#the only other person I could imagine delivering that line

[heytherecentaurs]

This scene with Callie and her mom. Oh my god. Emily and Murph are so good. Emily makes me feel so much with just her voice. “I’ll kill her for you.”

Spectacular. Classic naddpod split the party and give the PCs their own fucked up little scenes. Murph’s gotta do it a couple times every campaign.

[screampied]

‘ IT'S A MATCH: LAST FRIDAY NIGHT ! ,

profile. girl, matching with your best friend on tinder is pretty awkward. hooking up with him, even more awkward. wanna know what’s even worse though? saying that word—i love you.

wc 4.9k

warnings. fem! reader, modern au, humor, size kink, mutual pining, loser boy gojo, unprotected, cheesy pick up lines, praise, touch starved satoru, cunnìlingus, overstim, créampie, i felt silly ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

an. old old draft ;') based on the song last friday night. damn!

“mannn i’m so cooked,” gojo murmurs to himself, pacing back and forth. he’s dragging his feet against the silkened strands of the carpet before a soft pout spreads across his lips. “she left me on delivered for seven minutes…… seven.”

to be fair, in actuality you did. only because you were occupied with doing your hair. gojo being gojo was freaking out, thinking you were probably uninterested. albeit, once you finally did reply, his heart nearly fell out of his chest.

‘how does 7 pm sound?’

‘soid@:$:@) good’

‘um what?’

gojo mentally smacks his forehead, stupidly mashing on his keyboard, barely even letting a second go by once you responded. he was way too eager, he intakes a sharp breath before smiling — replying with a cheesy thumbs up.

he had the dumbest grin plastered on his face. after his best friend, you, advising him to give dating apps a try, he actually does. gojo matched with a lot of women not even minutes after installing the app onto his phone. how coincidental that the main person who caught his attention was you, the both of you matched and he made sure to text you first.

who knew though. that you’d be matching with the one and only satoru gojo. definitely not you, and of course, not him.

despite what everyone said, gojo was a bit of a womanizer, sure. but he was also a huge hopeless romantic.

he started fooling around on dating sites . . not looking for love necessarily but mainly to pass time. you mentioned it to him and he decided to give it a try.

pretty soon, time flew by quick. with a quick snap, it was just about to hit six o’clock pm.

gojo threw on grey sweats and ruffled up his hair a bit. he couldn’t lie to himself, first date and he felt a bit nervous. who was he kidding though, you told him to come to your apartment.

probably wouldn’t end up being a date, but still.

he read through your bio about three times, and your personality stood out to him.

you and him surprisingly had the same interests in lots of things, you loved sweets, and loathed scary movies. “…she’s so perfect,” he’d utter to himself, just imagining the sound of your sweet voice.

gojo abruptly snaps out of his thoughts—he didn’t want be too late, so with a quickness, he starts to make his way to your house.

with hands buried in his pockets, he gives a few hard knocks on the front of your door. about approximately nine seconds later, you open the door and his maw instantly drops. “y-you?”

“hey, y—satoru?” you mimicked the same reactions

the silence was practically deadly.

the two of you stared at each other for what seemed like centuries before you furrow your eyebrows. “satoru,” you mumble, bringing a hand towards your face to rub your forehead. “…you matched with me on purpose, didn’t you?”

“wha— noooo!” he protests, a cute pout tugging against the corners of his lips. he obviously did. you eyed him from head to toe. whilst his hands were buried into his pockets, you could tell that you made him a bit nervous. a light tint of color started to flush against his cheeks before he pulls on his sweater. “heh, is it gettin' hot in here or is it just me.”

“oh my god,” you suddenly spoke. “no wonder you didn’t have a profile picture,” and then you give him an abrupt glare. “satoru. why’d you even use the kfc logo as a profile picture anyway? idiot.”

“oh— it’s a long story.”

you deadpan, mentally face palming yourself.

gojo takes a good look at you, and he’s got a sudden sheepish grin. “woah,” he utters, and his eyes linger for a long time. he’s never seen you dress in such a formal pretty way. he felt a sudden heat rush to both sides of his face before without thinking, he murmurs. “you look kinda hot.”

“kinda? now i’m offended.” you scoff, tugging on your fishnets.

“all you’re getting from me,” he fake pouts. he then comes closer, closer . . all until he’s just inches apart.

one look at your dress and he just wanted to rip it off. you and him were so attached to the hip, he’s never expected to see you in this kind of light. if you were being honest, his gaze that ran against your entire figure made you a bit nervous.

throughout your long term friendship with gojo, he was known to be flirty every now and then. you figured that was just his personality but perhaps he started to view you different. “so,” he shrugs, bending down to your level as a way of mockery, “is this the part where we hook up?”

“well technically, yeah—” and you look right into his eyes.

he was just undressing you with eyes practically, cerulean bright irises roaming down your body before he hums. “…..oh,” and he awkwardly scratches his head. “so do i make the first move or—”

“you’re such an idiot. just kiss me, ‘toru.”

he snickers, and after what seemed like forever, gojo leans in for a kiss.

he was so pretty, he didn’t even have to try. long fluttering lashes that matched his snowy white strands flap closed. gojo tasted sweet, the moment his lips went against yours, you sink into his embrace. he was surprisingly a good kisser, not that you ever kissed your best friend or anything—but for some reason, it felt so warm.

so natural…

your heart, it starts to pick up a bit and your arms wrap around his broad shoulders.

gojo let off a soft grunt, your sweet aromatic perfume wafts right into his flared up nostrils. you shiver a bit, feeling his hands slowly drag up your body. minty, a good way to describe the brief taste that loiters on his breath. he was always chewing peppermint—an unserious guy with a sweet tooth, although this time maybe his sweet tooth was for you instead of casual sweets.

the kiss was passionate, you almost forgot you were literally making out with your best friend.

you did dream a bit about this moment, him holding you all close with his lips mashed against yours. his hand continue to wander, such big hands compared to yours. you slide your tongue against his before parting your lips just a bit further.

“….mhm,” he’d huff out in a muffled groan, and he made sure to focus his hands near your hips. his fingers brush against the thin fabric of your dress before he gives it a hasty yank.

steamy breaths collide against each other whilst each second passes—eventually, gojo’s leading you toward your bedroom.

no bother in asking you where everything was since he technically knew the layout of your house like the back of his hand. “wanted to do this for so long,” he finally speaks in shortened breaths—he’s panting, and you let off a soft gasp once he lifts you up. instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist and he slyly smiles. “you should really clean this place,” he murmurs, walking casually with you in his arms. “oh right, you can’t because you’re always at my house.”

“the point of hooking up is to not talk, satoru.”

“well excuse me,” he dramatically rolls his eyes.

at first you were a bit shy coming to the bitter realization that you ended up matching with gojo by pure luck. by now, things weren’t even that awkward—or at least awkward yet…

you didn’t wanna jinx it though, he leads you towards your bed before you plop down on your hands. you sit down, staring up at him and he starts to pull up his grey sweatshirt. you watch intensely, his abs peeking as he yanked it off before you spot a glance of his dark blue boxers hiding above his sweatpants.

so attractive . . .

you’ve seen gojo shirtless countless times but never completely nude. just imagining him, his glistening body presenting itself right in front of you… phew.

you intake a breath, mentally preparing yourself.

“awh,” he sneers, and you’re so secluded into your erotic thoughts that you don’t even realize he’s practically half naked now. all that was left was his wan-colored sweatpants. he was a tease, your eyes fixate towards his ripped chest—his abs, they were sublimely sculpted and chiseled.

sharp.

you felt like if you ran a finger down his perfectly structured v-line, you’d get a paper cut. his six pack flexed and you had to squeeze your legs shut. it was no surprise gojo had a daily work out routine. he’d even try to drag you to come with him sometimes. majority of the time, that’d go to no avail though. “enjoying the show, yeahhh?”

“shut up.” you grouse with a swift eye roll.

a smug grin curls up against his pink lips before he grabs your hand. “wanna feel me?” and you’re confused by what he wants you to feel until he makes you slowly slide your hand down his clenched pecs. you peer up at him, his body feels so warm— it was brick hard, exactly how you thought. your fingers continued to run down his ripped modeled chest before feeling against a scar. “cute fingers,” he teases, making it trail lower and lower until you spot his happy trail that was just about poking above from the very hem of his boxers. “you should pull them off of me.”

“fine,” you mutter with a puffy blow, bringing both hands towards his lower half. gojo stares, watching you pull down his sweatpants— then his briefs. you made sure to take your time, tugging on the stretchy aqua-blue fabric before within seconds, his length springs out. “you weren’t lying.”

“hm?” he says, watching your eyes continue to wander — he was definitely big, your memory suddenly refreshes of the pictures you exchanged with him, and the carpets very much did match the drapes. his shaft was . . turgid, at least the tip was. it was a pretty flashing pink, smeared with a few droplets of his own pre-cum. gojo was well trimmed, but had a few left over white specks scattered all across his base. he even had a cute mole down near the very edge of his length. specks of white hairs near his happy trail decorated his body, it was attractive. he had a left curve too, it was quite noticeable—a strikingly long vein that pulses at the sight of you, running down the very middle part of his dick and you merely moan.

as you move yourself closer, he’s stood standing while you’re sat on the bed and your glossy lips give his swollen tip a few chaste kisses.

“damnnnn,” he pants, feeling his cock twitch from the way your lips made instant contact with his tip.

the more you stared at his length from your peripherals—the more you observed its color. it had a rich rosy tan. slightly—still the same pinkish color with a brief tapered ridge. he was hefty, there was no question. inch after inch, he stood tall right in front of you. gojo claws a hand into your hair softly before sucking in his breath. “baby wait, i wanna do everything. ‘m already hard.”

you hum, amused—giving his frenulum a subtle lick before backing away, jibing out a, “oh really?” and then once he makes you lie back against the bed, you sit up with a sly grin. “do you even know how to eat pussy? and i’m not just talking about from your 'experience' from reddit or twit—”

“girl shut up,” his tone pitches an octave and it’s quite funny.

always sassy—you watch as gojo strum his fingers against your dress, taking his precious time to lift it up before feeling against your thighs. so soft, he’s always wanted to feel you—especially right here, take in every part of your curves, your gorgeous physique. his lips form into a cute scowl as he pulls you closer towards him. “i know what i’m doing.”

“yeah you do.” you sing along, and he shoots you a pout. you loved the banter between the two of you, toying along with him—he always made it so easy. it doesn’t take long before he starts peeling off your fishnets with his teeth, it was so dirty. you felt yourself throb a bit, edges of his teeth softly pricking against your skin as he yanks the thin nylon material made fishnets that stuck against your thighs.

your back lies flat against the bed and you intake a single breath. gojo rubs a hand against your tummy, you quaver a bit simply from his touch. he’s keeping eye contact the entire time too, irises never looking away for a split second—he mimics the same motion, peeling your panties off with his pearly canines.

it’s lewd, he doesn’t even pull them off all the way. instead, he just leaves it on you but has it rolled down to your thighs. “lotta back talk for a girl this soaked, to be honest.”

“ . . . . ”

you don’t reply, and he chuckles to himself. he finds your lack of an answer quite cute.

gojo stares between your parted thighs and your lips were all stretched—glistening with a sheet coat of your sweet arousal.

“so pretty,” he coos in a low voice, and you watch as he leans in—pressing a soft kiss against your entrance. immediately, his lips gets all shimmery from your own wetness and it’s hot. gojo purposely runs his tongue against his lips because he knows you’re staring directly at him. “my best friend tastes soooo sweet.”

“quit talking, ‘toru.” you moan and you don’t realize how your voice is becoming more and more shaky by the second.

“fine. fiiiiine, can’t have shit,” he grumbles playfully.

you stare as he prods two lengthy fingers against your slit. with a gulp, you prepare yourself. he gradually starts to insert two fingers inside, curling them up whilst it adapts to your warm walls and his arm shakes. “oooooh,” he whispers in a mere raspy voice. sweetened squelchy squelches came from your cunt and it was so loud it rang throughout your ears like church bells on a wedding day. “she’s quite— the talker, huhh.” he continues, and that’s right when he places his lips against your folds.

you swallow, feeling your back immensely arch from his hot lips.

gojo’s tongue swipes against your pussy. the middle part of his tongue skims down and it feels so good, he’s slow at first. he knows the exact direction to go and your toes curl. a free hand of his slides near your pubic mound, applying just the right amount of pressure—he does this so you can quickly feel your sweet g-spot. you do, and a gasp leaves your lips, it’s mindblowing.

already, he made you feel your forbidden g-spot.

you didn’t even know gojo—your dumb best friend had this kind of experience. as his palm presses down against the particular spot, his other hand is still occupied. lengthy fingers curl all throughout your walls, reaching every spot by prodding with just the right amount of deepness.

“f-fuckkk,” you whine, and suddenly your nerves make you shift your attention back towards his slick tongue. as his tongue was lolled out, a pretty clean pinkish tongue. he slithers it by using the back of his tongue, merely copying a sort of vacuuming type technique. the sounds that ran out his mouth was so filthy, your thighs start to twitch profusely and your hands found its way into his hair.

“s—satoruuu.” you’d babble and its only been a few minutes. a few long minutes, your squirming was cute to him. you tried focusing on your breathing patterns but that was no use. your mind went blank, empty like a canvas.

“mhm,” he groans, feeling himself get hard simply from your pitchy moans that reverberate and bounce across the thin walls. his fingers still went in and out of your cunt at a decent thrusting pace. the way you easily swallowed his two digits was just perfect, it didn’t take long at all for him to find your clit. “there she isssss,” he hisses cheekily, changing up his tongue strokes just a bit. it felt so good, heavenly. the way he drags it against your pussy. your jaw hung open with only sweetened sobs and whimpers leaving right past your spit-glossed lips.

whilst he’s rummaging through your vulva, he occasionally breaks away to spit right onto your cunt. it was no surprised gojo satoru was a messy man. he couldn’t help it, he’s fantasized about this exact scenario maybe once or twice. as his saliva trickles between your slit, he grunts as he watches. just all sopping wet just for him. he blows against your entrance just to make you squirm even more.

with his fingers still buried into your cunt, he does the ‘come here’ motion—a simplistically erotic motion where he uses not one but both index and his middle finger to flick back and forth inside of you. right there, oh you could have came.

“o-oh my goddd,” you whimper, his warm breath colliding against your arousal. “i-i’m close, satoru. think ‘m getting close.”

“aw,” he purrs in a sweet tone, using the flat of his tongue to lap up against your clit even further. you’re so soaked—his chin starts to drip with your slick and it’s so attractive. he pulls himself back to grin at you, a dumb pussy-drunken smile and nothing but your slick arousal running down his chin, so sheeny. “suck a little harder, she says?”

you nod, although you were sure your inevitable orgasm was quickly approaching.

your favorite part was when he sucks deeply against your clit, practically tongue fucking you. he had quite a long tongue so it did wonders, it made sure to reach every particular crevice imaginable. “nah don’t run from me now, gorgeous,” he utters sweetly once you squirm a bit more—he grabs on your hips, removing his two fingers just to hold you steadily in place. “give it to me, baby. show me how much of a messy girl my best friend can really be, huh.”

his dirty talk was just the icing on the cake. gojo’s just coaxing you towards your incoming release, all the while—it felt so good. the way your legs quavered, a trembling mess.

gojo’s holding your jerking hips against his mouth so he doesn’t miss a single taste. your mouth forms into a surprised 'o' and it’s like he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment—to be fair, he could have just asked a long time ago.

he was shy though, he didn’t wanna ruin the friendship—yet now that he’s propped up between your legs, eating you out like a starved man, you don’t know how you could continue to be just friends. not in a negative way, but after this—every time you’d stare at gojo, you’d just see his face that was right between your legs that one friday night ago.

once your orgasm comes, you whimper out— a ripple surging out of you and you’re so squirmy.

it was so intense, you fell into a trance, feeling that familiar spark combust and you’re slump back. your maw still hangs open and you’re so cute—only inaudible whimpers, cacophonies of his name, the repetitive whiney, “s—satoru, ‘toru.”

his nose brushes against your entrance before he pulls away—he grows quiet for a brief moment before sitting up, you’re out of breath before he leans in for a kiss. you moan right into his mouth, running a finger down his cute undercut and that makes him whine into your mouth. his undercut, he’s always liked the feeling of you running a finger down there—it hypnotized him in a way, the entire scene was so salacious. tasting yourself on his damp tongue, your legs wrapped around his waist and his dick brushes against your parted legs.

“you’re not that bad of a kisser, you know.” gojo mutters as he finally breaks away—a stringy shiny trail of spit departs and he sits up. “why can’t we do this more often?”

“you never ask,” you breathe, still getting over your recent release—he talks so much, you almost forgot how much of a blabbermouth he was. literally seconds ago his face was buried between your thighs and now he’s rambling to you about a sale he spotted on one of his favorite candies. “. . yeah yeah, lie back now.”

he lies back against the bed and watches as you make your way towards him. he lands backwards with an ‘oof’ before raising his eyebrows in amusement. “oh? you’re gonna be on top? what if i wanted to have you bent over—”

“i’d rather die than let you see me arched over.”

“heh, woah now angel—that’s just mean. after i gave you that teeth shattering orgasm,” he says with a dramatic eye roll. you align yourself with gojo, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and for a concise moment he grows quiet. “hm. don’t really care though, you’re still hot. straddling me like this and—”

you lean forward, silencing him with a kiss because he just wouldn’t stop talking—it was cute in a way though, gojo would literally talk your ear off. he kisses back immediately, feeling you hover against his leaky tip before lowering yourself further and further down. “mhm,” you’d gasp at the current stretch. it was hard to ignore, he was big—no secret about that. due to how sopping you were, it made it easy to just sink right down. gojo’s jaw tightens as he brings a hand towards your waist, another near your ass. with a tight squeeze, he continues to fall into sinful bliss at your cunt holding him hostage. your walls hugged him tightly the more you sank down. his breath was heavy, he heaved and heaved before you’re finally all the way down.

parting away once more, he utters out a needy, “touch me.”

“ask nicely,” you whisper, starting to rock your hips swiftly in place—you were so hot, especially in his eyes. you’re so warm inside, feverish, tingly. gojo swallows thickly, a breath getting caught in his throat as his white lashes flicker towards your waist. you brush a thumb against your best friend’s lips before humming. “touch me pretty please, say that.”

“how about i tell you a joke—” he cuts off, yet moans once he feels you grind your hips in a specific rotation—so good. he’s at a loss of words before his eyebrows curl up and furrow, head throwing back in pleasure. “heh. uh, check, please! know what’s on the m-menu? me ‘n you.”

“…………………..”

