#VERY HARD TO CONCENTRATE ON WHAT SHE WAS SAYING BECAUSE I WAS JUST PURE

[silly-wizard]

there was a bit of that latest philosophy tube video that made me like. unfathomable lust. utter holy shit moment. my eyes had huge hearts in them

[kingofbodyrolls]

Say I Do (m) | jjk

Summary: you and Jungkook tease each other at your wedding reception.

Pairing: jungkook x female reader (no Y/N and unnamed)

AUs: non-idol!au, wedding!au

Genres: smut– like it’s just smut, nothing else 🤣

Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

Word count: 5,2k

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings/tag: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, public sex, handjob, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, slightly rough sex, choking, biting, spitting, ass grabbing, impreg kink, degrading names (whore used once).

Author’s note: I made this for my lovely friend Lua (@letjungcoook7)!!!! SURPRISE!!!! I hope you like it! I was inspired to make this because of our chat, and I just want to say that you are so fucking lovely, sweet and kind 💖 I really hope this isn’t too much, but I just had too 🥹 I really wanted to make it dirty, but it ended up being more sweet instead, I’m sorry! I love talking to you and I just wanted to let you know that I adore and treasure you 😘 

Honestly Lua, I just wrote this to tell you how beautiful you are– mind, body and soul. Thank you Lua, I love ya 💜

This is just something very short while I work on ‘My Heart’s Home’. But I hope you like it, and please let me know what you think: my inbox is always open, and I love to hear from you, even a reblog/comment will put a big smile on my face 💜

Also!!! This is written from Jungkook’s POV (well I tried, lol). And normally I don’t describe the reader/MC, but she does have a tiny bit description in this, but I still feel it’s vague enough. But if that isn’t your thing, it’s completely fine 🙂 This is not proofread (because I’m too lazy for that right now).

This has nothing to do with my other fic 'say that again (I dare you)', but if you want to read that I'm not opposed (it's also a jjk fic) ✨

Fancy reading on AO3? 😉 

Rising gracefully to his feet, Taehyung's infectious enthusiasm fills the room as he declares, “I propose a toast!” His radiant smile sweeps over the myriad of guests you meticulously invited to your wedding—more than a hundred souls sharing in the joy of your love story. 

As he prepares to speak, Jungkook can't help but marvel at the grandeur of the occasion. Despite his personal inclination towards a more intimate celebration, he wouldn't dream of denying you this moment, surrounded by the warmth of friends and family who have come together to witness the union of two hearts.

Despite Taehyung's earnest attempt to capture Jungkook's attention with a throat-clearing preamble, Jungkook finds himself inexplicably entranced elsewhere. Even in the midst of one of his closest friends delivering a heartfelt wedding speech—something he should be wholeheartedly absorbing—but it’s hard. As hard as his dick that you’re palming over his dress pants.

The tantalizing dance of your hand sends ripples of pleasure through him, an intoxicating distraction that eclipses all other thoughts. It's an artful symphony of sensation, each movement crafting a masterpiece of desire within him. The struggle to concentrate on anything else becomes an exhilarating battle. Fuck. 

You, the mischievous enchantress, wield your allure like a potent spell. 

A tantalizing awareness of your own danger courses through your veins, and you wield it with an expert finesse. Every knowing glance, every sly smile, is a calculated move in the game you effortlessly play. You've mastered the art of ensnaring him, wrapping him around your finger with a magnetic force that compels him to dance to your whims. It's a dangerous dance, but he willingly succumbs to the intoxication of your charm, embracing the thrill as much as he cherishes the intoxicating love he feels for you.

What the fuck is Taehyung saying?

Taehyung’s words dissolve into a meaningless buzz, drowned out by the illicit symphony you're orchestrating beneath the table. The audacious zipper sliding down and the tantalizing exploration of your hand over the fabric of his boxer briefs command all of Jungkook's attention.

Profanity trembles on the edge of his tongue, but it's lost in the overwhelming sensation that eclipses any coherent thought. Your stealthy touch renders him blissfully oblivious to everything else unfolding around him.

Suppressing a low, guttural sound, he clenches his teeth, using every ounce of willpower to stifle the moan building in his throat. As desire courses through him like a wildfire, he willingly parts his legs, a silent invitation for you to explore more boldly, granting ample space for the electrifying touch of your hand over the hardened length of his cock.

He marvels at your audacity, finding it both exhilarating and daring that you'd embark on such a provocative escapade during your wedding reception. Yet, deep down, he acknowledges that it's a reflection of the wild spirit that has always defined your relationship. It's a shared affinity for dancing on the edge, reveling in the allure of danger, and delighting in the thrill of engaging in activities that should, by all accounts, remain private. It's a facet of your relationship that has always been magnetic, drawing you both into a world where the risk of being caught only adds to the intoxicating excitement.

