#Even if it means people like me end up doing a little more of the front facing social stuff than the others

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 | Jackson!Joel Miller x reader

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summary | Your postcards become a personal journal during patrols with Joel.

author's note | a little late, but this is my entry for @jolapeno's dear-uary! i had very little idea what i was going to do initially, but this kinda turned into its own thing. i hope the postcards are a nice addition to the fic, they were quite fun to make.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson era joel, patrol partners, quiet!reader, enemies to lovers, one instance of choking, mentions of violence, angst, mean!joel, voyeurism, forced orgasm, thigh riding

word count — 7k

“It’s the fifth time I’ve came back and she’s been sleepin’,” Joel gripes a handful of feet below as you feign resting, trying to relax the sneer that threatened to cross your face, annoyed with the exhaustion that never left but loathing the man who couldn’t seem to give you a break, “or writing in that damn book, ignoring us.”

“I’ll talk—” Joel interrupts Tommy once more, with emphasis on the amount, but Tommy reels him in, squeezing down on his shoulder as you peek through one eye over the railing, scoffing under your breath, “I’ll talk to her, alright? S’awonder what a simple conversation can fix, Joel.”

His approach comes later during shift change as the night slowly melted into dawn, the sun rising on the horizon in waves of orange and purple, creating a cotton candy sky, hearing Tommy’s voice carry as he greeted people along the way before the scuff of his boots stopped behind you, you turn to peer up at him sheepishly.

“Not a good look, y’know?” Tommy says redundantly, “I’m not tryin’ to gripe you out, but Joel—”

You nod knowingly, waving him off as you toss your pencil and notebook aside, adjusting your jacket over your shoulders as you sit upright, rubbing the sleep out of tired eyes.

“You can always put me on kitchen duty, hell I’ll take—”

“No—no, I’m not moving you. You havin’ trouble sleeping in the singles?”

The apartments, the singles—it varied, depending on who you asked. A place for the younger, single survivors in Jackson. With the constant sound and rumble of life within the walls, you should feel safe, a subtle semblance of home, but sleeping alone was hard. Trapped within four walls, drowned out by the eventual silence as night fell, it left room for the nightmares.

It was easier here, surrounded by others, sounds to help keep you grounded, the fresh air despite the stale smells and faint fumes of rotting corpses. You couldn’t explain it, but it was easier. Besides, it wasn’t like you were being completely negligent—even Tommy knew that.

“I have trouble sleeping in general,” You feed him a half-truth, “I’ll keep it together, though. As long as it keeps Joel off your ass and mine, I wouldn’t be thrilled to be on the receiving end of one of Joel’s outbursts.”

“Tantrums, more like.” He jokes with a smirk, his teeth peeking out under his thick mustache. “I really don’t mind if you’re dozing off a bit, s’long as there’s others keepin’ watch. Maybe–just maybe, try and keep up the act when Joel’s coming and going.”

“Can do,” You agree with ease and Tommy smiles, pointing lazily toward your notebook.

“I’m curious, though—whatcha got goin’ on in there?”

Your brow furrows until you look over your shoulder and surmise what he’s referencing, picking up the notebook carelessly and flipping through to show him–it was a mix of random doodles and sketches, some vulgar words scribbled in by a mix of immature men who you’ve come to befriend with reluctance on the job, a detailed log of everyone’s schedule as they leave and return, random details of weather patterns, things you’ve noticed along the skyline toward the inner city, several months worth of information that Tommy nods at, thoughtful as he looks over the pages.

“Don’t let ‘em give you a hard time,” Tommy tells you, folding the cover closed.

“Yes, sir,” You say endearingly, mostly as a jest at Tommy’s expense, knowing he despised the word, making a face as he turned on his heels to leave.

“Shit makes me feel old,” He gripes, shaking his head in a mix of disdain and amusement, “stop it.”

You smile at his annoyance as you tuck your belongings away into your pack and trade your rifle off to Jesse, who seemed more than eager to take your shift with bright, well-rested eyes and a grin of his face as greeted you both.

As you expect, there is little sleep to be had as you hit your bed, tossing and turning as you fiddle with the ripped hole in your bed sheet or spend time counting the stains on your ceilings—mold spots and holes, signs of a building that was on the way out, but hanging by a thread.

Tommy wouldn’t condemn the place unless it was in shambles, finding use of just about anything if it still had enough life in it. 

And you follow Tommy’s instructional plea—even if it killed you to appease Joel, who seemed just as critical if not more as he rode up on his horse every few nights.

Their shifts weren’t always regular and Joel often picked up extra patrols when someone else couldn’t, complaining entirely too much for someone who seemed like they couldn’t stand living within the sanctuary of Jackson, like he’d rather tough it out on his own.

Ellie blamed it on his inability to let himself settle—Jackson was home, his family was here, and physically he could exist, but he never seemed quite present.

You catch Ellie on a shift change as Tommy and Joel approach, trading out your jerky for her sandwich as she hurriedly tucked it away like she was going to get caught doing something she shouldn’t, snorting softly at her actions as Joel scowled, pulling at the reigns of his horse as he drew near.

The call of your name has you perking up, peering around Ellie’s head at Tommy with a less than enthusiastic look on his face, rifles held between both of the brothers grips.

“I’m askin’ for a huge favor,” Instantly you knew, posture slumping slightly as your boots sunk into the snow, “Cindy’s sick—caught the same bug that’s been goin’ around. Can you cover another shift? I’ll owe ya.”

“Seems more like you’re telling me,” You retort, stretching the beanie down over the back of your head to cover your ears, the cold biting at your skin, “—it’s fine, I’ll do it.”

“Thank—“

“But I want the weekend off.”

“Done.” Tommy agrees without problem.

The patrol box wasn’t all that bad anyways, insulated enough that you weren’t freezing your ass off, enough room for two people, it could be worse. It was better than walking the strip of the barricade, shivering until you couldn’t even feel your toes.

Wyoming winters were brutal, but it seemed like the end of the world had found a vengeance to fight back with, giving you the harshest versions of every season. A blizzard was expected within the next few weeks and those were never ideal—extra patrols, doubling watchmen, curfews. It sucked.

You find yourself sketching out the same tree line you’ve drawn a hundred times, wispy tendrils and thick trunks that wove together like a web, time drifting by with ease as the night swallowed up the day, the thick blanket of snow reducing both the noise and allowing a soft illumination as you peered off into the distance, almost mesmerized at the glowing orb that seemed to grow closer and closer. 

Tommy and Joel were the last ones out, everyone else having returned back hours prior, keeping in mind that they had taken the furthest patrol out north, so it wasn’t all that surprising.

But, it doesn’t take long for you to realize that Joel and Tommy are not alone, horses trotting quickly toward the gates as a small group of raiders followed closely behind and shot of rifle rounds with no exact target, whizzing by your head as you opened the door and ran to your own rifle, sliding to the wall for cover as you quickly loaded your gun and swung it over the ledge.

It wasn’t often that you had to use it outside of training and target practice, finding that Jackson had always been relatively quiet—except for now, as the brothers tumbled to cover as shots fired from your left and right, a few of the attackers succumbed to their flurry of wounds.

You watch as one raider attacks the brothers head on, short-lived as Joel attacks him with his fists, a hand bunching into the front of the attackers shirt before he’s crushing his skull in with pure rage and strength, eventually ending up with his hands around the other man's neck while he choked on the blood that spilled from his mouth, the light in his eyes slowly fading.

There’s a straggler on the outskirts, though, blending in as he slid through the tree line and attempted to attack Joel from behind, you quickly aim down your sight through the scope of the gun, following a straight and calm line as the man approached, stepping a few feet away from Joel before the bullet slices through his head, falling to the ground in an instant. 

Joel’s head whips toward you, your head peeking over the scope as you examine the body before looking over at him, seemingly stunned but the expression was subdued, quietly mouthing something to his brother who wasn’t as good at hiding his shock. 

Either you had made the right choice in saving Joel’s life or he was going to twist this on you, somehow proving that you could’ve killed him with your carelessness, letting a shot ring out so close to his head.

The dread you were feeling does come to fruition as Tommy knocks on your door that weekend, your soft voice welcoming him inside as you perched against the alcove in your room, a small ledge tucked against the windowsill. 

“I ain’t here to lecture you,” Tommy begins, cutting through your doubt, “feel like I’m constantly askin’ so much of you but Joel and I can agree on one thing. You’re a damn good shot.”

You scoff at that, almost a laugh. 

He leaned against the wall near the small kitchen tucked into the corner of the apartment, arms crossed over his chest.

“We lost James,” from what you recalled, he was a young kind, inexperienced, reckless too, “poor kid never fuckin’ listened, got shot before he could even get his gun out.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask bluntly, looking up at him through a downturned gaze, picking at the chipped paint by your feet.

“We’re down a person. I want you to take over.”

“I thought this was a council decision. Some prestigious thing, putting people through tests before they could—“

“It’s the least of my worries. Maria’s close to her due date too, that storm is creepin’ in. We ain’t got time to waste, we’ll be doubling patrols soon. Are you in or out, kid?”

Tommy’s face screamed desperation, sunken eyes were a telltale sign of lacking sleep, stress rifling his features. He had a lot on his plate, the weight of Jackson on his shoulders, his burgeoning new family growing within a few weeks. You had a soft spot for him unfortunately and it was always your downfall.

“I’m in.”

—

“You listen to every word I say,” Joel tells you, snaking by the others loading up their saddle bags, side stepping the horse’s head as he crowds you into the small space of the stall, “Every single word, got it?”

He’s never been friendly—cordial, maybe. But, Joel wasn’t the type to ask or suggest. It was always order and demand, his harsh tone constricting the words to instill an edge that had your brows furrowing down into your lids, face scrunching up in annoyance.

You agree regardless, nodding your head as you clip the saddlebag closed.

“I need to hear it.”

“Got it,” You retort, sarcasm laced around your tongue, “Every single word. You say run, I run. Jump, I jump. Good enough?”

Joel shakes his head slightly at your tone, looking off toward the entrance of the barn at his brother who was deep into a conversation, displeased with the idea of being paired with you.

But, he was the only one Tommy trusted to train you properly, even if it meant several hours together with a good chance you both might kill each other. 

With Joel, you were safe from everything else but him.

“Yeah, thas’ good.” He relents, turning on his heels before he finishes his sentence.

The weather was only just beginning to pick up, the winds whipping your loose hair over your face, pulling them from the tie you had pulling the majority of it back, hood snug over your head. You hear the distinct sound of leather rubbing against itself as Joel tightens his grips on the reins of his horse, settling beside you quietly as Tommy called off everyone’s posting.

You were assigned to the ski lodge far north, the furthest they patrolled but for good reason. It kept the raiders at bay, staking claim so far out and keeping them away, for the most part. Plus, it gave them an early jump on any of the migrating groups of infected, finding that they often moved in hoards during the colder months, picking off the stragglers that wandered in.

The trip is cold, lips dry and cracking by the time you reach the lodge, but relatively easy. 

“Tie ‘em up,” Joel instructs coarsely, waiting to latch the door closed as you tie the horses up to the makeshift post in the foyer, his foot holding the door open as you step past him, shoulder brushing his elbow as his eyes track the touch silently, clicking the lock into place.

“Beds are up there,” Joel pointed toward the right corner, couches lined with sheets and pillows, “s’better to sleep down here with this weather, place don’t keep out the cold that well unless we got a fire going and even then…”

“I’ll be fine,” You assure him tensely, stripping your jacket off your shoulders and slinging it over the back of a nearby chair, pack falling slack against the floor, leaving you free to wander around.

“Sign us in,” He points vaguely in the direction of the bar, an old leather booklet resting against the wall with a pin tucked around a page, his voice carrying as you walk further away, “I’ll start up a fire.”

Joel was like a ghost, almost forgetting he was there until he’s approaching behind you, that familiar grimace on his face as he finds you scouring through the book, curiosity getting the best of you—it was harmless, but Joel thought otherwise.

“Is this gonna be an issue?” He asks, eyes widened slightly in an expectant manner, waiting for your response.

You wrestle with the urge to roll your eyes, neatly writing your names down into the book, checking quickly at your watch before you snap the book closed and shove it aside.

You move to walk around him, but his palm flattens out against your collarbone, shoving you back into place—he wasn’t letting you move without an answer.

“No,” You answer casually, pushing his hand away gently, “Are you gonna explain how any of this works?”

“We take turns,” Joel says, mirroring your early actions as he strips off his couch, the warmth of the fire already spreading throughout the room, “I’ll take first shift ‘til morning, then we swap.”

“And if we see something?”

“You wake me up,” He tells you, “otherwise, don’t.”

It was a simple but lethal instruction, a warning.

This was going to be absolute hell.

Luckily, the conversation dies out and you wander toward the small gift shop attached to the bar. It was mostly picked through besides the small plush bear sitting alone on the shelf and a revolving carousel of postcards, aged from both weather and time. You spin them around careful, mindlessly plucking a few that still seemed in good enough condition before you’re shoving them away in your bag, ignoring the creak of a chair as Joel sat with his rifle in his lap, leaned back as he stared out the long expansive window that covered the wall, just on the edge of cliff with a substantial drop.

It had a beautiful view, breathtaking, really. But, looking in his direction only made you feel more and more unsettled, taking your seat beside the fire quietly.

“Should get some sleep,” He suggest without turning his head over his shoulder, your eyes glancing in his direction, “don’t need you fallin’ asleep on patrol here.”

And normally, you could find yourself falling asleep easily given the situation. But, you were on edge, fearful, something twisting in your gut that kept you from relaxing. You’ve heard the stories about Joel, how ruthlessly he killed and maimed. A man of action rather than peace.

You pull a single postcard from your back to distract yourself, hoping that it might help lull you to sleep eventually.

And you wished it had gotten easier, but the more you were paired with Joel, the more tension it seemed to cause, always unspoken—Joel never reacted, barely skirting the idea that this was becoming a problem, the lack thereof with communication, speaking only when you absolutely needed to.

His questions were always odd, like a robot attempting to make small talk—and often, it was observations, one-off statements that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as they did.

But, they did.

“Sleepin’ with that knife ain’t safe.” Joel told you on a crisp, stormy night at the end of January, the tail end of it peeking out from under your pillow, one eye peeling open to look at him with disdain.

“Says the man who sleeps with a rifle on his chest.”

Joel chews at his bottom lip, looking down at the bulky weapon in his lap before he ignores your retort, focusing his gaze on the book in his grip, something he’s read through about a hundred times, attempting to give himself a different view, flipping through the pages mindlessly.

“Where’d you learn to use a gun like that?” He asks suddenly, cutting through the silence again.

Another question, one you could leave unanswered. 

“We’re not put in the watchtower without gun training,” You tell him, “seems kinda self explanatory, Tommy trained me himself.”

“That kinda shootin’ isn’t taught.” Is all he replies with—almost like an accusation. 

“I think you’ve forgotten that QZ kids were born with a gun in their hand.”

It was an asinine exaggeration, but still wholeheartedly the truth. You knew every part of a gun before you could even confidently tie your shoes, it was unfortunately second nature when you had a gun in your hand, similar to a knife. Your grip tightened around the handle as you closed your eyes, succumbing to sleep eventually.

You wade in and out, peeking through bleary eyes and always find Joel’s eyes on you, whether purposeful or not, he was always watching. Even as you wandered, no matter where you were—maybe it was his own strange way of hoping that it provided you comfort, that he was always watching out. But, it never made you feel safe. Not really. And, in turn, you find yourself doing the same thing.

He’s more relaxed when he’s sleeping, the familiar scowl non-existent as he snores alongside the crackling fire or roar of wind, his boots untied and loosened but never off, never too comfortable. Joel always slept with his arms crossed, sitting up or lying down, occasionally mumbling in his sleep as he whimpered, his face contorting in the only sign of emotion you see from him outside of anger and annoyance.

You scribble out your thoughts on a postcard to pass the time.

He never asks about the stack of postcards in your bag, remaining blissfully ignorant. It was an unspoken agreement, that prying wasn’t something either of you were going to make an attempt at—you could simply exist around each other, no baggage or stories to be traded.

For now, at least.

–

It was nearly four months of patrols when Tommy lays his plans out and surprisingly, Joel doesn’t seem displeased and truthfully, things had become easier with him than anyone else.

You didn’t have to put on an act for him.

He could tell when you were exhausted or irritated, giving you space with a silent pass of the sandwiches he had picked up before leaving, retreating to his own corner, though his eyes still lingered.

It had taken a few months, but you did feel that safety with him that Ellie often talked to you about—his steadfast personality, knowing that if something were to happen, he’d handle it. 

But, he’s still a mystery.

“Ellie told me ‘bout that time you killed a group of raiders tryin’ to attack her,” You start the conversation bluntly, biting into the steak sandwich, “You like knives more than guns?”

Bold, he thinks. That’s fuckin’ bold.

“Guns are loud,” He replies, “Knives aren’t.”

You think back to the incident at Jackson with another set of raiders, witnessing Joel kill a man with his bare hands and think - maybe he preferred neither, if given another choice.

The prospect shouldn’t excite you or even entertain you, the brute power he holds.

But, it does.

You make a soft nose of acknowledgement as you nod your head, noticing the subtle glint in his eyes as he revisits the memory with Ellie, his face twitching at the sight of the broken glass slicing through a poor kid’s neck, right along the jugular as he choked on his own blood.

“You kill anyone?”

“A few—just…for survival.” You weren’t sure why you lied.

Joel wasn’t threatened by you in the slightest and lying wasn’t going to change that.

You’ve been lucky enough to avoid it until recently, bouncing from place to place until you landed in Jackson. It had been your home for a while now, so long that you didn’t like to think about it, staying in one place for such a long period of time. 

Joel sat a few feet away in the small house nestled on the mountain, a cool breeze stretching through the open window as Spring had taken hold, flowers blooming over the edge of the windowsill where they threatened to creep in.

His feet were near your head, resting against the ledge of the window as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his knife against the wooden leg of the chair as you pretend to sleep, shifting slightly as the blanket drifted down your body, layers shedded and crumpled by your feet, leaving you in a thin top and and jeans as you turned to your stomach, moaning softly, content.

He’s been less shy about his stares, or oblivious, his gaze lingering when you would catch him in the act—but you count the second in your mind from the moment you catch him through your squinted gaze, his eyes drifting along your body curiously.

Ninety-five seconds.

It was a new record.

And you dream of him that night, it wasn't the first time.

But, this time felt different. Usually the dreams drift away the moment you wake, like a distant and distorted memory, but this one is vivid and lingering as you watch Joel, who had caught you in the midst of your wake but he'd fallen asleep shortly after.

Some fucked up and empty part of you wishes it was reality.

-

You end up at the same patrol a month later, the heat of summer creeping in.

You hadn’t been paired together in a couple weeks and Joel seemed lighter as he stepped beyond the threshold of the house and stripped off his pack, busying himself with a quick sweep 

Wiping your hand over your forehead, skin damp and sweaty as your pack falls to the floor, you sigh, fanning yourself with your hand as Joel catches a subtle glimpse of your obvious discomfort.

“Did Tommy ever fix the water?” You ask with a slight hint of annoyance, more than willing to douse yourself in a bucket of cold water to get some relief, “Please say yes.”

Joel chuckles at that, a small sound that you would have missed had you not been paying direct attention to his response.

“Yes, a couple weeks ago,” Joel answers simply, sinking lazily into the couch, allowing himself a moment of well-earned rest after the long ride here, “go on—I’ll cover the first watch.”

It was all the encouragement you needed. 

And the shower is marvelous, leveled at the perfect temperature to let the cool water wash over your skin, cleaning off the thin layer of dirt that had accumulated from Jackson to here, listening to the faint footsteps as Joel traversed the house, assuming he was setting things up in the bedroom—doors opening, floorboards creaking, the sounds were like a comfort. 

Joel doesn’t talk unless he absolutely has to, more settled in the idea of just existing around you—he knew it brought you a semblance of feeling safe, but he was forcing himself to keep that distance, remaining vigilant to the eyes that constantly watched him, occasionally catching himself doing the same.

Even now, it was like a trance, his head bowed as he passed the bathroom, noticing the small crack in the door as he heard your melodic hum filter over the sound of water, singing a song that reminded him of before, his favorite.

Was it your favorite too?

He doesn’t mean to, not really, but then you’re turning your body away from the shower-head, eyes closed and head tossed back as you washed your hair, the gap in the curtain from this angle giving Joel a perfect view of your body, the pristine slope of your breasts down to your stomach, a few faint scars he followed before his eyes landed on your pelvis, the trimmed patch of hair nestled above your cunt, feeling his throat swell as he swallowed.

The faint creek of his footsteps gives him away, he knows, but you don’t react.

It wasn’t until the midnight hour rolled around, falling asleep on your shift, that Joel sneaks out of the house—sometimes he just needed the silence in nature, no birds chirping overhead, the faint distant growl from traversing hoards that didn’t carry out this far, if he closed his eyes, it was almost as if everything were normal, like he was back at his house in Austin, enjoying a moment out on his back porch.

Unfortunately, Joel was a paranoid man; your quiet footsteps catch him off guard, only feeling your presence as you arrive at his back, turning on his heels in an instant as his hand latches around your throat, tackling you against the ground with his knee digging into your stomach, your face pinched in pain as you throw weak punches at his chest, gasping for air.

He seems trance-like, eyes glossed over as you struggle to breathe, vision blurring around the edges as it begins to tunnel, you muster as much strength as you can to wheeze his name.

“J-oel. Joel, s’me.”

Your voice, broken and strained, seems to break him out of his deadlock grip on your throat, dark eyes snapping back into a soft chestnut, his face softening as much as it could while still remaining hardened, scrambling away from you without a word. Like you had attacked him.

You let out a flurry of coughs as you roll to your side, massaging your throat as your sounds come out raspy and weak, feeling slight pain as you swallow and attempt to rise to your feet, seeing Joel hesitate from your periphery for a moment, considering helping you.

“Coulda fuckin’ killed you,” Is the only thing he offers.

“Yeah,” You respond bitterly, “Almost fucking did.”

“You got a habit of sneakin’ up on people like that? The hell were you thinking?”

He rubbed a hand over his graying beard, the other hand cocked against his hip as he kept a safe distance, watching you pick the clumps of dirt and grass from your hair. 

He’s angry. Angry?

Why the fuck was he angry?

“I was worried—you like to leave at night,” You explain through a strained tone, a tic in your jaw as you clench down, eyes sinking into a scowl as you challenge his expression, “the last thing I need is finding you dead and having to explain that to Tommy.”

A tense silence stretches over, a slow and powerful breath through his nose before he relents and stomps past you, leaving you in a similar position to his earlier, watching his figure trail toward the house as your head turns back toward the sky, covered in stars and picturesque.

The kind of sight you wouldn’t believe if you weren’t seeing it in person.

Joel liked simple pleasures, a moment of silence and a place to sit with himself, and you had disrupted it - the only true moment he had alone all day, to sit, to think. The guilt settles in quickly, lingering for a moment before you decide to make the walk back toward the house.

–

What you aren’t expecting to find is Joel, sifting through your bag, items sprawled out on the floor and the thick cards fitted between his calloused fingers, covered in filth as he read over the notes you had left over the past few months, internal thoughts that you wouldn’t dare let slip.

He'd broken the one unspoken rule you both had kept with each other.

Some of them were slightly more embarrassing than others, forbidden to see the light of day until now, meticulous notes about the details of his face as he slept, how you found the rhythmic sound of his breathing comforting or even more damning, how the more aggressive side of him did the exact opposite of what it should.

It excited you. Turned you on, though the cards held more flourishing details about why and how. Because even then, moments prior as his hands pressed against your throat, there was a brief moment of exhilaration, excitement. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you scramble, stumbling toward him and reaching for the cards he holds easily out of reach, a hand pressing against your shoulder and squeezing tight enough to hold you back.

“You wanna explain this?” Joel asks, the type of tone that made you want to shrink.

Your mouth parts for a moment before you find your voice, brow knitting in frustration as you reach for the postcards once more, failing, “Those are private—why are you snooping?”

“You left a mess,” Joel explains away, the items of your bag spilled on the hardwood floor, chuckling as he continues, “Huh, private? Ain’t much privacy to be had when you’re writing about me.”

You can feel your heart racing, knowing if Joel moved his hand an inch further down he would feel it too.

The stack had to be at least twenty postcards thick, some innocently tame and just a means to let your thoughts and feelings flow, most of them answering questions Joel had asked you earlier in the night that you had refused to answer, giving him nothing to work with.

The ones he does recite are damning, tossing them to the floor as he flips through the stack before reading off a particularly recent one from earlier that night, his confidence slowly flagging as the words leave his mouth.

Shower. Watching me.

It felt good.

“Goes both ways,” You sneer, pushing his hand away and making one final reach for the cards as you successfully pry them from his grip, stuffing them away in your bag along with your other spilled belongings.

Joel’s expression shifts slightly, staring down at your kneeling figure as you avoid his gaze. His boots scuff against the floor as he crowds you against the wall, nowhere to run when you rise to your feet. Attempting to scare, to provoke.

Daringly, you challenge him, “I’m not the only one watching, Joel.”

His eyes narrow, searching your face for any sign of a bluff. For a brief moment, you almost expect him to deny the obvious—lie, lie, lie.

But, even he couldn’t deny the strange connection; or, affliction, that had riddled you both.

You could blame it on the close proximity built over months of isolation, often paired together over your willingness to work efficiently and without issue as time went on—Tommy was used to people butting heads, arguing, favoring one person over the other.

With you two, he could send you off for a patrol and not have to worry about things being left behind or forgotten.

You were innately quiet, even in Jackson, never wanting to ruffle anyone’s feathers or stir up trouble—that was left for the rowdy teens and few and far between drunks. Joel almost suspected you as mole for a brief time upon your arrival in Jackson, a worry soothed by Tommy over time.

But now, he doesn’t know what to think. He can’t figure you out and he’s not really sure he wants to, but you’ve got the kind of look in your eyes that calls out to Joel, silently.

He’s never met someone so controlled, knowing when to keep to themselves and when to bite back; it strings, that bite. He feels it in the way your jaw tightens, attempting to shove past him.

He glances down, noticing the knife tucked away in your left hand. A low, threatening chuckle releases from his lips as his hand grips your wrist, holding it up between your bodies.

“What’re you plannin’ to do with this? Stab me?”

“M’not against it,” You try to keep the strength in your voice, but it wavers slightly.

“I know that look,” Joel challenges, “You ain’t ever killed like this—s’too close, too personal.”

He knocks the knife away with a quick jerk of your wrist as you stumble back against the wall, praying he didn’t hear the small gasp slip from your throat as his chest presses against yours.

“So, you like watchin’ me sleep?” Joel asks in a taunting tone, “Enjoy jottin’ down all those dirty little thoughts thinkin’ I wouldn’t see ‘em?”