“…..you’re right, i should just shut up,” he puffs out, his cheeks burning with such heat. he holds onto your hips before he swallows his pride, speaking in a cute pout whilst avoiding eye contact. “touch me pretty please.”

you smile, trading a finger down his chiseled chest—so muscular, he was perfectly sculpted.

his loved your touch, it makes him ten times harder. your fingers roam against his body and he merely folds into putty, his abs—they clench as you’re being stuffed by full of his thick inches. gojo made sure to go slow, he didn’t wanna hurt you—especially considering how big and how much of a damn packer he was. so big you almost drooled.

he was mesmerized by the way you moved, with a single pivot of your hips it didn’t take long for him to locate that spot. you moaned, feeling a surge of haziness overtake you before you lean in to kiss near the crook his neck.

“man,” he croaks, and each time he speaks—his voice gets more raspy and out of breath. “uh, keep ridin’ me like that ‘n i’m gonna die. your pussy’s fuckin’ dangerous—shit.”

again, he rambles while you’re riding him in the same constant rotation. he falls in love with the jerks, the way you grind and delve your hips even further into him.

it’s amusing to study his facial expressions though, the way his blue irises would roll back into the very depths of his cranium—his pink sheeny lips parting, even his irregular breathing patterns. he was so whiney, your cunt swallowed him whole and he starts to feel fuzzy. hot, you felt so hot inside. it merely gives him whiplash once he feels your hands trail up toward his chest. his chest, more so his pecs—abs, his nipples.

“s-sensitive there…” he pants, and with his same grip against your hips he drags you closer—back and forth, it was so slow. you’re grinding against his body and he thinks he’s feeling a certain type away. you know, that word. this entire view, seeing you top him like this—gojo was about to lose his mind, a fiery sensation pools low into his abdomen. you had him all hot and bothered, it didn’t take long before his thigh starts to bounce.

“are you?” you tease, leaning in to run your tongue against his perky nipples—oh, his reaction. it was priceless, he grips onto your hair this time, moving a few strands away from your face while you’re still riding him before he whimpers. with shaky lips, he begs for you to suck harder. you didn’t even know if he was into something like this, perhaps your best friend was a freak.

a freak in bed.

you wondered if he’d be like this if he got matched with some other random girl on tinder. being this whiney for them, but since you two were close maybe you had an exception.

“angelllll,” he drags out his words, and it’s cute. his tongue rolls a bit and beads of sweat start to race down the side of his forehead. “i’m gonna—”

suddenly, he grows quiet once his cock that was buried into your folds abruptly slips out.

he slowly looks up at you with a head tilt, and you’re staring right back up at him—he’s still panting with his hands attached to your hip. “oops,” he sheepishly laughs, trying to ignore how he was so close to shooting right inside of you. it squelched, you break away from his chest before kissing near his neck. he moans, aligning himself back against your entrance. “f-fuck that was kinda hot.”

“i can’t tell who sounds like the girl more,” you start to pant yourself, and you feel yourself coming close right with him—you briefly bite your lip before feeling such nerves sneak its way inside. his girth, it never failed to leave you speechless. with gojo, he was a bit thick but more so lanky—thin, yet he made sure to reach every crevice of your cunt. you felt him deep, the more his hold against your hips tighten—the more he’s pumping you full. you’re constantly leaning forward, cupping his face before sneaking a few kisses near the corners of his lips.

“shut up,” he rasps, and he’s close. you’re about to milk him dry—his breathing picks up and he presses his fingers right into your hips. strands of his hair runs through his face before he whines, head throwing back in pure bliss. “god, you do it so good—so good, ‘m gonna cum,” and then with pretty hooded eyes, he swallows before reaching between your legs. he runs a hand against your sopping wet cunt that was a sheer mess itself before sighing lowly, “where do you want it, angel? tell me if i should—”

“inside,” you whisper, and your voice was so close up to his ear that he could have just came from your voice and your voice alone. shivers ran through his body, your chest presses against his and he’s maneuvering quicker circles against your pussy. “f-fuck, ‘toru. ‘m gonna cum too.”

his ruffled hair was all in his face, it was cute. you’re being stuffed full—he’s so hefty you’re dizzy, approaching that release before seconds pass and you gush out. it comes out slow, a shockwave ripples out and you whimper—softly nibbling your teeth deep into the inside of his neck.

“oh f—fuckkk,” he babbles, and his voice ends up cracking, its adorable. both of his ears burn with radiating heat before he finishes, dumping a sloppy load of velvety ropes into your cunt. you literally did milk him, you bring your hips to a more slow stop—deeply grinding against him still and he slumps back. he pours so much into you he’s speechless himself, a hand hooked around your waist as you continue to swivel. “i just— i need you—shitttt.”

you stare at gojo and he’s all dumb, panting heavily. his chest heaves and tightens, loving the warmth of your plush thighs wrapping around him. “i.. i think i love you,” he abruptly says, and with his tone—it’s like in more of a question, he watches your shocked stare peer into him and he sighs. “i don’t wanna use dinder anymore, i— i just want you.”

“it’s called tinder, satoru,” you kiss near the side of his lip. “and i love you too, dummy.”

“really?” he looks at you, still smothered with a look of fatigue—he could go for more rounds but he needed a minute—plus he may or may not have a cramp in his leg. “soo when’s the wedding then?”

you deadpan and he sheepishly smiles at you, he’s still got a firm grip on your waist.

the feeling of gojo’s remains of cum just seeping down your thighs as you straddled him—still with his twitching shaft inside made you kiss your teeth a little. “i’m sure you’ll get cold feet, you’re scared of literally anything.”

“pft. girl, that’s not even remotely true. do you realize who you’re talking to?”

the arrogant gojo came back — you roll your eyes and he slyly grins, yet all the meanwhile he’s holding you close against your chest. you let him kiss you once more before you both pull away once his phone suddenly beeps.

a loud screeching notification . . you were assuming it was a text. he feels you shift a bit, turning to see what it was but pulls you closer towards him, deepening the kiss. you give up, locking your arms around him once more, preparing to start up your hips again.

oh, he tastes candied, sweet…

you moan straight into his mouth before the phone ends up beeping again and again.

consistently until it starts to get annoying, gojo grunts, departing from your honeyed lips. “who’s texting me, angel? thought i turned tinder notifications off.”

you grab his phone, it brights up from your fingertips hovering against the screen before you squint. “uh, it says . . . suguru geto?”

he repeats. “suguru ge—” and then he timorously runs a hand through his hair with a raised eyebrow. “oh. eh, what’d he say?”

you pause for a long moment before reading the message, by long—seven consecutive seconds to be exact, your lip twitching, slowly realizing as you skim through the text by this ‘suguru geto.’

“. . . he says that he had fun last night.”

“oh!”

[sincerelybubbles]

"oh i could never date bakugo because he's too mean"

to you? mean? oh, darling, no.

the second bakugo confirms that you're his and his only, it's a one way ticket to being spoiled beyond anything you could imagine. his fight to be the best hero translates line for line into your relationship.

it's "whatever you want" mumbled after every question, it's "the fuck you think you're doing?" when you try to lift a finger toward your wallet, and it's "you drive me insane" with a scowl and smiling eyes, tugging you closer by the hip to soften his words.

trust me, you can't even go a day without him showing up in your relationship in some way. he's working late at his agency, swamped with paperwork? you're greeted in the morning with what seems to be the entire stock of the local flower shop down the street. he's sent away for a week on a mission? when your phone isn't buzzing with texts updating you (nothing too flowery, but it's enough to remind you he's thinking of you), you're eating food he's meal prepped for you or had delivered to your door. it's sunday? he's shoving your drink of choice under your nose and insisting that you spend at least an hour longer in bed.

if you're also a hero, on the streets fighting alongside him, he respects you above any other hero. if you're at home, in college or working in some other career, he's bragging to his sidekicks about how "fucking cool" whatever you're working on currently is.

and then there's the way he would never leave you with any doubts. does he suck at communicating his feelings directly? yes. without hesitation, yes. but he's there and he's blushing and spitting out assurances of his care for you until you're able to soften his jaw with time, he's never shying away from touching you to make up for where his words lack, he's playing your favorite songs in the car without having to be asked and he's always jumping at any opportunity to make your life easier.

(it helps, of course, that you spoil him tenfold by being there for him, holding his hand when nightmares prevent any further touches in the middle of the night and smiling so sweetly at him when he walks through the door to see you. i mean, how could he not adore the only person who sticks around and peeks past the vulgarity of who he is to see the good he fights so hard to maintain? something about you makes him feel human, worth emotion, worth love. he's willing to do whatever it takes to be "the fucking best at this boyfriend shit")

[dfortrafalgar]

Special Delivery

(Sanji x Fem!Reader- Offscreen)

Sanji reaches out to Zeff for the first time in years.

I wrote this many, many months ago now, and it was the first fic i posted anonymously on AO3. I got a few requests after it was originally posted to write a second part, which I eventually did!

You can read Part 2 here! Original AO3 link

(I figured I should let my blog breathe a little in between the really heavy and emotional Law fic im writing, and what better way to cool down than some sanji fluff <3)

A sharp squawk awoke Red-Leg Zeff from his daze. With a grumpy expression and a low grunt, he peered towards the direction of the sound.

A messenger coo was seated on the railing of the Baratie's upper deck next to where Zeff stood slouched over with his forearms leaning against the wooden support. It cocked its head to the side as if it was deconstructing Zeff's appearance before reaching into its pouch and procuring a parchment envelope. Zeff found it strange. Messenger coos only usually delivered the newspapers or the latest bounty reports, very rarely were they put in charge of personalized letters. It must have been paid off by whoever wanted this delivered.

The gruff man took the parchment from the beak of the bird and watched as it took back off into the air, leaving a few molted white feathers behind in its wake. He looked at the envelope.

All it said on the front, in very elegant handwriting, was "Captain Zeff." He flipped the paper around, revealing a wax stamp holding the opening down, which he peeled off with a calloused thumb.

Tucked neatly inside the envelope was a white piece of paper, tri-folded over itself. Zeff slipped the paper out, unfolding it to reveal the written contents of the letter. The penmanship was impeccable, and the ink was very sleek. He knew immediately it was from Sanji, not many other pirates had handwriting as good as his. He had completely lost track of how many years it had been since the curly-browed boy left with that ragtag group of pirates to sail to the Grand Line, but Zeff had every single one of his bounty posters. He'd never admit it, but they were tacked up on the wall of his sleeping quarters. Every time Sanji's bounty increased, Zeff felt pride swell in his heart.

"How are you doing, you old geezer. It's been a little too long since we've had any contact, so I thought I'd write to you just to see how you've been. You're no slouch, I'm sure you've been keeping up with the world's events over the past however-many years. Do the Marines even bother to keep sending our bounty posters to the Baratie anymore? Well, regardless, I'm sure you can read right through me. I can't deny it, I miss you, old man. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, and such a huge part of that is thanks to you and the guys back on that old cruiser. Every recipe I try to make, I imagine you screaming in my ear and telling me that it tastes like shit. Some days I really wish I could be back there, but most of the time I'm joyful. Life has been really, really good. A few years ago, I met someone. Last year, we got married, and soon after our lives changed so drastically. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and she's as sweet as an angel. I mean it, too. I know you'd probably think something along the lines of me playing up my affections again just because she's a pretty woman, but I mean it. You'd love her, Zeff. Living as a pirate is the most stressful thing anyone could ever do, but she makes every day worth it. The crew was discussing the possibility of returning to the East Blue a bit ago, and when we do, I'm going to introduce you to her. I've spent the last years talking all about you, how you taught me everything I know about cooking, and I can tell she's just as excited as I am to finally see you. This letter's gone on long enough and I don't want to use up all of Nami's paper.

-- Sanji"

Zeff felt a lump in the back of his throat. Sanji had grown into such a fine young man, eloquent with his words and his feelings. He knew how big of a deal it was for the boy to be so honest and open. But one thing in the letter caught him off guard. What did he mean by, "Soon after our lives changed drastically."?

Zeff peered into the envelope, where another, smaller envelope was tucked inside. He almost didn't see it. Pulling it out, he held the letter and original envelope in between his fingers while he opened the second. Sanji was thorough with his packaging, that's for sure.

Inside, there were three photographs printed on thin, matted paper. The first was of Sanji and you, the wife he wrote about in his letter, taken by someone else holding the camera. Sanji had his arm around you, holding you against him, and you had your face nuzzled into his neck. His other hand held a cigarette away from the two of you, like he was in the middle of telling a story. The two of you were smiling brighter than the sun, Sanji's eyes completely closed with the motion of laughter, and yours creased, your irises looking up towards him.

The second photo made Zeff's eyes water. A photo of you and Sanji on the deck of the Sunny, exchanging rings. Sanji was wearing a sleek navy blue tuxedo, while you were wearing a gorgeous white ballgown. For pirates, you cleaned up phenomenally. He could just make out tears in Sanji's eyes as the photo displayed you sliding a band onto his finger. A skeleton with poofy hair stood between the two of you, which Zeff found a little odd, but he chuckled at the absurdity of it all.

Zeff flipped to the last photo.

The tears that were welling in his eyes from the previous image finally slid down his cheeks in heavy, salty droplets. His lip quivered.

Sanji sat in a chair, beaming down at a bundle of cloth held gently in his arm. He was crying in this photo as well, and was reaching a finger over the top of the bundle, where a smaller hand was reaching outwards to grab onto it. A small glimpse of blonde hair could be made out from under the cloth securing the baby tightly. On the back of the film, Sanji wrote the birth date and the name of the baby.

Zeff used a sleeve to wipe his blubbering eyes. His lips quivered, but he couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face.

Was he allowed to call himself a grandfather now? He figured it was only appropriate.

[kquil]

hello! I'm here to request a 🍪 with poly marauders, where they ask the reader if they would like to be their partener and they're nervous and stuff

-thank you, have a lovely day !!

A/N : this is the finally cookie requested from my 1k milestone event, thank you so much for the request, darling and im so sorry for taking such a long time to deliver it, i really hope you enjoy the read, my lovely!

They had never been so nervous or anxious before. You were the one and only person to accept their unconventional relationship over everyone else when they first revealed that they were in a poly relationship with each other. What makes the situation even more anxiety-inducing is the fact that you were one of their closest friends, long before they even got into a relationship with one another, therefore, if they really followed through with this, they’d be risking their long-time friendship with you as well. Looking into each other’s eyes, it’s clear that they share the same anxieties for the decision they wanted to ultimately make. 

Having understood and supported their relationship more than most, you were their common confidant and dearest friend… no… being around you didn’t feel like being around a friend, nor were you like any type of sibling to them. You didn’t fit into any comfortable category or label anymore. That line and distinction was blurred a long time ago, maybe even before they got together as a trio. 

You felt more than a friend when you helped Remus through his thoughts on a daily basis, speaking to him softly and laying out his thoughts with much more clarity than he could ever imagine. You’re always there to help him go through his problems no matter how minute they may be and the tall brunette is incredibly grateful — he never wants to take you for granted. You don’t feel like a friend when you know exactly what Remus needs after a long and hard day. And, especially not when you allow him to hold you tenderly from behind as you help cook the boys their dinner, especially when they all feel lazy and tuckered out from a long day’s work. Remus would often press his face into the slopes of your neck and shoulder, breathing in your familiar fragrance and would sigh in relief, your scent giving him comfort. His arms wanting to hold you longer than what was appropriate for ‘just friends’, oftentimes, you’d let him without any complaints of discomfort. 

“Are you feeling good, Rem?” you’d muse, your voice like sweet honey and warm milk to his ears, cosy and ever so comforting. 

“Mmmm…yeah,” he’d reply, appreciating the hand you would reach up to briefly comb through his hair and massage his scalp with.

You felt more than a friend when you knew exactly what to say to Sirius if he was ever acting up. He had a horrible habit of acting first and thinking later, however, you were the only one who seemed to calm him down enough to temper his fury and instinctual need to act first, giving him clarity with your words and gentle touch. He’d be on the ground, back against the wall and burying his face into the plush warmth of your stomach as you kneel between his legs. He’d hold you desperately, clinging onto the fabric of your clothes as you soothe him by petting his hair and saying everything he needed to hear in that moment. Somehow, you always knew what to say. You don’t feel like a friend when he’s spooning you from behind, seeking comfort and warmth as you read a book. Your book wouldn’t hold your attention for long, however, as you would eventually deem Sirius’ comfort and needs more important than your need to finish a book. So, like clockwork, you’d turn around in his arms and he could finally feel the reciprocated action of your arms winding around his figure and pulling him close. Naturally, he buries his smiling face into your chest and you’d soon begin humming a soft tune to fill the already comforting silence. 

“Don’t leave when I’m asleep…” Sirius whispers pleadingly, whining almost. 

“Never, Siri,” and that was all he needed to fall into a deep slumber, smiling and always finding the sweetest dreams that often featured you as well as a great amount of kisses. 

You felt more than a friend whenever you’d let James sit in the kitchen with you and ‘help’ you cook breakfast, lunch or dinner, whatever it may be. He’d watch you with such fond eyes, he was surprised that you never noticed his more than friendly appreciation of you. Every once in a while, you would turn to him with a spoonful of the dish in your hand and ask him to have a taste — it was his turn to contribute to the cooking. It made him feel important and involved and like he was sharing a special moment with you.

“How is it, James?”

“As perfect and delicious as always!” he replies happily, licking his lips and grinning even wider when he hears your melodious giggle follow straight after. 

“I couldn’t have done it without your immaculate taste in food,” you would humbly reply, cupping his cheek and staring into his eyes with what he wants to deem as love and affection from someone who’s more than a friend. That small moment of joy, however, is quickly broken as soon as you turn your attention away from him. James fights the urge to turn you back to him, lean forward and capture your lips in a heated kiss, a plea and desperate attempt at convincing you to love him, Sirius and Remus as official partners.

You don’t feel like a friend when you would go out of your way to be there for James whenever something was happening in his life, big or small — you were there for him when he was getting ready for his job interview, when he got the job, got his first promotion, when he wanted to eat lunch with someone because he felt lonelier than usual; you were there for everything and so much more. 

It only felt natural for them to take that final step with you but, just like how nerve wracking it was for them to confess to one another, it was the same apprehension that clogged up their throats and made it difficult to form the words. 

“What’s wrong, you guys?” your soft voice pulls them out of their concentrated apprehension. It was the usual Saturday lunch you spent at their flat except, this time, they cooked the meal for you — it was a pleasant surprise, especially when their cooking turned out better than it typically did. For a while, you were the only eating the food, ignorant to their spiralling thoughts. However, when you finally did notice, the concern was evident in your eyes, largely because James wasn’t hoovering up his food like he usually was, nor was Remus engaging in conversation with you about the book you were both reading together, nor was Sirius subconsciously expressing his deeply learned table etiquette and reprimanding James of his lack of manners like a mother hen. Today, they shared the same daunting expression and it was contagious, rubbing off on you like the plague. 

