Spreading The Nonbinary/trans DCA Agenda

some pfps of my favorite cranky cat

astarion has fluffy cat energy to me idk

collar

nsfw!!! xiao x f!reader

sub top xiao, very mild petplay, pet names, semi public sex

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You know Xiao loves you. He’s a sweetheart despite being a bit aloof or closed off to others and you know he would do anything for you - almost.

When you came to him with a peppy bounce in your step, big grin and hands holding something resembling a animal collar, though, he closes you down immediately.

“Absolutely not.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to do,” you faux pout. “Maybe I was showing you the new accessory I got for my cat.”

Xiao deadpans at you. “You don’t own a cat.”

“Sure I do.”

Your grin grows big again and you show him the collar more closely. An encrusted golden plate that sits at the front of the dark piece of leather reads “xiao” in all capital letters.

He blinks at it, once, and then twice before looking back up at you. “....I’m not wearing that.”

You open the latch that holds each side together and reach out to put it on him anyway. “I got it specially made for you, so you have to wear it.”

Leaning away while pushing your hands down, he murmurs “that’s humiliating. I don’t want to wear it.”

The way his eyes follow the item tells a different story, with a light flush running across his cheeks confirming your suspicions. From past experience you’ve found that he likes the feeling of something - usually your hand - around his neck and thought this would be perfect to have while your hands are busy touching him elsewhere.

“You’ll look so pretty though,” you tell him, keeping the collar in hand while you reach to slide your spare onto the smooth skin of his throat. “Don’t you want to be a good kitty for me?”

He freezes momentarily at that, eyes staring unblinking at you before a shudder rolls down his body. For other people, he may be like a stone statue, emotions never showing through. But for you, he was easy to read like a book.

“Ah, was that a yes?” He doesn’t answer you but his head falls back, neck on display for you. An act of submission.

You squeeze once with the hand that sat on his neck, making his eyes flutter shut momentarily. In that time his eyes were closed, you swapped out your hand with the collar, clicking the clasps closed so it stayed in place.

The collar suits him, you think, a dark leather band that fits snuggly around his neck. Connected to the golden plaque with his name engraved was a similarly golden bell that hung just an inch down.

You poke the bell with your finger and it swishes, jingling. Xiao glares - unthreatening - at you when he hears the sound.

“I wish you could see yourself,” you murmur to him, ghosting your fingers over the metallic name plate.

He’s so quiet like this, already breathless even though you hadn’t really touched him yet. “Do you like it?”

You pull him along to sit at a chair near a round decorative table, sliding onto his lap once he is seated before responding with an affirmative hum. “You look like you need to be taken care of.”

If you grind down you can feel him under you, already hard from getting collared. He’s so easy to rile up, your subtle hip roll making his own stutter back up into yours.

With the constant cool pressure of the leather around his neck you doubt he’ll last long. He already looks gone, his pupils blown out so only a small ring of his iris is visible and his chest rising and falling in little hot pants.

You pull his shirt, all the way up so his chest is exposed. He lets you do it, falling back against the seat when you brush your thumbs on either of his nipples.

They’re so sensitive, too. If you didn’t already have a plan for him you’d probably try to make him come just by playing with them alone.

Once their hard against your fingertips you move on, shuffling back to sit more on the ends of his thighs, where they meet his knees. With space made you’re able to slip your hand below his baggy pants and pull his hardened cock out.

Making your hand into loose circle shape, you let it slide down the length, friction of skin against skin making him twitch in your grasp.

It’s a little dry, so you hold your hand up to his mouth. “Can you spit for me, kitten?”

His mouth is already opened a bit and you’re surprised he isn’t drooling. He lets out a little noise but listens to you, spitting in your hand so you can use it as lubricant.

The slide is wet now, making it easy to do a continuous up, down, up, down movement. It must feel a lot more, because he gets a little louder, a little more into it. He’d be fucking up into your fist if you weren’t sitting on him and you momentarily wish you had sat beside him so you could see him do that.

Despite how good your slicked hand feels around him, he seems nervous about someone catching to two of you in the act, now gripping onto your wrist that moved up down the length of his cock.

It’s night time so you personally aren’t worried about it, as the inn is much less busy - pretty much dead - at night. The only time anyone is up here is to get a glimpse of the view, but even then they chose to go lower down because they know Xiao likes to stay up here, preferably alone.

He’s a little out of it though so it makes it easy to continue without him protesting much, the slick grip around him making it hard for him to say no to you.

When your wet palm circles the head, he releases a shaky sigh and the hand that was tightly wound around your wrist loosens.

He seems to forget about the possibility of onlookers after that, especially when you finally sink down on top of him.

Tight wet hear engulfs his cock, squeezing around it and he has to hold back from coming right then and there. “Oh, god, wait wait wait-“ he struggles, grappling onto your hips to try to stop you.

“You better not, Xiao.” You reply lowly, slipping the rest of the way down so you were seated right in his lap, whole length inside you.

He lets out a sob, cock kicking against your constricting walls. It’s so good, so tight and he wants to come so bad, hanging right over the edge.

“Please, please please please,” you don’t know if he’s begging you to let him come or begging himself to hold it. Either way, you don’t respond, giving him a moment to struggle against the onslaught of pleasure on his own.

You wait for the feeling of being filled but it never comes. With a gleeful pinch to his nipple you start moving, a slow gyration of your hips that makes Xiao’s thoughts turn syrupy.

The both of you stay like that for a while, with you leading a smooth roll of your hips while Xiao stifles sobs of pleasure into little desperate whimpers.

“Will kitty hold back for me?” You request once you feel as though you’ve given him some time to adjust to the feel of your cunt around him and he nods tearfully.

He’s so good, you think as you raise yourself a little, so the head of his cock is just pushing inside your entrance. “Go ahead then,” and you don’t have to tell him twice for his hips to start thrusting up into you, chasing the soaking heat.

Your thighs burn a little from holding yourself up at an angle but it’s worth it to see him so needy. The bell on his collar jingles with the effort to fuck upwards and it seems to spur him to keep going. You realize quite quickly that he won’t last much longer.

You let him do his thing, but lean in, resting your hands on his shoulders for balance while you lean in towards his ear. “You know, you’re so good for me like this, kitty.”

The rhythm he has stutters and he moans an “oh fuck, oh fuck” while trying to regain it. You latch your lips on a spot right above the edge of the collar, sucking a mark - a claim - into his skin.

It must be too much for him, the poor thing moaning loud and bucking his hips harder into yours.

“Next time,” you murmur against his neck, “I should get you a leash. Then you’ll really be like my little pet.”

He comes and god it’s a sight to behold. His eyes squeeze shut and his mouth parts and his back arches, so hard it looks a little painful. You seat yourself down so his come fills inside of you instead of spilling out onto himself.

Hair falls in his face when he slumps forward as he’s coming down and you push it back, petting him in a comforting manner.

“Good kitty.” His hips jump and he whines, overstimulated by your words and your cunt still wrapped around him.

You go to unclip the material around his neck but he immediately stops you, mumbling that he wants to keep it on for now.

The next time you see him he’s wearing the collar, along with the time after that. He doesn’t seem to want to take it off and you’re not sure if it’s because he likes the pressure around his throat or if he likes feeling owned but either way it makes you hot inside and almost always results in his moans and the jingle of a bell filling the quiet night.

whenever my program freezes

Train Cars and Sun Spots - Kaminari Denki

—/—

You think he’s beautiful.

A disarming, reckless sort of beautiful as he barrels into the train, jumping headfirst through the doors just seconds from closing. He erupts into a flurry of fidgeting as he skids to a stop, one hand patting down his wild blonde hair and the other dusting off his sweats. It’s like he can’t sit still. Like he’s got an itch in his skin that’s shifting his weight around, balancing on one foot and then the other- rinse and repeat as he grabs onto the handrail above his head for stability.

Another second passes and then he’s pulling a plastic water bottle from his bag, twisting it open and crinkling the plastic. It seems to you that that he’s trying to make as much noise possible, but then you notice his headphones. They’re black and yellow, undeniably playing at full blast in his ears. You then decide it’s much more likely that he just can’t hear himself- that he somehow doesn’t realize how much of a scene he’s making in the otherwise quiet train car.

