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alchemistc · 1 month

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i present my latest offering of an au first meeting: the poker game.

Big Blind

Tommy's been on plenty of bad dates in his time, but this one might actually take the cake for worst first date he's ever had. They're just -- not right for one another, and it's clear they can both feel it, but for some reason Jeff just -- keeps talking. About his border collie rescue, and his sixth fourteener (this year), and the his upcoming promotion and the Cybertruck he's thinking about getting wrapped in matte black --

"Jeff," Tommy cuts in, when he starts in on Tesla stock talk. "I'm gonna pay the check and head out. It's been..." he gestures. Considers calling Stout right here at the dinner table to tell him no more blind dates with his stock broker brother-in-laws friends, no matter how gay they are.

He's gonna get shit from Stout's wife the next time she stops by with a casserole, but honestly a half-hour tirade on politeness from Heather Alexandra Stout sounds better than learning how much of an Elon Musk fanboy Jeff really is. Jeff looks like he might be offended by the implication that he wouldn't have paid, but Tommy's already waving down his server and gesturing to the bar by the time Jeff even thinks to reach for his wallet.

"You have a good night."

Andrea slides his check under his elbow with a raised brow and doesn't say a word when he hands her his card immediately, but he can tell she's judging him. Third date in a month he's barely contained his disdain for long enough to pay up, although this is the first he's outright ditched before the bill was even paid.

Gary slides a beer across the bar to him and refuses the cash Tommy tries to give him for it. "Do I look that pathetic, Gary?"

Man of few words, Gary just taps his nose and tips his chin to his date, who is doing a terrible job of trying to sneak out the door.

"You're too good for him, anyway," says Andrea, back already with his card. He tucks an extra twenty into her folder and downs the beer in silence while they watch through the window as Jeff seems to get into an argument with the Uber pulling up in front of the restaurant.

"Maybe it's me," Tommy says, and Gary hums in commiseration. Or maybe he just has gas. "Maybe I'm the problem."

It's been a string of bad dates, and before that a relationship that'd gone up in metaphorical but nearly literal flames. Tommy's spent a lot of introspective time wishing he could kill Gerrard with lasers so that he doesn't have to blame himself for staying in the closet so long that blind dates and Grindr meetups were his real introduction to the dating scene.

"Someday, Tommy, you'll meet someone who can't get enough of your morbid humor and your pessimism and your obsession with haunted cars."

"One car," Tommy argues, although that's beside the point. "I think maybe I should give the search for love a break, Gary."

Gary hums, again.

Tommy drinks the rest of his beer in companionable silence and pulls up his phone to order an Uber himself. Jeff is, thankfully, long gone, and Tommy's halfway through confirming his home address when he remembers the invite he'd received last week that he'd hesitated scheduling a date around. He shoots off a text instead, and updates the address before he slides from the bar stool.

Gary shoots him a look. "Headed home?"

Tommy shifts on his feet. Shoots a look behind the bar. "Nah. Gonna try to hit up a work thing. Pour me a shot of Tullamore for the road?"

Gary accepts the twenty this time and doesn't make a comment about the way Tommy downs a sipping whiskey, which Tommy appreciates.

He's halfway to his destination, enjoying the chat with his driver, when the text comes in from Lucy.

Had to bail, but you should go if the date went that badly. Williams will enjoy slowly ruining the remainder of your night.

Tommy taps his phone once, twice, three times before he makes up his mind not to be the asshole who changes his destination halfway through the ride. Worst comes to worst, he'll tap out early and Venmo Mehta the rest of his stake.

Better than moping at home with the pint of freezer-burned Ben and Jerry's.

-----

He's fairly rushed down the stairs once he's in, because apparently Williams is on some sort of time crunch, or something, and he's fairly certain the drinks are catching up to him as he takes in the table. Mehta and Wilson are regulars, and he's seen Rosen around, but there are two new guys settling in across the table and Tommy has to take a long, long moment to remind himself this is technically a professional setting before he can look too closely at either one of them.

Yeah. Shit, he'd definitely drank most of that second pitcher by himself, listening to Jeff talk.

"Kinard. We weren't expecting you." Rosen's eyes glimmer with amusement. He'd caught maybe six months of her probationary year, but every time she sees him she likes to remind him of the first time she'd seen him post-transfer, at a gay bar in WeHo, and introduced him to the first guy he'd dated seriously in his entire life. Tommy returns the favor by reminding her exactly how terribly that had ended for all parties. "Poker night dress code usually includes more buttons than date night," she jabs, finger circling the olives in her martini glass, and Tommy contemplates tossing one of Mehta's chips at her. Her grin goes wide.

With the momentary distraction, Tommy feels a little more prepared to face the two men now eyeing him curiously.

"Tommy," he says, leaning over the table, hand out to shake. Turtleneck raises a curious eyebrow when Mr. Red Velvet Smoking jacket practically leaps across his lap to shake back. "I'm over at 217."

"This is Eddie," Red Velvet introduces, and Tommy's gaze dances between them, curious. "I'm Evan. We're with the -- wait, 217 -- Chimney's Tommy?"

Tommy's brows dance up the same time as Eddie's do. He is still shaking hands with Evan. Or - holding is more accurate, he supposes, but for the sake of his sanity and the possible date Evan and Eddie are on, if he's reading the introduction or any of the vibes right (they're both stunning and Tommy is smarting from another shitty date, so who knows), Tommy keeps it to shake in his mind. "Well I don't think Howie can claim ownership of my person, but -."

"Sorry, no, I just meant..." Evan's gaze drops to their clasped hands, still now over the felt of the poker table. He gives one more firm pump and drops Tommy's hand. "We're both at the 118. Pretty sure you helped save this guy's ass once." He tips a thumb sideways to indicate the man he'd introduced as Eddie.

Tommy's eyes drift. He's had a few drinks, and up until about halfway through the date he'd been expecting a very different outcome for his night, so he's maybe not keeping a lid on things the way he normally would in a work setting. He's guessing the ass he's purported to have saved would look great, if it weren't firmly planted in his chair and out of view. The rest of the view ain't bad, either.

And.

Shit.

Williams is giving him a look, which means he's not being even a little subtle. "The gas main explosion," Tommy finally gathers from the cobwebs of his brain, and wouldn't it be his luck to transfer out of the 118 just in time for two annoyingly attractive men who may possibly be boning each other to take his place.

Evan grins. Beams, more like, and Tommy slides firmly into his own chair and tries not to be blinded by it. Or entranced by it. God he needs to get laid. Get this - whatever this is - out of his system.

Tommy's cool. Tommy's calm and collected and he hadn't even had that much to drink, actually, so why is he having such a hard time behaving like he's had forty years of experience dealing with attractive men?

Tommy sorts through the memories.

Eddie he can pinpoint fairly easily -- he'd shot off a message to Chim the moment they'd learned one of the 118 had been shot, and had been happy to break the news of his recovery to an anxious Harbor station in the tense days after it had all gone down. Evan, though - he doesn't have a clue who that could be. He's still got a few buddies from B Shift he talks to on occasion, but he doesn't remember any stories about an Evan from them, and Howie hasn't mentioned one, either.

Of course, it's not like either one of them does a great job of keeping in touch.

The mystery is solved a moment later when Williams tips her head at him. "Feels like we're being overrun by the 118 tonight," she says with a grin, but her gaze slides to Evan, rather than Tommy. "And we've got an honest-to-goodness legend tonight."

"You know I still can't believe you survived that, Buckley," Mehta says, and the puzzle piece slots itself into place. "Uh, although we're all glad that you did."

Buckley. Tommy shifts. Reassesses. Eyes the glance between Diaz and Buckley like he's gonna figure out their deal while he's already four and a half drinks deep into the night and hasn't already heard the larger than life tales of this duo from half-a-dozen gossipy paramedics. According to some, there's a secret torrid love affair going on behind the scenes of their codependent friendship. According to others, the ones he more or less trusts not to stretch the truth too far, they're friends -- closer than most, and maybe a little weird about each other, but friends all the same.

Buckley's a shark. Or, if Williams is to be believed, a bit of a cheat.

As the game goes on, and the conversation drifts from the morbid details of Buckley's three-minutes-seventeen-seconds of lifelessness, past the special skills near death experiences are rumored to cause, past the time out where they'd all admired the pictures of Buckley's Lichtenburg scars ("They faded pretty quickly," Evan says, with a soft little frown like he's a bit disappointed not to have any physical proof beyond a few shots of his naked brick shithouse of a chest.) Tommy can't help but admire the shift from bashful to smirking and smug as Evan keeps racking up monumentally improbable hands. He's a bit of a brat, actually, and Tommy can feel Rosen's eyes burning into the side of his head every time he ups the ante just to watch the flicker of triumph aimed in his direction every time Evan wins a hand Tommy raised.

Tommy's no slob with cards, on a normal day, but he's too busy trying not to read anything into the way Evan's eyes keep drifting to the v of the shirt he hadn't buttoned back up just to spite Rosen, or the way he keeps licking his fucking lips every time Tommy takes a sip of the whiskey at his elbow to really care as his chips dwindle to nothing. Tommy can't be entirely sure, but it seems like maybe Evan pouts, a little, when Tommy pushes back from the table to join the rest of the losers crowded around to watch Williams, Mehta and Buckley battle it out.

He's trying to think of a subtle way to ask Howie if Evan Buckley is just like that with all the men in his life when Eddie slides in beside him with a refill on his whiskey. Tommy grimaces. "I shouldn't."

"Thought you were trying to drink away a bad date?"

Tommy shoots Rosen a glare over Eddie's shoulder, but she's too busy chasing her straw with her tongue to notice.

"He was a Tesla fanboy," Tommy intones, and the braces himself for the reaction. He's used to it, now -- the constant cycle of coming out and waiting to see which new acquaintances bow out of getting to know each other any better. This is... earlier, than he usually drops it, but he hasn't been in the mood to lie about it in years, and Eddie had asked. He gets a raised brow and a grimace.

"Don't tell me you didn't know ahead of time," Eddie says, and Tommy loosens the grip on his glass.

"Hazards of blind dating."

Eddie's look is commiserating. He tips his beer bottle against Tommy's rocks glass. "Yeah, my tia keeps finding reasons for me to run into the eligible daughters and granddaughters of all her friends." Which Tommy supposes is answer to half of the question that's been plaguing him since he sat down.

Buckley gets cocky a few times, but it's clear the night is going his way even before Jeshan Mehta's pot gets swept up in Evan's arms. Williams holds out as long as she can.

"Beginner's luck!" Buckley crows, when Williams' last chip is added to his pile. Eddie's been supplying him with a steady flow of drinks for the past thirty minutes, and his smile is crooked as he tilts backwards in his chair for a fist bump. His eyes flick to Tommy's once he's received his congratulations from Eddie, and Tommy pretends he's not a little bit fascinated by the pull of his jacket over his arms, or the way his closed hand lingers near Tommy's even after Tommy has smacked his knuckles against his as well.

Evan Buckley is frustratingly adorable. Tommy's had too many drinks for any kind of decent decision making. He bows out while Evan and Eddie are collecting his winnings.

-----

Tommy's eyes flick to the readout on his phone. He doesn't recognize the number, but it's a local area code, so he picks up on the forth ring. "Go for Kinard."

"Uh - hey, hi. Hey Tommy." The voice is familiar, sweet and low. "It's Buck - Evan. Evan Buckley. I uh -- I got your number from Chim, I hope that's alright?"

Tommy's got a solid fifteen minutes before he has to leave for work, a raging headache that has thus far refused to accept electrolytes or Advil as tribute to his overindulgence the previous evening, and a full understanding that he's going to spend his shift listening to Donato swear up and down she's the better option for finding him a man, but the voice on the other end of his phone might at least give the headache a run for it's money.

"Evan. Hi."

"Hey. So -- you dipped before I could ask -- which is fine, obviously, I'm not -- uh..." He pauses. Tommy can practically picture the way he wets his lower lip while he searches for the right words. "Anyway I was wondering -- would you maybe wanna grab a beer, sometime?"

Tommy spends about fifteen seconds rearranging his entire schedule in his mind. Says, cool, calm, collected: "Sure. When are you free?"

Evan's voice goes distant for a second -- he's putting Tommy on speaker. "I, uh -- I didn't expect you to say yes so quickly. Actually I didn't expect you to answer -- who answers unknown numbers, anymore?"

"Who calls expecting to get sent to voicemail?"

The brat rises up immediately. "Uh, literally everyone. The missed call is just an excuse to text. It's basic phone etiquette, Tommy."

Tommy likes the way he says his name. Soft, sweet and slow, rolling over his tongue like molasses. This feels incredibly like flirting, but he can't get a fucking read on this kid. "Clearly I've missed out on an important cultural shift. I can hang up and we can do this the right way, if you want."

"No!" It's sharp -- louder, like he's raising the phone back towards his mouth. Tommy can't hide the grin leaking across his face. "Uh -- no, it's fine. Too late, anyway, I already know you don't know phone rules."

"Hopefully that doesn't change your opinion of me too much."

"I could be convinced to ignore it, with the right incentive."

"I'll buy first round," Tommy says, and wonders if he's got any other shirts he can play off as fitting better with three buttons undone. The flirting should be enough, but -- Tommy's still not sure drinks isn't just drinks.

"Wednesday night," Evan says, voice further away again. Tommy has a sudden, desperate urge to see what his Google calendar looks like. For all that he'd cut loose at the poker game, Tommy bets it's color coded by type of activity. "If that works. Or Saturday, any time, really. I'm uh -- I'm free then."

If Tommy bows out of trivia on classic car week Cynthia will have a whole ass bitch fit. And it makes him seem a little less eager, to boot. "Saturday. I've got a shift early Sunday, though, so maybe something in the afternoon?"

"Yeah -- yes, th-that works." The stammering isn't something Tommy can get a read off of. He'd done it just as much with Eddie as he'd done with everyone else. "There's a new brewery just off Pico and Prosser -- Chim said you were a fan of craft beer?"

Sounding more date like by the minute, but -- some guys toe the line. Could be Evan Buckley just wants to know more about flight operations, for all Tommy knows. "Text me the details. Look, Evan, I'd love to stay on this rule-breaking phone call and chat but I've got to head in for a shift. Just -- let me know the plan." He's got five minutes to brush his teeth and rue the moment he'd asked Gary for his first whiskey of the night. He's also rolling back his last few sentences and cringing at how abrupt he'd been. "And yeah -- good to know Chim hasn't forgotten the three facts I ever told him about me."

Evan laughs, just a soft little huff but Tommy already knows the grin behind that sound is all sorts of knee-meltingly sweet. "Cool. So. Yeah, I'll text you."

"I'll talk to you later, Evan."

"Yep. Talk to you -- talk to you soon."

Tommy waits a moment in silence. The call doesn't end. "Goodbye, Evan."

Evan huffs out another awkward laugh. "Yeah. Bye, Tommy."

The call disconnects just in time for Tommy to press his forehead into the cool tile beside his bathroom mirror. He might be monumentally screwed if this isn't a date. He hasn't been this fucking charmed by a man since -- well, it's been a while.

Tommy's phone buzzes in his hand. It's a pinned address from a number he doesn't have saved. Tommy swipes into the contact and updates it before the next text makes it through. Saturday 3PM?

Tommy brushes his teeth, downs the rest of his preworkout in the hopes that it'll ease some of the nastier parts of his stupid decision to keep drinking liquor past midnight, and stares at the text all the way out to his truck.

See you then, Tommy sends back, and he has to toss his phone into his passenger seat when he gets a series of incomprehensible emoji's almost immediately in response.

He holds up a hand to Donato the moment she catches his gaze, halfway across the parking lot. The brow goes up, the hand slots to her hip, and she rolls her tongue over her teeth, clearly ready for her speech about how Stout doesn't have a clue how to find Tommy a proper date. Tommy has other problems.

"You worked with Evan Buckley, for a while, didn't you?"

Her head tilt rights itself. The second brow dances up to meet the first. Whatever she'd meant to say disperses behind her eyelids as she seems to work through something in her mind. "Oh, this is compelling," she says, and practically skips forward to loop her arm in his.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #listen idk shit about poker #i do know tommy would be absolutely smitten with evan buckley as he got cockier and cockier with every hand of that poker game #anyway after this tommy realizes the drinks aren't a date but they COULD be #and like an idiot he decides he's gonna befriend and then romance the shit out of the oblivious bi boy #tommy helps buck deliver kam and connors baby and buck maybe kisses him about it #bucktommy alternate meeting

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cryptfile · 2 months

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᪇ꫭ dreamseeker, [ qimir x jedi!reader ]

summary — it all started when you find out he’s alive.

warnings — pure angst, violence, blood, mentions of injuries and tons of tension, sfw.

side notes — 4k+ // English's not my first language so please be kind! went slightly away with this one so would catalogue it as an alternative universe. Heard liking without reblogging makes you fall in an awful curse that breaks my heart in the process so let that sink in, anyway everything it's appreciated!,,, thought about making an +18 second part? dunno,,, thks also for the 110 followers! love you guys sooooo much *heart avalanche*

The air's hot in the room when you woke up.

The sweat made the sheets stick to you body as you got out of bed for the third time that week, a terrible headache forming as you leave the dormitories in the middle of the dark. Coruscant suddenly feels unbearable. You've slept almost nothing through the course of the week, so you surely are in a bad mood when the cold wind of the night makes you shiver at the sudden change of temperature.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

The words are repeating in the back of you head, scratching a part of your brain while you keep on trying to remember who's voice you're dreaming so much lately.

It's all connected somehow, always is. You've learned to trust the force a while ago, learned that destiny's intertwined with an energy field that holds the galaxy together the hard way, so you know, deep down, that you have to trust your guts in this one, something that you know it concerns you but can't quite understand what really is in the first place.

Dreams. Dreams are a cruel thing that you tend to forgot sometimes, the reflection of the mind and soul projected like a high-class transmission in your head. Dreams talk, and they make you think about things you've let in the past, things you've certainly need to come back at some point.

That's why you can't sleep later, cause you know it means something. You know that dreaming the very same dream every single night for the past week means something more than just mere imagination playing around, far from an innocent scenario.

The temple is silent at night even when the city outside seems to be so wake in contrast of the inside, most of the lights out as you crossed the empty hallway hoping to avoid anyone, cause you know they'll ask questions you don't have an answer for.

In all truth, you don't have a clue why are you up so late, why this deep voice kept you awake when you should be deep in your sleep, dreaming about something more than superstitions. You don't have an answer to any superior, don't seem to have an answer for yourself either.

The Jedi trials ended long ago, yet, you don't think of yourself as someone as successful as Yord Fandar, your talent being far from what it should be expected. You never complain about anything and never would, they were the only family you ever knew and you refuse to lose everything you've been working so hard for just for questioning your bare existence.

"Can't sleep?" The male voice makes you stiff almost immediately, checking your surroundings to notice Master Sol approaching you from the left. The Jedi Master catches you by surprise, your hands already on the lightsaber that is hanging on your waist before you notice you're safe, even when you don't want to talk. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

There are things that are worth hiding, but with Sol? Master Sol seems to see through it all, the worries and the dreams that you don't know if you should call nightmares, even when you try to lock them away for a minute. That's the main reason the man stares at you, cause you expel that smell of desperation, the tension in your muscles as you don't sleep in what seems are ages.

"What's troubling you?" He asks, your own eyes betraying you as they can't hold the weight of his gaze. "I know it's not my place to ask, but are you sleeping well lately?"

"Not really, but nothing to worry about" you say almost afraid that it's going to get you in trouble, the lack of sleep making you think the most stupid things as you stop in the middle of the hallway, making sure there's no one around more than Master Sol and yourself.

Not sleeping is a dangerous thing when reality tends to become a feverish version of itself.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

You're unsure of telling him what's really going on, unsure of trusting the people you've been close your whole life out of nowhere. A sudden sixth sense that commands you to keep the dreams to yourself, the sound of the male voice you've been listening like the most important secret you've ever hold account of.

It's almost embarrassing to admit you don't trust a Jedi above your rank, that your sixth sense all of sudden makes you keep the truth when it can be something important, when Master Sol has been like a friend to you after all those years of training.

Things have been weird since your Jedi Master was found recently murdered in Ueda, a heavy weight in your shoulders as it saddened you more than you even expected. Master Indara was like close family, and you find yourself missing her, mostly in moments like that when you wish you have someone to talk to

“I was going to the dormitories” Sol explains soon after, walking by your side. “I needed to ask you for a favor my dear friend, and I’m afraid I cannot wait much longer for you to heal.”

Heal. Are you ever allowed to heal? It’s been less than a couple of days since you found out about Indara, let alone the dreams that were tormenting you the rest of the week and suffer the loss, so it seems funny when Master Sol tells you he cannot wait much longer: No Jedi ever has time to heal.

“What can I do to help?”

It’s all it takes to leave Coruscant after, trapped in space in a small ship with not only Master Sol, but Yord and Sol’s younger padawan Jecki Lon, strange enough, also with Verosha Aniseya, a former Jedi you keep an eye on through time passed.

Suddenly you’re traveling through the galaxy and there’s no time for any more tears. Suddenly you need to toughen up and act like this Jedi Knight you’re supposed to be, even when you keep questioning yourself more than ever.

Maybe it’s because of Indara’s death. Her decease came so out of nowhere it shocked you to the very heart — It’s clear that you’re sensitive, dreaming stuff you’ve been getting tired of deciphering, pure nonsense, but then, the ship lands in Khofar and Sol it’s convincing you to stay inside even you’re perfectly capable of taking Verosha’s twin and his alleged master.

It’s your own mind that plays tricks on you, making you believe you’re not good enough to help. Truth is you felt your training as a padawan was not enough, you’re an easy target now that you’re hurt and it seems to make sense when all of sudden the group of Jedis leave you to fucking rot between white walls and buttons that sparkled.

It’s clear you’re affected. How can you not be affected by it? You’re overcome by sadness and anger both mixed together, and that feeling by itself is a dangerous one when in history, makes people question things too much to the point of no return.

So when you find yourself close to the light of the hologram that you turned on being so bored in the ship, your fingers dim between the white and blue rays as you wondered: Is it honorable to seek for revenge? Is it true to a Jedi to feel this gut-wrecking wrath?

You know the answer deep inside. You know it’s wrong, yet your feet think otherwise, cause when you leave the ship in the middle of the night you still debate yourself if you should disobey, if you should do what you want instead, walking through the woods like you know which way to go.

You never disobey any command, so it’s a new thing to openly doubt about the judgement of your superiors, to walk in an unknown planet despite the orders you were told. The path seems to light by itself as you can sense it in the air, the force conducting you in silence as you walked in a fast pace. You know deep down, know everything went wrong.

The blue light of your sable is enough to light the way, the humidity in the air makes you sweat as concentrated in the sounds of the nature, you run, run until your lungs are burning and your heartbeats are so fast you’re afraid the organ itself is going to jump out of your chest. You run even when the long leaves of the plants hit you in the face, when your legs are getting cramps and you can feel the lack of oxygen: The pain is not enough to stop you.