“We uhhh…” Remus begins, gulping with difficulty as he shares a look with the others, “we have something to ask you…”

“What is it?” your question is filled with caution, a direct response to their strange unease around you, “You guys are acting very stra—” 

“We love you!” James blurts out which immediately diminishes your worries and draws an adorable giggle from you, one that they all melt over.

“I love you guys too,” with a smile, you happily continue your meal and completely miss their intentions. 

“No,” Remus says, “not like that…” his statement makes your brows raise in shock, you search their eyes for answers as your heart begins to race — both from fear and a hint of hope.  

“More than that type of love, dollface,” Sirius clarifies, hoping that it was enough for you to understand them. 

James reaches over and touches your hand, caressing your knuckles tenderly with his thumb, “we don’t just love you, we want to love you,” it was a little saying between you and James, one that made you fall in love with him and eventually Sirius and Remus too. 

With happy tears welling up in your eyes, you look into James’ hazel pools and finally finally see the abundance of love swimming in them, only for you, “like the verb?” you ask in a tear-filled, weak voice. 

James laughs and nods eagerly as Remus and Sirius smile fondly at you, the latter of the two reaching out to gently wipe your face of the tears spilling past your waterline, “like the verb, love,” James brings your knuckles to his lips and kisses them lovingly.

Your answering nod was all they needed to round the table and pull you into an embrace, their lips eager to meet yours in a passionate and loving embrace. 

1K MILESTONE EVENT : CLOSED | NAVI.

[koishiro]

# - 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇

masterlist | genshin masterlist | upcoming anon asks

Diluc

Okay I’m sorry but he’ll flat out ignore you at first,

Or at least he tries to considering he can’t stop thinking about you which will make him confused for a while on why his heart “aches” when you’re around. He doesn’t realise it but when you’re around or generally anywhere near him, he’ll subtly scuffle closer towards you and I can imagine Diluc trying his best to be in your line of sight as much as he can because that’s his way of infiltrating your mind. Every time you visit Angel’s Share don’t expect to pay for anything, it’s conveniently on the house. I can imagine he’d also want a form of validation from you (and only you) after he gives his opinion in a discussion, it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Fancy seeing you here Y/n, the usual? What are you doing? There’s no need to spend your mora on such wasteful things”

Zhongli

…I hope you like tea,

Because you better expect to be invited to the funeral parlor “for tea” at least 3 days a week. If you’re ever walking through Liue and compliment something at a passing stall, he’ll buy it for you without a second thought because let’s be real (and these are his words exactly): - “mora has no value if it’s not spent on something worthwhile” …this man - he doesn’t realise how much of a flirt he is and is always confused if he catches your red face. He’ll also subtly court you without making it too obvious, like he’d appear at your place of work quite often with the excuse;

“the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is running quite slow today, I wondered if you’d like to take a stroll around the town with me, possibly have a look at the stalls”

Kaeya

This flirtatious bastard,

He’ll always think of ways to make you malfunction. You’re a regular at Angel’s Share as well?: “Ah so this is where all the pretty ladies are kept hm?”, followed by a drink he bought you. Any time he sees you walking though the streets of Mondstadt he’ll jog up to you and say: “Going somewhere m’lady? I could escort you if you’d like, maybe you’d care for a drink at the tavern?”. I can imagine Klee giggling to herself when she sees you as if she knows something you don’t…

“Sorry miss Y/n, Klee was told she can’t say anything, Kaeya made Klee promise - oh, you won’t tell Kaeya will you miss Y/n?”

Al haitham

This withdrawn boy…

He’d quite literally just stare at you from across the room until someone (Kaveh) nudges his shoulder, telling him he’ll scare you off if he continues. If you’re already aquatinted with each other he’ll most likely try and impress you by giving you book recommendations or talk about his findings at the Akademiya while you zone out and stare at his face for the next few hours. If you’re not aquatinted, he’ll saddle up to you and still give you recommendations:

“If I could just interject, herbal tea would be best whilst chamomile shall just make you drowsy, if you’d like I could show you how to make your own”

Childe

Ah yes, the cocky ginger,

I imagine he’d act like Kaeya, if he saw you strolling through Liue, Childe would stride up to you and ask if he could escort you to where you need to be with the excuse; “you can never be too careful” and this would become a habit to the point of meeting you once your shift ends to walk you back home. He’d also 100% spend his money on you no doubt, like Zhongli his excuse would be

“what’s the point of mora if I can’t spend it on a pretty girl hm?”

Itto

I hope you’re a dog person,

Because this is at your beck and call. One of the ways he shows his interest towards you is gift giving; you need a certain herb? Wait here while he goes and hunts it down for you, or maybe you need some meet? Don’t worry, he’ll quickly chase down a boar for you. And if you thank him a big smile when he delivers them? His tail could cause a tornado with how powerful his tail is wagging. Another way he shows his interest is physical affection; you’re sitting down reading a book? He’s there with his head on your shoulder, you’re both walking through town? He’s got a firm grasp on either your hand or your arm,

“what? I can’t let you wander off and get yourself lost, what would I do then? Who would hive me head pats?”

Kaveh

You wouldn’t even know he has a crush on you,

Instead thinking he’s just this friendly with everyone. Being an architect, no less from Sumeru, he would show and explain his ideas to you and ask for advice on what you think about them, sometimes he’ll deliver miniature structures to you that he made, for example: he once made you a wooden mobile (like a baby cot mobile) to hang wherever you please that plays music because he knew you had trouble sleeping or another time, he made you a glass wind-chime that would reflect the sun and cause rainbow rays to spread across your porch because you spend so much time in your garden. He’ll either make these as a thank you, a just cause, or he’ll make up a white lie and say it’s an experiment he’d like you to test run, always delivered with an excuse he made beforehand:

“Ah Y/n, glad I ran into you! I noticed the other day that you were struggling to keep on top of watering all of your plants so I made an automatic watering system! If it all goes well, I might start a batch of them”

—

－𝘬𝘰𝘪 𝘹𝘰

[alicenotalice]

I’ve been following Etho for ten years and Joe Hills for maybe ten months, so a proper Joe Hills guy might have a different read—but to me they have equal and opposite energies as characters/personas/performers. They are both Just Normal Guys who are also Baffling Cryptids; but Etho is a faceless, bodiless entity who can cause colleagues and fans alike to pop their monocles and clutch their pearls by revealing mundane details about his physical reality (He eats sandwiches! He grows stubble! He experiences local wildlife! Stop, no more, my heart can’t take it!)

But Joe Hills of Nashville Tennessee, meanwhile, has built his whole persona around being...I’d say “uncompromisingly present.” The fourth wall is his canvas, his own self is the paint. Tune into a stream of his and you’ll likely be met with his giant, transparent, real life face imposed over the screen as he regales chat about his time at a local pinball tournament or the troubles of renting in Nashville

They are both weird little guys who’ve been around forever and don’t give a damn what the current prevailing wisdom has to say about how to run a gaming channel. And they’ve started crossing paths more and more, ever since TCG and DO2 and HC Vault Hunters—and for my small part I’ve found it wildly compelling!

Because—ok. Etho’s default mode in one-on-one collabs is to let the other person pick the play, and then back it. Figure out what the bit is and go along with it. Harmonize and amplify—which is how we got slapfights with Gem in the Decked Out lobby as well as “the ship burns, everything burns.” Meanwhile Joe’s improv comfort zone, to my eye at least, appears to lie upstream of whatever’s “expected.” He delights in the odd and surprising, he’s gleefully contrary, he’s helpful and wholesome, he’s a pain in the ass. King of malicious compliance, Joe Hills

A lot of their in-person interactions prior to the current season felt a bit like their cryptid energies cancelled each other out, leaving two Very Normal Guys having friendly if light conversation and being generally accommodating (the best example I can think of is Joe’s HC VH episode where Etho joined him on a cursed vault run). I suspect it’s because Etho was trying to defer to Joe to set the tone and pick the bit, while Joe was waiting for Etho to pick a direction so he could provide friction by running counter to it—so the banter never actually had a chance to start. That said! Both of them separately are charismatic performers who are very good at what they do, so even without a chemical reaction between them they manage to put on a good show…but imagine. Imagine if they DID have that reaction…

And that’s why the stonefrog deal is so fascinating to me—Joe Hills and Etho have a Bit now. A dynamic. A place where banter could theoretically happen. And that dynamic has gone through several tone shifts since Joe decided to lightly menace Etho by making the delivered stone shulkers spell out “Ethowo”

And again! It’s not like this is a major plot line in either of their videos! It pops up often on stream, but only because Joe spends most of his time there putting mountains into shulkers, and gets a lot of questions as to why he doesn’t just use TNT. It’s not a big deal…and yet. And yet!

[houseofanticipation]

Don't Want To Be A Person Anymore. Need Someone To Make Me The Lowest Of The Low.

This was the text of the ad you placed on multiple message boards for your city. Most places took it down, a few banned you, but not before you received dozens of replies from guys offering to fuck you, dom you, even rape you. It was nice, being perceived as a sexual object by so many people, but only one seemed to truly understand. The message was simple, with no greeting or identifying information attached: when i am done with you strangers on the street will perceive you as a Thing. send me your mailing address if interested.

You read that message over and over again. You tried to ignore it, got wet, read it again. You knew sharing your address was stupid, dangerous, but wasn't that what you were looking for? Anything they could do to you would just be a step in the right direction, right? For three days you stayed strong, waited for a better offer. For three days you found other things to focus on. For three days you avoided reading the message during your morning masturbation session.

On the fourth day you gave in.

You waited for something to happen. You could barely sleep at night, waiting for some masked stranger to come into your home and rape you. You fantasized about your face being pushed into the bed, your pussy stretched almost to the point of breaking. You imagined begging him to stop, telling him you'd changed your mind, only to have him cover your mouth and rape you harder. You tried to resist the urge to masturbate, but eventually the ache inside you became too great, and you lay face down, humping your hand and repeating to yourself what a worthless slut you were.

You went on like this for six agonizing days, telling yourself each night that this, this would be the night it happened, but you became less and less convinced each morning. Had he forgotten you? Gotten cold feet? Had he ever intended to do more than tease you? You felt ashamed at how turned on you'd been, and turned on by how ashamed you were.

Then, one week after sending the message, you got something in the mail. It was a manilla envelope lined with bubble wrap, something thin and hard inside. It had no address on it—it must have been delivered by hand—but it did have your full first and last name handwritten on it in bold, blocky text. You hadn't included that information in your message.

Inside the envelope was a sheet of looseleaf paper, a pair of panties, and a cheap smartphone. The handwritten message on the paper read:

take this phone and destroy any others you own. throw away your computer, your tv, any other means you have of contacting or connecting to the outside world. do not speak to your family. do not speak to your friends. if anyone comes looking for you ignore them until they go away. if you need to watch pornography, you may ask me and I will share something appropriate. contact me when ready.

Most of the instructions were easy enough to follow. You didn't have friends anymore, and you hadn't spoken to your family in years. The hardest thing to give up was your computer, which you used for all your masturbation material: stories, images, videos, audio files, all the things that got your pussy wet. The more shameful and depraved the better. But you liked the idea of having your porn picked out for you, and if all else failed you knew you could always fall back on your fantasies to make you cum.

When all was done, when your old phone and your laptop and your little brick TV were all in the trash, you opened the phone and texted the only number saved in the contacts. I'm ready.

The reply was quick: good girl. put on the panties and go to this address. the red heart is a remote controlled vibrator. make sure it's lined up over your clit. Attached was a map location.

You examined the panties and found there was indeed a red heart in exactly the place your clit would go, and it contained something flat and hard. Thin strands of drool clung to your old panties as you pulled them away and within moments the new pair were already sporting a wet spot. The vibrator sat in exactly the right place.

The address turned out to be a mall. The person in your phone instructed you to go to the food court and sit at a table, which you did. You waited for a minute, then two, and after three minutes you got another message. Now.

No sooner had you read the word than the vibrator started to work. It started light, barely enough to notice, but it amped up gradually, and it was so persistent. You pressed your knees together, clasped your hands on the table, lowered your head to hide your face. Your phone vibrated. do not try to hide your orgasm. let the people see what you really are.

Your face red with shame, you slowly lifted your head. The panties were pulsing now, low to high, high to low, and you were sure it was visible on your face. You could feel the orgasm coming, and you knew you wouldn't be able to hide it. Already a few people were eyeing you curiously, probably wondering if you were in trouble, or mentally ill. Probably both, you thought to yourself, and came.

Your body spasmed involuntarily. Your hands clenched into fists on the table. You choked out an agonized moan, fighting with your better sense to let it out, let it all out, cum loud and hard in front of all these people. The vibrator slowed, then stopped. Your face burned with embarrassment as you opened your eyes. People were staring. A few were whispering to each other. You were sick. A pervert. A whore. And just thinking about it made your pussy quiver.

from now on, said your phone, you will always come when you feel like coming. touch yourself if you like, or rub yourself against something, but do not deny it and do not hide it. people deserve to know how sick you are.

They should know, you thought. It was wrong to let them believe you were a regular person, someone like them. You were a thing, and it was unfair to them to make them think differently.

go into the men's restroom. sit in the middle stall. await instruction.

You stood, knees shaking. The bathrooms were on the other side of the food court, and you felt dozens of eyes follow you across the open space. You made a point to look as many people in the eyes as you could. They always looked away before you.

The middle stall of the men's restroom clean, if not immaculate. A few drops of dried piss flecked the seat, but you ignored them, checking your phone. a friend of mine will be coming in soon, said the message. suck him to completion. make sure he ejaculates on your face. The prospect made you want to cum again, and you'd been given clear instructions about what to do in that event. You hiked up your skirt, pulled the vibrating panties down around your ankles, and began to stroke yourself. It was easier in here to be as vocal as you wanted. You moaned and whined and whimpered, desperately pleasuring yourself as your pussy drool trickled into the toilet.

You heard the door to the bathroom open and close. You paused for a moment and then, remembering your instructions, got back to work. You were almost ready to orgasm right then, but you decided to hold off, continue to edge yourself until there was cum on your face. It felt only appropriate.

A man came around the bend, standing outside the open door to the stall. He looked to be in his early 20s, with a mop of curly hair and a hesitant expression. You recognized him—he'd been back there in the food court, watching you. You didn't bother to stop edging. You gazed into his eyes, knowing the lust was naked on your face, and he took a nervous step toward you. Impatiently, you hooked your fingers into his waistband and pulled him closer. He made a surprised sound, but didn't resist. The sound of your fingers sliding in and out just made you hornier, and it looked like it was doing the same to him: there was a growing bulge in his basketball shorts, and when you pulled down the elastic his cock sprang forth like an animal freed from its cage.

He moaned as you took him in your mouth. It was a sweet sound, tender, too pure for a slut like you, but you relished in it anyway. He held the tops of the stall for support, gently thrusting into every bob of your head. The head of his cock pulsated in your mouth, and you caressed its every inch with your tongue. With every second your fingers became ever more urgent, more eager, but you willed yourself to have a little more patience. You stared unblinking into his eyes, and he seemed transfixed, unable to look away. You felt like you could make him do anything in that moment, but you didn't have anything you wanted him to do. You just wanted him to cum on your face.

In an act of unexpected boldness, he put his hands on either side of your head and began to guide your motions. You could tell he was moments away, so you pulled him out, took him in your hand, and lunged for his scrotum, taking the whole thing in your mouth in one fluid motion. It took you only four strokes before he was shooting thick ropes of cum over your nose. Stroke. Across your closed eye. Stroke. Into your hair. You were sure you felt his balls deflating in your mouth, and that was the thought you finally came to, screaming your pleasure into his testicles. At long last you released him and looked up again, gingerly wiping his cum away from your eye. All you saw on his face was disgust. With himself, with you, it didn't matter. You had put that look on his face. He hurriedly shoved his cock back in his shorts and fled the bathroom.

You gushed a little more into the toilet.

You looked at your phone. I lied before. I have never met that boy. you took that stranger into your mouth without ever exchanging a single word. he went into the bathroom believing you to be a person, but you have shown him his mistake. you are a foul thing, to be ignored, or avoided, or, if desperate, fucked. take this as your roadmap. one day everyone will see you this way.

An odd sort of bliss washed through you. Finally, for the first time in years, you felt like you were on the right track.

You left the panties on the floor of the bathroom. It was night when you left the mall, face still covered in cum. You took the bus home. On the way, you noticed an old man trying to take a picture up your skirt. You squatted slightly to give him a better angle, and shot him a wink when he looked up at you. The look on his face as he gazed at the picture turned you on, so you took his wrist and stuck his hand up your skirt. He was more aggressive than you'd expected, tried to fit more fingers in than you could comfortably take, but the pain just reminded you of your place.

When you got home you realized you had nothing to do. you couldn't watch tv, couldn't surf the internet. You sent a message to your benefactor. Could use something to watch before I go to bed.

The response was quick, like he'd been waiting. There were no words, just a link to a porn site. You opened the link and there, already with hundreds of views, was an overhead video of you ravenously devouring cock in the mall bathroom.

You decided you could cum one more time that night.

Part 2

[welcome-back-to-hoimycraf]

Thankfully, Gem awoke to a much nicer scene this morning. 

It was early enough for the sun to still be rising when a soft knock rang through the house. She sat up groggily, rubbing at her eyes in an attempt to bring some energy to her mind. Last night was exhausting . She couldn’t imagine being one of the people to deal with Grian, the poor souls. 

She, at the very least, had some semblance of an idea for the bafflement they felt, but that was likely not even the tip of the iceberg. Gem let it slip from her mind. He’s not her problem anymore- she’d seen weirder things than him before. 

The knocking came back again, slightly louder this time. 

Gem groaned in a rather childish manner. She didn’t want to get up, but she supposed that wasn’t really her choice. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she muttered, more to herself than the person at the door, as she sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She scarcely bothered to throw on a robe over her pajamas and step into her slippers before heading down. Whoever decided to bother her could deal with the consequences of waking her up so early- namely, her bedhead. 

This “whoever” turned out to be quite a welcome sight. Sparkling blue eyes and a beaming smile greeted her on the other side, quickly being obscured as the person in question leaned forward to tip her hat at Gem. 

"Well, mornin', Miss Gem!" he chuckled warmly, a sound that always brought a smile to the lighthouse keeper’s face. “Took you long enough to let me in- I was freezing’ out here!”

Gem rolled her eyes, stepping to the side to let the other in, which she happily obliged with a pep in his step. "When will you stop acting like you don't know me? You know you’re always welcome to drag me out of bed."

Pearl turned back to where Gem was closing the door behind her, pressing a quick peck to her cheek. "Oh, you know I'm just picking.” She giggled at Gem’s flushed face. “Always gotta mess with my favorite person!”

Gem rolled her eyes, heading over to the stove squeezed into her small kitchen area. She started up their usual routine of breakfast and chat, whenever they had the chance to follow it. Her and Pearl’s schedules were constantly at war with each other, making it a task and a half to spend time together- something Gem hadn’t realized she’d been lacking. 