“They weren’t meant to be seen. They were private,” You retort, feeling the weight of his body as you exhale, lashes fluttering at his hot breath as it ghosts your face, reiterating, “Private, like my shower? Or, how about all the times I’ve caught you watching me? You know, we could go back and forth about this all night but frankly, I don’t mphh—”

Joel’s hand claps tight over your mouth, effectively silencing you as your face contorts in frustration, hands curling around his thick forearms and fingers, attempting to pry his hand away.

“Look at me,” He goads, repeating it more menacing as you fight against his hold, nodding in satisfaction when you finally relent, “Yeah—now and don’t you fuckin’ lie to me, you left that door open because you hoped I would, right? Stop tryin’ to act so innocent, girl.”

It ignites a fire in you, the demeaning monaker that transforms into enough strength to fist your hands into his shirt and shove him into the reclining chair positioned behind him, a heavy grunt releasing from his chest as you stumble over his boots and into his lap.

“Don’t call me that,” You seethe, not amiss to the immediate instinct of Joel’s to catch you, thighs bracketing his right leg as his hands squeeze your waist, keeping you upright.

Joel speaks your name, almost taunting, “S’that better? Or is that little crush your harboring hopin’ I’ll call you somethin’ a little sweeter?”

You feel the weight of his thumbs as they curl into your belt loops, body swaying with the motion as you take a seat on his lap, ass pressed against his knee and you watch as his chin gradually moves to rest against his chest, his eyeline following your movement.

“Don’t call me anything,” You retorted, his eyes flicking up under a heavy gaze.

Joel was simmering with a controlled rage, his hands squeezing at your hips as he jerked you forward suddenly, your hands grasping onto the back of the chair over his head, the friction at the seam of your denim as it rubbed against your clit, nestled between slick folds that couldn’t hide the arousal you were feeling, how the heat that radiated off of Joel made you sick with want.

“Alright,” He agrees, “then go on ‘head, get off me.”

Something tells you it is definitely a trap.

A moment later, you can feel his fingers gripping around your backside, digging into your ass as he pushes your hips backwards once before slowly guiding them forward, your sneakers scuffing against the hardwood as your lips parted, a silent breath slipping out.

“Go on—get off,” He taunts, the double-entendre making your brain go fuzzy.

“Joel,” It was a weak attempt to tell yourself and him this was a bad idea, but with the pleasure swelling in your core, it comes out more relaxed - you moan his name and Joel hears it.

“You ain’t good with words, but you can show me,” He remedies, the subtle movement as you grind against his leg, denim on denim but you’re almost positive he can feel how wet you are through the fabric, or how the shared heat was almost sweltering, “rub that pretty pussy on me.”

You have half the mind to snark at him, but think back to his eyes on you on the other side of the bathroom door, how he had admired without guilt, no truer words having left his mouth.

Guiltily, you lean against him, forearms resting where your hands were previously gripping, aiding in the quickening pace of your hips as you breathed softly into his ear, one of his hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt, palm spread wide over your back as the chair creaked with the shifting weight.

Your breath hitches, a sharp gasp as Joel’s calloused fingers rub against your spine. The friction against your clit is overwhelming, intensifying with every roll of your hips under his guise, the desperate need for release building in your core, quietly aware of the weight of Joel’s cock through his jeans, hard and neglected.

Your hand slowly moves toward the button on his jeans, ghosting over the swell of his cock before his fingers grip your wrist and return them to their original spot, “This ain’t for me,” He reminds you, “Keep goin’—show me how bad you need it.”

His words spur you toward the ledge you were teetering on, movements increasingly more wild and frantic, soft noises gradually becoming louder as his hands roam your body, the one on your back remaining as a constant while the other roams toward your front, squeezing gently at your breasts through the flimsy bralette, his thumb brushing pointedly over your nipple as you moan.

“Fuck, I’m c—close,” You warn him, blindly finding his hair with your right hand, squeezing at the strands as he grunts, head tilting back against the chair as you moan brokenly, a sob escaping your mouth.

His voice carries you through, his voice enveloping every point of your existence as your orgasm starts and crescendos, “That’s it,” He coos, “s’alright, let it out.”

You obey, weak whimpers cry into his neck as you hide away, hips grinding lazily through the aftershocks as his arms wrap around you silently, holding you steady as the sound of your ragged breath fills the room alongside the quiet chirping of nocturnal animals.

“Gonna write about this later?” Joel teases, whatever hostility he was holding earlier now non-existent, clearing his throat as you lean back, ignoring the obvious thick and permeating tension that was blanketing you both, still unaddressed.

“S’not funny,” You respond, climbing off him unsteadily before you turn your back to him and gather your belongings into a pile and shove them back inside your pack, “You weren’t supposed to see ‘em.”

“We’re partners—you think keepin’ secrets is smart?”

“It’s harmless—and what about you?” You begin, suddenly settling back into your own quiet rage, “Sneaking around, watching me? I notice shit too, Joel.”

Joel sits in quiet contemplation, his permanent scowl growing deeper as his knuckles rub at the spot where your cunt previously was, “Alright—new rule.”

Your eyebrows raise in anticipation, never really prepared for what Joel ever had to say.

“I ask questions, you answer ‘em. For every one you answer, I’ll answer one too.” Fair enough, you think, but then he continues, “It stays between us, alright? And if you want something—ask for it. No sense in bein’ shy ‘round me anymore.”

Not after that.

Baby steps, you say to yourself. 

The thick air between you seems to open, like a weight off your chest.

“Alright,” You reply softly, “I can do that.”

Joel leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes intense as they lock onto yours. "So, those notes. How long you been writin' 'em?"

You smile with a newfound giddiness, though still mostly subdued, biting at your cheek to stop the spread of your grin, shaking your head as you lock down at the stack of postcards stuffed into your bag.

“Only since we got paired up,” You admit, “every other night or so. When I can’t sleep.”

Which was often.

He grunts, processing the information as you fiddle with the strap of your pack.

“Is it my turn?” Joel nods quietly, shifting back in the chair, ignoring the slowly waning bulge in his jeans that he would surely deal with later, “Well—how long have you been watching me? Or, well–why?”

“That’s two,” Joel chastises, but there was no real bite behind it, “Since you came to Jackson, figured you weren’t good—”

You know what he means—mistrusting, suspicious. 

“Does it bother you—that I do? You scared of me?”

You shake your head shyly, avoiding his gaze.

It was the darkest, most sinister parts of Joel that drew you in.

“I think you’d be terrified of the things I like about you, Joel.”

Joel doesn't respond outright, but his subtle grin is enough confirmation for you. He knew exactly what you meant.

[springloadedcontraption]

This is the first time in a LONG time I've had access to tumblr with an *at home* device that I could just let myself out freely on.. so bare with me..

This is a perfect post for me to start my *incessant* rants with. First of all.. I remember VERY CLEARLY as a child that ALLL I wanted to do was grow up so I could leave the house, do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted.. I was a FIERCE advocate of independence. I was 11 years younger than my two twin sisters, and I IDOLIZED them.. There was this local bar in town they'd always go to with their best friend, Rachel, and it was called "Little Bit" back then. They'd go out basically every single weekend, plus a couple days during the week (this was a local, small town bar that never ID'd anybody, as it was also a college town so nobody gave a shit where the money for the alcohol/cover charges were coming from, as long as they were coming in)

I can remember countless evenings being alone as a child.. Most of my childhood, as a matter of fact. My sisters both had babies at 18, making their youngest children just 7 years younger than me. One of these twins ended up living with us for a little while, giving me the taste of what a little brother/sister (or even a child of my own, which I was NOT a fan of from day fucking ONE) would be like.. and honestly, this trend would end up carrying through a few more children from both sisters based on how much time I spent with said nieces/nephews. Anywho, one sister and her first child lived with us for an amount of time, not sure if I remember just how long.. All I remember is that it was long enough to make sure that this nephew is still, TO THIS DAY, my favorite nephew. But that hardly matters to the point of this post..

While I'm very happy for the things I've learned over the years I've been alive.. from an observant abusive childhood, to an almost divorced household, to teen pregnancy (not my own, obviously) to drug/alcohol problems from both sides of the family, including myself.. I can confidently say that I'd NEVER be at the point I'm at today, or as proud of myself as I am and as in love with who I've turned out to be as a woman, without the trials and tribulations I've faced. Obviously everyone says that to a degree.. but I genuinely mean it.

I've had my fair share of EARTH SHATTERING heartbreak.. more times that I'd like to relive. And honestly, as childish and useless as it sounds.. these romantic heartbreaks have taught me more than most life lessons have.. about love, pain, trust, loyalty, and how fragile the human connection can be. It can be severed in an instant if we all let it.. Obviously death is a little different than regular earthly separation.. But you catch my drift.. I say all this just to make a very vague point..

E V E R Y T H I N G you go through in life is for a MOTHER FUCKING R E A S O N - and more important than that, it's A L L FUCKING T E M P O R A R Y. You learn something from each and every single situation you go through.. No matter whether it's self inflicted or not. Honestly, you sometimes learn more from the self inflicted wounds than you do any others.. I know that's the case with me. And as much as any of those wounds hurt.. whether it was romantic heartbreak, losing a best friend after X amount of years for no real apparent reason, or even a death in the family (even if death hits me differently/less aggressively than it hits most people.. the death of both of my parents happening about 18 months apart when I hadn't even moved out of the house yet was an EXTREMELY low blow.. even if I never admit it to the general public).. Or even on a smaller scale.. work heartbreaks.. your favorite coworker leaving finally to move onto their dream job, or one that just pays more that they didn't bring you along with.. having to quit a job you were really enjoying and learning a lot from and wanted to turn into a career because they weren't valuing you, or the fucking U.S. DOLLAR the way they should have been and you were tired of coat-tailing off your male, non romantic roommate because it was just flat out awkward to ask the man for financial help all the time..

I'm rambling at this point, and it's probably because I've had QUITE a bit to drink (as per usual..) but today, I DESERVE IT, DAMNIT! I finally passed my written/driver's license exams so I finally got my drivers license back after SEVERAL years of driving illegally and paranoid.. I got my nails done (completely unintentionally a Valentine's day theme) and they're BEAUTIFUL.. the man I'm in love with that claims he doesn't actually wanna be with me, but he really does (as terrible as that sounds, I don't think the situation is as doomed as it sounds.. hear me out on future posts lol) went to dinner with me last night and lingered a bit longer than he usually does with any of our friend group.. together or individually.. and he kept using the triangle method on me where he'd look in both my eyes, then at my lips.. and based on the fact that we just had one of the most passionate fucks of our entire relationship not even a month ago and it's pretty obvious that he wants to do it again just tells me that it's not all over with.. that and the fact that NOT A SINGLE EX has ever stayed away completely. I just know it's not ever between us, and thank GOD.. that break up nearly shattered me completely and make it to where I had to admit myself into a mental institution and take a literal mental break from the planet for a while.. God don't get me started with how much I love this man and how much I PRAY that we end up together one day. After all, I've lasted longer than any other woman that he's dated after he got his divorce ;)

I say all that seemingly random ass shit to say this - if you're going through a hard time.. please don't give up. reach out to me. you an find beauty in the world at whatever age you are, no matter what you've been through. While I'm still young, I've been through my own fair share of shit, then most of my family's fair share of shit because I'm so God damn empathetic that it's detrimental to my health at this point.. Just trust me.. I'm here if you need me, even if I don't know you or if you wanna hit me up anonymously.. Don't go through whatever it is you're going through alone. Let me help you find the beauty in this fucked up world again. If I've found it as many times as I have with as much shit as I've fucked up/gone through.. I know I can help you see the light at the end of the tunnel, too.

I love you. Hit me up anytime.

[hischierjustscored]

accidentally yours.・゜・quinn hughes

summary: you barely remembered putting quinn as your emergency contact until he showed up like the universe's idea of a bad joke

a/n: this is my contribution for the winter fic exchange 2k25 by @wyattjohnston for @hanaaishi 🧡 i still owe you forever for being patient and bearing with me on this!! seriously i mean it!! thank you both for making me a part of another amazing exchange which was my first one ever but i'm so happy that i was!! it was such an experience for me diving into all this and hope i was able to do some justice on my part 🧡 i got too carried away smoothing the final edges, hence the delay again 🥺 i also changed the idea we talked about a little but i hope it's all good in the end 🧡

warnings: mentions of injuries (light concussion, ankle sprain), hospital, parents pressure, overthinking, scratchin on the surface???, and i trusted myself to do a reader insert so bear with me once more

word count: 5.5k

You remember when you were 8 and took your brother’s bike to try out his self-made wood ramps in the garden, only to fall 6ft from the side and drop straight onto your left hip. That day you found out that grass wasn’t nearly as cushy as it looked but it was your mother’s “told you so” you never forget, lingering in your ears from where you sat in the backseat on the way to the hospital.

You also remember your best friend Lia leaving you in charge of booking an Airbnb for your first trip to Austria together, and you were proud of that cozy little place you found nestled in a mountain valley. But the "cozy" and "European" charms you both imagined left you searching desperately for a hotel in the middle of the holiday season instead, and Lia didn't have to say the words. You could hear the "I told you so" for really trusting someone with the username wanderlustgirl98.

And you remember moving to Vancouver a year ago after your studies, taking up your former professor's advice to follow one of its renowned urban development programs and put your "big-picture" skills to work. He didn’t have to try hard to convince you. You’d already been thinking about it for a long time until it felt like your chance to finally prove yourself. Perhaps even more to your parents. A naive part in you hoped you'd fit into their expectations for once. But if you really did, you'd reach out more than just on birthdays and festivities, maybe even give in to that other more vulnerable part in you and tell them how over your head you've been lately or that, deep down, they were probably right about all of this being a huge leap you still weren't ready for.

And you can only imagine…

Told you so.

It long replaced the loud ringing and the whole new level of woozines you felt an hour ago on the bus, as you watched the nurse adjust the brace on your right ankle, all black and chunky.

You sighed heavily for the 5th time in under 2 minutes, because what did you do to deserve all this?

Oh right, maybe being a chronic people pleaser, staying late at work to set other people's shit right. Fixing last-minute deadlines, cleaning up mistakes that weren’t yours, saying yes when you wanted to say no.

But you couldn't help it.

"It shouldn't take more than 3-6 weeks to heal completly, your lucky it's just a moderate strain. Nothing that can't be fixed."

She looked up at you over the rim of her glasses, still perched hideously, before she slowly swiveled back to her desk.

"Can I still work in that thing?", you tried testing out the waters, bending your feet just a little, then more until you sucked in a sharp breath when the pain hit.

"Honey, what do you think this is?", she drawled follwed by a low chuckle as if she couldn't quiet believe this being your first question.

“It’s meant for the healing, you have to keep it still completely and not put any weight on it. And that includes not working."

The last straw keeping you grounded right now is that this could have been much worse.

From the moment the bus driver hit the brakes like in that one Harry Potter scene, your new plateau sneakers giving out on you and your head bracing the inevitable fall on some window. Your initial hope bubble of no one noticing quickly busted as people came to your side, but you brushed them off mumbling that you were fine through the worst cringe of unwanted attention. Until you tried to balance yourself, only to realize you couldn't, and straightening up nearly made you sick.

You shifted, bracing your palms against the mattress to find a more comfortable position, minus flaring your ankle up again. You’d been in this bed for too long, it was driving you crazy.

"But how am I supposed to do that? Other than floating maybe..."

The mocking arch of her brows made the wrinkles on her forehood stand out more, but you couldn't care less, it was the pure frustration blurting out of you at this point you weren't even kidding about the last part. The last thing you needed on your mind was your boss' face to your sick call tomorrow morning. Not with the mayor visiting your office in 2 days, waiting to hear your thoughts on improving Vancouver's climate neutrality through sustainable architecture. And what you’ve worked tirelessly on, perfecting every detail from start to finish.

And you thought if all of this is some sort of reverse karma. Only for being hardworking. Is that a thing?

You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice the shuffling in the room until she came back with something that, if any shred of humor was left inside you, you would've laughed at. But instead, you just slumped back against the headrest, the wave of déjà vu taking you back to when you were 8 looking between the crutches in her hand.

Hardworking karma, reverse karma, just trying as hard as you can karma...

"I think you will be good with these", she offered, leaning them against your bed within reach, "maybe if you try hard enough you will actually float."

Her chumy tone you still couldn't quite feel yet, had your eyes roll back in an instant before closing them, grumbling to yourself, "Just great, really, really, great", but it was a mistake once you did as you fought off the urge to drift off completly.

A piece of mind for the first time in hours. Maybe for the first time in forever even.

The last months have been...immense to say the least, throwing yourself into anything that kept you running on autopilot, saying yes when you wanted to say no, but you needed it.

The last months have been...immense to say the least, throwing yourself into anything that kept you running on autopilot, saying yes when you wanted to say no, but you needed it.

After the biggest "told you so" that was bound to happen eventually. 2 months from now or more, or perhaps between his work, your work, balancing on a life that went past deadlines and demands, between 2 people who have their own reasons to prove themselves to everything around them, you slipped out of each other’s reach.

But it’s not like there was ever an official you two.

It was just the version of the story you always liked best.

“Here you go, I was able to find one in the random stash we keep in our break room, but it should work though," a voice light and sweet snapped your attention back faster or not fast enough, you didn't know, blinking against the lights now.

For a second, you felt like you were back on the bus with the dizziness and nausea creeping in again.

But no. Just him. It was just the thought of Quinn.

Your weighted gaze shifted to the bubbly blonde next to you, then down to your forearm where she lightly nudged a charger against it, and you suddenly remembered how determined she was to get it for you when you realized your phone powered down.

You couldn’t even text Lia back in time, knowing you were already too late for the rare occassions of missing your daily Facetime calls, with her still being back home in Seattle. Not in a trillion years you expected to feel this way about her, but right now you're glad she is.

Because if she she'd see you like this, she'd already know the answers without you giving it to her, that you take on more than your chronic people pleasing heart could handle sometimes.

And he'd always know too. When to snap you out of it, when to just exist beside you with no words. He'd never have to ask.

"Oh yeah, thank you", you forced out in the most put-together tone you could pull off right now, hoping our smile was convincing enough to distract her from the way your clammy palms were rubbing against the mattress, or the rapid thumping of your heart that you’d see too on your chest if you dared to look down again.

"Just enough to call a Uber and you can take it back."

She gave you a simple half-shrug, taking your phone from your outstretched hand, "It's stuff patients leave behind soo..", and plugged it in for you. But before you could brush her answer off again, the low calling of your last name made you snap to a tall man in the doorway, and his two long strides toward you could either mean more bad or good news.

You held your breath as you listened to him in silence going over your completly normal labs and scans which only told you everyone was making a bigger deal out of this anyway. You were fine, biting the inside of your cheeks reluctantly when he added they'd be filling out a sick report too.

"-though we would like to monitor you here for a night just in case you develop more symptoms that can’t be ruled out from the hit, and given that you already experienced dizziness and nausea-"

No person or force on this earth could make you stay here for one minute longer.

You released your cheeks with a click of your tongue, cutting him off quickly, "Uhhh that's not necessary, I mean I feel way better now and you just said it too didn't you?", which finally made him look up from whatever, clearly taken aback, his suprise mirrowing your own for a different reason.

Plus, you knew your rights. They couldn't keep you hostage here, you were ready to remind him of their own policy.

"I'm glad you do, we just want to make sure that-"

But you barely registered his next words, lost beneath the familiar sound of your phone finally wrapping up in your hands, and you were as happy as a little kid seconds away from unwrapping the biggest gift under the Christmas as tree, just, it didn't ask you to press your thumb down to unlock it as it normally would but...

"Damn it."

The one time your phone decides to ask for your SIM card code, and you’re completely blank.

Hardworking karma, reverse karma, just trying as hard as you can karma...

Yes, you really believed now, you did everything wrong tonight and this was the real karma of it all.

Your thumbs brushed the screen, trying to remember 4 digits like your life depended on it with the only 3 attempts you had.

The day you bought it you scribbled it down, along with the backup code (of course), and put it on your fridge because your memory rivaled that of a goldfish sometimes.

Was it 5678 or 5679?, and you heart dropped as deep as the Marianna Trench when it said only 1 attempt left.

"...and with how things are right now, we wouldn't encourage you to leave on your own. Do you have someone you can call right now to pick you up? Someone safe?"

Was he still talking to you?

"Huh? What?", the phone nearly slid from your grip, your palms starting to clam up again, and he lowered his clipboard studying you with an expression you weren't sure you had the energy to fully read, but it felt too damn close to pity.

"Or anyone we could call...?"

Quinn knew now that he could only trust Jack when it comes to discussing goodreads.com reader's favorites, ideas for lake house interior, and shooting pucks.

Not with anything close to dating. Or helping him out with that.

He was doing just fine. Thank you very much, but he knew Jack. Too much for his own good sometimes.

"Why do you act like you don't want it when you actually do. You need this. Get out of your head.

Sitting in this Italian restaurant that was a little too crowded for it being a secret "gem" as Jack said suggesting it to him, and he didn't even live here, listening to his date "soul-searching" trip to Bali was far from want and need.

He checked her Instagram highlights before, clicking on her profile Jack DM'd him. A friend of a friend. If overpriced veggie bowls and infinity pool thirst traps were anything soul-searching she's deluding both of them, and so was his thinking that maybe he should give this a shot. Getting out his head like Jack said with the season already hitting him with flashbacks he wanted to forget fot the sake of his sanity, and keeping away from anything that kept him running on autopilot.

"It just put everything into perspective", she said, her voice pulling him back just enough to realize he had no idea what she was talking about.

And he knew the moment he looked up from stirring the ice in his water with his straw for the past 5 minutes, there wouldn't be damn thing he'd remember about her either. She was beautiful, that much was obvious. The kind she knew and had probably been told her whole life, she didn't have to try too hard.

He preffered not trying at all. It was his favorite.

Probably ever since you took his drink at the coffee shop one day, the place too crowded for names to be called, just cups sliding across the counter and you didn't even look down at his name scribbled on the side in Sharpie when you slipped past him on the way out, not bothered to notice him eiter. The moment he should've said something, tap your shoulder, say anything when he just kept watching you move outside, tilting your head at street signs like they weren’t second nature yet, checking your phone every few seconds like you had somewhere important to be. Grabbing the wrong coffee without a second glance wasn’t his only hunch that you weren’t from here. Then, the sip. Too strong. Wholebean. Definitely not yours.

You turned back, ready to go back inside, but he already had yours in his hands on his way out to you when they started calling out names again, and no one responded to except for him.

A moment, A pause, your cold fingers brushing against his warm ones, or when you laughed at your mistake all crinkly around your eyes, perharps for the first time in a while that day, that should have been it, but wasn't, because between all of it you just became a part of his routine.

“…And then, on the third day, we did this sunrise meditation hike just me and a few people from the retreat, barefoot, totally disconnected, away from everything."

She kept going, oblivious to the way his focus had disconnected, his mind already elsewhere, lost in the memory of the last time he wanted to get away from everything, and the cushion underneath him slid akwardly when he shifted in his seat.

I wasn't about overpriced veggie bowls or infinity pools. But his favorite place in Michigan. Always.

And he wanted to take you there.

It had been a vague idea, one that had come up in the quiet moments in betweeen road trips and late-night talks at his place that were too deep and glances that lingered too long to mean anything less than what he had already convinced himself was true about you. The same feeling hit him when you gave him that slight curve of your lips, the one that always told him you had him figured out when when he told you about the days being slow and the nights nothing but still stars at the lake house.

"Hmm, that's not true stars are moving constantly, we just don't see it."

He laughed, quiet but warm,"Can you at least pretend to fall for it?" just to get stuck in his throat.

"It never is with you."

"What?"

"Pretending."

It never was with you either.

But it never became anything more than vague. Because there was always something else. Texts left on read for too long, you and your own world to keep up with just as much as he did with travel schedules that blurred weeks into months, not leaving room for things he didn't know how to hold onto. Or someone who didn't know either.

A low buzz from behind, easy to miss if it hadn’t lingered just long enough to jolt him back before he knows. He shifted again, and even though this was only ever one-sided, a genuine "Really sorry, I will turn it off" left his lips as he gawkly reached for his jacket over the backrest.

He hadn’t meant to look, a habit more than anything. But then his thumb hesitated mid-air, double-taking the number.

Unknown. Vancouver area code. Probably nothing. Probably something.

But always a red flag, especially for someone in his industry.

"Thought you were turning it off?", she mused, tipping her wine glasss to her lips, watching him over the rim and he forced a quick exhale, "Yeah, I-", but he didn't have a real answer with the buzzing still alive in his hand.

And he should've turned it off, ignore it, and sit through the night rest of the night pretending like he hadn't already made up his mind about this whole thing.

You need this.

But Jack was wrong.

He wasn't even sure what "this" was even supposed to be. Whatever, it never felt right since the start.

His phone buzzed again with the same caller, but now he thought about it being a perfect timing.

"I gotta take this...", he mumbled, barely shooting her a glance, and he swiped right before his mind could really caught up with it.

"Hello?"

A breath, a pause, nothing good he thinks already but he used it to press his index finger to his ear to drown out the noise, shifing again.

"Uhm, yeah, hello it's Vancouver General Hospital am I speaking to Quinn H?"

Well this was new.

"Depends, who is this?", ignoring the "H" making it sound like a witness protection program name. Not that he planned on correcting them. Or rather, a nurse as she introduced herself, surprisingly professional, enough to raise his interest and, slowly, his concerns too.

"Sir, we have your sister here, she was brought in with a mild concussion and a sprained ankle some hours ago. But don't worry, she is totally fine, she just needs someone to pick her up which is why we're calling."

His brows snapped together, head jerking back to the slightest bit like his brain needed an extra second to process.

"My what? Excuse me?"

Last time he checked it was Jack and Luke. Their parents would never screw them over like that, no way the would forget an entire human being for twenty-something years. Right? Not even back when they first sat him down to tell him he’d be a big brother, and his two-year-old self, without hesitation, decided he wanted a sister. But by the time Luke came, he was bound to live with brothers. He wouldn't change that for the world now.

So when the nurse repeated the words that his sister listed him as her emergency contact Quinn could only stare blankly ahead, "Yeah, I still think you've got the wrong number..."

She is wasting her time on a call when this girl was really waiting to be picked up, and he was just about to put it in terms she’d finally grasp, until-

You.

The noise around him, muffled laughter and the hum of conversation, the restless tapping of manicured nails against the table cloth across him, faded into nothing. And if with his thoughts already going from 0 to 100, this is his breaking point.

Your name.

He cleared his throat, but his voice came out strained, throat too dry, "Come again?"

Of all the names, hitting his ears after all these months but thought more of than he'd ever admit. The name he'd seen on his screen too many times, resisting the urge to check, to ask, to do something.

Everything dropped, turned over, a slow ache pressing against his ribs, too overwhelming and far too familiar.

But his body moved before his mind could catch up, momentum taking over. Someone said his name. Maybe, he couldn't care less. Something about a drink next, about sitting back down, but he ignored it again.

Because you were still ringing in his head, louder than it had in months.

And he wasn’t about to ignore it now.

"He said he's already on his way, shouldn't take longer than 10 minutes"

It made your brows furrow in confusion, "He's in the area?", but you said it more to yourself than to her, not that she heard it either in the crowded waiting room you were sitting in now, your ankle on a cushioned chair they'd given you.