You can hear it from far away, the heat of the fight. The sounds of the physical effort, the buzzing of the lightsables against the silent night. Adrenaline creeps across your blood flow, and even when you can't breathe properly at all you run to the chaos, driven like a moth to the flame. You let the force conduct you as you close your eyes, jumping and elevating from the floor enough to hold the sable from over your head — You attack.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

It’s coming again, the rough sound of your dreams when your blue sable hits the red out of nowhere, force colliding against each other as the impact is enough to send you directly to the floor. You know who the enemy is, the surprise in Jecki’s face and the disapproval moments after

The stranger is fast and he doesn’t hesitate when he strikes, it’s fast enough to hurt in a mortal way and you became aware of it when Jecki’s falling to the ground and the acid in your mouth is enough to make you look away — The anger comes moments after, the red stains blurring your vision as you let out a scream, gathering the force to dodge his deadly attack.

It’s for Indara, the young padawan, and the Jedi’s he just slayed like they were nothing: It stings in your soul yet you stop holding back, stop holding yourself to finally hit harder, to strike faster than he does, to hurt the stranger as much as he hurted you. And he responds, but not fast enough to beat you, cause you let the metallic back of your sable hit his head when he’s kneeled on the floor, and you smile to yourself cause you have no damn mercy when his helmet finally cracks and it’s enough to break apart revealing his face.

It’s all it takes then. All it takes to froze you in that very spot, holding the sable over your head, ready to end his life with no second thought.

You know that face. You know it when suddenly he’s smiling at you.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

It makes sense soon after, lowering the sable to the floor without fully believing it, a ghost in front of you as you feel the air leaving your lungs. Drinking the sight of him like he’s not real, like it’s a sick joke your mind made to break you down, to make you weaker.

You’re pulled by a sudden force, by the force. However, falling to the floor hurts way less than seeing him again, the words stuck in your throat unable to speak. It’s imminent, it’s devastating when the pain catches you by surprise, your back aching against the rough surface.

He’s going to kill you, isn’t he?

It makes sense to die by his hand. The memories you two share, the intimacy that was taken away so sudden, it only makes sense to die by the one you loved before, even if it's a surprise you'll never recover from.

The heat of his red lightsaber against your neck is not enough to scare you, but enough to finally look at his face, to encounter his eyes and reveal the truth that was hidden all along between lies. You experience the intensity of his gaze, how it softens when realizing you're looking at him with that same look you have been doing it years ago.

"You're alive" it slips away from you before even noticing, the sound of your voice wrapping him in a haze he didn't expect at first, to be so devastated by you even after all the time resenting the Jedi's and everything they represented "Qimir you're alive..."

He knows you're shocked, the sound of your voice piercing in his ears as he threatened with the weapon against your neck, any sudden movement would slice you in the second — "Hello to you too."

He's real, when he speaks out loud you know he's real, he's standing in front you erasing all the theories you made about not sleeping enough now making you delusional, he's there, standing ready to kill and take what he wants to feel like he won.

It's a personal vendetta, you know it as you expect any answer, any word at all until Sol's screaming as he's taken away from you once again.

He's not a friend, he's not the Qimir you once knew, and he's not someone you can trust again as he was ready to kill. He's not was he used to be, and you can tell by the way he moves, the way he goes against Master Sol hoping to leave the Jedi in the floor, his anger when he refers to his acolyte as a traitor.

He's the one responsible for Indara's death indirectly. He's not a lover. He's not a friend.

You think he died years ago, never really understanding what really happened to the bright man you met in Coruscant, a secret no one dared to bring up. He has the same fucking smile you know too well, the one that make you crumble completely in the sight, and it sadden you, it saddens you he take that path when you seem to woke up from whatever has you nailed to the floor and finally run to help Sol.

You believe you're in the right side, you've been taught about the light and the dark, and you put your heart out filling your mouth saying how you're doing good, how you're making things right.

It's kill or get killed. It’s clear that Qimir does not seem to care about any connection you shared before, hurting you no longer means whatever it meant before, and as the sable burnt your tight, no one cares when you're fainting in the floor, abandoning the fight when it approaches his end.

Sol's mad, but it's not enough to make the master stop to check if you're alive. So many lives were lost in Khofar, and the fight was so demanding you're soon forgot in a planet when the sun is finally rising.

You know you've always been alone, know the last time you saw your family you were too young to even remember, so it's not a surprise when you're left behind. Jedi's come and go, that's why they keep training them generation after generation — It's expected to lose some percentage in missions.

What's not expected, it's when Qimir is close to your cold body later in the early morning. Still deep induced in the fever of pain when he's betrayed by his own heart, his old feelings resurfacing even when he made sure to bury them in a hole in the back of his head.

He's weak it seems. And he should be ashamed of himself when he's the one carrying you back to his ship when everyone has left you behind.

I'm searching for you. Even in my dreams.

Is that his voice? The rough sound that makes you wake up in a uncomfortable place with clothing you don't remember owning.

You're confused for a second before realizing you're in unknown place, a cold breeze shivering your skin: You're in someone's house, using someone's bed.

It's all it takes to make you stand up, leaving the warm sheets behind as your eyes scan the place looking for both a person or a way out. There's a saucepan in the fire cooking slowly, and a smell you can't describe at first.

You move carefully, theories in your mind about what happened that seemed so imposible. You're sure you're far from Coruscant where you should be, yet, you don't feel much danger when you discover you're left alone in what it seems to be a cave, one that lets a windy current enter through a slit between the rocks.

You're unsupervised: Does that mean you're not a prisoner?

You remember fainting in the cold surface of Khofar, the humidity in the air as the air leaves your lungs before entering a state of unconsciousness. You remember Qimir as a ghost in front of you, smiling like he's young again, trying to get to your room in the middle of the night as if it wasn't forbidden.

Was that your dream about? A warning about the stranger being alive?

You don't dare to drink the water, you don't dare to touch any belonging more than the necessary when inspecting. Its more of a hiding than a home itself, so it lacks of belongings as you can't find anything else more than your clothes, protecting yourself from the cold air.

You're not treated as a prisoner, yet you don't feel any safe at all due to the recent events that seemed to say otherwise. You cannot seem to find your sable, and the silence it's making you lose patience.

The cave is a mess soon after, you're searching for your most important weapon, so now the lack of it seems to make you nervous. You search until you're no longer alone, a new presence in the cave as you adopt a pose of defense.

"Where's my sable?" you ask to what it seems the air, acting all tough before noticing who's the person that dragged you to a different planet, the responsable of healing your wounds with a unexpected speed. You know who it is from before, the change in the cave when he's around even when you don't receive any answer back "I'm talking to you, Qimir."

He doesn't talk when he's tossing it over the things he brought from outside, the orange details in the heavy metal shining against the dim lights of the cave. He knows you are not leaving without it, that you're too attached to it for your bad luck.

"Where am I?" you ask soon enough. At this point you lack of patience out of all, you're tired and your body is sore, you're still dreaming that very same thing, and you're not resting enough to keep your mind sane, so it's not a surprise when you're demanding answers, after all, you wanted to know what happened back in Khofar.

It hits you how much you miss him now that he is in front of you in full silence, not in the middle of violence like before, how much you wanted to hug him until he no longer breathes and spat something stupid as a not-very-funny joke. You miss him after all those years of believing he's death, that he disappeared out of sudden without telling nobody, not even you.

The silence makes you mad, and the stranger knows it, sense it in the force when the anger hits you, filling the air of the cave that feels small even when the spaces are big enough. He lied. That's all you can think of, he lied and never bothered to tell you he's alive after suffering his departing so whole heartedly.

Nights without sleeping as you let the insomnia carry you to a state you can't leave, overflowed by feeling you've learnt to deal with in the pass of time. Time heals it all they say, but it just makes things more bearable, help you live with it.

But now. Now it was cruel, it's a wound that opened by itself with the things you saw, the person he was now, embracing his dark side like it was something worth celebrating.

"Talk to me," you say, and you don't know why you're the one asking for answers when you shouldn't. "This is not fucking fair."

Fair.

"Nothing's ever fair," he says, and the sound of his voice is enough to make you shiver. Now that you're surrounded only by the crashing sound of the waves hitting the rocks outside, you can hear him without the buzz of the fight. "Your people know that very well. You make the rules after all. You decide what's fair in the galaxy."

It's a knife in your heart. You don't want him to affect you like he does, but it's impossible when it stings like a burnt from the sable, the weight of his words, the hatred on his tone when he spits the words like they're acid in his tongue.

"I've never made nothing" it's a declaration of self-hatred at it most, how you've not been capable of doing much even when you pride on being called a Jedi Knight. "You know that."

There's no response. You're used to follow orders, not question, trust you're working with the correct side, so his look is something new, something that leaves goosebumps on your skin.

"You're alive," you still don't believe it at first, now studying his factions like they were still craved in stone back on your head. "After all these years, you couldn't tell me you were alive?"

It's a bad joke, one that makes you laugh leaving a bittersweet taste in your mouth — "You couldn't tell your best friend you were leaving? Nobody talked about you all of sudden, you became a dream. Almost making me sure you never existed at all."

"That's what they told you? That I leaved?" the way he's telling the information makes you furrow your brows in response, trying to make sense of what he was saying: Was he implying they lied to you?

"Please, explain me then" you're not in the mood of fighting, instead, you want information, crucial information to what you were choosing to be "Enlighten me. Tell me why you left me there without saying goodbye. Why it doesn't seem to affect you as much as it affected me."

The stranger has grown cold. He has now adapted beneath this rough amour that separated him from what he was before. So he doesn't give you any answers even when you question him, looking at you without saying a word.

You've changed too. You're not the little padawan that followed Indara around and look up at Torbin, you're not afraid of showing your force anymore, after all those years he has told you you're more than capable of defeating any enemy, you are starting to believe it more that ever. Even when he's not around to see that change happen in front of his eyes.

He's not going to answer, he's not talking nor giving you what you needed.

"Am I prisoner?" you ask again, another question added to the pile.

"Does it look like you're being held?" he asks back, squatting close to the stove in the fire to the stir his soup. "No. You're not my prisoner."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He always was a man full of pride, but now it seemed he thrive in it, in sharing his knowledge he was sure it was so powerful he needed to take a pupil, some kind of dark padawan he wanted to train.

"I don't know you anymore Qimir," you state out loud, hoping to talk to him as a long-time friend, as the person he was in love all those years but never acted on it too afraid of the rules at first. "I don't know who you've become, and i've been mourning you like it's only yesterday you vanished from my life, yet you've been alive, plotting against your family."

"Family?" he asks, hurted by the words you choose. "I've never had a family. You know that very well, it was always me against them, against anyone who questioned their power, their use and knowledge of the force."

"So is that how we are going to act now? Like pride is enough to make you leave and act like we were never a thing? That I wouldn’t die for you without even question?" you seem disappointed as you speak — “Why you didn’t kill me back there when you had the chance?”

He's taken back by your words, the sincerity as you admit what it seemed impossible to say back then. It’s known by him the feelings he had for you were enough to stop the whole galaxy, but he never had the courage to say something about it, to go against the rules and let alone admit to you anything at all.

So to know that you care for him, even when you talked about it like it was in the past, is enough to make him short-circuit, to make his face change in a new look.

“You already know why I didn’t kill you” he says it so casually while cooking, that even when you stand in the middle of the room trying to think about anything, anything more that him and his powerful gravity that made you spin around him, drawn by his pulling force — “Doesn’t matter who you stand with, i’d never do anything to you.”

You let that sink in. You let him say it cause maybe, deep down, it’s what you need. Your eyes are full of tears but you don’t want to let any single tear roll from your eyes the second you feel the sadness, you don’t want to show any weakness whatsoever, anything that will make you look less than what you really are.

“I could ask you the same” he says soon after, looking at you from over his shoulder in a low voice that sends shivers down your spine “Why did you let me live back there?”

It’s a bruise in your ego, to your sense of defense — Walls up, not letting any feeling show at all. His question is left out in the space as you look at him through narrowed eyes, reminding yourself he’s the enemy.

He cannot have the satisfaction. He’s the one behind Verosha’s twin sister after all, the one who send her to seek her own revenge. You know you should kill him with no second though, to cease with the leak, destroy the rebel cause that was so dark and powerful, so dangerous, but as before, you can’t hurt him by any chance, too attached to the enemy to even think about using the force against him.

Qimir. You don’t expect him to be alive, to be so angry at his lies. You don’t expect him to be the threat to peace and tranquility you’ve been so warned about.

Fuck that. You can’t deal with him again.

Maybe you are a coward after all, not worthy of being called a Jedi Knight. Always too unsure, questioning if you’re doing things the right way.

It’s not your fight. It’s not your place to be, you’re not his prisoner so you reach your lightsaber quick enough to leave his side, holding the weapon against your bare hands as you leave the cave, facing the daylight and the ocean in front of you.

You're not his prisoner, so you quickly leave as soon as you can leave, unable to hold his gaze anymore, to answer a question you shouldn't be asked. Even if it's cold outside, the sun still shines and you are sure you're going to find a ship that will take you out of there, as far as possible — Maybe, even leave him there.

But when you walk, you're followed close by in silence. Not a prisoner, but not free enough to leave free whiningly.

Even when you pace fasten enough to try to leave him behind, it seems like it's not a physical effort to follow you near by, to follow the same footsteps you give in order to look for a way to get out.

What's his plan anyway? Follow you forever? He's going to get tired soon enough, the problem is you don't have the patience enough to wait for it, you can't wait for Qimir to be enlightened by mercy, to be rational, to let you leave so you can be as far away from him as possible.

So at any sudden sound, you happen to snap, to turn on the sable in one swift movement, quick enough to pull it against his neck, almost touching his skin, the blue light reflecting in his pupils as he seemed pleased by your attention.

That's what he wants in the end. Even if it's anger, he wants to get any reaction out for him.

"Stop following me around" it's a knot on your throat, a sting in the heart as you threat him, the sound of your voice almost mixing with the loud crashing of the ocean. "You said yourself, i'm no prisoner."

He can sense your anger yet he's devastated by what you've become, devastated by finally being in front of you. Even when you're hesitating to spare his life once again, he's driven by the smell he was so caught on before, the memories you brought, attacked by the lonely life he was forced to live, the perks he enjoyed embracing his dark side.

It seems like forever, an eternity while the energy just flows, while the tension consume you both.

You're caught in a spiderweb you cannot get out, cause when he opens his mouth to speak again, you don't expect to make your world tremble that way.

"I was searching for you."

You know what's coming next, the sound of his voice like a recorder playing over and over in your head, the vibrations of his tone matching the ones you've been dreaming about lately.

"I was searching for you. Even in my dreams."

It's enough to make you lower your sable.

To make the stranger smile.

my masterlist

#cryptfile's happy 100!#qimir x reader #qimir x you #qimir the acolyte #star wars the acolyte #the acolyte #qimir #the stranger x reader #the stranger #qimir x fem!reader #manny jacinto #manny jacinto x reader #cryptfile // star wars #qimir drabble #star wars qimir #star wars x reader #osha aniseya #mae aniseya

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ozzgin · 10 months

Note

Girl I love Daitou but I'm ngl I need more of Yazuya😭 if you can, can you write headcanons about him please? I'd appreciate it thank you <3

Yandere!Yakuza x Reader Headcanons

Ultimate dating guide and palate cleanser featuring the gangster boys (Kazuya and Daitou). For those that have been left hanging for proper romance.

Content: gender neutral reader, mildly NSFW

Tags: @swagbucksjester @lucienbarkbark @moonieper @nu-vino @vee-love @tamaki-simp @pinkazelma

[Yakuza Masterlist]

Kazuya

Kazuya was raised in a brothel, surrounded by women, so he is much more knowledgeable than the average man when it comes to feminine matters. Similar to someone who grew up having sisters, you can talk to him about anything and everything and not only will he be empathetic towards your problems, but he might offer tips and tricks you didn’t even know about. Not too shocking when he’s already heard multiple variations of whatever is bothering you.

The downside to his upbringing is that intercourse has always felt terribly transactional to him. He has a hard time associating it with intimate relationships. He will flirt a lot with you, but despite all the sexual innuendos, he won’t actually do anything until later in the relationship. He struggles with the irrational worry that sex will somehow taint the quality of your bond, making it feel cheap. Dating you has helped him realize that such things can be done out of love as well.

He is extremely affectionate and well mannered when dealing with you. Which may sometimes cause you to forget there’s a reason him and Daitou are good friends. While he isn’t as ill-tempered as his younger self, it doesn’t take much to anger him still. It’s a rare occurrence for you to witness it, but when he has it out for someone, he nearly matches Daitou in ruthlessness. He's very prideful and protective and will not hesitate to crush whoever challenges him or messes with you.

If you have a group of (girl)friends, you can confidently bring him with you with the only risk being that he’ll steal your spotlight. He can charismatically slide his way into any kind of conversation and you can hardly believe that this is the same man cracking gross jokes over his latest murder to his fellow criminal buddies. You might consider him a social chameleon, having no trouble adapting to any environment.

Smokes like a chimney and you have to slap the cigarette out of his hand sometimes because he’ll just light one up anywhere (including your bedroom).

Now this one is for the ones that are into it: God forbid you accidentally call him Daddy because he’ll ride that high until the end of time. He loves the idea and will tease about it with every opportunity. “Terrible weather today. Should Daddy drive you to work instead?”, or “Is that any way to talk to Daddy?” for when you’re out in public.

Daitou

One neat detail about being with Daitou is that you get to see a lot of things you took for granted in a new light. Whatever you assumed was a common experience for everyone, like having a picnic or going to the amusement park, is utterly foreign to him. He was raised by the Yakuza and barely interacted with anyone before meeting Kazuya; civilian past times were never presented to him. So you get to witness his shocked and delighted expression as he tries all these things with you.

Thankfully you don’t have to worry about teaching him the…intimate aspects of a relationship. Kazuya has that covered. And Daitou seems to be a rather fast learner, because he’s incredibly gentle and careful with you. Part of it is due to his own fear of messing it up. He’s only ever been good at breaking and killing people. Despite that, he loves you so much. He has to be the best boyfriend for your sake. Surely these hands of his can do more than just damage.

He might actually be a little too eager to learn the ropes. More than once you’ve walked in on him reading a graphic manga and nearly choked, mumbling an apology for interrupting his…activity. He’ll look at you with a confused expression, completely unbothered and wondering why you’re so embarrassed. He was flipping through the pages for ideas, given he’s never had any kind of experience himself. Ah. That explains the random kinky gestures he’s started doing without shame or doubt. You’ll have to do some tweaking in the near future.

This may come as a surprise, but Daitou is exceptionally good at household chores like cleaning and cooking. Registering with the Yakuza involves a mandatory apprenticeship of several years where you do menial tasks for your higher ups. Additionally, the time he served in jail has left him with a lot of discipline and organization. Somewhere between adorable and comical is how you’d describe the sight of him kneeling on the floor and carefully folding the kitchen towels while waiting for the stew to simmer.

Daitou isn’t exactly what you’d traditionally call jealous. His only frame of reference is Boss, thus he will treat you with the same kind of loyalty and dedication. You wouldn’t expect a mere nobody to walk up to the Head of the Family, so anyone approaching you will, similarly, be violently kept away until their intentions are clear. You are his most prized possession, after all. He’d do anything for you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #female reader #yandere yakuza #yakuza x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere mafia #mafia x reader #yandere original character #yandere oc #male yandere x reader

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whimsyfinny · 6 days

Text

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader, eventual smut

Warnings: language, mention of drugs

Chapter Word Count: 2330

—-MDNI—-

A/N: wooooop new series! I'm trying something new with this one! As a mom myself I loooove reading mom!reader fics, so I wanted to write my own. It's a slightly shorter first chapter, but the following ones should be longer. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, reading your comments makes my day ❤️ and of course, this is proofread only by myself so pls pls let me know of any errors! I really hope you enjoy it. I also didn’t write this at 2am for once so brownie points to me hahaha

Photos from Pinterest

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Chapter 1

“Come on, (Y/n)! You have to tell me all about it! What was he like? Did you kiss? Hold hands? Where did he take you?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the rapidfire questions spewing from Kats mouth. Kat, the stunner sat opposite me with perfect dark skin and the inability to have a bad hair day, was my closest friend. We lived on the same street, drank at the same bar and both hated this small, slightly judgemental town equally. We bonded over the similarities in our lives - like both of us having fallen pregnant at a young age and being dealt the hand of having to raise our kids as single parents. Life was fucking hard sometimes (well, nearly all the time), but my son, Levi, and Kat, made this life worth living.

“Jesus Christ, ok! The date was ok.”

“Uh oh. ‘Ok’? That means it was awful, right?” she raised an eyebrow.

I took a gulp of my coffee.

“The date was ok. But he was…. Seriously not my type. He was too…perfect?” I winced as the words left my mouth, fully aware of how utterly ridiculous that sounded.

“Girl, ‘too perfect’? What the fuck kind of excuse is that?” Kat snorted slightly into her latte.

“I know, I know. But he reminded me of a Ken doll, ya’know? With his white jeans and his Armani sweater over his shoulders - that’s not really… me. The dude gets more manicures than I do. Plus he drives a Fiat Panda. Levi wouldn’t be caught dead getting in and out of one of those.”

“You can’t use your sons taste in cars to dictate the men in your life. That’s a low blow and you know it.”

“Ok then, you go out with Robert and tell me about all the kale facts that you never wanted to learn.” I leant back on the couch, clutching my coffee with both hands to bring some warmth to my fingertips. Kat did the same opposite me, leaning back in the plush armchair as we both took a second to glance out of the large café windows. This was our happy place, right here. It was the place we would come to when we first met and the boys were still in diapers. It was our happy place for the last nine years, and we would come here for every situation: be it a breakup, a catch-up, to discuss terrible sexual encounters or dire situations that need insane back-up plans. But we mostly came here to people-watch. Being the young, single moms that we were, we were constantly under the scrutiny of the small town, having every decision judged by the perfect Jeep-driving soccer moms and the old ladies from church. When we came here, to sit by this window in these comfy-as-fuck couches, it was our turn to do a little judging.

“Vicki Priestley isn't fooling anyone with those sunglasses,” I said, taking another sip of coffee as I watched the thin peroxide blonde across the street repeatedly wipe her nose with the back of her hand.

“Right? We get shunned for…well… fuck all, yet that Paris wannabe can snort coke on a Tuesday school run and everyone turns a blind eye? What a joke.”

“Amen to that,” we watched her for a few more seconds as she climbed behind the wheel of some monstrous four by four and sped off down the road.

“Did you hear that Mrs. Harris caught Mr. Harris with a young mistress? Apparently she works at the bank.”

“Oh my GOD yes I heard!” Kat exclaimed, leaning forward, “and as revenge she put Nair in his shampoo - he's completely hairless, even his eyebrows are gone.”

We both snickered as we raised our mugs.

“To Mrs. H for taking no shit.”

Conversation flowed as topics ranged from the new dessert parlour that opened last week down the road to the extortionate price of kids' Motocross gear.

“I mean the bikes are so tiny, why do they have to cost that much?”