Eggs sizzled as they fell into the hot pan, complementing Pearl’s humming from her spot leaning against the counter. This was nice; a domestic break from the hustle and bustle they were so used to. 

"You seen the new guy yet?" Gem eventually broke the silence, glancing out the window behind her to where Grian had set up on the beach across the river. He’d claimed the spot as his not long after he had washed up in town, or, at least, she assumed so when she had spotted him casting out his line as she prepared to crawl back in bed. 

"Yeah!” Pearl snapped his fingers as his eyes widened with the memory. “Heard some commotion last night and wondered what was up. Wasn't able to figure anything out, though," she conceded. 

Gem hummed in acknowledgement. "He washed up last night,” she supplied. “Miraculously, he's still alive. Never seen someone get away from the rocks with barely a scratch," she laughed- though her unease was hardly hidden. What was so different about him that the ocean would spare him so easily?

Pearl shrugged, not seeming to notice Gem’s worry. "Maybe he's just lucky," he suggested.

"Maybe." A silence passed over them, though it was over as soon as it started, their food finishing up and ready to be plated. It wasn’t much, only eggs and toast, but neither of them cared all that much about what they were eating. The two simply enjoyed each other’s company, more so than anything else. 

They moved through breakfast, Pearl raving about the new mail system Tango and Etho were working on. Apparently, it would halve the time to deliver across town, which the Postmaster seemed both stoked and disappointed about. She really never works a day in her life, huh?

Gem listened intently as her partner spoke, even if she doesn’t quite understand what he’s talking about- though she has a sneaking suspicion Pearl doesn’t know that much either. 

It wasn’t long before their plates held nothing but crumbs and the clock let Pearl know it was time to bid adieu. The two said their goodbyes with a brief kiss before Gem waved Pearl off as he headed out to deliver the mail. She made quick work of their mess, even taking the time to wash their dishes- a feat she almost never took up until much later than she probably should. With her hands forearm-deep in the soapy water, her mind began to wander with the menial task, leading to her eyes catching the man she already knew all too well across the way. 

Grian was still fishing. It looked like he hadn’t moved since she’d seen him the first time, which wouldn’t surprise her. Though, as she watched, she noticed him pull something strange from the depths. Gem squinted, and was able to make out what looked like a book. Even stranger, the man became visibly excited, snatching the volume from his hook hastily and wasting no time to throw it open. He seemed to scan through it frantically before his shoulders drooped. He snapped the cover shut and tossed it back to the sea without a second thought, settling back down to pick his rod up once more.

Gem dried her hands as she finished. She hoped he would find whatever he’s looking for.

>Previous< | >Next<

[ninacarstairss]

an incomplete list of things that will make me go feral if they’re included in the movie:

alex pulling henry in the red room and “impugning his virtue” against a painting of alexander hamilton and amy out the door pretending not to know what that horny little bitch of fsotus is up to

henry offering to get out of alex’s life to make it easier for him and alex brushing it off, only to realise later what henry was truly offering him and how stupid he was not to see it

oscar talking to alex at the lake house. oscar seeing him and accepting him. alex looking at henry, nora and june (yes i know she’s not in the movie just let me dream. he can be looking at henry, nora and pez too) and feeling like his world is complete. the night on the porch swing. sometimes you just jump and hope it’s not a cliff. the night in the lake. the little stone of certainty alex feels in his chest as he’s making breakfast.

yeah so just the lake house part

uma thurman delivering a power point presentation about dating the prince of england and alex running out when she brings up protections and pamphlets

jesus, could you stop being an obtuse fucking asshole for, like, twenty seconds?

so glad you flew here to insult me—

i fucking love you, okay?

the issue of le monde that henry keeps on his nightstand from the first time they woke up together

i want you. then fucking have me—

alex waking up in kensington in an empty bed, henry coming back, looking at alex and going “your hair in the morning is truly a wonder to behold” before making the world’s best declaration of love

“When he got older, he learned about love as a strange thing that could fall apart no matter how badly you wanted it, a choice you make anyway. He never imagined it'd turn out he was right both times.” there is like a 0,1% chance of this making it into the movie but i have this tattooed on my skin and it would be so perfect to see it on screen

alex saying in front of the fucking queen that he wants henry’s children

henry rambling about art and history in the v&a and alex pulling him into a kiss because he just loves him so much

i’m taking a picture of a national gay landmark. and also a statue

alex panicking about henry having to enlist

shaan having to dislodge philip from the chandelier when henry comes out to him

i’ve been gay as a maypole since i came out of mum, philip

henry’s obsession with jaffa cakes and mr wobbles

the memories email. I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn't fit in any rooms.

alex being a brat about the turkeys “put them in my room put them in my room put them in my room”

And then, inexplicably, you had the absolute audacity to love me back. Can you believe it?

alex calling henry at christmas and telling him all about his family drama and henry simply telling him that he did his best, the only thing he really needed to hear

most things in this world are awful . but you are good

alex’s list of things he loves about henry (especially points 16 to 18)

henry writing down the list in the email and then calling henry anyway because he knows he likes to have these things written down but he needs to talk to him

alex kissing henry in front of a giambologna

Sería una mentira, porque no sería el.

the drunk bad metaphors about maps email

alex being summoned by the president after the email leaks and ellen just asking him “are you okay?”

alex’s whole family being there for him after the email leaks, hugging him through a panic attack and allowing him to be himself after a traumatic event that had to be dealt with in a strategic political way

or so help me God I will personally make your balls into fucking earrings. zahra you fucking queen

the call from the plane. “sweetheart” he hears henry’s exhale over the line. “hi love. are you okay?”

alex and henry running to hug each other as soon as alex gets to kensington

i won’t lie. not about you. alex and henry saying at the same moment that they want to do this, they want to tell the truth, because lying about this is not an option

the little touches between them. whether it’s holding hands beneath a buchkingham palace table or hugging in a closed room or pressing a knee agains the other in a public place, because that is a tether, a gravity that makes the world make sense

bea’s speech about grief and how it’s like a pie. i want to cry really hard

numbers on one of us getting involved in a sex scandal before the end of second term?

henry sticking out his chin in that defiant way

I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose.

"Plus we banged it our last night” shaan and zahra being a power couple

bea dumping the tea pot on philip and going “all that cocaine i did must have really done a job on my reflexes!”

the han and leia mural

dc dykes on bikes chasing protesters

To you, specifically, I say: I see you. I am one of you. As long as I have a place in this White House, so will you. I am the First Son of the United States, and I'm bisexual. History will remember us.

alex’s face being plastered on chocolate bars and thongs with henry’s after the royal suitor photos

henry telling alex he’s opening the queer shelters worlwide. henry telling alex he bought a brownstone in brooklyn

the flashbacks to election night 2016 when alex saw zahra crying and all those women taking in the moment their first madam president was elected

alex and henry biking through austin, alex opening the door to his childhood home with henry by his side

a little flash forward into their future and alex calling henry the love of his life, henry choosing the place for a credenza in his brownstone, going on vacations together and falling in love all over again, savouring their time together with no fear of getting caught, june and nora finally kissing and alex being shook at pez’s comment, henry realising he doesn’t want to ever go back, henry listening to alex talk to his mum about marriage when he has also bought a ring, henry and alex buying a house far from the public eye, having the quiet life they never had, june subletting the brownstone to be closer to pez and nora, “you and me”

[chronic-escapixt]

Klonnie week - Lovers to Enemies:

Caught in the middle of a Mikaelson family dispute thousands of years in the making, how can Bonnie navigate being the object of Klaus’s affections and her responsibility to restore the balance of nature?

Esther quietly picked up on Klaus’s infatuation with the little witch, so she made it seem like it was his idea to invite her to their upcoming ball and he ran with it, personally delivering an invitation to the Bennett residence with an luxury diamond choker he picked out to adorn her lovely neck.

Everyone else found it odd that Klaus of all people would pursue a woman who could weaken him so easily but he was drawn to her strength, her ability to look him in the eye and tell him exactly what she thought with the power to back it up. Dominating a person with that much confidence was all the more enticing. Of course there was her beauty as well. Her hypnotic eyes, that if he stared too long at made him wonder if they were hazel or just green.

He couldn’t look away that night when she entered the foyer. The diamond of her necklace sparkled as did the glitter on the bodice of her black gown in the chandelier light. It fit her like a glove.

After greeting the woman of the house, Klaus stole her away to dance and drink the expensive champagne as he flirted flagrantly, flaunting his wealth and power as a means to impress her. Bonnie was agreeable with him as not to set him off, yet didn’t want to give him any wayward ideas about their relationship. She still didn’t really trust him but that night did show her a different side of the Original hybrid.

He brought her to his studio where he kept his artwork and supplies. She could see this other side of him in his paintings of nature and the way he talked about his art. This only made her feelings all the more complicated.

Esther underestimated her son’s affection for Bonnie but once she finally got Bonnie to herself, she brought her to their library. Bonnie was in awe of the seemingly endless shelves of grimoires from centuries of conquest and ancient texts from Esther’s coven. She praised the Bennett line for its power which she used to create the Originals in the first place but Bonnie already knew that. What she couldn’t predict is what Esther would say next, she asked for Bonnie to help her rid the world of her children. 

“As witches it's our job to maintain the balance of nature. A Bennett witch helped me to create the imbalance and now, I need you to help me fix it, Bonnie.”

She didn’t say yes… but she didn’t say no either. However, Esther was confident that the task weighed on her mind. 

Sure, she had her hang ups about Klaus but she didn’t want him dead. Though she’d never admit it outloud, she actually liked how he made her feel. He roused her defiance and tempted her to submit at the same time. Being with him was exciting and scary, like playing with fire.

Klaus found her thinking to herself alone on the balcony and quietly joined her. The energy between them had noticeably shifted as she kept her distance and only mustered a half-hearted smile when her eyes finally reached his.

His frown etched into his features as thoughts of their conversation filled his imagination. He needed to find out what Esther said to her.

[squirrelwithatophat]

Anders and the Blooming Rose

It’s a fairly minor part of his character, but I find it hilarious that Anders, "The Healer” of Darktown, really does not like the local brothel.  If you take him with you while purchasing “services” from Madame Lusine, you get this reaction...

“You’re not this desperate, I hope.  I treat a lot of these customers in my clinic.”

Then if you ignore the warning and do it anyways (you know, because Hawke)…

Anders: rivalry +5

It’s not a moral condemnation, a complaint about wasting time (à la Beth or Carver), or a vague expression of disgust (of the sort Fenris or Merrill reply with) — Anders, the closest in-universe equivalent to a doctor, is warning the player-character away from soliciting prostitutes on health grounds.

One interesting aspect of Dragon Age II is that it contains many more specific references to disease — which makes sense, given the medieval urban setting, where the top causes of mortality would realistically be infectious disease.  Gamlen explicitly refers to his parents dying of “cholera,” a highly lethal (even today, untreated cholera has a case fatality rate of up to 50%) water-borne illness, and the water supply in Lowtown is described as dangerously contaminated (Hawke can refuse to drink it “even on a dare,” Merrill refers to something “twitching” in the water even after boiling it).  A random NPC asking Lirene about “The Healer” complains, “I can't get my brother off the boat. The grippe's [i.e., the flu] got him bad.” Then there are the multiple references to unspecified STIs, all of which come from (or at least are associated with) Anders.

There’s an amusing line from Anders upon entering the Blooming Rose for the first time (usually but not necessarily during Enemies Among Us in Act 1):

“If someone tries to hire me again, I’m leaving.”

Now, some fans seem to read this as a claim that the Blooming Rose has tried to hire him as a sex worker, but I believe there’s a more plausible interpretation here. (Frankly, I have difficulty imagining that a brothel would be obsessed to the point of harassment with recruiting as their newest rent boy a man in his mid-30’s — and one who, need I remind you, lives in a mine shaft connected to a sewer and notorious for its toxic fumes, dumping of rotting corpses, and disease outbreaks. And no offense to any Andersmancer reading this, but is he really that good-looking?).

Most likely, the brothel is looking to hire an in-house physician (or Thedosian equivalent). Anders is referred to curing STIs and providing other reproductive care. In introducing him, Lirene says, “He's closed their wounds, delivered their children.” One of patients in her shop can be heard crying out, “My mother's in labor! The baby's come early. Can anyone help her?” To which Lirene replies, “I'll send word to the healer.” (Anders may have been delivering babies back in the Circle as well, considering that in MoTA, he says, “At the Circle, any accidental babies are taken away before the mother even sees them.” This could, however, simply be common knowledge among Circle mages). It’s also implied by Wynne that Circle mages practice contraception: “Such births [in the Circle] are seldom, as there are ways to prevent it, but it does happen.” Moreover, Anders appears to be the only person in Kirkwall willing and able to provide these medical services. There are references to useless quacks (e.g., “some purveyor of hensbane and leeches”), but it’s acknowledged in-universe that the only effective healing comes from mages. In DAI, the Inquisitor can express surprise at the presence of a “mundane” (non-mage) surgeon, who goes on to insist that such non-magical methods will be developed in the future, all of which further reinforces the (in-universe) social/cultural equation of healer as mage. Mage healers only appear to be let out of the Circle on rare occasions to treat members of the nobility, but ordinary people don’t receive such consideration. Even the viscount’s seneschal has to seek out Anders for help. In DAI, Cullen casually moons the idea of “healers’ clinics with templar support” (among other potential “opportunities to work outside the Circle”) as a totally novel solution to mage “resentment” over confinement. The Chantry thus far wasn’t willing to release mages to treat sick commoners even with phylacteries to deter escapes and Templar overseers breathing down their necks the entire time; in fact, they were rather reluctant to let out even a handful of senior mages to fight alongside the king against the Blight, something which threatened everyone’s lives fairly equally (and even then couldn’t resist the temptation to make the mages feel as unwelcome as possible). “The Healer of Darktown” was well-known to illicitly (that is, in defiance of Chantry restrictions) provide health care for free to the masses, and this service not surprisingly had earned him quite the number of admirers and defenders. Lirene resists being threatened for information about him by saying, “Any Fereldan in the city would lay down his life for the healer, after what he's done for us,” and a mob of Ferelden refugees even prepare to attack the heavily-armed party out of fear that the latter might harm him or report him to the Templars.  His Act 2 Codex likewise reads: “When not with the Champion, he spends his time among the Fereldan refugees in Darktown, healing their ills and counting on their loyalty to protect him from curious templars.” Should it be a surprise then that a private business might be interested in his skills, especially when disease is threatening their bottom line and injuring customers?  

In the game, we actually see two frequent patrons of the Blooming Rose end up in Anders’s clinic for treatment.

Dissent (Act 2), if Isabela has been left behind:

Anders: ...don't come running to me next time you pick up one of these diseases.

Isabela: Isn't that the point of magic?

Hawke: I don't want to know.

Dissent (Act 2), if Isabela is in the party:

Seneschal Bran: And that will, ah, stop the itch?

Anders: Yes. Though I would stay away from women you meet in the port. Pirates tend to... dock in unsavory places.

Isabela: I heard that!

Anders: Just use the salve if it comes back.

This is probably also what Isabela is referring to in the opening to Speak to Fenris (Act 2):

Isabela: So the seneschal's tax collector won't be coming around again, like you asked. Funny story.

Fenris: I'll pass, but thank you for the help.

Isabela: Spoilsport.

Seneschal Bran appears to be a regular with a particular fondness for Serendipity, a drag queen (or transfemme?) and one of the highest-paid workers at the Blooming Rose, whose gender nonconformity is generally Played for Laughs.  Bran can be seen on a “date” with her at Duke Prosper’s party during Mark of the Assassin, and Serendipity can later be heard commenting, “I haven't seen the seneschal much lately. Don't tell me the man's gone religious” (to which someone responds, “No, he just keeps terrible hours now”).

Isabela, of course, talks about sex and her enjoyment of brothels (including the Blooming Rose) quite frequently.  In Dragon Age Origins, we meet her dueling two men at The Pearl (Denerim’s main brothel), and she can (in)famously be talked into a threesome or foursome with the Warden and their LI, although in that game it was unclear whether she was hiring prostitutes or simply ended up there in the course of searching for dueling partners (given that the building had been occupied by mercenaries, and one of the optional quests in Denerim is to clear The Pearl of disruptive mercenaries on behalf of the city guard) or following/checking on her crewmen. In DA2, it is confirmed that she was going to The Pearl for sex, and Anders remarks, “You used to really like that girl with the griffon tattoos, right?” to which Isabela replies with the name “The Lay Warden.”

(For now, I’ll just ignore the unfortunate implications of Bioware depicting a promiscuous black woman repeatedly contracting STIs and unrepentantly spreading them to white men for blackmail purposes.  But yeah, yikes).  

Historically, the emergence of STIs as a major social problem has been associated with urbanization and military mobilizations — basically, situations in which large numbers of individuals had opportunities for unprotected sex, especially with multiple partners, away from the usual social control mechanisms such as cockblocking parents (and virtually all sex was unprotected until latex condoms began to be mass-produced in the 1920s-30s). Without the safety measures we have in place in licensed brothels today (e.g., condom requirements, regular STI testing), brothels and red light districts were superspreader bonanzas, and perhaps unsurprisingly, medical professionals tended to take a rather dim view of them, to put it mildly. Modern readers often historical interpret opposition to brothels and camp followers (in the military) on the part of medical and public health authorities as expressions of prudery, religious conservatism, and/or misogyny, and to be frank, they very often were. Yet at the same time, in the pre-condom and pre-antibiotic era, STIs represented a major public health burden and cause of disability, disfigurement, infertility, and premature death, and there few practical measures beyond simply urging everyone to keep their pants on (which worked about as well as one might expect).

Circling back to Anders, it's notable that he takes a much more negative view of sex in the second game than in Awakening, during which he seemed eager to hump anything that moved. This could at least in part reflect the influence of Justice, who seems to regard anything other than fighting for justice and engaging in public service to be "selfish" and even slothful (as in demon-y sloth). Or simple aging and maturity. Or, on a meta level, it could be an odd re-characterization due to the change in writer. But I like to think that his newfound discomfort with no-strings-attached boning is an unfortunate side effect of being a charity doctor working into the late hours to accommodate an endless stream of dick wart patients. It's already a shame that his clinic and service for the poor is relegated to such a background element, especially given the role such work would realistically play in forming a person's character. In terms of character development, it would have been interesting to explore how his work in the clinic could itself had a radicalizing effect — after all, it would bring him face-to-face with the tragic consequences of Chantry policy on mundanes (rather than just mages) as well as demonstrate magic’s contribution to the greater good on a daily basis. But this angle unfortunately never comes up in-universe.

TL;DR What I'm actually saying is that the real tragedy of Anders's character arc is the profound decrease in sluttiness between the two games.