In the blink of an eye, your hand deftly maneuvers beneath the fabric of his boxers, sending a shiver down his spine. A hiss escapes his lips as your long, slender fingers confidently envelop his cock. The warmth of your touch is both a balm and an inferno, and he instinctively tilts his head back in the chair, a silent plea for discretion. 

As he surrenders to the delicious sensation, he can't help but cast a furtive glance around, fervently hoping that the clandestine ballet unfolding beneath the table remains a tantalizing secret shared only between you.

Despite the uproarious laughter echoing through the room in response to Taehyung's speech, Jungkook remains oblivious to its contents, ensnared the choreography of your hand beneath the table. 

The mirthful ambiance only fuels his curiosity, surmising that Taehyung must have delivered a punchline or shared a humorous anecdote. Meanwhile, beneath the table's concealment, your hand skillfully traces a tantalizing path along his hardened cock, drawing a hushed hiss from Jungkook's lips. 

With a steely resolve, he masks any trace of emotion, locking his features in a stoic facade and maintaining an impressive silence. His determined effort is not just to conceal the electrifying sensations your actions are evoking, but also to safeguard the clandestine intimacy you both share from the prying eyes of the unsuspecting guests. 

Every fiber of his being is a coiled spring, resisting the urge to yield to the pleasure that threatens to unravel beneath the veneer of his restrained expression. 

As his gaze shifts towards you, he's met with an unexpected sight—there you sit, an image of demure elegance in your exquisite white gown. 

The fabric caresses your curves in all the right places, accentuating the allure of your figure. The daringly low neckline teases a glimpse of the captivating silhouette of your bosom, leaving him momentarily breathless. The off-the-shoulder design unveils a generous expanse of your soft, tender skin, a tantalizing sight that aligns perfectly with his preferences. 

Despite the provocative allure of your attire, your outward appearance betrays no hint of the illicit affair transpiring beneath the table. If he didn't intimately know the secret you were concealing—your hand discreetly exploring the realm beneath his pants—he'd be fooled by the serene facade you present, seemingly absorbed in the captivating rhythm of Taehyung's speech.

In a silent plea of gratitude, Jungkook revels in the fact that the attention of the guests is fixed on Taehyung's speech, sparing him the scrutiny of prying eyes. 

Little do they know, the real spectacle unfolds beneath the table, where your touch becomes an exquisite torment. 

Every movement of your hand is a tantalizing dance, a blend of ecstasy and torture that threatens to unravel him. With a teasing finesse, your soft fingers caress his frenulum, tracing a path towards the depths of pleasure. The deliberate slide over his slit elicits a shiver of pure ecstasy, leaving Jungkook teetering on the precipice of desire that you expertly navigate.

Your hand envelops him, a cocoon of warmth that intensifies with each skillful stroke. The pleasure coursing through him is undeniably exquisite, a testament to the mastery of your touch. Yet, a lingering awareness tugs at the edges of his consciousness—an impending climax that threatens to unravel the careful threads of restraint. The exquisite sensations you evoke compel him to desperately anchor his thoughts, to redirect the intoxicating focus from the captivating dance beneath the table to Taehyung's speech.

The challenge lies not just in resisting the magnetic pull of pleasure but in maintaining a semblance of composure, navigating the delicate balance between the ecstasy you're orchestrating beneath the table and the public façade demanded by the occasion.

“We’ve been friends for so long, how many years is it now, Gguk?” As Taehyung poses the question, a hushed anticipation envelops the room, and all eyes converge on Jungkook. 

Fuck. 

All eyes are on him and he can’t think— he’s mind is clouded with thoughts of you. 

Taehyung– Fuck. How long have they been friends? 

In a sudden stumble of recollection, he breathes out, “17 years,” the weight of the shared history resonating in the room. Yet, the gravity of the moment is unexpectedly intensified as you administer an assertive squeeze around cock. Fuck.

With a chuckle that slices through the tension, Taehyung seamlessly continues his discourse, effortlessly reclaiming the attention of the room and redirecting every wandering gaze back to him. A collective exhale echoes in Jungkook's mind, a silent gratitude for the timely diversion that spares the clandestine spectacle beneath the table from becoming the unwitting center of attention. 

Relentless, you maintain the rhythm on his dick, displaying an unwavering determination that hints at an intention to push him to the brink, right under the unsuspecting gaze of the gathered guests. 

As the divine caress of your hand propels him perilously close to the edge, a surge of urgency overtakes him. Desperate, he turns his face towards you, eyes silently pleading for respite, but your gaze remains steadfastly elsewhere. 

Frustration wells within him, and he attempts to use his hands to guide yours away, only to find your grip tightening in response. The conflicting forces of pleasure and restraint collide within him, his muscles tensing as a hitch in his breath betrays the precarious precipice upon which he teeters.

Leaning in, you bring with you a halo of your natural sweet scent, an intoxicating allure that wraps around him, overwhelming his senses and leaving him slightly dizzy. 