Turns out you had listed an emergency contact the last time you were here, one you didn’t even remember leaving behind. Apparently, hospital policy included holding onto records long enough to make you wait nearly an hour, because the name they had on file was your brother. And, of course, he was on a business trip in Abbotsford, 1 hour away. The only reasonable choice to put down when they’d asked back then. Then again, you barely remembered.

Except for the fact that it was your first public unveiling of a project you led. You had invited your parents, that small, hopeful part of you giving in, calling them, telling them you’d be happy if they came. You were almost surprised by their promising tone, as if, finally, they’d understand this wasn’t just about concepts and sketches but about your dream.

But they didn’t come, texting out of everything, with an excuse that felt too made up. And hours ago, when your stomach had already sunk from scanning the crowd for them every time a new group arrived, it sank further. This time with the mix of one bad shrimp and something stronger you’d used to numb the disappointment.

How could you forget when you really really wanted to.

"Is you brother like...famous or something, because your records were pretty mysterious."

You looked up to the same bubbly blonde nurse, still standing in front of you with her lips pressed together,

"I think we're close enough he'd care to tell me or I would've found out sooner or later, but no, sorry to dissapoint you or anything", you corrected, hoping that was enough while you were already done processing the absurdity of it all. You slumped against the rigid backrest, sighinh as the exhaustion crept in again, but rest was the last thing anyone was willing to grant you right now.

“Your record,” she rambled on, not getting the memo, "it was… kinda mysterious.”

One eye popped open, then another when you saw her crossing her arms now. This conversation slowly glided out of your hands, you just leaned forward, jerking your head to the side, silently urging her to make sense of whatever this was.

"Your record just said Quinn H. and nothing more. I had to call him Mr. H. the whole time, but I figured he prefers this kind of privacy and that's what you want for him too. He didn't tell me his last name though, so like I said, all mysterious."

Your fingers now hoved near the cushioned stool, reaching for your calf to lift it off with more force than you should've and the sting was instant. But it was nothing compared to the irritation climbing its way up your throat where your heart already pounded in it.

Because not your brother was about to walk through that door. The person who should've been here.

No.

It will be Quinn Hughes.

And suddenly you were mid-fall again, right there on the bus, every last bit of control slipping past your grip. Nothing you could do.

Because drunk you put him down as your emergency contact that time. The one you barely remember.

"Wait, no", a breath left you, unsteady, "Call him again and tell him it's a big fucking mistake", your hands twitched in flight mode as you darted between her and the sliding doors open-mouthed, cause you remembered her saying he was only 10 minutes away. 5 even, if you're unlucky.

The same Quinn you stopped talking too, who if you looked into his eyes again, the same on that always made you wonder, if they could get any darker, any greener, would he notice?

That you mever meant for things to be this way? That it wasn't him, not really but your own mind, the way this new life kept pulling at you, and how you wanted to reach out when things calmed down. When you had space. When you could be the version of yourself that he deserved.

Maybe he was waiting for you. Maybe he thought you didn't care. It was only fair, but it didn't loosen the knot in your chest, nor how you blinked away the sting in your eyes that you told yourself was from the stuffy air with too many people breathing in here.

Because you did. You always did.

"Hey sis."

And in that instant, it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room, how else could you explain the way your lungs refused to function, as if they’d forgotten how, when you snapped your head to where he stood now inches away. How long?

His navy blue shirt was barely visible under his coat, his hair grown out just enough for the ends to curl, for it to peek out from the beanie he held in his hand, looking too good even with his hair tousled still like he'd always did asking you if he looks okay, what you could see him doing in whatever thing you interruped him in before he got here,

It pressed in too heavy, you had to cut through it.

"Why are you here?"

"What happ-"

You barely felt the ache in your ankle over the blood rushing in your ears when you shifted your weight standing now, his gaze dropping to the crutches you stood up without, your brace, the subtle wince you thought you hid. And it was fucking with your heart that he wasn't just looking at you, but like he was piecing something back together.

He parted his lips, but his eyes flicked past yours first, toward the nurse behind you, when his fingers around his beanie, "You were brought in here", he hesistated, "Needed someone to pick you up."

That was the objective, something everyone would've done perhaps if they received such call, being a good or person, or the simple fact that he was your emergency contact.

You needed the subjective.

You huffed, shaking your head, "This is not what I meant. You could have said no."

"I didn't."

"You should have."

The words sounded sharper on your tongue than you wanted them to be, and you didn't know what hurt more, the way his expression barely shifted like he'd expected to be shut down again, because you were getting so good at it, or how your insides churned 360 degrees of how much you already regretted them.

"What do you want me to say? You're the one who put my name down I didn't even knew until now or let you bolt out of here with an concussion like they told me?"

Bolted. Floated. Whatever to get out of here finally.

"Well, neither was I, and I'm fine", you muttered fixing you gaze on the sterile floor instead, on anything but the way how he was fixing you, "but let's just drop it to the part where you go back to whatever you had going on before coming here I guess and me saying sorry for it."

The bittersweet taste in your mouth.

Only when the dull ache flared up in your good ankle did you realize you’d been standing without your crutches all this time. and before you even thought to reach for your crutches, he was already moving. Anticipating. The moment your balance gave out on you, he was already there, steady hands at your elbow and bicep, grounding you before gravity could do worse, and your pulse skipped how easy it was to sink into it.

His breath hitched, and so did yours, the warmth of his touch pooling through your fabric like you swallowed an ember, and his eyes, god his eyes, the darkest green, you don't even have to look up to be convinced about it again, all on you, as he murmured, barely a whisper.

"Don't be sorry, because it didn't mean anything."

Sitting in his car with the seat warmer already on like he remembered how easily cold you can get, watching as he pulled up your adress from his "saved", it fucked with your heart all over again.

You should have protested, insisting you were fine enough to make it out on your own, scoffing when the nurse told Quinn, not you, that you needed monitoring, just in case.

But exhaustion had already settled too deep in your bones, that you were almost thankful for the silence settling between you since he helped walking you out and insisted to drive you home at least.

Almost.

You would’ve been the biggest fool alive if you let this slip again, like you always did, like you always regretted.

"I am sorry though."

"And I told you not to be."

The darkness in his eyes gave way to the streetlights flickering through them as you turned to face him, "You don’t get to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be sorry for, Hughes", you jested and Quinn huffed out something close to a laugh, shaking his head lightly. The soft glow from outside looked too good on him when you stopped at a right light, you swallowed hard, "What kind of brother would I be too?"

You groaned, rolling your eyes. "Oh my god, stop. I didn’t even mean to put you down as my contact."

"Keep it, I don't mind."

"You say that like you wouldn’t have blocked my number by now if you had the chance."

Quinn smirked, tilting his head against the headrest, his eyes flickering toward you. "Would’ve done it already if I wanted to."

Then, before either of you could think too much about it, his hand reached out, his pinky brushing against yours on the center console, like testing the waters, like answering more questions without words. It was enough.

He squeezed your hand once.

You squeezed back. An answer.

[blushsturns]

can you write like either a blurb / new series on bsf matt x inexperienced reader? not necessarily like she’s innocent but more like she’s just never done anything, and he like teaches her everything and stuff

bsf!matt x inexperienced!reader ♡ lessons

warnings: this work contains explicit content, but it is all consensual! m!receiving, f!receiving, pet names, pure filth.

w/c: 6307

you and matt have been best friends for as long as you can remember. he was always there for you, no matter what. nick and chris were your best friends too, but you always had a special place in your heart for matt. he understood you, listened to your feelings, spent time with you, and always protected you. people always assumed you two were dating because you were just that close. the bond you two had was impeccable and so special to you. 

when you got your heart broken, matt was there to pick up the pieces. he’d hold you tight, remind you that you deserved so much better, and find ways to make you feel better like having a movie night or going for a late-night drive to get the greasiest, indulging fast food to help soothe your soul. 

little did he know, matt didn’t even have to try very hard. just by being around him, you felt safe and secure. you always wondered what it would be like to be loved by him. sure, he loved you, but you always assumed he looked at you as his girl best friend and nothing more. when those thoughts would arise, you’d push them to the back of your head. 

friday night you had a date with a guy that your friend set you up with. you really didn’t want to go, but you’ve already put it off two times before and couldn’t get it out of this time. you were worried because you haven’t dated very much. sure, you’ve had a couple boyfriends, but they all weren’t right for you and ended up breaking your heart in the process. your last boyfriend got fed up with you because he complained that you didn’t ‘put out’ like other girls and didn’t satisfy his needs. it really took a toll on your confidence. 

it’s not that you were innocent. you knew all about sex and foreplay, you’ve been kissed before and you knew what to do when it came to sexual endeavors, but the problem was how to do it all. maybe you were inexperienced and that was your problem when it came to relationships. 

an idea popped into your head when you were hanging out with matt. you were lying next to him in his bed and watching a movie on his tv, but your mind wasn’t focused on the screen in front of you. “hey, matt?” you broke the silence, turning your body onto your side to look over at him, biting gently onto your bottom lip in a nervous manner. 

he immediately turned his head away from the screen to look over at you, his eyebrow furrowed up as he stared at you, his ocean blue eyes focused solely on you now. “what is it, ladybug?”

the nickname he gave you always caused your cheeks to turn a bright shade of pink and butterflies to roam in your tummy and you weren’t sure why. it’s not like this was the first time he’s called you that, or that it had any other meaning behind it. you flashed him a small smile, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, blowing a tiny raspberry out past your lips. “well, i was wondering if i could ask you something?”

he was really curious now as he grabbed the remote and paused the movie so that there wasn’t any distractions. he’d rather pay attention to you, anyway. “you can ask me anything.”

matt could tell you were nervous to ask him as you bit onto your bottom lip again, staring directly at him with your cheeks flushed. “well, you’ve had sex and done sexual things with girls, right? how was the experience?” 

he nearly choked on his own spit in surprise at your sudden questions, sitting up now onto the bed, his attention fully and directly on you. he wondered why you were randomly asking him these kinds of questions since it was out of the ordinary and not usually something you discuss as friends. “ladybug, why are you asking me these questions?”

you let a soft sigh emit from your lips before blowing another raspberry past your lips, placing a strand of your hair over your ear as you tried your best to keep your eyes locked onto matt. he looked baffled at the fact that you’d ask him such questions because you’ve never done anything like it before “well, i’m curious. i have a date on friday and i’m nervous.” you chewed onto your bottom lip for a moment before speaking again. “my past relationships never worked out and i never felt confident, like sexually with them. i’m thinking i might need some tips.”

your cheeks were extremely hot at this point and felt as if they could stay a permanent pink color that had tinted all over your cheeks. you looked at him the entire time, trying to read his facial expressions. he looked completely surprised at the sudden twist in conversation but also seemed quite curious at the same time. 

“and you want tips from me?” he pointed to himself as if he didn’t already know the answer. you nodded your head, a soft giggle emitting from your lips. “yes, silly. who else would i feel comfortable asking? i was wondering if you could maybe show me a couple things. just so i can be prepared for this friday.” you bit down onto your bottom lip again as you awaited his reply. sometimes it was really hard to read matt, even with his body language or facial expressions.

he looked like he was pondering this for a moment before finally speaking up. “okay, i’ll help you but only because i care about you and want the best for you. i’ll kick a guy’s ass if they hurt my ladybug ever again, got it?”

another soft giggle emitted from your lips at his words, nodding your head a little too eagerly, but you couldn’t help it. excitement rolled through you, but also a bit of nervousness. you knew what you were asking of him, and you hoped it wouldn’t ruin the amazing friendship and bond that you both have built to last a lifetime. “can we..start now? i was thinking maybe you can let me know if i’m a good kisser?”

you really semed to pique matt’s interest now. his eyes averted down to your lips, licking his own lips, before looking back up into your eyes, a taunting smile appearing onto his lips. “okay, that can be arranged. c’mere.” he motioned for you to scoot closer to him on the bed, his smile only widening by the second.

even though this was your idea entirely, your heart rate began to quicken with nervousness running throughout your entire body. you nodded your head at his command, scooting closer to him and immediately settling into his lap, wrapping your legs around him comfortably. your pajama shorts rose up slightly to expose more of your thighs, your hands pressed against his chest. you giggled softly as you stared up at him, noticing his cheeks were also becoming slightly flushed at the sudden position you both were in. “hi.” 

“so, this is actually happening.” matt said right away, a soft laugh leaving his own lips as he moved his hands to place firmly against your hips and squeezed gently. “hi, ladybug. okay, well if you’re ready i’ll show you how it should feel when a boy is kissing you and what to do that will drive ‘em crazy.” 

you nodded your head at his instructions, your cheeks still violently warm as you moved one of your hands to place against his broad shoulder. your hand pressed firmly against it, a shaky breath leaving your lips. “yes, please.” 

his lips curved up into a devilish smirk, moving one of his hands to place his index finger underneath your chin, your eyes immediately locking together in an intense gaze. your heart was already beating rapidly out of your chest, and you were so sure that not only could he feel it, but he could hear it too. “move your other hand here.” he took ahold of your hand that was in your lap and placed it on his other shoulder to keep you steady on his lap. 

before you even had any more time to process what was happening, you felt matt’s lips press firmly against yours causing a soft gasp to emit from your lips. it took a couple seconds for your brain to actually register what was happening considering this was your best friend in the whole entire world. you eventually settled into the kiss with your eyes fluttering closed and pressing your lips back against his deeply. your hands stayed rested onto his shoulders, the pads of your thumbs rubbing slow circles against his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt. butterflies roamed in your tummy at the feeling of his lips against yours, electricity running throughout your veins. 

it’s weird, you’ve never had this kind of feeling before with anyone else you kissed. it was a good feeling. more than good, actually. he pressed his lips a little deeper onto yours, a soft hum emitting from his lips throughout the kiss which almost drove you absolutely insane. you melted into him, moving your arms to wrap around his neck to pull him impossibly closer, your fingers now tangling into his tousled brunette locks. he hummed again, his tongue tracing your bottom lip which caused a soft gasp to emit from your lips. you immediately parted your lips to allow his tongue to enter your mouth, your tongues now colliding together slowly and teasingly causing a soft whimper to leave your lips. 

you couldn’t control the sounds that were spilling from your mouth, and matt didn’t seem to mind it. complete opposite actually considering his hand was now moving down your back to your ass and used the back of his palm to push your ass up into him. another gasp emitted from your lips as he pushed your hips into his and you instantly felt his hardening bulge through the fabric of his sweatpants. this was like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and it left you hungry for more. 

your tongues fought together in a dominant battle as he used both hands to place onto your ass, continuing to encourage you to grind your hips against his hardened cock. you allowed him to push your hips into his, loving the feeling of his hands on your ass and the feeling of his cock hardening and twitching against you. matt really knew what he was doing, and it was such a turn on to see. you knew that matt has been with other girls before, but fuck, he really knew what he was doing and how to get a girl going.

you could feel your arousal dampening your panties through the thin material of your shorts as his hardening cock continued to push up into your center. you were the first one to pull away to catch your labored breathing, a soft whimper emitting from your lips at the friction of your hips circling against him. you opened up your eyes to stare down at him with rosy cheeks, your hips stilling but pressed firmly down against his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants that you wish could just fly off him this very second. your heartbeat rapidly in your chest, immediately biting down onto your bottom lip in a nervous manner, still tasting his lips against yours. “wow.” you breathed out, a tiny giggle emitting from your lips. “that was..wow. you really know how to make a girl feel good, even from just a kiss.”

his lips curved up into a slight smirk, his hands gripping your ass once more, his fingers kneading into your flesh through the thin material of your pajama shorts. “not just any kiss. a full on makeout session. can you feel how excited i got?” 

your eyes moved down to the front of his sweatpants, noticing his evident, prominent bulge through the material. he was fucking huge. without even thinking, you moved one of your hands down to press against it, watching it twitch underneath your touch with a soft grunt coming from the back of matt’s throat. you nodded your head at his question, your lips curving up into a daunting smile. “this is all from kissing me, matty?”

he nodded his head confidently, moving one of his hands to grip your face with force causing you to gasp in surprise at the sudden movement. your lips were inches apart, his hot and heavy breath lingering against your lips as he murmurs, “damn right it is. what are you gonna do about it?”

your eyes widened in surprise at his words with your hand still pressed against his cock through the fabric, feeling him twitch against your hand. knowing that he got this hard for you and you only were such a turn on. your panties were pretty much soaked now with your own arousal, your breath hitching as your own breath lingers against his lips. “you want me to take care of you?” you asked shyly, biting onto your bottom lip once again.

he nods his head confidently, his lips curving up into a sly smirk. “yes, ladybug. think you can do that for me? i’ll walk you through the steps. you’re learning, remember?”

after the intoxicating kiss that you just had with your best friend, you had completely forgot that you were doing all this for a reason. for another boy. you don’t know why that made the pit of your stomach feel unnerved, but you decided to push that to the back of your head and focus on the task at hand. even though this was matt, your best friend, you were a little worried. any time that a boy would ask you to touch them or go down on them, you’d make any excuse in the book. your favorite one was that you played hard to get and liked to build suspense for each and every time you hung out. eventually, they caught on to your excuses and didn’t want to deal with it anymore. it was sad that boys only seemed to want one thing, but you wanted to be prepared.

you nodded your head, your breath caught in your throat. your fingers danced along the outline of his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants, his cock twitching at the sensation. “i can do it. just tell me what to do.” 

he hissed through his teeth at the feeling of your fingers tracing over his hardened cock, pushing his hips up slightly into your touch, looking up at you with lust and desire filling his gaze. you’ve never seen him like this before and you were loving every second of it. “well, you can start by getting these pants off me.” he let out a soft chuckle, moving his hand to grab onto yours to pull it up towards the hem of his pants. 

your shaky hands helped him tug his sweatpants off his body, unhooking your legs from his waist so he could shimmy his way out of them and kicking the onto the floor. he was left in his boxers, his hardened cock restraining against the fabric. you were extremely nervous, but also excited. this was matt, your best friend. you felt comfortable and safe with him and glad that he was the first one you were doing this with. 

while on your knees next to him, you looked up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster up. “you’re so big, matty. i had no idea.” your fingers shakily move to slide between the waistband of his boxers and immediately began tugging them down and off his legs. an immediate gasp escaped your lips at the sight of him. he was fucking huge. your mouth practically watered and you could feel your center begin to throb at the sight. “shit.” you muttered out as you stared at him, licking over your lips in a hungry motion. his cock was really fucking nice, the tip of it already leaking a bit of pre-cum.

“like what you see, baby?” he smirked up at you as his cock sprang free, the cold air causing a slight hiss to leave his lips. you nodded your head slowly, a small smile creeping up onto your face. you watched as he spit into his hand and began to lather up his cock with his own hand from the base to the tip as he smeared the pre-cum that was coated there.

“so tell me what to do.” you ask him innocently, biting gently onto your bottom lip.

“wrap your hand around it like this.” he grabbed your hand and immediately wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, your fingers locking around it. his cock immediately twitched at the feeling of your hand finally against his flesh as he let out a soft grunt. “fuck, yeah, like that. then you can begin pumping at it. don’t be afraid to add some extra pressure.”

his words were reassuring and helped calm you as you listened to everything he said. you nodded your head as your hand began to pump his cock up and down slowly as you gripped him a little tighter like he commanded. you must’ve been doing it right because he immediately threw his head back against the pillow, a satisfied grunt leaving the back of his throat. “fuck, just like that. such a good girl.” he cooed proudly.

you felt the confidence building up inside of you at his words and watching his reactions. he seemed to be enjoying it which meant you weren’t so bad at it after all. you continued to pump his cock at a steady pace, moving your hand up each and every time and circling your thumb along the tip to gather more of the pre-cum and lather it along his cock. he angled his head towards you to watch you, his ocean blue eyes visibly darker with desire filling his gaze. 

watching him like this was only turning you on even more. you could feel your own arousal coating your panties, your center throbbing as you let out a soft whimper. you could begin to rut your hips against the bed for friction, but you wanted to focus solely on matt and the task at hand in front of you. “i’m doing it, ain’t i? do you feel good, matty?”

he nods his head at you, his vision hazy and filled with lust. “yeah, baby. just a little faster and you can squeeze harder. you won’t hurt me. feels s’good, promise.” he reassured you as he sat up slightly with his elbow propped up onto the bed, moving his other hand up to place a strand of your hair over your ear.

you lean into his touch for a brief moment before immediately getting back to it; wrapping your hand around his cock tighter, giving him a harder squeeze as you continued to pump him in your hand steadily. this elicited some drawled-out moans from matt, his hand moving over to your chest and immediately began to grasp your breast through the material of your tank top. your nipple hardened at the feel of his hand against you, the pad of his thumb instantly finding your hardened nipple and began to circle it in slow, circular motions causing a soft sigh to emit from your lips. 

as good as he made you felt, you couldn’t get distracted and had to make sure you were fully satisfying him. without hesitation, you leaned down to swipe your tongue along the tip of his cock, your hand still wrapped around the base of it. matt’s eyes widened in surprise at your sudden movement, placing both of his elbows on the bed now to keep himself propped up. “what are you-“

you look up at him as you hear the surprise in his tone, flashing him a small smile before flicking your tongue against his tip once again to get a taste; the salty taste of his pre-cum now coating your tongue. “just guide my head if you have to. i wanna try everything. is that okay?”

“it’s more than okay, sweetheart. fuck, such a good girl.” he grunted his words out, moving one of his hands over to run his fingers throughout your hair. 

you flashed him another grin before moving your head back down and immediately parting your lips to take the tip of his cock between them, your eyes closing shut. you weren’t completely clueless. you’ve seen porn, you’ve read stories. you knew the basics; you’ve just never done it in person before. not until now. 

matt groaned at the feeling of your mouth on him, his fingers running throughout your hair as he watched you the entire time. he was in absolute awe of you and couldn’t look away. you kept your hand wrapped around the base of his cock as you hollowed out your cheeks and began to take his cock down your throat, inch by inch until you felt the tip hit the back of your throat causing your eyes to water and you began to gag slightly. you pulled away a bit to relax, a couple of tears spilling down your cheeks from your mouth being so full and your damn gag reflux. “are you okay?” matt asked in worrisome tone, his hand pulling on your head with a bit of force to pull you off him to get you to look at him.

you immediately nodded your head, taking in a deep and shaky breath, a string of saliva at the corner of your lips. “just trying to figure it out. i’ll get it. promise.” 

he nodded his head, running his fingers throughout your hair to make you feel reassured and relax you. “just don’t push yourself, ladybug. you’re doing amazing. i promise.”

you flashed him a reassuring smile, nodding your head before positioning yourself more comfortably in front of him on your knees as his cock twitched against hand. you leaned down once again, your tongue rolling along the tip of his cock before dragging you tongue down his shaft to the underside of his cock across his veins. your eyes darted up as you heard his pretty moans, his head thrown back onto his shoulders. his cheeks were flushed, and his chest was heaving up and down. 

your hand gripped the base of his cock tightly as you suddenly leaned down once again to take his cock in between your lips once again and down your throat. you started off slow this time, hollowing your cheeks to get enough room as you began to bob your head in a slow motion. matt groaned loudly, his fingers tugging your hair with force now to keep your head directly onto his cock, not that you were going anywhere anytime soon.

you relaxed your throat muscles as you began to bob your head with a bit more speed. each time you came up to the top, your tongue would dart across the tip of his cock causing his hips to jerk up against your mouth and making your head move back down onto his length. “fuck, such a good girl f’me.” he groaned out breathlessly, tugging onto your head to keep it in place. 

your own pussy throbbed at the feeling and taste of his cock in your mouth, but you weren’t focused on your needs right now at all. you just wanted to satisfy matt and possibly get him to cum down your throat. you continued to bob your head up and down against his length, your hand squeezing the base tightly as you looked up at him through your eyelashes for his reactions. he looked so fucking beautiful, and you weren’t sure how you could have anyone else’s cock down your throat if they weren’t your best friend’s. 

you could tell he was getting close. his cock twitched inside of your mouth, causing a soft whimper to leave your lips. he rutted his hips up into your mouth, causing your mouth to take more of him into your mouth. your eyes watered as you blinked them and allowed the tears to fall down your cheeks, bobbing your head at a faster pace. “fuck. i’ gonna cum baby. you might wanna pull away unless you want me to cum down your pretty throat.” he warned you, his fingers still tugging onto your hair to keep your head in place. 

“want to.” you said breathlessly when you pulled away for a moment to catch your breath, a string of salvia hanging from the corner of your mouth. “need the practice.” you muttered before immediately sinking your head back down against his cock, bobbing your head up and down against him at a steady pace and allowing the tip to graze the back of your throat causing muffled moans to leave your lips against his cock.

his cock twitched repeatedly into your mouth, a string of moans fell from matt’s lips as he shouted out that he was about to cum. before you knew it, sticky, salty ropes of cum shot inside of your mouth and down your throat as your head was being tugged on to be held in place as he rutted his hips up into your face, loud groans leaving the back of his throat. he emptied his load down your throat, soft moans leaving your lips and muffling against his cock.

once he released your head from his spent cock, you pulled away and immediately swallowed what was inside of your mouth, licking over your lips before flashing him a devious smirk. “that doesn’t taste so bad at all.” you cooed at him, a soft giggle leaving your lips. a bit of cum was still present at the corner of your lip and matt immediately used the pad of his thumb to wipe it away. your heart was beating rapidly in your chest and your jaw ached now, but it was well worth it. especially by the look on matt’s face, he was spent, blissed out, and extremely proud of you. 