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

KILL ME LIKE A LOVER

Durgetash | explicit 18+ Enver Gortash x f!Durge / Halsin Silverbough x f!Durge smut, sex, p in v sex; homicidal urge, light bondage in a non-sexual setting, graphic threats of violence; prolonged emotional/physical hurt, comfort, fluff, love confession, 2 romantic relationships (separate for now, hinting at possible future poly f!Durge/Halsin/Gortash)

❗ Closely follows events of the first fic: I Don't Like You (Tumblr | AO3)

Read on AO3 for more context and comfort (I'll be very grateful if you toss me a kudo there as well, even if you read and reblog here ♥ - remember, fic writers share their work for free!)

13,795 words in 10 chapters

My Spotify playlist for this couple »

“You’re back,” he whispers, and an almost maniacal glow radiates from him. “And something in you is drawn to me, I can see it. It makes me hopeful.” He tilts his head to the side and brushes hair away from my neck. “Did you really not expect me to use every resource at my disposal to convince you to stay?”

I gulp. Gods, I should never have gone to see him. Some things are best left buried, some fires best left extinguished. But I poked a bibberbang and now my world is ablaze.

01 She walks escorted.

The Watcher walks beside me the whole way to Wyrm's Rock. I try keeping my head down, but any hope of not being noticed is lost with every thundering step the Watcher takes. People hold the Baldur's Mouth gazettes and point at the hallowed hero as she walks escorted to the City's would-be savior for an audience.

I wish I could just open up a portal to the Hells in the sidewalk and jump in. Gortash is going to pay for this one.

We finally reach the elevator to the audience hall and the stupid clanker squeezes in with me. I bulge my eyes, just about ready to go on a murder spree.

"Seriously? It goes straight up into the tower, where else do you think I could go?"

"There is no need for alarm, citizen," the Watcher assures me monotonously, not moving an inch. "I was instructed to deliver you safely directly to the Archduke, Lord Gortash."

"Would you chill with the 'Archduke' already?" I groan, head lulled back. "You know he's not one yet, right? No matter how many times you repeat it."

The Watcher doesn't respond. Perhaps Gortash expects such quips from people and instructs his hellish machines to not react. Or—perhaps if I was other people the metal hulk would just smash me on the spot for such a comment. Fucking tyrant.

What was even wrong with me when I willingly worked with this man, having just as deprived plans for the Sword Coast myself? Did I accidentally get lobotomized into a sane person? That would be one Hell of a joke on fate. And on Bhaal.

I imagine he must be simmering in his own rage, watching his prized child run around helping refugees. That little fantasy cheers me up. I lean on the side of the elevator and just chuckle to myself through the ride, mocking Daddy dearest in the relative privacy of my skull.

The Audience hall is deserted once more. The Steel Watch form a line in between the columns from the entrance to the dais on the other side, standing at attention. It's like some sort of welcoming ceremony, but just for little ol' me.

I reluctantly scale the acres of red carpet over stone flooring, feeling my chest tighten.

Gortash watches me as I approach, the remote-control suit of armor still stomping next to me. This time, he sits on the throne in all his grimy glory like the shameless usurper he is.

Except... he doesn't look grimy. Did he bathe again? What in the Hells does he think he can pressure me into doing?!

... again.

If there's a term for how his face simultaneously brightens and darkens, I can't recall, but that's exactly what happens. He's happy to see me and has very unsavory thoughts about it.

The Watcher only peels off my path once I'm literally at the lowest steps before the dais. I cross my arms over my chest and give Gortash my most unamused expression, even though my heart is racing with both fear and excitement.

He smiles as if he didn't notice it and opens his arms wide in a grand welcoming gesture. "My dearest assassin," he exclaims, voice warm like sunshine.

"Yeah, right, whatever," I roll my eyes. "So what, do I just stand here, like a pleb before their master, or did you have something civil in mind?"

He leans back in his seat and pats his thigh, a smirk playing around his lips. "You can always come sit on my lap."

Indignation and an unwelcome spark of lust flood my chest. I let out a bestial growl, not quite sure if I mean to intimidate him or my inner demons.

Gortash chuckles and, to my surprise, actually stands from his throne and steps down, until he's face-to-face with me.

It's hard to say whether he made it better or worse. I try to keep my gaze from wandering down his ridiculously low cleavage, but looking into his eyes is not much safer. They gleam with both smugness and affection and my stupid heart flutters.

"How lovely to see you, Nara," he drawls, sight approvingly gliding up and down my body. "I love how you chose to wear your custom made version of my gauntlet."

I sigh. I should've known he would bring it up.

I woke up on the nautiloid wearing that thing. I didn't remember anything about it, but it looked badass and was also quite useful. I store a healing potion in the socket and even the claws have come in handy in a pinch.

I didn't feel like getting rid of it when I noticed him wearing the same thing in Moonrise, because I grossly underestimated the significance. I just thought he set off a new trend among Baldurians and I wasn't immune to the allure. Happens to the best of people, right?

After I made the mistake of having sex with my ex, I figured ditching it won't help me anyway—if I do it now, it will only show him that I care.

"I didn't exactly have time to change for you, Gortash," I sneer. "You had your metal munchkin threaten me into coming here. It paraded me through the town, taking the busiest route. What do you think I am to you? Your lapdog? Your fucking mascot?"

Despite my derisive tone, he chances a step closer and my heart jumps up into my throat.

"You came to see me yourself first, remember? No one forced you."

"Well, at least no one saw me then," I bitch.

"Too bad," he bites his lip, coming closer.

He slowly, cautiously reaches out and runs the backs of his fingers along my jaw. I grit my teeth in an effort to not show it, but I like it too much to make him stop. He smiles contentedly and keeps lightly touching my face.

"You're back," he whispers, and an almost maniacal glow radiates from him. "And something in you is drawn to me, I can see it. It makes me hopeful." He tilts his head to the side and brushes hair away from my neck. "Did you really not expect me to use every resource at my disposal to convince you to stay? Nara?"

I gulp. Gods, I should never have gone to see him. Some things are best left buried, some fires best left extinguished. But I poked a bibberbang and now my world is ablaze.

"Do your friends know what you did the other night?" he smirks, smarminess making its comeback in his voice. "Does your druid know?"

"I tell him everything," I say equally smugly, finally gaining some leverage. "He's the most wholesome man I know. He's not trying to own me or isolate me like some."

A shadow of irritation and disappointment dims the self-satisfaction in his face. Point for me.

"Karlach wasn't so understanding," I continue, narrowing my eyes. "She's worried about me falling for you. I told her it's a ridiculous notion, but she proceeded to make me feel better by describing how she's going to disembowel you if you hurt me."

He scoffs. "I can imagine. She always was a crude weapon. Effective, but crude. Nothing like your refined style." His gaze softens again when he gently combs the hair on my temple with the claws of his gauntlet. "You never used brute force, yet there was no one you couldn't break. I wouldn't have been an exception, but you stayed your hand. Against your father's explicit wishes, apparently."

"I'll break you right now if you want," I say in a trembling voice. His tone and touch are doing things to me. I'm getting scared and the Urge in me is trying to respond to the stress with violence.

His mouth stretches into a delighted smile. "I'm sure you'd like that. But so would he. I thought you were done being his good girl?"

My throat goes dry as I recall the night it all went awfully wrong. When I failed to do my duty one too many times. When I got my reward for disobedience.

"What Orin did to me," I croak, "was Bhaal's punishment for my refusing to kill you."

Once Gale understood the predatory patterns of his former lover, he got eerily good at interpreting gods' behavior. He gave me more answers than even Gortash managed to. Knowing this lifted a certain weight off my mind; I wasn't just discarded for being useless—I was being a bad murderer to Daddy and he decided to teach me a lesson.

Gortash's face goes slack for a moment, before darkening with realization. He didn't know. Or he didn't want to. It was easier to blame Orin's ambition.

"So, yeah, I'm done being his tool. If I do kill you, Enver," I'm the one to reach for him this time, running a fingertip down that enticing window of his shirt, "I'll be killing you for myself."

He gulps, fumbling for lost balance. "Incorrect, sweetheart. It was punishment for loving me. Not calling it what it is doesn't make it any less true."

"Did I, though?" I've had a long sleepless night thinking about it. "I was a naive, brainwashed cultist. Did I really choose you? Or were you just convenient? The only man around with enough balls to risk it with me, maybe? Or worse: the only one who figured how easy it would be to use me?"

I'm hissing by the time I finish the last sentence and I can see how close to home it hits. His chest heaves and he takes a few steps back, turning from me. I can't see his face, so I assume he's looking for a way to refute my accusations.

"I don't know."

His voice is so small I can barely hear it. Small and vulnerable, filled with insecurity. I'm once again reminded of the image I created of the little boy Gortash treated to neglect and betrayal instead of love, and I feel the telltale stinging in my eyes.

He slowly turns back, his expression a pure emotional chaos.

"I... don't know if you chose me," he says a little louder this time, but still sounds so... lost. "One day we just... were and..." His eloquence bends under the heft of his uncertainty. "It was so easy to be with you, so... natural. I..." He closes his eyes against the turmoil raised by the memories. "At first I figured you were just having a bit of fun rebelling against Bhaal, but... You were so amazing. So warm, when your Urge was satisfied. I've never... no one ever made me feel like you did."

The only things I knew of our relationship were what he told me. I imagined it a lot different than what it sounds like now, after he suffered a sobering blow to his ego. I can't know how much of this is genuine... but he suddenly painfully reminds me of Astarion, the way he fumbles in the dark as soon as his winning act falls apart.

I know he's not a good man. I've heard plenty about the things he's done—and is still doing. But how much of his flaws can I blame on nature when I also know what he's been through? He's a survivor. No one is inherently evil—not even me.

The people you surround yourself with have a profound effect on you. Even Astarion's worst traits are being slowly worn down in the unexpected acceptance he's receiving. If it had been Gortash who was betrayed, almost killed and taken, and then found by such a wholesome group of similarly afflicted weirdos, would he have remained selfish and cruel? Or would he have chosen a better path, like me?

"I thought I was a 'horrible influence' on you." I swallow hard. I shouldn't believe a word he says... but I do.

"You were," he shrugs casually. I find him a lot more pleasant without the air of fake grandeur. "We did wonderfully bad things together, things I wouldn't have thought of myself. But that was your heritage." He studies my face for a second, longing in his eyes. "No one taught you to be silly and fun. No one taught you to be gentle. No one taught you how to appreciate more than blood and guts in people. You bloomed with all colors like a flower, when we were alone."

I blink the tears away and hug myself. No wonder Bhaal got mad. He wasn't raising me to be gentle and fun. He wanted a devoted follower. He wanted to own me. And yet I seem to have found myself in someone else instead of him.

He couldn't smite him, so he took it out on me.

"Then why can't I remember any of this?" I whisper. "My murdering days keep coming back to me. But the picture where you should be is blank."

I don't expect it and certainly don't wish for it, but Gortash notices my discomfort and rushes to me. He takes my shoulders and squeezes them reassuringly.

"You are his creation," he says grimly. "He has the power to restore everything within you. It's clear why he chooses only the parts without me: for the same reason he had Orin attack you. You were a different person with me—a person he didn't like and didn't need. He won't let you remember me as long as your blood belongs to him."

I'm getting overwhelmed. I feel used, manipulated, trapped. I feel my fear and smell the scent of my blood as Orin's beating the life out of me, calling me slurs I've never heard of. I feel as if someone's invisible hand presses on my windpipe and I sense a dreadful but familiar presence.

"NO!" I'm shaking my head wildly, trying to push him out. The world seems to blacken around me, but I keep fighting. "I'M DONE WITH YOU, YOU HEAR?!" I yell blindly at the ceiling, pulling on my hair.

YOU CAN NEVER BE 'DONE' WITH ME, CHILD.

I gasp when his voice thunders in my brain without having gone through my ears. It's deafening and it's all around me, smothering me.

YOUR CONTROL IS AN ILLUSION. GIVE IN. OBEY. BEFORE YOU FORCE ME TO END YOU.

I shudder and shrink into myself, falling to my knees, cradling my head. I'm suspended in agony for several impossibly long seconds... then my vision goes black.

02 Daddy sets an ultimatum.

"...Talas... Talas!"

My head is pounding and feels like it's stuffed with cotton. Someone's calling out my name... but it's not really my name.

"Nara!"

There it is. But it feels wrong. I feel movement, but can't tell what's happening.

"You know what," I grumble and I'm surprised to hear my own voice, "I've changed my mind. I hate the way you say it."

"Thank the devils," I hear Gortash snort. "As names go, exchanging 'Talas' for 'Nara' is a pure downgrade."

I open my eyes. Red mist is clouding my gaze. I feel thirsty and hungry. A rough palm cups my chin and a violent jerk runs through my body, making my teeth snap and try biting it. But the hand is strong and its grip tightens enough to hold me still.

"Easy now," Gortash hums, unbothered by my little attack. "You're safe. I'm safe. Let's work through it slowly. We've got all day."

I look up and find his face and it's the only thing I can clearly focus on. Everything else is muted, but his features are so sharp I squint at the intensity at first. But I understand. I know what I want now.

I want to kill him.

I grunt and try to reach for him, but I'm restrained. I look down through the red haze and see myself kneeling on red satin sheets. I'm still wearing all my clothes, but my boots, armor and gauntlet are off. The ties right above my elbows creak like tough leather as I strain against them, but I can clearly feel soft padding pressed against my skin. My wrists are bound in front of me. I can move, sit back, relax...

...but I need to KILL.

"Let. Me. Loose," I filter through my gritted teeth, almost foaming at the corners of my mouth like a rabid animal. Then a maniacal giggle gurgles in my throat. "And I'll show you something fun!"

"For fuck's sakes, you're beginning to sound like Orin," Gortash shakes his head in disappointment. "I'm sure you'd have fun, my dear, but if I'm not completely off my game, I believe you would regret it later. Maybe you would even cry for me?" His brows form a hopeful little arch, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I'm not keen on finding out, but I'd like to think you would."

I growl, pulling on my binds with all my strength.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Enver, come on!" I tease, baring my teeth, my tone dark, rough, vulgar. "I know you like the pain. I will cut you and slice you and bleed you real nice. You'll love it, I promise."

"Ssshhh," he soothes, caressing my face, skillfully evading my bites. "You can cut me when you calm down, Talas. You won't get to kill me today."

Anger jolts through me, hot like a branding iron. I lurch at him, uselessly dangling on the ends of the thick chains tying the leather cuffs to the bed frame.

"You will let me loose! And I'll tear you to pieces." My voice scratches like sandpaper. "I will slit your throat... and as you bleed out, I will lick blood off your soft skin." Growls turn to hisses. "I will drink blood from your sweet lips. I will shower in the thick stream of it as the last pathetic bubbles of your breath emerge and burst at the edges of the fresh cut. Then curl against your struggling chest to listen as your heart stops."

Gortash smiles as he listens, infuriatingly misty gaze softening his features.

"That sounds almost romantic," he purrs. He holds my hair firmly in his fist to keep my head steady and nuzzles my neck, slowly kissing a line from my shoulder up to my lobe. "I always thought the Urge was purely homicidal," he hums against my skin, "but is it possible you're mixing in your love and lust for me? Would you kill me like a lover?"

A chortle escapes my lips and I realize he's given me back a sliver of myself. I don't have the capacity to analyze if it were his words or his touch, but a tiny, heavily suppressed part of me suddenly knows what's happening. It knows this is not me. My Urge is spreading through me like a malignant growth, filling every inch of my torso, of my head, and that little piece of me is watching in horror.

No....

I let out a tortured moan and my head lulls back for a second. I can feel my body spasming and the agony is making it hard to keep my thoughts remotely clear. I hear my blood thrum in my ears, and a low voice speaks inside my skull:

It is wise to obey me. Yet you resist. You did not kill the Moonmaiden. You did not kill the druid. But you WILL kill the Tyrant's Chosen.

Or you will DIE in his place, child.

I feel tears trickle out of my eyes, even as my mouth is making raw, animalistic noises. The pressure in my temple grows so much I feel like my head is going to pop. It's excruciating, but I have no intention to submit. I fight with all my will, defiantly flipping off the god I didn't choose till the bitter end.

"En... ver," I squeeze through the teeth I grind so roughly my jaw hurts. My voice is but a wet wail, a desperate plea—but it's mine.

If I could focus on anything beside the blinding pain, I would see the alarm in his face. I register his hands on my arms, holding me upright. The sound of his voice carries over my head, but I can't distinguish the words. A high-pitched whine fills my ears. My vision fades to black again.

And I fully expect to not wake up this time.

03 We are still alive!

A chunk of void. A big skull in the center of it. Flames dancing in its eye sockets and around it. Almost playful.

I don't understand its meaning. Who am I, anyway?

Even though the skull is clearly before me, I can feel it surround me. It presses on my temples and squeezes my chest. I feel a headache of the century crush my head in its metal jaws.

A creature slinks from behind the skull. Hideous, covered in blood. Long body with a thick tail and four clawed arms. It hisses and chitters, spreading its toothy mandibles. Its beady little eyes are flashing with malice.

I cover my head with my arms as it jumps at me.

But it's not there anymore. I try to gasp, but a sick clicking sound comes out of my mouth instead. I hear rumbling laughter—the giant skull is pleased, it's mocking me.

I reach forward and instead of hands I see claws coated in fresh blood...

.

...and I wake up screaming.

There's water everywhere. I thrash and splash and heave for breath, but my arms are wrapped tight around me and my wrists and ankles bound. I accidentally splash water into my mouth, breathe it in and start choking.

Someone's big, strong, incredibly warm hands fish me out and steady me, patting my back, helping me cough. I hear a soft rumble, but this time it's not eerie and foreboding—it's familiar and soothing. A broad palm strokes my wet hair, humming comforting sounds in my ear.

"You are safe, my love. I'm here."

I lift my heavy eyelids and look up. Halsin's beautiful face is in my view and my heart is uplifted. He puts a cold compress over my forehead and I feel a little better.

"Halsin," I squeeze out of my burning throat, failing to make it sound as loving as I felt.

He smiles anyway and his eyes sparkle with affection.

"You will be alright, my heart. I will take care of you."

"I will too," I hear another voice and Gortash steps into view, obviously annoyed by Halsin taking all the credit. He's hugging his chest, nibbling on the ends of his gold claws, looking anxious and worried.

I finally realize where I am. It's Gortash's study. The flames roar in the fireplace next to the bathtub and all lamps are lit: it's dark behind the tall windows. Through the finally calm water I see my body, completely naked.

But none of those things are important right now.

"Come closer, Enver," I croak, failing to produce a seductive voice, sounding like a hag instead. "Untie me, let's have some fun. We haven't finished what we've started."

Halsin and Gortash exchange glances. It only ticks off my Urge. I flail back and forth in the tub for a second, trying to loosen the binds, but they were put on by someone who knew what they were doing. It infuriates me, tearing a ragged scream from my lungs.