Your lips, soft and plush, delicately find his cheek in what appears to be a tender gesture to the outside world. To the unsuspecting onlookers, it's a simple, sweet kiss on the cheek. 

Little do they know, in that same moment, your daring move involves not just the gentle press of your lips but the subtle exploration of your other hand slipping under his boxers to fondle his balls.

Fucking hell he’s gonna come.

Ecstasy courses through him like a wildfire, an imminent eruption fueled by the intoxicating cocktail of your skillful touch on his balls, warm breath teasing his ear, and the relentless grip on his pulsating desire. The threshold between pleasure and release narrows to a perilous edge, and he finds himself teetering on the brink, held captive by the maddening symphony of sensations you've orchestrated. 

Despite his valiant efforts to remain attentive to his friend's speech, the sheer mastery of your pleasure-inducing touch proves insurmountable. Every deliberate stroke, every strategic squeeze of his balls, propels him further into the abyss of ecstasy. In a moment of surrender, he can no longer contain the torrent of desire, and ropes of his essence surge forth from his throbbing dick. His lips bear the weight of a stifled moan, as you keep stroking him through his orgasm.

Beside him, your chuckle is a symphony of sweetness interwoven with a hint of mischief, a melodic backdrop to the ongoing crescendo of pleasure you expertly administer through his orgasm. 

As he traverses the realm of oversensitivity, a low, guttural grunt escapes him, drawing the curious gaze of Taehyung, engrossed in his ongoing speech. Though momentarily caught in a gaze of questioning inquiry, Taehyung forges ahead, resuming his speech with a peculiar stare, unwittingly oblivious to the spectacle unfolding beside him.

Thank fuck both of your parents aren’t seated right next to you. That would have been utterly mortifying and embarrassing.

With a deliberate finesse, you retract your hand from his crotch, guiding it gracefully over the table, where you nonchalantly employ a napkin to erase any lingering evidence. Seated there, you adopt an innocent facade, a picture of angelic composure that conceals the fact that, mere seconds ago, your hand delved into the forbidden realm beneath his pants. 

With an audible exhale, he reaches for a napkin, hastily attending to the aftermath on his pants. The damage is fortunately minimal, thanks to your deft intervention that efficiently captured most of his release. Smart girl.

But a mischievous spark ignites in his eyes, a silent vow echoing beneath the surface - oh, he's going to get back at you for that, you little minx. 

–

As the notes of the classic wedding waltz envelop the room, Jungkook marvels at the surreal reality—he gets to call you his wife now. The ethereal glow surrounding you transcends the physical, a radiant aura that has always defined you. Despite your humble protestations about your own beauty, he's captivated by the undeniable truth: you've always been, and continue to be, an enchanting vision. Countless times you've confessed to feeling otherwise, but in his eyes, you're a masterpiece. In this moment, as you dance together, you're not just a part of his world; you are his entire universe.

Gazing into the pools of your sweet, doe-like eyes, their exquisite almond shape captivates him, holding his attention in an unbreakable trance. He contemplates the nuances of your beauty, from the enchanting curvature of your slightly upturned nose to the endearing moments when he can't resist playfully poking it during your teasing exchanges. Every inch of you, in his eyes, is a masterpiece, and he pledges to vocalize his admiration every day, a ritual aimed at etching your beauty into your own consciousness. 

He dreams that with each affirming word, he'll weave a tapestry of self-love around you, until the day you see yourself as he does—undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful.

As you dance, your eyes ablaze with an unmistakable love, he luxuriates in the intensity of your gaze. A daring current of desire propels his hand, gliding with deliberate intent down your body until it boldly claims your ass. 

Uninhibited, he seizes it with audacious confidence, the bold move oblivious to the watchful eyes surrounding you. A soft, mischievous squeeze elicits a sweet chuckle from you, a harmonious note in the symphony of shared amusement that reverberates through the party, as the crowd collectively succumbs to the captivating allure of your uninhibited dance.

As the soft strains of the music envelop you both in a waltz, your heads draw nearer, the enchanting melody echoing the tender dance of your hearts. With the song nearing its end, he seizes the moment, leaning in intimately close to your ear. The hushed promise that escapes his lips carries a tantalizing undercurrent, his warm breath grazing your skin as he vows, “I'm going to get you back for earlier, babe.”

He senses the subtle shiver coursing through you as his touch lingers, a silent testament to the shared electricity between you. As the final notes of the song fade into the applause and cheers of the crowd, seizing the perfect moment, he leans in, embracing you in a sweet and passionate kiss. 

As the rhythm of a more upbeat song invigorates the dance floor, he seizes the opportunity to whisk you away from the lively crowd. Amidst the pulsating beats and the vivacious laughter of the guests, he guides you outside the building, their merriment gradually fading into the background.

In the crisp night air, he asserts a sudden dominance, pressing you against the sturdy wall. His gaze, infused with an unmistakable hunger and need, locks onto your beautiful eyes, creating a magnetic tension that reverberates between you. 