You find it a little refreshing, him seemingly appearing out of nowhere. You’d been riding this train for weeks now, to and from school, and you’d seen the same people day after day. The same old businessmen and their same old brief-cases and their same old silence. Not him though- never him and his noise. You were sure you’d remember hearing someone as loud as him.

Still, you try not to stare.

Although, you suppose, it wouldn’t really matter. He probably wouldn’t be able to pick you out of all the other people staring. It’s like he’s got the entire train car arrested and staggered; all eyes stuck on the strange boy who was moving far too much for a 7:00AM commute.

Shifting in your seat, you balanced your book higher in your hands. You hoped that by just barely skimming your eyes over the top, hiding inconspicuously behind the pages, you could look and not be noticed.

You were wrong.

When you glance over at him, he’s already looking at you. He’s got eyes like molten gold, and when he smiles they crinkle closed into happy little slits. That smile is easy and unrelenting when he pushes away from the handrail, hands shoved into his pockets as he nears.

“Hey there!”

His words are friendly, but god, if his voice isn’t loud. You wince, beginning to think that you’d severely underestimated the volume of his music. You’re sure now that it absolutely must be bursting his eardrums.

“Oh-“ He looks sheepish. Then he’s yanking the headphones from his ears, and dropping into the seat next to you. “Too loud, right? Sorry! Didn’t realize.”

You’re stunned.

At first, it seemed unbelievable that this conversation could’ve arised from just a single glance; but then you look a little closer, at his shifting eyebrows and his grin that’s colored shades of flirtatious and it’s a little more believeable. You realize quickly that’s all it ever would’ve taken with him- A single look.

“I’m Kaminari.” He announces confidently, your silence not deterring him in the slightest. “Kaminari Denki.”

“Oh. Okay. Um, hi?”

“Hi!” He greets again, and then he’s pulling that same water bottle from his back. It’s crinkling and half-empty and he’s extending it to you. “Want some?”

It’s in the way his eyebrows wiggle, the mischeivous glint in his eyes- you can see his intentions plastered across his face. The water bottle’s just a front for an indirect kiss. Quite literally the oldest trick in the book.

You want to roll your eyes, but then you look at him again. At his bright eyes and long lashes and shaggy hair falling softly over his forehead. He’s the sort of pretty that gives a lot of second chances- you were no exception to that rule.

“No thanks.” You laugh, easily dazzled by his sunshine smile. You raise a palm to push the bottle away. “Keep it to yourself, yeah?”

“Aww, but you’re too cute not to share with!”

The line rolls off his tongue smooth and easy, and you’re sure now- Kaminari’s a flirt. A shameless, brazen one dripping honey between his words as he fluffs his hair. It’s all a little too natural, a little too practiced. It takes only seconds, and you know definitively that you’re far from the first girl he’s offered his water to.

He’s still cute though, if only in a fleeting way, so you decide to humor him. It’s not like you’ve got anything more pressing to attend to.

“Mhm. And just how often do you use that line, huh?” You ask, rolling your eyes playfully.

“I-“ He starts, but then he’s slouching into the seat laughing. “Yeah, maybe not my best work. Meant it though.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“No, really! I did!”

You look at him again.

Kaminari’s straightened himself, eyes earnest and smile kind as he gazes back. He’s fiddling with the strings on his sweatshirt, idly twirling them between his fingers. It’s a human gesture. Unrehearsed and unpracticed and seemingly only for your eyes. You begin to wonder if that’s his real tactic- coming on strong just to melt into warm, sun-soaked softness.

“Alright. I believe you. Maybe.” You say. “But you’re on thin ice, Kaminari.”

“I’ll take it!” He fist-bumps the air. “See normally, I’d be totally crashing and burning by now!”

“So you are admitting I’m not the first girl you’ve tried that on?”

“What I- Okay. Yes? Maybe?” He laughs nervously, hand once again twirling his sweatshirt strings. “In my defense, I’m not the smartest guy, alright?”

“Nor the quietest either.”

“What?”

He’s got his head turned, cocked to the side as he blinks slowly at you. You think he looks like a confused puppy.

“You practically screamed at me when you said hi.” You tell him easily, letting an amused smile crawl across your lips. “Kinda thought I was being yelled at for a second.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry! Really! I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s okay. Can I give you just a little advice, though?”

“Sure?”

“Don’t scream at the next girl and then immeadiately offer her something to drink. That’s generally pretty suspicious.”

You watch the light leave Kaminari’s eyes and then he folds in his seat. He snaps at the waist, dropping his face into his palms and letting out a theatric groan.

“God, I messed this up.” He whines, peeking at you through his fingers. “Messed up real bad, didn’t I?”

“A little,” You laugh. “But it’s alright.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re good.”

He smiles then, so relieved and happy and just downright giddy that it nearly blinds you. It’s the kind of smile that makes you think he swallowed the sun; like rays of light were bursting through the tiny gaps in his teeth.

“So, what’s your name then?” He asks.

“L/n Y/n.”

“Y/n. Hmm, I like it.” He sighs happily. “Pretty.”

“That’s my first name.”

“I know.” He grins, all pearly whites and crows feet. You think he’s got a dangerous smile- one that lets him get away with anything. “Figured we’re close enough for that, right?”

“I’ve known you for two minutes.”

“Hey, 2 minutes, 2 hours, 2 years- who’s counting?”

“Me.”

“Okay, well good then.” He snickers. “Because I’m like, really bad at math- Wait. Shit. Should I have told you that?”

“Probably not.”

“Man, I am bad at this.” He whines. His knees knock into yours when he throws himself back into his seat. “It’s not my fault, alright? Usually I never get this this far with girls like you.”

“Girls like me?”

“Mhm. Cute ones.”

“Oh my god.” You roll your eyes, only so forgiving. “Really laying it on thick, huh?”

“For sure. My stop’s next so I gotta make sure you actually like me at some point in the next few minutes.”

Something evil slithers into your mind, and you’re smirking when you turn toward him. There’s just an inkling, a tiny little theory in your head, and you want to test it.

“Who said I didn’t already like you?”

Kaminari jumps, his cheeks reddening by the second. There’s nothing cool or composed about him and your theory is confirmed.

Kaminari is a dork. A massive, massive, dork desperately pretending to be a cool guy.

“I- what? You like me?” He asks excitedly, voice rising higher. “Seriously? Like, actually?”

“Sure.” You giggle. “You seem pretty harmless, all things considered.”

“That’s- is that a compliment?” He asks playfully, squinting his eyes at you. “Because harmless wasn’t exactly what I was going for.”

“Oh, so you were trying to creep me out?”

“No!” He shakes his head, cheeks slightly flushing as he laughs.

You giggle too, unable to help yourself. Kaminari really is cute, a lot more so when he’s not recycling tired lines.

“You’re mean.” He smiles something small and pleased. “I like it.”

Suddenly the train car jolts, brakes squeaking and squealing as it skids to a stop. You rock forward with the force, and Kaminari knocks his shoulders into yours. When you look at his face, he’s got that mischevious glint back in his eyes, as he bites down on his lip. A second passes and then he touches his shoulders into yours again.

“Really sorry.” He smirks. “Bumpy ride, you know?”

You roll your eyes again, but you are actually feeling a bit charmed. He’s got a sneaky way of buttering people up, you realize- of somehow weaponizing his own embarrassment.

“But I actually do have to go.” He stands, and then he’s pressing his hands together and winking. “I’ll see you here same time tomorrow, right?”

“I don’t know, are you gonna yell at me again?”

“Absolutely! Gottta yell at all the pretty girls, you know?”

“Stop.” You laugh, blushing. You nod towards the doors. “I’ll be here, but go. Door’s gonna close, you dork.”

Kaminari nods and then he’s shoving his headphones back in, still crinkling that water between his fingers. There’s nothing quiet about him as he leaves and you come to think that maybe that’s how he really gets you- it’s not with lines or indirect kisses or grace, it’s with air that seems uncomfortably vacant when he leaves. It’s with the vaccuum he leaves behind.