“fuck, ladybug. you did that. you fucking did that. you were incredible.” he flashed you a tired, but extremely proud grin. he moved his hand to run throughout your hair once again. “i think it’s time that i return the favor. what do you think, hm?”

your cheeks were completely flushed as you stayed perched on your knees, feeling your own arousal soaking your panties through the fabric. just by tasting him, touching him, getting him off made you incredibly turned on and your heart continues to beat rapidly in your chest at the thought of how amazing matt probably is at making a girl feel good. “i’ve never had anyone-“

he cut you off with his index finger immediately pressed to your lips, his words coming out soft and reassuring. “i’ll show you how a real man should make a girl feel. you just relax, okay?”

you nodded your head at him, excitement and nervousness rolling through you. he motions for you to lay back against the bed with your head hitting the pillow. matt immediately spreads your legs open with the palms of his hands, positioning himself in front of you. you stared at him, your cheeks permanently flushed at this point and biting gently onto your bottom lip. he used the pads of his thumbs to caress your inner thighs, circling them in a slow motion, causing your body to relax against the mattress. 

his hand traveled up from your inner thigh to the hem of your pajama shorts and began tugging them down your body and allowing them to fall off the bed. you were left in your soaked panties and thin tank top, your cheeks only warming up even more by the second. he stared at you longingly, a slight smirk tugging onto his own lips. “absolutely beautiful. i can tell how soaked you are, baby.”

you cover your face with your hands to try and hide, a soft groan leaving your lips and you try to close your legs, but matt immediately spreads them again before pulling your hands away from your face and placing his hands in yours. his face was inches apart from yours, his eyes staying locked onto yours with intensity filling his gaze. “you’re beautiful. you don’t have to hide, it’s just me.” 

his words were reassuring and comforting and all you could do was nod your head, your lips curving up into a shy smile. “i trust you.” you murmured softly.

he smirked at you, his eyes staying locked onto yours for a brief moment before pulling his gaze towards your center. he used the pad of his thumb to begin circling your clit through the fabric of your lacy panties, causing a soft gasp to emit from your lips. 

you’ve touched yourself many times before, but having someone else touch you was a completely different experience. he slowly slid your underwear over to the side to expose your soaking wet pussy, causing a shudder to run down your spine from the cold air hitting against you. his breath hitched as he stared down at you, licking over his lips in a hungry motion, a soft hum emitting from his lips. “so pretty, baby.” he spoke softly, his middle finger running up and down your dripping folds, his finger immediately coated with your arousal. “so fuckin’ wet.”

you moaned softly at the feeling of his finger against you, biting gently onto your bottom lip to try and contain your moans, but you knew it would be impossible. you looked down to watch matt as he positioned himself in front of you, so he was directly in front of your soaking wet pussy, his mouth practically drooling at the sight. his finger continued to run up and down your soaking wet folds, dipping his finger into slightly into your hole to gather the slick before pulling his finger back up, lazily rubbing your clit in slow circles. “f-feels good.” you breathed out, your gaze never pulling from his movements. you felt your heartbeat picking up once he dipped his finger right back into your tight entrance. you used his free hand to slip underneath the back of your thigh to pull you even impossibly closer against his face. 

“i’m gonna taste you and use my fingers, okay ladybug? tell me how it feels.” he looked up at you for your approval and all you could think to do was nod your head, your brain cloudy and foggy and unable to comprehend anything else but matt and the way he made you feel. he slid your underwear off you so that they wouldn’t be in the way and allowing them to fall onto the ground with the midst of clothes already piled there.

he slowly slipped his finger deeper inside of your tight pussy as you immediately clenched around the single digit causing a soft groan to leave his lips. you watched him the entire time, his focus intently on you and making sure that you felt good. your brain was clouded, your body was floating, and your heart was pounding incredibly fast. you’ve fingered yourself before to experiment and get a feel for what it would actually feel like, but you already could tell the difference. this was even better.

his finger immediately was coated with your slick arousal as he began to pump it in and out of your tight entrance, causing a low moan to leave your lips. without hesitation, he slipped his ring finger inside of you as well, causing a soft gasp to escape your lips at the sudden fullness. the sounds of your slick arousal coating his fingers with each and every thrust echoed throughout the room, and this was probably could’ve embarrassed you from how fucking soaked you were, but all you could focus on was how good it felt.

he tilted his wrist with his palm facing out to slide his fingers even deeper inside of your gummy walls causing your head to throw back against the pillow, louder moans leaving your lips. “oh fuck!” you cried out in ecstasy, pushing your hips up slightly as you felt every inch of his fingers pumping into you. 

just when you thought the pleasure was already intense, he leaned down and immediately flicked his tongue along your clit repeatedly before taking it between his lips and sucking onto it, a soft moan leaving his lips and muffling against you. you gasp out in pleasure, instantly extending your arm out to find the top of his head and grabbing a fistful of his hair, moans falling from your lips.

he moaned against you as the sweet taste of your arousal coated his tongue, his fingers still pumping in and out of you at a steady pace, going deeper and harder with each and every thrust as his tongue swiped across your clit repeatedly. he looked up at you through his motions for your reactions, your eyes opening to lock them with his and the sight of him between your legs was such a fucking turn on. you’ve always wondered what it would be like to be eaten out, and holy shit, this didn’t disappoint.

he used the command motion with his fingers inside of you to hit your sweet spot, his tongue rolling around your swollen nub causing you to gasp out breathlessly, “so so close!” you were so close to approaching your orgasm and you had no idea it was even possible to feel this immense amount of pleasure at one time, if at all. 

matt moaned again against your pussy that muffled against you, his tongue tracing up and down your slick, his fingers repeatedly hitting your sweet spot causing you to let out breathy moans. he pulled away only for a moment, licking over his lips as your arousal coated his lips and his chin. “cum f’me, pretty girl. come on. wanna taste you on my tongue.”

his words were the final straw. your fingers tugged into his hair harshly to keep his head still on your pussy as you let out a string of profanities and moans, pushing your hips up into his as the fire coursed throughout your veins, white stars dancing along your eyelids, your free hand gripping against the bed sheet. “fuck, matty. g-gonna cum!” your gummy walls immediately clenched around his fingers tightly as you came around his fingers and tongue. your sweet arousal coated his tongue, his fingers that were still pumping inside of you helping you rock through your orgasm. 

he moaned against you, his tongue lapping up your arousal. your swollen nub became overly sensitive very fast, a soft groan leaving your lips as you try to push his head away from your center while you come down from your intense high. he pulled away from you, his eyes opening as he stared up at you with a satisfied smirk on his face, licking over his lips to get the remainder of your arousal that had glistened upon his lips. he slid his fingers out of your tight heat, causing you to whimper at the sudden loss of contact. he got up onto his knees in front of you, his eyes staying locked onto yours the entire time. you watched his every move with your arousal coating his fingers as ran his tongue along his fingers to clean them, humming softly at the delectable taste of you. “so so sweet, for such a sweet girl.” 

your cheeks were extremely warm, a soft giggle emitting from your lips as you tried to control your heavy breathing. your mind was still foggy from your intense orgasm, your center now sore from the intensity of it all. it was well worth it, though.

you always knew matt would be fucking amazing at things like this and he exceeded every expectation. “wow.” you breathed out, another laugh emitting from your lips. “that was..wow.”

he let out a soft chuckle at your words, his lips curving up into a slight smirk at your reaction. “so, how do you think the lessons went?”

“absolutely incredible.” you said almost instantly, scooting up onto the bed and looking up at him with a small smile. “do you have any more lessons for me?”

he nodded his head at your words, his lips curving up into a wider smirk as he places his index finger against your chin to keep your eyes locked together, your breath hitching in your throat as your lips linger together. his hot and heavy breath falls against your lips as he whispers, “well how about this. take what i have taught you for now and use what you want with it with your own discretion, but don’t have sex with this guy, okay? save that for me and only me. got it?” 

you had almost forgot all about the guy you had a date with on friday. the entire reason why all of this had happened in the first place. you nodded your head slowly, flashing him a small, innocent smile. “are you saying you wanna be my first, matty?”

he moved his head down to begin pressing soft kisses to the crook of your neck, a soft hum emitting from his lips. your eyes fluttered closed, your head tilting up slightly, a content sigh leaving your lips. “fuck yeah i do. i think you got me hooked, ladybug.”

how the hell could you go on a date with another guy after this? 

taglist:

@sturnshood @strangelife122 @jessie-essie @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturnslutz @sturns-mermaid @matthewsturnsgf @christmastreecake @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @oopsiedaisydeer @sophand4n4 @xclusivedesires @mattsplaything @katiebug3851 @poppingmypussy4chris @mattsbunnyxx @pair-of-pantaloons @chrissweetheart @slutformatt17 @sturnl0ve @pasteldreams @h3arts4harry @marrykisskilled @wh0remikasas @sturnzslut @camzeecorner @alesturniolos @emely9274 @2muchofaslvt @y3sterdaysproblem @sturnslux3 @bowsandsturniolos @moustacherryismyhusband @rafesapprentice @ivysturnss @headzgonewest @strawberryghost3 @il0vey0um0st @violetstxrniolo777 @bigbeefybitch @raesturns @courta13 @sofieeeeex @tylerthecreatorsglazr @sturniolochrismatt

a/n:

thank you for the request! if you have any more requests or just wanna talk, hit up my inbox! :)

-nessa ღ

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine injured reader with the 141!

Camera Guy! au, female reader

Masterlist

Previous -

Imagine Reader! For whatever reason needs to get to the emergency department and they're overseas on deployment.

Reader! being completely calm, insisting they're fine. Soap was also calm, driving the rest of the squad in a large sedan. Gaz and Price are somewhat nervous, they both keep trying to look at you in the front mirror. (you're sitting in the passenger seat.) Ghost is silent, tapping his foot.

Reader! putting on music, saying they want to calm down. (It's really for Gaz and Price.)

‘You alright sweetheart?’ Kyle asks, his voice low and soothing.

‘Yeah I'm alright! Kinda hungry though, can we stop at McDonald's?’ Reader! blinks through the front mirror with hopeful eyes.

Ghost quickly shuts down her idea.

‘After you get to the emergency room I'll drive back to find you some nuggets but not a moment before.’

Reader! can almost hear the frown in his voice.

Imagine Reader! ends up having a fractured bone and not even realising it.

‘It just hurts a little when I touch it. It isn't particularly painful if I ignore it.’ She pouts, not liking being around so many people.

‘Can I go home now sir?’ Reader! gives the nurse her best puppy eyes while the rest of the task force glares at him.

However the nurse ignores them all and just smiles down at her and says,

‘Sorry lovie you'll need to get an X ray and then see a doctor. For now, would you like some Panadol?’

Reader! shakes her head, not wanting to have it in her system just in case.

‘We coulda done this at the base if we were at home.’ Ghost grumbles, his foot tapping rhythmically. It was the only tell that displayed his nervousness.

‘I’m fine LT!’ Reader! sighs. She throws a used tissue at him that he catches. Ghost looks at it and then makes a grimace and underarms it to Kyle who catches it gracefully and throws it into the bin.

‘So you guys are in the military?’ The nurse makes small talk, not intimidated by the men.

‘Something like that!’ Reader! smiles, knowing that they can't divulge sensitive information.

The nurse nods slowly,

‘Have you guys?...’

‘She has a higher body count than you think.’ Soap chirps up mischievously.

‘Johnny!’ Reader! protests, throwing her empty paper cup at him.

‘He doesn't mean sex.’ She quickly gives an explanation. (The nurse is now more concerned that she said this.)

‘Okay!’ He drags out. ‘Well, we’ll get you into a wheelchair and then you can get X-rayed!’ he rushes through the rest of his sentence and then walks away briskly.

‘I think he's nice!’ Reader! is completely oblivious to the fact that he was interested in her but is now terrified.

‘I think he likes you Johnny!’ Reader! grins, to everyone's confusion.

‘Sure love, do you want nuggets and fries or a burger?’ Ghost quickly changes the conversation.

‘Hmm can I have my usual?’ She fiddles with the hem of her clothing.

‘Aite. Anyone else?’ He grunts.

‘I’ll come with ye. Want some fresh fries.’ Soap stands, patting your shoulder.

Reader! grins and asks, ‘Do you want me to get his number for you?’ in a completely genuine tone.

‘No! No.. that's okay!.’ Johnny blurts out, eyes wide. The rest of the guys are stifling giggles.

‘Aw okay, he’ll be disappointed though I'm sure.’ Reader! mumbles.

Reader! ends up getting out in a small cast and is told to not lift anything heavy and rest for two weeks. Price and Ghost end up taking care of her while Soap and Kyle end up cooking. When everyone is flown back home, the team makes sure you don't have to do more than your usual work load. (You still have to do the bare minimum. You're an independent girl!)

-----

A/N: Cooked this bas boy up while I was waiting on the Emergency Department 😂✋

[tinkeraroha]

I will now actually answer VERY SINGLE QUESTION OF THIS XD

also i wrote this in an interview type style... you can also read this on my AO3 .... this is over 5000 words long gods help me ...........

Name: Ashryn De Riva 

Pronouns: They/She /Her 

Race: Elven 

Faction: An Antivan Crow

Class: Mage

Specialization: Spellblade

Before The Veilguard

Where was Rook born? Who were their childhood family and friends? What did they spend their free time doing as a child? What did they want to be when they “grew up” if anything.

A: Uff good first question. Well, as far as I know I was born somewhere in Antiva, I don't really know where as I didn't really stay there for a long time. As a kid I didn't really have friends, like before I became a crow. I had other problems than who I should play with at the time. My mother was my only blood family I knew as she was taken with me. She was a slave for a Powerful Mage, and if I had to name a friend during that time I would say the stable boy, he was also a dalish captive but I heard he had been sold from Tevinter , or was he a present I don't really remember … He was the one I could talk with and he hid me more than once when the Mages son was looking for me. What I wanted to be when I grew up? Mmmh another good question, free maybe? ( she laughs) No, I wanted to be powerful and able to help others. Actually I wanted to be Crow, I  heard from the other slaves that there were those dark Asassines who would kill if you paid them enough. I actually used to save up any coin I could find, or steal, to pay them one day. In the end I didn't even save up enough to buy a loaf of fresh bread.( laughs again)

Where and how was Rook educated? What did they enjoy learning; what did they dislike learning? Who did they admire most? Who was an example of what not to do or be?

A: My Mother, bless her , tried her best to teach me things. Thanks to her I actually still speak elven, well to some extent. My magic abilities showed very early. I was still a little kid, maybe around the age of 7 or eight, so she also tried to teach me about those things even though she didn't have any magic gifts. She always said I got that from her father. The other slaves also tried to teach us young ones. I  snuck into the attic often, from there you could hear the teacher of the Mages son ramble for hours, while his student fell asleep most of the time. 

How did they experience gender as a young person? Did they grow up in an environment of strict gender roles and expectations or were they allowed to be themselves? 

A: I  never actively thought about being anything other than a woman, I am what I am and I like it. But I don't really care as to how people call me, okay maybe ‘he’ just doesn't fit with me but if they want to people can call me ‘they’ as well. ( shrugged) I don't really care. 

My mother wasn't really strict about gender, she always said being me was enough. She even kind of adopted another young slave who had been shunned by the others, as she identified herself as a female, despite being born a male. Gods did I hate that girl, not because of this obviously but she wasn't the nicest person, when the adults were not around. 

What was their take on sexuality as a young person? Did they experiment with romance or find it entirely uninteresting?

A:  Again never actually thought about it. I liked men as a kid … tho I never had a puppy love or how you call it… And after I joined the crows as a fledgling I started to notice how I felt for women ( shrugges ). I used to flirt with Teia as a  young one just to annoy Viago, and I had a bit of a crush on her , but please don't tell him that. I want to live for a bit longer.

What was their take on spirituality as a young person? Did they grow up around one particular religion and if so how did that affect their beliefs?

A: I was fascinated by the veil and the fade as a kid. Loved to study on Spirits and things like that, so I would say I was fond of Spirits… oh you mean spirituality like religion… mmmmh i grew up with both elven gods and the maker. My mother taught me the tales of our ancestors and I loved hearing them. And the crows showed me the beliefs of the Maker. But I associate myself more with the elven beliefs I would say. 

What childhood fear(s) did Rook carry with them into adulthood?

A: It's not really a fear but… I can't really swim that well, which is ironic when you think about where I grew up but the mage that owned me had this spell… Made you feel like you were drowning so I never went deeper than knee deep water till I was what? Like 17? 

How did Rook become involved with their chosen faction? Who did they meet first, and how, and where, and why did they join up?

this is gonna take a while ( laughs) the first Crow I ever got to meet was Viago… I am not surprised as he is my house's Talon and something like my older brother, which he would never under any circumstances admit. I met him at a job of his.  Okay maybe i have to further explain that. I met him after I ruined his contract by killing his target , who was also the Slave owning Mage I mentioned before… i dont think I'm actually gonna elaborate on that one, sorry. Let me have a few more secrets or surprises left. ( laughs) 

Was Rook interested in finding a life partner of some kind when they joined their faction? Why? Who were their best friends and how did they meet? Who were their rivals, who did they trust? 

A: Of course I want a live partner, but that's certainly not why I joined the crows. You die alone more often on the job than you find a spouse being an Assassin. Also I was only eleven, boys were disgusting at that age and growing up under Viagos keen eyes… It's a miracle I actually got to meet other beings other than snakes and other poisonous things.  My best friends would actually be Teia and Viago. I know that's lame but its like that. I'm also close with Jacobus now… I hope I'm something to him like Viago was to me. My rivals mmmh all the other fledglings I guess, i don't know. 

Did Rook have any scars or tattoos? What’s the story behind them?

A: I do have a few of either one. My most notable scars are the one on my nose and the one on my cheek up to my eyebrows. The nose one is actually quite embarrassing. I got it sneaking out of the De Riva mension when I was 16 to meet a merchant's son I found… rather interesting. Viago caught me and threw a book after me, hit me right in the face and had me falling off my Balcony…. Right on his Motto being killed by my own stupidity. 

On the cheek that one is fairly new got it fighting the Antaam 1 vs 20 to free their captives. That's how I meet Varric. 

I also have one on my right shoulder and one on my neck that when a fledgling from another house tried to kill me… Got damn near close to it, but let's just say I'm a Crow and he's not. 

For tattoos I have my Vallasin , my mother gave it to me when my Magic began showing,  and I also have a snake on my chest for the way Viago and the De Rivas saved my life. My house tattoo is on my right wrist.

Did Rook ever strongly identify with a particular nationality, city, race, creed, or religion? Is this something they explored on their own or a tradition that was passed down to them? Did this identity evolve as they grew into adulthood?

A: I am an elf, so of course I identify with them. They are my people and my heritage as I said I was born dalish but not raised like them, traditionally. But Antiva and over all Treviso is my home, it's my city, it's my country. I will protect it even if it means going against the rules or losing my life. 

Lightning Round - PREGAME VERSION

Favorite scent: snake babies… don't ask, just smell them. And maybe Thymian 

Favorite food: I love anything with Caramel, also anything with potatoes 

Favorite animal: mmmmh Wolves are pretty neat, maybe mabaris and cats too. Oh and of course Crowds

Favorite book or story: the dreadwolf and the Halla its a tale my mother used to tell 

Favorite drink: Cioccolata calda

Favorite item of clothing: capes 

Favorite keepsake: a little halla statue,  my first dagger 

Favorite place: the diamond 

Favorite person: Teia

Favorite little treat: Caramel drops and cake. 

During The Veilguard (HEAVY SPOILERS BENEATH THE CUT)

Act 1: Signs and Portents

What was Rook’s status with their own faction at the beginning of the game? Why were they recruited by Varric?

A: I was good on the side , I think, okay I pissed them off with the shit I pulled with the Antaam. Tho Teia said she and Vi were a bit proud about me, beating them 20 against 1. Varric recruited me because I freed him, but if you ask him it's because I went against my orders for a greater cause thinking only about the others, not me as I freed them. 

What did Rook think of Varric when they first met? Did Rook support Varric’s choice to confront Solas alone?

A: At first I found him strange, I did know about the Inquisition and heard tales of a dwarf with them but still strange. Funny thing is, I actually own a few of his books. But he grew on me and we made a contract so…

Did Rook take Neve or Harding with them when they went to interrupt the ritual themselves? Why?

A: I took Harding, as a Mage Neve would be more skilled fighting the demons of while we would be a tad more difficult to spot for solas 

How did Rook engage with stories of the elven gods at the beginning of the Veilguard? Were the familiar or strange? Was it disorienting to have them rewritten or did it make no real difference to them?

A: Oh I knew them as I said my mother used to tell me stories about them even my lullaby was about Ghilan'nain and her Halla. 

Having them rewritten as tyrants was…. something. Like a half identity crisis, they are not my whole life like for the Dawlish, but still they are my ancestors' gods.

What was Rook’s instinctive reaction to having Solas in their head and dreams? How did Rook respond when Solas asked them why they should be the one to lead the Veilguard?

A: It was concerning, him using blood magic to speak to me. I wondered if he could read every thought of mine if he could control me. And again he is the Dread Wolf, the god my mother said to love and fear at the same time. He's the trickster of trickster, the one who's neither an forgotten god or an evanuris. 

I answered him directly. There is no use to lying at him, maybe half truths are the way to go. Nobody else would do it, and Varric told me to look after them for him. I'm just a Rook who switched with the king. 

Did Rook think Neve was right about needing more investigation before acting or that Harding was right that there was no time to spare? What made them think that?

A: I was with Harding on this , yes we needed more information but the situation was… Not really time giving. 

What did Rook decide to do with Mayor Julius of D’Meta’s crossing? Why?

A: I saved him, ironically I'm not a murderer , I don't kill if it's not a contract or a necessary thing. He was wrong and the best way to punish him was living with what he had done.

How did Rook react to Harding’s new magic? Were they supportive or wary or a mix of both? 

A: I think magic is a gift and that I told her even though it did make me worried about how she got it. It was something to worry about after..

How did Rook feel among the ancient elven magic and ruins of Arlathan? Did they find Bellara’s work disturbing or fascinating or something else?

A: It was fascinating, very very fascinating. The ruins made me feel small and insignificant in comparison with the history of those places. It felt heavy and rich with tales that were never told and lost in time.

How did Rook feel about working with a bunch of assassins, the Antivan Crows? Were they familiar with the organization, a Crow themselves, or something else? How did they feel about Lucanis, specifically about Lucanis and Spite?

A: I'm a crow so I was excited. I had heard about the Demon of Varentium, but oddly I don't think I have ever met him before. At least I don't remember, maybe at some banquet or something. I find him and spite… fascinating a none mage that was possessed or better to say bonded with a demon without it taking over… fascinating.  And of course I respect him as the first Talons Grandson. He is… powerful to say the least. I do keep my eyes on him… to keep track of Spite of course

  How did Rook feel about the Shadow Dragons? Had they ever been to Minrathous before or just heard stories? How did Neve strike them at first?

A: It's a good organisation fighting for their city and it's good to have a widespread connection for information.  

Neve is competent and powerful. Also she is kind and fights for those who can't fight for themselves.  And her mind, wow it's sharp as a knife and gods that women are charming.

What did Rook think of the Wardens when they met them? The First Warden? Antoine and Evka? Davrin (and his tits)? And of course, the MVP, Assan?

A: I have adored Antione and Evka with my whole life. I have known them for like a day and if anything happens to them I will kill all of Thedas.  The first Warden? He can fuck himself in his metal protected knee. He has to come down from his high horse or he's gonna fall very very deep, in my Knife. 

Davrin is… A blessing of the eyes and mind. He's someone reliable and I think we are gonna be very good friends. 

Assan? That's my kid and I will fight Davrin for it… I love that damn winged cat so much, do you know he can Purr. 

Did Rook choose to help Minrathous or Treviso? Why?

A: Treviso,  it's my city, my home, my people. It was still a hard choice 

How did Rook feel after seeing what happened to the city they couldn’t save? Who did they talk to about it, if anyone, and how did they feel toward Neve and Lucanis in the aftermath?

A: saying I was devastated is the understatement of the Age. Iwas…. In pure shock especially as I saw the Viper blighted it…. It was such a huge decision and only one person made it? That's not fair,  I thought that maybe with the army and the Shadow dragons Minrathous had the biggest chance of keeping themselves safe, how could a single mage do anything more. 

Had Rook ever been to Rivain before? What were their impressions? Did they have any experience with Antaam or Qunari outside the Qun? What did they think of Taash and Shanthann?

A: I've been to Rivain before on a contract on a Pirate. Pretty fun one actually. Oh and I KNEW the Antaam before,  I had seen a few Qunari before, those who fell out of the Qun but aren't Antaam but not too many. For Taash and their mother…. I like Taash, they are a bit hot headed and that comes from me soo… Their mother is odd, too strict about Taash and the Qun about living like a Qunari when she was the one that brought them to Rivain.

What was Rook’s first impression of the Nevarran Necropolis? Were they interested, disturbed, or something else? What did they think of Emmrich and, most importantly, Manfred?

A: I LOVE THE NECROPOLIS.  It's so haunting and spooky while you can learn so many things there. Also Vorgoth is just I love him, them, i don't know. Also Emmrich is just so inspiring and I can learn so much from him. It's so good to have him join us. Manfred is also an enrichment, finally. Someone to play with our little Griffon. Also I don't really drink tea but the tea Manfred makes…. so good. Even though I do have to say it's a bit of a waste of my work , necromancy I mean what does it bring killing someone just so they can be resurrected at a mages will.

What did Rook think of the Inquisitor? Did they become personal friends or did they keep it professional? Who was the Inquisitor’s lover, if any, and did Rook have an opinion of that?

A: The Inquisitor is such A strong person and she is powerful and stunning. We write eachother often and I admire her even more for her strength to keep believing in Solas and the love they share.

At the Siege of Weisshaupt, how did Rook deal with the First Warden and why?

A: I punched that prick's face. Didn't think he would go down with one punch. I mean he's a warrior after all, but he went down like a sack of stones. There was no reasoning with him,  he would have killed way more of the Grey Wardens. 

Act 2: The Price of the Past

How did Rook react to the aftermath of Weisshaupt? Were they sad, angry, scared, all of the above, or something else? Did they blame themselves? Lucanis? The First Warden? Ghilan'nain? Who did they talk to about it, and did they show their true feelings to their companions?

A: I blamed myself, I was the one responsible for the team, I was the one with the most information on the gods…. It was not Lucanis' fault or anyones else's, it was mine. We should have taken her down at Weisshaupt and the guilt we didn't lie with me, the guilt is my burden to bear so no I didn't tell any of the companions…. It's my burden to bear.

Had Rook developed a romantic interest in one of their companions--or someone else!--by the time Weisshaupt fell? If so, were they eager to explore it or afraid to? Why?

A: Okay, I admit it.. I do have hots for Lucanis. Can you blame me? Have you seen this man cook or heard him talk? …. that's better than anything. Also he's just… wow how can he be so careful with us all, so soft around us, helping us, care for us while he's a feared assassin. And also while he's possessed by a literal demon. And no I did not act on it, he has enough things to handle himself and spite. I don't wanna add myself and my one sided feelings to it. Though I did catch myself that I do talk to him more often and that I look at him….. I believe Neve might have caught that. 

Who were Rook’s closest companions, and what did they like about them? Who irritated Rook, if anyone, and how?

A: Most of the time on the road with Lucanis and Bellara, or sometimes Emmerich. I'm closest to those three I would say. Nobody irritates me really, maybe Taash sometimes.. They really need to work on their patience but no one really gets on my nerves 

How did Rook respond to Davrin and Lucanis’s animosity finally boiling over? Were they sympathetic to one or the other or to both?

A: I understand both. Davrin lost so many friends at Weishaupt, the survivor's guilt is eating him alive faster than the blight could. Lucanis is spiraling because of guilt ,  he never missed a shot before he always meets his Target, failing to kill Ghilan'nain is a hard blow for them both,  they needed to let go of that steam.

When Elgar’nan took the Dalish prisoners to use as sacrifices, what was Rook’s first reaction? Were they resolved, raging, sad, or some combination? Did they talk to any of their companions about it?

A: Horror pure Horror,  the way he slaughtered those Halas, the casualty of the Venatori that attended it was gruesome and got my blood boiling. His whole Plan, the dalish everything was just, he may not be as visually shocking as Ghilan´nian but he is so mu=ch worse than her. I will rip his damn heart out of his chest while it is still beating. I talked with Bellara about it for hours after. 