“You are a little minx, you know that?” His words, not laced with anger but rather a dangerous undercurrent of arousal, hang in the charged air. Your chuckle, a sweet symphony that further stirs the tempest within him, prompts a hiss as he succumbs to the magnetic pull, diving fervently into the captivating abyss of your mouth.

The kiss intensifies, a collision of passion that is both hard and rough, fueled by an undeniable need. In the urgency of the moment, he can't afford to wait, the impatience palpable in every fervent press of lips. 

You envelop him in the embrace of your arms, fingers intertwining at the nape of his neck, while your gaze rises to meet his. In the depths of his eyes, once warm brown orbs now transformed into pools of near-black intensity, a reflection of the potent arousal coursing through his veins. 

Your hand embarks on a daring journey, descending to the front of his pants once more, and the response is instantaneous – hardness reignites, a testament to the insatiable flame you kindle within him. Desire for you pulses like a constant current, an almost permanent state of arousal that defies logical explanation. Whatever enchantment you cast upon him, it's an irresistible force that weaves a tantalizing spell, leaving him perpetually captivated by the mystique of your touch.

Breaking away from the embrace of your soft lips, he wears a smirk laden with both warning and allure. “You're playing with fire, babe,” he remarks, the subtle edge in his voice echoing the intoxicating dance of danger and desire that swirls between you.

In a hushed whisper that flutters against your ear, he breathes, “You've been a naughty girl.” 

The words, laden with an undercurrent of sultry authority, send a shiver down your spine, awakening a cascade of tingles that traverse the landscape of your entire body. 

Descending to the delicate expanse of your neck, he peppers it with soft, almost teasing kisses, each touch a prelude to the symphony of sensations. Then, in an abrupt shift from gentle caresses, he bites down, coaxing from you a loud moan that resonates through the air—an intoxicating sound that echoes in the depths of his desire, a melody he'll never tire of hearing. 

Continuing his explorative journey, he ventures further south, his lips descending to the curve of your breasts. With a deliberate tenderness, he places a kiss atop the soft expanse of your tender tits.

Gracefully sinking to his knees, he gazes up at you with a mischievous smirk, the air thick with a heady mixture of desire and anticipation. His tongue darts out, grazing his lips in a provocative dance of anticipation, signaling the imminent exploration of pleasures yet to unfold. 

With an assertive grip, he seizes the front of your dress, drawing it away in a swift, purposeful motion. Despite the abundance of fabric, he deftly bunches it up with ease. “Hold your dress, please,” he directs, handing you the end of the gathered fabric. 

“Hmm. Nice lace stockings, and that girdle—what are you doing to me?” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing blend of desire and fascination. His gaze lingers appreciatively on your beautiful thighs encased in nude stockings adorned with lace at the top, fastened to a concealed girdle on your waist.

His eyes widen with a mix of surprise and arousal as they land on your wet and glistening pussy, the evidence of desire trickling down your thigh. “Oh my god. You're not wearing panties?” he breathes out, his voice carrying the weight of both revelation and anticipation. A subtle lick of his lips betrays the intensity of his reaction.

A playful chuckle escapes your lips as you hover above him, and without a moment's hesitation, he immerses himself in the intoxicating warmth of your desire. His lips eagerly find their destination, tracing a decadent path from the delicate folds to the pulsating essence of your clit. 

The sensation ripples through your body, igniting a shiver that becomes an involuntary response to the electrifying dance between tongues, pleasure, and the shared yearning that binds you together.

He embarks on a tantalizing journey of tongue and suction, starting with teasing caresses that send tremors of anticipation through your body. His hands, strong and purposeful, find purchase on your thighs, holding you in a firm grip as he orchestrates a symphony of pleasure with his skillful tongue, creating an intoxicating dance that blurs the lines between sensation and desire.

A throaty moan escapes your lips as his nose delicately brushes against your pulsating cl*t, his tongue delving as deep as its voracious hunger allows. The exquisite sensation of his exploration elicits an involuntary clenching around him, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you.

Your thighs, unable to withstand the intensity, succumb to a tremor, trembling beneath the intoxicating caress of pleasure that consumes you.

His dexterous fingers ascend to your throbbing clit, and with a skillful touch, he sets in motion a rapid dance of pleasure, causing your entire body to quiver with newfound intensity. The quickened rhythm of your breath becomes a symphony of desire, a telltale sign for him that you're teetering on the precipice of ecstasy.

Eager to reciprocate the pleasure you bestowed upon him within the confines of the reception, he fervently laps at your tender folds. Simultaneously, his fingers engage in a deft dance around your throbbing clit, orchestrating a symphony of sensations that echoes the pulsating rhythm of desire between you.

With the harmonious fusion of his skilled tongue and nimble fingers, he orchestrates the unraveling of your senses. As ecstasy courses through you, your body convulses in euphoria, your walls clenching around his tongue, and the pulsating rhythm of your clit intensifying under the spell of his fingers. 

