balaclava on, roleplay a little robber and helpless victim.

So when you hear the sudden beeping of the door code being entered, your heart leaps into panicked overdrive.

You drop your phone, somehow kick it as well, and it goes flying all the way across the floor. Skidding and spinning, it comes to a stop right at the feet of your unmasked masked lover.

He closes the door, looking down at your phone. Specifically, looking down at his own face staring back up at him.

When he doesn’t look up for a long stretch of seconds that expand into a minute threatening two minutes, you clear your throat.

“Are you an idol?”

It almost sounds silly to ask aloud. What if you’re wrong? You’re going to look ridiculous.

But there’s all the evidence too. You can’t be wrong.

“Is there any point in me telling you no?” He asks.

He stoops down at last, picking up your phone before he stands back up. He doesn’t move any closer than just inside the door. He only tosses your phone over to you, looking right at you.

“How did you find out?” His voice is low, a mix of sad and disappointed, disgruntled and concerned.

“You left this here,” you say, already reaching up to unclasp the necklace. “I put it on just so I wouldn’t lose it again before I could give it back to you. One of my coworkers, she saw it, and she said her friend is a fan of, um, I guess a fan of yours. I was just curious what she was talking about, I didn’t think she meant you. Well, my version of you, anyway. But I looked it up, I saw a search result that showed your tattoos. The one on your hip.”

TY— Taeyong sighs.

You watch as he lifts a hand, reaching for the beanie he’s wearing today. Faded purple locks appear as he tosses the beanie over onto the small table beside your door. He runs his fingers through his hair a little, and then he moves his hand down to his facemask.

When he pulls it off, sending it over to join his beanie, you look at your mystery man’s face for the first time after these several months.

He avoids eye contact as you look at him, as you drink in his handsome face, his familiar eyes, the lips you’ve kissed so many times.

“Taeyong,” you murmur his name.

His gaze snaps up to yours. There’s heat in his eyes.

“Do you hate me for figuring it out?” You ask.

“Do you hate me for not telling you?” He fidgets, shaking the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands, then he folds his arms over his chest. “Is this gonna be over now? Now that you know, that takes all the fun out of it for you, doesn’t it?”

As if you were only fucking him for the fun of not knowing who he was. You scoff. “Are you fucking serious? I like you, asshole. You’re great in bed, you’re good to me. I know we don’t really know each other. That was the whole premise of this, but I like you. I don’t know who Taeyong is, but I have an idea of who TY is, and I like that guy. So I’m sure if I merge the two of you together, I’ll still like you. I’ll still want to have sex with you. As long as your stage persona isn’t bad in bed, I don’t see a problem.”

That draws a laugh from him at last.

“And now,” you say, “I also get to look at your pretty face. You’ve had the pleasure all along of seeing mine, so now it’s my turn.” You stand up from the sofa, approaching him.

He doesn’t balk, doesn’t look like he wants you to stop. In fact he settles, sinking into a comfortable standing pose, shifting so when you come to stand in front of him, the pair of you fit together.

“Also, now I can do this,” you cup Taeyong’s sharp jaw with your hand as you say, “without getting fuzz from that mask in the way.”

You kiss him, pressing your mouth to his. Taeyong opens up, meeting your kiss eagerly, hungrily. He’s wrapping himself around you—an arm around your waist, one curling behind your shoulder as his hand lifts to the back of your head to angle your lips against his.

It’s nice having that fucking balaclava out of the way. Beside the fuzzy bits that snuck into your mouth during kisses, the material of it often rubbed your cheeks, itchy and uncomfortable at times. Now it’s just Taeyong’s warm, smooth cheeks.

You want to touch him everywhere. Your fingers leave his jaw, tickling against his earrings before you press your fingers through his purple hair. He smiles when you pull a bit at it, biting your bottom lip in response.

“Can you take your clothes off,” you ask, murmuring the question against his lips, unwilling to give up kissing him just yet. “I really want to see you without your shirt on.”

He moans deep in his throat, the sound half a laugh. “Didn’t you see those pictures online in your research?”

You break the kiss, pouting a little at him. Taeyong only smiles wider, leaning back in to nudge his nose against yours. “I wanna see it in person,” you whine.

He doesn’t disappoint you.

It’s still early evening, the sky outside not quite dark yet. The sun is setting over the city, and the last rays of sunlight burnish the clouds, fiery bronze against the dusky blue of the settling night sky.