“You're preaching to the choir babes, Toby just outgrew his boots for the third time this year,” Kat grimaced at the thought of how much money she'd spent already.

“Ouch, they're like what? Eighty bucks a pair?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah well, I had to get Levi a new helmet after that little dickhead from the tournament last month crashed into the side of him. That boy was more upset about the stickers he lost than the bruises he got,” I shook my head with a smile on my lips. Kat did the same.

“That's a tough kid you've got there.”

I sighed.

“Yeah I know. Despite never having met him, he's so much like his dad. It's a little concerning actually,” I laughed nervously, instantly regretting bringing up Levi’s father in front of Kat. I glanced up at her, taking a sip of my coffee in an attempt to hide behind the mug. The wiggling of her eyebrows being an indicator of her impending wrath.

“That man is the reason why you’re never satisfied with your dates. He set that bar waaaay too high.”

I scoffed. “He did not. We were young and he just swept me off my feet a bit, that’s all; with that ‘give ‘em Hell’ attitude and handsome face. Plus he had a great car.”

“Last time you said his face was ‘gorgeous’,” Kat cupped her face and fluttered her eyelashes, puckering her lips. I threw a sugar packet at her which she batted right back at me.

There was a moment of quiet as we both looked out the window again, my mind unable to stop itself from racing through old memories.

“Do you think he’ll ever come calling?” Kat asked, some sincerity to her tone. I sighed and slumped back further on the couch.

“I highly doubt it. He doesn’t even know that Levi exists. I tried calling him a few years back but some guy John W. had that number instead. I gave up after that. Plus, he had this kinda dangerous job, and normally if he showed up it was because something was going to go down,” I paused, looking into the dark liquid in my cup, “It’s probably a good thing that he hasn’t just shown up.”

“You say that, but you still have that photo you took together on your vanity.”

I shot her a look, pursing my lips and pinching my brows as she laughed, knowing she'd stumped me there. I quickly downed my coffee and checked my watch before standing and grabbing my bag.

“Come on, let's stop interrogating me and go pick up the boys before all Hell breaks loose at the track.”

“Mom it wasn't my fault, I swear.”

I slammed the car door closed and turned to the boy who stood close enough to be my shadow.

I turned around to face him with a stern expression, “so you did do it? After I called that boys mom a liar? LEVI.”

Levi, my son, looked close to tears, his bottom lip trembling.

“Mom, I'm so sorry! I'll never do it again!”

I narrowed my eyes at him before sighing, already exasperated, throwing the car keys into my bag.

“Did you at least stick to the golden rule?”

His answer was a vigorous nod, the tremble in his lip disappearing.

“‘Never throw the first punch; throw the second and finish the fight,’” he recited the words like a prayer.

“And…?”

“‘Always claim self defence.’”

I smiled and ruffled his soft brown hair.

“Good boy. What started the fight anyway?” I asked, guiding him to walk through the parking lot towards that new dessert parlour.

“He said I was weird for not having a dad.”

I looked down at him, eyes softening and I lifted a hand to rub his shoulder. It wasn't the first time he'd had this argument, and it likely won't be the last. Kids can be assholes. “And then he hit me when I said ‘at least my mom's boobs are real.’”

“Levi!” I stopped in my tracks and looked at him, mortified. I didn't even know where to start with that one. “Where-”

“Jamie from math class told me what ‘implants’ were… and he said that Brad's mom had them.”

He looked up at me innocently, and I knew then that he didn't fully grasp what he'd said to Brad - the kid he'd just punched between the eyes. I sighed for the umpteenth time and started walking again.

“Whatever, just… don't say that to anyone again, ok? You're gonna make me look like a terrible parent.”

“Ok mo- whoa! Look at that car!” It was Levi's turn to stop dead in his tracks as he stood in awe of the sleek black car parked by the sidewalk.

A black Chevy Impala.

“Oh wow,” my words came out slightly breathless, my mind suddenly racing to him and the conversation I'd had with Kat earlier that afternoon.

“So cool!” Levi gushed, walking up close to it but not close enough to touch.

“Yes, very cool. Now let's go inside before they run out of ice cream,” I ushered him to the door, reflexively looking over my shoulder, not knowing if I even wanted to see who could possibly be in the area.

The bell jingled as we walked in and Levi ran up to the counter, pressing his forehead to the glass. My eyes scanned the menu and I was pleasantly surprised to see they served coffee.

“What do you fancy kiddo?” I ruffled his hair again and waited for him to decide, and it wasn't long before he'd made up his mind. After ordering, we headed towards a small table-for-two at the edge of the room, and as Levi slumped down in his chair something familiar caught my attention.

A voice.

My heart quickly became erratic in my chest and my palms grew sweaty. I looked in the direction the voice had come from and was met with a slap in the face from memory lane.

There he was; the same wicked grin and mischievous eyes that had burned themselves into my memory. He dressed the same as he did nine years ago - right down to the necklace and leather jacket. He was engrossed in a conversation with another man, who looked slightly younger than himself, all whilst digging into a stack of waffles.

“Mom?”

The sound of Levi's voice snapped me out of the stunned fog I was caught up in and I quickly sat down, trying my best to focus on my son and not the man who was sitting only a few feet behind him. Levi looked like he was about to ask another question when a giant chocolate sundae and a coffee appeared at the table. I heard the waitress challenge Levi to finish the whole thing, but it was like I was listening to the world through water. My mind wouldn't stop racing. He's here. Do I talk to him? Will he remember me? Do I tell him about Levi? I hurriedly pulled my phone from my bag and sent her a hasty message before turning back to the boy in front of me, convincing a smile to appear on my lips.

“If you have room in that black-hole stomach of yours then you definitely could've finished your veggies earlier at dinner.”

He smirked slightly, like he always did when he knew he was getting away with murder, and it almost took my breath away. I saw the same smirk grace the lips of the man in the booth behind him. The mans gaze shifted to the side and when his eyes met mine - the same vibrant twists of green and gold that I have tattooed on my memory - I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart leaping in my chest as I tore my eyes away. I clutched my coffee cup, staring intently at the dark swirling liquid, praying to anyone or anything that I'd find the answers to my troubles in the bottom of this mug. The prickling on my skin was unshakable, like his eyes were on me and I was trapped under his intense observation, unable to breath. Minutes felt like hours, and eventually he and his companion stood before heading to the door. The moment they were gone with the bell signalling their departure, the air gushed from my lungs as I dropped my head into my hands, earning myself a confused look from my son. I offered him a reassuring smile which he accepted before returning to shovelling ice-cream into his face.

Just when I thought I was safe, I looked up and locked eyes with him. Our eyes locked through the window just as he opened the car door, leaning on it. It was like time froze, and for a few moments, despite my earlier urgency to not make eye contact, I was now unable to look away. My breath caught in my throat as a smirk pulled at his lips before he ducked down into the driver's seat, slamming the car door closed. I found myself chewing on my bottom lip as he tore out of the parking lol, that familiar rumble of the engine practically rattling the windows and, despite the noise, it was a comforting sound.

Once they were out of sight and the impala could no longer be heard, I sighed, pushing my hair off my face and running my hands through my hair. As Levi polished off the last of his ice-cream, my phone buzzed on the table. Opening it and reading the message, a small wave of relief washed over me as Kat confirmed that Toby would be at his dad's for once so she could come over to drink wine and discuss very important topics. She hasn't got a clue what I need to vent about yet, but I feel like tonight is going to be a very long night.

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Next Chapter: Chapter 2

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#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x female!reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut

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fraugwinska · 2 months

Note

I've seen fanfics about Alastor × deaf reader

But what about.. blind reader? Maybe they lost sight in some battle

How they would be confused meeting Alastor at first: did someone turn the radio on- oh, thats a demon talking!

And how confused would be Alastor as his feelings started to grow towards the reader: he just enjoys their company! What else can he do when they like to listen to him spilling the tea and just rambling about everything because of his soothing voice? His favourite listener

Then.. their relationships get a bit different as in another one relaxing evening together Alastor asks if they want to see him..

And on their confused silence he answers bringing their hands to his face for them to "read" his apperience..

Just thought it would be hella fun to read! Not good enough at english, sorry for mistakes

I love your writtings! 💕Stay hydrated and don't dare to overwork yourself ☝

Hiya lovely Anon! <3 I put my own little spin on your idea! I love fics like those, and this one sat in my drafts for ages - I hope the wait was worth it! Thank you so much for this ask! <3 Warning: Contains depictions of attempted SA, please read with caution - MINORS DNI!

The bookstore was always quiet in the evenings. Well, it was quiet almost always.

Hell wasn't the most... appreciative place for tombs and books that didn't have porn or egregious murder in them, so your shop wasn't really frequented much. Occasionally, a new sinner would find their way in, not yet taken by the unpunished excessiveness Pentagram City had to offer, and would buy a book or two, never to be seen again. The rest of your clientele were loyal regulars, mostly elderly demons and imps getting books for their masters in other rings. It wasn't much, but enough for you to get by, live a simple, modest life. Your shop was mundane enough as to not attract the more dangerous ones the city had to offer, yet held the beauty that only an antique bookstore could, with a reading room like atmosphere, mismatched armchairs scattered in between the high bookshelves and an old radio on the counter playing in the background.

That didn't mean there weren't moments you'd have to get yourself out of some serious situations. On rare occasions, the patrons of your bookstore became too demanding or rough with you, thinking they could intimidate or screw you over because of your... handicap. After all, how would you see the hand reaching in the register, or the little spell book slipping into the inside pocket of a jacket. The blindness you were born with on earth hadn't left you in your death, but the enhanced sensitivity of your other senses made things easier for you. You had learned to take your losses, unwilling to let these moments ruin your confidence in your work or diminish your spirits.

You navigated through the little store with ease, putting laid-out books back into their designated places - feeling the backs of the books like it spelled their names, and motion memory guiding you through the maze of furniture and shelves - your plain, long felt skirt softly brushing this edge and that wood panel. What you wore wasn't fancy, modern or stylish attire, but it was comfortable enough. And who were you kidding? At the end of the day, nobody cared for your less-than-ordinary appearance, but yourself.

Your mind had been drifting around between random topics for a while until, on your last trip back to the front desk, your round ears picked up the bell on your door and the faint sound of staticy talking, coming from the direction of the counter. A customer, at this hour no less! But you were sure you had turned off the radio hours ago... maybe the old thing was finally breaking down, you thought with a little sadness. You hurried to it, still hung back in your thoughts and babbling as you turned the desk to shut the little device off so your customer wasn't disturbed.

"Hello, I'm terribly sorry if you're bothered by the radio, I should have turned it off. Feel free to browse through-" you paused mid-sentence as the air shifted slightly. You had turned the familiar knob but the filtered voice didn't stop talking. Your ears moved around, as if the source was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, trying to determine its source, when the other occupant of the store laughed at the surprise written on your face.

"Apologies aren't necessary my dear, but that wasn't the little device here but me, asking for service. Although I'm quite fond of a little old fashioned tune - comes with the title of the Radio Demon, you see." He talked with amusement, or something in his tone seemed powerful and dangerous. As his words started to make sense to you, you held a sharp breath, struggling not to take a step back. Of course you've heard of Alastor, the Radio Demon, but you've never had the honor (or dread) of meeting him in person. Rumors had spread around in hell a long time before you'd even gotten here, stories of a powerful overlord who'd broadcasted the screams and torments of his victims, spreading fear to everyone, from sinner, to lesser demons, to even other overlords themselves.

"W-welcome to my store, sir! What can I help you with today?" You smiled pleasantly, hoping that showing him respect and going out of your way for a courteous interaction could possibly keep you from being torn to pieces. You heard the ruffling of fabric - a hand reaching into a pocket, wrapping it's fingers around a thick piece of paper, along a low, distorted chuckle. "A good friend of mine recommended your store to me, I am looking for a few... unusual books, hopefully to be found here."

You waited into the silence, one second, two, three. When he said nothing, only static noise slowly increasing in volume, you decided to speak again. "May you tell me the titles, sir?"

"If you'd take the list, little mouse, everything I need is on it." His voice had an edge of annoyance to it now. You didn't know when his presence had approached so close to where you stood, and couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not. You sighed, pulling the darkened glasses off you wore day in, day out, revealing the white irises that gave your blindness away. After a sound like a record scratch, you managed a helpless smile. "I fear if it's not in braille, it won't do much to hand me that."

The other demon was silent again, but the crackling static had dropped, and before you had time to add something that wouldn't get you gutted, he'd barked a laugh, sounding genuinely amused and entertained.

"My, isn't that a bit cliché, my dear? A blind mouse? Any chance you have two siblings?"

That joke was new. You dared to husk out a little laugh, too, your hands gently resting on the counter top. "I hate to disappoint, but no. I even have my tail still, no farmers wife with a knife."

There was a change in his stance, his coat sweeping the air as you heard the list was laid on the wooden surface in front of you, surprisingly not crushed or crumbling under the power of his hand. Coldness swept like waves of fog over the front desk and your hands, you pulled them away with a shudder, confused, but your patron just hummed.

"There, that should've done the trick. I'd rather not want to read my little.... requests aloud, they're a rather curious bunch, I believe. Very useful, though, especially those for more creative types in cooking."

You reached for the paper and thumbed through the braille letters one after the other, feeling a long list of more... taboo tomes you were sure wouldn't have even been mentioned in any respectable catalogue. Luckily, you were a glutton for oddities and curiosities, and with a small smile of pride you found that you had every book on the list on hand. Maybe it was this pride thatgave you the confidence so that you didn't reply and instead swiftly jumped ahead, bustling through the rows and pillars of bookshelves. Every step was calculated, from the short staircase to the tiny nook where you stored spell books and tombs of dark magic, navigating past all the tables and furniture to the particular bookcase containing ritualistic cookbooks. Once you had a feeling where a book would be located, you searched the titles by stroking the backs with the pads of your fingers, tapping quickly and analyzing the material and little bumps and nicks of the spines. Once found, you traced the edges of the piece and drew up a mental image in your mind to check it wasn't bent, dirty, torn or had any parts missing. Your fingers were your eyes, and they were keen.

As you carried the rather heavy stack back, the Radio Demon hadn't moved an inch from where you'd left him, as far as you could tell. It had been hard not to acknowledge him throughout the ordeal while your brain just went on autopilot after realizing he didn't mean to kill you, at least for the moment. On one hand, that was comforting; on the other hand, it was absolutely horrifying.

"Here you go, sir. Please, feel free to check if they are up to your standards." You set the books down carefully, counting the number of thick covers in the stack to be sure and your fingers brushed sharp talons as apparently the Radio Demon reached out to inspect the books as you offered. With a sharp inhale and a heated face you quickly drew back, stammering apologies. He only chuckled faintly, the static surrounding him crackling as if it, too, was amused.

You stood silently behind the counter and listened to him flipping through the pages, turning the books around to read their contents, humming here and there. He seemed content with the lot and you were sure that once he'd paid, he would leave, hopefully sparing your meager existence and not leaving any destruction behind.

"Very well! These will do perfectly, little mouse. And, I have to say, you have a very interesting collection. The quality of your inventory exceeds what Zestial promised. You might expect a few more visits from me in the future, if you don't mind."

The last sentence wasn't a question. It was a statement, underlined with the sound of a heavy stack of bills placed on your counter. Your hands confirmed what your ears already suspected - your patron well overpaid you.

"Not at all, sir, but you gave me too much mon...."

But the air shifted again, and a chime and a thud later you knew he had already walked out, his laughter the last thing you heard before the door clicked shut.

“...ey.”

What a peculiar man, you thought, still processing the entire experience. His voice had been darling, no wonder he chose radio as his medium. You were sure his smile you've heard so many demons whisper about was wide and predatory, but he had been so polite. Even the nickname he'd given you had been charming, compared to the names and remarks you've had thrown at you by lesser demons, and you shook your head at the ridiculousness of your face flushing at the memory.

'Little mouse.'

After a long moment, you finally counted the money and put the amount he tipped you aside in your hidden safe, making a note to yourself that you would give it back to him when he'd return. If he'd return.

Weeks passed and the Radio Demon had kept his promise and visited again. And again. And again.

The first time he came back and you, already flustered, offered to give back the surplus money he'd paid you, he was baffled before he heartily laughed and ignored your attempts to return it to him, instead buying three more books and leaving you with even more undeserved cash in your hands.

Almost once a week he'd return to your store, sometimes he'd have a whole list of books he'd want to buy, and he almost never left your store with empty hands. Sometimes he'd sit down in one of the many chairs to peruse a tomb you set aside for him, predicting he'd find interest in it as you learned his tastes in literature, and he'd hum almost happily when you found a new curiosity or a grimoire that was especially hard to come by. And sometimes he just came in for a quick visit, not even intending to buy a book but just to chat a bit. With every encounter your initial apprehension shifted into appreciation, so much so that you'd grow to eagerly await his return, the sound the bell made when he enthusiastically swung the door open or the slight distortion of your radio when he changed the station to one that suited his mood better.

You were a bit enchanted with him, if you were honest. Not only had every interaction been intriguing and entertaining, he'd been one of the rare visitors who hadn't maliciously mocked or threatened you, or worse. And you found that you enjoyed the small banters you could have with him, the fact that he treated you no differently than anyone else. It was refreshing, and each of his visits put a spring in your step for days, no matter how hard you tried not to think about him.

By the time several months had passed, he became your favorite client and he seemed to have an everlasting interest in your inventory as well as yourself. You learned that he was quite a wealthy demon with a seemingly insatiable appetite for entertainment, and always with an eye for quality, which you vowed yourself to provide in return, if only to keep him coming back. You found you could spend hours with only him at the store over freshly made coffee, discussing various literary concepts and historical events he used as references, and it was a delight to laugh together about some particularly odd rituals in books like 'Old Spells to Cure Thievery' or 'Blood Rituals of the Flaying Kink'.

Sometimes, when you'd hand him a new find or a heavy tomb, his hands would lightly brush yours and his voice would drop and become a bit softer, quieter as he cooed his nickname for you - 'Little Mouse'. With your lack of vision, you didn't know how his face looked nor how his expression would've surely changed - but his voice took on a tone that would be fitting for a date, and the touches made you shiver lightly and tingle and you felt heat spread all over your chest and the pit of your stomach when he did. If your body betrayed those reactions on your face, he wouldn't tease you for them. At least, you never noticed if he did. Maybe he had the grace to simply not remark on them, you thought, for once grateful for your blindness so you wouldn't have to see your own - surely ridiculously dumbstruck - expression reflected in the windows of your storefront. But the physical contact between you became more frequent, more deliberately made, and you'd caught his own quiet sigh every now and again when he lingered for just a moment longer before the doorbell chimed and he'd leave again.

One evening, as you were cleaning up and preparing for tomorrow's customers, a soft knock on the already locked door pulled you out of the haze of your radio's gentle tune. Turning around, you moved slowly towards the sound of the interruption, adjusting your dark glasses.

"My apologies, but we're closed for tonight, please come back tomorrow."

There was no reply, no sound of footsteps and your ears strained to catch a whisper of a sound, to find a new hint as to who was outside. Another knock, harder now, sounded and this time it took all your courage to approach. Your hair stood at its roots as your hands rested at the wooden door, your senses tingling that you better not open - that danger stood in front of your store.

"Please go, we'll be open again tomorrow."

Your reflexes, acting faster than your brain, made you stumble back as the glass of your front doors shattered into a million pieces. In a panic you tumbled to the floor, hands over your face as the pieces broke apart on impact. There were voices, rough and foreign sounding, that accompanied the stomping of boots. You shuffled back on the ground, trying to get out of the way before being stepped or kicked upon, reaching to the walls and bookshelves to find some stability to guide you in getting away from what was coming towards you.

"T-take what you want, please, I won't stop you. Just... just take it and leave."

Your words were shaking in fear and the little hope that a verbal warning and submission would placate the robbers. To your horror the voices - two, if your panicked mind didn't fool you - erupted into raspy laughter and you realized then that money might not be the only thing these demons were after.

"You were right, Hank. This is going to be easier than I thought, look at how helpless the bitch is."

"Told 'ya, Tommy Boy. An' the best part..." supposedly the one called Hank said deviously, and you were yanked up at your wrists and thrown over what must've been your counter, your glasses slipping and breaking at the impact and your eyes dwelling with hot tears. You recognized this voice… just a few days ago this demon had come into the shop, just as Alastor was about to leave, lingering around the shop and leaving quickly mumbling a half-asses excuse without buying anything after you asked if you could help him find something and Alastor's static crackled dangerously. The same smell of sharp sweat and wet tobacco lingered around him, making your stomach turn. "... she can't tell anyone who we are. Hoh, look, her eyes are some freaky shit, 'n you bet her tits 're freaky, too. S'not even our damn birthday but looks like we got ourselves a gift. 'Ya wanna go first?"

"You know me - Don't mind if I do."

With a heart beating out of your chest and shallow breaths, you tried to feel with your only free hand for something, anything, to defend yourself with. You had to defend yourself. Anything would be better than what horrific thing they were about to do. There was only the flat, leather bound accounting book close by, but it was better than nothing, and in a motion of impulse and fear you slashed with it into the general direction you felt the weight of Tommy settle onto the counter top above you. His complice bellowed angrily, making your ears ring, and Tommy snatched the weapon from your hand to throw it away. His breath smelled of filth and cold ash, the skin of your throat burned when he wrapped his calloused hands around it.

"We're gonna show ya your fucking place, worthless blind cum-chunk bitch, an' when we're done with ya..."

There was a sudden, instant sound of feedback, a wet splatter and a horrified scream and hasty, fleeing footsteps before a wave of relief washed over you as your neck fell free from the intruders grasp and you heard a familiar voice.

"Oh, my dear fellow, do go on. I'd love to hear the end of that sentence." A low, distorted chuckle followed. Alastor sounded different - menacing. Bone-chilling. If those words would've been directed at you, you would've been mortified. But it sounded like honey in your ears, knowing who the recipient was. "Ah, how silly of me - surely it's much harder to speak without vocal chords."

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as the sounds of violence became ever more gruesome. A whipping sound, a wail and a choked gasp and two stomach-churning thuds of something hitting the floor.

"Well that's not handy at all - you can't even sign your pathetic pleas now. How unfortunate to be in such a vulnerable position, isn't it?"

A thud, then another - your stomach turned as the room got flooded with a different type of warmth. Your lungs and chest stung from the stench of iron and decay and your throat hurt as you realized one aura had vanished from the store and Tommy was most likely reduced to a fleshy pile on the ground. Suddenly you felt a sharp but warm, strangely long but familar hand cradling the back of your skull, pressing your cheek against a broad, angled shoulder, another wrapped tightly around your shoulders, resting under your ears. It was quiet, now - you could only hear your staggered breathing and Alastors static that had gone down a notch or two. You thought his breathing had become more labored, too, when he slowly, gently, let go and straightened you to bring you to a standing position, his hands shifting into their usual shape as they came to rest lightly on your upper arms.

"Are you alright, dear?" His voice was almost back to the tone you were so fond of - almost. There still was an undertone, a dangerous sharpness. Your fingertips instinctively grasped and searched until they met with the familiar texture of his clothing and you nodded.