Waves of pleasure surge through you, causing your body to quake, and in the throes of ecstasy, you release a high-pitched, strained moan that bears his name—an intimate symphony of pleasure that lingers in the air.

Breathless and overwhelmed, you gasp out his name, a plea woven into the words, “Fuck, Jungkook. I can't stand up anymore.” As he gracefully withdraws from your core, his gaze rises to meet yours, locking in a shared moment of intensity.

He chuckles, the rich timbre of his laughter lingering in the charged air. “I know, babe. Do you want me to fuck you against the wall?”

You draw in a sharp breath, and he keenly observes the subtle clench of your hand, the fabric of the dress tightly gathered within your grasp. 

“Fuck yeah,” An unbridled affirmation escapes your lips, a primal declaration of desire. As he rises to his feet, a surge of urgency propels him to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss. The taste of your own release lingers on his lips, creating an intimate communion of shared pleasure that binds you together in the aftermath of passion.

As he engulfs you in a fervent kiss, the symphony of desire playing out between you, his hands deftly navigate the zipper of his dress pants. With a purposeful movement, he unveils his throbbing cock, stroking it in rhythmic cadence. 

His hands, driven by a primal urgency, seek out the contours of your a*s with a possessive intent. “Jump up, babe,” he commands, the resonance of his voice weaving a spell of anticipation. As you obediently jump, he effortlessly lifts you, cocooning you against the wall. 

In a brief struggle against the bulk of your dress, both of you grapple with the fabric, pushing it away from the front of your entwined bodies. A shared chuckle hangs in the air, a lighthearted interlude in the midst of fervor. But as the fabric yields to your efforts, Jungkook seizes the opportunity, moving in with an insatiable hunger to bite at your neck once more. 

With a sultry whisper, he breathes, “I'm gonna fuck a baby into you, would you like that, hmm?” 

The words, pregnant with promise, glide against your ear, and the responsive clench of your legs around his waist speaks volumes. A knowing chuckle escapes him as you endeavor to pull him even closer, the shared desire resonating between you in the charged space.

“Please,” your plea, a desperate yet fervent entreaty, escapes your lips, a poignant melody of desire that resonates in the charged air. The subtle smirk that graces his lips is both a testament to your undeniable need for him and an acknowledgment of the power he holds over your cravings.

With a deliberate touch, he locates his throbbing cock with one hand and skillfully aligns it with your dripping entrance. The tantalizing dance begins as he teases your slick folds with the head of his pulsating dick, creating an electrifying friction that amplifies the anticipation between you two. 

“Gguk, please,” you plead with a mixture of desire and frustration, your voice echoing the urgent need for him to bridge the gap between anticipation and fulfillment. However, he remains steadfast, skillfully teasing your slick folds without granting the entry your body craves. 

With a desperate plea escaping your lips once more, he finally relents. The moment stretches with anticipation before he forcefully thrusts his thick cock into your eager pussy. The collision is met with an audible impact as your back forcefully meets the wall.

He forgoes the customary pause for adjustment, intuitively aware that you relish the exquisite stretch when he enters you so abruptly. Without hesitation, he plunges deep into your core, reaching the furthest recesses, his thick length grazing against your cervix. 

“You’re so big, the stretch feels so good!” 

You gasp breathlessly against his body, overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. The intoxicating stretch sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, a visceral reminder of the intensity between you two. Determined to fully immerse yourself in the sensation, you pant against him, actively striving to ride the wave of pleasure, desperate to fuck yourself on him, the relentless pursuit of ecstasy evident in every ardent movement.

He establishes a relentless rhythm, driving into you with a force that resonates against the unyielding wall of the building. The symphony of your combined panting echoes in the air, a melodic accompaniment to the unbridled passion unfolding. Jungkook, captivated by the primal symphony, savors every delightful noise escaping your lips—a harmonious blend of desire and surrender, heightening the intensity of the fervent connection shared between you.

As he thrusts into you, each powerful motion striking your cervix, he elevates the intensity by trailing one hand up to your neck. With a gentle yet possessive touch, he wraps his fingers around your throat.

He knows you like it dirty and rough, and fuck he does too. 

His taunting words, laced with a playful yet provocative tone, cut through the charged air. “Did you enjoy the little game with your fingers down my pants while Tae was making his speech?” The rhetorical question hangs between you, a teasing challenge that elicits a subtle clenching reaction around him. 

In a sultry revelation, he whispers, “'Next to your bridesmaid and your parents. You naughty girl.” The hand steadying against the wall takes a firm hold of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh with deliberate intent. A resonant moan of pleasure escapes your lips, harmonizing with the rhythmic cadence of his thrusts as he skillfully targets your sweet spot. 

“So naughty,” he breathes, punctuating each fervent thrust with a rhythmic intensity that sends shivers down your spine. “You enjoy getting off in front of your friends, huh?” His words, infused with a seductive blend of desire and provocation, become a tantalizing soundtrack to the relentless grind of his dick into you.