You watch the doors close after him, but he’s stops on the platform, shooting you a thumbs up through the window. There’s a goofy grin plastered across his face, wide and sunny and brillant. It’s the kind of smile that leaves you wondering if Kaminari knows just how brightly he shines.

When the train kicks into motion again, you’re smiling too, rubbing your eyes as you blink away the sun spots he left behind.

//—//

jus a lil somethin for denki,, as a ~treat~,,, may or may not turn this into a tiny lil series we’ll see :))))

Overstimulating Thoma to See How Long He Lasts

Pairing: Thoma x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, edging, overstimulation, kissing, begging, cock riding, teasing, lots of cum, cute!Thoma

A/N: More Thoma cause he is so underrated.

Overstimulated!Thoma is a very compliant man. He will do anything for his eventual release, fuck you however you tell him, gradually but surely lose the bigness in his eyes to the dark lust, his eyes deep green while he fucks his cock into you, trying to keep it from shooting his cum into your pussy.

Overstimulated!Thoma doesn't want to beg you to let him come but it's hard to keep the whiney pleas all to himself. He sees how you ride his cock and how good you're feeling from it, he wants to feel good too. Telling him to come would make him feel really, really good.

Overstimulated!Thoma can't keep his voice down and he doesn't try to. You like hearing it so his hope is that if he can make you come enough time then you will also let him come, a kind of a win-win for you both. Unfortunately you know what he's playing at.

Overstimulated!Thoma lets his eyes roll back every time your pussy comes undone around his cock. He's using all his strength to fuck you while not finishing before its time. It's a losing battle in the long run but he at least wants to make sure he lasts longer then the last time.

Overstimulated!Thoma has to close his eyes at times in order to ground himself. Simply holding onto your thighs or ass isn't enough when the sight itself if breathtaking, your tits bouncing up and down in front of his face, his mouth open wide to let all his whimpers out.

Overstimulated!Thoma smiles when you kiss him, thinking he sees the light at the end of the tunnel, nearly there, just a few more thrusts... when you pull up and leave his cock without anything. His hips are still jerking up wards into the air, his eyes stinging with frustrated tears.

Overstimulated!Thoma finally begs you to get back onto his cock. He's so damn close, the tip of his cock is already dripping, the head red and the veins throbbing along the entire length. His voice is nothing short of broken when you cup his cock and guide it back inside your pussy.

Overstimulated!Thoma leaves hand and scratch marks on your thighs as you begin riding him again. His chest is heaving with every breath he takes like he ran a marathon. He can't take much more of this and you don't think he should have to.

Overstimulated!Thoma nearly bucks you off him when you tell him to come, his pace so fast and deep and desperate that you can hardly recognize your gentle, cheerful boyfriend. It seems there's no end to his orgasm. Each time he twitches more white, warm cum splashes at your womb.

Fiery Familiarity - Part 2

here’s part 2! it was a lot of play by play from the episode, but i tried to make it more interesting. we’re getting into the meaty bits, hope you guys enjoy!!

words: ~1.9k

prologue | part 1 | part 3 | part 4

“Hello, Zuko here.”

Like the others, you were shocked. The LAST person you expected to see here was Zuko, especially so soon after the Black Sun fiasco.

“Hey, I heard you guys flying around down there, so, I just thought I'd wait for you here.” You watch with a barely contained smile as Appa let out a roar and licked him. “I know you must be surprised to see me here.”

“Not really, since you've followed us all over the world, “ Sokka sneered.

“Right. Well, uh…” You could see the hesitation on his face as he took a breath to prepare himself. “Anyway, what I wanted to tell you about is that I've changed, and I, uh, I'm good now, and well I think I should join your group, oh, and I can teach firebending…” Zuko met Aang eyes, “to you.”

You could see Aang's posture relax slightly, his grip on his staff loosening as Momo chittered softly.

Zuko started, “See, I, uh-”

“You wanna *what* now?” Toph asked incredulously.

“You can’t possibly think that any of us would trust you, can you?” Katara furrowed her brows as she continued, “I mean, how stupid do you think we are?!”

Sokka chimed in, “Yeah, all you’ve ever done is try to hunt us down and capture Aang!”

You piped up, trying to diffuse some of the rising tension. “Everybody, please, just calm down-”

“I've done some good things! I mean, I could have stolen your bison in Ba Sing Se, but I set him free. That's something!” He gestured to Appa before giving an awkward shrug. You watched his eyes widen slightly as Appa licked up his back once more.

“Appa does seem to like him,” Toph said, her tone significantly softer this time around.

“He probably just covered himself in honey or something so that Appa would lick him. I'm not buying it.” Sokka made a show of gesturing along with his obvious disdain for the prince.

Zuko took a breath before beginning again, “I can understand why you wouldn’t trust me, and I know I’ve made some mistakes in the past.” You could tell from the look in his eyes that he meant it. The way he looked to the side, ashamed of his past actions.

Your breath hitched as Sokka raised his voice. “Like when you attacked our village?”

“Or when you stole my mother's necklace and used it to track us down and capture us?”

“Look, I admit I've some awful things.” He buried a hand in his hair as he continued, “I was wrong to try to capture you, and I'm sorry that I attacked the Water Tribe. And I never should have sent that Fire Nation assassin after you.” You could see Toph and Sokka’s posture change as Zuko continued, “I'm going to try and stop-”

Your eyes widened, “that was you?”

Sokka pulled out his boomerang, ready to attack, “Wait, you sent Combustion Man after us?!”

Zuko’s hand fell as he looked up, a look in his eyes you couldn’t quite place. “Well, that's not his name, but-”

“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your friend.” Sokka’s voice was laced with angry sarcasm.

Zuko’s fiery temper set in as he raised his voice angrily, “He’s not my friend!”

Toph pointed accusingly, “That guy locked me and Katara in jail and tried to blow us all up!”

Zuko closed his eyes as he composed himself before looking at Aang. “Why aren't you saying anything? You once said you thought we could be friends.” You could hear the quiet desperation buried in his words. “You know I have good in me.”

Aang looked to the rest of you, and the hope in your eyes dulled as Sokka shook his head. Aang’s expression turned harsh before he replied. “There's no way we can trust you after everything you've done. We'll never let you join us.”

You couldn’t help but gasp softly as you watched Zuko’s face fall, “Aang-”

“You need to get out of here. Now.”

Zuko’s face contorted as he tried to speak once more, “I’m trying to explain that I'm not that person anymore!” He took a few steps forward, desperate to plead his case.

Sokka positioned his boomerang, “Either you leave or we attack.”

“If you won't accept me as a friend, then maybe you'll take me as a prisoner.” Zuko fell onto his knees, raising his hands in surrender to be cuffed.

Katara shifted, getting ready to bend, “No, we won’t!”

“Katara, no!” You yelped in vain, helpless as she hit him with a blast of water. You took a step, reaching towards him as he grunted in pain.

“Get out of here, and don't come back! And if we ever see you again,” she stomped as Sokka stepped forward threateningly, “well, we'd better not see you again!”

Zuko’s wide-eyed expression changed to one of resignation as he lifted himself up and walked off.

You stood at Toph’s side as the others gathered their things and stalked off, grumbling angrily about the situation.

“Why would he try to fool us like that?” Katara asked.

Sokka piped up, “Obviously he wants to lead us into some kind of trap.”

Katara sighs, “This is just like when we were in prison together at Ba Sing Se. He starts talking about his mother and making it seem like he's an actual human being with feelings.”

You could feel your face fall at the mention of Ursa, “Katara, you don’t know that he was lying about his mother.”

Sokka shot you a glare, “He wants you to trust and feel sorry for him so you let your guard down, then he strikes.” Sokka motioned out a jab.

She knelt as she set her belongings down, “The thing is… It worked. I did feel sorry for him. I felt like he was really confused and hurt.” She paused for a moment, getting up, “but obviously, when the time came, he made his choice, and we paid the price.” She looked down, brow furrowing. “We can't trust him.”