What was Rook’s reaction to The Butcher’s proposition to them in Treviso? Did they respect it, think it was bonkers, or something else? Did they discuss it with any of their companions after the fact?

A: It was weird to say the least but I respect that, kind of.  Treviso is a  jewel and we have to protect it. 

Did Rook express concerns about Illario’s behavior to Lucanis? Did Rook encourage him to punish or to forgive Illario? Did Rook encourage Lucanis to work with Spite to save Catarina or to punish Illario? What were Rook’s impressions of Catarina both before and after her kidnapping? How did Rook feel about Lucanis becoming First Talon?

A: I have to admit,  Illario always made me suspicious,  but in the end I encouraged Luvanis to forgive him, the embarrassment was more than enough. But I will keep a close watch of him… If he tries to pull such a stunt again, I will end him myself. Even if it means Catarina will kill me. 

Of course I encouraged him and Spite to work together to save Catarina , everything else would end in innocent blood being spilled.

Catarina is scary, she wants furst talon for nothing. She's Deadly. I'm glad to never have met her at her Prime and I respect her so much. She raised Lucanis, maybe not fair or lovingly, but he came out right.

Lucanis becoming First Talon, was , wow he's now my boss's boss which is….. concerning feelings wise but also I respect him.  It makes me nervous to tell him what to do. ( laughs)

Did Rook support Bellara in her desire to save Cyrian or did they encourage her to be more forceful in stopping him immediately? Did they encourage her to keep the Nadas Dirthalen or to destroy it?

A: I helped her trying to talk to Cyrian and I cried with her as she held him in Her arms As he died. For the archive I told her to keep it, it holds a lot of knowledge about our people, and now we need something to cling to now after our gods and our beliefs were shattered.

Did Rook encourage the alliance with the Threads in Dock Town? Did they encourage Neve to bring Dock Town hope or to become a darker protector-figure?

A: the threads may be criminals but they certainly care for the city ,  for Neve she's a hope for Dock Town 

What was Rook’s reaction to the revelations about the Titans and the residual anger their downfall and exploitation at the hands of the Evanuris  left behind? Did it change how they felt about Harding’s new powers, and if so, how? Did they encourage Harding to embrace the Titan’s anger or to remember their compassionate side?

A: I felt …. guilt i felt Solas guilt, my ancestors killed hers, they eradicated every single one. I told her she was more than this Anger that her compassionate side was stronger. She may have the blood and memory of the Titans but she still is Harding

How did Rook encourage Davrin to train and interact with Assan? Did they suggest discipline or kindness or some mixture of both? What were Rook’s feelings on seeing the twisted recreation of Weisshaupt, The Profane City? How did the blighted First Warden react to seeing Rook again there? Did Rook decide the griffons should go to the Anderfels with the Wardens or stay in Arlathan as protectors of nature?

A: I will have nightmares about that twisted Weisshaupt. Maybe I should take Lucanis' approach and just not sleep. For the griffons I think it's time they lay down the weapon… they will flourish in Arlathan and Arlathan will flourish through them. For the First Warden, he didn't like me living, he dont like me as blighted.  Still he didn't deserve that ending. 

Davrin and Assan are a team now, kindness and discipline is a good mix for both of them , but let's be fair Assan is going to dance on Davrins nose. 

What did Rook think of Emmrich’s confession that he wanted to attain lichdom? Did their views on necromancy change as they got to know Emmrich and the Mourn Watch better? Did they encourage Emmrich to attain lichdom or to revive Manfred?

A: it's his choice but i would have been sad to see manfred go, which is weird to say as he's a Skeleton but still. Who would play rock, paper scissors with me. And I know that Emmerich would have shattered without his skeleton son, eternity can be lonely just look at Solas. 

How did Taash’s journey to finding themselves strike Rook? What did Rook think of Shathann once they got to know her better? Did that change after her death? Did Rook encourage Taash to embrace their Rivaini culture or to fall back on the strength of their mother’s teachings about the Qun?

A: Taash mother and me never really got along and that's okay, i don't need to be liked by everyone…. i don't even want that. But still i was sad to see her die that way, my heart broke for taash. still i told them to embrace who they are and where they grew up. find strength in happiness of your own.

(If Rook didn’t romance Harding or Taash:) Did Rook encourage Taash to get a gift to express interest in Harding? What was it and why? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

A: Taash bought Harding something for her arrows and hey I love that they get along THAT well ( laughs ) at least some of us are getting some u know what ( laughs even louder)

(If Rook didn’t romance Emmrich:) Did Rook encourage Emmrich to take Strife to the caves or the forest on a date? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

A: This really came out of nowhere to be honest but I like it, even though Strife can be a bit… mean sometimes ( laughs again) the comment about me being a city mage wasn't really necessary but still.  I love that for them they are like my uncles 

How did Rook deal with the friction between Taash and Emmrich? Did they encourage them to find common ground or to talk about other things? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

A: told them to just find a common ground … this little fight was unnecessary, but it also was kind of predictable now they always ramble on about plants

Did Rook romance any of their companions after all? What was that like for them, and how did it happen? Did the other companions have an opinion?

A: Well, ahem ( visibly blushes) me and lucanis are getting along very very well, even spite seems to like me ( laughs) it was actually nice talking to him in Lucanis mind… Even though the circumstances could have been better. For the companions Neve was happy for us both especially seemingly for Lucanis. Harding was also happy but still worried about spite. I think Emmerich is already planning a wedding bouquet and he's getting ready to fight Viago to be the one to bring me to the altar. The others are happy too though Davrin seems the most worried. Oh and the Inquisitor is more than thrilled ( laughs)

Who did Rook feel closest to by the time they were making plans with the Inquisitor to stop the gods’ ritual at the eclipse?

A: I mean the answer is obviously Lucanis, but after him maybe Emmerich he was my calming point of this whole thing 

Did Rook choose Davrin or Harding to lead a second team at Tearstone Island? Why? How did they feel in the aftermath of Tearstone Island about that choice? How did they honor their fallen teammate later?

S: It was Harding and I was devastated. I lost my sister that day.That what she was for me Family not just a friend. I joined her to keep going, no matter the price , for Lace 

Did Rook choose Neve or Bellara to take down the wards at Tearstone Island? Why? Did they regret their choice? How did they come to terms with it after?

A: my bell my little Bellara she was the one to take down the wards she knew them enough , I thought she would be safe…. I beat myself up over it and i still feel the guilt

How did Rook deal with learning they’d been magically gaslit into thinking Varric was alive all this time??????

A: I wanted to kick his bold wolf ass…. THE PURE AUDACITY LIKE WHAT?!?!?! 

Did Rook find the Mysterious Circles?

A: yes i actually did 

Did Rook find all of Solas’s regrets after the Inquisitor gave them the first? What were their reactions to the revelations about:

A: I found them all…. One worse than the other

The Golden City/The Black City and The Chantry’s doctrine being false

It did not hit me as hard as it should have 

Mythal convincing Solas to take a mortal form

The pain Of him… I understood him better after this. A spirit if wisdom becomes a Pride demon after being Used against their purpose and getting twisted

Solas being willing to sacrifice his followers for his end goals

he….. I hated him for that but it was necessary and I know it was not an easy decision for him. “ they died as who they were” this hitted  harder after knowing who and what he once was

Ancient elves originating as spirits who took mortal form

I jokingly talked with Emmerich about what kind of spirit I would be. He said Determination , Courage or Compassion …. Lucanis said Spite liked the idear of me being a Spirit of Determination 

 ●The elves -- particularly Solas and Mythal -- killing and exploiting the Titans to win the war against them

Guilt i felt the guilt of Solas, like i already, said….. and rage 

The blight being the Titan’s lost, angry dreams

It scares Me how powerful those beings could have been if the blight are there angers and dreams

Solas regaining his power pre-Inquisition by killing Mythal’s current host

-i didn't know her , the other host, and to be true after all i have seen of her i don't really know if i feel sympathy for her, i meant mythal.

Bonus Round: Were Solas and Mythal doing it?

Oh definitely

Mythal's essence. How did they get it from her? Was it a fight or a matter of discussion? How did they feel, meeting her?

It was a discussion,  one that felt like talking to an explosive ready to go off any minute….. it was strange meeting her. Her fragment seemed bitter and like she lost herself.

Act 3: The Wrath of Ages

Were all Rook’s allied factions at maximum strength when they launched their attack on Elgar’nan? Which ones weren’t, and why? Did Rook favor any of them? Their own? Someone else’s?

A: They were all my allies and all were the strongest they could be…. And of course I would favor my people the crows

Who did Rook choose to support the Veil Jumpers in the final battle dealing with magical wards or protecting others?

Neve knows Those wards better than anyone so i chose her

Who did Rook choose to support the Crows and the Lords of Fortune in the final battle fighting mages or attacking by surprise?

A: Of course lucanis… Whonwohlf be better at killing mages than my own Demon of Verantium

Who did Rook choose to support the Wardens and the Mourn Watch in the final battle fighting massive enemies and constructs?

A: Taash knows best how to fight giant enemies

Who did Rook choose to take with them for the final battle against Elgar’nan and why?

A: Emmerich and Davrin, Emmrich is a skilled mage with years of knowledge also he keeps a cool mind no matter what. Davrin is a Warden he qs trained to fight Darkspawn And he's a skilled soldier who has fought many battles.

Did Rook plan to trick Solas with the fake dagger or did they think they better not risk it?

A :Tricking the god of Trickery is suicide but it was put only option if he would have not let him  be talked down

Did Morrigan give you Felassen’s Rune? How did Rook use it?

A Fellassen helped me finish it all for good

Did Rook have a lover to talk with before the final battle? How did they feel in that moment?

A: Lucanis and I talked… His words embedded themself in my brain they guided me up that tower and echoed inside me as i slayed a god

After defeating Elgar’nan, how did Rook deal with Solas and the veil? Was it different than they had planned? If so, why and how?

A: I Talked with him… He had to overcome his regrets…. Mithal was there and seeing tbe mighty Dread wolf breakdown …..  cried as i saw the Inquisitor leave with him together into the fade i hope to some day to hear from then again 

What did Rook do on the day after saving the world?

I returned to the lighthouse…. and slept a long Dreamless sleep…. I think it was Dreamless….

Lightning Round - AFTERMATH VERSION

Favorite scent:Fresh grounded Coffee and the forest

Favorite food: Paella 

Favorite animal: Griffons and Dragons 

Favorite book or story: Varric's last book he never released

Favorite drink: Coffee

Favorite item of clothing: my Crow attire 

Favorite keepsake: An antivan crow mask, varrrics shawing mirror

Favorite place:the lighthouses dining table and the wolf's lair

Favorite person: Lucanis 

Favorite little treat: Hazelnut Torte

Who is Rook?

We have no Keep to keep our memories this time my friends, so I made a thing. Use it as you will, take pieces, use parts, do the whole damn thing, whatever. Thanks to @mageofquandrix for the backup on this!

Leaving the spoilery part beneath the cut.

Who is Rook?

Name:

Pronouns:

Race:

Faction:

Class:

Specialization:

Before The Veilguard

Where was Rook born? Who were their childhood family and friends? What did they spend their free time doing as a child? What did they want to be when they “grew up” if anything.

Where and how was Rook educated? What did they enjoy learning; what did they dislike learning? Who did they admire most? Who was an example of what not to do or be?

How did they experience gender as a young person? Did they grow up in an environment of strict gender roles and expectations or were they allowed to be themselves? 

What was their take on sexuality as a young person? Did they experiment with romance or find it entirely uninteresting?

What was their take on spirituality as a young person? Did they grow up around one particular religion and if so how did that affect their beliefs?

What childhood fear(s) did Rook carry with them into adulthood?

How did Rook become involved with their chosen faction? Who did they meet first, and how, and where, and why did they join up?

Was Rook interested in finding a life partner of some kind when they joined their faction? Why? Who were their best friends and how did they meet? Who were their rivals, who did they trust?

Did Rook have any scars or tattoos? What’s the story behind them?

Did Rook ever strongly identify with a particular nationality, city, race, creed, or religion? Is this something they explored on their own or a tradition that was passed down to them? Did this identity evolve as they grew into adulthood?

Lightning Round - PREGAME VERSION

Favorite scent:

Favorite food:

Favorite animal:

Favorite book or story:

Favorite drink:

Favorite item of clothing:

Favorite keepsake:

Favorite place:

Favorite person:

Favorite little treat:

During The Veilguard (HEAVY SPOILERS BENEATH THE CUT)

Act 1: Signs and Portents

What was Rook’s status with their own faction at the beginning of the game? Why were they recruited by Varric?

What did Rook think of Varric when they first met? Did Rook support Varric’s choice to confront Solas alone?

Did Rook take Neve or Harding with them when they went to interrupt the ritual themselves? Why?

How did Rook engage with stories of the elven gods at the beginning of the Veilguard? Were the familiar or strange? Was it disorienting to have them rewritten or did it make no real difference to them?

What was Rook’s instinctive reaction to having Solas in their head and dreams? How did Rook respond when Solas asked them why they should be the one to lead the Veilguard?

Did Rook think Neve was right about needing more investigation before acting or that Harding was right that there was no time to spare? What made them think that?

What did Rook decide to do with Mayor Julius of D’Meta’s crossing? Why?

How did Rook react to Harding’s new magic? Were they supportive or wary or a mix of both? 

How did Rook feel among the ancient elven magic and ruins of Arlathan? Did they find Bellara’s work disturbing or fascinating or something else?

How did Rook feel about working with a bunch of assassins, the Antivan Crows? Were they familiar with the organization, a Crow themselves, or something else? How did they feel about Lucanis, specifically about Lucanis and Spite?

How did Rook feel about the Shadow Dragons? Had they ever been to Minrathous before or just heard stories? How did Neve strike them at first?

What did Rook think of the Wardens when they met them? The First Warden? Antoine and Evka? Davrin (and his tits)? And of course, the MVP, Assan?

Did Rook choose to help Minrathous or Treviso? Why?

How did Rook feel after seeing what happened to the city they couldn’t save? Who did they talk to about it, if anyone, and how did they feel toward Neve and Lucanis in the aftermath?

Had Rook ever been to Rivain before? What were their impressions? Did they have any experience with Antaam or Qunari outside the Qun? What did they think of Taash and Shanthann?

What was Rook’s first impression of the Nevarran Necropolis? Were they interested, disturbed, or something else? What did they think of Emmrich and, most importantly, Manfred?

What did Rook think of the Inquisitor? Did they become personal friends or did they keep it professional? Who was the Inquisitor’s lover, if any, and did Rook have an opinion of that?

At the Siege of Weisshaupt, how did Rook deal with the First Warden and why?

Act 2: The Price of the Past

How did Rook react to the aftermath of Weisshaupt? Were they sad, angry, scared, all of the above, or something else? Did they blame themselves? Lucanis? The First Warden? Ghilan'nain? Who did they talk to about it, and did they show their true feelings to their companions?

Had Rook developed a romantic interest in one of their companions--or someone else!--by the time Weisshaupt fell? If so, were they eager to explore it or afraid to? Why?

Who were Rook’s closest companions, and what did they like about them? Who irritated Rook, if anyone, and how?

How did Rook respond to Davrin and Lucanis’s animosity finally boiling over? Were they sympathetic to one or the other or to both?

When Elgar’nan took the Dalish prisoners to use as sacrifices, what was Rook’s first reaction? Were they resolved, raging, sad, or some combination? Did they talk to any of their companions about it?

What was Rook’s reaction to The Butcher’s proposition to them in Treviso? Did they respect it, think it was bonkers, or something else? Did they discuss it with any of their companions after the fact?

Did Rook express concerns about Illario’s behavior to Lucanis? Did Rook encourage him to punish or to forgive Illario? Did Rook encourage Lucanis to work with Spite to save Catarina or to punish Illario? What were Rook’s impressions of Catarina both before and after her kidnapping? How did Rook feel about Lucanis becoming First Talon?

Did Rook support Bellara in her desire to save Cyrian or did they encourage her to be more forceful in stopping him immediately? Did they encourage her to keep the Nadas Dirthalen or to destroy it?

Did Rook encourage the alliance with the Threads in Dock Town? Did they encourage Neve to bring Dock Town hope or to become a darker protector-figure?

What was Rook’s reaction to the revelations about the Titans and the residual anger their downfall and exploitation at the hands of the Evanuris  left behind? Did it change how they felt about Harding’s new powers, and if so, how? Did they encourage Harding to embrace the Titan’s anger or to remember their compassionate side?

How did Rook encourage Davrin to train and interact with Assan? Did they suggest discipline or kindness or some mixture of both? What were Rook’s feelings on seeing the twisted recreation of Weisshaupt, The Profane City? How did the blighted First Warden react to seeing Rook again there? Did Rook decide the griffons should go to the Anderfels with the Wardens or stay in Arlathan as protectors of nature?

What did Rook think of Emmrich’s confession that he wanted to attain lichdom? Did their views on necromancy change as they got to know Emmrich and the Mourn Watch better? Did they encourage Emmrich to attain lichdom or to revive Manfred?

How did Taash’s journey to finding themselves strike Rook? What did Rook think of Shathann once they got to know her better? Did that change after her death? Did Rook encourage Taash to embrace their Rivaini culture or to fall back on the strength of their mother’s teachings about the Qun?

(If Rook didn’t romance Harding or Taash:) Did Rook encourage Taash to get a gift to express interest in Harding? What was it and why? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

(If Rook didn’t romance Never or Lucanis:) How did Rook feel about Neve and Lucanis’s Romance? Did they encourage it?

(If Rook didn’t romance Emmrich:) Did Rook encourage Emmrich to take Strife to the caves or the forest on a date? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

How did Rook deal with the friction between Taash and Emmrich? Did they encourage them to find common ground or to talk about other things? How did they feel about that relationship going forward?

Did Rook romance any of their companions after all? What was that like for them, and how did it happen? Did the other companions have an opinion?

Who did Rook feel closest to by the time they were making plans with the Inquisitor to stop the gods’ ritual at the eclipse?

Did Rook choose Davrin or Harding to lead a second team at Tearstone Island? Why? How did they feel in the aftermath of Tearstone Island about that choice? How did they honor their fallen teammate later?

Did Rook choose Neve or Bellara to take down the wards at Tearstone Island? Why? Did they regret their choice? How did they come to terms with it after?

How did Rook deal with learning they’d been magically gaslit into thinking Varric was alive all this time??????

Did Rook find the Mysterious Circles?

Did Rook find all of Solas’s regrets after the Inquisitor gave them the first? What were their reactions to the revelations about:

The Golden City/The Black City and The Chantry’s doctrine being false

Mythal convincing Solas to take a mortal form

Solas being willing to sacrifice his followers for his end goals

Ancient elves originating as spirits who took mortal form

The elves -- particularly Solas and Mythal -- killing and exploiting the Titans to win the war against them

The blight being the Titan’s lost, angry dreams

Solas regaining his power pre-Inquisition by killing Mythal’s current host

Bonus Round: Were Solas and Mythal doing it?

Mythal's essence. How did they get it from her? Was it a fight or a matter of discussion? How did they feel, meeting her?

Act 3: The Wrath of Ages

Were all Rook’s allied factions at maximum strength when they launched their attack on Elgar’nan? Which ones weren’t, and why? Did Rook favor any of them? Their own? Someone else’s?

Who did Rook choose to support the Veil Jumpers in the final battle dealing with magical wards or protecting others?

Who did Rook choose to support the Crows and the Lords of Fortune in the final battle fighting mages or attacking by surprise?

Who did Rook choose to support the Wardens and the Mourn Watch in the final battle fighting massive enemies and constructs?

Who did Rook choose to take with them for the final battle against Elgar’nan and why?

Did Rook plan to trick Solas with the fake dagger or did they think they better not risk it?

Did Morrigan give you Felassen’s Rune? How did Rook use it?

Did Rook have a lover to talk with before the final battle? How did they feel in that moment?

After defeating Elgar’nan, how did Rook deal with Solas and the veil? Was it different than they had planned? If so, why and how?

What did Rook do on the day after saving the world?

Lightning Round - AFTERMATH VERSION

Favorite scent:

Favorite food:

Favorite animal:

Favorite book or story:

Favorite drink:

Favorite item of clothing:

Favorite keepsake:

Favorite place:

Favorite person:

Favorite little treat:

[maretinelli]

FAVORITE AUNT

Oscar Piastri X fem!reader

Summary: When Y/n needs to buy a birthday present for her niece, she doesn't know how to do it because she's never been that good with children. But Oscar sees at dinner how much the children love her.

Words: 2.8K+

Warnings: Cute, funny, Oscar being very affectionate (oh how cute😭) And I think that's it

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. You can request stories on my profile. ❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

The Australian sun seemed warmer that afternoon, painting the sky with golden hues as the sea breeze tried to alleviate the heat. The air carried a faint smell of salt mixed with the sweet aroma coming from the coffee shops scattered along Melbourne's busy streets.

Y/n and Oscar walked hand in hand through the shopping center, passing illuminated storefronts and listening to the lively buzz of people enjoying the end of the holiday season.

Oscar, who was on vacation after the end of the championship, liked the light energy that the city transmitted. He was used to the fast pace of the races, but there, next to Y/n, everything seemed to slow down in a good way.

They had already passed by several stores—bookstores, children's clothing stores, and even an educational toy section—but Y/n still didn't seem satisfied with any of the options. Oscar, on the other hand, was already starting to find her indecision amusing.

"I think we've already walked halfway across the city," he commented, squeezing her hand lightly. "What exactly do you want to give as a gift?"

Y/n sighed, stopping in front of a large, colorful toy store. "I have no idea" She admitted, biting her lower lip.

Oscar arched an eyebrow, gently pulling her into the store. The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with children running between aisles filled with stuffed animals, dolls, cars, and board games.

"What do you mean?" He asked, watching Y/n look at the toys with a confused expression.

"I've never been very good with children," Y/n confessed, crossing her arms. "I don't know, I don't have that natural instinct to know what they like."

Oscar laughed, picking up a dinosaur doll that roared as he squeezed his belly. "Are you serious? You seem to be great with everyone." He asked a little in disbelief.

Y/n smiled, picking up a teddy bear and examining it uncertainly. "The kids don't really seem to like me," she confessed, pouting a little.

Oscar frowned, still a little skeptical. "You sound like you have a curse that keeps children away."

"Looks like I do," Y/n rolled her eyes. "One day, I was at the salon getting my nails done with Mackenzie, and the manicurist's daughter came in all excited, smiling at her and saying, "Cinderella Moana!"

Oscar frowned. "Cinderella Moana?"

"Yes! She was wearing a Cinderella costume over a Moana one, it looked like a Disney crossover." Y/n laughed lightly. "And I tried to be nice, didn't I? I asked smiling what that meant..."

"And what did she say?"

Y/n huffed and threw her hands up. She turned to me with the most sullen face in the world and said, "I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to my mother."

Oscar held back his laughter, not wanting to disappoint his girlfriend with a laugh, and then handed her another toy to examine.

"Okay, that was a good one."

"And there's more!" Y/n continued, picking up a stuffed toy without much enthusiasm. "Once, my neighbor asked me to take care of her son for half an hour because she needed to take care of something quickly. I accepted, I thought it would be easy." Oscar was already looking at her expectantly. "But the boy cried non-stop because he said I looked at him the wrong way."

Oscar almost choked, allowing himself to laugh now. "What do you mean?!"

"I wanted to know too! I asked him what he meant by that, and he just cried harder and screamed 'I don't like this!'" She puts on a high-pitched voice.

Oscar was still laughing when Y/n sighed and began walking slowly towards a hallway full of teddy bears. He could tell her frustration was genuine and, without thinking much, he placed a light hand on her back, offering comfort.

"But Mary really likes you," he said softly. "And not just her, but the others too. Whenever I go to family gatherings with you, you can see how much they love having you around."

Y/n sighed, putting one hand in the back pocket of her jeans. Her eyes wandered over the shelf full of colorful teddy bears. "They probably just like me because I'm family," she muttered. "Because I'm their mother's sister."

Oscar smiled slightly and turned his body a little to face her better. "That's not true," he said, picking up a small stuffed rabbit and placing it in her hand. "Mary would love anything you gave her. If you gave her a rock, she would scream with joy and say it was the coolest gift in the world."

Y/n couldn't help but smile shyly, looking up and running her hand through Oscar's hair briefly, in an affectionate gesture.

In fact, her nephews really enjoyed spending time with her. They liked to play games, ask random questions, ask for help with schoolwork, and even tell secrets that not even his parents knew. But still, an insecurity insisted on staying there, hammering in his mind.

"But sometimes I think..." She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "What if one day I become a mother and my children hate having me as a mother?"

Oscar paused. The lightness in his eyes faded a little, and he pressed his lips together, feeling his chest heave. "Y/n..."

"I mean it," she sighed. "What if I'm not good with kids? What if they think I'm boring, or weird, or... I don't know, what if I'm just not good enough?"

Oscar turned to her completely and gently cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. "You have no idea how lucky our children will be to have you as a mother," he said, his voice firm but sweet. "And honestly, I bet they'll love you more than they love me."

Y/n smiled weakly, feeling a cozy warmth spread through her chest. She wrapped Oscar in a brief hug, resting her face on his shoulder.

"Thank you for always being here."

Oscar smiled, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. "Always," he replied, before pulling away slightly and clapping his hands once. "Now, let's find a really cool gift for Mary."

Y/n laughed, finally feeling that maybe this whole kid thing wasn't that hard after all. After all, with Oscar by her side, everything seemed a little easier.

••••••••••••••••••••

The warm Australian night air brought a comfortable breeze, making it the perfect weather for an outdoor party. The sky was clear, dotted with stars, and the streets were quiet, lit by yellow streetlights.

Oscar parked the car in front of Meredith's house—Y/n's older sister and mother of her nephews. He turned off the engine before turning to Y/n, who was holding tightly the wrapped gifts in her arm, almost as if her life depended on it.

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile playing on his lips. "You're more nervous about delivering this gift than you were when we first went out together years ago."

Y/n let out a sigh, adjusting the package in her arm. "Because I am! What if she doesn't like it? What if..."

Oscar chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek softly. "She's going to love it, love." He said sweetly, getting out of the car and opening the door for his girlfriend to get out as well.

With a suspicious look, Y/n took a deep breath and walked to the door, knocking a few times. A few seconds later, Meredith appeared, opening the door with a warm smile.

"Y/n! I'm glad you came!" She hugged her sister briefly before looking at Oscar. "And Oscar! It's been a while. It's good to see you again."

Oscar smiled, greeting her with a wave. "Time flies, doesn't it? But I'm glad to be here."

Meredith made room for the two to enter, and Oscar took the opportunity to place a comforting hand on his girlfriend's shoulder.

"Breathe, everything will be okay."

Meredith, not noticing the brief moment between them, turned back into the house and called out excitedly, "Mary! Aunt Y/n and Uncle Oscar are here!"

Oscar couldn't help but smile a little when he heard that, Uncle Oscar. He has sisters, but he didn't have any nephews yet. It was sweet that Y/n's family made a point of including him like that.