“And getting me off too? Whore,” he seethes into your ear, the heated accusation leaving a scorching trail of desire in its wake. Your response, a shiver against his body, fuels the intensity of the moment. 

As he continues to fuck you with an unrestrained force, your breasts bounce in a mesmerizing rhythm that captivates him. So fucking perfect.

“Stick your tongue out,” he commands, his eyes intently fixed on you as you obediently roll out your tongue, anticipating the act you relish. The charged moment lingers, pregnant with expectation. With a deliberate move, he spits on your waiting tongue, and you, the embodiment of submission, dutifully swallow it.

Damn it, he knows he won't last much longer if he continues to be entranced by the rhythmic bounce of your enticing breasts—they possess an almost hypnotic allure over him. And that tongue of yours, oh, it's pure seduction. 

“And you can't even wait until we reach our hotel suite to be fucked. So fucking needy, and I love it,” he declares, a blend of admiration and desire lacing his words. The deliberate clench of his fingers around your throat follows, a subtle yet potent assertion of control. His gaze remains fixed on your eyes, watching with a predatory intensity as they dilate even more.

As he tightens his grip, the sensation of his fingers constricting around your throat elicits a primal response—your walls clenching around his cock. The synchronized symphony of pleasure and control intertwines, and a guttural groan escapes him, an audible testament to the ecstasy coursing through his veins. 

Driven by an insatiable desire, he redoubles his efforts to fuck you even deeper.

“My filthy wife,” he pants into your ear, the possessive term dripping with desire, a declaration that ignites a primal response within you. The sultry proclamation elicits a moan of his name from your lips, a vocal affirmation of the all-encompassing pleasure coursing through your body. His acute awareness of your nearing climax manifests in the rhythmic clenching around his dick, a tangible sign of the intimate dance between you two.

“Fuck, Gguk. I'm so close again. Fuck!” you pant fervently against the curve of his neck, the words laced with desperation and desire. He senses the mounting intensity in your voice, a symphony of passion reaching its crescendo. 

Yet, he's attuned to the nuances, recognizing the subtle signs that your body, though on the brink of ecstasy, bears the weight of fatigue, having navigated the day in those tantalizing heels. 

“You crave an audience, don't you? Want people to watch you, to hear you,” he moans into your ear, the words a sultry declaration that fans the flames of desire between you two. The acknowledgment of your shared exhibitionist desires ignites a fresh surge of pleasure, prompting an instinctive clench around him.

“Then scream my name, let everyone in the damn party know how damn good I'm fucking you,” he commands, the intensity of his voice sending shivers down your spine. As your walls clench with even greater fervor, pulsating around his dick, a wave of your liquid envelops him, transforming the intimate connection into a slippery dance of shared pleasure.

You unleash his name with a primal scream, the sheer force of your ecstasy reverberating through the open air outside. Your head drops against the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in the haven of his embrace as the waves of pleasure cascade over you.

He relentlessly thrusts his dick into you, the urgency palpable as he seeks his own release. “I'm gonna give you a baby, just like we've always dreamed of.”

“Ahhh, fuck, yes!” The exclamation bursts from your lips, a little too loud, as an uncontrollable surge of pleasure courses through you. Your teeth instinctively seek refuge on his shoulder, sinking into the firm flesh in an unbridled act of both ecstasy and restraint.

“Fuck, babe, I'm gonna come,” he confesses with a guttural moan, each subsequent thrust punctuated with the desperation of impending release. His rhythm stumbles, an involuntary response to the intensity building within him as he hurtles towards the precipice of his orgasm. And then it hits him.

The rhythmic bounce of your tits in his face, the soft and sweet scent that envelops him, and the melodic cadence of your voice—all converge to cast a spell on his senses. In the midst of your lovely moans, he succumbs to the intoxicating blend of sensations, unleashing a torrent of white-hot semen deep inside your spent pussy. 

Panting and gasping, you both struggle for precious breaths, bodies slick with the sheen of sweat acquired in the throes of passion. Amidst the shared exhaustion, a mutual chuckle reverberates between you, an intimate exchange that encapsulates the postcoital atmosphere.

With your head nestled against his, you gaze into the depth of his eyes and confess, “I love you, Gukkie.” The words, tender and raw, bridge the physical intimacy you've just shared with the emotional vulnerability of a heartfelt declaration.

“I love you too. Every damn inch of you, you're so beautiful,” he pants, a declaration infused with both desire and admiration. As he smiles at you, the post-passion glow accentuates the sincerity in his eyes, turning the exchange into a powerful affirmation.

He'll never tire of professing his boundless love and adoration for you, vowing to weave those sentiments into the fabric of each passing day. The promise to remind you, with unwavering devotion, echoes in his commitment to articulate his love every damn day.