That same rich orange light glows against Taeyong’s skin as he finally peels his shirt over his head. The shirt falls, a dozen tattoos revealed, and you want to taste all of them on your tongue.

You want to kiss his stomach and his hips, want to leave your mark on him, touch his nipples without the barrier of his shirt because you’ve known his nipples are sensitive when you’d touched them over the shirt while you sucked his cock.

His pants go next, and there he stands in front of you in only his underwear, bulge straining the front of the fabric.

Taeyong moans in delight when you press yourself against him once more. You kiss him again, unable to stay away for long, and your hands slide his underwear down over his hips, leaving him fully naked for the first time with you.

You’re wet already, just from kissing him, but when he slides his hand between your thighs, skimming his fingers up your bare thigh to beneath the skirt you wore to work today, you can feel yourself instantly growing wetter. His fingers rise up, meeting your slit through your panties, rubbing his finger there teasingly until you’re moaning into the kiss, reaching for his wrist to hold onto.

Taeyong pulls his hand away, bringing both up to your blouse, drawing it out from where it was tucked into the skirt. His fingers fumble with the bottom buttons, trying to work his way up, but now that he’s touched you, you’re feeling impatient.

“Just tear it. Rip it,” you tell him. “I’ll just buy a new one.”

He grips both sides of your shirt, pressing his lips harshly against yours as he gives a hard tug. You hear the fabric rip, hear the buttons pop, a few bouncing across the floor, rolling under furniture. Not that you care. You shake the remnants of your blouse off your shoulders, Taeyong’s lips scatter hot kisses along your jaw, your hands sink to his erection, the hot weight of it pressing against the front of your skirt, against your thigh.

He murmurs something you can’t quite catch in Korean. His cheek skimming along your jaw, lips ghosting a sensitive spot high on your throat.

“Hmm?” You hum inquisitively, but you don’t listen for his answer, now when Taeyong’s fingers curl in your skirt, pulling it down just as roughly as he’d just torn your blouse. You step out of the skirt, pressing yourself forward against him, stroking your hands upward on his cock in a way that makes Taeyong’s ears turn pink, a needy sound escaping his throat.

“Wait,” he sighs, his tongue tracing a section of your jaw before his lips take over again. “Turn around for me.”

You do just that. Circling around so your back is to him. His fingers tuck in the band of your panties, disposing of them only slightly more gently than he’d done your skirt.

“Pretty,” he tells you, lowering his mouth to your shoulder and neck, he steps around beside you, his chest against your right arm while he scatters kisses over the top of your shoulder, up your throat. “So pretty for me.”

He trails a finger down your spine, from the base of your neck all the way to the base of your tailbone, right above your ass.

“Taeyong,” you moan softly, a shiver pulled from you. You swear you can feel your pussy dripping, leaking down your thigh. “I need you.“

“Say it again,” he says, his voice a hum against your shoulder.

“I need you,” you repeat first, and then, “Taeyong.”

His hand comes down against your ass, a good, solid smack that brings a loud moan from your lips. You’re definitely dripping, you can feel how sticky you are between your thighs, and to your utter delight, Taeyong slips his fingers down from your plump ass, down lower until his fingers tease against your pussy.

Taeyong stuffs you with two of his fingers right away, your wetness squishing between his fingers, the sound audible in your apartment as he fucks you on his fingers, his lips busy leaving a mark on your shoulders in the same spot as a tattoo that he has. He scissors his fingers inside you, curling them, and still you grow wetter, resting back against his chest as your legs shake.

And when Taeyong slides his other hand down in front of you, stimulating your clit from the front, you can’t contain your whimpers and cries any longer.

You buck your hips, riding his fingers, desperate cries of pleasure tie in with his name pouring from your tongue as if you’re so familiar with it.

His fingers glisten with your juice, slick and sticky as he pulls his fingers away from your needy, clenching entrance. Instead you watch over your shoulder as he wraps those fingers around his cock, jerking himself off. You twist around, his face taken between both hands, you crush your lips against his.

Taeyong moans, reaching for your thigh with his free hand, lifting it to his hip.

You use protection, you always do, and right now as he’s about to fuck you right here in the middle of the apartment, you realize there are no condoms within reach, but you really don’t want to move. Not as Taeyong ruts his cock against your inner thigh. Not as he glides through your wetness.

“Fuck it. Just this once,” you think. You’re on birth control, you just normally prefer using two methods.

You wrap your arms around Taeyong as he does you, your leg high on his hip as he sinks right inside you.