"COME CLOSER, BABY, AND LET ME GUT YOU!"

"Nara," Halsin pleads softly, stroking my hair again, putting back the compress I shook off and adding one to the back of my neck. "You will get through this, I promise. The tepid water and the cold compresses should help lower your blood pressure, so you don't suffer an aneurysm. You popped many blood vessels before you passed out. That's why Gortash called me here."

I feel the Urge let up just a smidge when the cool rags press on my aching head and Halsin's voice and touch give me comfort. I try to breathe deeply and steadily. But no matter how hard we both try, it's no use. I take one look at distressed Gortash and the pull is back in full strength.

"Have you experienced this before?" Gortash asks, doing his best to ignore my rabid growls.

"She woke me up in camp several nights ago," Halsin nods somberly. "Refusal to kill Isobel redirected the Urge at the person closest to her heart, as punishment. She came to me before it overtook her and put her trust in me. It lasted the whole night, but she won in the end. But it was not this bad..."

"He..." I try to utter words that are not permitted to leave my lips. I fight my own muscles to continue. "Said... He... Dies or... I do."

Halsin's brows join in surprise and he glances at Gortash again, whose face darkens even more.

"Sounds like we really pissed Bhaal off this time. She screamed at him, defying him, before the Urge took over. I was just an outside observer, but I figured he was communicating with her. Seems like we know the gist of the conversation now."

"What were you doing?" Halsin wonders.

"Nothing much," Gortash shrugs evasively. "Talking. Talas was learning more about our past, about how and why she came to such an unceremonial end in the cult. Said none of her memories of me returned to her. Clearly Bhaal's job."

"Nhhhnnnhhhng!" I add my gold to the discussion, thrashing in the tub again. I'm glad I'm at least able to follow their words, even though I can't contribute. Sweet images of me running my hands through Gortash's spilled guts flash in the back of my mind, but they're just white noise.

Halsin wipes my upper lip with a troubled expression. He lets go of me to touch the air in that divine way of his, to call upon Silvanus, and pulls healing energy out of nowhere, pressing it to my head with the broad palm of his hand. I breathe a little easier for a few moments.

"If this goes on for much longer, I'm afraid even I might not be able to help you," he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to mine. I gulp and just moan in response, hoping my intonation will convey my thanks.

"I don't suppose we could trick the Urge somehow? Have her stab me a couple of times and then knock her out, and when she comes around I'll be lying in a pool of blood and... You get it."

Halsin chuckles in amusement.

"You would just let her stab you? Are you a masochist, or just so in love?"

"What kind of question is that?" Gortash growls defensively. "We have a problem. I'm offering a solution. If I had to die, I'd prefer it to be by her hand, but I plan no such thing just yet."

"I do not think it works quite like that," Halsin shakes his head. "But thank you for the offer."

"It's... my fault she's like this." Gortash's discomfort at admitting responsibility is evident. "I don't want her to die. So if you have ideas, I'll do anything to help."

"You can help me right now, Enver," I screech, failing to restrain myself. "Come here! Come and make love to me. But don't forget to untie me and bring me a knife. I'll show you a little trick! You'll be positively drained after I'm done with you."

"Perhaps the best thing you can do to help is to get out of her sight for now," Halsin suggests and only a touch of derision reaches his tone.

Gortash frowns and grumbles something under his breath, but takes his leave. There's only Halsin's broad form next to me now, effectively shielding me from seeing Gortash. My Urge immediately eases up and I lean back on the headrest, exhausted from fighting my own muscles.

It doesn't last long, though.

"Halsin?" I coo, swallowing hard as I feel another crushing wave of twisted need.

"Yes, my heart?" He bends down to kiss my forehead. It doesn't work as well as before, but I manage to hold back the instinct to bite.

"I love you," I tell him while I can still form words of my own choosing. "And I'm grateful for everything you do for me. Don't take this personally, but now that you're getting in my way of killing Gortash... I'm beginning to want to kill you, too."

He pulls away, but not far, and studies my face. I can see so much compassion in his eyes, but they're tired and he looks older. He wipes my upper lip again and sighs.

"This is going to be another long night, isn't it, my love?"

.

"Halsin, stop," I mumble weakly as he prepares another spell, looking more and more sapped every time. "Please. Just... let me go."

I'm so run down. The pain is debilitating. In the rare moments of peace, all I can do is float. My mind is fried, my organs struggling to keep running. I've had enough.

But the worst is the thought of accidentally pulling Halsin under with me.

"Do not even start," he growls. His voice sounds dry and spent, but he collects the healing energy and once more fixes some of the damage the high blood pressure has done to my vessels.

I want to cry, but I don't have the strength to do it. But I notice something: it's been really quiet for some time.

"Where's Enver?"

"He is... off trying something else."

The evasiveness would normally make me inquire, but the Urge lashes out again, spasming my body, forcing more horrible words out of my mouth.

"I WILL SKIN YOUR LUSCIOUS PELT, LITTLE BEAR! I WILL WEAR IT ON MY BODY AS I WATCH YOUR PATHETIC ATTEMPTS TO PUT YOUR GUTS BACK IN YOUR BELLY. I WILL—"

04 Unbearable lightness of unprecedented fluff.

I feel like I must have died when I open my eyes and nothing hurts anymore. The world is soft and quiet, the water around me like a blanket, the dim flickering lights enhancing the peaceful silence. Perhaps this was the afterlife.

"Welcome back."

I don't recognize the voice at first. I slowly turn my head to find Halsin—

—but I look into Gortash's worn out face, languidly blinking at me. I see a giant bear slumped on the rugs by the bathtub, exhausted from keeping me alive.

I watch Gortash in fear for a little moment. But there's no tug, no agony this time. I only feel... slight elation. My weary heart flutters, tapping into its last reserves of power.

"Enver," I whisper, letting my eyelids fall. I feel his palm cup my cheek and his lips plant a soft kiss on my forehead. Tears stream down my face, but I can't gather enough strength to sob.

It's over. It's really over. At least for now.

"Sshh," he coos quietly, combing my hair. "Do you feel like you can handle moving to the bed? I'm afraid you'll melt if you stay in that bathtub for much longer."

I take a few breaths and nod. The instant I move, I can feel all my muscles scream in protest, but I push myself through it. He's right, my skin is getting tender from soaking so much, I can't just sleep here anymore.

He unties me and that's when the ache in my arms and hands joins the party, making me whimper. I've struggled against my own body for hours and hours with only short reprieves of unconsciousness. It's taken a heavy toll. But I'm alive, and so is everyone else.

My legs are so wobbly I slip back into the water a few times, splashing around, sprinkling sleeping Halsin. His snout twitches and I hear a grumble, but he doesn't wake up. Poor thing.

Gortash is trying to hold me upright, but his angle is all wrong, standing next to the tub. But on my fourth try I manage. I just lock my knees and hope it'll be enough for a minute. I notice the water in the bath is surprisingly fresh after housing me for so long, but it's already draining—someone must've changed it several times during the night.

I gasp in surprise when warm drops start raining down on my head and shoulders.

"Another handy technological marvel," Gortash smiles. "Just try to keep yourself on your feet. Let me wash you."

He takes a sponge and a bar of soap and begins slowly rubbing my skin under the gentle, refreshing shower.

I'm too busy keeping my knees locked and staying awake to have any deep opinions on why he's being so caring. My foggy, tired mind is simply enjoying his attention.

He's gentle and thorough and doesn't shirk from any part of me, but doesn't linger for longer than necessary. I mistily welcome the muted rush of excitement his touch gives me and close my eyes, fully trusting him like I only could with my marbles scattered all over the floor.

"Mmm," escapes my lips. I don't know words, but apparently I can make sounds.

"Sit back down, I'll wash your hair," Gortash commands softly.

I sit curled up, my eyes shut, jaw slack, little mewls of pleasure coming out of my mouth. His fingers caress my scalp in circular motions, coaxing some blood back into my skin. It melts away my tension and feels so good against the leftover headache that still throbs in my skull.

Gortash picks up the shower head and rinses the shampoo foam off my hair. It finally hits me that it smells like him. I let out a quiet chuckle. Doesn't he have a special flower scented bottle for his feminine conquests? Maybe he just likes marking them this way.

He helps me stand back up again, dabs me with a towel and then wraps me in a robe.

"Come here, princess," he murmurs and pulls me into his arms.

And he carries me to the bed. I don't think I would protest even if I had the energy. I may be a strong independent woman... but this is nice.

He pushes a tray of food and drink to me and we both eat in silence. I can't force much into my wrecked throat, but I thirstily guzzle all the water and wine. The slight buzz is not helping my overused veins, but it does wonders for my cramped muscles.

Then I lie on my side, watching him freshen up and change. I finally have plenty of time and no capacity for shame; I take in every detail of him I can spot. The toned muscles of his legs. The line of fine dark hair on his chest going to his groin. The way his thick hair softly reflects light when it's crisp clean. The pleasant, earthy color of his skin. Every glance he tosses over to check up on me.

My heart flutters again. I gulp hard and convince my eyes to close, so I can't see any more of him.

Suddenly the mattress beside me sinks and I can feel him next to me. The warmth from his body envelops me, his scent fills my lungs and I find myself looking into his dark eyes. My poor blood pressure spikes again and I try making my gulps for air subtle, but I can see the delighted amusement deepen his crow's feet.

"Sleep," he sighs, studying my face. "You need to rest to get your strength back."

He runs his fingers through my damp hair and kisses my temple. His skin is soft and warm, but his short stubble and rough palms leave a tickling sensation that's driving me wild. I inhale a lungful of him and press my mouth to his jaw, testing the scratchy surface against my lips.

I can hear his breath quicken and feel his hand move to my shoulder and rub the silk of my borrowed robe. I take his face in my hands and bite this time—just a little, letting my teeth graze the stubble, enjoying the sweet scratch—and I hear a moan.

I forget myself. I forget who he is. I just want to keep tasting his skin.

His mouth is on mine. I hungrily welcome him in. His hand roams my body, kneading my flesh—mine frantically search his every surface, unable to decide where to stay. Perhaps I'm just cold from exhaustion, but I feel like he's radiating more heat than an average human being. I bathe in the warmth, pulling myself as close as possible.

The way he pulls air in through his teeth when I bite his lip is like music to my ears. How is this man so edible? He drags his fingertips across my face and I suck his thumb into my mouth. The low rumble of his chuckle travels right to the knot in my lower belly and my eyes roll back.

He presses me flush to his body, molding my flesh, and I let out a feral groan, grabbing fistfuls of his thick hair and pulling. I need him. I need him now.

His mouth moves to my neck, but he doesn't kiss and nibble like I want him to, he takes me by the nape and immobilizes me. I can hear his ragged breath in my ear as I blink in bewilderment.

"Talas," he exhales desperately. "I know your opinion of me has taken a sharp dive... but I don't fuck mentally compromised women."

He lets me pull away and I stare at him in doubt. He snorts, shrugging.

"Alright, I guess sometimes I do," he admits, "but I just know you'll wake up in the morning with your wits intact and hate me for taking advantage of you."

The hum of blood in my ears quiets down as I swallow my disappointment. Tears sting in my eyes; I can't tell why, but I feel robbed. He sighs and pulls me closer again, but only to hug me.

"I've missed you so much," he whispers into my hair. "I don't want to ruin this." Running his fingers through my hair once more, spreading soothing tingling over my skin, he rocks me gently. "Sleep. I promise I'll make it up to you later... if you still want me to."

I can barely hear his last words, but I sense the uncertainty in his tone. The pressure around my chest tightens and I wrap my arms around him and hold on. The pleasurable hormones surrender the stage to the exhaustion in my muscles and bones. I feel myself falling asleep even before my consciousness drifts off.

05 Warm bodies.

The soft light creeping in through my closed eyelids rouses me gently, but I'm so tired everything still feels like a dream. I cling to my drowsiness and try to go back to sleep again.

Then I feel a warm palm on my hip, stroking the silky fabric covering me.

I shift slightly, moving into the touch, and the hand slowly travels across my back. Another joins it, caressing my thigh. I moan quietly, reaching out for a body to hold—

—and I find two. Both are very warm and my hungry touch is ecstatic to feel each pressed to one side of me. I gently squirm between them, rubbing myself against soft muscle that eagerly responds in kind. Their musky scent is both soothingly familiar and enticingly erotic. I can hear two breaths and two sets of soft sighs as I let my palms feel my way across their skin.

I open my eyes and meet Gortash's sleepy eyes watching me. My heart jumps up into my throat and I jolt into a sitting position. I turn to find Halsin on the other side—probably crawled onto the bed when he felt strong enough to move again.

"Shit," I mumble under my breath, quickly removing myself off the satin sheets.

"And it was just getting good," Gortash laments wistfully, a tone of amusement coloring his raspy voice.

"Seriously? Jokes?" I pull my robe tighter around my body, suddenly self-conscious about being completely naked under a thin layer of translucent fabric, and prop my hands against my hips. "Did you even realize you were groping me right next to my partner?"

"As I recall, you were enthusiastically groping me back, sweetheart," he smirks. "A few hours back you didn't mind making out in front of him."

I gape mutely at them both for a second.

"I was out of my mind!"

Halsin groggily drags himself off the bed and holds me close, patting my back comfortingly.

"I'm sorry," I hum into his chest.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, my heart." He kisses the top of my head.

I push away to look at him sternly. "Yes, there is. You've spent your whole night taking care of me at great cost to yourself and the first thing I do when I'm finally okay is this? Not even my mental state is an excuse. I only want to make you feel loved and safe, not uncomfortable and uncertain. I don't deserve you."

Instead of appreciating my commitment, albeit failed, I see pain flash in his eyes.

"Halsin?" I sniffle, my chest filling with dread. "Please don't leave me."

His expression melts into a touched one. He cups my face and smiles softly.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise," he rasps. "Not until you decide otherwise, my love. You have nothing to fear. I will always be by your side, for as long as you'll have me."

I feel tears trickle down my face, the relief mixing into my terror tapping a generous stream.

"Now I'm sorry," he sighs, futilely trying to wipe my tears away with his fingers. "I misunderstood. I thought..."

He didn't have to explain. It didn't even come to mind at first, but I figured it out.

"You thought I would replace you with him?" I chuckle through the turmoil in my chest. "Not in a million years."

"Yes, don't mind me," Gortash growls and removes himself from the bed as well. His face looks like it's carved from stone, cold and hard. We both watch him as he locks himself in the next room, leaving us alone.

"I think you hurt his feelings," Halsin says quietly and I can hear commiseration in his voice. "He really is in love with you, sweet thing."

"Well, I'm not in love with him," I snap. "I don't want to have anything to do with him."

I'm still raw from the suffering Bhaal has inflicted on me, and the realization of just how much my heart has softened towards Gortash puts me on edge. The possibility of hurting Halsin through another bit of my unfortunate past just piles on top of that.

"Far be it from me to push you towards another man," he smirks, mild amusement creeping into his expression. "But I don't want you to limit yourself on my behalf, Nara. I thought you understood that I don't wish to own you." He takes my hands and kisses my knuckles. "If that is what you need, you are free to be with anyone else to any extent you deem necessary for your happiness. I only want you to be safe and happy by my side. That is my only goal."

I close my eyes and let him lean his forehead against mine.

"You know that's my goal too, right?" I mumble.

I can sense he doesn't believe my words—never have. But I haven't figured out why. I really mean it. He's the ray of sunshine in my bleak days. I want him to keep shining at all costs, even if I'm not the one basking in the beams.

"You deserve all the joy you can get, my heart," he whispers. "Do not make me the one to stand in your way. I will always wait for you to come back home to me."

I swallow a new wave of tears. "Then let's go right now."

"No," he sighs. "I will go. You seem to have unfinished business here. When you are ready, find me in camp. I believe you are safe here, at least for as long as you don't try to kill him first," he chuckles.

"I just might," I grouse. "He's playing a dangerous game here. I didn't think he'd be so bold to try to seduce me in front of you. Didn't he notice how big you are? Doesn't he think you'd rip him to pieces if he pisses you off?"

"I think he knows he has a chance." Halsin gives me a slightly patronizing glance, likely getting tired of my refusal to acknowledge my weakness. "Doesn't he?"

"I don't want to have anything to do with him," I repeat, but my voice falters.

He smiles, presses his face to mine and inhales deeply. "I can smell your arousal, little duck," he chastises softly, combing my hair with his fingers.

"That's for you, too," I frown, a little embarrassed, recalling the unexpectedly pleasant first moments of my morning.

"I know," he nods and this time I can tell he's certain. "But you two have history. Unless you explore this road, you might spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if'... I don't want that for you. I don't want that for myself. Whatever you do, I would like you to be sure that you're not missing out on something. I will be here if you decide to come back to me."

I have no more to say. I let him press a kiss to my lips and watch him exit the room. I don't follow. I keep standing where he left me, hugging my shoulders.

"I can't believe you actually stayed."

I whip around to find Gortash in the doorframe, dressed and tidied up, shaved and smelling fresh. He's leaning on the doorframe and though his face is still grim, his swagger doesn't seem to have suffered irreparable damage.

"Don't congratulate yourself just yet, Enver," I sneer.

"Oh, don't be crabby, baby," he purses his lips in mock comfort. "You landed such a perfect boyfriend. I'm jealous, now I want one, too. Hurry up and break his soft heart—maybe he'll be interested in me instead."

"I'm not breaking his heart," I spit. "I love him."

That sentence makes him wince, but he recovers in record time, smirking like the bad boy he is.

"Then maybe I'll break it for you. When he's no longer there to enable you, will you run back into my arms?"

I don't realize I'm moving before I have his stupid tall collar bunched up in a fist, pushing him against the door. I bare my teeth, my nose a hair's-width away from his. My tortured muscles protest against such treatment, but the rush of adrenaline outvotes them.

"Touch him and I'll kill you," I hiss into his face. "Stone or no stone."

The initial flash of surprise, even fear, is quickly replaced with a seductive smile.

"Gods, I missed this fire," he grunts, grabbing my waist and pulling me flush to his body. "Too bad your devotion belongs to another now."

I tear from his grasp, gritting my teeth so hard they squeak. I don't know what else to do; hurting him only gave him twisted pleasure. So I stomp off to the bathroom, looking for my things, so I can leave this cursed place already.

06 Payback is a bitch.

I dress up in my clothes that feel like they've been freshly cleaned and pressed, and complete my morning routine with the conveniently offered supplies left in the bathroom for me. As I put on my gauntlet I have to stop and lean against the sink. My thoughts are spiraling.

Remembering all that I've done since I arrived at this tower is making me hyperventilate. Gods, I really did nearly jump Gortash's bones. My reason was clearly damaged, but... Gathering my wits didn't erase the desire. I still want him. I hate everything he stands for... but I can barely resist him.