You leaned into Toph, just enough that she gave you a questioning look before Aang caught your attention.

“I kind of have a confession to make. Remember when you two were sick and I got captured by Zhao?”

You listened as Sokka and Katara bickered about frogs and warts, in true sibling fashion. Thankfully, Aang cut them off once more. “Anyway, when Zhao had me chained up, it was Zuko who came in and got me out. He risked his life to save me.”

You could tell the confession only managed to rile Katara up more, crossing her arms as she ranted. “No way. I'm sure he only did it so he could capture you himself!”

Sokka jumped in once more, “Yeah, face it Aang, you're nothing but a big prize to him.”

Aang’s face fell slightly as he sighed, “You're probably right.”

Katara’s arms shifted, fists clenched at her sides, “And what was all that crazy stuff about setting Appa free? What a liar!”

Toph finally spoke up, “Actually, he wasn’t lying.”

You inhaled sharply, watching her with laser focus. You had almost forgotten about her ability to sense lies.

“Oh, hooray! In a lifetime of evil, at least he didn't add animal cruelty to the list.” You almost scoffed at the sarcastic venom in Sokka’s voice.

Toph sighed, “I'm just saying that considering his messed-up family and how he was raised, he could have turned out a lot worse.”

“You're right, Toph! Let's go find him and give him a medal. The "not as much of a jerk as you could have been" award!”

Your eyes narrowed as you looked at Katara, “that’s not fair and you know it Katara.”

“All I know is that while he was talking to us, he was sincere. Maybe you're all just letting your hurt feelings keep you from thinking clearly.”

Toph made a good point. However, you couldn’t help but wonder if your own feelings toward him were clouding your judgment as well.

Aang and Sokka turned to face you two as Katara continued, “Easy for you to say! You weren't there when he had us attacked by pirates!”

“Or when he burned down Kyoshi Island!”

“Or when he tried to capture me at the Fire Temple!”

Katara stomps like a petulant child, “Why would you guys even try to defend him?”

Toph stalks forward angrily, “Because Katara, you're all ignoring one crucial fact,” she pokes at Aang’s chest, “Aang needs a firebending teacher! We can't think of a single person in the world to do the job! Now one shows up on a silver platter, and you won't even think about it?” The ground rumbles as Toph stomps out her point.

You walk up and place a hand on her shoulder in a show of support, staring them down with her. “I’m not saying what he’s been through justifies his actions, but Toph is right. Right now, he’s the only chance we’ve got.”

Katara seems to contemplate this, looking down before Aang speaks. “I’m not having Zuko as my teacher.”

“You’re darn right you’re not, buddy.” Sokka glares at the two of you.

Katara crosses her arms again, “Well, I guess that settles that.”

Toph growls, shrugging off your hand as she turns, calling out to them before she stomps off. “I'm beginning to wonder who's really the blind one around here!”

You give one last look to the others before following her.

“So, what’s the plan Toph?”

She glares, “what are you talking about?”

You give a sly grin, “well if I know you, and I do, you’ve got a plan. I want in.”

Toph gives you a smirk before explaining.

When night fell, you and Toph snuck away to the ground above the Air Temple. You knew Zuko had to be camping close, and your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the distant flickering of a campfire. You walked with Toph closer to the camp, slowing when you heard an alarmed Zuko.

“Who's there? Stay back!”

“It’s me!” Toph cried, throwing up an earth shield as Zuko sent out a panicked fire blast. Your eyes widened, trying to reach and push Toph forward before she tipped back. You were a second too late, catching her as she fell.

She yelped in pain, “You burned my feet!”

You watched his eyes widen as he got up, “I’m sorry, It was a mistake!”

You helped Toph as she scrambled away, desperately throwing earth to defend herself. Zuko dodged desperately, “Let me help you! I'm sorry!” He reached forward, grabbing her shoulder.

“Get off me! Get off me!” She managed to elbow him away, throwing up an earth pillar to knock him away.

He tumbled to the ground with a grunt, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His eyes were wide as he cried, “I didn’t know it was you!” He grabbed his side, groaning, “Come back!”

You met his eyes, a mix of worry and pity crossing your face as you helped Toph shuffle away. You could see the desperate look he threw your way, and your heart ached to put a smile on his face. He reached out, but you knew you had to help Toph. You turned away, trying to catch up to her.

“Ugh! Why am I so bad at being good?!”

You felt your heart shatter at the pure frustration and sadness in his voice. You couldn’t help but think that even with all he’d done, he was still just a scared boy trying to figure out his place in the world. You just wished the others could see that too.

You met his eyes, a mix of worry and pity crossing your face as you helped Toph shuffle away. You could see the desperate look he threw your way, and your heart ached to put a smile on his face. He reached out, but you knew you had to help Toph. You turned away, trying to catch up to her.

“Ugh! Why am I so bad at being good?!”

You felt your heart shatter at the pure frustration and sadness in his voice. You couldn’t help but think that even with all he’d done, he was still just a scared boy trying to figure out his place in the world. You just wished the others could see that too.

gale doodles (goodles)

first drawing references this pinterest post !

edit: pinterest links don't work if you're not signed in, i've attached the original ref image below the cut and here's the vogue link. the designer is Guo Pei and the dress is from her fall 2019 couture collection

pinterest ux my beloathed

the better strategy. / masterlist

After successfully saving Druid Grove, Astarion has one goal in mind: secure his safety. His strategy? Seduce Tav. But what if that plan goes horribly wrong and he falls for his own game?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Tav (Baldur's Gate 3) Rating: Mature ( 18+ ) Word Count: 16k Tags: tiefling party reimagined, act 1/2 spoilers, non-sexual intimacy, astarion's pov, miscommunications, allusions to astarion's past, selûne worshipper!tav, eventual romance, heavy mentions of death and abuse Note: NSFW content chapters added with asterisk Tag List: Request to join the tag list here!

CHAPTERS

part one / part two / part three / part four / part five (coming soon)

                                        ( Visit the AO3 story. )

WILL YOU SHUFFLE ME, SPREAD ME APART?

summary: in the slums of zaun, you’ve carved out a life for yourself which not many would envy. you spend your nights in the arms of strangers, trading coin for hasty touches and labored breaths. and since such a line of work isn’t always enough to keep yourself fed and clothed, you have a second service to offer: fortune telling. 

or... two times vi comes knocking, and a third time you let her in.

18+ only! smut below. cw for fingering (r! receiving), cunnilingus, mentions of sex work, brief mentions of blood. 7k words.

The heels of your boots click against damp cobblestone, wet thumps echoing through the dingy alleyway leading to Babette’s brothel. It’s a particularly humid night, even despite the chill in the air - the humidity makes it worse, you think. It feels like the cold is seeping into the very marrow of your bones. 

You pull your cloth coat tighter over your torso, thankful when you rap on the brothel’s wooden door and are allowed in almost instantly. One step through the threshold, and the biting cold melts like early-spring snow. The air is thick here, too, but warm and smoky. Tobacco stings sweet in your nose, a cocktail of too-strong perfumes mixing with ribbons of incense that linger suspended midair. It’s an intoxicating kind of smell, one that makes weak women and weaker men feel more inclined to spend their hard-earned coin on a night with a stranger. 

Part of you is hoping none will choose you tonight. It’s not that you’re opposed to it - gods know you’d be in the wrong line of work if you were. Rather, you’ve got plans to eat the meager dinner you’ve purchased for yourself, sip some red wine, and rifle through your cards for answers about what’s been going on topside lately. You’ve heard murmurs of an attack, rebellion… You’re not exactly sure what to believe, so as you often do, you look to the cards for clarity. 

The deck sits idly by a thicket of half-burnt herbs on your desk, stacked precariously where you’d last used them. You shed your coat and hang it on a brass hook by the desk, then slide into the seat in front of it. Still thawing, you sink into the velvet cushion and reach into your knapsack for the paper-wrapped sandwich inside, also procuring an unmarked bottle of wine from beside it. You’re wiping an iron goblet clean with the fabric of your tiered skirt when a familiar voice calls your name from the doorway. It’s one of the other workers here, Nina. She’s been here just about as long as you.