Please let me know if you liked it with a comment, reblog, and ask or whatever 💜

[xo-cod]

needy reader begging simon to let her sit on his cock when he's doing paperwork and promising she'll be a good girl and not move but ofc she can't and she starts riding him then he bends her over his desk and fucks her senseless🤤😩

lysm hope you're doing well💗

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 ah omg i love this i'm sorry i got this so late ilyt babe 🤍🤍

very nsfw/rushed but i can def going into more detail/longer one in another post :) <3

simon who's so cocky because he knows just how needy you become, who intentionally flexes the muscles in his thighs because he loves how flustered you get sitting in his lap.

"you ain't movin' 'till i'm done, alright love?" his voice is clear, a demand of sorts, as he whispers it into your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he chuckles at your state. your nod and your suppressed groan, knowing he would take his time just to watch you get all desperate.

and at first you do obey, there's nothing more pretty than watching your lover completing his paperwork and watching the pure concentration on his face as he uses one hand to write while the other rests around your hips. holding you close to him

but it's so hard especially when the last time you both had any sort of intimacy had been a while back, especially when your needs seemed to have a mind of it's own

it started off slow, your hips moving softly across his thigh and then his bulge while he pauses. it stirs you on, the movement growing faster as he narrows his eyes at you and then your hips.

"what'd i just say?" he tuts but you don't have it in you to even answer, your hands holding onto his chest while your hips drag out over his thigh slowly drawing soft moans from the pair of you as you repeated the motion. he doesn't say a word, just moves your body as he pleases as he stands up suddenly. picking you up and bending you over his desk, causing you to whine at the loss of contact before he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your sweats and pulled them down in one swift motion.

and then he does the same for him as he palms his growing erection in his hands with a soft groan, teasing your entrance for a moment before he slipped inside slowly taking pleasure in how you clenched around him. the both of you moaning as your breathing hitched, whimpering softly at how thick he seemed to feel inside you. even after so long it always took you by surprise just how he felt

"that what you wanted, lovie? you needed my cock just like that huh?" he coos with a chuckle, holding into your hips with a firm grip as he pulls you up and down on his cock. your response had been a whispered yes, gasping softly when the tip of his cock brushes against that special spot inside causing your body to arch in pure delight and for his grip to stumble slightly. he usually would've teased you but the warm feeling of you had his demeanor melting, he just didn't have it in him today. it really had been too long and he was just as desperate

he moves you once more, this time placing you on your back so he can look at the sweet faces you make in the height of your pleasure. it's a sight he could never grow tired of, a sight that makes him proud that he could bring you to this level. he hooks your legs above his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to hit a deeper spot inside you causing you to cling onto him, his name breathlessly leaving your lips in a plea. his hands coming over to hold onto your thighs, keeping you steady as the pace he sets speeds up slightly. his thrusts sloppy, a soft curse and a grunt falling from his lips as his hips become frantic needing this release just as much as you did.

"fuck that's it, cum f'me that's it" he praises feeling you tighten around him, feeling his own movements tremble as he gasped out softly coming closer nuzzling into your neck and chest leaving a trail of soft kisses in his wake.

and then he finally relaxes and releasing you slightly, leaning over to grab the washcloth to the side to clean you both up. it's not perfect but he's already made plans to head to the shower after as he holds onto you once more. sitting in his chair with you in his lap, the softest of smiles gracing his lips.

"that was perfect, did so good me love"

[willixmsonswife]

rest/leah williamson

*leah williamson x fem!reader *the word 'rest' is simply not included in leah's vocabulary *tiny argument and mentions of her torn acl at the beginning but happy end :)

*2.75k words

.................................

"I tore my acl." Those were definitely not the words I wanted to hear from Leah when I walked into her room. I had watched her limp off the pitch during the match and I wasn't able to concentrate on the rest of it. I had to wait until she was in the hospital to see her because the security wouldn't let me. "She's my best friend, she needs me!" didn't really change their mind.

So I waited three hours in my apartment, car keys in one hand, phone in the other. I almost dropped my phone when it rang and immediately accepted the call. "Hello?" I tried to hide the worry in my voice but it was still very present. "Hello is this y/n y/l/n?" An unfamiliar voice answered. "Yes, that's me. Who is this?" Maybe it wasn't the call I was expecting. "I'm a nurse at the St. Marys Hospital in London and I'm calling for Leah Williamson. She would've called herself but she has to undergo an MRI at the moment. I'm calling you because your number was marked as the one to call if something happened and I think she really needs someone to be by her side." I felt my heart drop further and further while the nurse talked. Leah had to undergo an MRI by herself and I was probably the only person that knew that she was terrified of those machines. Plus, an MRI was not a good sign for her knee. "Okay, thank you for calling me. I'll be there in 15 minutes." I hung up and just stared at my phone. What if she really tore her acl? What if she couldn't play football for the rest of the year? That would be pure torture for her and it would absolutely destroy her not only physically but mentally. She worked so hard to be selected for the World Cup and wore the captain armband with pride every single time. I had to be there for her through all of it. I stood up and drove to the hospital as fast as I could.