They followed Meredith into the backyard, which was beautifully decorated with balloons, confetti, and red and silver ornaments.

It was then that Mary spotted Y/n. Her eyes lit up and, without hesitation, she dropped what she was doing and ran towards her.

"AUNT Y/N!!!"

Y/n bent down just in time to receive the little girl in her arms, laughing as she spun her around slightly in the air before hugging her tightly.

Oscar, taking advantage of the scene, began to greet Y/n's parents, Meredith's husband and her other sisters, but his eyes always returned to his girlfriend and niece, a slight smile on his face.

Mary pulled away from the hug a little, her eyes shining with excitement. "I missed you!"

"Me too, sweetie!" Y/n smiled, holding out the gift to her niece. "Here's your present, little one. I hope you like it... Uncle Oscar helped me choose."

Mary grabbed the package with excitement and quickly tore the paper open. When she saw what was inside—a huge unicorn plush toy, a painting kit, and a Barbie doll—her eyes widened with pure happiness.

At the store, Y/n had been at a loss as to which gift to choose. Afraid of making a mistake, she ended up picking all three, which made Oscar laugh at the time and say that she was exaggerating. But now, seeing Mary's reaction, he knew that she had made the right choice.

"I LOVED IT!!!" Mary squealed, jumping into her aunt's arms again, hugging her tightly. "Thank you, Aunt Y/n!"

Y/n laughed, caressing the little girl's back. "I'm glad you liked it, princess."

Mary pulled back a little, looking at Yin with a pure smile. "Anything you give me will be nice. Because I love you."

Y/n felt some tears wanting to come out, but then she smiled and hugged her five-year-old niece once more. "Oh love, I love you too!"

Oscar, who was very close, leaned over and whispered in his girlfriend's ear: "Did I tell you? If you gave her a rock, she would be happy too."

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes before finally approaching her parents and other family members to greet them with hugs and smiles.

Oscar stood beside her, placing a hand on his girlfriend's waist while her father and brothers-in-law brought up the subject of racing, asking about the season. Meanwhile, Y/n's mother and sisters talked about random subjects, laughing among themselves.

Suddenly, an excited scream echoed through the yard, coming from inside. "AUNT Y/N!!!"

Before Y/n could turn around, three little 7-year-old hurricanes—the triplets, her nephews too—ran up to her and wrapped her in a tight hug, almost knocking her backwards.

She laughed out loud, trying to balance herself, but it was Oscar who, in a quick gesture, held her back so she wouldn't fall. Making everyone laugh.

"Okay, okay, boys, I missed you too!" Yin said between laughs, kissing each of their heads.

The triplets had moved away a little, but now their focus was on Oscar, who was watching them with amusement. With the seriousness of growing boys, they each reached out to shake his hand firmly.

Oscar bit back a smile and returned the handshakes as if they were closing a big deal. "Hey, boys? How's it going?"

"Well, Uncle Oscar!" they replied together.

Y/n looked at her boyfriend and smiled. He was already part of that family, and every day that became clearer.

After the lively greetings with the triplets, Y/n's father, who was chatting happily with his family, suddenly remembered a funny moment from his daughter's childhood and, with a nostalgic smile, asked:

"Y/n, do you remember that time you tried to run away from home because I wouldn't let you eat cake before dinner?"

Y/n widened her eyes, already feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. She laughed nervously, hiding her face in her hands.

Her father turned to Oscar, eager to tell the story. "She was about six years old and decided she was going to run away. She took a little backpack, put two stuffed animals, a Barbie and... a piece of bread in it. She said she could take care of herself and that she would never come back."

Oscar laughed out loud, shaking his head in pure amusement. "Four years of dating and you still haven't told me that, Y/n?"

She laughed, embarrassed, and hid in his chest, making the family burst into laughter.

Before he could respond, Meredith and her husband appeared, calling everyone to dinner. The large table in the house was filled with excited voices, silverware clinking against plates and constant laughter.

The triplets and Mary were curious about Y/n's travels with Oscar. "Don't you get sick from flying so much, Aunt Y/n?" one of the boys asked, drawing laughter from the table before she could answer.

Oscar exchanged glances with Y/n during dinner, a discreet smile always present on his lips, as if to say that she did very well with the children.

After the congratulations and the cake being cut with Mary insisting that the first piece should go to Y/n, the night continued pleasantly. Y/n was chatting animatedly with the adults on the balcony when she felt a light tug on her dress.

She looked down and saw Mary, who was staring at her with bright eyes. "What's wrong, love?" Y/n asked, smiling.

The little girl fidgeted her fingers nervously before asking softly, "Can you and Uncle Oscar play with us? We have a cool game, but we're missing two people..."

Before Y/n could even respond, Oscar leaned over and said, laughing, "Sure, me and Aunt Y/n are going!"

He placed the glass of wine on the table and, in a natural gesture, took Y/n's hand, guiding her to the backyard, where the children were waiting anxiously.

The conversations on the porch died down when the adults noticed the couple approaching the group of children.

Y/n looked at her nephews curiously. "Okay, what's the joke?"

One of the triplets held up a plastic crown and placed it on her head. “It’s a wedding!” Mary announced excitedly.

Y/n and Oscar laughed out loud as they saw the kids putting on makeshift costumes. Mary clapped her hands to get their attention.

"Now everyone pay attention, because Aunt Y/n and Uncle Oscar are getting married!"

The game unfolded amidst laughter. The children improvised a speech, pretended to be priests and threw plastic flower petals.

Until Mary crossed her arms and looked at them seriously. "Now you need to kiss."

Y/n's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to respond, but Oscar just smiled at the corner of his mouth and, before she could think about running away from the situation, he gently held Y/n's back and waist and leaned her back, sealing their lips in a sweet and long kiss, respectful, but passionate enough to draw excited screams from the children.

The adults on the balcony whistled and clapped excitedly. When Oscar lifted her back up, Y/n buried her face against his shoulder, giggling shyly.

The night passed at a light and happy pace. Soon, Oscar and Y/n were at the front door saying goodbye to the family.

The children were the ones who took the longest to hug, holding Y/n tightly, and she ran her hand through each of their hair, promising that she would come back for them to play more often.

Oscar then held her hand as they walked to the car. He opened the door for Y/n and walked around to get into the driver's seat.

When he started the car, he gave her a long look before getting out.

Y/n frowned, laughing. "What is it?"

Oscar smiled. "Nothing... I was just thinking about how much the kids love you." He paused and joked, "I guess kids who don't like you are born with defects." Y/n laughed and pulled Oscar into a quick kiss, feeling his smile against her lips.

As they pulled away, he sighed, still smiling. "You're going to be a great mother, you know that?"

Y/n blinked, feeling her heart race. Before she could answer, Oscar continued, his voice full of affection: "I can imagine you going for walks with them, teaching them how to ride a bike, encouraging them in sports, cooking and reading stories before bed..." He chuckled softly. "And I'm there, by your side, watching it all happen."

Y/n bit her lip, feeling a warm warmth in her chest. "That sounds like a perfect plan." She smiled.

Oscar squeezed her hand gently before finally leaving with the car, guiding them back home, his heart light and full of love. Y/n knowing that now she knew that the children loved her.

[utilitycaster]

I follow someone who peaced out of C3 like a month ago, and while she still throws out the occasional post about it, despite mostly running on ✨vibes✨ since pre-Predathos fight. one of her latest takes caught my attention. The wording was a little messy, but the core argument seemed like it might have a point. She’s saying the biggest issue with the story is a lack of internal logic, which makes the characters feel kind of disconnected from their own world and setting. Her main example was the Schism, like, the general idea that the Titans were bad news for mortals should be widely accepted, and they’re dead so they’re not coming back even if the gods leave. She also argues that the idea that the gods would always choose each other over mortals isn’t really backed up by history. Basically, she thinks Bells Hells ignore some of the fundamental structures of modern religion in Exandria, which in turn makes a lot of their arguments about the gods fall apart.

So I guess I’m wondering does it seem like there’s a lack of internal logic to you? C3 is my first campaign, so I’ve been piecing together older lore as I go, and I can’t tell if this is a niche take or if there’s some bigger context I’m missing.

Yes. Or rather, I have a couple of different guesses as to what happened. In short: I think that either Matt wanted to set up a big dilemma and failed to do the worldbuilding to really support it textually; he didn't have a clear vision of what this would be at all (HUGE fucking mistake, like, actually concerning me re: the potential of a 4th campaign level of mistake and I hope it's not that); or, alternately, and honestly right now my guess is that this was the case, he straight up did not think the characters would be such selfish dickbags and thought going in that this would be a clear "we have to stop Predathos" and intended the familial connections within the Vanguard and the scene in Hearthdell to be added nuance to provide some understanding of the Vanguard not as simply mindless evil monsters but people who have genuine grievances that have been exploited by predatory cult leaders, and was not prepared for a campaign where the party immediately took the Vanguard's side.

Religion in Exandria has never been super formalized or organized. Some of this is, of course, that you don't have to like, convert or even attend services if you have a relationship with a god. But as a result, it means that any exploration of religion as hegemonic falls apart. I am not saying religion needs to fit the regular daily or weekly practices many people irl have (depending on one's levels of observance), and those characters whose powers canonically involve a deity often do observe either restrictions (Caduceus's vegetarianism) or have some form of meditative personal worship, but we never see like, a system of worship outside of Vasselheim, and Vasselheim lacks the powers that the real-world pope has (let alone the medieval era pope). Tuldus was forced by his family to pray, but it's never depicted as part of How All Worshipers of That God are expected to behave. This is really the crux of a lot of problems with this campaign - people keep taking very individualized issues - which are real, but individual - and treating them as a sign of widespread oppression that simply isn't backed up by the text. In fact, the biggest case of widespread religiously-involved oppression is the Empire going after worshipers of illegal Prime Deities (as we see with the Schuesters - the parents are arrested, leaving their young children to fend for themselves) - and the biggest case of widespread proselytizing and missionary work is from the canonically theocratic (and ruled by one person for over a millennium) Kryn Dynasty, which, hilariously, might end up even more powerful given that the Luxon - the source of their religion, their philosophy and cultural practices, and their arcane prowess - has been brought up as relevant to the gods-become-mortal plan by the Raven Queen and seems to not be under any threat from Predathos, and might even get more powerful. Vasselheim's colonial efforts, while certainly not defensible, are small potatoes.

The player character's grievances against the gods all boil down to "I prayed to the gods and they didn't make my life better" while failing to consider that a combination of genuinely wild specific personal circumstances (being Ruidusborn; being the child of an elemental-worship cult with terrible instincts and later running a heist on a Vanguard collaborator; being a shadow sorcerer who caught the eye of an evil Vecna-worshipping wizard in need of a host body) are the root cause. It's like. If your parents kick you out for being gay, that's homophobia, but if your parents are part of a cult that blows itself up and you are orphaned as a result that is not systemic oppression, that is a very specific cult and shitty parents. So that fails to really ground them in the setting. Compare to campaign 2, where Caleb wants to ensure the Volstrucker program is brought to light and eliminated - as he says, no more children on the pyre - vs. here, where arguably Laudna and Ashton are opening the door to far more unregulated cult/evil necromancy shenanigans now entirely unmitigated by the gods. At least Imogen will probably end the Ruidusborn I guess, as a side effect completely unrelated to her actual goals (which are, frankly, unclear) In a campaign that talks about tethers, the characters seem untethered to anything - institution, place, even for the most part family, and only loosely to each other, and it shows in their lack of care.

The other part is that yeah, a lot of things that were given to the Mighty Nein and Vox Machina as "things people would know" aren't given to Bells Hells. Now this could have a mechanical basis, namely, no one has much of a formal education and most of them are also not terribly intelligent on their own. However, it does feel baffling that they can't recognize holy symbols, or don't know the story of the titans at the time of the Schism (which...setting aside the many issues with the concept of "history is written by the victors" which is both inconsistently true in the first place and is frequently used in an anti-intellectual manner to undermine historical study that points out such things as historical racism; just because history might be inaccurate that does not mean that wild speculation otherwise is necessarily true, especially since we do know from EXU Calamity that titans did, indeed, intend to side with the Betrayers against mortals at the start of the Calamity). It furthers this feeling, after Vox Machina being relatively educated even in a story that was not as worldbuilding-focused, and the Mighty Nein having multiple research-oriented characters and a party deeply rooted in a rich world, that Bells Hells feel off and adrift and ignorant, especially since they don't even seem to remember history they lived through such as the Apex War.

Honestly, what I think is most interesting actually is that we don't ever get anyone express a motivation based on structural oppression in-game. Ludinus never got over his parents dying in a war where the options for the Prime Deities were leave mortals to die or fight the Betrayers, knowing there will be devastating casualties, but in setting up his elaborate plot he murdered countless people, destroyed through his communing with Predathos the first rebuilt elven society in Western Wildemount, and participated in actual structural oppression within the Dwendalian empire for literal centuries; he cared not for any widespread liberation and would remain on top, as an archmage, after this imagined revolution, which makes it not much of a revolution worth having. Liliana's problems were caused by Predathos, and many of the Vanguard we see are Ruidusborn. The only other Vanguard we really get to talk to are Bor'Dor, who was oppressed on the basis of his religion and preyed upon by the cult; Tuldus, who see above; and various Paragon's Call members who are mostly just following orders and getting paid. And Bells Hells, when they have the audience of Vasselheim and the rest of the world - a golden opportunity to call out the colonialism - fail to bring up Hearthdell.

In the end, the motivations are all personal pain - in many cases, inflicted, in fact, by Predathos and not the gods - or vengeance. I honestly don't know if the narrative is trying to claim there is something deeper, or if it's simply some of the characters and a chunk of the least knowledgeable fans, but yes, the worldbuilding fails to support a morally complex narrative. It fails to debunk that which was established earlier (and indeed makes the fall of Aeor far more sympathetic than when it was introduced during Campaign 2) and fails to establish any widespread harm the gods did that wasn't the result of someone threatening to kill them. I do not think one can meaningfully debate with someone who puts a boot on your throat, presses down, and claims you're the oppressor when you fight back, nor with someone who argues along those lines, and that's all that fans and Bells Hells have ever done. And yeah we might actually make a world with a formalized hegemonic religion as a result of Bells Hells' actions; it just will be a different god, underscoring that this is either motivated by people who don't know what the fuck is going on; or by vengeance rather than justice.

[foggieststars]

feed me please.

for you my love... thank you for all of your wonderful art i hope u know how much i appreciate u!!!! pls have some girl charles getting fingered at the FIA gala for your efforts <3

-

Charles doesn't think anything of it at first, when Max's hand brushes against her knee. They're packed in like sardines around this table, and she thinks he's just adjusting his chair, or something.

At first.

They're awarding some of the junior categories right now, fresh-faced F1 hopefuls bumbling their way through grateful speeches. Charles remembers when that was her, looking out across a sea of faces, searching for the F1 drivers, hoping beyond everything that one day it would be her.

And now it is. She made it to F1, she's here to collect her runner-up trophy, and underneath the tablecloth she's got her biggest rival's hand inching steadily up her thigh.

Charles stiffens when Max's hand reaches the hem of her dress. She turns towards him under the guise of a joke, leans in as if she's trying to be heard over the voice of the announcer.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she hisses into Max's ear, smiling when she pulls away. Max's hand tightens around her thigh in response, thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The hair on Charles’ arms stands on end.

“What do you mean?” Max asks, and Charles dares a glance around them. The cameras are focused on the stage for now, thank god, but she knows they’ll be doing a sweep of the tables soon, trying to grab reactions from relevant people. There’s hardly anyone more relevant here than Max. 

“Your girlfriend’s here,” Charles reminds him through clenched teeth, though she doesn’t know where the delightful Eloise has run off to. 

Max shrugs, hand travelling higher, thumb continuing those gloriously broad sweeps of skin. “So’s your boyfriend.” 

Charles hasn’t even seen Louis in half an hour. He’ll be in a corner somewhere, schmoozing with anybody who looks like they might be important. 

Charles can feel her heartbeat loud in her ears, a warmth spreading through her body. Max’s hand doesn’t stop moving, pausing at the very apex of her thigh. 

Anyone could see them like this. Anyone at all. The thought shouldn’t make Charles’ cunt throb. 

“Besides,” Max says, voice low, so as not to catch the attention of Lando, only two seats away and looking terminally bored. “You like this, yes?” 

Charles bites down on her bottom lip, wondering if any of her lipstick will transfer to her teeth. She doesn’t say anything, just blows out a shaky breath when Max’s fingertips move further, searching for something he’s not going to find. 

His fingers still when they reach the damp heat between her thighs. “Are you–” he chokes, a gentle colour rising in his cheeks. 

“You cannot wear underwear with this dress,” she mutters defensively, trying not to hitch her hips up into the barely-there sensation of his fingers. 

Max snorts, shakes his head in disbelief. “Whatever you say.” 

Charles is about to snap something at him, and then his thumb finds her clit. She shuts her mouth so sharply her teeth click together. She has to, otherwise she might scream.

It’s not that sex with her boyfriend is bad, per se - it’s just lacking. In what, Charles doesn’t know. Louis is good with his hands, with his tongue. There’s just no passion. Louis likes candlelit dinners, nights snuggled up on the sofa watching a terrible movie. 

It’s the opposite of the way Max makes her feel. Basically all the two of them have is passion. Charles struggles to imagine Max wanting to go to her mother’s apartment for brunch on a Sunday, taking long walks by the sea. 

As Max grins at her and rolls her clit with his thumb, Charles struggles to remember why that’s supposed to be a bad thing. It must be a bad thing, because otherwise there’d be no reason to keep it such a secret. But with his hand between her legs coaxing pleasure out of her, Charles can’t bring herself to feel even a little bit bad about it. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, aware of the way her face is heating up. Her eyes dart up to the stage, where they’re no longer handing out awards. Instead, it’s the chaos of category change, trophies being carried on and straightened up. The cameras are on the hosts of the event.

Charles slumps down in her seat slightly, creating a gap between her lower back and the seat. It’s uncomfortable, but the access it gives Max to her cunt makes it worth it.  

He takes the opening she’s given him, slides his index finger into her pussy with zero warning. Charles can’t help it; she lets a moan slip free at the sensation. It’s a toe-curling feeling. Fingering doesn’t usually do a whole lot for her on its own, but it’s the context. She’s surrounded by important people, men who could make or break her career with a snap of their fingers, and she’s letting Max finger her in front of them. 

She reaches for the glass in front of her on the table, picks it up with a slightly shaking hand. The water is cool and refreshing, and nowhere near enough to douse the growing fire inside of her.

Max slips another finger in, and Charles jerks in her seat, water spilling down her wrist. Lando raises his eyebrows in her direction, but turns back to talking to his neighbour pretty quickly. 

“Max,” Charles hisses. “You can’t - oh, fuck,” she moans, when his fingers curl inside of her. It’s too much, here, now. 

“I can’t what?” he asks, voice slightly too loud for her liking. “I can do anything I want. You’ll let me do anything to you, won’t you?” 

“Fuck you,” Charles grits out. She takes a deep, steadying breath through her nose. 

Unfortunately, he’s kind of right. Charles does things with Max she’d never dream of letting another guy do to her. She demands a high price in return; she’s pretty sure Max has never let any of his wispy little girlfriends fuck him with a strap-on. There’s nothing she won’t let him do to her, nothing he won’t let her do to him. 

Charles blames this horrible, animalistic thing that lives between their bodies. It’s like a livewire, electrifying and deadly to touch. Most men fall at her feet, but Max makes her crawl. 

His thumb finds her clit again, scissoring his fingers simultaneously. 

Charles bites down on the inside of her cheek so hard her mouth floods with the taste of metal. It’s better than screaming. 

And then, a man’s approaching Max, clapping him on the shoulder. The shoulder attached to the hand that’s currently inside of her. Charles thanks the lord for long tablecloths.

“Max!” the man’s saying. “I’ve been looking for you all night.” The man looks vaguely familiar when he smiles in her direction. Charles grimaces back at him, fully aware of the hot flush on her face. 

“Hello, Robert,” Max greets warmly, no indication that he’s currently fingering his rival under the table. “How are you doing?” He reaches for a handshake with his free hand, and Charles wants to die. 

They lapse into boring chatter, nothing that Charles really pays attention to. It’s not like she even can. The scope of her world has narrowed down to the feeling of Max’s fingers moving inside of her, the continuous pulse of her cunt, the wetness between her thighs. 

“And what about you, Charles?” the man asks, and now she wants to die even more. 

“Sorry?” she asks, smiling weakly. Max’s fingers start to move faster inside of her, his thumb circling her clit in a steady, unrelenting motion. “I was a bit - mm, lost in thought.” 

The man regards her warily. An FIA official, maybe? Charles can’t place him. 

“I was asking how you are enjoying the evening so far.” 

Oh, god, Charles can’t do this. There’s arousal building in her stomach, a tightening in anticipation. Clear evidence of it is running down her thighs. 

“Oh, you know,” she says, voice shaking. “Free food, free wine, a trophy. What is not to like?”

The man laughs, and Max smirks, crooking his fingers deliberately. The motion is obscene, a stroking motion right against that spot inside of her that makes her feel all twisted-up and squirmy. And also like she needs to piss. 

Christ, that’s all she needs - the first time in her life that she squirts, and she does it at the FIA gala. All over the world champion’s suit. 

Maybe that would finally encourage him to buy a new one. 

The man keeps talking to them, and Charles mostly gets away with smiles and nodding. He leaves, finally, with another clap on Max’s shoulder, a polite nod in her direction. 

“Fuck,” Charles whispers. “Jesus, Max.” 

Max’s thumb starts moving faster, tight, quick circles against her clit, drawing her to the edge. “Come on,” he grunts. Maybe his wrist is starting to hurt. Good. 

Charles moves her hips in tiny, aborted motions. She needs to do something to get the energy out, the fizzing anticipation racing through her bloodstream. It makes the tablecloth move, but Charles doesn’t have room left in her brain to care.

Charles’ hands curl into fists, nails cutting into her palms. The pain of it is clarifying, just in time for her orgasm to hit her like a freight train. 

Charles hitches forward in her seat, the feeling too much for her to cope with. She can’t hide her small moan of pleasure, the expression on her face. She ducks her face and fumbles for the buckle of her shoe, pretending to be fixing it, as the pleasure washes over her like a wave. 

The movement dislodges Max’s hand, practically flattens it against the seat, but Charles doesn’t care. She keeps it locked between her thighs even as he tries to withdraw, grinds out the aftershocks against his palm. Her cunt’s so slick with desire that there’s no resistance, just the smooth glide against his hand. 

“Charles,” Max says. “Can I have my hand back?” he sounds far too composed for her liking. 

Charles shifts, allows him to withdraw his arm. She can’t speak just yet. 

When he pulls his hand out from between her thighs, his fingers are glistening. Wet with her. He wipes them off on the tablecloth. It shouldn’t be hot, the thought of Max dirtying up these no doubt very expensive tablecloths with her desire, but it is. 

“You are a fucking bastard,” Charles tells him, and Max tosses his head back, laughs like he knows. 

Suddenly, there’s a harried looking production assistant at Charles’ shoulder, nudging her. 

“Yes?” Charles frowns at the woman, who smiles at her nervously. 

“You need to be backstage now.” She checks her watch. “Well, two minutes ago, actually.” 

“Oh,” Charles gasps, all too aware of the frantic throbbing of her heartbeat, the matching pulse in her cunt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was our time so soon.” 

“That’s why Robert was over here, you know?” Max smiles at them politely. “He gave us a five-minute warning. You cannot have forgotten this already!” He laughs, and the assistant laughs too, though hers is tinged with panic. It can’t be a great time, rounding up disgruntled celebrities. 

Finally, it clicks where Charles knew the man who’d come to speak to them from. The fucking program co-ordinator, the guy who’d explained to them when they’d arrived how the trophies would be handed out and how much time they had to speak. Fuck. 

Charles is going to fucking kill him. 

She gapes wordlessly at Max, adrenaline rising in her body until she’s not sure whether she’s going to punch him in the face or start sprinting for the exit. He keeps smiling at her until she stands on shaking legs. 

Charles wishes she had a witty rejoinder to leave him with, something to show that his victory isn’t as complete as he’s imagining it to be. There’s nothing, nothing in her head. 

She turns and follows the woman on shaking legs, positively soaked between her thighs. She’ll be lucky if that doesn’t show up on camera, the bright lights reflecting off her skin when she crosses the stage to accept her third-place trophy. Maybe people will think it’s body glitter, or something. 

Louis appears out of nowhere, slings an arm around her shoulder, gives her a tight squeeze. 

“Good luck,” he tells her, pressing a kiss to her cheek just before the aide leads her backstage. “You’ll be wonderful.” 

Charles smiles wanly in his direction, guilt roiling in her stomach. She’d actually… forgotten he was even here tonight. 

She’s led backstage, and before she hands her purse off to the woman, she fumbles in it for her phone. 

“So sorry,” Charles tells her with an apologetic glance. The woman looks like she’d happily slit Charles’ throat right now, but Charles ignores her. 

She pulls up Max’s contact, thumbs flying over the keypad. 

Meet me in the bathroom once you have your trophy. 

Max’s reply is instantaneous. 

Why? 

Charles doesn’t bother to reply, hands her phone to the assistant. Max will do whatever she tells him to, even if he’s got to make an awkward excuse to his girlfriend. Charles plans to repay the favour. 

If she blows him after reapplying her lipstick, there’s no chance she doesn’t leave a ring of red around the base of his cock. A present for his girlfriend to find later. 

That’ll teach him not to fuck with her. 

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

I'm so excited for you, my friend!! Thank you for diving in. 🥰

I like this line, because it's what made Dean stop. In my head I feel like this version of Dean has pushed away so many people and the reader is the first person in a long time to genuinely say that she was "worried" about him, and it strikes something in his chest because he couldn't remember the last time it happened. That's the headcanon in my head anyway lol.

Oh yeah, that's a totally accurate observation, poor Dean. 🥲 He hasn't allowed himself to be "worried about" in a long time, since he and Sam started up their own lives.

Also the spice was.... 😱🌶️🔥. I literally cannot write smut to save my life, but you always write it so well! I also liked that you didn't do it as intense as omegaverse usually is, because we both know how it can be 👀

ahaha thank youuu 😘 It's really not easy for me, but I write it when I feel the story warrants it. And totally, the more subtle approach was what I was going for loll! I don't think I could write the aggressive smut that omegaverse fics tend to be. 🤪

OH MY WORD DEAN SHUT UP! I promise it's okay! She loves you and she can see that you're not a bad person because you literally have been nursing her back to health with her broken ankle 😭 Not to mention you guys are fated! She's not going to let you go no matter what you do.

Lol RIGHT?! How many times do we have to go over this, Dean???? 😭

But again... on brand for Dean to hate himself and to think he's not good enough -sigh- just means that you get to spend more time wrapped up with him trying to convince him 😊😉. I also believe that Dean loves intimac, that he does crave that connection with someone, not to mention I still love what you do in your Midnight Espresso series with Dean being a little touch starved for non-sexual touch. I feel like you've also implied this here and it is marvelous!