"Y-yes... I think so, yes. What - what happened to the other one?"

There was a deep laugh, one you haven't heard yet from him. "Oh, my dear, no need to fret over that. I'll deal with that pest later. I should've dealt with him the moment he stepped into your store. An oversight I intend to shortly redeem."

It should have frightened you - should've made the situation so, so much worse, hearing that Alastor planned more torture for that vile creature, probably even an equally gruesome death like the one his friend got. But his words only calmed you. Made you feel... safer. Your fingers lingered on his suit longer than you expected, tracing the detailed seams of his lapels, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on the fabric, feeling the details of the cool, metallic buttons. And he let you. He stood still, allowing your hands to see what your eyes couldn't.

"I can't decide if it's a blessing or a shame that you can't see the carnage I caused. Although I am pleased that you didn't have to look at the ugly faces of those cretins who tried to defile you." He took your hands from his coat and placed them softly on his face. "But maybe… you can try to envision what your savior looks like, hm?"

His hands left yours again, though you found the sensation and feeling of his touch remained where he placed them. Your heart fluttered as you couldn't keep yourself from running your palms and fingertips over his skin, cautiously tracing his angular jaw, making out the distinct feeling and sharp lines of a toothy grin. Then you pushed further, fingers running along a slight bow and over the indent where his brows arched, his cheekbones prominent enough you felt the warmth of blood flushing under the skin as the mental image of his face got clearer.

You were in awe that you could do this, that he encouraged it even, but he allowed you the tender moment, making a muffled humming sound and exhaling quietly under your soft, curious touch. You realized at last that his eyes were closed for you, the skin there slightly pliant and firm at the same time. With the tips of your fingers, you followed the firm, straight bridge of his nose down the length of it and he inhaled sharply when you brushed his lips. The familiar sound of static increased just enough for you to realize there had been complete silence aside from your soft and his steady breathing. He opened his eyes again, slowly taking your hands away to leave a feathery light, lingering kiss on your knuckles as he hummed thoughtfully.

"Now, let me clean up this mess, we don't want you stumble over any... unpleasant bits." You heard a snap and felt the air whirring around you, filling with a thick, fog-like sensation as you heard your floors creaking, wood mending and cracking and tiny bits of glass swirling around you, piecing itself together and returning into their frame. Not even a minute later the shop felt normal again, the unpleasant smell gone as well, and with it the overall apprehension the threat had caused.

"Thank you, Alastor. Truly, I don't know what would've happened if you weren't..." you started, pausing as his hands wandered gently around your face to put on your miraculously repaired glasses. He laughed softly, tapping a gentle, slender finger on the tip of your nose.

"Luckily we didn't find out, did we? Ah, but, unfortunately, I'd say the night has been spoiled for us, given that there's another vermin to take care of." He walked behind you, carefully setting the accounting book you had used as an attempted weapon into your hands, his taloned fingers curling gently around yours as if to make sure you had a proper hold on it.

"You lock up when I'm gone, little mouse. And who knows - Maybe we'll continue to see each other... tomorrow night."

And then you felt another gentle peck, this time on your flushed cheek, and the door opened with the bell ringing, the faint crackle of a radio fading and his heavy, signature scent of burned wood and bourbon lingering around you as you hurried to bolt the doors shut, heart racing painfully in your chest at the prospect of adding even more parts of the Radio Demon to the image in your mind.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #zestial morde #alastor fluff #blood and gore #TW: depictions of attempted SA

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 3 months

Text

the king of sex

pairing: javi x reader

cws/tags: p in v, m! receiving oral, unprotected sex, handcuffs, coworkers, sex as stress relief, pwp, not beta read

summary: almost no plot, literally javi is just grouchy so reader offers him sex (but handcuffs him) ... in the office... they really just kinda give up on the case at the end lmao

a/n: i like to imagine the voiceover of steve going "in case you were wondering, this is the asshole..." at the beginning of this fic

wc: 3k

You're at your wits end with Javier Peña. He's known to be (at the very least) kind of a dick. You're fairly sure it's unintentional, just his natural demeanor, but he's also made no efforts to remedy his behavior. He's an asshole because he's grumpy and he's grumpy because he's stressed. And he becomes more stressed and more grumpy and more of an asshole when you provoke him. You have the practiced self-restraint to bite back your snide remarks until he's out of earshot.

It hits you one day when he's particularly irritated as there's a huge roadblock in the case against Escobar that he can't seem to charm his way past - he's tried a wad of cash, a gun to the head, and of course, sex. He's grumbling about whatever-the-fuck when he slams his hands down on his desk with a loud, "Goddamnit!" He's lucky he works with you and not someone over 50 who would've certainly had a heart attack with how startling it was.

You could say 'no harm, no foul', but enough is enough. Javier Peña is inching his way towards 40 and needs to learn a thing or two about civil and professional behavior.

"Look, I get that you're upset right now, but it's not necessary or appropriate-"

"I don't need a lecture from you," he snaps.

"I wasn't lecturing you. I was being nice."

You were being nice, but your tone quickly takes on the bitterness that's been building inside you for weeks.

"If you were nice, you would let it go." His words are slightly muffled by the cigarette he holds between his lips.

"Are you even hearing yourself? I was being sympathetic and diplomatic. I could've said way worse things to you."

"Go ahead. Maybe I'd appreciate your honesty."

The smoke blown in your direction when he fully turns to face you is the final straw.

"Okay," you say, taking the deep breath you need to form the next string of words that leave your mouth. "Would you shut the fuck up for one fucking second?! I don't know if all the whores you fuck have been telling you that your voice is sexy but you should know that I'm tired of fucking hearing it."

"Wow, chica. You've got a mouth on you. Could be of better use but-"

"No," you cut him off with an accusatory finger pointed in his direction. "I'm not just going to sit here and twirl my hair and giggle at your sexual harrassment. Sorry if that's what you're used to."

"I don't think it's harassment since you didn't even wait to hear the full sentence. You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I don't care. You should get used to women not stroking your ego because someday soon your good looks will be gone and you'll have nothing but your shitty personality."

"So you think I'm good-looking?"

"That's what you took from that statement? It doesn't matter if you're good-looking because everything else about you is terrible."

"What do you want me to do? Cry? Grovel? Because I don't care that much about your opinion, and I'm done having this conversation."

You don't speak for the rest of the day, but you're in the office well-past daytime. You're on a time crunch, so you cooperate in silence so as not to get your asses handed to you by the ambassador or your heads put on a stick by the cartel. Sometime after everyone else has gone home - which makes Javi particularly pissed - he gets a phone call. You do not know what the person on the other line is saying, and Javi only speaks in Spanish, and says very few words before he slams the handset down so hard the phone falls off his desk.

He looks like he's about to have a psychotic break when he notices that the phone is broken.

"You need to calm down."

"I'm trying to calm down. I'm always trying to calm down."

"Maybe you need a Valium prescription or something because it's not working."

"Are you not stressed? Do you not care about catching Escobar?"

"Of course I am, and of course I do, but I know how to take care of my stress."

"Fine. Then, tell me how you do it."

"First off, you need to take a break, step away from your work. Stand up, take a walk, sit down somewhere else where you can't look through those folders anymore."

He stands up, maintaining a level of eye-contact that says he's determined to disprove your methods.

You motion for him to sit in a different chair and he does with the same permanent scowl plastered across his face.

"Now what? What else do you suggest?"

"I usually put on a movie or take a hot bath or…" You stop yourself before saying it.

"We don't have a VCR in here or a bathtub, so tell me what the third option is before I lose my mind."

"You know…" You make a motion that's supposed to indicate masturbation.

"You're saying I should jerk off? Right now? In this office?"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never done it before."

"Not while you're here."

"Do you care if I'm here?"

"You would care. You just asked me to stop making sexual remarks about you earlier."

"Because your remarks were insulting and uncalled for and you were using them to deflect from the problem at hand."

"I don't get it. Are you saying you want to watch me jerk off?"

Truth be told, you wouldn't mind watching him get off. It’s not like you haven’t thought of it before. Seeing him finally vulnerable, undressed. Hearing his breath hitch, the choked out moans he struggles to hold back. His eyes closed, head thrown back, the sweat beading on his forehead, his lips parted -

"If that's what you want. But, I can do you one better."

At this point, you're just satisfying your own fantasy. You're more selfish than Javi, but he doesn’t need to know that.

For the first time in weeks his lips curve into a smile. "Yeah? You want to?"

"If it'll make you calm down and you swear on your life that you will never tell anyone that we did this."

"Deal."

"It better be. Or I will hand your ass over to Escobar."

"You're gonna make me go soft if you talk about him."

You're hard? Already? you think but don't say. Instead, you take a not-so-subtle glance at the front of his jeans.

"What? You offered me sexual favors. Of course I'm hard."

You approach him and he waits for you to slide into his lap and kiss him. It's sloppy, wet, tongue-tangled, teeth mashing together. You pull back nearly panting, and you begin to understand why women let him get away with things.

"I have one more condition."

"Lay it on me."

"I'm in charge."

"You've been in charge, cariño."

He hasn't called you that in at least a month - after you begged him to stop. You insisted he call you by your name because ‘this is a work environment’. And nicknames make you weak in the knees. But you can't tell him that being on a first name basis with him is almost worse. Every time he says your name it goes straight to that debauched part of your brain that you try to suppress.

You nod and stand up, and he says, mildly offended but mostly desperate, "Does 'in charge' mean you're leaving me high and dry?"

"No, I'm getting something." You walk to his desk. "Where are your handcuffs?"

You have handcuffs too, but there's something more enticing about restraining him with his own.

"Top right hand drawer. Why? Which one of us is getting handcuffed?"

"Take a guess," you say walking back towards him with the cuffs in hand.

"It's me, isn't it?"

"You're so smart, Javi," you tease. Even though you’re joking, you swear you hear his breathing change. You rarely praise him because he rarely deserves it. Maybe you should do it more often, you think.

"Take off your shirt first and put your hands behind your back."

He does as he's asked. Javi is suddenly more obedient when your tits are eye-level with him. "I can't believe I'm doing this. It better not be some sort of trap."

"It's not. I just think it'll be fun for both of us if I do this to you." The handcuffs click as you attach them to his wrists. It’s the only sound that fills the rare silence in the office.

"Do you hear that?" you ask with a serene smile.

"No, what?"

"Nothing. It's quiet in here for the first time ever."

"Not for long if you're any good."

"I am very good, I'll have you know."

"Have me know."

You straddle his lap and run your hands along the smooth skin of his broad chest. You lock eyes with him, tilt your head slightly and part your lips like you're going to kiss him, but when he leans in, you pull back.

You stifle a laugh when he leans forward, trying to reach your lips. It’s his only option as his handcuffs prevent him from grabbing your cheeks and pulling you towards him.

"That's fucked up," he says.

You're not cruel so you kiss him for real. Your tongue brushes against him and you arch your body towards him. You kiss him until you need to come up for air.

"You're not gonna pull back and leave me hanging this time, are you?"

"No, not unless you do something to deserve it."

"Like this?" he asks before biting your bottom lip gently.

"No, not like that," you whisper against his lips. You place featherlight kisses from his jaw to his collarbone, lips ghosting along his skin, teasing.

"You're making me more stressed, chica."

You hum, ignoring him, and then making your way up to the nape of his neck where you lightly suck and nip at his skin.

"Oh, fuck me," he groans.

"Be patient," you say softly as you place your hand on his hard cock, still covered by his jeans.

You palm him slowly, looking up into his eyes when you begin to unbuckle his belt. You wonder what kind of underwear he's wearing - is he a boxers type of guy? Briefs? Boxer-briefs? Every guess is incorrect, you find, as you unzip his jeans - he's gone commando.

"I knew you were a slut, Peña, but no underwear with jeans? That's bold."

"Easy access."

"Easy, that's for sure," you say, as you work together to get his pants down to his ankles. "And yet, very hard," you remark, taking his cock in your hand.

His hips twitch and you can tell he's trying not to fuck your fist, knowing you won't take kindly to it. You're in charge - that's the deal. You spit into your hand and watch as a bead of pre-cum forms at the tip of his dick. His breath hitches when you run your finger over it before you stroke him, increasing the speed of your hand gradually.

You dare to get on your knees and lap at the head, reveling in the way his head lolls back. Dying to get his eyes back on you, you take his cock as far as you can into your mouth - though you hadn't initially planned on sucking him off as he doesn't deserve it. His eyes fly open and he stares at you slack-jawed, his mouth slowly forming an 'o'. When he gets close, you stop, pull back, and stand up.

"Huh?" he asks in an uncharacteristically pathetic voice.

"You were enjoying yourself a little too much." You shrug.

"Yeah, I was enjoying myself. I was gonna cum soon." He pouts, lower lip jutting out and making him look boyish despite the mustache on his upper lip.

"I know."

"Are you not gonna let me cum? Is that what this is? A plan to torture me?"

"No, you'll get to cum eventually. This is an exercise in patience."

"I thought this was supposed to be stress-relief."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but it doesn't seem like you're thinking about work at all right now."

"I'm not."

"What are you thinking about?"

"What do you think?"

"I think, I want you to tell me." You sit down atop the desk across from the one he's sitting at and spread your legs. You watch his eyes as he figures out what you're doing.

"I'm thinking about what you'd look like without that skirt on. I'd rip it off you."

"I'm glad your hands are tied then," you say as you unzip it and let it fall to the floor. "Because it was expensive."

Javi doesn't say much about your black lace panties but his eyes are fixated on them. You begin to unbutton your top and his eyes follow your fingers as you slowly reveal your bra, and then your tits. This is the most he's paid attention to you in your entire time working here.

"God, I wish I could touch you," he says. "You're so fuckin' hot."

"I'm actually quite chilly," you say with a coy grin as you walk over to him and grab his shirt from the desk in front of him. You put it on, but don't button it up so your tits still peek through.

"It looks so much better on you."

"Thanks," you say with a genuine smile. "I expected it to smell like cigarettes but it smells nice."

He half-laughs. "What does it smell like?"

"You." You slide your panties to the side and begin to touch yourself nonchalantly.

"This is so unfair. You get to touch yourself, but I don't."

"I thought you would like watching me."

"I do, you have no idea how much I do."

You intended to tease him, but you find yourself going further, even slipping a finger inside yourself. When you add another, you moan, "Javi."

It's barely a tease anymore. His name slips out just as it does when you're alone in your bedroom with your hands in the same position. But now, you're watching Javi who’s watching you with his pink cheeks and leaking cock - all for you, because of you.

"Yeah? Feels good?"

"Uh-huh." You wish it was him, so much so that you get up from the desk and walk towards him. You sit in his lap, wearing nothing but his shirt, letting your skin touch his.

"You're so wet, cariño."

The way his voice rasps does something to you, grinding on him isn't enough. You need him inside you.

As you position yourself so that his tip is at your entrance, you ask, "promise you won't come inside me?"

"Promise. I'll let you know when I'm close."

You believe him because you have to, because you're going to fuck him anyway. You need him. So, you nod and sink down on his cock. You figured he'd be big - his tight jeans don't hide very much though you try not to stare, lest he catch you doing so, but you still whimper at the stretch.

"You're doing great, cariño."

You don't expect it to feel as good as it does, nor do you expect it to drain your stamina the way that it does. Your legs are shaking by the time you get close to the edge.

"You're struggling, querida," Javi says. "I can help, but you have to let me out of these."

"Yeah," you say, standing up to grab the key. He sighs at the loss of your wetness surrounding him.

You uncuff him and he grabs your hips gently, helping you back into the position you were in previously.

"I've got you," he says, and you trust that he does.

You let your head rest upon his shoulder, and when you moan, he can feel your breath on his skin - he can barely hear you over the sound of your skin meeting his over and over, the slick sounds of your arousal adding another layer to the pornographic chorus of your noises.

Your names are traded back and forth, both of your voices getting progressively needier. One of his hands slides under your - his - shirt to stroke the bare skin of your back as the other remains steady on your ass. You bite into his shoulder despite the fact that no one is in the office to hear you. You get a groan in response and you can tell his orgasm is approaching too.

"Gonna cum," he says. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," you say because it's the truth.

It's like you've cast a spell on him or rewired his brain. He should not cum inside you but he does. His whole body jolts as euphoria washes over him.

Your walls clamp down around him and your fingernails dig into his flesh, and you've never been high but there's no way cocaine feels this good. If you could crush an orgasm up into a powder, you'd be rich.

When you come back to reality, you're faced with Javi's beautiful brown eyes and a smile.

"Thank you," he says. "I feel a lot better."

You're beginning to envision your happily ever after when you stand up and you hear Javi say, "Oh fuck."

"What?" You say, looking down and watching your mistake drip out of you.

"I think we just created another problem to be stressed about."

"I'm on the pill. We'll be fine. And, if you're stressed, we can always do it again."

"You're right. I think we need to give it another shot. You said baths are relaxing, right? We could try it in a bathtub, maybe even in the shower."

You shake your head. "Uh-huh," you say sarcastically. "And since movies are relaxing, we should do it in the theater."

"That's a great idea, actually."

"Yeah? You think risking an arrest would help your stress?"

"I don't know, baby. I guess we'll have to find out."

Maybe you have yet to catch the King of Cocaine, but tonight, you feel satisfied as you climb into bed with the King of Sex.

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holybibly · 10 months

Text

Object of Desire | OT8 |

Pairing: otx8 x reader

Genre: sugar daddy au, dark romance, smut, vampire au,

Word Count: 9.2 k

Summary: Caught in a web of deceit and forbidden pleasures, Nabi quickly learns that some obsessions can be deadly and love can bite.

WARNING: only!18+ Blood drinking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, voice kink, daddy kink, master/pet game, pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, seduction, BDSM, polyamory, mirror sex, marking, voyeurism, power play, and more.

Disclaimer: I do not support themes of violence, obsession, possessiveness, or emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended for entertainment purposes only.

A/N: I honestly didn't expect so much interest in this story and I'm so happy to see these cute 'hearts' popping up in my notifications all the time. I'm an emotional mess. And so, even though I know I should be concentrating on "The Divine Rosa", there are too many other ideas in my head that I can't (won't) ignore, so here we go. "Object of Desire" will be different in style, so I hope you'll love it as much as my main work "The Divine Rosa". A promised bonus for everyone who voted for Seonghwa in the poll will be released this weekend. I'll try to release Woosan next week, the preview will be out this weekend. Comments are welcome, I really appreciate your reactions. If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this or future updates, let me know in the comments. Divider @saradika

Part 1. Do you want to make a deal with the Devil?

Now going out of town in the middle of the night with Yeonjun seemed like a bad idea.

A very bad one, I thought.

God, what was I thinking when I agreed to do this? Yesterday, this whole venture seemed like a great way to solve my problems, but now the prospect was not so rosy.

Sometimes I feel like a complete idiot, and this is one of those times.

Outside the window the dark landscape was sweeping by at high speed; the bare trees were shrouded in an ominous gloom, and only the dim light of the tall street lamps over the road was the only source of illumination to guide us in the darkness.

It seemed that the darkness around us did not stop Yeonjun from driving. His posture was relaxed and his hand was sure as he turned the wheel in the right direction, the diamond bracelet on his thin wrist sparkling with starlight. One of the many family jewels that Yeonjun treated with special affection.

In contrast to him, I couldn't relax and kept fidgeting on the leather seat made of black Iberian leather, no less.

Every part of my body was begging me to stop and come home before it was too late. Not so, I had imagined that we were going to an elite club. I knew that we would be there late at night, but the fact that the club was way out of town came as an unpleasant surprise.

At the moment it's an hour's drive from Seoul and more than an hour and a half to the destination on the GPS.

The whole thing was strange and made me dizzy, or was it the thick smell of Yeonjun's perfume? It was a dense, smoky scent with a hint of vanilla. Powerful enough to draw the eyes of everyone around to its source, and sexy enough to make you want to kiss the naked skin of the wearer of this tantalising scent.

It would be several days before I was able to wash off the remnants of his perfume after our meeting, so much of it had eaten its way into my skin.

I glanced at Yeonjun; a stray yellowish-white light from the lantern momentarily illuminated his face, and a shadow of long velvet eyelashes fell on his pale cheeks. His black raven hair was streaked with flashes of platinum and gold. He looked otherworldly - I would even say demonic.

I felt a palpable shiver run through my body, as if someone had just dipped my heart into a bucket of icy water.

"Jun." My voice was terribly uncertain. "I don't think I can do this." I said as my fingers pulled down the hem of a short dress. The expensive material looked luxurious in a perfect shade of white and was decorated with a sprinkling of crystals. Yeonjun insisted that I wear it tonight and said that I would be grateful for it as soon as we got to the club. I don't think I'd ever choose something like that for myself, and not just because of its crazy cost; Jun's fashion preferences were so different from mine. He was a fan of overt sexuality and bold lines; I, on the other hand, preferred neutrals and comfort. "I have changed my mind; this proposal does not suit me at all. Maybe we can go back..."

Yeonjun smiled softly as he turned to me, but in the darkness of the drawing room the smile was more ominous than reassuring, his lips the most breathtaking shade of red I had ever seen.

Warning bells began to ring in my head. There are times when you can sense danger even before you are faced with it.

"Nabi, my dear, there is nothing for you to be worried about. We have already discussed this. Remember?" His hand was cold as he laid it on my knee. "I will take care of everything. You're my guest tonight, which means you're under my protection." The long fingers shrank a little, a kind of confirmation of his words. His fingernails were painted glossy black, and his fingers were adorned with several silver rings.

I would like to believe that nothing is going to happen to me, but my insides are tied up in a tight knot of fear.

Miss Kim Seoyun's words echoed in my head like thunder: "Humble yourself and surrender to destiny; you are where you are supposed to be.

When did I start believing all this? This is no time to panic, Nabi.

Everything will be fine.

To be honest, Yeonjun was never my first choice when I needed help, and I always tried to keep a certain distance from him for a number of reasons. There was something so predatory about him, almost animalistic, that lit up the red lights of danger, but I was desperate; student loans, rent, insurance and food were starting to pile up. I was in desperate need of money, and preferably a lot of it, fast.

The threat of being left out on the streets and being thrown out of university has never been as real as it is now.

The only thing that gave me the slightest bit of confidence was Jimin's assurance that I could trust Yeonjun completely and how carefree he was.

Damn, Jun looked like we were going on a spontaneous romantic trip instead of a closed elite club outside the city in the middle of the night.

I asked myself again, "Why did I agree to this?" Oh yes, money. A lot of money.

A few days ago, Yeonjun contacted me and offered to help me with my money problem. Of course, Park Jimin couldn't keep his big mouth shut and told him about my problems. He told me that one of his friends at the private club had a good deal for me. I could make a lot of money out of it.

The income was enough to pay off all my debts and the number of zeros on offer was enough to turn my head.

It was an unequivocal and desperate "YES" and at that moment I did not think at all about the consequences or the characteristics of this proposal.