It’s different right now. Somehow.

Maybe it’s because you can see his face clearly. You can look in his eyes unhindered as he moans at the soft warmth of you wrapped around him. Maybe it’s that there’s an all new open layer of vulnerability here between you two, one that seems like it’s changing everything while keeping things the same, just better.

You’re not claiming Taeyong. Not telling him that he has to be anything to you. This can all still be a secret. He can still just be your hook-up, your fuckbuddy. No strings necessary.

But you can’t deny that you’ve got that fluttery feeling in your belly. The crush feeling. An attraction based in something deeper than just physical appearance.

When Taeyong pulls your other thigh up to his hip on the other side, seating his cock deep inside you while holding you up, you think that you don’t care what changes as long as you still get this.

Taeyong moves, surprising you with his strength as he carries you back over to the sofa. He lowers you down into the edge of the sofa, kneeling down as well so he never has to pull out, and you just pull his mouth against yours, wanting to kiss him breathless.

He pulls your hips right to the edge of the sofa, making needy sounds as he kisses you back, as he starts thrusting into you. Taeyong hips snap forward again and again, both of you gasping against each other’s mouths. It’s frenzied and desperate, the way you move against and with each other in those moments.

“Baby,” Taeyong moans. “Baby, I wanna wake up with you. God, you’re so warm, I want to stay here.” He pressed in deep, grinding against you as if he can possibly get any deeper.

“Stay, Taeyong,” you sigh, dragging your nails over his back. “You can cum. Then stay.”

You’re not sure if he means it. He’s never stayed before, never waited long enough after cumming for it to even be an accidental possibility. But tonight things are different. Tonight Taeyong presses up into you, pushing off the floor, tipping you back deeper into the sofa, pushing your legs towards your chest, his lips against yours, and he groans deep in his throat as he cums inside you.

And he stays. His hips planted against yours, rocking in tiny motions, grinding in little circles that rub right against your clit and that spot inside you, and this time your orgasm is like snapping a wire. Your body goes taut in the initial wave, head thrown back, his name cascading from your lips as your nails rake down his back.

You swear he cums a little more from the pain of your nails digging into skin, but you’re a little too far gone to be certain.

Taeyong doesn’t pull out of you, he just rests his cheek against your shoulder, trying to catch his breath from the intensity of it. He asks carefully, “Did you mean it? Me staying tonight?”

You’re still buzzing with the white heat of your orgasm, your pussy still throbbing around his cock going soft inside you. Yeah you were serious. You don’t want him going anywhere. “As long as you meant it,” you reply, turning your face to the side, burying your nose in his hair. “My bed is yours for the night. Though I don’t see either of us moving any time soon.”

Taeyong chuckles in agreement. Then there’s a momentary pause. “So, this is as good a time as any,” Taeyong pants, shifting his sweaty cheek on your shoulder, lifting his head, and asking, “But what’s your name?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling out of you before you can help it. All of this, and you’ve forgotten that you’ve never told him your name. You lean in, tucking your laughter against Taeyong’s shoulder for a moment before you lift your head. You relinquish the last little bit of anonymity as you whisper your name against his lips.

a/n: I apologize for any typos/major grammar errors, I didn’t really edit this before posting it, but I will go back and check it over soon!! Thank you for reading!!

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC REVIEW: One Kiss to Desire by Grace Callaway

4.5/5. Releases 9/19/24.

The Vibes:

—true blue grumpy/sunshine

—dirty talk dirty talk dirty talk

—GHOOOOSTS

—messy sibling drama (complimentary)

Heat Index: 8/10

The Basics:

Xenia has made a reputation for herself as Sirena, telling dirty tales for patrons of a high-end brothel—while on the other side of a curtain. Temporarily out of a job and seeking shelter, she takes on the persona of your typical housekeeper, taking a post at a gloomy mansion with a gloomier boss. Ethan is hiding away from the world after a tragedy that changed his life; and he has no time for the perky, mousy girl who can't even seem to cook. But as danger lurks beyond the walls (and maybe within) they're forced to work together... among other things.

The Review:

If there's one thing Grace Callaway knows how to do, it's write a ROMP. This is her take on a Gothic historical romance a la Northanger Abbey (which is to say, kind of a loving spoof of Gothic romance with a real, warm love story at the center). Arguably, other Grace books have actually been a little heavier on the Gothic; I'd actually call this one of her lighter outings. But you get spooky stories, you get terrified servants, you get creepy things that go bump in the night and also non-creepy things that go bump in the night by which I mean OUR LEADS.