This is where I have to beat down the "not worthy" aspect of Dean's personality when it comes to love and intimacy. 😭 But I SO agree with you -- he craves it, even though he doesn't feel like he deserves it half the time. That's a big theme in Midnight Espresso, so I love you so much for enjoying that aspect in that series and in this one. 🥹💓💓

I'm literally cackling. I can hear Dean saying this to his significant other. Meeting Baby for the first time holds the same place in his heart as meeting Sam for the first time 🤣 ALSO, I wasn't ready for the palm kiss. Palm kisses and forehead kisses DESTROY me.

LOL this part of the scene was so vivid in my mind -- I have no doubt he'd be just like this when his girl meets his Baby. 🤣🤣 Oh same. I LOVE hand kisses and forehead kisses. They're so wholesome. 🥹

I like that this was an alternate ending to the dumpster fire that was the end of Supernatural. That it's Dean and his girl out on the open road listening to a Led Zeppelin song holding hands in the front seat of Baby was just beautiful in the best way and a perfect ending to this mini-series my wonderful friend!! I am going to miss this couple so much, but it really was a fitting end for them 🥰

Honestly that's the biggest compliment I could get on this story! 💕💕 It's the two of them riding into the subset to some Zep tunes, on their way to see Sam and his new little family. I might come back to write their little reunion, but until then, I'm so glad you've enjoyed this snowy, angsty ride. 😘❄️💜💜

Against the Wind - Part 4

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: The grand finale...

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, knotting, claiming, fluff and feels.

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 4: Running to Live

His cold hands are warming on your skin as he slides them underneath your sweater. They move smoothly up your back, bunching up the material. You break from his kiss only to help him get the sweater off you, followed closely by his pants.

Your sweatpants slide down your legs with just a sharp tug, baring most of your body to his gaze. His eyes drag over your exposed neck and shoulders, your breasts cupped in your bra, down to your panties and bare thighs.

A shiver runs through you, both from his heated gaze, and from being exposed to the cooler air. Even with the fire going and the heater running in the cabin, the frigid air outside is unforgiving.

You have no problem with the way Dean guides you down from the chaise to take advantage of your nest on the floor, right in front of the fire. He draws you into a sensuous kiss, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and grazing with teeth.

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return. You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the prickling of his stubble. Your fingers thread into his hair, and you pull him back down for a devouring kiss.

Dean’s brows furrow as he holds you to him, wanting to feel every part of your skin against his. His calloused fingers map their way down your side, and across your back to unhook your bra. His lips veer away from yours to burn a wet, heated trail along your neck. His teeth come out to graze your skin, down your throat, down the lovely valley between your breasts.

“Dean,” you gasp, encouraging him when his hand cups one of your breasts. He explores the other with his mouth, teasing a pebbled nipple with his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your thighs rubbing together between the cage of his knees in the mess of blankets. Already you feel slick forming at the apex of your thighs and slipping down in between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You can’t help but smile. Your face warms either from the fire dancing shadows across your bodies, or from him, his attention, his warmth, and the heat in his eyes when they meet your again. His hand slides down your body, over your hip and squeezing your thigh as he opens you up further for him.

“Tell me what you want, Omega.” While I still have control, his tone implies. His voice is gravel and sin while his hand moves swiftly and smoothly up the inside of your thigh.

“Touch me,” you breathe.

Nodding, he hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties and slides them down. You help him kick them off. Afterward, his thumb brushes over your mound, making you sharply inhale and squeeze his shoulders encouragingly. His fingers dip inside your wet heat, his brows raising with a smirk, as he feels the sheer amount of your slick already coating his digits.

“Fuck. This all for me, baby?” he remarks.

You hold onto the back of his neck with both hands as you nod, biting your lip. Your hips begin to cant against his hand on reflex, urging him to touch you.

“Alpha, please…” you implore, in a ragged whisper. He swallows your plea with a ravaging kiss, but he still gives you what you want. His thumb circles your clit, earning a moan from you into his mouth.

Soon, two of his fingers plunge slowly inside you, working you open, drawing more gasps and shudders of pleasure from your body. His length continues to strain hard against your thigh, but for him, it’s worth it to draw every sound, every time your body writhes and arches against him, craving release.

With a few more purposeful strokes, your inner walls clamp tight on his hand, and a flood of slick coats his knuckles even more. You gasp his name, your hands squeezing his arms just as tight as your pussy around his fingers.

Your skin is beginning to get dewy with sweat, and he kisses some of it off you when he trails down your chest. You stroke down his arms, down his back, whatever you can reach as you catch your breath. But then, his name falls from your lips with a firmer tone.

Dean raises his head, and you gently push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, only for it to be replaced with a smile of surprise when you curl a thigh over his hip and guide him onto his back. His head just manages to fall on one of your pillows, but he still utters a small grunt. You giggle down at him, bowing to meet him for a kiss.

He smirks and holds onto your hips, playfully squeezing your ass. “My wily omega.”

“Thought I was your cheeky omega,” you tease.

He snorts. “That too.”

You giggle some more as you treat him to the same path of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Except this time, you hook a hand behind his neck, and you trail your tongue around his mating gland. You feel his jolt of surprise, as well as his instinctive growl of pleasure in response to his mate. Or at least, not yet…

His heart pounds in his chest.

“Omega,” he says, a warning not to tease as his grip tightens on your hips.

The command in his voice makes you shiver, but you smile and nuzzle his cheek in affection. You kiss your way down his body, playing special attention to his nipples, his stomach, the soft V and the happy trail of light brown fuzz leading you down between his hips.

Your fingers slide down his hardened desire through his underwear, earning a grunt from him, along with a shifting of his body against the blankets. Your lips curve as you nuzzle him there as well, letting your lips drag across his impressive length.

His fingers tangle in your hair when you hook your nails around the waistband and free his cock from its confines. His boxers join the rest of your clothes somewhere, and finally you get to see all of him, as much as he takes in all of you. Your hand wraps around his girth, your thumb circling around the sensitive, weeping head of it. Dean groans, a sound from deep in his chest.

You don’t know this, but it’s been a while since anyone but his own hand has touched him. That’s not the only reason his body has been calling to yours, but it plays a part in how fucking good it feels, and how much more he wants you.

He feels your intentions when your hand moves down his shaft in a teasing caress, your fingers tracing around his knot. A shudder rattles down his spine, makes his desire burn hotter in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t fucking take it anymore. He needs you, needs to be inside you. Needs to take you the way his instincts demand.

He grasps your shoulder before you put your mouth on him. You blink up at him, with a question forming on your lips, but he hefts you up onto his chest by your arms. He cages you there with a kiss filled with abject need.

“I can’t. Can’t wait anymore,” he says. He drags his fingers through your folds and earns another moan from your when he finds your clit. “You ready for me, Omega? Need my knot?”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing against his lips. “Need you, Alpha—”

No sooner had the words escaped your lips, when Dean rolls you back underneath him. But this time, he guides you onto your stomach, then raises up your hips, until you’re on your hands and knees. You catch your breath as you regain your bearings, shooting an incredulous smile over your shoulder at Dean. He smirks back at you, but his gaze is intense, his pupils darkened with the alpha inside him. 

Still, he soothes a hand down your back and steadies you with a hold on your hip. You feel him slot himself behind you, guiding his cock at your entrance. His chest presses hotly against your back.

“Last chance, Omega,” he says, his voice tight with restraint.

You look back at him again over your shoulder, your mouth threatening to frown. You reach back and sink your fingers into his hair with a sharp tug. “Do it.”

He sinks into you with one smooth plunge. It’s a relief for both of you, your mingled moans echoing in the near silence. All that’s left is the sound of your quickening breaths, of skin against sweat-slick skin as you move together.

Dean brushes your hair away from your neck. He kisses and licks his way along your bare shoulder, and finally the back of your neck. You’re trembling by the time his lips find the sensitive flesh of your mating gland. It echoes with the pulsing from your core as he continues to drive into you.

“Alpha,” you gasp on reflex. You squeeze his arm; he has it wrapped tight around your middle. Your pleasure builds ever closer to that crescendo, especially as his thrusts become ragged, at an angle that zips delicious tingles through your core. “Close…just…I need…”

Dean isn’t so far gone. He hears you, and helps you, reaching his hand around to strum his fingers insistently on your clit, along with his final thrusts.

Finally, it tumbles you over. Your inner walls become impossibly tight around him as he draws out your second release—one that triggers his own. Dean groans into your ear; his knot swells and locks into place, and he spends himself deep inside you. He pants hot against your neck, but even though he fastens his lips there, he hesitates, once again making you shudder. 

“Do it,” you repeat, in a coarse whisper. You’re close to tears. “Please. Want you, Alpha. Need you…”

Once again, he hears you.

His teeth sink into the back of your neck, making you cry out. But your pain is quickly overshadowed by a deepest pleasure, thrumming along with his.

 Afterward, Dean holds you in his arms. The warm glow of the fire paints your skin in its light, despite the utter darkness in the rest of the house. 

While you both wait for his knot to subside, you revel in the fact that you know he’s content. You can feel it through the newly formed bond. He traces random shapes in your skin, which still glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. The fire he stoked doesn’t help to cool you down, but you don’t care.

Nothing else matters but this. You turn your head toward him over your shoulder. He meets you there with a gentle kiss, much more gentle than any other you’ve shared before. It feels right. 

When he parts from you, he presses another kiss to your forehead. Then he leans back a little and sighs. You feel his thumb trace the raw flesh around the claiming mark on your neck. A small shiver runs through your body. Maybe on another day, you’ll mark him in return.

“It’s too damn late,” he says, breaking the silence. “You realize that right?”

You shoot him a frown. “Too late for what?”

“For me to let you go,” he says. 

His words both warm you and make you sad. Just how little does he think of himself?

“Dean,” you say, endeavoring to be patient. “You’re my true mate. Do you know how rare it is that we’ve actually found each other?”

Dean remains quiet.

“And after everything you’ve done for me,” you add, “how can I not think you’re a good man? How can I not think this is right?”

He seems to consider your question. His gaze briefly falls, then meets your eyes again.

“You don’t know me that well,” is his answer, with a wry turn of his lips. 

You reach back to caress his cheek. “Then tell me. Tell me about, um…tell me about how you became a hunter. From your dad’s journal, I got the sense that it’s a family thing.”

A vendetta, you wanted to say, but you keep that thought inside.

Dean chuckles, dropping another kiss onto your shoulder. You feel the pleasurable rasp of his stubble.

“Yeah, more like a family business,” he says. 

He tells you why John Winchester started writing in that journal in the first place. Dean explains it in his own words, of what his family was before and after a demon broke into his brother’s nursery. Your heart continues to break for him, over and over, the more story he tells. Your shock can only reach new heights when he tells you about angels and demons and everything in between. 

There are moments where he pauses, needing the time to find his words. He’s talked for so long that his knot finally softens, allowing you to withdraw from him, just to turn in his arms and be able to see his face. He bundles you in the blankets to keep you warm, but he also keeps you close, with a loose arm around your waist as he continues. 

You sense that he’s not telling you everything. How could he? A lifetime of blood and wins and incredible losses; family gained, and family lost, endless saves, and so many near misses. You listen with rapt attention (and a lot of shock) to everything he can share, but your heart twinges when you see how he struggles to talk about his mother’s most recent death. Then his best friend Cas. 

You realize that this man, for all his self-deprecation, is a hero. More so than you already knew.

“After the whole Chuck thing was done, I thought we’d just…go back to status quo. Me and Sam against the world, you know?” Dean says. He gives a rueful smile. “Then Sammy tells me he knocked up his mate.”

You smile. “You’re happy for him though.”

“Course I am,” Dean nods. “He never thought he’d get to have all that. A badass chick who can keep him on his toes, a house, the kid, the whole damn thing. He’s downright respectable again.”

His brotherly pride and his humor are tinged with something else though. You think you begin to understand. His losses have weighed him down, leaving him aimless and living in that in between, not unlike the ghosts he used to hunt. You know the feeling. 

You thread your fingers with his, earning his attention. 

“You can have that too, you know,” you say. “I mean, I don’t want to skip ahead, but I feel like things are going well here, despite the whole busted ankle thing.” 

Dean slowly smiles, shaking his head. He brings your hand up to his lips. 

“Okay, enough about my Hallmark movie life. What about you?” he asks. 

So you tell him. 

You two continue to share and explore, both in words and with your bodies, until morning comes. 

It’s another week in the cabin before Dean insists on helping you down the mountain. Your ankle has gotten a little better, but at this point, you need to see a doctor. It takes a couple of days, going as slow as you need to. He ends up carrying you for most of the way anyway. You tell him over and over that he doesn’t have to, but your alpha is stubborn. 

Once he gets you back to the city, you two take a shuttle to the nearest hospital. X-rays are taken, and you get a new cast for your officially fractured ankle. At the very least, you don’t need surgery. You’re able to call your mom from there and let her know where you’ve been, that you’re all right, and best of all…that you’ve found your mate. 

You cry along with her on the phone, this time for a good reason. The best reason. 

When you’re eventually released from the hospital, Dean picks you up in a sleek, black Chevy that has your eyes wide. 

He grins at the look on your face. “Hey, sweetheart. Come meet my Baby.” 

He parks the car and keeps the heater running while he comes around to you in swift strides. He takes your crutches and slides them into the backseat, then helps you into the passenger seat. 

“It’s beautiful, but my God, how old is this thing?”

“She. She’s a she.”

“Oh, pardon me,” you say in amusement. “Do I have some competition here?”

Dean gives you a teasing smirk. “Well, technically, she’s been with me a lot longer than you.” 

You scoff incredulously. He laughs and takes your hand, pressing a kiss into your palm. You discreetly study him and marvel at how much lighter he seems. You don’t know how much is because of this, what your hand in his symbolizes, and how much is because he’s reunited with something important to him. 

“It’s okay, Omega mine,” he says, with a measure of desire in his eyes. “From now on, you’re my priority.”

Your spine prickles with the same arousal you can feel from him through the bond. You lean across the way and share a thorough kiss. 

Until a horn honks loudly from behind. You both jolt, but Dean’s face falls into annoyance. He shoots up a choice finger at the car behind him in the rearview mirror. You laugh as he begins to peel out of the curved pick-up and drop-off zone in front of the hospital. 

“Where are we going, Dean?” you ask, still smiling in amusement. 

“Wherever we damn well please.” He turns to you with a hint of a smile reforming on his lips. “Want me to take you back home? We can sort out the logistics on, uh…well, this.”

You think about it. He poses a good idea, but at the same time, you’re not quite ready for this part of the adventure to end. 

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Sam?” you ask.

Dean blinks at your question. He whistles lowly. “About a year. Jesus, since my nephew was born.”

You smile and reach over, resting your hand on his thigh. 

“Let’s go see him, then,” you say. “I want to meet your family. Then you can meet mine.”

After that, you two can figure out the rest, like where to live, and how you’ll live. 

Dean raises a brow. “Really? That’s like, a thirteen-hour drive.”

You shrug. “I’ve always wanted to go on a real road trip. Can we get some food first though? I’m starving.” 

He laughs and nods as he stops the car at a red light.

“What do you know? A woman after my own heart,” he says. His amusement eases into a gentler smile the longer he stares at you. You smile back, and you give into the urge to lean in again, meeting your lips with his. He brushes your cheek tenderly with his thumb. 

“I know what this needs,” he says lowly. Your brows draw together in a silent question. 

He pulls away to reach into the side compartment along the driver door. He fishes out a cassette tape labelled Zeppelin IV. You bite your lip and try not to say anything smartassed.

Damn, this man is old school. 

He skips ahead until he finds Track 7, just as the light turns green. A melodious guitar riff fills the car as he turns onto the main road with your hand wrapped in his. 

Made up my mind to make a new start.

Going to California with an aching in my heart…

AN: And that's all, folks! 🥹 I truly hope you enjoyed Against the Wind!

Like I said in a recent update, I have more stories in store for you guys. January 3 will be Part 1 of Outlander -- sequel to The Honorable Choice -- a Western AU with Dean as our resident cowboy! I'll post a sneak peek on that one soon.~

But in the meantime, I hope you'll let me know what you thought of ATW! 💜💜

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[pencil-n-pen]

I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°⋆ ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

₊ ⊹

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

₊ ⊹

summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

--

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

--

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

--

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

--

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

--

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

--

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

--

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

--

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

--

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the teeth, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the T.V.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

taglist: @topsecret101 @slowdownpal @leeknowpegger @sunbl3achedfly @hiireadstuff @paige0103 @private190104 @beautyb1ade @coraline-jones353 @pleasenter-sandman @sttvrdustt @gluchie @thomasintheshadows @dessamira1001 @bbleeeeh @hufflely-puffly @bippityboppityboob1tch @buggys-space @redxfangirl @liauchiha147 @dreaming-potato @meandyoulollz @jobrosimp

[marlynnofmany]

Aiming the Machismo

I’m on the tall end of our ship’s lineup. Not the biggest by any means, but with half the crew short enough to elbow in the head accidentally, and the others only that tall when they stand on tentacle-tip, it’s easy to think of myself as one of the big ones.

Sometimes we make deliveries to people who enforce that impression. Today was not one of those times.

“Move aside,” said the deepest voice, echoing from the opaque helmet of a Smasher in an armored suit. “Official business goes first.” His companion was just as hulking, with shoulders that looked like they wrestled buffalo for fun and hands that could crush a coconut.

I was glad he wasn’t talking to me.

“Official, huh?” demanded an Armorlite, sticking his dinosaurian face in close to bare teeth at the helmet. His voice sounded normal by comparison. “We’re official too, and we were here first. Get in line.” He was backed up by a half dozen similarly beefy individuals — a surprising collection, really: big Frillians and a couple extremely jacked humans. They made a wall of sneers worthy of any gym bro turf war.

The Smashers weren’t impressed. But at least they weren’t taking out any weapons. “Rule violators who are wanted in several systems have been spotted nearby. We’re here to capture them for the greater good. Move aside.”

The Armorlite laughed in his face, saying that they were bounty hunters too, and they weren’t about to let anyone get ship fuel before they did. The air was full of jeers and testosterone, or the alien equivalent. Some of the macho individuals were female. It made no difference.

It was unfortunate, though, since this mess was between us and the front counter, where a single put-upon Heatseeker stood behind a sign about repairs. I saw why none of the bounty hunters had gotten their fuel yet; apparently the dispensing nozzle for midsize ships was broken.

Good news. That’s what we were here to deliver, among other things.

I looked past the hoversled full of heavy machinery at the two most muscle-bound members of our crew, whose body language was currently more timid than usual. I guess they knew their place in the macho pecking order. Blip was glancing from one face to another as if trying to predict a winner, while Blop stood at attention and stared into the middle distance. All of their many frills were slicked back as if trying not to draw attention.

Well, I was a slender breakable twig compared to everybody except the little Heatseeker, and none of that was my problem. “Guys,” I said. “Let’s yell ‘delivery’ on three.”

They both looked at me instead of the nonsense. Blip nodded, standing taller and relaxing her frills into a more normal position. Blop took a deep breath that it sounded like he needed.

“One, two, three. DELIVERY!”

The argument stopped, and multiple dangerous faces turned in our direction.

I tugged the hoversled forward and spoke into the brief silence. “Repairs, so everybody can get their fuel faster!”

What do you know, the sea of biceps and teeth parted to let us through. With Blip and Blop pushing from behind even though the sled didn’t need it, I led the way past everybody taller than me to where the green-scaled Heatseeker waited.

“Thank you,” he said in relief. “That nozzle broke right after our regular supply ship left. Do you have time to stop by our sister colony on the fourth planet? We ordered extra of one of those other parts, and it sounds like they need it.”

“I think we can manage that,” I said with a glance at Blip and Blop. “Let me just check with the captain. Are the same rates okay?” Behind me, the arguing was getting loud again.

The Heatseeker agreed readily over the noise, and called somebody else up to the front to confirm everything. Instead of shouting into my phone or trying to get past all the competing pectorals twice more, I sent texts and invoices to whoever was in the cockpit.

Surprisingly enough, the boisterous voices moved their debate outside while we worked. By the time we got the delivery unloaded except for the part going to the sister colony, the room was quiet. I was glad for that, though worried about what we’d find when we left.

I asked the Heatseeker at the counter, “Have those bounty hunters been here before?”

He shook his scaly head. “No. I hope they finish their business soon and move on.”

I agreed. We said our goodbyes, then the twins and I maneuvered the nearly-empty hoversled back to the door. The only thing left on it was a bundle of cables for some sort of electronics. Thoroughly packaged to keep out dust, and tied down in case of unexpected jostles to the sled. I hoped there wouldn’t be any of those on the way to the ship. With a glance at Blip and Blop, I moved forward to open the door.

Cheers, grunts, and thuds greeted me. After one cautious step out onto the rural spaceport, I saw how the meatheads had decided to resolve their differences. It wasn’t by fighting. It also wasn’t a dance-off, which I’d seen once before. No, they were taking turns picking up empty fuel tanks and seeing how far they could throw them. It was very far.

“Let’s take the long way around,” I suggested.

“No kidding,” Blip agreed, pushing the sled faster. “Before they decide to throw us.”

I stepped quickly. “That’s an option to them?”

“Probably.”

Blop said, “I hope the sister colony is quieter.”

“Me too,” I agreed as we hurried to our ship with roars of triumph filling the air.

Surprisingly enough, the three of us got to see that sister colony ourselves shortly after. Usually our crew trades off in who hands over the deliveries, so it should have been Paint and Mur doing this second dropoff, but this was an unplanned one and they were busy helping deep clean the medical bay. So I went again with the Blip and Blop, and we got to appreciate a similar reception area with no slabs of beef causing trouble.

“This is a lovely place,” I told the Heatseeker with deep blue scales at the desk. Windows lined every wall here, giving us a view of rolling hills where cloud shadows drifted over bushy trees and equally bushy sheeplike things. The scent of spicy flowers wafted through.

“It is,” she replied, looking tired. “The aromatic moss on the trees is particularly beautiful.”

The other Heatseeker checking over the cables said, “Too bad the locals weren't making up their monster stories. If those were actually fake, I’d be a lot happier.”

“What monster stories?” I asked. Blip and Blop got more alert behind me.

At the same time, the first Heatseeker asked, “They’re not? Are we sure?”

The guy with lighter blue scales straightened up. “We’re sure. Another set of their livestock got killed last night, and more personal accounts of missing people have turned up now that we’re actually looking into it.” He gave me a glance. “We don’t know what kind of monster we’re talking about, but I have theories.”

I looked out the windows again. The scenery didn’t seem quite as welcoming now. “Is there a local predator eating people?”

The receptionist hurried to clarify, “Nothing gets eaten. The people always turn up again, and the animals are damaged but not taken away.”

Blip asked, “Have you put up security cameras?”

“Yes, that’s what this cable is for. We’re putting up more, and making sure they’re connected to a proper power supply.”

“But did the first ones see anything?” Blip insisted.

“Not the culprits,” said the darker Heatseeker. “We need to aim higher, I think. And adjust for light fluctuations. Whoever is doing this brings spotlights to upset the cameras. Or else it’s some sort of natural bioluminescence on a grand scale.”

The pale guy shook his head. “It’s definitely somebody in a ship. Creatures on foot wouldn’t be able to make those patterns in the plants, at least not that quickly.”

I whipped my head around. “Crop circles?”

“They are circular, yes.”

“So people are being taken,” I repeated. “Abducted, then returned, while livestock is getting mutilated and there are circles in their crops?”

“That’s about the size of it.” The guy gave me a sharp look. “You’ve seen this before?”

“Not personally,” I said with a frown. “But my planet sure has.”

“Oh!” said Blop. “It’s those little gray guys, right? I’ve heard about them. No morals at all.”

“Yes, them.” I felt my frown turning into a proper scowl. “They harassed my planet for generations, and never answered for it. They only left when we made contact with the broader galaxy. The frill-tearing mud eggs.” I made sure to insult them in both Frillian and Heatseeker terminology, to make sure we were all on the same page.

The darker Heatseeker looked appropriately scandalized. “That would fit with the way only the locals have seen them here. They must be avoiding us.”

“But maybe they’re about to leave soon, right?” asked the paler one. “Since they only like uncontacted prey who can’t report them?”

“Probably,” I said. I turned back to tap a finger on the payment tablet. “Let’s finish up quickly. I know just who to tell about this, and these little gray bastards are exactly the kind of rule-breaker they’ll outdo each other trying to catch.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[mwahbabe]

on my knees begging for dealer! ellie! 💋

being your dealers favourite <3

pairing: ellie williams x fem reader

mdni, smut, car sex, fingering(r!recieving, drug use(e!&r!), squirting, fluff, fwb to something.

a/n: aaahhh i’m sorry this took forever omg not very demure not very mindful at all but boy oh boy do i love me some dealer ellie 🫦

ellie is not the type to give handouts or “hook people up” she’s hard up for money and if you don’t have it, there’s the door. no exceptions. period.

except…. she is. for you anyway. she can’t even remember how much you owe her now. always giving in to your excuses. falling for your stupid puppy dog eyes and that pout you gave her.

“ellss can i come over?” ┃

els🔌┃“you still owe you know.”

“pleaseeee? i’m broke and having a hard week :(“┃

els🔌┃“when are you not having a hard week ?”

“how do you think I feel??.” ┃

els🔌┃“i’m home. don’t keep me waiting.”

she had tried to be strong. she really had. but when she first saw you she became all awkward and nervous seeing a pretty girl show up at her asking for weed. the more you came over the sweeter she became on you. letting you share her blunt and not asking for money, to meeting you wherever to give you what you asked for.

it was annoying how everytime she saw your notification pop up on her phone she answered straight away, even if she knew you had no money to give her, how when she knew you were coming she would straighten out her dirty apartment and try to make it somewhat clean and when meeting you somewhere would try and make herself a bit more presentable and clean the trash out of her car. not that you minded in the slightest. her gaze always wandering to your exposed cleavage or your exposed thighs in those little shorts while you were yapping about whatever while stoned on her couch.

she would always tell herself, no more. she has to pay this time. and always end up giving it to you every. single. time. and then one night you had hooked up. you were at hers getting your usual handout and spending a little more time with her because you actually enjoyed her company. she enjoyed yours too, you were actually fun to be around and good company. you stayed over at hers, ellie let you sleep in her bed, must have been the weed or how you looked that night because ellie ended up knuckles deep in you whispering praise in your ear as her thumb rubbed your clit. “yeah.. that’s it baby… there ya go.. cum on my fingers baby.” you two never brought it up again, only brushing it off as a casual thing and you two were inebriated so it didn’t mean anything. not like ellie didn’t think about it every night and touch her clit and finger fuck herself thinking about your moans and taste. she tried so hard to be firm on you but she just couldn’t. not after that.

also that one night you texted her at 3am.

“elss? are you holding?i’m on my period and i’m broke and in pain i just wanna get high:(”┃

els🔌┃ “aww you poor thing.”