Jun also promised me a lot of fun but after I signed the NDA and read the multi-page contract with its veiled meaning and rather vague wording of some specific points, doubts blossomed in my chest, and I began to understand what kind of fun was being discussed.

Looks like I made a deal with the Devil.

The dress was delivered on the eve of our trip, a few hours before Yeonjun's chic Ferrari pulled up outside my dorm room. The all-white gown, richly embroidered with blue topaz and opal, was incredible. The plunging neckline of the corsage barely covered the lace bralet of the same colour as the dress.

I have never seen my breasts look so full and so soft. I would even call it seductive. Everything I moved had to be clean and graceful; if I moved too sharply, the soft pink halos of my nipples would start to show. This was beyond the limits of my modesty. At one point, I could even feel Yeonjun's searing gaze resting on my cleavage. It was a carnal look with a shadow of hidden lust in the depths of the dark, shining pupils. It was the first time in the several years of our dubiously friendly communication that he had shown such a desire for me.

The dress and underwear came with four-inch heels. Of course, if my life had been in danger and I had tried to escape, there would have been no chance of success. Incidentally, I'm a terrible runner; I bet I couldn't have run more than ten meters before I collapsed with breathlessness. I should have gone to the gym when Jimin offered it to me.

Oh my God, Nabi, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?

Jun's silky voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"You have such a tense look on your face, my darling." He purred. "We'll be there soon, Nabi. Try to relax; you're going to love "Crescent", I'm sure."

Why did it have such a sinister ring to it? "Crescent" - the name was sweet enough, I would say poetic, but the way Yeonjun rolled the word over his tongue as if he could feel its taste - thick and viscous - made the name something forbidden and sinful. Well, the idea of the cult was not so absurd to me. And that stupid prophecy never left my mind.

"You're where you should be..."

In the reflection of the small mirror in the car, I met my gaze. My pupils were dilated like those of a hunted prey. And though I tried to calm down, I could feel the cold, predatory touch of Yeonjun's hand all too well. Baby, it looks like you're going to get caught.

I ask myself again. Why did I find myself in this situation?

Dressed in the most luxurious designer clothes, like a real doll. Ready to become an exclusive blood donor for a very wealthy private community whose clients needed this kind of service, accompanied by one of Seoul's wealthiest heirs.

Now I can say: "Hey, Nabi, you really screwed up."

❤︎❤︎❤︎

A few days before the visit to "Crescent"

I looked again at the envelope lying on my bed. It had been delivered early in the morning, when the whole city was in a half-awake haze and the streets were not yet filled with coffee and fresh pastries from charming little cafes. The envelope was just left on the door, as if it were something unwanted, without bothering to deliver it to the to the addressee.

Why do we even pay for a delivery service?

He's been there for a couple of hours with the overdue bills and some flyers. I found him on my way to get a life-saving coffee, which had to be postponed due to the unexpected arrival of this mysterious object.

And that didn't make me feel any happier at all.

The thick, dark purple paper looked regal and too expensive to be mediocre; usually such envelopes contained bad news or invitations to a private bohemian reception, but it was too fancy for the former and impossible for the latter. Poor students can't get into high society unless they spread their legs in front of someone's wrinkled dick. And I wasn't inclined to do that.

I took the envelope back to my room and put it on the bed. It looked impossibly ridiculous—I would even say vulgar—surrounded by fluffy pink pillows and a variety of stuffed animals—a small army, as Jimin liked to put it. The envelope was a perfect match for its sender—luxurious, vulgar, and obscenely expensive—the very embodiment of Yeonjun's tastes. Judging by the ten missed phone calls and a whole bunch of messages, Jun wanted to make sure that the envelope had been delivered. He even linked it to Jimin, which almost offended me.

I still remember how, on a stupid whim, I had to dye his hair pink in the middle of the night while his sweet, high-pitched voice babbled something like, "Make me look like the Sugar Plum Fairy." After that, you swore to be absolutely loyal to me, Jimin.

All men do is lie.

I didn't have the strength to play in peepers with purple paper. It was giving me a headache. I also had to give an answer to one of the culprits in this situation; otherwise, the scale of the drama would reach the dimensions of the universe.

Come on, Nabi. It's just an envelope. It won't bite you.

After I had settled down comfortably on the bed, I decided to begin to reply to Yeonjun's message.

"I've received the envelope with the documents you told me about, Jun. I'm so grateful for your help." Okay, that was nice, maybe. Or at least I wanted it to be that way. I'm definitely not going to text him to say that I've been deliberately ignoring his texts and calls. Anyway, we had a pretty interesting relationship with Yeonjun. They were never very sweet. The second one was for Jimin, and as my fingers were hovering over the letters with the first apologies, the phone started to vibrate.

Our photo with Jimin flashed on the screen. We were on a trip to Pusan, his hometown. The golden beach in the purple sunset, smiling Chim and Taehyung—his gorgeous boyfriend-and me with a grimace, burnt shoulders and one shoe in hand, the other lost in an unequal battle with tidal waves. When you look at this photo, you can immediately say that it is summer, my least favourite season. I don't even know why it was necessary for them to drag me along on this trip. Most of the time I was on my own. While Chimin tried to lick Te's tonsils or fought off the frat boys who thought buying a sugary-sweet cocktail would magically open my legs. So that was how two weeks of my "fun" summer holiday went by.

And here we are again, back to the lie. Let's go; it'll be fun, they said.

How this photo ended up on Jimin's contact screen is still a mystery to me. But that's not the point now. I took a deep breath and picked up the phone:

"Hi baby."

"Oh! Did you really answer my call instead of ignoring it as usual? How can you treat me like this? I am your soul mate. The only light in your dark world; you don't love me at all?" There was the sound of a fake sob on the other side of the phone. "I've never been ignoring you, Chim." I didn't get to finish because I was interrupted.

"I've called you a lot—eighteen times to be exact. And you, my dear butterfly, haven't answered a single call. You're making me nervous, Nabi, and that's making Taehyung nervous."

"If you'd let me finish, then you'd know how much I love you and how impossible it is to ignore you." He couldn't see my smile. But I'm sure he could feel it in my words. "You are the only light in my boring life; will you forgive me? And please apologise to Tae. I know my sunlight can be quite unbearable sometimes. So why did you call me?"

"First of all, I wanted to know if you'd received an envelope from Yeonjun; you don't answer when he calls, so he called me. More importantly, have you opened it, Nabi?" He asked, sounding genuinely interested as he spoke.

"Yes, Chim, I got the envelope." I ran my fingers over the dark purple paper in a thoughtful manner. "And no, I didn't open it yet. I'm not sure I even wanna. Is this a good idea, Jimin? All of it?"

"You're being too dramatic, in my opinion. Jun wants to help you. All you have to do, my beautiful butterfly, is relax and accept his help. Sometimes sweet little girls like you just need someone who can solve all of their problems for them." Jimin told me in a patronizing way. In a way, I had to agree with him, but hey! I'm not a damsel in distress or a sugar baby; even though I was in trouble, it wasn't as bad as it looked. Jimin's a bit of an exaggerator. "It's not that hard. You go to the club with Yeonjun, have fun, and in the morning you have a few thousand dollars in your account. How does that sound for you?" Park Jimin had a very annoying way of being right all the time. It really wasn't that hard to accept Yeonjun's offer, earn enough to pay off your debts, and take a little time out of the eternal race for money. In the end, I have to think about myself sometimes.

"Okay, I'll listen to you and try to relax. One last question, though: Are you trusting Yeonjun?" And this question made me feel much more uncomfortable than the secret clubs, the elite society, and the complete financial crisis.

"Absolutely." Now his voice sounded confident and serious. "Nabi, Yeonjun and I have been friends for years. I'm sure you'll be safe around him. Jun wants the best for you, and so do I, and if you'll let us, we'll give it to you. You do know that you can ask me for anything, right?" The warmth and care that I could hear in every single word that he said to me warmed my heart. "I am not going to ask you for money."

"You're a stubborn, willful, and terribly categorical bitch, and now I can understand why you haven't had sex for so long. Can't you just let me and Tae look after you? Say the word, and you'll have the whole world to yourself. Sometimes I honestly don't understand how I can love you with such intensity. Given your utter inability to take advantage of opportunities. We're the best package deal ever. Do you know that? Where else are you going to find such a good dick and a black card as a bonus?" He asked.

"Jesus, Jimin! You can stop this. We're not fucking, is that clear? And I'm not going to take your money, even if you try to put your credit card in my hand every time. I can handle this on my own. "I shouted in a huff.

"OK, don't be uptight." He was such a bitch sometimes. He really enjoyed irritating me. "But I'm right. Aren't I? It's been a long time since you've been scolded. Go on, say I'm right. Come on, Nabi, tell me everything. Are you playing with yourself, dirty girl, or do you need to be taught a lesson? I want details."

There were times when I couldn't understand why God was punishing me in this way, but I guess it was the reckoning for the sins of my ancestors that could come in the form of the pink-headed Park Jimin.

"I hate you. I wasn't serious.

"I know." Chimin said cheekily. "By the way, to calm your nerves a bit, I'll tell you. I personally know some members of the club you and Yeonjun are going to. They are Taehyung's friends, so have no fear. But the best thing about these clubs are the men. Nabi, there are men there who make me believe in the existence of Greek gods and fallen angels." Jimin said it dreamily. "God, I would show them how flexible I can be if I didn't go out with Tae."

"All right, stop with that. I get it." I wasn't in the mood to listen to the dirty fantasies of my best friend right now. Especially when you consider the fact that he was absolutely right about my sexual life. I'd been single for a long time.

"Okay, nun, I won't corrupt you; otherwise, you'll have a desire for sex."

"Park Jimin!" I squealed.

Jimin just laughed out loud on the other side of the phone.

"I won't do it again. I promise." Actually, I didn't call you in the first place because of Yeonjun or your arrangement, but I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go somewhere with me.

"Where exactly do you have it in mind?"

"Do you have any idea about Paradigm?" "That fancy spiritualist boutique on Instagram everyone's talking about? I've had a bit of a hearing about it." Why would Jimin want to go to Paradigm? It was a place that was just as private and secret as the one that I had to go to with Yeonjun. "I have to pick up some packages for Taehyung; you know he's obsessed with all kinds of mystical stuff, and this damn boutique only gives out packages—no deliveries—can you imagine that? It feels like the Holy Grail, not a silly amulet."

"As defined by your style with Tae, it sounds terribly stilted and expensive. Sure, I'll go. Give me an hour or so; I need some time to pack."

"Fine, I'll pick you up. Wait for me, my love."

"Please, just pick something a little more simple than your Porsche.

"I love my Porsche; what's wrong with my car?"

"It's too much attention. Last time, everyone at the university talked about it for a whole week. There were even questions about whether you were my sugar daddy or not.

"I definitely love it. It is the universe's way of telling you that there is no need for resistance. I am going to take care of you, my little butterfly. And I am definitely going to come and pick you up in a Porsche. See you in one hour, baby."

"Jimin, just not in a Porsche!" I shouted, but it was too late; I only heard beeping.

As always, it was Park Jimin who had the last word.

I was happy to be able to postpone opening the purple envelope for a while because of this unexpected trip. Even though an occult boutique or something like that wasn't the best prospect.

Anyway, it's time to pack.

Jimin has a strict rule. He's never late.

Exactly one hour later, Jimin's Porsche picked me up from the dorm, and to all my indignation, the only response he gave was a mocking giggle.

There was good traffic on the roads. After twenty minutes, we stopped at the glass door with the silver star engraving. The exquisite sign above the door read as follows: Paradigm is a boutique of spiritualism." The phases of the moon, from New Moon to Descending Moon, were written on the board below the sign.

"Let's go, Nabi. Pick up the package, and I'll take you home. I know you still need to get Yeonjun registered." Chim wrapped his hands around my forearm and literally dragged me into the boutique as we entered.

As we walked in, the bells above the door began to ring, but the sound was not familiar to me; it looked more like glass than metal. When I looked up, I understood the reason for the sound. There were crystal bells hanging above the door, with long strings of pearls and little silver crescents. It was a very beautiful sight. While I had my eyes on the bells, Jimin was already in conversation with the girl behind the counter. She was tall, with a cascade of long, golden hair. Her features were large and expressive. The girl looked more like a model than a soothsayer or spiritualist, although in the age of Instagram, maybe that's what modern wizards and witches should look like.

I couldn't hear the whole of the conversation, just bits and pieces of it: "It's a parcel for Kim Taehyung. "Yes, it concerns the Kim family." "Please deliver it as soon as possible."

While they were talking, I thought I'd take a look around the shop.

The common room was not large; the shape of the room was round, probably because of some mystical meaning. The walls were covered with velvet curtains, behind which a number of doors were concealed. On metal shelves were various objects: crystal balls, shards of precious stones, heavy tomes on voodoo and fortune-telling, ancient talismans in forged frames, hare legs—a symbol of good luck—and other magical items. There was something macabre about this place—a thick, dense air in which the scent of frankincense and myrtle was vivid—and the heavy, lingering presence of something otherworldly, like a ghostly footprint—a very evil footprint. In all other respects, it was the same luxurious, new-fangled boutique for the chosen rich or the mystical amateur.

My attention was drawn to a crown. It lay on a velvet cushion on one of the many shelves. There were nine black diamonds at the center of the crown. They were surrounded by rubies, so deep in scarlet that they cast a black glow, and pearls to match. The lines of the metal were twisted. They were like snakes wrapped around jewels. The cut of the diamonds was not typical; it was something extremely rare for this kind of gemstone—the Empress.

I was drawn to this crown as if it were a magnet. This feeling of inescapable attraction that you can't resist—I have a feeling like this crown has always belonged to me. Now we are finally reunited. I reached out to touch it, to feel the coolness of the dark, glittering diamonds under my fingers, and I almost did when someone's hand fell on my shoulder.

"You shouldn't touch that, dear."

I gave a frightened jerk, either at the touch of someone else or at the low voice that had come so close to me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was just attracted to this crown, and I..." I had no idea how to explain the fact that I'd literally had a call from a piece of metal. Even for a place like this, it might have sounded crazy.

As I turned, I saw a woman in her 40s. Like the girl at the counter, she was more like a modern socialite on Instagram than an occult shop worker.

"All right, darling, the important thing is that you stopped it in time. This thing has a bad reputation; every one of its owners has ended up committing suicide. Anyway, my name is Kim Seoyun, owner of Paradigm. What brings you here today?"

"I'm here with a friend who needs to pick up a package for his boyfriend."

"A young man with pink hair, right? He's in the office with JaYoung; they're in charge of the registration," Seoyun said.

Even the names of the two were breathtakingly beautiful and meaningful. Sometimes the universe invests more in some than others. Seoyun frowned for a moment, as if she had read my thoughts. Then her face cleared, and she smiled softly.

"You're a beautiful girl, Nabi."

"Thank you." I sounded terribly stupid; sometimes I act like a complete fool, but I couldn't think of a more witty response. There was an uncomfortable silence between us. Until it was broken by SeoYun, who asked me a question.

"Do you want me to tell you what your fate is going to be like? My clients are of the opinion that I'm very precise in my predictions."

"Oh no, you don't have to do that." I waved away. "I don't really have a lot of faith in destiny and omens."

"You don't believe in destiny?" She arched her eyebrow in a skeptical manner. "Or don't you want to believe in it?"

"I'm a realist; I can't imagine believing in a destiny and hoping for some mystical higher power to intervene."

"Hmm, this is quite interesting. Come on, let's play," she said, picking up a Taro deck and opening it like a fan. She handed it to me. "You choose five cards; two of them are about love, two of them are about the future, and the last card is about the inevitable destiny, something that's been foretold since your birth."

I won't lie, I was so curious, even though I had no faith in the cards in my hand. My hand reached out for a pack of cards, my fingers hovering over the smooth, flickering surface as if I were trying to feel the ones I needed.

Fatum—the word had a scary ring to it.

AfterI had quickly decided on the four cards, I solemnly drew the last card and handed it over to Miss Kim.

Seoyun took the cards from me with a knowing smile. She began to turn them over one by one and started to explain what each meant.

"You are going to love like it is hard to imagine." She said. Feelings carried threatening limits. Crazy, wild, and burning love—this is a card that comes up very rarely, but it has a very strong meaning. It is the Queen of Cups. For someone who really loves you, you are going to be a true queen, a goddess; everything will be done for you; everything you want will be fulfilled; but if you get too caught up in this feeling, you will be too easily controlled. As strong as this love is, so strong is the destructiveness of it. You should be more careful with it.

The next card was turned over by Seoyun.

"The star is a bright omen for you. You have a choice in front of you that will change everything. Follow the star, and it will show you the path, but remember, no star shines without darkness. This is a map that will lead you to where you need to be. In search of that guiding star, it looks like I'm going to have to look up in the sky some more. Perhaps I should also follow the spiders in order to find the Chamber of Secrets as well.

I treated them with absolute skepticism.

"Death: everything has a cycle, and when death appears, it means you're nearing the end of one. The appearance of death is the end of one cycle and the beginning of another. It may have something to do with the love that awaits you. Your loneliness is about to end."

"The Five Cups is a situation in which you are stuck and can't move forward. This card is about your problems and the need for change in your life. This is the same kind of magical kick that is followed by heavy and dramatic events. The Fives indicate that this is only the second act of the great play; there is still much to come, but the finale promises to be happy if you accept your destiny. Otherwise, it can always end in tragedy. This card tells you: Accept yourself and surrender."

I didn't have a bit of faith in her words. If Jimin or Lia had been in my place, they would have been on a shopping spree for amulets and shamans; their belief in the afterlife was absurdly high.

Before I turned the last card, Seoyun took my hand. She looked me in the eyes seriously and asked:

"Are you sure that you want to know what fate has meant for you, because sometimes it's hard to deal with it?"

"Yes, I do. I'd like to hear it." Isn't that the whole point of a fortune telling?

It's just a deck of cards and some vague words from a pseudo fortune-teller. What could possibly go wrong?

When Miss Kim turned over the last card, her face went pale, and she let the palm of her hand slip out of hers as if it had been burned.

"Go away." sounded like undisguised horror in Seoyun's voice. "Leave immediately. JaYoung, accompany her to the exit, now." She turned away from me, clutching the card in her hand.

I never had a chance to have a look at what was on it.

"What is going on? Why are you kickin' us outta here? What did you see on that card? "In complete disregard for my questions, Miss Kim hurried to the office door, hiding behind the curtains.

Just then, JaYoung and Jimin came out of the other room with a small black box tied with a gold ribbon. It must have been a parcel for Taehyung to take.

"Nabi, are you all right?" Jimin asked me in a worried tone.

No, it wasn't all right; the lady looked at me as if I were one of the bad omens of the biblical coming.

What was it about this card that was able to frighten her to such an extent?

"JaYoung, take her to the exit and close the boutique; we will not be working any more today."

I grabbed the woman's hand before she could turn the doorknob and disappear into the darkness of the room.

"What's the meaning of the last card? Tell me; I'm not going to leave here until you tell me."

"Death is closer to you than you think. It's already on its way to you." Her whole body began to shivered as if it were cold, but the shop was warm. I would say stuffy.

"Who's comin'? What are you talkin' about?" I insisted on it.

Seoyun suddenly turned to me and pushed a crumpled tarot card into my hand. There was There was madness in her dark eyes, and her pupils were so dilated that they were almost the thick green of her iris.

"The Devil."

After that, she practically pushed me to the exit, where I met a worried and confused Jimin. We came out of the boutique, and the door behind us clicked in a characteristic way.

This was not how I had imagined a trip to Paradigm.

"What the hell just happened?"

"You'll believe me when I say I have no idea." Jimin and I looked at each other.

"Next time Taehyung will pick up his stupid packages themselves, I will not go to places like that again. Nabi, I saw someone's canned heart in a jar and bat carcasses. Did you know they have such tiny, sharp teeth? I could swear that I've never seen anything so disgusting in all my life." He said.

"No more occult boutiques, I totally agree with you. Let's go home, I still have to send the paperwork over to Jun."

"I must have something to drink first, and the stronger the better. Let's go to 'Salvatore' and then go home."

I took one last look at the sign, which was now shimmering faintly in the setting sun. I crumpled the card into a small ball and threw it in the rubbish bin next to me.

The Devil, of course. I'm not going to believe the words of this crazy fortune teller. Maybe I should scatter the salt at the entrance, or then he will suddenly knock on my door.

Two hours later, after a big margarita for two and a few glasses of red wine, Jimin took me home, and I was in the same position as before the whole stupid trip to Paradigm.

Sitting on my bed, hypnotised by a dark purple envelope with documents from Yeonjun. There was no point in putting it off any longer.

Instead of pulling a millimeter at a time, I need to learn how to rip off a plaster in one move. Maybe deep down I'm a masochist if I prefer this method, but right now I don't have the time to sort out my hidden sexual desires.

I picked up the envelope; it was surprisingly heavy and pleasantly soft to the touch. The paper had a pleasant odor of powder and velvet, a reminder of the Victorian era in England. Unrequited love letters must have smelled like that.

The envelope was sealed by a wax seal with a monogram cast in an antique shade of gold. When I opened it, the thin wax cracked under my fingers, leaving a glistening particle on them. Inside were a number of documents tied together: a non-disclosure agreement, a handwritten note, and a velour jewellery bag bound with silk ribbons and embroidered with opals and sapphires. I'm sure this little thing was worth twice what I'd been paid in six months, and what lay inside cost much more.

My first choice was a piece of paper. Yeonjun had always written in an incredibly beautiful way - calligraphed, like a fountain pen, with little curls at the end of the letters.

"My lovely Nabi, I look forward to seeing you this Saturday. I am so glad that you have agreed to take me up on my offer. A treasure like you deserves the best in the world, and I'm overjoyed to give it to you. In case you change your mind and decide to back out of your contract with ”Crescent,” I will be the one to pay all of your bills and your tuition fees in the future. We have already discussed this with Jimin. Despite your stubborn refusal to accept any financial help from us, I will do it anyway."

Sometimes I think that all of my friends have a sugar daddy complex; their desperate desire to pay for everything in my life is taken to the extreme. Of course, if you grew up with a "golden spoon" in your mouth, a few thousand dollars, it was absolutely nothing. But for me, it was an exorbitant burden, and yet I wanted to handle it myself.

As dubious as it sounds, I didn't want to say no.

"There's a confidentiality agreement in the envelope, and you need to sign it until tomorrow night. Your session is scheduled for Saturday night. We have to be at ”Crescent” by 23:00, after which Seulgi, the main administrator, will pick up a perfectly compatible client for you to donate blood. Before you meet her, I want to make sure that all the paperwork is in order. There are also two versions of the contract that you should have a look at.”

The ”Crescent” allows donors to choose whether they want to work with them for a year or for one night. Accordingly, there are two types of contracts: annual and one-off.

”I've picked out an outfit for you to wear when we go to ”Crescent”; it'll arrive on Friday with everything you need. You'll look gorgeous, and I'm sure you'll thank me afterwards. Personally, I think you could do with showing a little more of your skin and accentuating the sexy lines of your body. For my taste, you're too modest.”