I stare into my scarred face in the mirror, hoping to understand my own mind. Even if I really used to love him in the past doesn't mean I should now. It physically hurts me to imagine Karlach's probable response to that. And Wyll's. And everyone's, really. Apart from some of my companions who would prefer to take control of the Brain, or even to actually team up with the Tyrant's Chosen, none would approve.

"Oh, fuck me," I mumble.

I close my eyes for a few long seconds, trying to get a hold of myself. It doesn't help; my mind is serving me memories of Gortash's gentle, respectful touch, in blinding contrast to what I thought I knew about him. How does that happen? Was he just that good at playing me? Or was it genuine?

Poor Halsin. Perhaps the thing that scares me most is his disapproval. Would he stay by my side if I succumbed to my twisted desires? Would he be open to sharing me with a man who doesn't care who he abuses as long as it serves his power-hungry agenda? Even he must have a limit to what he's willing to tolerate.

I slam my hand against the mirror and growl. I feel like I'm being split in two. One part will not let go of the beautiful, peaceful vision of what life can be with Halsin. The other... the darkness in me, one that has nothing to do with the Urge, craves to be nourished, to be recognized and utilized, to be accepted.

Can I have both? Or is that just a mad hope of a lobotomized freak?

I need to get out of here, now.

I rush out of the room, then into the Audience hall. I'm hoping it's deserted and no one will notice me leaving, but Gortash is once again comfortably seated on the throne, his alert eyes on me the second I come into his field of vision. I slump my shoulders and frown, turning to him.

"Hey, look," I choose a neutral tone, nonchalantly hooking thumbs in my pockets, "I gotta go. We have lots to do in the city. There's a vamp that begs to be staked, a pregnant hag on the loose, and also Orin's not gonna kill herself."

"Ah, yes," Gortash drawls, getting up and slowly sauntering towards me. "You're very busy. The slayer of Ketheric Thorm. The hero who's lifted the Shadow Curse. Pretty impressive."

I purse my lips, glaring at him. Of course he figured out it was us who exchanged his planned article in Baldur's Mouth for a puff piece on us.

"Yeah, it would be a shame if we were slandered instead of celebrated, don't you think?" I nip sarcastically.

"Why do you think I made you come here, my dear," he tosses me a sour grin. "You get in my way, I get in yours. You'd do best to remember that."

I roll my eyes, folding my arms over my chest. I actually considered thanking him for what he'd done for me tonight, but I'm not in the mood to do that anymore.

"Yeah, yeah. If you're done threatening me, mind letting me go? Like I said, lots to do. You want the netherstone, or not?"

Gortash stops maybe an inch from me and leans in to whisper in my ear: "You're not a prisoner here, sweetheart."

A powerful shiver runs through me, so strong I can't possibly hide it. His gaze slides down my body and lips twist in a delighted, sinful smirk. My breath hitches at the sight of him and his scent makes my throat go dry.

He pulls back to a little more respectful distance. "But I thought you might want to have that brunch on the balcony I planned for us yesterday. Don't worry," he chuckles, "I had my cook make us fresh food—birds seem to have eaten the last batch, anyway." His gaze lingers on my eyes, gauging my thoughts. "It's sunny outside. I want to sit with you, talk and enjoy the view from this tower."

Still reeling from the mind boggling reaction I'm having to his closeness, I swallow hard. 'What's the worst that can happen' isn't even a question here. I know what can happen. I know what my body, my own treacherous body, wants to happen. But maybe... just maybe... if I spend more casual time in his presence, this assault of hormones will stop.

After all, there's nothing more off-putting than really getting to know the horrible man you're attracted to. Could be just what I need to get over him.

07 What's the worst that can happen?

I let him lead me onto the balcony. Any thoughts get knocked out of me as soon as I lean over the stone wall and stare at the city stretching below us.

I've only spent two weeks here since we arrived, and from up-close it never quite seemed as grand as people tend to describe it. It's big and loud and overcrowded and smelly... But it seems gorgeous from this high above. No wonder Gortash wants to settle up here permanently.

I don't appreciate the thick atmosphere of this place. I miss the clean waters and animal white noise of the picturesque location the nautiloid crashed in. Even the Underdark is breathtaking in its menacing way.

This doesn't feel like home anymore. It's familiar, but I'm a different person.

Much like what I could say about Gortash. The fact that we used to be a thing shouldn't mean that we have to be it again.

I have so many questions it feels like a chunk of anxiety is balled up inside me—I don't even know what to ask specifically, I just know I need a lot of answers. I want to understand what happened between us and how. And how can a man so callous, so cruel to everything else be so gentle and sweet with me.

I have to know what game he's playing. Is he hoping to weaken me? Stab me in the back as soon as I kill Orin and take both the netherstones off my cooling flesh? Was any of what he showed me real?

"Heavy thoughts, Talas?"

I sigh and turn away from the view to see him comfortably sprawled on an actual rug stretched over the stone floor.

"Couldn't get a blankie?" I quip, shaking my head. "Your ass get too soft?"

"Well, since I don't have to live rough anymore, I just don't do it," he chuckles, tapping a spot next to him. "Come have some comfort, too. I imagine you're not used to it anymore, being on the road for so long."

"I think I pretty much forgot what comfort felt like when that Myrkulite bitch of a torturer got a hold of me," I say dryly as I make my way to the picnic. I immediately see the change in his expression and his fists clenching.

I sit down and stretch my legs in front of me. "Do all your Absolute lackeys respect you this much, or was she special?"

"That's still under investigation," he growls darkly. An image of his most loyal soldiers beating information out of the slightly less loyal soldiers crosses my mind. "The nerve on her. The nerve on Ketheric. He should've told me."

"I guess plotting to take over the world doesn't make for the best bonding time," I smirk, picking up a chalice of wine.

"True," he nods, deciding to wash his rage down with some wine as well. "This is not a circle of trust. I even had to kill a number of my own for being too ambitious. Mostly when they tried to assassinate me to take my place. Or get to me through you."

"Hm," I grimace, not ready to believe I was so important to him that he wouldn't sacrifice me in a blink of an eye if it brought him enough reward. "How do you know I won't kill you? Bhaal sounded pretty determined. He'll try again. You might not get so lucky this time."

"He won't. Not until you get rid of Orin."

I raise my eyebrows at him and toss a few grapes in my mouth. "How would you know?"

Gortash pauses, looking away, squinting at the sky.

"Last night I told her what was happening, got her properly pissed off. I promised you would come to her, which is what you want, anyway. She went to talk to him, to convince him she's capable of defeating you. I hoped she had the pull—and it looks like she does, because it worked. Bhaal wants you to ritually combat her at the Temple just a smidge more than he wants me dead—and can always make either of you do it later."

He says it in such a matter-of-fact tone as if he didn't just confess to virtually saving my life. I gape at him mutely, wine forgotten half-way to my lips.

"Well," I chuckle in disbelief, "I'm stunned that you didn't brag about it immediately."

"I knew you would see it as bragging, no matter when I told you," he rolls his eyes, chugging his wine. "So I wasn't going to. Until you asked."

I shrug and nod, admitting that's true. I'm always ready to believe the worst of him. Just in case.

"But you should know." He turns to me, face serious, gaze intense. He takes my hand and squeezes. "When Orin is dead, he will sic you on me. It won't matter what you feel or what your agenda is. This time he'll have no reason to relent, he will have one of us dead."

He sighs and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear with the same tenderness I tasted last night. His eyes are warm and gentle.

"If nothing else works... I will let you kill me," he whispers and my breath catches in my throat. "Which is why I suggest you keep your word and we finish our plan together. If we're successful, we might have enough power to keep him away from us."

I watch his hair flow in the breeze around his face. He lets go of my hands and looks to the sky again, as if the endlessness of it helped him feel like he has more options, more freedom.

"So, at the least, we have until you kill her."

His voice is so heavy, raspy, wistful, I shiver again. He doesn't even suggest that we actually stay together or anything... he's just contemplating the near future, counting down days until he might not see me again. Or live.

"You would just let me kill you?" I ask, suddenly reminded of Halsin's similar question from last night. Gortash brushed it off then and I was too busy trying to survive, but it hits differently now.

I see his throat jump as he gulps. He seems to mull over his answer. Then squeezes his eyes shut.

"I began hatching the Absolute plan for my sake only. I wanted power and control. But then you came..." He flashes me a glance, almost shy. "And things changed. So slowly I didn't even notice at first. But I started to work towards a different goal. I wanted to make this work for us. Make the world the perfect place for us to be happy in. To do whatever we want, to have all the comforts, all the fun."

He pauses for a long time. I'm wracking my brain to try to remember something, anything, so that I could confirm his words, but the memory of him is still as incorporeal as before.

Before I figure out how to react, he speaks up again:

"I didn't know how differently it could end," he rasps and I'm in shock to notice his eyes getting somewhat wet. "How someone could hate me, hate you, so much that they would tear us apart and destroy everything." This time he looks at me steadily, though I can see how much effort it takes him to not let his sight run away again. "I love you, Talas. We were having so much fun I hadn't realized it... until I lost you."

I rapidly blink in utter bewilderment. My heart squeezes hard. I feel tears fighting their way out of my eyes. I can taste bitterness in the back of my throat. As if the only thing I could remember about our past is how heartbreaking it was to be separated from him like this.

And I realize that I believe him. It makes sense. Bhaal's ultimatum revealed one thing: this murder was personal to him. I really must have been in love with Gortash before my disappearance. Enough to make the Lord of Murder feel threatened and want our bond broken.

And I'm beginning to see why—to see past my initial impression of him, past his flaws and sins. It makes me scared. What happens if I give in to it, even if just for a little while?

But just how much time to decide do I really have?

08 Innocence of a guilty man.

Turns out, I don't need much time at all.

Gortash's confession was so raw it's impossible for me to stop thinking about it. He's quiet as we eat our breakfast, and so am I, but my head is buzzing. The alcohol doesn't help hold my walls up, but I don't think being sober would save me now.

'We only have until you kill Orin.'

That could be mere days. We've only just arrived, but already met her more than once—sniffing around, gauging our weaknesses, snickering maniacally and giving us the creeps. If we don't strike first, she will. Not to mention the ticking clock that was the tadpole wriggling in my head, threatening to turn me into a tentacled monster the second the Brain breaks free of Gortash's and Orin's control. We are all screwed if we don't find her soon.

My mind ambushes me with slightly fuzzy memories of last night. The way Gortash washed me, the way he carried me to the bed like royalty, the way he cared. I don't have to run away and marry him in secret to enjoy him. I don't have to make any promises at all.

I can just have him one last time. Whatever happens next.

"Well," I peep, nervous about what I'm going to do, "since we're full, alone and have the time... maybe we can... uhm."

Gods, I'm awful at flirting. I'm so lucky Halsin decided to approach me first. We would still be hungrily circling each other if he hasn't.

To my utter dismay and embarrassment, Gortash laughs out loud. "You haven't improved one bit," he shakes his head.

"Shut up," I grunt, trying to hide in my hair.

He props himself on one elbow, reaching for my jaw, caressing me and pulling me down to him for a kiss.

"Your best line so far was 'I would love to carve you up real slow,'" he smirks, coaxing me to look up. "Fortunately, that worked like a charm on me."

My brow crinkles and I burst into vivacious laughter. It makes me feel better, more at ease. I guess I didn't change that much.

"Gods, it's been forever since the last time I heard that laughter," Gortash sighs, stricken.

He attacks my mouth voraciously, making me gasp into the kiss.

It's different than before. It's not libido that drives him this time. There's pain behind the layers of need. Pain of long separation, of deep grief, of lost hope, of impending death. He's virtually inhaling me, as if he would love nothing more than to blend into me.

I feel dizzy and compelled to return the kiss with the same intensity, even though I'm running out of breath. I don't want to hold back anymore. What good would it do me to fight my feelings when this is the last time I get to have him.

His skin is much smoother after the morning shave, but I can still feel the faint remnants of stubble gently scratching me. I run my fingers all over his face, trying to imprint every shape of him into my damaged brain. I come across the scar on his chin and the sensation feels more familiar than ever. I know I've touched this scar before.

His hand copies my movements, tracing my scars. They must be new to him; Orin left them on me when she tried to kill me. He remembers my face when it was still flawless, yet his fingers are feeling my new imperfections with reverence.

"Bleed that bitch slowly," he rasps against my skin. "Savor the kill. You deserve a sweet revenge for this."

"I wish I could do the same to Bhaal," I reply breathily.

"So do I, my love. So do I." He pulls away a little, skin flushed, eyes misty. "Let's go inside. It's chilly here, you might catch a cold."

I squeeze my eyes shut, half wanting to laugh, half crying. I feel him get onto his feet and the next thing I know I'm in his arms, carried like a princess once more. I hug his shoulders and hide in his neck, nibbling hungrily, making his breath catch as he's walking towards his study, gait a bit wobbly.

My legs are weak too—I nearly buckle as he puts me down by the bed. I steady myself holding onto him, while he's doing his best to keep my armor and clothes intact as he's pulling them off my body in ragged, desperate moves.

He pauses with his hands hovering over my offered gauntlet.

"What?" I wonder. "Think you won't be able to enjoy it without me hurting you?"

He tilts his head, squinting in the distance. "I don't think we've ever tried that."

"Just take it off," I say and put his fingers on my wrist. "If it's not enough, I can always use my nails."

"To be honest," he raises his eyebrows pensively, "I don't think I even care. I just want to be with you."

He shakes the metal off my hand and tosses it to the floor. Then his eyes find his own, with the glowing netherstone adorning it.

"I promise I won't steal it," I chuckle. "At least not until I have Orin's."

He doesn't seem to appreciate my teasing. He takes the gauntlet off, but quickly puts it in a small, sturdy looking metal box and locks it inside.

I roll my eyes. "Still don't trust me, Enver? Did I use to fuck people just to get their precious stuff and favors? I thought that was more your style."

"Just a precaution against whomever else might be sneaking through the tower," Gortash smirks and returns to me. "You weren't even interested in fucking until you met me," he touches my face. "Granted, you didn't have many eligible choices around you, with your father keeping you in dark tombs among abominations. But I taught you everything, little lover."

My breath hitches a little at the realization, but I gulp the shock down.

"Well, then I guess I'm glad you've been sleeping around with so many of your noble conquests. Would hate to be taught by someone inexperienced."

He laughs with his eyes shut, then sighs and pulls me into his embrace.

"Oh, Talas, don't be jealous. There's no need to drag nobles into my bed anymore. I did try to drown my grief in a few... but it never helped. You were my first in months."

I blink at him, stunned by his words yet again. "Explains why you looked like you hadn't bathed in weeks at your inauguration." I swallow hard, distressingly aware of his enticing scent now.

"I've let myself go a little, yeah," he admits with an amused grin. "My company didn't mind. I thought Ketheric smelled like death, but then I met Orin." I snort and he joins me. "That faint stench of rotting flesh makes me want to gag. You, though..."

He buries his nose in the crook of my neck, pulling off his clothes. "You." He inhales a lungful of me, groaning. I shiver, closing my eyes, running my fingers through his hair. "The sweetest thing I've ever tasted."

I yelp as he suddenly picks me up and lets us both collapse onto the bed. Our limbs tangle, skin grazing skin, our mouths lock in a thirsty dance of tongues. It's a strange feeling, like being with him for the first time, even though it's far from it. I'm not fighting him, not resisting unwelcome desires, not trying to pretend this isn't what I want... I give myself to him willingly and eagerly.

09 Your fingerprints all over me.

He pulls us higher and flips us over, so he could lean on the head of the frame with me on top. The unexpected exposure makes me flinch. I'm still getting used to showing all of myself even to Halsin, and this... I haven't had time to decide how to feel about it. But the way he watches me makes me shudder. His gaze worships every inch of me, his fingers following closely after. So I lean into his touch and close my eyes, letting my mind rest in the soft waves of pleasure.

"How are you even more breathtaking than before," Gortash whispers so quietly I'm not sure he even meant to be heard.

I look down at him, using the rapidly depleting brain capacity to study his face some more. I didn't think he was capable of such adoration. I'm trying to hold onto my healthy doubts for the sake of everyone who's put their trust in me, but it's getting truly difficult.

So I choose to focus on the rest of him instead. On how he makes me feel.

I let my hands wander over his body, enjoying the inexplicable electric sensation of touching his deliciously mocha skin. Making him shiver as I run through the fine hair on his chest he so likes to show off. His muscles are defined just the right amount, well hydrated and comfortably soft. The little love handle on his tummy makes my mouth water and my hips grind against him wantonly.

He groans and grabs me by the nape to pull me into a ravaging kiss. I lift off his lap just enough to help him slip inside me. I cry out softly, unable to hold back the sweet tears of ecstasy.

My needy mouth devours him. He holds my hip in a firm grip to help me ride him. The fingers of his free hand dig into my back, desperately pressing me to his chest, but the hurt they cause isn't physical. I don't want to look into his eyes, I know they will bewitch me.

But I fail and let his gaze swallow my soul.

I can't focus on kissing him anymore. I just lay my forehead on his shoulder and keep rolling my hips. I feel the crushing orgasm closing in when he rakes my hair and starts murmuring in my ear:

"I love you, Talas. I love you."

I let out a sob as it hits me like a wall. I'm not screaming or moaning—I'm crying. My heart is breaking, my soul is splitting... Yet, in the midst of my torment, there's mind boggling ecstasy shooting through my body like lightning.

He caresses my back, letting me ride out the last of the tremors, while I latch onto his mouth again, mixing his intoxicating taste with the salt of my tears. He doesn't seem bothered, drinking my inexplicable sorrow eagerly, thirstily.

I collapse onto his warm chest and keep softly sobbing into his flesh.

I remember now.

"Are you alright?"

I don't respond for a long while. I just keep slowly rolling my hips, not letting him stop making love to me. He listens to my intentional body language, running his fingers gently all over my skin, and lets me deal with it in peace before I'm ready to speak up.

"I love you too, Enver."

The leftover reason in my brain gags its mouth in horror. But I know that it's true. It's been true the whole time, I just didn't know, being stripped of all my memories of him.

The memories didn't return per se. Only feelings. I was a drooling mess, and still my heart yearned for something I lost. Someone I lost. I doubt I could even recall his name or his face... but I knew I needed him.

"Please," I sniffle, finally dragging myself up to look at him. "Make me forget how I know this. It hurts."

That strange sucking feeling in the center of my chest suddenly makes sense now. I've had it since the crash. My head was empty, but my heart ached for him.

"Talas," he whispers, cradling my head. I watch his eyes well up like mine.

I kiss him, letting him tangle his fingers in my hair. He presses my face closer to his and drowns in my mouth. When we're out of breath, he leaves my lips to travel up to my cheeks and eyes, kissing away every tear.

He wraps me in his arms and smoothly rolls us over, pressing my back into the red satin sheets. He holds my hands above my head and I expect him to get rough—I wouldn't mind having this gnawing emotional anguish knocked out of me with a delicious pounding I know he's keen to inflict.