“You might hate me,” she says, a preface that makes your lips turn downward in a frown. 

You grunt, uncorking your wine and pouring a hearty serving into your goblet. By the sounds of it, you’ll need the liquid courage. “I just sat down, you know.”

Nina’s delicate brows pull together; maybe she’s feeling apologetic, or maybe she’s just laying it on thick so you’ll take a job before you’ve even had dinner. 

“I thought so, but… I think you’ll like her, peach.” She pauses for a beat. “And if you take her, I may have some chocolate I’d consider parting with.”

“Bribery,” you say, a grin pulling at your lips as you roll your eyes at Nina’s offer. “But fine. Send her in.”

“Will do, peach,” Nina practically squeals, disappearing from your doorway just as quickly as she’d come. 

Cursing under your breath, you take a swig of wine and turn to the tarnished mirror behind your desk, examining yourself. By some stroke of luck, you’d had the sense to put on a layer of makeup before you’d gone out earlier. Blemishes are covered, your eyes are rimmed with kohl, and a smear of rouge emphasizes the pouty shape of your lips. That’s all you ever need, paired with the eye-catching swell of your breasts against the low-cut linen of your blouse. This will be easy enough.

You’ve drained half the wine in your cup by the time your client knocks at the open door. You turn your head to greet her and, before you can get a word out, the door slams closed with a heavy thud. At first, you gawk at the client because of her notable entrance - but then, you gawk because Nina was right. You like her.

This girl looks like the undercity chewed her up, spit her out, then chewed her up again. She’s all sharp edges and leather and lipstick, black makeup smeared from her eyes to her cheeks. Her hair’s black, too, though you can see patches of red exposed from an uneven dye job and a few heavy-handed washes. She’s certainly achieved the menacing look she’s sought out, and though it’s a mighty contrast to her pale complexion and piercing blue eyes, it somehow works for her - she’s the kind of girl you wouldn’t mind getting dirty for. 

“Good evening,” you say, because it’s all you can seem to think of to break the silence. “Would you like a drink?”

The client surveys you up and down with those icy blue eyes, working her jaw. She nods. “What do you have?”

“Wine, whiskey, gin,” you tell her, gesturing to the makeshift bar cart beside a loveseat at the entrance of your suite. Different colored liquors fill antique, mismatched bottles at different levels. The client glances over at them, steps up to the cart and surveys that, too. Then she turns to you, gestures to your goblet.

“I’ll have what you’re having.” 

You nod. “Wine it is, then. Have a seat, I’ll bring it to you.” 

She obliges, lowering herself onto the plum fabric of the loveseat. Her legs are spread just so - enough to make it obvious that this woman is used to taking up space, and unafraid of what that kind of confidence might imply. Your eyes linger on her parted knees, but not long enough to get caught. After you fill up a goblet for her and refill your own, you glide across the room to hand her the drink. She accepts it with a nod of thanks, her fingertips brushing against yours in the process. You take a seat beside her.

“What’s your name?” You regard her behind fluttering lashes, sipping from your freshly filled goblet. The wine is sweet on your tongue, bitter around the edges. You can already feel it loosening your muscles, relaxing your inhibitions. Piquing your curiosity, even. 

The client takes a swig from her own drink and says, “Vi.” 

Vi. Her name is tattooed on her cheekbone, you muse, gaze sweeping over her face once again. There’s a silver hoop pierced through her nose, a scar etched into her upper lip. A healing bruise on her left jaw catches your eye, blooming faint shades of purple, yellow, and green. You’re afflicted with an urge to reach out and touch it - to touch her. But when she catches your gaze with those steely eyes of hers, you’re frozen. Like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar, your cheeks flush hot. Vi seems amused by your appraisal, cracks a smile that looks somehow natural on her war-torn face. 

She cuts through the tension like a spearhead, one hand reaching forward to readjust the sleeve of your blouse, which had fallen down your shoulder. Her fingertips are cold and calloused, but the touch fills you with uncharacteristic warmth. “What’s your name?” 

You tell her and she repeats it, that sultry voice curling around every syllable of your name as if she were tasting it. 

However intoxicating Vi’s voice might be, it dawns on you again what she’s doing here. She’d paid for your time, paid to sip your wine and touch you with those split-knuckled hands of hers. You have the sense to wonder why - a woman like Vi should have no trouble warming her bed for free, yet here she is.

“Well, Vi,” you say, pausing briefly for another sip of wine, “how do you want me?”

If your straightforwardness bothers her, she doesn’t show it. She brushes dark locks of her out of her eye-line, seemingly considering your answer. Then: “I heard you tell fortunes.”

You quirk a brow at her. “I—yes. Is that what you want?”

Something flashes in her eyes. “Among other things.”

“It’s extra for that,” you clarify. “The fortune-telling, I mean.”

“I have enough.”

And that settles it. You uncross your legs, stand up and move to retrieve your deck of cards from the desk. There’s a table in front of the loveseat where Vi still sits, and that’s where you lay out an ornate silk cloth to spread the cards upon. You gather the thicket of herbs from your desk, too, along with a match. Vi watches you set fire to the sprigs, a stream of smoke billowing upwards and filling the air with a sweet, earthy scent. 

“What questions do you have?” You ask, settling down upon a floor pillow on the opposite side of the table from Vi. After you set down your goblet of wine, you pick up the deck and begin to shuffle; the fluttering sounds of cards fills the silence before Vi can answer.

“Do I need to ask questions?”

“No, I guess not,” you respond, shoulders shrugging. “I can just see what the cards say about you.”

Vi nods her assent, tossing her head back to finish what’s left of her wine. One by one, cards fly out from the deck as you shuffle, some upright, some inverted. When you’ve circulated through the deck once or twice with no other cards presenting themselves, you stop. 

“Five of cups,” you read aloud. The card’s illustration depicts a figure in a black cloak, turned away, three emptied cups at her feet. Behind her are two upright cups, unnoticed. “Loss. Mourning.”

Vi inhales sharply through her nose, and when you look up at her, she’s white-knuckled with her hand around the stem of her now-empty goblet. You lift your brows in a wordless question - should you continue? 

She nods.

“Something didn’t work out as you’d planned it, and you’re too stubborn to let go. Instead, you lament the loss and let it hold you hostage.” 

There’s a sound like Vi humming, a quiet acknowledgement of your words as you move to the next card. 

“Four of wands, reversed - this tells me you’ve been separated from loved ones. This is what didn’t work out as planned, maybe?” 

When you look at Vi this time, she’s leaning forward in her seat, forearms braced against her strong thighs. 

“Maybe,” she echoes. “What else is there?”

You show her the next card, another inverted one. The illustration depicts a man in ornate clothing, a flower plucked between his fingers as he prances confidently towards the edge of a cliff. “The fool, reversed.” 

“That’s me?” Vi asks. “The fool?” 

“Hm, not always. But with the other cards… You are the fool, Vi, I’m sorry to say it.” You hope she catches the tinge of playfulness in your tone, serious as the reading feels. Heavy as the tension feels.

“Well,” she starts, “the cards don’t lie, I guess.”

You hum in agreement. “The fool, reversed this way, tells me that you’re reckless. Lacking caution, you’ve opened yourself up to betrayal.” 

“Fuck’s sake.” Vi laughs without humor, tries to drink the last crimson drops of the wine in her goblet. “Can I get some more?”

You move to get up and fetch her the bottle, but she waves a hand to dismiss you. She’s up and across the room in a flash, refilling her cup and taking a swig before she’s even made it back to the loveseat. 

“But…” You hold up her final card - judgement. The art depicts an angel blaring into a trumpet from the heavens, the humans below rejoicing. Her eyes assessing the card, Vi looks to you for an explanation.

“Judgement tells us that renewal and transformation is possible,” you finish

“Renewal, transformation... Right. What’s the catch?”

Smart woman, you think. There’s always a catch. 