I squeezed my eyes shut in annoyance. If my buttocks weren't pressed up against the skirt and my breasts weren't protruding, I'd certainly be too modest. The more skin on display, the better. Jun's preference was something I was well aware of. A nice outfit was to be forgotten, and if my underwear was even a little bit covered, I would consider myself lucky. I was sure there would be no thanks on my part.

"The club's owners give all new donors a thank-you gift. It's inside an envelope. Accept it with all sincerity, because you are giving them your life's resources, and this is the least they can do for you. It is also their request that you wear it on your arrival at the “Crescent.”

My dear Nabi, it will be a night you'll never forget. I can assure you of that.

All my love, Yeonjun. "

I was very excited about the prospect of Saturday night. There was a feeling that there was some hidden meaning in the whole situation that I was missing out on. My brain was sending me distress and danger signals, just like Yeonjun. Be careful. The storm is coming.

In any case, sometimes it is better to be at ease and just go with the flow. Like Jimin said, I should be less dramatic.

I signed the NDA contract right away. I'll definitely forget it if I don't do it now. Checking Yeonjun's words against the remaining documents in the envelope, there were two versions of the contract: a one-off and an annual one. I decided to save the gift from the owners of the 'Crescent' for the very end. My first choice was the one-off contract. There were fewer pages, and it was clearer and easier to read.

The first item on the contract was the NDA. There was a long explanation of why it was so important and necessary.

"All "Crescent" clients are people of high social status and position. Their privacy is of the utmost priority to us. Especially with regard to their "special" conditions and specific needs, we want to guarantee our clients complete privacy. Each donor undertakes to sign a confidentiality agreement prior to the first session. Otherwise, the contract between the donor and our client will not be concluded." Guests of the club, hereinafter referred to as "donors," are obliged to keep confidential all the information obtained during personal meetings as well as everything that happens during the blood transfusion, hereinafter referred to as "sessions."

Well, it sounded a bit strange, but I could understand why "Crescent" insisted on signing a contract of this kind. In today's world, it is difficult to keep things secret. And when you are dealing with powerful and wealthy people, it is even more difficult. Paparazzi lurk around every corner, and tabloids are ready to start a scandal with the slightest spark, especially in South Korea.

Who in their right mind would want to survive the criticism, the judgment, and the airing of dirty laundry?

The donor's responsibilities and the client's expectations were the next point in the contract.

In short, you become an exclusive blood donor for one or more clients of the club after signing the contract. This is what Yeonjun told me as well. This form of contract required a single "session."

They didn't give any details, just that the service was linked to a certain type of genetics in their clients and was urgently needed. They did not say how the transfusion process would take place.

"The donor agrees to give their blood and receives financial compensation from the club after a successful procedure. The whole process is strictly controlled by "Crescent" staff. They also act as intermediaries between the donor and the client. Their job is to carry out a compatibility test that will guarantee a better result in the transfusion."

Point three is called "testing for compatibility."

Each donor was tested for compatibility before the "session," and the club administrators—as I learned from Yeonjun's note, my administrator's name is Seulgi—took a blood sample and compared it with the most suitable partner or partners. It was not only the blood that was important, but the members of the club also had a long list of preferences and wishes that the donor had to match. Looks were not the least of these. Height, weight, hair colour, body type, nationality, and age—the list seemed endless. There was even a clause about the type of voice and the food preferences of the donor. Let's just say: "Crescent" customers were very spoiled and had a personal view of the blood donation process. Partner - It sounded a little too intimate to me for this kind of situation, and it clearly had a double meaning.

The most pleasant of all—financial compensation—was point number four.

"For voluntarily donating their life resources, all donors receive financial compensation from "Crescent," ranging from $1,000 to $3,000. The amount paid varies according to the amount of blood donated and the status of the client with whom the donor was matched".

It was a fabulous amount of money. It was a very quick income, but it wasn't that easy. I felt it in my gut. The work was flawless; there was just no such thing.

I've reached the last point in the contract - the completion of the agreement.

Here are the details of the beginning and end of the 'session', how the money was paid, how the donors returned home, and other details. The start of each 'session' was exactly midnight, but the donor had to be at the club two hours before for preparation. The 'session' ended at 8am the next day. In general, the whole process took up to eight hours. The transfusion took place in private rooms, the doors of which were locked from the beginning to the end of the "session." Inside the rooms, there was a "panic button" in case of unforeseen situations.

The transfusion process itself is only revealed on arrival at the "Crescent," as the paragraph indicates: "is not standard." The donors were taken home by the club staff at the end of the "session." If there was a request from the client for the donor to be taken home in person, there was no objection to this.

And that's all. The one-off contract was over. A few thousand dollars have been added to your bank account.

I won't lie, it sounded fabulous. But there was a lot that made me feel confused and want to know.

Some of the clauses in the contract left me scratching my head with their veiled meaning and ambiguous choice of words.

So I moved on to the second version of the contract - the one for the year.With lots of footnotes and sub-paragraphs, it was twice as long.

It had the same beginnings: the NDA agreement, the donation, and the compatibility test, but then everything changed dramatically.

Gone was the faceless "client." In its place came the "patron." Now it sounded as if there was a contract between the patron and the donor. In addition to this new word, there were also new points to be included in the contract.

Medical care, diet, sports with a private trainer, spa treatments, and even specific items such as painting, dancing, and music lessons. From the signing of the annual contract, which included renting accommodation, paying bills and school fees, giving gifts, traveling, and so on, the patrons were fully responsible for the welfare and comfort of their exclusive donor.

They promised to keep the donor happy and satisfied and to see to whatever needed to get done. It was now that the ambiguity of the word 'partner' began to make sense to me. In this contract, it was clearly stated that the business relationship could continue between the sheets.

"The sexual or romantic relationship between the donor and the patron is their personal affair and is welcome if both parties are interested in and attracted to each other. All intimate details, including details of the sexual act, remain strictly confidential between donor and client. A list of the sexual practices as well as the permissible kinks will be discussed in advance. The donor is entitled to determine the acceptable boundaries of sexual contact, its intensity, and the degree of emotional "subspace" involved. A stop word is chosen in advance, or the clients can always use the color system: green - yellow - red.

Donors have the right to appeal to the management of the club if, at any time, their rights have been violated and they have been subjected to emotional, physical, or sexual coercion. The owners of "Crescent" have an obligation to provide the donor with a safe place and appropriate specialists for the assessment of the donor's condition. The contract is suspended. Further details are awaited. The issue can be resolved peacefully. In the worst case, the contract will be terminated immediately, and the donor will be compensated for a period of five years." That was certainly not my expectation. I will have to ask Yeonjun if he has any knowledge of such cases, if they have happened, or if anyone has ever had an early termination of a contract.

In addition, it was stated that such a relationship was not obligatory and that if the donor did not want to have sexual relations with the patron, he could refuse, and the patron would have no insistence.

But I don't think many donors would refuse, considering that even Jimin, who is dating an absolutely perfect and insanely attractive man named Taehyung, talked about the beauty of “Crescent's“ clients. It's a very tempting offer, even though it sounds like a twisted version of sugar daddy with a bloody kink.

There have also been some changes to the point about the financial compensation. It is now a compulsory monthly allowance. Depending on the status of the patron, it could range from $30,000 to $90,000 a year. The more he or she could afford to pay, the higher the amount of the benefit. The money was divided into equal parts. It was paid over the duration of the contract. Always on the first Monday of the month.

I can't imagine that anyone would be willing to pay that kind of money for your blood. Obviously, for the members of the “Crescent“, this was an acute question, as the amount in the contract had several zeros.

One of the most important points in the contract was the exclusivity clause.

This was unacceptable for an annual contract, unlike a one-off contract, which allowed the donor to contract with different clients each time. To put it bluntly: Your blood belonged to the sponsor. In this respect, there were so many requirements and so many details written down that were important to the patron. In addition, the one-year contract was only available to donors who had knowledge of the club's clients or staff. Yeonjun was one of them. So I received two versions of the contract instead of one.

At the end, there was the same information about the terms and conditions of the 'meeting' and a few paragraphs about the expiry of the one-year contract.

Having read the contracts, I felt like we were in a strange combined version of 50 Shades of Gray and True Blood.

With a heavy sigh, I leaned back on the pillows, putting the papers to one side, and pressed my cheek against the fluffy, soft toy. It felt good against my skin, the soft purple velour. It was a weird variation on 'Princess of the Bumpy Space' from 'Adventure Time'. Minho had given it to me after another drunken debacle. How he came into possession of this toy is still a complete mystery to all of us.

I had a couple of thoughts about my options. On the one hand, I could make a one-off deal with them and then forget about what had happened the next morning. The amount they offered to compensate me would have been enough to make me feel good for a while, but certainly not enough to pay off all the debts and put some aside just in case.

On the other hand, there was a contract for one year with regular payments and various bonuses, but this also involved a mysterious and demanding patron. One year, and I can say goodbye to all the debts I owe. There was also the chance, without a boring, monotonous job in a bookshop, a tiny room in a student dormitory, or a permanent pit of debt, to see the world, enjoy art, and simply live and be happy.

All this was offered to me on a silver platter. But somehow I thought it was a deal with the devil rather than a blessing from an angel.

In that tempting sentence, there was too much 'but'.

All my thoughts had me on the verge of tears and screams at the same time.

I looked around my little room: dim, mousy grey painted walls; scattered notes and piles of textbooks on the table; picture frames; toys; piles of crumpled blankets on the floor; and a black Balmain velvet jacket that once belonged to Minho, but which he is absolutely certain makes me look better than him. In addition to my things, there were a few of Lia's dresses and Yeonjun's leather jacket, which he left me after one of our many meetings, in my wardrobe, which was tiny by Jimin and Minho's standards. The contrast between their clothes and mine was unbelievable - brand labels, monograms, and distinctive prints - all screaming about their high cost and inaccessibility. I could never have that kind of money, but I had the desire. I really wanted to have it.

This sense of accessibility was something I was curious about.

There was a thick twilight beyond the window. A scattering of purple light poured into the room, turning the whole room a mystical shade of purple. As it danced along the walls, the colour dripped down to the floor, making it look like dark purple water. You could see the first stars begin to appear in the rapidly darkening sky, their broken light sparking off a sapphire embroidered ribbon on a small jewellery bag. I had completely forgotten all about this so-called gift. The cobalt blue sapphires mirrored each other and looked like the eyes of a big cat. That's how I'd always imagined the eyes of a predator - shining in that mystical blue. I took the pouch in my hand and shook it lightly in an attempt to determine what was inside, but the contents did not make a sound.

The silk ribbon came undone with ease. I stared at the contents of the bag with unblinking eyes. Inside was a delicate ornament made of white gold. Thin lines were woven into a star shape. It was inlaid with sapphires and diamonds. It was mesmerizing to look at. Whoever made this necklace obviously put a great deal of love into it. The shape of the ornament itself was not standard; it was more like a guide star in the center of the compass.

I was reminded of what Miss Kim had said to me today as my fingers gently traced the pattern of the necklace.

"Follow the stars, and they will show you the way. A star is a bright omen."

Could it just be a coincidence that the piece of jewelry I was holding in my hand was nothing less than a guiding star?

Either way, I'll definitely be wearing it Saturday—not just because the owners asked me to, but because it is my wish. Perhaps this star will indeed show me the way, but one thing I was sure of was that it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I'd ever seen.

I thought I'd put the jewelry back in my bag and do some paperwork for Yeonjun. I've had enough mystical prophecies and rich patrons for one day, so I've left the contract selection for Saturday. I'm going to spend the evening resting and relaxing. I'll have a long, hot bath with butter and pink salt, which Jiminy brought me from Paris. I will read a book or listen to a meditation course and call upon my inner "I" to harmonise.

Meditation and soul-searching have become very popular with Lia lately. As a result, I have a whole bookshelf in my room that is dedicated to books of this kind and various CDs with meditation and breathing exercises. Last month, she even gave me a decorative fountain, which was supposed to be calming and relaxing but in fact made me feel more nervous and annoyed than soothed. I looked at the jewelry bag containing the necklace again after gathering all the documents.

"The star will show the way..."

And it's only now that I realise that I've never said my name, Miss Kim, and I don't know how she came to know it.

"You're a beautiful girl, Nabi."

For a moment, I thought that maybe her words weren't made up or lying, but rather a warning, but it was only for a second.

I decided not to give it much thought, shaking my head as if to drive the thought away. If it were a sign of my destiny, it'd be my meeting with her on Saturday. I looked out the window again. As if mocking me, the crescent moon shone brightly through the thick midnight clouds. One thing I was absolutely sure of: a visit to 'Сrescent' would change my life forever.

416 notes · View notes

podcastenthusiast · 11 months

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I find it really compelling that Astarion appears to have had hobbies when he was enslaved by Cazador.

Things Astarion probably did in between the horrors:

Embroidered and patched up things for himself (and, reluctantly, his siblings). We know this. Practical--I don't get the feeling Cazador was buying them clothes any more than strictly necessary--and a good way to stay sane.

Got really good at picking locks. Also canon. I've seen the interpretation this was to escape shackles, which is possible. But I dunno...he says himself he gave up on escape. More likely I think he was just very bored, and also such a skill offers some comfort should he ever be locked up again for another year.

Learning languages, including Orcish. Canon as well and honestly I'm dying to know how/when he managed this. Did he find a Orcish-Common dictionary? Did he know a half-Orc? Either way I can see him relishing the chance to insult Cazador or his siblings without them knowing.

Reading, as he does all the time at camp. If you can't escape physically, a good story can be a decent distraction for a while. Astarion is intelligent and seems to know a fair bit of history and such. I imagine it wasn't an activity Cazador encouraged. But that wouldn't stop him and Dal, and later maybe Leon if he's feeling brave, forming a secret book club, reading anything at all they could get their hands on, from awful erotica to dry religious texts.

There must have been a brief period where he tried to befriend and train some rats to do his bidding. But he was bad at it and also very hungry. Violet claims to have succeeded.

Music. He hears it everywhere--in the dingy taverns he's sent to, at Cazador's damn parties, on the street--it's too intense for a while after that infamous year of silence. But it also reminds him that he isn't there anymore. Astarion has no gift for musical instruments himself, but he grows to appreciate hearing a good song.

Drinking wine and pretending it doesn't all taste terrible to him now. Sometimes, alone or with Aurelia, he would pretend it's fresh blood instead. Sometimes he would pretend to just be anyone else.

Stealing his siblings' makeup and anything else he wants. None of them really "own" anything after all, he'll say, but will get incredibly annoyed if they in turn take something of his.

Between fights and torments, of which there were so many, I bet he played stupid little games with his siblings. Trying to convince them he died a very cool death or something. Or enlisting Violet's expertise to prank Petras.

One time Yousen finds like a choose your own adventure book (since I dunno if a form of D&D exists in BG3 and if it did they don't have the supplies). Anyway he reads it to the other spawn and by the end of the night Astarion and Petras both have new black eyes and bite marks.

Not saying it was a good time by any means. It wasn't. But it was a very long time not to carve out an occasional diversion. You'd just lose it otherwise.

#bg3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #astarion

465 notes · View notes

54625 · 6 months

Text

I'm not sure if this is the end for the QSMP, but I wouldn't be surprised if it were shut down soon after this.

The eggs have been the lifeblood of the server since they were introduced, and having some of them permanently gone from the server is devastating for so many reasons, and bodes terribly for the future of this project. My optimism has run out. I will still wait for updates but I have no hope.

However, I wanted to write a piece for the community here on Tumblr. I know we're all very emotional right now, because while we have no confirmation that the QSMP will permanently close, we now have good reason to assume there might just be no other clear path out of this.

To the community:

Do not feel like you have to stop loving the server and everything it created. Do not stop creating art. Do not stop sharing why you loved the characters and the story and the world.

To completely boycott everything QSMP, you are discrediting the incredible work that the admins put into the server purely out of passion and the kindness of their hearts. Do not waste their sacrifices. Talk about the server and everything they did for it, give them recognition, let them know we love and appreciate all the time and care they poured into this project. Thank them by caring about their work that they put so much of themselves into.

To completely boycott everything QSMP, you are ignoring the beautiful friendships it created between content creators who otherwise would never have met, and the way it ignited such a fierce determination to learn about others' cultures in them. You are forgetting how much these streamers strived to tell engaging, relatable, fun stories, by themselves or with each other, and to have their fans talk about how much they liked their newest lore. You are refusing to acknowledge the effort put in by everyone on the project to tell amazing stories through the language barrier.

And to completely boycott the QSMP, you are denying yourself the fact that you loved this server; the eggs, the streamers, the stories, the cultural events, the laughter, the sadness, the friendships, the ship ships, the builds, the mods, the languages. You are part of this server for enjoying it's wonderful vitality and beauty and hilarity. As a community, we all are.

I have had my gripes with the QSMP fanbase, as anyone has gripes with the dysfunctional mad household they live in, but at the end of the day, I love it so much. This has been my first time actually being part of a fandom; interacting with people and sharing my art and my ideas, getting into silly debates and arguments, running my mouth off more than I should. I love this bizarre toxic fandom for all of it's worth; I love the fanfic writers (even if I think their characterisation is terrible), I love the fanartists (even if they give Pac those yellow scleras that always make me think of jaundice), I love the live bloggers (even if they clog up the main tag), I love the people who write analysis, the people who make animations and animatics, the people who webweave, and all the other things people in this fandom do to interact with the media we all collectively love and bond over.

We do not need to let this be the end of our community, as we can still share our admiration for the hard work put into this project, lift each other up, express praise where it is warranted.

And we can talk to each other, we can vent about how this has negatively effected us (provided we tag it appropriately 👁️👁️) and respond in kind to those seeking someone to speak to who relates.

The QSMP taught us the value of communication. While behind the scenes, it itself did not abide by it's own rules, we can. The QSMP itself is not the figurehead of communication; the content creators and the fans it sent this message to are. We can be an example of what the QSMP should have stood for.

I do not love the deeply flawed execution of the QSMP, but with my whole heart I love the idea; the ambition, the goal. It was noble. It, to some extent, worked.

It united communities.

Let it unite ours.

#discource #qsmp

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astromechs · 1 year

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ok, i did barbenheimer, so here are some assorted thoughts about both films (i am discussing potential "spoilers" for both, so look away if you don't want these):

on paper, and in experience, this is the wildest double feature to do. barbie and oppenheimer could not be two more different films, in terms of tone, aesthetic, and themes; on the one hand, you have a treatise on feminism in the guise of one of the most widely known decades-old ip, and on the other, you have a complicated biopic about the complicated figure who developed the atomic bomb.

and yet, there is a heart and soul linking these two films, and i actually think seeing them in the double feature makes them work: it's care and craftsmanship. these are two films made by people who actually care about cinema as an artform, and it's such a breath of fresh air compared to a lot of the dreck we've been getting out of major studios and wide releases, especially over the past decade.

barbie is not an independent film; you guys are silly, and you need to get that out of your heads. mattell's name is literally on it lol BUT. what this story turns out to be is something pretty unique in terms of today's cinematic landscape. it's a thoughtful treatise on feminism and gender roles on all sides of the equation — the unrealistic expectations put on women, the emptiness that drives men into upholding patriarchy, the absolute absurdity it is on all counts to let ourselves be consumed by this instead of getting to be ourselves and figure out who we actually are. loved every second of it.

also: "i lost interest in patriarchy when i learned it wasn't about horses", like, line of the year.

oppenheimer manages to distinguish itself from the sludge of oscar bait biopics, because, well, because of the craftsmanship of christopher nolan, but also because, in particular, it has such strong thematic focus. it is both a story about oppenheimer, the complicated figure who unleashed something terrible on the world, and the story of the plight of the scientist; just because you can do something, does it mean you should? when you put a dangerous tool into someone else's hands, is it their hands who have the responsibility for how it's used, or is it you, for creating it in the first place?

these are questions that i think the film wrestles with very adeptly, and it doesn't provide easy answers — because there are none. oppenheimer himself spent the remainder of his life wrestling with his own complicated legacy, and the film really captures the spirit of that. the final shot really makes that stick.

both of these films had clear vision for what they wanted to say, clear care and craftsmanship involved, and as someone who genuinely loves cinema and has felt so disheartened seeing shit upon shit being flung into theaters in wide release, i deeply appreciate both of these films, and i don't regret the experience of doing the double feature, because it was really something special — even if, whew, i'm going to need about five business days to process all of this.

#barbenheimer #barbie #oppenheimer #anyway i loved both of them

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xxscarletxrosexx · 4 months

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Spy x Family Ch. 99 Thoughts + Analyses

God, this entire chapter has been an extreme roller coaster from feeling excitement to sobbing--I'm terribly emotional when it comes to reading war stories must be from all the times I was forced to read war stories throughout my English education program to anger to resignation.

... but this is why I love Spy x Family and the brilliant storywriting of Tatsuya Endo.

Ch. 99 Spoilers ahead.

There's a level of depth and care put into these characters that make them feel so real. If you have someone who has family serving in the army or if you are someone who has read countless accounts of war, then surely you are affected emotionally by the horrors of war. In my case, war stories are what made me look at life and identify the meaning of it. Although I won't go into too much detail about my findings, I did walk away having a deeper appreciation for literature and for humanity itself, in other words, I cry easily to war stories. Hence the case of this chapter.

I was already prepared that Ch. 99 would be a devastating chapter considering that Ch. 98 ends with a cliffhanger in which the alarms go off just as Martha was going to confess her feelings for Henry, and that this 'side mission' story is expected to conclude before Ch. 100. And it truly did not disappoint.

As mentioned earlier, this chapter is a jam-packed rollercoaster ride with previous expectations motivating my excitement as well as my dread for the inevitable.

First, I'd like to address a part that excited me: parallelism.

What quickly striked me was how similar Henry was drawn to Twilight after departing his jail cell. Even the context of the chapter leading up to this physical change indicates that sacrificing oneself for the best outcome/greater good was a theme echoed by these similar character designs.

There is also a third "similar character design" which has become a popularized theory in a possible relationship between the Captain and Twilight. However, I'm starting to see that these similar drawing styles don't identify relationships, but alignment in sacrificing oneself.

I see this as an alignment amongst the three because we now have two lores that shared the impact of war and the injuries sustained, whereas the Captain/First Lieutenant has yet to have his lore addressed. We can surmise based off Twilight and Henry's background that their experiences from war is what continues to drive them in their chosen field/occupation. I'm excited for the day that we learn the Lieutenant's real name and his POV from war. It is then that we will finally get three POV's:

The West / WISE - [Redacted]/Twilight/Loid

The Neutral Civilian - Henry

The Ostanian / SSS - Lieutenant

This is the perfect time to segway to my next excitement: symbolism.

Even though the lore on the unnamed First Lieutenant/Captain has not yet been addressed, his scars tell me that he's experienced a similar outcome. Tell me, have you guys noticed that all 3 men had experienced the same injury found on the left side of his face?

When I looked into the symbolism behind it, I found that the left side of our brain is responsible for processing emotions. The injury to the left side of the face signifies an emotional trauma in which their emotional side had to be silenced. Given what we've already learned about Twilight and Henry's backstories, their personalities and thinking are often stemming from an analytical/logical approach.