But his fingers lace with mine and his eyes watch me with tenderness I didn't think he was capable of. He's not done fighting for me.

And I'm not done being loved by him.

I hold his gaze, studying the specs of color in his irises. I let out soft moans as he languidly moves inside me and kisses my mouth without breaking eye contact. And when my body begins buzzing, building up to another mind-shattering climax, I whisper his name. The first one slips from my lips accidentally, but as my mind clouds I get bolder. When my body spasms and my toes curl, I scream it over and over in between waves of ecstasy.

His gaze never wavers—up until his own finish catches him unprepared, drawing a surprised, tender whimper out of him. His body quivers, uncontrollably shooting hot seed inside of me as he holds me close, encasing me in his arms like something fragile and precious, moaning my name into my ear.

Mind blank, I just lay, limbs wrapped around him, not willing to let go. We stay like this, gently caressing each other, panting, cooling off. It's not until we start getting uncomfortable that we're finally forced to let go.

"How would you feel about having a bath together again?" Gortash suggests, his roguish smirk gracing his lips once more.

I'm all sweaty and sticky and full of his load, so I nod.

I don't want to leave just yet. Going back into the real world means being faced with responsibilities and morality. It means remembering what a menace this man is to the city. It means considering losing him forever if he decides to stand in our way. I'm not ready for that. Not after I had an emotional charge the size of an extinction-level catastrophic event go off in my chest just minutes ago.

10 One last chance.

Gortash fills the tub with hot water and takes me by the hand. But it seems like I'm not quite ready for this, either.

Come on. It's just a bathtub. The only place that's actually filled with horrors is your own head.

And I recall all the tenderness and care that happened around it, as well. Two diametrically different men doting on me, sacrificing their strength and favors for me. The thought further eats away at the walls of my poor heart.

"Need some help?" Gortash glances at me, evidently understanding my hesitation. His arm snakes around my waist and he kisses my temple. "Come on. I'll be in there with you. Promise not to tie you up this time—unless you want me to," he chuckles into my hair.

I snort and relax a little. There was really nothing to be afraid of; Bhaal was taken care of for now, there was no reason for my Urge to come out this soon. But my legs won't work.

"Yeah, I do need help," I sigh, draping myself over his shoulders.

He tosses me a wicked grin and picks me up. "You're getting used to this fast."

"It's a nice thing to get used to," I shrug innocently.

"You know you got heavy?"

"Maybe you got out of shape," I narrow my eyes at him, then we both laugh.

I almost don't notice how he submerges both of us in the pleasantly hot water. My heart thrums in my throat for a bit, but then Gortash starts rubbing my neck and shoulders, massaging the tension out of them. I let him do it for a while, then close my eyes and lay my head in the crook of his neck.

"Thanks for saving my life last night," I mumble and I really mean it. "I was ready to beg Halsin to mercifully end me. Wait, no, I did actually beg."

I feel his palm run along the side of my face, then his fingers combing my hair back in soothing motions. "It's the least I could do after putting you in danger. I'm so sorry, Talas."

"It wasn't your fault," I sigh. I know what he means, but... when two people fall in love, neither of them should be held responsible for the disproportional reaction of their relatives.

"I still can't believe how close you were this whole time," he rasps and I his hands ball into fists. "Bloody Ketheric. What a low, petty revenge for making him feel uncomfortable and redundant during our Absolute meetings."

I snort. "How were we getting on his nerves so much?"

I feel his chuckle reverberate into me through my back. "You used to like sitting on my lap and making out while he was speaking. And whenever you spaced out during discussions, or simply didn't have an opinion, you would always back me up, not even listening to his arguments."

"Oh," I grimace. "We were very dismissive of him. I'm not surprised he felt affronted."

"Oh, Talas." I hear exasperation in his voice. "He kept you in his dungeon as a toy for his deranged 'scientist' and let me believe you were dead. He deserved to get his tongue ripped out and be beaten to death with it. Would you really just forgive him?"

"I'm kidding," I turn to him, eyes still closed, and plant a kiss on his chin. "I hate his fucking guts. I'm just sad I wasn't able to make his death proper fun."

"There she is, my Bhaal-babe."

"We've met all of his children," I growl. "All cursed and deranged, almost begging to be put out of their misery. The man couldn't give two fucks about any of them, beside precious Isobel he raised from the dead in exchange for their lives, with thousands of innocent souls on top. He didn't deserve redemption and he knew it."

There's a long pause and I can feel Gortash tensing up.

"Do I?"

That knocks the breath out of my lungs. My eyes open wide, but I only stare into the distance.

Why would he even ask that? He didn't seem remorseful of his many, many sins. He looked straight in Karlach's face and looked pleased with himself. He tadpoled Wyll's father and shipped him who-knows-where the minute he got him to surrender his title. He subjugated a whole city and prepared to wage a fake war on it, just so he could pronounce himself its savior.

And those were only the deeds we knew about so far.

"Do you think you deserve it?" I deflect the question back at him, unsure how to respond. Suddenly I'm aware of how naked and defenseless I am in his presence again.

"Shh," he rubs my arms, noticing my discomfort. "I didn't mean to make you bristle up. In the end, Ketheric was left with no one who supported him out of their own free will. I know how depressing that is—I was in the same position before you returned. There's a big difference between doing things because you know you're alone against the world, and doing things for someone you love."

I scoff. "Well, if that's how you operate, how about you give me the stone and help me clean up this mess? Because that's the only way this," I gesture between him and myself, "is going anywhere. You know that what we just did doesn't really change anything between us, right?"

I can see the hurt in his eyes—but no surprise. He knows. He's just probing for another option. Or trying to manipulate me. Whichever.

He decides to abandon the topic. "We've never done it like this before," he studies my face. "You changed so much."

"Enver," I sigh, feeling almost bad for him. "How do you still want me back, when I'm not even the woman you remember?"

Silence. He evades my gaze, watching the sunlight behind the tall stained glass windows. He doesn't seem to understand it himself.

"I guess you've given my life more meaning than anything I've ever done before."

My heart and eyelids flutter, touched more deeply than I was willing to admit.

I know what that feels like. I could've let my Urge dictate my path, succumb to the thirst for blood and death, do what I knew to do best. Instead, I've found myself in people around me, people of varying degrees of 'good' who sometimes struggle as much as I do.

I've found purpose in keeping them alive. In helping them denounce their gods, avenge their traumas, fix their mistakes, save what's important to them. In loving them as much as they've grown to love me. They healed me in ways medicine and magic could never have done on their own.

They saved me, and now I would rather choose death than let a bloodthirsty god take control over my life again.

Perhaps Gortash would do the same...?

I don't dare to guess. Not until I see the change with my own eyes, in action, when I present the choice to him with Orin's netherstone in hand.

Because I've just decided that I will do just that. Despite everything he's done, everything that deserved grave, and likely final, punishment, I will allow him one last chance to do better.

Thank you for reading ♥

Remember, if you liked the story and want to support me as a writer, » please REBLOG «. We share our work with you for free.

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Also please consider leaving a kudo on AO3 even if you read here, it will be deeply appreciated (there's also more context in form of author's notes).

I welcome comments and discussion on this topic!

Constructive criticism is not unwelcome, I'm not a native English speaker, so if something sounds strange to you, I'd like to know ♥

I was just on my way to tag when both of my lovely moots already read and reblogged xD. Anyway, thanks for being here for this, guys! ♥ @thoughts-of-bear @starfleetwithhorns

[healer-pop]

DUDE IMAGINE CERVIX KISSING VENTURE WITH THE STRAP???

god I cannot even tell u how much they would be all over that. bc listen, this act is so sensual and intimate and that’s something Venture is all about. It’s the feeling of fullness, of pressure against the inner most part of you, while you’re basically pressed against your partner and the endorphins it releases is just… wow. unmatchable.

Virgin Venture would go absolutely speechless at the feeling. They would be completely at your mercy, their brain just wouldn’t be able to comprehend the sensation. Honestly, if they’re still being bratty and talking big, it’s the only way to shut them up. A KO. They’d stare up at you with wide eyes, mouth falling open, just completely helpless at the pleasure being rocked through their body right now. Their hands on your shoulders leaving beautiful crescent moons via blunt nails, their own form of tattooing themself upon you. As you fix your gaze on them, breathing whispers of praise on their cheeks, the tears take their place, starting to fall. Wet streams that leave their skin glistening without the two of you realizing, “U-uhng- m-more. More, please, fuck, m-more?”

It’s almost completely guttural sounds, a few words you can pick out mixed into the noise being a couple of strung together letters that Venture can actually remember right now. Anything else that spills from their lips is just gasping babble, punched straight from their lungs.

A Venture with a bit more experience is still in cloud nine, but has more control over their brain function. Their face is blissed out, seeing more colors than humanly possible, staring straight into the ceiling because anything else would be too overwhelming.

Their voice still hitches in places as they talk, “A-aah… yes, yes, cariño. So fucking good. You’re- you’re so deep in me… So deep. I feel so filled up by you. Mm… I- I want you to move. Hard, ok? Wanna… wanna feel you tomorrow too.”

Loose arms, tossed over your neck like a shawl. You lean down to kiss their neck, savoring the moan it pulls as you lick off salty sweat from their heated skin. Their legs pull you in as tight as they can, every time you give a vicious thrust to their cunt. You live for the way Venture shuts their eyes, the broken moans that they hand out shattered by your pace.

They’re completely relaxed in your arms despite the bruising fuck you’re currently delivering to them right now. Open to your desires, putty in your hands. You could line hickies up on their neck. Fuck, play tic tac toe with it, they couldn’t care less. All they can think about is the way your cock hits their cervix every time you push in.

You might literally drive them wild. Expect their clinginess to drive up 500% because getting fucked like that? Yeah, no. Their body suddenly craves everything about you. Your scent, your warmth, your presence. It’s like an undeniable itch that they need to scratch, can’t get through the day with out having some sort of physical contact with you. Like all their hormones are secreting some sort of need. Maybe due to their fucked out state that you created, the way they just completely imprinted on you as theirs… Like, they are hanging off of you the next day.

Many others try and attempt to talk to Venture, but don’t get very far since they’re still not completely able to formulate full thoughts. They chalk it up to poor sleep and let Venture be, but it makes you smile to know the full story.

They snuggle into your neck as you try to get paperwork done, try and pull you into sharing their jacket. They’ve always been affectionate but this feels… different. Almost as if they are gently floating down from sub space, using the physical touch to ease the transition. You allow it, of course, but it’s definitely a plus to have a snugglebug on your arms the next day.

Yeah. Venture definitely likes when you cervix kissing them, but would probably ask that you save it for when they DON’T need to be a single person. Or, you know, have a brain the next day.

[typellblog]

Archer's back

Archer is by far the most baffling character in the Fate route, right? Imagine reading FSN for the first time without being spoiled.

Archer only shows his face when the story is already well underway. He is in roughly three scenes, all of which are him talking to Shirou alone. We learn almost nothing about him, and in the end, he sacrifices his life fighting against Berserker. Offscreen!

He’s clearly not just a throwaway character. There’s something there, it’s just being deliberately covered up. This is different from a twist character like Sakura – in her case, we’re not given any strong hints that something is wrong. We’re not supposed to question her role in the story right up until Heaven’s Feel. Archer, on the other hand, does nothing but raise questions.

Why does Shirou immediately hate him for no apparent reason? Why does Archer persist in talking to Shirou multiple times, despite this? How does Archer’s advice manage to be the exact thing Shirou needed to hear in order to help him defeat Berserker?

And, perhaps most importantly, why does he so frequently stand with his back towards the person he’s talking to? Actually, why even bother making a ‘backwards-facing’ character sprite for him in the first place?

The use of a backwards-facing character sprite is really weird. It would be like if a director told their actors to face away from the audience and deliver their lines to the back of the stage. It misses the whole point of the medium!

Character sprites are supposed to tell you how a character interacts and engages with the people around them, through facial expressions, what they’re doing with their hands, etc. The way Archer engages with the people around him is by . . . not engaging with them.

So, Archer’s back is a message to the reader, from the author. He’s being presented as closed-off, aloof, mysterious. He has hidden depths, but you’re not going to get to see them.

The funny part is that in-universe Archer’s back also serves as a message from him to Shirou. He deliberately makes it weird and awkward for Shirou to talk to him, because he wants to come off as aloof and mysterious.

Of course, another element that’s added when it’s a personal confrontation like that is Archer presenting himself as superior. the fact that Shirou is literally, physically behind him also reminds us that he’s behind him in power, behind him in knowledge, and behind him in self-actualisation.

But again, this is only what Archer is trying to convey. And to be honest, it’s very funny that he’s trying at all. Because despite acting as though he doesn’t give a shit, it’s clear that seeing his past self, and his past self seeing him is important to Archer. Why else would he spend so much time talking to the guy? He has a semi-plausible excuse each time, but the conversation keeps wrapping around to personal matters.

By the way, I like to believe the reason why Archer leaves without finishing his line here is because he thought it sounded cringy halfway through and got embarrassed.

Because that’s the thing with a turned back, isn’t it? He’s already put himself in the position of someone about to leave, without actually leaving. He’s not trying to engage with Shirou on equal terms, but he doesn’t ignore him either. He’s conflicted.

You could read Archer as trying to get Shirou to give up, discouraging Shirou and getting him to accept his inevitable death. But the most important lesson that Archer's back gives in this route is that ‘the one you have to fight is none other than yourself’.

Now, that’s true against Rider, it’s true against Berserker. But coming from Archer you really have to interpret that as a challenge, don’t you? ‘The one you have to fight is none other than me.’

That doesn’t sound like someone who wants Shirou to give up. That sounds like someone who, when he comes to kill Shirou, wants Shirou to fight back.

To use an archery metaphor, Archer’s back isn’t a wall, it’s the target.

This is the fourth of roughly thirty analytical essays on Fate/Stay Night that I will be reposting here with some significant edits (although this one didn’t change too much) from Reddit.

Archer’s back will be a returning theme in this series, as it is in the VN itself.

[mxtantrights]

the chemistry read

this is a snippet from the famous dc!au that started with The Greatest Hits [read here] you don’t have to read it but a lot of things would make sense if you do! hope you enjoy.

Admittedly, you shouldn't give into peer pressure. It does nothing for you in the end except show others that you can be bent to their will. But that will being your fan base is a whole other thing.

You had to prove to your fans that you could deliver right?

"What are you planning over there?" Jason asks.

You look up from your phone. He's sprawled out on the lounge seat by your side. God he looks good but you've told him that when he woke up this morning and when he was making your breakfast. His ego could go an hour before being inflated again.

So you shrug your shoulders.

"A couple of people are saying we don't have chemistry." you answer.

You watch in real time as Jason gasps and gets up from his seat. He walks over to you with a dumbfounded look on his face. There he stands in front of you with his hands on his hips.

"We? Us? You and me? The co-stars of a big blockbuster romcom? That we?" he fires off.

The laugh works its way up from your belly to your chest.

"Yes, us. I was just trying to figure out a way to prove them wrong." you explain.

Jason bends down and the action confuses you. Until his knees hit the end of your lounge chair and he crawls his way up to you. For the love of everything holy you know the two of you haven't gotten intimate yet but you can just tell he is a master of foreplay.

As he hovers above you know you don't know what to think. You can't think. There are no words in your head except for Jason's name.

"I think I've got something." he says.

It's barely above a whisper. You don't know why. The two of you aren't in the country right now. An impromptu weekend vacation to a beach house down the coast. It's just you two here.

You go to speak but stop yourself when Jason grabs your phone. He holds it out for you to put in your passcode, even shuts his eyes when you do it. Then he takes your phone and sets up the camera to video mode.

"Chemistry read. Right here, right now." he speaks.

You look at him incredulously. A short laugh tumbles out first and then you realize that he's not joking. You smile again and set your phone against the chair side table. The camera catches you and Jason from your chests up.

"What script are we working with here? I'd like to be professional about this Mr.Todd." you ask.

"All of them. We're doing best romcom lines ever." Jason answers.

You reach over to your phone and hit record. Jason takes this time to roll back his shoulders and crack his neck. It makes you yelp and cackle like an animal. He has to reel you back into the moment.

He goes first. And boy does he make a show of it. He looks at you intensely It's the way his eyes aren't just one color that throw you off focus. Sure you couldn't think about lines before but now? Definitely not.

"You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on." he repeats.

Your eyes widen and your hand clamps over your mouth. Jason laughs right along with you. You clear your throat and try to calm yourself.

Then you lean right in. You and Jason just a foot away from each other. You see the smirk on his face.

“Just shut up! Here... I wanna marry you because you're the first person I wanna look at when I wake up in the morning, and the only one I wanna kiss goodnight. Because the first time that I saw these hands, I couldn't imagine not being able to hold them. But mainly, when you love someone as much as I love you, getting married is the only thing left to do. So, will you, um, marry me?” you spurt out.

Jason lets out a gasp. You dust your shoulder off with a bashful grin on your lips. Nodding you head to your choice of rom com.

Then Jason leans in so that your noses are touching. You can't help the way you take in a huge breath. Or the small noise you make that Jason is eating up by the way.

“You jump, I jump, remember? I can’t turn away without knowing you’ll be alright.” he says.

Titanic? No way!

You have to one-up him. You can't let him win this hypothetical challenge you've set for yourselves. No way. Realistically he reads English lit so he's going to have an advantage. But you would be damned if you went down without a fight.

“You were my new dream.” you reply.

“You complete me.” he shots back.

“You had me at hello.” you respond.

Jason lets out a warm breath and you feel it against your face. Did he just let you win? You cock your head to the side. But sure enough Jason cradles the side of your head with his hand, his thumb rubbing back and forth on your cheek.

Yeah he let you win. But you think back to the way he crawled up the chair to you and you think to yourself that you have already won twice. Three times if you count the fact you woke up next to him this morning.

Why not let him get a little something for his troubles?

You turn your face inward to his open palm and place a kiss to it. As you do your eyes never leave his. His eyes go wide and then soft, a downturned smile on his lips.

"Think we need to shut the camera off now."

“Why?”

“I mean I’m okay with PDA but some things are meant to be private.” he explains.

“Some things like what Jay?” you ask.

You know good and well what he’s talking about. You actually love teasing him. It’s the better part of each day you spend with him. The way he reacts.

"Things like my tongue in your mouth.” he says with a smile.

You nod your head along, “Get the camera pretty boy.”

His eyes do the thing again and he’s reaching over for the phone to hit stop.

“Yup. Got it. Got it. Getting it.” He says stretching over you and fumbling with the phone.

He hits stop and record a bunch of times. You know you’re going to find several two second videos of you and him sitting like this. You don’t care though.

All you can think about is savoring this moment. He looks hot to the touch with the sun behind him. His sunglasses in his hair. Shirtless in tropical designed swim trunks that you don’t think anyone could pull off but him.

And he is all yours.