“plsss??:((“┃

ellliieeee????┃

els🔌┃“i’m on my way princess. say thankyou.”

“thankyou so much els ur the best<33”┃

she never drops off unless the price is right. but you’re the exception. and when she showed up to your house not only with the weed but with some snacks and chocolate for you, claiming it was for when you get the “munchies” but really she knew how being on your period sucked and especially while sober, she would lying to herself if she said she wouldn’t have given it to you anyway. she practically invited herself in and insists on keeping you company and rolling a joint for the two of you, trying to act as if it was so you wouldn’t have all the weed to yourself. which was bullshit. she couldn’t stand the thought of you lonely and in pain during that awful time of month. hell. she hated it too.

that night she had grabbed some blankets and cushions and laid the weed and snacks she brought out making sure you were comfy and made you hot tea and put on a movie you both liked and let you cuddle up to her after you both passed the joint back and forth, she had stayed over and rubbed your back until you fell asleep in her arms when the weed had done it’s job.

she was weak for you. you had her. and you both knew it. after a few days on cue came your text.

“hiiii <3 can i come thru?”┃

els🔌┃“i’m out rn. i’ll pick you up.”

“kay <3” ┃

you put your slippers on and threw on a jacket, waiting around until not even five minutes later her “here.” text made you jump up and head outside, sure enough her car was parked on the road with the headlights on. you walk over to her car the butterflies in your tummy getting more intense the closer you got. as soon as you open the passenger door the smell of weed hits you as well as the musky but clean scent of ellies cologne. a smell you had grown to love. “heyy.” you smiled as you hopped in after ellie had been frantically cleaning off the junk off the seat.

“hey princess. sorry bout the mess. hop in.” “ellie you know i don’t care. my car is worse.” you giggle as you shut the door.

ellie chuckled and started the car then pulled off the curb onto the road, her tatted arm on the steering wheel while her other arm was rested on her knee, the tattoo visible with her hoodie sleeve rolled up slightly as she gripped the steering wheel. you couldn’t not stare. you both chatted as she drove down the quiet road, barely any cars as it was past 3am. you loved night drives with her, mainly because you knew it always ended in hotboxing her car but she was just genuinely good company and made you laugh. and wet.

ellie parked up in an empty lot and pulled out a pre-rolled joint out of her pocket holding it out to you. “wanna do the honours?” “you’re so sweet.” you half teased and pulled out your lighter and lit the blunt inhaling it into your lungs and then exhaling, you had gotten good at not coughing.

ellie watched you, her eyes darkening as she watched how your lips wrapped around the joint and how your head leaned back as the cloud of smoke floated above your head as you blew it out. “show off.” ellies voice was slightly hoarse as her shaky had took the blunt off you and inhaled it herself.

“or maybe i’m just better at it.” you retorted, earning a scoff from ellie as she exhaled. “you wish.”

──────────────────────

as you were both chatting back and forth, it didn’t last long before ellie’s hand found it’s way into your panties, at first you just giggled and kept talking, until her fingers circled your clit and your words were cut off, “els..?”

“what? just playing with my favourite customer, that okay with you baby?” your breath catches in your throat and you quickly nod. a little embarrassed how fast you gave in. “yeah..” you lean back against the car seat spreading your legs further, ellie watches both you and her fingers as she circled your clit gathering your wetness. “fuck ellie…” you groan as she rubs you with the perfect amount of pressure and speed. wet noises filled the car, you were already wet from the weed, her voice and being in such close proximity with her but now you couldn’t stop leaking all over her fingers. your voice breathy and needy. “that feel good baby?” she cooed as she went faster, you nodded quickly in response, “need more els.. please.” you whine, the stimulation good but not enough “let’s get these off huh? wanna see you sweet girl.” you didn’t hesitate and rose your hips up sliding your shorts and panties off kicking them aside not giving it a second thought, ellie exhaled as you spread your legs on the seat “atta girl.”

you whimpered. “i got you baby.” she entered two fingers into you, knowing from your previous encounter you could handle it, especially with how soaked you were, a strained groan escaping her at your sounds. ellie’s eyes glanced between your face and her fingers as she slid them in and out of your slick pussy. “such a pretty fuckin pussy..” ellie murmured, you looked at her, your eyes pouty and unfocused, both from the weed and ellie’s ministrations. ellie melted and immediately leaned in to kiss you. her free hand tangled up in your hair as she tilted her head to the side allowing you to deepen the kiss, sliding her tongue into your mouth, the car was filled with filthy wet sounds and little groans and whimpers from the two of you. rain tapping on the roof of the car and windows as the heavy breathing from you and ellie fogged up the car windows.

ellie pulled away to kiss down your neck, rough and messily leaving dark marks on all over you, your hands were all over her in return, gripping the fabric of her hoodie, smelling the musky but sweet scent she carried. “god ellie..” you whispered, ellie didn’t skip a beat even as she focused on marking you up. her hand still working between your legs, drawing the cutest moans from you. “so fuckin wet… gonna leave a mess on my seat princess.”

she curled her fingers hitting the perfect spot, your back arched and higher pitched moans came from you, ellie’s palm hit your clit as she sped up, now with a purpose to make you all over her fingers. “taking my fingers so good princess… so perfect.” you couldn’t talk now, your hands gripping her shoulder as you clenched around her fingers. “ellie…ellie!”

“yeah yeah baby i know i know. c’mon princess cum on my fingers.”

you squirmed in the seat as your pussy clenched hard around ellie’s fingers as she continued to fuck you through your orgasm, fluid squirting from you each time her fingers moved out of you, spilling all over her car seat your cries and loud groans were music to her ears, you could barely hear her praising and talking you through it, not letting up until she got it all out of you. as your moans died down she slowed until pulling her soaked fingers from you. “atta girl.. shit. you made a fuckin mess huh?” she flicked some of your fluids off and sucked your mess off her fingers, your heart jumping at the sight.

you glanced down at yourself, seeing that little puddle you left on her car seat, immediately covering your face. “fuck you.” ellie laughed, patting your thigh. “hey, don’t be embarrassed. that was fuckin hot.” you uncovered your face and gave a small laugh glancing back at her. both of you seeing the state of each other. “holy shit..” you expressed, fixing yourself and reaching for your shorts and pulling them on, ellie watched with amusement. “yeah.. you good babe?”

you nodded, “way better than.” ellie chuckled and glanced out the window tapping the seat under her before looking back at you starting the engine again. “you wanna grab something to eat?” “aw you’re so sweet, i thought you were supposed to buy me dinner before fucking me?” you teased, pulling you belt on. “ah shit. you’re right. i did this wrong.” ellie said, scoffing. “don’t worry. i’ll do it right next time.” ellie chuckled pulling off the curb.

you rolled your eyes half heartedly but your heart skipped a beat at her words. “next time?” ellie glanced at you as she drove. “yeah.. if you wanna keep doing this.” you smiled, admiring her side profile and her relaxed expression. “yeah of course.” ellie’s hand came to rest on your thigh. “good.”

the rest of the night you two grab food and park up in her car and smoke some more, then go back to hers and snuggle and watch stupid movies stoned and fall asleep together on her couch.

[seewetter]

1925 Reporter: So what does politically correct mean?

1925 Stalin: It means to obey the party line.

1925 Reporter: So it's possible to not obey the party line, right. Right?

1925 Anakin Skywalker: -

1925 Russian émigré: Hey Americans, Russia under Stalin was a nightmare. We don't know what to call his violent persecution of any dissent, but maybe politically correct will work?

1930s Reporter: So what does woke mean?

1930s Interviewee: We mean streetwise. To be woke is to realize the very real danger of racist cops and racists on the street. And to not forget where we are, and not to fall asleep at the steering wheel when it comes to progress against these unjust laws. Perhaps one day our civil rights movement might make a valiant effort to end that racism, that danger.

1940s New Yorker: So what does politically correct mean?

1940s New Yorker Leftist: Some people here in New York really mindlessly obey the local Communist Party. If the party agrees on something, it's gotta be right you know? We call those people politically correct to make fun of them.

1970s No One Asked...

1970s New Leftist: *Sigh* Chairman Mao looks so dreamy. Did you hear that he's all about free love and sexual liberty?

1970s Chairman Mao: Are women bourgeois?

1970s New Leftist: Mao says in his little red book we must hold the party line. Let's be politically correct!

post-1970s progressives: Huh, maybe this is a good word to describe decency and consideration for others.

1981 Ronald Reagan: I'm gonna pass laws so draconic and turn America into such an impoverished nightmare society that people are guaranteed to get really upset at the small things in their lives that they *can* change, cause I've made all the big things completely screwed up. This will result in right-wingers who can't stand good-faith left-wing criticism and "left-wingers" who get lost attacking other people for minor failings and incompatible lifestyles. If I play my cards right just 6 years from now some guy will explode at new ideas in education and even at universities there'll be moral busybodies who police other people's perceived failings. Yeeehaw!

1987 Interviewer: So what does political correctness mean?

1987 Allan Bloom, frothing at the mouth: College campuses. Universities. Students. hwuahifb. Young people. They have management students plan little real-life projects. The professors talk about the future of the industry and what jobs might exist! They do critical thinking exercises! BURN IT ALL! GNARHRGI!!!!

post-1987 right-wingers who need a book deal: wow. What a beautifully nebulous concept! Time to smear everyone and everything we hate and argue for more love towards our favorite pass-times: being insufferable. After all, some people on the Left TM attack people for small perceived moral failings.

1990s Press, *taking notes*: Political Correctness is when the Totalitarian Spanish Inquisition performs Witch Hunts and calls minor things by Extreme Names like Racism just like in George Orwell 1984.

1990s Russian émigrés from 1925 onward, now American neoconservatives: FINALLY someone listens to us about our experiences. I think. That's how I remember my experiences anyway. Gosh it's the 90s, that was half a century back! I'm old, memory is failing me. But these kids on them there college campuses sure do trigger my PTSD from my days under Stalin. Am I so out of touch? No, it's the children who are wrong.

2014 Curious person: So what does woke mean?

2014 Buzzfeed: We mean like hip. Here, take this "What kind of feminist am I quiz" where all answers you give, even misogynist ones, make you a feminist. To be woke is to be with the times, y'know. Being woke means riding the train of history. Just, y'know, without consulting the actual history of AAVE words. That might involve effort and we're way too cool and underpaid to put in effort.

2014 Anti-Feminist: Is this website a good source for what The Left TM wants? Must be.

2016 Asker: So what does woke mean?

2016 Terminally Insular "Leftist": Look, I get all my politics off Twitter and Buzzfeed, except I hate both. I live online and never try fixing things IRL. Woke is like bad Leftism: characterized by vanity, hysteria, shallowness.

2016 Anti-Feminist: Oh, like female vanity, female hysteria, female screeching harpies, female superficiality.

2016 Right-wing lobbyist: *taking notes*

2016 Right-wing spin doctor: *Hey*, guess which cool new word just dropped?! It's called woke, and you're not gonna believe this! It sounds trendy, it has no historical baggage, it lets us make fun of the Left, it only has one syllable and it'll get us a foot in the door with people terminally detached from actual politics.

2016 Right-wing spin doctor's polycule: Honey, come home. Please! We don't need your giant paycheck, we just want you. It's Christmas, can't you even leave the office on Christmas? Please?

2017 Confused person: So what is woke?

2017 Wise right-wing sage: Well. Uh. Um. It. Uh. When Left bad. Uh.

2017 Confused person: Is it different to political correctness? Is it the same thing? It seems like the same thing...

2017 Right-wing thought leader: We must oppose it with all our might. And by it I mean wokeness. And by wokeness, I mean um, uh, um, let me see, um, uh, uh...

The year is 2025. Legislators are passing anti-woke legislation. They still have the decency to put "wokeness" in quotation marks, because even they know, deep down, this has gotten ridiculous.

It’s kinda funny how “woke” as a negative term started amongst the online-left to criticize/make fun of obviously superficial and shallow displays of corporate inclusiveness (which has been clearly vindicated recently) but then the right coopted the term and for awhile they supposedly used it in the same sense of “it’s not actually sincere you’re dicksucking corporations the right is the true enemy of elites” but then it suddenly turned into “any minorities any acknowledgement a minority exists in this work of fiction is woke and grooming”

Similar story with terms like “politically correct” or “identity politics” which originated as critiques from the left but which the right grabbed onto and drained of any meaning

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 25

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know

A.N: I'm sorry for the delay. Unfortunately life gets in the way of these things!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16 • Part 17 • Part 18 • Part 19 • Part 20 • Part 21 • Part 22 • Part 23 • Part 24

• ··········· • ············ •

The trip down to the Entresol level was far easier than the one you just did. Get on the ascensor. Get off. Welcome to Zaun.

The undercity was very similar to what you remembered in your dimension, even though you hadn’t spent a long time there. Dark, chaotic, and yet in the chaos there was beauty. People shouting back and forth, vehicles coming and going, lights reflecting on colored glass panes. 

Once upon another timeline, after Viktor became hexed and started his commune, you became a common guest in it. Helping him do things and reach higher, do better...improve…evolve. He would find ways to get you to the commune quickly and safely; most of them wouldn’t have you pass through the streets of Zaun. And if by any chance you’d need to, he’d get someone to accompany you. 

No…he wouldn’t get someone…He would make someone.

It was hard to try and distinguish what was made out of love and what was made out of fawning. He wanted you in the commune, whether because he cared or because he needed more evolved; you didn’t know. But looking back at all the gestures he did, all the little smiles and touches, it was hard to imagine him, at that time, doing it for love. It was a means to an end. Much like the hex angel he had sent after you.

A tap on your shoulder snapped you violently out of your thoughts, so much so that you had to grab your chest to keep your quickening heart from exploding.

“Gods, Viktor.” You breathed. “Scared the shit out of me.”

“We have been walking for 10 minutes.” He sounded confused. “Where were you?”

“Far.” You looked at him, and he had a concerned look on his face. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. As long as you come back.” 

“I’ll try.”

“We are here.”

You had stopped in front of a two-story building. It was thin and tall, and it looked like it had been pulled up by the roof disproportionately. The broken window on the ground floor showed the dancing shadows of an abandoned store, with half-empty shelves and dust shimmering there. The other two floors had two square windows to the street but only a faint light coming out of them. The door to the living quarters was ajar, and despite looking neglected on the outside, clothes were hanging on the windows, and on the last floor, there was a little parapet with some plants on it. 

“There.” Viktor pointed to the first-floor window. “That was my bedroom.”

You looked up where he was pointing and smiled. There was a purple curtain there, and you wondered if that was there when he was.

“And that was the living room.” He pointed to the window next to the other.

Viktor had a melancholic air to him. A sort of haziness in his eyes as he remembered those times. You kept quiet, letting him reminisce.

“You want to go up?” You said when he sighed with finality.

“No. There is probably someone living there.” He turned around to walk further down the artificially lit streets.

You silently followed him through the streets, watching the stalls and the stores start to get customers. You knew danger lurked around every shadow, especially with the chembarons running amok, but right now it seemed calm and safe…safe-ish.

One thing that surprised you, though, was the sound above the sounds. Above the cacophony of the undercity, there were whispers and buzz like a layer of frenzied talk about the frenzy. Several times you’d pause and look back when something whispered in your ear. It didn’t feel evil or angry. It was playful, like a child touching your shoulder only to hide away.

“Is everything alright?” Viktor asked, and you nodded.

“I’ll explain later. Rune related.”

He paused and looked back at the building that was once his home and then at the intersection where you were both standing. In front was a metal bridge, a path to the left towards more buildings, and a metal stairway to the right.

“It’s there.” He pointed to a small location on a metal landing on a lower level.

“More stairs!”

“Zaun’s architecture is vertical.” He spat out, limping towards the steps.

You walked beside him, keeping a close eye on him. He held to the thin railing, and between that and his crutch, you both made your way down slowly but safely.

“As you can guess...” He adjusted his aid and straightened up. “It was fun for me growing up.”

The layer of sarcasm in the sentence was as thick as the fog that rolled above.

“Between the lungs and the bones, I was a regular at the playground…if there had been any playgrounds…” 

There was resentment in his voice, but not anger. He wanted the best for the Undercity, even after it had pushed him aside. He knew, the same as you or your mother, that the betterment of Zaun would be the betterment of everyone who lived in it. Whether they were healthy or not.

“Would you ever consider coming back?” You expected a resounding and quick no since that had been the answer given to you by his cosmic twin, but once again the thoughtful silence told you how different they were.

“Yes, if that’s a decisive factor in the improvement of people's lives here, I would.” There was no doubt in his tone.

“Sounds like you’ve thought this over.”

“Heh. It is where I was born; I will always love it. No matter what it becomes.” His head nodded forward, and you saw your target location coming up.

The store window was bright with orange and yellow lights, reminding you of a lit fireplace. The black-trimmed glass panes with gentle curves made it welcoming, and the array of colorful packages and signs made it even more appealing to the eye. But what made you look at the small store was the symbol on the sign. It was the fire rune, mirrored and delicately decorated with leaves and flowers.

“My mother used to come here.” He recalled once more. “I liked the little candy they had for coughs and the muscle cream too.”

You smiled at him and walked inside, his presence close behind you. The little voices and sounds from what you thought were the arcane became a little louder as you approached the store, but they quickly became silent as the bell signaling a customer entrance rang.

The inside of the store was warm and smelled of dried leaves and soothing balms. The dark wooden shelves were filled with paper packets, glass bottles, and tin cans with various colorful labels. The decorations, the advertisements, and even the rug on the floor were old and raggedy, but it gave the place a cozy feeling.

“Hello. Welcome to Fireside Elixirs and Medicines. My name is Elysium. How can I help you?”

Elysium smiled and brightened up the room as they placed their hands on the glass counter. They were wearing a baggy cream-colored wool sweater with a flowery detail embroidered in it, under a pair of green overalls. Their sleeves were rolled up, and his arms were filled with flowery and leafy tattoos.

“Alena sent us,” Viktor announced after the door closed, and Elysium's smile got bigger.

“Oh, yes! You must be the hex-head and the heir.” 

You tried to bite back a laugh but failed when you glanced at Viktor’s confused face. His eyes blinking, eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth trying to come up with a reply.

“That’s us.” You waved, and they nodded.

“I’ve got what you asked for here.” Elysium walked to the back of the store, waiting for them to follow.

“What did you ask for?” Viktor mumbled as he followed you, the wooden floor from the apothecary creaking.

“Old records of old customers...” you whispered back as Elysium opened the door to a small storage room and office space.

The small round table in the middle was filled with cardboard boxes, and those boxes were filled with notebooks and binders with papers of different sizes and colors inside. It was literally a mess of papers and books and dust bunnies.

“It’s all I could find, and Janna knows if that’s all of it.”

“I just wanted a list of clients…” you stuttered, surprised at the number of boxes and sheets.

“Yup…those are it. 90 years worth.” Elysium patted you on the back. “If you need me, I'll be right there.”

They pointed to a small corner couch that had an open sketchbook and some pencils next to it. You nodded, still a bit shocked.

Viktor was already inside the office, looking around the boxes, grabbing the lightest ones, and placing them on the floor.

“Do you still sell the rosehip tea?” Viktor asked quietly, Why did you finally accept your fate?

Elysium nodded curiously while you looked at both of them.

“I would like to buy some.” They nodded again, moving to get him his tea. “Do you perhaps have a kettle here?”

“Not here, but I can get you some hot water.” Both of you realized at the same time what the scientist wanted to do.

“That would be appreciated. Thank you.”

The storekeeper nodded again and turned around, probably to find the tea and the water. You shifted your gaze to Viktor, who was now fishing for something out of his satchel.

“Rosehip tea?” you asked, mimicking his movements from before, picking up some of the heavier boxes.

“It is good for joints and inflammation.” He explained, taking out a small leather coin purse, a notebook, and a pen with a colorful top.

“You believe in that?”

…someone else didn’t…

“I believe in anything that might help me. If anything, the human mind is very susceptible to the placebo effect.” He sat down in a chair, starting to undo his brace, sighing in relief once it was free.

Both of you sat down at the table as you started by picking a box and trying to make heads and tails of the boxes.

Viktor was a pro, quickly grabbing everything out of one box and making piles for each size of paper sheet and note and then making another pile with the whole notebooks. You started to follow his lead, adding papers and notebooks to the piles.

Elysium would come around at certain points throughout the morning, bringing the water for the tea and two mismatched cups. It was clear the shop still had some customers, the bell ringing from time to time and Elysium’s calm voice helping them out.

By the time lunch came around, you had made your way through a couple of boxes, and both looked proud when their new acquaintance whistled, impressed.

“I’m starting to think we should pay you for this.” They joked, leaning into the doorway.

“No need. It is quite…relaxing.” Viktor quickly blurted, and you snorted in disagreement.

“Please forgive him. He’s usually knee-deep in chaos.” You grabbed your backpack.

“Well, it’s food time. If you guys want to come, I’m going to a little stall down the street.” Elysium grabbed his satchel bag and waited for your answers.

You both nodded in sync and made your way out the door.

“Alena told me you are interested in the magic symbols. Can I ask why?” Elysium asked, slurping his noodles.

“I am researching them for my studies.” Viktor quickly blurted it out before you could even open your mouth.

“For hextech?” 

“No. Personal.”

“That’s awesome!!”

“What do you know about them?” You asked, setting the spoon down and leaning over the serving shelf of the food stall.

“Urban legend. Mom warned me about the old man with magic, that he would come and take me if I got into trouble.”

Viktor nudged your knee with his own, and you looked at him. He raised his eyebrows, and you nodded, acknowledging that the shopkeeper had the same experience as Viktor.

“Did your grandparents see him too?” 

“Not my grandparents…my great uncle.” Elysium finished his food and pushed the bowl aside. “He once saw him near the lanes, just looking.”

“Did he talk to him?” Viktor asked, also pushing his food aside and grabbing a small tray with a little fried round pastry layered with sugar and cinnamon.

“But he would see him there almost every day. Gr’uncle thought he was a ghost most of the time, and he was scared of ghosts.” They gave you a sad smile. “Later in life he became…sick…mentally…he’d forget things and see things, and we couldn't tell what was real or what was his imagination.”

“Was it the mines?” Viktor asked, plopping the sugar bomb into his mouth.

“Probably…or the gray. Or both.”

The air turned solemn, the three of you contemplating the lives of the citizens of the Undercity. They had been forgotten by the council; every piece of comfort they had been given by them was performative. Sure, Councilor Kiramman funded and made the pipes that expelled the gray from the city, but in the end, there was always a blade above these people's neck. You knew this because you saw it. Caytlin only needed to turn a key, and the toxic gas was once more weaponized against them. 

Every time someone tried to do good…actual good for the people of Zaun, there were hurdles and committees and just unenthusiastic talks about why they needed actual schools for children in Zaun; meanwhile, Piltover prided itself on the education of its citizens. 

Heimerdinger had been right when he told the boys back then about security, and when they told you, you were just as outraged as they were. Now though? Now you know that Hextech indeed needs some security precautions. Against Piltover's need to stomp on their lower city mostly.

Zaun was dangerous; the shadows were sometimes death sentences, but they had been left to fend for themselves. Enforcers weren’t policing the bad guys here; they were just making sure the cages were locked.

It angered you that you had been blind to most of it. Even to the point of not giving a shit about it. Your ivory tower was way too high for you to see the people down below. Until you were dragged into it. Sure, it was by a hexed Viktor, but the experiences were all real, the people who wandered into the commune, their stories. 

And even though the means he used were flawed, he tried to help them. Only to be the one who would fatally use them.

“It was evolution, my dear friend. The betterment of ourselves only leads to the betterment of our surroundings.” Viktor's mechanical voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He was right there…in your ear.

“Are you alright?” Elysium asked, stopping the animated conversation they were having with Viktor. You're Viktor.

“Yeah…sorry! Just thinking about the boxes back at the store.” You looked at your gloved hands. “I can’t feel the tips of my fingers.”

“I think we can start to decipher the clients with what we have now, and perhaps tomorrow we could investigate those.” Viktor grabbed a paper bag with grease stains from the man in the stall. It was filled with the sugary fried pastries he had been eating. “When we exhaust all of those people, we go back for more.”

“Sounds like a game plan.” Elysium nodded as if he was the one who was going to do it.

“It does.” You looked back at the shopkeeper. “You’re going to help us with this?”

“Ah! No. That’s all you.”

You groaned as they laughed, patting your shoulder in solidarity with your exasperation.

What you had thought was going to be a day of exploration turned out to be a day of tracking people through receipts, prescriptions, and old notes made by at least two generations of Alena’s family.

Luckily, once Elysium announced the shop was closing, Viktor groaned, apparently enjoying this methodical work, and you let out a relieved moan.

Elysium handed Viktor a tin with more rosehip tea and bid you both goodbye. It wasn’t late, but the air was starting to become even more chilly.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @kitewa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies @iamfandomnerd @jazzypop-op @jojo-at-heart

[tsuutarr]

YO I KNOW HOW TO RUIN THE EVIL SCIENTIST!!!!!

So we do a little trolling-

Jk, darling wakes up with no problem, buuuuut she doesn't like that he's old now, doesn't like that he's got this weird aura going on (it's called being evil), nitpick everything she doesn't like and eventually, admits she doesn't like him anymore!

"I mean, thanks for reviving me, but I want a divorce."

So this ask plays really well into the "routes" you can take for Thomas if he ever becomes a yandere dating sim ML. The routes are as follows:

Reader remembers Thomas OR is good enough at trickery to make him believe they remember.

Reader doesn't remember Thomas BUT Reader is grateful towards Thomas and willing to learn how to live with him.

Reader is ungrateful towards Thomas/dismissive to him.

1 and 2 would be the "good routes" with 2 being better than 1. In 2, Reader isn't exactly like how Thomas remembers Reader to be, but Thomas loves Reader all the same because people can change and he accepts that. As long as Reader tries, he's satisfied and happy. This is more of a soft yandere route since Thomas would be possessive and stuff over Reader but Reader lives a normal life for the most part.

In 1, Thomas hyperfixates on past Reader, so while it's technically a good ending, Reader kind of has to live in their own shadow. This is also a route where Thomas is super yandere and locks Reader up, ensuring that Reader can't leave the mansion.

And for 3, Thomas has had many failed experimentations. A successful experiment would lead to Reader being cordial with him as a bare MINIMUM. If Reader dislikes Thomas, it means that his experimentation failed, so he'll dispose of the Reader and continue his experiment to revive his love.

Thomas is extremely devoted and delusional, but he's also calculative and pretty cold. If Reader was rude and dismissive to him, he wouldn't really be ruined -- just disappointed that his experiment failed again. He doesn't even need the Reader to be all over him, just being neutral is a success to him.

Once the Reader is rude to him, he doesn't view Reader as his love anymore. Instead, he views rude Reader as another failed experiment and is extremely detached. Though, he'd also feel massively guilty because he doesn't blame Reader for turning out rude -- he blames himself. It's all his fault he couldn't bring back Reader properly, it's his fault the experiment failed. So he'll do what he can to finally, finally succeed.