Of course, old wives' tales are not always scientifically supported, so I was prompted to research more, and I stumbled across an interesting one regarding emotions found in different parts of the brain:

Since this is a theory, it should not be taken as a fact without repeated research and evidence to support the claim. I, myself, do not claim to be an expert when it comes to neurology or psychology. But this information, when taken from a creative writing/literary analytical stance, can support that the left-face injuries had essentially damaged the positive facial expressions--which can support Twilight and Henry's experience. Thus, we can also surmise that the Captain had experienced a similar fate.

Another thing that we can learn from these injuries (at the time that they were present) is that the character is currently experiencing a time of vulnerability--[Redcated] after returning from battle and Henry, who is still in mourning, is still a bit withdrawn from his students.

Another symbolism that I got excited about is the dichotomy between Henry and his father in character design.

Notice Henry's hair is straight and tied up in contrast to his father who has his hair wavy and loose. Although subtle, I found this character design beautiful for its ability to show a dichotomy in their social/political views.

Wavy hair can be perceived as something flowy, as in going with the flow. Because it isn't tied up, I see that Henry's father doesn't need to hold himself back, and is free to express himself and his views. In contrast, Henry's hair is straight and tied back. Straight hair can be perceived to support Henry's straightforward nature (which is also one of his weaknesses as well as covered in the previous chapters). When his hair is tied up, he gives an air of elegance and looks like he's got everything together. However, his hair tied back could also illustrate imprisonment of the mind, where his views cannot be vocalized at a time when tensions were high during the first war. Furthermore, his "rebellious" behavior resulted in him ultimately being tied down to what was imposed on him (marrying the person his father picked).

I love the detail in which Henry is drawn with his hair untied and unshaven. He's broken at this point, and as we all witnessed at the assembly, he loses control of himself over this grief that he's taken into custody and slandered a traitor. The next time we do see him is when his long hair is chopped off and traded for an undercut--a telltale sign that he was starting anew, and looking awfully like Twilight.

During this social climate, Henry was perceived as the 'villain' in the Henderson family due to his 'bad' behavior. But let me, just say that Endo-san loves to remind us through character design just who is the true villain. Did you notice it, too? It's the nose. Henry's father has a pointy nose, reminiscent of a witch, whereas he inherited his mother's round nose. Another small detail, but it made me laugh. This is why I love Endo-san.

Above, I have addressed what made me happy. Now, I will address what brought me to tears, that being Martha and Henry.

I mean, it's no surprise that they wouldn't have a happy ending. I was well prepared with the knowledge I know about them from present-day story that mentions of Henry's daughter, cameos of his wedding ring, and Martha working with the Blackbells, and recently reveals that she had an old crush on Henry. The absence of their love being pursued led us to believe that Martha may have had a one-sided romance. But ch. 99 confirms that Henry reciprocated his feelings for her due to yearning her letters.

It wasn't until news of Martha's life-threatening decision did it impact Henry significantly, and then his breaking point to realization that he loved her too late was when Martha showed her vulnerable side in her letter with the following:

I practically balled right here. I was teary-eyed leading up to it because war stories are always so heartbreaking, especially to those who sacrifice or don't make it home alive.

We now learn why Henry ended up marrying someone else is due to Martha's "inevitable" death--unbeknownst that her decision not to volunteer would also result in death. From what we read, Martha was too emotional to vocalize her situation clearly, and even if she did, her message would be blacked out, unfortunately. So it is evident that Martha was trapped and had no way out other than choosing to volunteer and ultimately "die" in battle.

Henry, on the other hand, could not fight the system, despite that he became a History teacher just to do that. He failed because his countrymen and the system failed him. He lost his beloved and if he were to continue holding onto his belief, he'd lose his ability to teach. Essentially, he lost the fight (to change history/improve the situation through education during that social climate), but not the war (in which there is still hope for history to change). Heny, ultimately, shared a similar fate as Martha through self sacrifice of his livelihood.

I was and still am completely discombobulated by the war and its impact on Martha and Henry that, to be honest, I completely disregarded Donovan Desmond.

I know I won't be able to capture the importance of his lines as eloquently and moving as I did with Martha and Henry, the former pair leaving a moving impact on me during this chapter, so I'd like to recommend my dear friend, @yumeka-sxf 's, analysis which covers more of Endo's brilliant story writing and character development decisions.

After rereading the chapter as well as her analysis, I agree with her point that Donovan Desmond was made to be the antagonist of the story. I believe Donovan's view of liars and holding absolutely no hope for them is a necessity for readers to continue perceiving him as a villain in the series. This is because we cannot perceive good and evil as simply black and white in the series when we have both Yor and Loid dirtying their hands in the name of protecting their countries/loved ones. We hold love for the characters in this series because of their personalities, values, and moral compasses amidst taking life after life. In their social climate they must always choose to sacrifice themselves for the greater good, which is why their tainted actions can be perceived as forgiven. Donovan Desmond, on the other hand, cannot share that 'exception' because an action/drama story needs a villain.

If you made it to the end, thank you so much for your time! I hope you enjoyed my analyses and thoughts on Ch. 99! What do you guys think about the chapter and my analyses? I'd love to hear more from you! :3

#Spy x Family #Spy x Family 99 #Spy x Family Ch. 99 #Spoilers #spy x family analysis

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homelanderbutbig · 10 months

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An Angel Waiting For Him (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1946 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Beginnings of a relationship.

When you first learned about Homelander's weakness to head scratches.

Homelander's been inviting you up to his penthouse more often lately. He's never really had friends before, let alone someone he can trust like you, so you figure he appreciates the company. As Homelander prefers to keep a tight schedule, your near daily visits happen at a regular time. It's become an enjoyable ritual of sorts, getting to see him and talk about your days together.

Truth be told, Homelander isn't sure what to make of you. You are so nice to him, but he's skeptical if he should let you get this close. The only humans he's been attached to are horrible people that he can't bring himself to kill… outside of Madelyn. Even though he loved her like a mother, she not only lied to him but she had been afraid of him throughout their whole relationship. Their entire bond was built on fraud… but he can never remove her entirely from his thoughts. He misses the way she provided him comfort, the way she let him lay his head on her lap… even if it was all just a lie.

During your afternoon break, you decide to spend some quiet time away from your co-workers in Homelander's penthouse. Although he isn't inside, he has given you permission to go there whenever you want. Walking into the tranquil silence of the penthouse, you make your way to the living room to lounge on his oversized couch. You tuck yourself into the corner of the couch, with your back on the armrest for the perfect view to watch the clouds pass by the window.

Just as you begin to feel at ease, you hear Homelander storming into the penthouse. His footsteps are louder than normal, a telltale sign that someone has pissed him off. He plunks himself on the couch next to you, with such a hefty thud that you are shocked his landing didn't catapult you across the room. Tilting his head back, he lets out an exasperated huff as he massages the bridge of his nose.

"Rough day?" you ask, sighing as you sit upright. Whatever uneventful break you intended to have is clearly not going to happen now.

"I can't believe I have to work with such idiots," Homelander grumbles, dropping his hand heavily into his lap. "These fuckers have no idea what I do for them, and yet they think they can treat me like I'm not the one in charge of my team."

"That must be difficult, feeling so used," you say, attempting to console him.

"Yes! Thank you!" he shouts as he raises his hands into the air, perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than he intended. "It's like nobody here understands how much I sacrifice for them. I'm just here to say my lines and make them money. I'm a real fucking person! I'm still the captain of The Seven, not them!"

After ending his rant, he looks down at you expectantly, like he is waiting for you to stroke his ego some more. It's what you've come to anticipate from Homelander, the one sure-fire way to bring him out of a sour mood. However, today you came up here for some peace and quiet. Possibly, you think a different tactic can help him unwind too.

"I'm sorry Homelander. I know how frustrating it can be to be treated like that," you say, looking up at him while you scoot a bit closer to place your hand on his thigh. "If there's anything I can do to help, let me know, alright?"

Homelander gawks at you, blindsided by your abrupt changing of the routine. You were supposed to tell him how great he is and how everyone else is wrong, so he could go about his merry way. Instead, your words are bringing up memories of Madelyn, and a thought pops into his head. One that he is uncertain that you would let him do with you.

With a wave of nervousness overcoming him, Homelander averts his eyes from you while clenching his fists and tensing the muscles in his jaw. He's terrible at hiding his feelings; you know there's something tumbling around that big head of his.

"You look like you want to say something else," you remark, giving his leg a gentle pat. "You know you can tell me anything, I won't judge."

"I, um…" he mutters, eye darting frantically before he closes them, trying to steady himself with a deep breath. "I… want to try something… if you, uh… if you'll let me."

"Sure, go ahead," you respond, nodding your head. You aren't quite sure what Homelander is asking for, but your curiosity is piqued.

"O-okay…" he stutters, keeping his eyes planted on the floor. "Just… please… please don't move."

Just as you wonder if you've made a mistake, you watch as Homelander shifts his body lengthwise across the couch to lie on his back. Slowly, he lowers his head into your lap. You're taken aback by the sheer size and weight of his head, which is so large it's practically overflowing on your thighs. It almost feels like you have a big fat cat lying on you, if not for the incredible anxiety you feel emanating from him. He looks like he's scared out of his mind, completely regretting this decision and just wanting to get up and leave. And yet, at the same time he is still like a statue, waiting for you to make the first move.

Trying to comprehend what he wants, you absent-mindedly start petting Homelander's hair, as if your brain is on auto-pilot and it believes the giant head in your lap really is just a fluffy cat. Lo and behold, you begin to understand what he was asking for as his stress evaporates from your delicate touches, his eyes fluttering shut as he sinks further into your lap. He lets go of a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, and further nuzzles himself into your hand.

From your first moment alone with him, you've learned how affected he is from simple touches. How he practically bulldozed you when he tried to lean his full body weight into your hands, like he was chasing after something he had missed his entire life. It was something that bewildered you; you've only ever heard Homelander speak of this perfect childhood and family he had, why would he crave affection so heavily?

When you start running your nails along his undercut, you are surprised to hear Homelander start keening, albeit very inaudibly. He's clearly enjoying your attention, but it's obvious to you he's fighting to stay quiet. Unexpectedly, one particular scratch along his scalp causes him to loudly whimper from the pleasure. He immediately freezes, and stares at you with the widest eyes you've ever seen.

"I-I'm sorry…" he stutters, tears forming as he attempts to hide his face in your chest. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm s-sorry," he continues to repeat, eyes squeezed shut like he is terrified that he will be punished. Madelyn forbade him to make such pathetic noises on her lap, and she would only allow these 'sessions' when he obeyed her every word. He expects you will be the same.

"Hey, it's okay Homelander," you reassure him, still petting his hair. You hate seeing him so upset, especially when he hasn't done anything wrong. "That just felt good, right?"

Sheepishly, he nods as he turns slightly to peak at you with one timid eye, as if his entire existence is hanging in the balance of your next words.

"You don't have to apologize for enjoying that," you soothe him, using your thumb to wipe away his tears. "I'm happy that you're happy."

Homelander can't believe what he is hearing. Nobody has ever truly cared about his welfare before, and wanted him to just be content. Even Madelyn was only playing with his emotions to use him for her own personal gain. She never really cared, she just wanted to control him. It almost makes him feel stupid, placing Madelyn on such a high pedestal when there was an angel waiting for him this entire time.

He practically purrs as you resume scratching his scalp as you were before, except without this cloud of dread that was hanging over him. The fear Madelyn instilled in him to hide his satisfaction has miraculously dissipated, purely because of you. You, and your enchanted fingers, somehow adept at locating all of the sweet spots that he can't help but mewl at. Homelander nearly becomes overwhelmed by you, gripping at the couch's wooden frame so strongly you swear you can hear it splintering. There is something amazing about having a godlike superhuman giant whimpering in your lap, exclusively from the affection you give him.

Eventually, your fingers start to tire from the force you used in your scratches. As you go back to lightly petting his hair, Homelander opens his eyes to see you looking down at him with such care. The way you smile so sweetly at him is intoxicating, unlike how anyone has ever looked at him before. You are special. He wonders if you even realize that you are so far above the rest of the mudpeople.

Homelander rubs his head lightly into your chest, still keeping his vision focused on you. Compared to how frustrated he appeared when he first sat down, he now looks so serene, totally calmed by your tenderness. As you observe him, you begin to wonder something.

"Say, Homelander…" you start. He gives a light hum, noting that you have his attention. "How did you know I was up here by myself?"

"I could hear your heartbeat," he explains simply, still nudging at your chest. "It's the only one I listen for… It's… it's nice."

You aren't sure how to take that. Nobody has ever complimented you on the sound of your heart before. In a weird way, you are grateful that at least someone at Vought is keeping an eye out for you.

"When you were mad earlier… did you come up here just to see me?" you question, hoping to break through his real intentions of meeting you alone outside of your regular ritual.

Even though Homelander doesn't answer you, the ashamed way he avoids your gaze is enough for you to figure out his response. Somehow, you've become more than a friend to him; you're someone he wants to help him feel better, someone he trusts to take his hurt away. It's so sweet you can't stop yourself from smiling.

"Thank you," you say, caressing his cheek. When Homelander shoots you a confused look, you gently laugh.

"For trusting me, you goof," you grin, leaning down a bit nearer to his speechless face. "I'm happy that you're comfortable with me to talk about stuff that bothers you. I know how hard it can be to feel so alone."

"And if you want me to help you relax like this again," you remark, as you boop his nose with your finger. "I don't mind. I'm just glad to help."

Confounded by your genuine kindness, Homelander can feel himself start to cry again. He wishes he could hug you right now, but his whole body feels like it's been cemented in place, unwilling to move from this blissful position. All he can muster is to bury his face into your warm chest, relishing the comforting sounds of your pulse. Not even Madelyn's lap felt this welcoming, it's like your entire being is perfection.

"You're welcome Homelander," you tell him, bending down a bit further to give his head an awkward hug. "As long as you let me, I'll be there for you."

#the boys #the boys tv #homelander #homelander x reader #g/t #size difference #my writing

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formlessvoidbeast · 1 month

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Smut prompt: sexytimes as a distraction during recovery from minor injury and/or first time, but neither partner is actually as human as they look with all their clothes on

The jangobi brain worms persist, so I hope you don't mind I decided to write this prompt for them.

“There you are, my dear.” Obi-Wan carefully adhered the brace around Jango's chest. It would, hopefully, keep him from twisting and bending and aggravating his heavily bruised ribs in the few hours it would take for the bacta injection to finish its work. Obi-Wan patted his side when he was finished. “All done. You'll be back to piledriving your enemies in no time I'm sure.”

“Hmph.” Jango huffed at him, grimacing as he settled into the couch beside him. He didn't bother going for a shirt, leaving quite a lot of his magnificently soft and muscled chest and belly on display. “How's the leg?” he asked.

“On the mend.” Obi-Wan wiggled his toes, where they emerged from the brace on his ankle. His knee had one too. The nasty injury he'd taken had not been improved by running on it, afterward. Even the Force could only provide so much support to it, when most of his attention had to be on the fight.

Jango had been hired by the parents of a missing child, while Obi-Wan had been sent to root out the blackmailers as a whole. Of course, once Obi-Wan realized there were kidnapped children involved, he had altered his mission to one of rescue. Jango had arrived when Obi-Wan's mission went to pieces, and glued it back together again with expeditious violence.

“I do appreciate the timely save.” Obi-Wan dropped his voice, low and sultry. “How ever will I be able to repay you?”

Jango rolled his eyes, Force presence amused. “It only made sense to work together, if we were on the same job. No debts.” He rubbed at the brace on his ribs, looked around the dingy safehouse Obi-Wan had brought him to. His fingers drummed on his knees. “Not much to do here, is there,” he mused. True, the space was very small, smaller even than that one Senator's closet Obi-Wan had once spent half a day hidden out in. There wasn't much of entertainment to be had, and Jango was a man of action. Obi-Wan would simply have meditated until he was healed, on his own.

“There's always conversation?” Obi-Wan suggested.

“All right, conversation.” Jango tipped his head to the side, eyeing Obi-Wan with a familiar hint of hunger. “I've been wondering. Do you ever actually kriff, or you just like flirting?”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan had dodged that question several times over the years of their occasional acquaintance. Both of them being laid up for a few hours together made it much harder to duck. There was no easy distraction to be had. “I do have a lot of fun flirting,” he said. “And it's not that I dislike sex but, well...” Obi-Wan didn't look toward Jango, didn't reach out in the Force to get a hint of what he was feeling. Obi-Wan trusted him enough, now, for honesty: that didn't mean he wanted to feel the rejection. “I'm... quite a bit less baseline-human than I look, you see. Easier to leave it as a flirtation everyone enjoys than be a disappointment.”

He very much was not expecting the absolute roar of laughter Jango let out. Jango winced, grabbing at his bruised ribs, but did not stop laughing. And he was lovely, in his joy, even if Obi-Wan was entirely confused.

“You need to sleep with more Mandos if you think not baseline is going to throw one of us.” Jango chuckled, shaking his head. “We mostly look human, but we've blended with everything a human can and some things it really didn't seem like we should be able to.” He leaned toward Obi-Wan, strong white teeth flashing as his voice dropped. “Someone lets you under the armor, you praise the manda and work with whatever they've got going on.”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, a yearning he had long learned to set aside around any but a few very close friends sending a tendril of heat through his core. He felt his cheeks warm, and knew they must be going pink in a terrible betrayal by biology and his fair skin. “Is that so?” he murmured.

Jango's grin widened. He (carefully) got up onto his knees, looming up over Obi-Wan. “What do you say, Ob'ika? Stave off the injury-boredom with a little fun?” His touch was gentle, fingertips brushing Obi-Wan's beard as he tilted his face up. Obi-Wan's breath caught. “It's not like I'm all that close to baseline either. Show me yours, I'll show you mine?”

Obi-Wan groaned, gently shoving Jango's chest. “I ought to turn you down just for using such a wretched line.”

Jango's hand covered his, capturing it against the warmth of his chest, caressing it. “But you're not going to.” His grin was absolutely sliding into leer territory.

“Force help me, I'm not going to.” Obi-Wan lifted his face, leaning up for a kiss, which Jango did not hesitate to give him. Jango's lips were warm, and surprisingly soft. He made a rough, hungry noise against Obi-Wan's lips. When Obi-Wan opened up to him in the Force he felt like hungry lust and eager anticipation—like looking forward to a surprise, rather than bracing for disappointment.

Jango's mouth opened against his, tongue teasing a deepening of the kiss. Obi-Wan welcomed it, but Jango flinched back. He was grimacing when Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered open, hand pressed to the brace on his ribs. “Maybe not this position,” he said.

“Hmm, we are both somewhat limited at the moment, but I'm sure we can figure something out.” Obi-Wan considered their options. “Suppose you lie on your back, and I'll cuddle against your uninjured side. I should be able to keep my hurt leg from bumping anything. I could grind on your thigh and get my hand down your pants.”

“Yeah, that could work.”

There was no graceful way for two injured men to rearrange themselves on the ratty couch, but they managed it without hurting themselves at least. Jango grabbed a pillow to go under his head and then another for Obi-Wan's knee, which was very thoughtful of him. Soon, Obi-Wan was happily squished between the back of the couch and Jango's solid body, a firm thigh between his legs, and they could kiss as much as they liked without pain.

“So...” Obi-Wan trailed his fingertips down Jango's belly, following the fuzzy trail of hair toward the top hem of his pants. There was an entirely promising bulge waiting there for him. “Anything in particular to know?”

“It's a cock, not too weird,” Jango said. “A firm grip and a steady stroke are all it takes.” He mimed the fairly universal 'wanking' gesture. “Giving a bit of a twist over the ridges when you stroke it feels amazing. But when I finish, I like it when you squeeze at the base, hard. Hard enough a baseline human would definitely be in pain, and umm...” he hesitated slightly, faintly embarrassed. “I do come, uh, heavily.”

“Like, best done in the 'fresher to contain the mess quantities, or just put down a towel?” Obi-Wan asked. One of those was definitely more feasible than the other, at the moment.

“Towel,” Jango said. He glanced toward the 'fresher. “A towel is a good idea, I should have grabbed one—”

Obi-Wan flung a hand out, pulling with the Force. One of the blessings of a space so small was that it was easy to have a towel fly into his hand.

“Convenient.” Jango lay the towel across his belly, sadly covering up some of his bare skin. Obi-Wan slipped his fingertips under the top hem of his loose pants, quirking an eyebrow. “Yeah, come on.” His hips lifted into the touch, eager.

His cock was quite the handful, a bit more tapered at the head than human-standard, with ridges on the underside. The loose foreskin meant there was a smooth glide, velvet skin over iron heat, when Obi-Wan got a grip. Jango groaned, thigh tensing deliciously between Obi-Wan's legs. Obi-Wan rocked his hips in time with his stroking hand. He mouthed at Jango's cheek until he finally turned his head enough their lips could meet in another kiss.

Jango's lust and pleasure were rich in the Force. He moaned into their kiss, body shaking, when Obi-Wan figured out just how he liked a slight twist over the ridges of his cock as he was stroked. His hands were warm, petting Obi-Wan and holding him close.

The pleasure built between them. Jango felt like his was luxuriating in all of it more than chasing his orgasm for much longer than Obi-Wan anticipated. Not that he minded! He tended to take a long while to get running. Enjoying the closeness and touching was exactly what he liked. Eventually, though, Jango began to feel like impatience—hungry and selfish. His cock thickened in Obi-Wan's hand, quite literally swelling in a way that baseline human cocks didn't.

“Close!” Jango gasped, hips rising. His brow was crumpled, teeth bared and gnashing at nothing. “Tighter, Ob'ika, I'm!” He reached for the towel, flipping a bit of it over the head of his cock and grabbing for Obi-Wan's hand on his cock. He squeezed Obi-Wan's hand on the base of his cock much more firmly than he would have dared, even being warned that Jango liked it hard.

It pulsed in Obi-Wan's hand, a thick bulge growing beneath his fingers as white-hot pleasure shot through Jango and he came in long waves with a veritable flood of come.

“Don't let go, don't,” Jango gasped, desperate. “Kriff, yes, so tight!”

“I have you,” Obi-Wan promised, holding Jango's cock in a vice-tight squeeze. “I have you.”

Jango twisted and bucked and kept coming. Enough Obi-wan began to worry the towel wouldn't actually be enough. Eventually he did still, though. He caught Obi-Wan's mouth in a kiss again, a wave of such intense affection rushing through him Obi-Wan gasped.

Jango's eyes were dark, pupils fully dilated. He nuzzled against Obi-Wan's face, all sweet. “I like to linger, but if your hand's cramping I'll be fine now.”

“My dear, I am a swordsman. My grip isn't going to fail. I can hold you as long as you like,” Obi-Wan told him, distinctly smug with the way Jango's emotions went practically gooey at the promise.

“It's so good,” Jango murmured, lipping at Obi-Wan's mouth in half-drunk kisses. “The afterward's the best part. Intimate.”