Speaking of, if you're a fun of grumpy/sunshine, this is about as Grumpy/Sunshine prime as I think you'll ever get. Ethan's not an asshole, exactly. I mean, he kind of is, but in a sympathetic way that really doesn't get that heavy. He's not mean, he's grumpy. And with good reason, even though he needs to straighten up (and does). Xenia is sunshine personified, sweet and perky and funny in a way that Callaway writes so well. It's no wonder he's charmed by her. You, the reader, are charmed by her from the jump.

Ethan and Xenia have both been through it. As someone who enjoyed The Lady Who Came in from The Cold, Ethan's parents' book (would recommend) I was a little worried about what would have him so torn up as this novel opens. Fortunately, it did nothing to ruin the general Blackwood HEA (and I should have figured as much). But it is a very valid issue, and I really liked both the classic Gothic drama of it all and Ethan's very real insecurities and loss of identity.

Xenia... has quite a backstory. I can't give any of it away, but BOY was the climax of this novel (besides the other climaxes) crazy. Which is what I want from a Grace Callaway book. I want sexy, I want funny, I want feelings-y, I want... yeah! A little zany! In part because of the removal from the hub of London (we're squarely in Chudleigh Bottoms, from whence one of Callaway's favorite historical romance families hails) and in part because of the madcap Gothic plot, this one reads a bit more "adventurous" to me, whereas Grace's previous series had more of a mystery/potboiler vibe.

You get some secret identity shenanigans, which I'm personally into—but if that isn't your thing, don't worry. It isn't dragged beyond its logical conclusion, and honestly? Once these two are really on the same page, they're rather adorable together. They have this fun, sexy relationship, and Ethan clearly cares about making sure Xenia feels respected. There's something kind of doting about the way he cares for her, and I'm personally about it.

In all, I'd say that though there is pain and a satisfying emotional arc, this is one of Grace's less angsty installments compared to a book like Pippa and the Prince of Secrets or Regarding the Duke. There's angst, but it's definitely more on the fun and sweet side.

The Sex:

OKAY.

Grace Callaway sex scenes always stand out, but this one really goes to a different place with it. Because yeah. Xenia is a virgin. But she certainly has a filthy mind, and she put its to good use weaving erotic stories for her clients. And yes. Ethan does get in on that action.

The way it's written, especially in the scene where they... do the full nine yards with it... is both hot and fun. It's over the top in the most self-aware, delightful way possible. I was kicking my feet all the way through it.

And the more "standard" sex scenes are of course, a lot of fun as well. Callaway simply writes sex scenes like she actually enjoys writing them, which I appreciate.

I noticed more attention paid to the safety aspects surrounding sex in this one, which I also appreciated. Definitely seems to be a trend I'm seeing more of in historicals recently, and it's done here in a way that fuels the tension rather than taking away from it.

It's adventurous, it's light, it's got a bit of an autumnal thing going with the Gothic of it all. And it's kicking off a new series, with fabulous teases for the next siblings. (One of those brothers is going to destroy someone's heart. I just know it.) I am MORE than game.

Thanks to Grace Callaway for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[wifetomegatron]

I’m not sure if you’re taking requests or not so feel free to delete but if you are how about some firsts! First date with First Aid in the First Contact!AU?

thank you for requesting anon <3 i hope you enjoy this !

a night full of firsts : what a first date with first aid would be like (sfw!)

i) you weren't his first date ( he had dated a couple of times back in medical school, but that had been ages ago ), but you were his first date on earth. first aid had idled outside the door of the restaurant for about ten minutes, constantly re-checking the screen of his mobile phone — which, in his opinion, was ridiculous to carry around — to double and triple check your picture. he was fidgeting, servos twitchy as he entered the place. the funny bit was you had witnessed the whole thing, the wide, clear window giving you a full view of first aid desperately trying to soothe his nerves ( you tell him this months after and he nearly breaks apart from shame. )

ii) first contact had been established for nearly a decade now, and humans were surprisingly quick to assimilate. if anything, none of the patrons bat an eye at his presence — red and white metal, shining under the golden glow of the lights. there were only five other bots inside the place, including him. and when he was the only one obviously on a date, first aid felt singled out if not scrutinized. with a more integral involvement in the council of worlds, the people of this little green planet had opened themselves slowly to the idea of 'interspecies relationships.' it was only a matter of time before someone created a dating app specialized for that. ( the secondhand embarrassment in asking velocity to help him create his profile pales in comparison to the shame he felt when he saw so many of his friends there.) less than a week of being on there scrolling, the two of you had matched. and the sweet little messages had boiled down to this very moment: you sitting across him, cheeks dusted pink. he averted his optics, suddenly feeling shy for the first time in a long time.