“You have to be willing to let go of what’s held you stagnant. Accept what’s behind you and focus on what’s ahead, because wallowing in misfortune does you no good.”

That seems to resonate, because Vi’s expression turns shadowy, thoughtful. She drinks again, her lips nearly purple from the wine. You take a moment to drink from your own cup, ready to ask Vi if she wants you to undress yourself, or if she’s the kind of client who wants to do it for you. 

Instead, you’re stunned into silence when she polishes off her drink, slams the cup down onto the table, and stands. Her jaw is locked again, tense. 

“Vi?” Your brows lift in question. 

“Thank you,” she says. She moves towards the door, then stops when she seems to remember something. One bandaged hand digs into her jacket pocket, emerging with a handful of coin. She places it on the nearest surface, a small table with a lamp glowing atop it, and only glances back towards you before she vanishes out the door. 

There’s a draft in the room, suddenly. You curl into bed, pull the covers over your goosebump-afflicted skin, and think.

The days following Vi’s visit dawn bleak and cold as ever. Nina asks about your client the following morning, and you let her bask in the satisfaction that you had liked her, but you politely break the news that she’d been nothing particularly special - a white lie to keep the questions at bay. You’re not one to run your mouth; besides, rumors spread through Babette’s brothel like wildfire. 

Some of the latest rumors? There’s a man with magical abilities lurking in the shadows of Zaun, with a touch that heals the sick. There’s a blue-haired revolutionary forming a significant following in the undercity, those of whom claim she’ll free them from Piltover’s brutality. You’re not sure what to believe, but there must be some truth to the rumors, because your cards sense something afoot: the tower, ten of swords, ace of cups. 

Still, business continues as usual. Degenerates and saints alike seek your company, and you need the money to survive, so your bed is always warm. 

Because you’ve had dozens of clients over the years who visit and never return, you don’t expect to see Vi again. Still, your mind keeps returning to her - you wonder why she’d stormed out so suddenly, why she’d paid you for sex without laying a finger on you. The curiosity lingers in the back of your mind, but you counter it with reality: she’d probably chickened out. Heard something too striking in her reading and couldn’t follow through, but decided to pay for your time anyway. At most, it was a kind gesture. 

So why can’t you stop thinking about her? 

Weeks pass, and your routine continues. Tonight’s another late night, and you’re relaxing after several clients in a row. You’d bathed in water treated with salts and oils, the scents still clinging to your skin as you rub salve into your aching muscles. The last few clients had been rough - twisting your limbs, working you into positions that tested your flexibility and endurance as they used their tongues, fingers, and other appendages to chase their pleasure through your body. None of them had made you come, though, so in the momentary solitude of the bath, you’d slipped your hand between your legs until your release pulsated through your tired frame. Now, you’re feeling pleasantly warm and at ease, perfumed and ready if there may be a late-night visitor. You’d be grateful for the extra money, if you’re being honest.

When there’s a steady knock at the door, you saunter over to answer it in nothing but your lingerie, lacy black and surprisingly comfortable. Who knows? They might pay extra for such ease of access - and a nice presentation. 

The flirty smile on your lips disappears when you realize who’s on the other side of the door. 

“Gods—Vi?” You try not to express your shock, schooling your features to the best of your ability. Vi, however, turns a pretty shade of pink when she takes in the sight of you: tits pushed together and decorated in delicate lace, the soft hair over your sex barely obscured with thin fabric. Your thighs are plush and glowy with moisture, hips hugged beautifully by the high-waisted panties that match your elaborate bra. 

Vi’s throat bobs with a hard swallow. “I’m… Sorry to interrupt.”

“You weren’t interrupting,” you assure her, opening the door all the way to allow her entry. You try to ignore the way her gaze first moves to the empty bed, something like relief washing over her features before she turns back to you. The door shuts with a soft click. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I thought you were a client.”

After wrapping yourself in the first robe you find by your bedside, you move to the bar cart to pour Vi a drink. She scoffs, an almost-laugh that’s low and soft. “Well, I am a client.”

As the wine sloshes into her goblet, you fix her with an admonishing look. “A client looking for sex, Vi.” 

That shuts her up. Her cheeks are still pink, you notice, as you take in her appearance: most of the dye has faded out of her hair, leaving it a patchy canvas of black, maroon, and fuschia. She’s still sporting a cut and a bruise here and there, but more wounds are covered with bandages than last time. Notably, she’s not drenched in black paint, though there is a ring of liner around her eyes. 

“Thanks,” Vi says when you hand her a cup of wine. She shoots back a mouthful and moves to the loveseat, lowering herself into the same spot as last time.

“So?” You arch a brow at her. “Here for another reading, I take it?”

She nods. “Yeah, sweetheart. If that’s okay.”

“I thought I scared you away last time,” you reply with a smirk. There’s a hint of truth to the statement, though, teasing as you might be - you hadn’t expected to see her back so soon, if at all. 

“Oh, you did,” she admits. “But things have changed, and now… I’m curious what you have to say. I could use some advice.”

“Your wish is my command.” 

Just as it was last time, Vi’s attention is honed in on you. You shuffle the cards with expert precision, and she watches the way your hands dance over the deck, fingers grazing the careful illustrations of each card with easy familiarity. This time, five cards leap from the deck: seven of cups, the chariot, eight of wands, four of wands, eight of pentacles. It’s a story unfolding beneath your fingertips, all the more interesting when you think back to Vi’s last reading.

“You’ve made progress,” you tell her. “But the hard work isn’t over. You’re prone to wishful thinking, which is a good thing, sometimes, because your determination is a powerful force.” 

Glancing up at Vi, you offer her an encouraging smile. “When you fight, I get the sense that you almost always win.”

Vi snorts, wiping a burgundy smear of wine from her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s what the cards say?”

“Not exactly, but, well… I’ve gathered some things for myself.” You hold up the chariot card. “This one tells me you need an ironclad will to move forward. One I don’t doubt you have.”

Is it just your imagination, or does Vi turn pink again?

“And these,” you say, holding up the two cards from the wand suit, “show me fire. Creation, destruction, volatility. You’re dealing with something that can be useful or detrimental, depending on how you proceed.”

Vi’s eyes are alight, not unlike the fire you’ve just discussed. What you wouldn’t give to know how her life aligns with these cards - what fire is she playing with? What challenges is she facing?

“And the last one?” Vi’s voice cuts through your internal musings as she gestures to the final card on the table. You pick it up and show it to her - the eight of pentacles, depicting a man hard at work, hammer in hand.

“It’s very much in line with the others,” you explain. “Diligence, focus, hard work.”

She hums, nodding. “Got it. So, any chance there's a card that’ll tell me what I should do?”

Her tone drips with sarcasm, but you can tell there’s a glimmer of sincerity in the question - and in those pale blue eyes, swirling with emotion. 

You press your lips into a firm line, setting the eight of pentacles card down. “I wish I could tell you exactly what you want to hear, Vi,” you say honestly. “But that’s not how the cards work.”

“Yeah,” Vi responds, voice bitter around the edges; somber. “I figured as much. Thank you, uh, for the reading.”

In the silence that follows, you imagine a braver version of yourself: one that isn’t too hesitant to ask questions. One that would feel comfortable offering a listening ear to this riot of a woman, whose scars and bruises tell you just as much as the cards you’ve splayed out for her. You wonder where she goes after she leaves here, if that home holds a family, friends, a lover. But all you can do is wonder. You don’t go sniffing for information - like the brothel dweller you are, information finds you. And if it doesn’t, perhaps it’s better to wonder.

Vi rises from the loveseat, readjusting one of the tattered blankets strewn across its surface. She finishes the remainder of her wine and, gently, sets it on the table. 

She says, “I’ve gotta go.”

Her hand dips into her jacket pocket and emerges with far too much coin, which she sets out on the table for you.

“That’s too much,” you counter with a furrowed brow. “We didn’t—you only had your cards read.”

You reach forward to collect the extra cash, ready to push it back into Vi’s palm, but she backs away with her hands in her pockets. 

“Nah, sweetheart,” she replies, ambling towards the door and prying it open. “Keep the change.”