The thickening of his cock, that bulge just above the base—if that swelled up inside someone, it would lock their bodies together, wouldn't it? And then the affection. Biologically mandated post-coital cuddling and bonding time. The realization rushed through Obi-Wan like fire, and he bit his lip on the sudden desire to blurt out that he wanted it inside him next time. There might never be a next time. And it wouldn't be fair to have Jango promise him something when he was clearly compromised on a potent blend of endorphins and oxytocin.

Obi-Wan rubbed his crotch on Jango's muscular thigh, hungry himself. He was worked up enough, finally, that he thought he might be able to come from grinding alone. Usually it took a bit more than that. With the waves of Jango's enjoyment bolstering his own, Obi-Wan might actually manage it.

“Oh,” Jango breathed, delighted. He moved his thigh against Obi-Wan, intentional. “You get wet when you're turned on.”

Obi-Wan felt his face heat. He hadn't realized he'd gotten wet enough it would be felt through his tights and Jango's pants. “It's not a useable cunt,” he warned, trying to head off any disappointment before Jango got to daydreaming. “I can't be kriffed in it. It doesn't work.”

Jango blinked at him, confused. He shook his head and tapped at Obi-Wan's hand, which was still gripping his now-softening cock. “Let go, now. Let me just—” Jango wiped them both up with the towel, and then folded it around its substantial load of come and set it on the ground. He tugged his pants up and then asked. “When you say it's 'not usable' and 'doesn't work', what do you mean?”

The afterglow of Jango's pleasure was gone, now. Obi-Wan almost wanted to cry. But he had promised that he'd show Jango his in a tit for tat. He didn't want to be braced against Jango's disappointment, but past experience could not be so easily set aside.

“I mean,” Obi-Wan said, “that unless I am in season, I am not big enough to take more than half a finger in the front.” He indicated the second knuckle on his index finger, to show his limit. “Even if we managed to get the head of your cock in, it wouldn't feel good. To either of us.” Obi-Wan had certainly tried it. He'd needed bacta afterward, and then he'd had to spend an hour comforting the friend who felt horrible about having hurt him.

“...and you're in season...” Jango prompted, thoughtful.

“Never.” Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose. “I've had a hormone blocking implant since I was fifteen. Ugh, it was miserable. Spend six months growing either a cock or a cunt just to spend three weeks unbearably horny, then spend the next six months ungrowing it and growing the opposite and do it all over again. No, thank you!”

“All right, so...” Jango's brow wrinkled. He levered himself up a bit on his elbow to better look down at Obi-Wan. “You can't take a cock, sure, that's fine, but you can get off, right? You liked grinding on me. Does taking a finger feel good? Or a tongue?”

...just like that?

“Ob'ika?” Jango touched his cheek, concerned.

“I'm a bit thrown by the easy acceptance,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Yes, I... I can get off. Both fingers and tongues can be very good for me.”

“Not unusable, just different,” Jango decreed. He kissed Obi-Wan's forehead, gentle. “You need to kriff more Mandos.” Jango pressed his hand to his rib brace as he sat up, then nodded to himself, clearly pleased that it hadn't hurt. “Now, unless you object, I'm getting my mouth between your legs immediately.”

“No objections, my dear,” Obi-Wan breathed. “None whatsoever.”

It wasn't actually immediate, not with both of them injured. Jango put his pillow on the floor to kneel on it, and helped pull Obi-Wan's tights down off his uninjured leg to bare him. When Obi-Wan threw his uninjured leg over Jango's shoulder, opening himself up, Jango rumbled a very pleasing sound, pupils dilating. He licked his lips, practically devouring Obi-Wan with his eyes.

Obi-Wan knew what he looked like, when aroused. His cock was small, folded in on itself, like a swollen knuckle. Below, he bloomed open with flushed pink-red cilia that weeped clear slick as they moved in concerted waves trying to pull anything nearby into the narrow passage that would be a cunt if he let his body grow one.

Obi-Wan could have gotten a hormone implant that set him to one extreme or the other, cock or cunt, and would nearly have passed for baseline-human. It just... didn't feel like him to be either. This was the anatomy he'd grown up with, before he started cycling, and the anatomy he had most of the time between extremes even then. This was him, even if it severely limited his potential partners.

Though... it seemed not quite as severely as he'd thought. Jango fell forward with a moan, burying his face between Obi-Wan's thighs. He delved into Obi-Wan's waiting slick, lapping at him rough and eager. The flexible tip of his tongue wormed into Obi-Wan's entrance, and set to kriffing him with quick, muscular thrusts.

Obi-Wan moaned, hands sinking into his coarse curls to hold his head in place. “Ooh, Force, yes!”

Jango's jaw popped, his mouth was open wide to engulf as much of Obi-Wan as he could get. He mushed his nose against Obi-Wan's cock, rubbing it as he ate him out. Obi-Wan was already so worked up, so turned on, and the sensation on top of Jango's clear and loud pleasure at getting to taste and touch him sent him cascading over the edge of orgasm.

Obi-Wan bucked and moaned his way through an absolutely bone-melting orgasm, clenching around Jango's tongue. Jango sucked his way off his entrance with a lavish kiss that had him crying out, and grinned at him with his mouth reddened and his face absolutely coated in Obi-Wan's slick.

“I'm multi-orgasmic if... if you want to— Jango!” Obi-Wan gasped when Jango immediately dove back in. “Suck my cock?” he begged. “and, and, give me a finger?” He was burning up, inflamed by the skill of Jango's mouth and his eagerness at the act. Jango's finger was thick, harder than his tongue, perfect to clench around as Jango sucked his cock. “Oh stars. Oh, Force. Oh, please!” Obi-Wan all but sobbed out another orgasm.

Jango moaned between his legs, gentling as Obi-Wan collapsed in shivers. He caressed the inside of Obi-Wan's narrow passage, finger slowly turning and rubbing, searching for anything that was particularly sensitive. And he found it, too, the spongey front wall where Obi-Wan knew from experience the texture was a little rougher and firm pressure felt amazing. He stuck to it as Obi-Wan gasped and squirmed on his finger, licking lavishly around his thrusting finger and then squeezing just the tip of his tongue in with his finger. It was so much, too much to bear when Jango wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan's thigh to be able to reach his cock from the upper side—stroking it between two fingers as he licked and finger-kriffed Obi-Wan's hole.

The walls rattled as the third orgasm came crashing through Obi-Wan, his control over his abilities in the Force compromised. Jango felt startled, between his legs, and then unbearably smug.

“Enough,” Obi-Wan begged, patting Jango's arm like tapping out of a spar. “Mercy, mercy. I can't.”

Jango rocked back on his heels. He licked his finger clean then wiped his face on his forearm, grinning. “Definitely works,” he said.

“Oh, I'll say.” Obi-Wan laughed, tugging on Jango's arm. “Enough stroking your ego. Come back up here and cuddle me.”

They managed to get themselves arranged again fairly easily. Jango's ribs didn't seem to be bothering him at all, anymore, and Obi-Wan's leg was definitely feeling better—though how much of that was the bacta and how much of it was the fact he wasn't sure he could feel his legs after such good orgasms remained to be seen.

It felt good to rest against Jango's solid bulk, to have his arms around him, and just float on the closeness. Obi-Wan nestled close, and managed not to say anything revealing. Like wondering aloud how many orgasms they could give him while their bodies were locked together with Jango's cock buried in his ass. He certainly planned to find out, if they were ever in the same place again and healthy enough to make the attempt. If Jango liked that kind of sex.

“So,” he said, aloud. “About these other Mandos I ought to be kriffing. Do you have their comm numbers or—”

Jango growled, rough and dangerous, and claimed Obi-Wan's mouth in a rough kiss that was slippery and tart with his own slick.

(I am not currently open for more prompts. Thanks to all who participated!)

#this fic is a lemon #jangobi #obi wan kenobi #jango fett #fanfic #star wars

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lalachat · 11 months

Text

"And there you were..."

Author's note: HI! This is my very first fan fiction, along with my first time writing. I do not expect anyone to read this, nor do i expect this to blow up. This is simply just a thought i had in my head that I wanted to write down. If you are reading this I will and fully apologize for any grammar issues or typos. Again, I have a lot of learning to do so if this lacks flow or has too much filler let me know... KINDLY!!! Emphasis on K I N D L Y! I love and appreciate anyone who is planning on reading this silly lil story i wrote. I do plan on writing more chapters for this... hopefully some smut later on if this gets enough attention👀 ANYWAYS, I will be quiet now :)

Summary: Your mating bond had snapped for you as soon as you saw the shadowsinger, but he was too busy pinning after the second eldest Archeron sister to notice the bond. After watching them pin for one another, you decided Az would be happier with Elain. However, Mor has an idea to get Az to notice you. A night at Rita's with a scheme made by Mor goes south when you catch the sight of someone you haven't seen in years.

This is for all my Lucien girlies❤️

Warnings: um none? basically filler bc i'm a newbie at writing:) use of some profanity, alludes to sexual theme

Word Count: around 3,200

Chapter 1: "DID YOU JUST BITE ME?"

Lucien POV:

And there you were... standing next to the High Lord of the Night Court, drink in hand as your head tilted back in laughter. You looked even more beautiful than the last time he saw you. The only difference now is that he had found his mate, but he could not help the bubbling of old feelings trying to resurface themselves. Cauldron burn him because he was damned, and he knew it. As soon as his gaze met yours, he knew he was ruined.

Y/N POV:

You were completely unaware he was here. You were too preoccupied with nursing your wine and talking with your favorite high lord to notice his lingering eyes on you. Mor had sent you on a secret mission tonight. It was your sole purpose while being here at Rita’s. The dress Mor gave you hugged your curves in all the right places, showing enough skin but keeping some left to the imagination for others. The plan was simple enough, try to get the attention of your mate and make him jealous. It sounds terrible, but it was the only way to get his attention on you. However, as soon as you got there, his gaze never met yours. You saw Az off in the corner, eyes strictly on Elain as she talked with him. Completely blinded by her beauty, Azriel's bond never snapped for him. This was your last ploy before letting him be happy with Elain. You knew Az would never see you in the light that he saw Elain in. You figured he would be much happier with a female like her anyways. Luckily, Rhysand had spotted you before you could turn away and called you over next to him at the bar.

“Ah well if it isn’t the lovely y/n showing up late as always,” Rhys said smirking handing you a glass of your favorite fae wine.

“For your information, Rhysand, Mor came to my room at the last minute with a complete wardrobe change. Where is she anyways?” you said as you glanced around the room taking the wine from Rhys’ hand with a smile.

“Well, I must say she has fabulous style. You look stunning y/n, but as of Mor’s location... I lost her to the dance floor as soon as we walked in. You know how she is.” Rhys rolled his eyes playfully as he sipped his own drink.

“I should have suspected that answer” you laughed. “I am assuming the rest of the group is somewhere on the floor too? Should we go join them and show them our horrendous dancing my high lord?” you teased with a smile and bow. Rhys gasped and placed a hand on his heart.

“Oh y/n, how you offend me! My dancing is quite fabulous if I say so myself!”

“Yes Rhysand, your white girl dance moves are fabulous. However, mine put yours to shame, and you know it!” you say as you down the rest of your wine and offer him your hand. Rhysand’s eyes twinkle as he finishes his drink and takes your hand before leading you to the dance floor. He spots Feyre with the rest of the inner circle on the floor, near the corner where Az was with Elain. Feyre’s face lights up as she sees you.

“Y/N!!!! There you are! We have been wondering when you would show up! Even got my mate out on the dance floor. I applaud you!” as she gives you the biggest hug. “You look exquisite!” Feyre says as she leaves to see her mate.

Mor hears Feyre say your name, and she instantly runs over to you. “Look at you!!! I knew that dress would be perfect for you! SO worth the last-minute change because you look fucking hot!” She spins you around and pulls you closer. She lowers her voice to where only you can hear. “He has been glued to her side all night, but it is nothing we cannot fix, hm?” she says with a hint of playfulness. You look behind her to see Nesta and Cassian dancing alongside Rhysand and Feyre. Your heart falters at the sight of both mates enjoying one another’s company with laughter and smiles. How you yearned for something like that. They were both cauldron blessed. Mor followed your gaze and sensed your uneasiness. She smiled at you.

“Do not falter y/n! We have a mission, and it is now on! Let us go be the badass babes we are and have some fun” as she takes you over to the rest of the group to dance. She positions you purposefully close to Az and Elain. You are both giggling as you twirl one another around to the music, tipsy off the amount of alcohol you both consumed. Everyone was getting lost in the music. You and Mor could not stop laughing at each other. Throats and bellies feeling warm from the alcohol. You both began to forget about the reason you came tonight. Until your gaze left Mor’s and connected with burning amber eyes and bright red hair pulled up in a bun. You stopped dead in your tracks and turned towards Mor.

“Is that Lucien?”

“Yes, he’s only here to keep his eyes on his mate, and well because Feyre had forced him to come,” Mor said while looking at you. “Why do you ask? Do you know him?”

“I do. I just have not seen him in years. Him and I used to... um.... This feels weird to say aloud knowing he found his mate, but we were friends with benefits a LONG time ago”

“YALL WERE WHAT?!” You decide to grab her hand and go to the bathroom for more privacy. You do not want the entire inner circle hearing about your previous sexual partners. As soon as you shut the bathroom door you turn to her to finish the conversation.

“Mor you act like I am a virgin.”

“Y/n I know you are not a virgin, but out of all the people to hear you have had sex with, I was not expecting him! I did not even know you two knew each other!”

“Yeah, it was when I stayed in the spring court for a while. We met at a popular bar in town, and we instantly clicked. One drink led to another, and I took him back to my apartment. We were so infatuated with each other that it quickly became friends-with-benefits.”

“OH MY GOD AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME? Y/N this is positively perfect!” You were shocked she took the information so well that you could practically see the gears grinding in her head as she paced back and forth.

“Mor whatever you are thinking stop it now. I am concerned that you are this deep in thought while being tipsy.”

“Y/n there has been a slight change of plans” Mor said with full confidence.

“Should I be concerned?”

“That my love is up to you to decide, but this is what you are going to do. You are going to talk to Lucien and...” before she could finish her sentence you stopped her with a finger to her mouth.

“MOR ARE YOU CRAZY?! I must have had too much to drink because I could have sworn you said that I should talk to--” before you could finish Mor bit your finger and you yelped. “DID YOU JUST BITE ME?!”

“Yes, but that is beside the point. Y/n, you are here to make Az jealous over you, are you not?”

“Yes, but--”

She smirks as she says, “And what better way to do it than to flirt with Elain’s mate?”

Your mouth goes slack. “Elain is Lucien’s mate? Why has no one told me this?!”

“It is because you are off in your own little world sulking over Az. Besides, none of us even knew you knew Lucien. They don’t even act like mates let alone talk to each other, so we forget half the time. But Y/n this is your chance! Not only could you make Azriel jealous of you, but you could also make Elain jealous of Lucien! Like I said, it is positively perfect!”

“Mor I can't... this is becoming too much. I do not think I can do this.”

“GIRL you are drop-dead gorgeous! Any male who does not see that can go die in a hole! You are worth so much more than a mate who refuses to look at you y/n. You can and you will do this! I will not let you sit here and do nothing. You must fight for him y/n, and if the only way to do it is to play dirty, then you must play dirty!”

“Fine! I will talk to him, but nothing more and nothing less.”

“Yes! Let us get this new and improved mission going! I cannot believe you and Lucien did it” Mor said as she linked her arm in yours and strutted out the bathroom back to your group.

“And I cannot believe you BIT me!” Mor giggles as you stick out your tongue and rub your finger to sooth it. You find Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, and Nesta at the bar getting more drinks.

Cassian boomed as he said, “There y’all are! We were beginning to think you both fell in!”

Nesta smacked his arm and said, “Not all of us thought that. Some of us have the mental capacity to know that it was for girl talk. And I must say, whatever it is I want in!” She smirks at the two of you.

“Oh, oh! Me too! Me too! I love gossip!” Cassian says as he swings an arm over Nesta to get closer to your conversation.

“Cas go be a busy body somewhere else!” Nesta said swatting away Cassian as you and Mor both giggle at their banter.

“We were just gossiping, it’s nothing important really,” you say hoping Nesta would catch that you really do not want to talk about you and Mor’s trip to the bathroom. Luckily, she seems to understand and gets up to lead Cass back to the dance floor. “Come on Cass, we can gossip with them later, I love this song!” as Cassian whisks her away to go dance. You can hear him faintly say “This is not over ladies; I have to know what it was!”

You laugh as Mor looks at you. “He's such a drama king. All right, the time is now! No better time than the present right?? Now go,” as she pushes you toward where Lucien was standing. You glare at her over your shoulder as you walk to Lucien. You can see her smirk before turning around to join Rhys and Feyre back at the bar.

“Mother above only you can save me now...” as you take a deep breath and finish walking over to Lucien. Your eyes meet, and for a brief second, all the memories come flooding back to you. You had forgotten how handsome he was. His fiery red hair, gorgeously tanned skin, and his burning stare that made you feel like the only girl in the world. You had to stop your mind from lingering too deep into the memories y’all shared because most of them were sexual. You would hate to finally talk with him again only for him to notice your scent.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here? It has been too long Lu!” you say, and you give him the most wholehearted smile that you could muster.

“Y/N! I was wondering when you would pop by. Always unable to resist me huh?” he says with a smirk, reaching to give your hand a chaste kiss. Your cheeks flush at the feeling of his lips on your skin. You can practically feel your skin burn from where his lips had just been.

“Still charming as always.” He chuckles at your comment, and it makes your heart flutter. You were treading extremely dangerous waters. You had not told Mor this, but your previous friends-with-benefits with Lucien had you harboring a secret crush on the male. If it were not for the fact you and he had mates, you were sure you both would not be sleeping alone tonight. “You look nice, Lu.”

“Thank you, as do you y/n. What are you even doing here at Rita’s? Last I remember you were still in the spring court.”

“I was, until I decided that I wanted to see the beauty of the other courts. I was nomadic for a while as I traveled, but that changed as soon as I saw the night court and met a certain High Lord everyone now knows and loves.” You giggle as you remember your first encounter with Rhysand. “I fell in love with Velaris and the inner court that I had decided to stay. The rest is history.” You gave Lucien a warm smile.

“If I had known you were here all this time, I would have come to see you! It's nice to have a friendly face around that’s not a part of the inner circle.” He says with a huff.

“I get a sense you don’t really like the inner circle all that much?”

“It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s more so that I don’t belong or fit into their group. Feyre tries to keep me in loop, and I love her to death for it, but it will not change the fact I am that group’s wall flower. The only reason I really stick along is for-” he catches himself. He doesn’t ever finish the sentence, but you knew what he was going to say. He was going to say, “for Elain.” You decided not to press the matter.

“Well Lucien, I think you are the prettiest wallflower!” you say with a smile and slightly push his shoulder. He smiles and dips his head as he says thank you. “Say, I could use some more wine and it looks like you could use another of what you were drinking, want to come with me to the bar?” as you batt your eyelashes at him. He smirks and you can see an emotion in his eyes, but you can't tell what it was.

“How could I say no to such a pretty lady offering me another drink.” He places his hand on your exposed lower back and guides you to the bar. His hand feels like fire on your skin. You almost sighed into his touch but remained stoic as you finally reached the bar. He removes his hand, and you find yourself missing the contact. He orders a refill of his drink along with another glass of wine for you. You were surprised when you took a sip of your wine, finding it to be the same as before. Funny, you don’t remember telling him the exact fae brand you were drinking.

“How did you know what to order for me? I don’t remember telling you what I was drinking.” you look mischievously at him as you take a sip.

“How you vex me! You think after all this time that I’ve known you that I can't tell that you’ve been drinking your favorite wine? Y/n I may not be the brightest flame in the world, but I sure as hell remember the smell of your favorite wine in your breath.” he says with a smirk, remembering all the heated kisses shared between you two. You try to hide the creeping blush from your cheeks, and you too remember those moments all too well. You put a hand to your mouth and breathe out. He was right, you can smell the wine you’ve been consuming.

“I didn’t think the smell would be that strong!” as your nose scrunches up at your breath.

He laughs at how silly you looked trying to smell your own breath. You could not help but laugh at this situation too. You had forgotten what it was like to be around Lucien. The warmth that radiated from him as he laughed had you weak at the knees. You can't help but think how lucky Elain was to have Lucien as her mate. You don’t understand what she doesn’t see in him, and that made you think about Az. He would never see you the way he sees Elain. Hell, he barely even looks at you. So how could you even compete against someone like her?Lucien could tell something was wrong as your face went from laughter to disappointment.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What’s that pretty little head thinking about?” Lucien had asked concerned, tilting his head to get a better look at you. Maybe it was the alcohol talking but you couldn’t help but to ask.

“Lucien, do- do you have a mate?”

“Do I have a mate? Y/n are you okay? Why are you asking this?”

“I- I don’t know. I’m sorry for even asking. I am overstepping my bounds. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” you take a big gulp of your wine. Lucien reaches out his hand and lowers your hand from your mouth.

“Hey! Don’t ever apologize to me for asking a simple question! I was just shocked by how random it was. One minute were laughing and now were on the subjects of mates. It was a very big jump, so I'm sorry for my reaction earlier. Yes, I have a mate, but she- she does not want me...”

“I am sorry Lu, she doesn’t know what she’s missing out on” you give him a faint smile.

“It’s alright. All this time I thought it would be someone else, but the mother had different plans, I guess. What about you? Surely the lovely y/n has found her mate.”

“I have, but it’s kind of complicated...” you look down at your glass as you start to twirl your wine.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how is it complicated?” he asks.

“He doesn’t know about the bond yet...”

“Y/n why doesn’t he know?” Lucien asks, and his eyes are so intense you have to look away. You catch yourself looking for Azriel among the crowd to see if he was looking your way and spy him in that same corner with Elain. Unlike the other times where they were talking, this time they were kissing. A gasp escapes your lips as your heart drops. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes as you nearly fall out of your seat. If it wasn’t for Lucien bracing you, you would have. He studies your face for a moment before following and focusing his gaze on where you had just been looking. His grip around you tightens as he watches his mate with Azriel. You can see the realization hit him as soon as he makes eye contact with you again. He now knows... “How about we get out of here, get us a sweet treat, grab a bottle of your favorite wine, and go back to my place to decompress?” He asks rubbing your back.

“That sounds perfect.”

You both get up from the bar and walk toward the door, Lucien’s hand is still on your back. You can feel a gentle caress of your mental shields and you know it’s Rhysand. You lower your shields to let him know that you were leaving, that you would be safe, and that you would be back tomorrow. He doesn’t pry and trusts your judgement. However, that doesn't stop him from turning to his cousin and bombarding her with questions about what the hell was going on.

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Tags:

@thelov3lybookworm @justdreamstars @character---obsessed @stained-glass-eyes0708 @acourtofbooksandshadows

#lucien vanserra #lucien x reader #mor acotar #feyre acotar #rhys acotar #nesta archeron #cassian #azriel #elain archeron #acotar x reader #acotar

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