iii) the first hour went smoothly, with a few bumps along the way such as the occasional slip-ups and misunderstanding — you had accidentally asked him if he thinks the carbonara is better than the aglio e olio while he had slipped and accidentally called your eyes 'fascinating' instead of 'beautiful'. those he could laugh off.

until you had wondered aloud at how interesting it was that humans and cybertronians were so similar. and off-handedly, out of instinct, the medic had responded with : more than you think.

you had a playful glint in your eyes when you responded, lifting the wine glass to your lips, ' is that a promise?'

at the innuendo, his already nervous knee had jerked upwards and bumped the underside of the table, knocking the glass of water all over the surface. he immediately stood up, reaching to undo the damage by plucking the glass, only to have one of the table cloths snag in the seam of his knee. in an instant, the plates and cutlery had toppled over, loudly crashing onto the floor. but he didn't even have the time to react, the candle — which in his opinion was an evil, dangerous, thing to have on a dinner table and nowhere romantic — had set several of the napkins on fire. a dozen frightened patrons and one, messy fire extinguisher later, first aid had yanked you out of your seat and away from the chaos. this was the first time, first aid wished — what was the human saying ? for the earth to swallow him up? judging from how your clothes were most likely irreversibly damaged by the wine and pasta, disappearing was the best option.

iv) he knows ratchet was trying not to laugh at the story, failing miserably the moment he excused himself out of the room to ( not so discreetly ) tell his conjunx about the incident. velocity gave him a pitying smile, even if she was hiding her amusement. he told her that he was never going to see you again — that he ruined a beautiful night with a beautiful person over a stupid accident. considering that he was flustered enough to disappear without a word. until you had showed up by the receptionist's desk, worried hands wrung together as you asked one of the nurses for him.

at the sight of him, your eyes lit up. this was the first time first aid found himself at a loss for words, spark racing as you explained to him how you were more worried about how he had deleted the app the morning after and left without a word. determined not to get ghosted by someone who clearly enjoyed the night, you had tracked him down to ask him for another date.

' this time,' you had cleared your throat, ' i can prepare us dinner back at mines and actually make sure there'll be no candles around. if you'd want, that is ?'

he was glad he had his mouth guard up because he could feel himself grinning, velocity in the back already calling swerve to break to him the news.

'yes,' first aid answered, ' i'd like that.'

[dathen]

Lately I’ve been hyped to get people into listening to audio dramas for the first time, but since recs are often “have 100 podcast names at once!!” or “if you like [audio drama], try this other audio drama,” I’m going to try to put together posts for some of my favorites based on what fans of non-podcast things may like!  Let’s see how long I can keep this going.

To start off, my current obsession!

Malevolent

Premise:  A private investigator in the 1930′s finds himself blinded with a voice in his head after reading a strange book.  He must rely on the voice’s guidance to investigate what happened to him, even as otherworldly threats begin to close in.

For if you like:

The Locked Tomb - The relationship between the investigator and the voice is by far the #1 sell of this story.  It’s messy and ugly and beautiful and complicated and terribly, wonderfully intimate.  It ended up overlapping a lot of my feelings about Harrow and Gideon, and lyctorhood in general.

Kingdom Hearts - Not the Micky Mouse stuff, but the ‘cry your eyes out about goofy-looking anime characters’ stuff.  If like me, you were wrecked by the Sea Salt Trio and things that weren’t meant to be people fighting for a place in the world, this will be a TREAT.

TTRPGs - Malevolent has the unique format of being a scripted show loosely based on a Call of Cthulu format.  Each episode is made up of 4-5 segments, at the end of which patrons vote on which choice for the characters to take: from fleeing to hiding, whether to take a risk to retrieve a useful artifact, etc.  Because of this, it has the close-to-the-action feeling of watching or playing a TTRPG, where each choice feels like it has stakes to change the path, while being much more concise and driven.

Warning:  In addition to being a horror podcast with heavy topics, folks with misophobia may be affected by the soundscaping at times.

If you have any similar comparisons (I KNOW you Venom lovers have things to say here), feel free to reblog and add on!  Just try to keep it spoiler-free.