The next time you see Vi, her knuckles are bleeding. 

It’s been weeks, maybe even months, and you’re surprised to find her at your door again, much less in her current state: battered and bruised, her knuckles raw and red. Her shoulders sag, that proud, confident air about her entirely deflated. She’s a shell of the woman you’d first met months ago; all that brazen confidence she’d once had has burnt down to dying embers. 

When she looks at you, her eyes are forlorn, watery. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, Vi…” You open the door further, ushering her in with a gentle hand at the small of her back. 

Inside, you pour her a drink - water, this time - and instruct her to lie down on the bed, draping a thin blanket over her frame. 

“You’re hurt,” you say pointedly, gesturing to her bleeding knuckles. “Can I help?”

Vi’s expression doesn’t change; her eyes are distant, her skin so pale it’s almost grey. But she nods her assent, so you get to work - you swipe a wet cloth over her knuckles to clear away the blood, then cautiously apply a salve to her wounds. Through it all, Vi hardly even winces, a fact that doesn’t exactly surprise you. Even now, with her brazen confidence stripped away to the bone, she’s tougher than most. It’s an attribute that runs through her to the core. 

“Don’t you want to ask what happened?” Vi asks, suddenly. Her voice is raw, and to avoid looking her in the eye, you focus on wrapping her knuckles with layers of soft gauze. “Wanna know how I fucked up this time?”

You frown. “I’m not one to pry.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause before Vi speaks again. “That’s what’s different about you,” she says. “Everyone else just… Wants something from me.”

Brows knitting together, you fix Vi with a look that you hope reads less as pitying and more as understanding. You’re certainly familiar with catering to other’s desires over your own; it’s been this way for longer than you can remember. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, genuinely. Finished dressing her wounds, you let go of her hands, still kneeling at the side of the bed. You stand up with the intention of refilling Vi’s water, but as you reach for the cup, she catches your wrist in one bandaged hand. 

“All those times I saw you,” she starts, “when I had you read my cards… You never asked about my life.”

You nod, wrist burning from her touch. 

“Why? You never wondered?”

“It’s not my job to wonder.” You swallow. “Just to give people what they want.”

Vi’s gaze is intense, holding you in a trance. You’re frozen there, standing at the side of the bed, entirely in her grasp. “But do you ever get what you want?”

Do you?

You’d been working for Babette for years, longer than most - and before that, even as a child, you’d always understood that bending to the will of others is the easiest way to move through life. You can slip through the cracks that way, get enough coin or food or clothing to live another day. You wanted that, you suppose. To live. 

But you’re not sure that’s what Vi’s talking about.

“I have enough,” you say. “There’s not much I want.”

Vi nods. “But there’s something.” 

You smooth your free hand over hers, and she lets go of your wrist. “I’ll get you some water.”

As you refill her cup, you feel her eyes on you, and your mind races. Why does she care about what you want? You’re a stranger to her, a fortune teller living on scraps in an undercity brothel. First, she’d paid you for sex she’d never had, and now she’s in your bed, asking you questions you barely had the wherewithal to ask yourself. Gods, this woman is something else. You wish you could read her mind - crack open that beautiful skull of hers, sift through her thoughts, learn what had led her to you not once, not twice, but three times. You wish you could know everything about her, read her like your favorite book with its pages dog-eared, its cover well-worn.

Maybe that’s what you want, after all.

Returning to the bedside, you hand Vi her cup and stand by as she takes a long drink, then sets it on the nightstand. Her hair has grown a few inches since the first time you’d met her, you muse, and you like it this way - long locks of pink-crimson fall in jagged layers just past her shoulders, her bangs framing her face nicely. You wonder what it would feel like to reach out and run your fingers through that hair, to brush it free of knots, to hold the back of her head in your palm. 

“It’s late,” Vi says, interrupting your train of thought. “I should go - you should get some rest.”

She peels back the blanket you’d settled over her, sitting up. You hesitate, then reach forward to touch her forearm. “You can stay, I don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you up,” Vi says, “or… Keep away any business.”

Something in your chest tightens. “You won’t.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“I want you to stay,” you interrupt. “You need rest, too.”

Vi’s mouth hangs open for a moment, stormy blue eyes assessing you. Then, she settles back into bed, pulling the blanket up over her chest again. There’s a long pause, only the muffled sounds of laughter and salacious moans from other rooms filling the silence. You’re debating setting yourself up on the loveseat when Vi murmurs a quiet hey to capture your attention, then pats the space beside her in bed.

There are candles still burning on desks and tables and dressers throughout the room, lamps shining in shades of yellow and orange. You’ll lie down for only a moment, you tell yourself, long enough for Vi to doze off. Then you’d turn off the lights, blow out the candles, maybe sneak off to find a client looking for a fortune teller. You sense that Vi needs someone beside her for now, though, so you climb into bed, wrapping your frame in a velvety purple blanket. 

Once you’ve settled in next to her, Vi turns on her side to face you. Her lips, rosebud pink, are chapped, and you watch her moisten them with a swipe of her tongue.

“Thank you,” she says, voice hushed. “For letting me stay here.”

I didn’t know where else to go.

You turn over to face her, too, the corners of your lips pulling upwards. “Of course. I’m glad you’re okay, Vi.”

There’s a softness in Vi’s expression, now - one that you hadn’t seen before. The tough facade has melted away, as has the hurt, the pain. All that’s left is her rounded, wide eyes, her relaxed jaw, the curve of her lips. You catch yourself staring too long, and when you look up again, Vi’s already watching you.

She raises a bandaged hand to your face, where it hovers an inch away. Her expression asks for permission, and when you lean into her touch, Vi’s hand cups your cheek with a gentleness you’d never think her capable of. Not with those scars, not with the cuts and bruises that have become a permanent fixture on her skin. Her thumb skates over your cheekbone, and the touch feels electric.

“You’re beautiful, you know.”

Your breath hitches; you hope she doesn’t notice.

“I’m sure you hear that a lot,” Vi adds. And it’s true, you do. 

You hesitate. Then: “Not from anyone who matters.” 

Vi smiles - it’s a soft kind of smile, one that you wish you could take a photo of, frame it and hang it on the wall to return to when you need a reminder of the warmth in this moment. Her hand leaves your cheek and travels down to your arm, then finding your hand beneath the blankets. Your eyes feel heavy, suddenly - so must hers, because she doesn’t speak again. You fall asleep next to her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, her hand warm and heavy in yours.

When you wake up again, the room is a dark, inky blue. 

You sit upright, back straight, memories of the night before slowly filtering into your mind. Half-expecting an empty space where Vi had once been, you glance to the side, finding her sleeping figure curled under the blankets. Chest tightening, you look down at her in the black dark, eyes straining. 

Her eyes open, lashes fluttering, and you gasp.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Did I wake you up?”

“I’m a light sleeper,” she murmurs back to you. One of her arms snakes around your waist, encouraging you to lie back, and you oblige. You’re closer than you were when you fell asleep, Vi’s steady breaths tickling at your shoulder. 

You’re suddenly very aware of her skin on yours; your shirt has ridden up your stomach in your sleep, and Vi’s arm, wrapped around you, burns against you. Your stomach is warm with something delicious, something dangerous.

It doesn’t help when Vi pulls you closer, palm opening against the flesh of your hip. You’re frozen for a moment, wondering if she’s still sleeping, somehow. 

“Vi?”

“Hm?” You feel her draw back, as if waiting for you to turn over, so you do. Eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you peer up at her. 

“I think I know what I want.” 

Vi’s quiet, her gaze steady on you. You’re about to take it back, whisper never mind and turn to sleep again, when she brings her hand back up to your cheek, cupping it in her hand the same way she had the night before. 

“Tell me,” she whispers in the dark.

“I…” You hesitate. “I want you to touch me.”

There’s a long pause, Vi’s eyes flickering over your face, analyzing your expression. Your body is tense with anticipation, and when she finally, finally leans in to press her lips to yours, the tension seeps out of every muscle.