[dreamerrgirl]

Chenford + 5x19 speculation fic... their relationship is put to the test ❤️

When Tim quietly pushes Lucy's apartment door open at 10:30 that night, the last thing he expects to find is his girlfriend pacing back and forth across the floor, her hair falling out of the messy bun she has piled on the top of her head.

"Hey," she says, giving him a distracted smile, still pacing.

"Hi yourself," he answers, raising an eyebrow at her in question. "Is everything okay? I figured you'd be in bed by now."

She shakes her head. "No, I'm too wired to sleep."

Oh yay, Tim thinks to himself, internally groaning. He had really been looking forward to collapsing into bed and snuggling up with her the second he walked through the door- he was pretty much dead on his feet. Taking a deep breath in an effort to keep his brain functioning for at least a few more minutes, he slowly sinks down onto one of her barstools, giving her his full attention.

"What's wrong? Is the detectives exam stressing you out?"

"No, it's not that," she says, worrying at her bottom lip, standing on the opposite end of the kitchen. "It's more about you said this morning, about us having to get used to not seeing each other as much."

"Yeah, and I said we'll figure it out, right?"

"Well yeah... but how?"

Tim shakes his head, his brain at a loss for the moment. "Well I don't know right this minute."

"I mean, it's not like we have any control over the hours we'll be working," she starts, Tim swearing he can physically see the gears turning in her head.

"Right..."

"And it's not like I'm going to ask you to leave Metro or anything."

"You better not, you're the one who got me there in the first place," he jokes, giving her a look. "And you know I'd never keep you from going after your dreams."

"I know," she says, smiling softly at him. "But then where does that leave us?"

Tim takes a second to study her hesitant expression, his eyes narrowing. "I feel like you have an answer to this that you want me to get to, but I'm just not getting there," he says honestly. "What are you thinking?"

Lucy sighs, her teeth continuing their assault on her bottom lip. "I don't know- I don't know if it sounds crazy or not. I’m not very good at this kind of stuff.”

“At what kind of stuff?”

She shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know, all this serious relationship stuff. I’ve never really been in one before.”

“Is that what this is?” Tim teases, smiling at the incredulous look she gives him. He holds his hands up in defense. “Hey, we haven’t really had that talk yet, you know, the feelings talk?”

She makes her way towards him, her smile almost patronizing. “I thought it was implied.”

He lifts his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. “But it is nice to hear every once in a while, you know,” he says, his voice low, a sliver of truth seeping into his words.

She’s standing in front of him now, close enough for Tim to feel the heat radiating off her body. “Lay it on me,” he continues, staring into her eyes.

“Well, I was thinking that between you having to run home after every shift to feed Kojo and bring him out before having to drive all the way over here, that’s already taking up a lot of our time.”

Tim nods along. “I don’t know,” she says again, her eyes dropping to the floor. “If we could somehow find a way to get rid of all the back and forth, that might help.”

Tim leans back a little, his heart giving a little lurch in his chest. "Like moving in together, you mean?" he clarifies, his eyes searching hers.

She smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, something like that."

"Are you sure you're ready for that? I mean when Chris brought it up not even half a year ago-"

She makes a face at him. "That's different."

"How?"

She sighs, cocking her head. "Do you really need me to spell it out for you?"

When he doesn't answer, she steps closer, looping her arms around his neck, her face just far enough away that he's not going cross-eyed looking at her.

"I know we haven't been together very long, but, I've never felt this way before about anyone, ever," she says, her fingers gently running through the hair at the nape of his neck. "You feel like home to me, and I keep finding myself wanting to spend more time with you, not less."

"I feel the same way," he murmurs, leaning forward to gently rest his forehead against hers.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He kisses her then, softly, gently, and can feel her smiling against his lips.

"So I'm not being crazy?" she asks, her voice gaining more confidence.

"No," he says, giving her one more kiss, because for some reason, with her, he can never get enough. "I think it's a great idea."

Pulling back, he attempts to stifle a yawn, but is entirely unsuccessful. "So," he continues, rubbing his hands together. "Now that we have that figured out, can we go to bed please?"

"Really?" she snorts, looking at him like he's crazy. "That's all you have to say? It was that easy? I've been agonizing over this all day!"

Tim shrugs, crossing his arms. "I don't know, it's as they say- when you know, you know."

"And you know?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow.