Like everything about her, Vi’s kiss is different - her touch is different. She holds your face as her lips move against yours, soft and wet and sweet, thumb stroking the soft skin of your cheek as her tongue traces the part of your lips. You open your mouth for her, let her lick into you to deepen the kiss. 

It’s been a long, long time since you’ve been kissed like this. You’ve grown accustomed to hasty, messy kisses, foul breath and rough touches, far too many clients eager to skip past the kissing and get to the fucking. But Vi tastes like heaven as she takes her time with you, tongue soft as it pushes against yours. Every kiss leaves you aching for more, the warmth in your lower belly growing hotter with each smack of your lips against Vi’s. You pull back, catching your breath, and Vi peers at you with bleary eyes. 

“You okay?” She asks, thumb still stroking at your cheek. You nod and pull her in for another kiss, drawing a soft moan from the bottom of her throat - one that goes straight to your cunt. 

You’re not sure how long you continue like that, trapped in a heated kiss, bodies moving closer with every languid sigh and pleading moan. But eventually, the layers of clothing between you is a burden you can no longer bear. You pull back to work your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor before Vi tugs you close for another searing kiss. Your hands slip beneath the thin fabric of her tank, and she shivers, a full-body chill that makes you flush impossibly hotter. Once her shirt is discarded, too, Vi gently pushes you to lie flat on your back, climbing over you in nothing but a thin pair of shorts. You realize through the haze of lust clouding your mind that she must’ve woken up before you - she’d turned the lights off, taken off the stiff pair of pants she’d arrived in the night before. 

Hovering over you in the dark, Vi’s an absolute dream. Tattoos decorate her pale complexion, inked into her arms, her shoulders, her neck - you’d already noticed that she’s heavily inked, but it’s more striking when she’s half-naked like this. You don’t have much time to look, though, because Vi leans over to tuck her face into your neck, warm lips latching to the sensitive skin and littering kisses in an imprecise path. You keen high in your throat, leaning the opposite way to grant her more access, your hands finding purchase on her narrow hips. When you dig your nails into her skin, hissing as she parts her lips over your neck and sucks, her hips buck forward, grinding her thinly-clothed heat over your pelvis. You nearly see stars.

There’s always been a cold draft in your room, in the brothel, and in Zaun as a whole. But here, now, you’re on fire. You lift your hips and push Vi down against your pelvis again, encouraging her to find that friction again, and she emits a muffled moan against your neck when she does. It’s heavenly, that sound - you want to hear it again and again and again, until it’s forever etched into your memory. 

“Gods, Vi,” you gasp, her teeth scraping against your neck. She works her way further south, leaving kisses and bites in her wake, until she reaches the peaks of your breasts.

“You’re so pretty, fuck,” she murmurs, dazed. Both hands cup your tits and squeeze, her thumbs playing with the buds of your nipples until they’ve hardened from her touch. She then leans over to take one nipple into her mouth, moaning around the flesh as if she’d been dying for this. Her tongue draws wet circles over the sensitive bud, her cheeks hollowing out when she sucks at it until you’re gasping and writhing. You need her further down, where your cunt throbs and gushes in anticipation, but she takes her time with your other tit before she even considers undressing you further. 

Still straddling your waist, Vi sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She flashes you a wicked smile, eyes twinkling, and lifts her hips to reach for the waistband of your shorts.

“This okay, pretty girl?” 

You nod, biting your lip. Pretty girl.

Vi rolls your shorts down your thighs, pulls them off with ease and sets them to the side. Your panties are next - a simple, cotton pair that wasn’t anything flashy - and she tosses those to the edge of the bed, too distracted by the sight of your naked body to care much about where they landed. 

Typically, you weren’t shy about your body. In your line of work, you couldn’t be shy - you had to know your features and work them to your benefit. But with Vi eyeing you like you’re a meal and she’s a woman starved, your stomach flutters with excitement and, somewhere, a glimmer of insecurity. The need to impress her. 

And gods, does she seem impressed. She curses under her breath, her rough hands smoothing over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips and your thighs and your ass, licking her lips like she’s parched. You realize, as she settles her hands on your knees and works them apart for you, that she’d taken off her bandages, too. The thought evaporates as quickly as it had come, though, because now Vi’s settling between your spread legs, peppering kisses along the inside of your thigh.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” she tells you between kisses. “You gonna let me eat you out, sweetheart?”

The question sends another cascade of butterflies through your stomach. You take in a deep breath, enjoying the sight of Vi between your legs, looking up at you with pleading eyes. You might die if she doesn’t make you come soon.

A whispered “please” from your lips is all Vi needs - her mouth is on you in a moment, tongue splitting through your folds, warm and firm and wet. She licks at you languidly, takes her time spreading your arousal from your hole up to your clit. You’re drenched, you just know it, and Vi moans as if to confirm your suspicions, lapping up your wetness with every flick of her tongue. Just like she’d taken her time with her mouth on your tits, she takes her time with your cunt, sucking on the swollen bead of your clit until you’re whining her name between sharp breaths. It’s all you can manage to say, your hand tangled in her scarlet locks of hair, tugging at her scalp each time she circles your clit with her tongue. After she’s worked you up enough, you’re suddenly so empty - you need more, and you tell her as much, chest heaving.

“Vi, I need—fuck, I need your fingers,” you cry out.

She answers with a gratified hum, and the vibrations have your eyes rolling back into your skull.

Just as you’d asked, though, Vi swipes a finger through your wetness; there’s hardly any resistance when she sinks the digit into your entrance, groaning again at the feeling of your walls around her. 

“So wet for me,” she comments, grinning. “This what you needed?”

You nod, face twisting with pleasure. Vi just chuckles under her breath, working her fingers up to a steady pace. Once she has you moaning again, all high-pitched and needy, she latches her mouth back onto your clit, and you’re gone. You come hard, clamping down on Vi’s fingers and tossing your head back, eyes squeezed shut through every wave of pleasure - it’s only once you’ve come to that you finally open your eyes again, gazing down at Vi starry-eyed.

“Can I be honest, sweetheart?” She sits up on her heels, licking her lips. “That was hot.”

“You think so?” You ask, reaching out for her. She moves closer and kisses you, lets you taste yourself on her lips. 

You pull back only to murmur, under your breath, “I’m not done with you, Vi.”

You’ve had sex with plenty of women in your lifetime, but few have made a real effort to make you come - and none have done it so fast. You’re determined to return the favor. So, with a pointed glance, you instruct Vi to lie back on the pillows, plucking one from behind her to set under her hips.

Vi had called you beautiful, but she’s utterly divine. All sharp edges and lean muscle, she’s a vision, and you’re almost convinced you’re dreaming as your hands smooth over the tattoos inked into her arms. You imagine yourself tracing each of those tattoos with your mouth, sucking bruises into the dark ink - but you’d do that later. Right now, all you want is to bury your face in the patch of red hair between her legs, lose yourself in the taste of her arousal.

Vi’s vocal, you conclude, because as you prod your tongue inside of her, nose bumping against her clit, she won’t shut up. 

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so good,” Vi moans, sitting up enough to allow her to watch as you lap at her pink cunt. An endless chorus of praises and curses leave her lips, punctuated with wanton moans. She’s needy, too - before long, she’s gripping a fistful of your hair and directing you with it, tugging you closer, to the side, to the other side, as she grinds her cunt down against your mouth. You revel in the way she’s using you, pleased when her stomach tenses and your name spills from her lips, warning you of her impending orgasm. She rides it out on your face, and when you finally pull back, you’re wet with her from nose to chin. 

“You’re way too good at that,” Vi tells you when you crawl up beside her, rubbing the wetness off your nose. 

“You’re just as good,” you respond. You move to lie down beside Vi, but when you see her frown, you arch a brow at her.

“Hm?”

“Sweetheart,” she coos, “I’m not done with you.”

She pulls you into her lap, lets you straddle the toned muscle of her pelvis. And after you’ve ground your pussy against her until you’re shaking with another release, she’s still not done. It’s a long night.

At the table in the corner of your bedroom, your deck of tarot cards lies spread face-down. There’s one card upright, though: two of cups.