Pushing himself to standing, Tim stretches his arms up and over his head before he brings one down around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his side as he smiles down at her, unable to resist kissing her for the third time. "Oh, I know," he mumbles against her lips, gently steering her towards the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers and fall asleep with her tucked safely in his arms, knowing they'll have many more nights together just like this.

[coffee-at-daybreak]

what we want | teldryn sero x reader

Ever since you helped clear Raven Rock mine recently, the town was seeing a boom in business. Miners were flocking to get their share of work in. As a result, the Retching Netch would become quite hectic every night, seeing as all the exhausted workers just wanted a nice meal and drink and a comfy place to stay. You were lucky to have come into the inn when you did, before the rush, so you managed to snag a table tucked away in the corner. You stare at the half-finished loaf of bread you’d been picking at, lost deep in thought despite the ruckus around you.

You’re jolted out of it when you feel a boot tap against your own under the table. “Still awake, serjo?” Teldryn asks.

You look up at him, met with his slightly concerned but amused red eyes. “Huh?”

“You haven’t even had a drink yet and you look out of it.” He tilts his head. “Everything alright?”

How dare he ask you that, with that damned helmet off, staring at you with those damned alluring eyes, on that damned captivating face of his. You’ve seen it before, but the effect it has on you is just as intense as the first time - your skin gets warm, your mouth goes dry, and your belly feels like it’s housing a frenzied moth with all its fluttering.

But you maintain your composure, thank the gods. You nod at him. “Y-yes, I’m just … thinking.”

“About what?”

You gulp, nervousness wringing your already unstable belly into a knot. “Well…"

Teldryn chuckles. “Uh oh.”

There’s a long pause as he patiently waits for you to gather your words. The sound of voices and laughter echo off the walls of the inn. You toss around options in your head for a moment, but you finally go with the blunt, flat approach.

“What are we?” You ask.

He simply stares at you for a second. “..What?” He finally shoots back, in a tone that makes you feel like you just asked something silly.

But it’s not something silly to you. There’s a lot about him and your relationship that you do know. You know that you started out as a simple patron and hireling pair. You were acquaintances, people who talked only to discuss plans and money and whatnot. Then you were friends - you talked about your backgrounds, about your adventures, about your interests and dreams. You went from simply using his company, to actually cherishing it.

And you don’t know when, or how, but you strayed onto the messy path of more than friends. His lingering touches when he helped adjust your armor. The soft tone you started to adopt when you said his name. The way you two embraced after a brutal, exhausting battle at a bandit fort. Sharing a bed at an inn or holding hands to stay together in a crowded city. In the heat of the moment, these things all came naturally to you, and you honestly had never given it much thought before.

But it hit you this morning, when you two had been locked in a practice sparring session, and one particular moment had you mere inches apart, and all you wanted to do was pin him down and kiss the life out of him. But he’d leaned back, declaring you’d had enough practice and it was time to get moving. And you’d finally felt the strangling weight of that dreaded thought.

You didn’t know what you were - just a patron and their hireling, or something more.

“W-well, it’s just…” You rub at your neck nervously. Your pulse sounds like thunder in your ears. “I don’t want to assume anything, but sometimes it feels like… maybe we…”

You can’t even get the words out. There’s a strange, suffocating fear gripping at your chest. You can’t help but worry that this will turn out to be a grand misunderstanding, and you’ll be made to look like a fool. Knowing that could end in Teldryn leaving your side is all the more terrifying.

He is silent for a second, which only increases your fear. Then he’s cracking a smile, one side of his mouth lifting. “You are adorable, Dovahkiin.”

Heat grows under your cheeks. You watch him as he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. His boot taps yours again, playfully.

“What do you want us to be?” He asks.

You blink at him. “Wha- you can’t ask me that!”

“Why not?” He laughs.

“You could be setting me up here,” you mumble. The warmth on your skin is spreading everywhere, and you worry you’ll start sweating any minute now.

“Now, now, I may have my dark side, but I’m not evil.” Teldryn’s smile turns into a grin. “I just want to hear you say it.”

“You are the worst. I regret saying anything.”

“Come on, tell me.” His eyes narrow, staring at you with paralyzing intensity. “What do you want us to be, serjo?”

You fight the urge to pick up your abandoned piece of bread and throw it at him. Instead, you take a deep breath in. You shift your foot under the table, extending it so that your leg leans into his a little. He holds your gaze, but you notice the way his eyes relax from their narrowed glare.

“I want us to be more,” you say, trying to keep your voice as firm and as steady as you can keep it. “I want you to be more than just a mercenary, and I want to be more than just your boss. I want us to be together because we want to be, not because we have to be.”

There’s another tense silence, in which he continues to simply stare at you. Panic overtakes you and you wave your hands in front of you a little. “Unless of course, you don’t want the same. Then I shall pay you a handsome amount of septims and we can pretend I never-”

“Sh.” He interrupts sharply, which works because you stop and look back at him. Your entire body is in overdrive. Your heart feels like it might leap out of your throat.

Teldryn’s smile softens. He unfolds one of his arms and pats at his lap. “Come here.”

You give him a split second “are you insane” look but he urges you again. You swallow the last of your nerves and stand, knees feeling a little weak as you step over to him. You take a very unsure, very careful seat on his leg. One of his arms immediately wraps around your waist to pull you closer. His other arm dives to pick up your legs and drape them across his lap, so you are situated comfortably against him.

It’s not fear that’s fueling your crazed heart rate anymore, but a thrill of elation. Especially your eyes lock with his, and you realize you’ve never seen them this close up before, their intense red color more hypnotizing than ever. In the cozy lantern lights of the inn, you could sit and study his details forever, from the angles of his face to the tiniest scar notched into his skin.

“Firstly, I don’t do this with any of my patrons,” he says , his voice so much closer and warmer, now that you hear it better amongst the noise of the inn.

“I’d hope not. Because if so, you might be in the wrong field of employment,” you quip, and his body quivers beneath your own with his laughter. You snake an arm around his neck, resting it over his shoulders. You can’t help but smile, a cheesy but genuine smile. Relief starts to sweep through you, eradicating the last of your worries.

“Second, consider this my resignation as your hireling,” Teldryn continues.

You arch an eyebrow in question. “What is your new title, then?” You dare to ask.

His hand moves off your leg and reaches out to take your own hand into it. You’d never felt his hand without his gloves on before. His skin is calloused but warm, and like him, it feels so strong, so protective.

He lifts your joined hands to his lips, planting a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “Yours. All yours,” he murmurs against your skin.

Were he not holding you so firmly right now, you might have actually swooned. That flutter in your abdomen floats up to your chest, where your heart feels like it’s blooming in joy. You don’t even care if there happens to be anyone looking at you two. It’s hard to care about anything else right now when he’s holding you like this, and looking at you with a tenderness reserved for only you.

“I do like the sound of that,” you admit. “I’ll approve it, so long as we make it fair and you consider me yours as well.”

He grins up at you, his arm giving you a playful squeeze around your abdomen. “Deal.” Then he lowers his arm at your back, which drops you just enough for him to lean in and join your lips together, as if to seal your new agreement.

[changeling-fae]

So I have an entirely indulgent headcanon that my main Tav/Durge, Nym, ends up accidentally getting knocked up by Haarlep during their encounter and now she has a cambion son that looks like Raphael’s kid that she and Astarion raise in the newly renovated Cazador manor.

Haarlep didn’t intend to knock her up and my explanation is Nym is the daughter of an abyssal cambion herself and the great granddaughter of Graz’zt, the demon prince of pleasure, decadence, and unlimited self indulgence, as well as the patron of corrupt authorities and tyrants. So basically her biology as a descendant of the abyssal forces meant shenanigans happen around other incubi/succubi that would have to be taken into account but Haarlep didn’t know and she didn’t know that that would happen.

She’s super pissed about being knocked up (can’t have any consequence relatively free fun it seems) but she actually likes kids and is a protective mom. She has a really weird love-hate relationship with Raphael already (that I’ll probably go over in a future post) and this just complicates things even further.

Her weird biology is also the reason she survives the birth because I say so.

Kid actually turns out pretty ok given his circumstances. He’s probably teetering on the chaotic good/neutral end of things. She and Astarion are the ones who actually raise him ‘cuz I can’t see Haarlep caring all that much; random offspring are probably par for the course with devils, especially incubi and succubi.

Nym has an extreme hatred of her mother and complicated feelings around her own heritage so she’d be super protective over her son and not wanting any of that nonsense to affect him.

Doesn’t stop her from visiting Raphael (and Haarlep) frequently because again, a messy and complicated relationship and situation.

I headcanon his ears are bit longer than shown in the pic (though not as long as hers) and he has his mother’s floof tipped tail with hidden stinger. Does not get her cloven hooves though. Nym had been born with wings so he definitely gets wings too.

Astarion makes for a pretty good, if at times overly indulgent and chaotic, dad.