.................................

"Excuse me? I'm here to see Leah Williamson. A nurse called me earlier saying that-"

"Ah yes, you are miss y/l/n right?"

"Yes, yes that's me."

"Miss Williamson is currently staying in room 204 which is just across the corridor on the right side." She pointed towards the direction and I thanked her before searching for the right room. 200, 202, 204. There it was. I took a deep breath. I had to be calm now, I had to pull myself together for Leah.

I knocked three times and heard her response soon after. "Come in." So I did. The first thing I saw as I entered were her jersey and her shorts, neatly folded on a chair at the other end of the room. I took a few steps towards her bed but she only looked at me when I stood directly next to her. "I tore my acl." Her eyes were bloodshot and I could hear in her voice that she already cried. "Lee, I-"

"No. Please don't say anything. I don't want to hear your encouragements and how everything's going to be fine! It's not! I'm not able to play in Australia and I'm gonna let the whole team down! It's not going to be fine!" Her voice became louder and louder while she talked and she screamed the last sentence. I was well aware that this anger was not directed towards me but more towards the fact that this happened to her, now, and that she couldn't do anything about it. So instead of telling her that, I hugged her tight. I could feel her tense muscles relaxing at my touch and she just gave in to her feelings. "Why did it have to be me? Why now?" She said in between sobs, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know Leah, I'm so sorry." I just held her and rubbed her back comfortingly while she cried.

.................................

This whole situation happened over two months ago. Leah was now past the surgery and had started rehab. It was going well but one thing bothered me extremely. "Leah?" I stopped the episode I was watching and sat up from the sofa. The apartment was completely silent now that the tv had stopped. "Lee?" I went upstairs and knocked on her bedroom door. "Yes?" I opened the door and was met by Leah standing in front of her closet, only dressed in shorts and a bra, holding up a dress and a blazer. My eyes instantly moved from her well trained body to the floor, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable. "Oh hi y/n. What's up?"

"I, eh- I called you from down stairs. Wanted to know what I should make for dinner."

"Oh right. You-" She turned around to face me and saw me looking down, embarrassment unfortunately still clearly written on my face. "You can look at me y'know?"

"Oh, I just- I didn't know if-"

"y/n, we're living together. We're best friends and room mates. I'm absolutely not bothered by you looking at me and it does not make me feel uncomfortable. Trust me." I lifted my head and her piercing blue eyes looked straight into mine. My cheeks immediately turned a bit redder but I tried to ignore it, hoping that she didn't notice. Unknown to me, she did and she wasn't upset about it one bit. "So, dinner. What should I make?"

"Actually, I'm going out this evening. You only have to cook for yourself."

"What? You're going out? Again? With who and where?"

"With Alex, she invited me as her plus one to this event and-"

"Lee you can not possibly be serious right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Leah, you had your surgery two months ago and only started rehab, It's going well, yes, but the doctor still said that you have to take things slow especially going out for so long. You already met up with over ten different people in not even two weeks! You have to rest and give your knee a break, please."

"Oh and you suddenly care about that? So you don't want me to return to my normal life and just have fun with my friends? You want me to stay home and just do nothing apart from the rehab? What great best friend you are!"

I tried my best to stay calm, not wanting to start an argument at this moment.

"That's not what I said and you know that. I just don't want you overwork your knee and set you back in you rehab because we both know that that's the last thing you would want right now. You just have to accept that your life is not the same as before right now but-"

"I know that it's not the same! I had to actually come to terms with the change, you didn't! You could just continue your life like nothing happened because nothing happened to you! You didn't tear your acl, you didn't have to undergo surgery, you don't have to go to rehab four times a week because your life didn't change one bit!" I did not expect her to start yelling at me. I just stood there and didn't move, scared that she would just snap again. I did not deserve any of those accusations and I was totally aware of that.

"You know what? Go to your event. Why don't you just stay at Alex' house for that matter? So you two can just party all night long and forget about everything."

I saw in Leah's eyes that she knew she had overstepped a line. "y/n-" She took a step forward and reached for my hand but I stepped back.

"No. You don't get to do that Leah. I know that your life is hard right now but I'm doing everything I can to help and support you. I cook for you, I drive you everywhere, I go to rehab with you because you don't want to feel alone and I even started to work from home just so you don't have to feel lonely in our apartment! And you know why I do that? Because I love you okay? I love you Leah and I would do everything for you, even tear my own acl just so you have someone who feels what you had to feel! I love you way more than I should and I'm sorry that I care about your health and your wellbeing so much."

With those words I left her room and stormed into mine, which was just across from hers. I slammed the door shut before she could even think about following me. Hot tears streamed over my cheeks as I sat down on the edge of my bed. Leah and I rarely argued which I was extremely thankful for. And normally we always apologized to each other minutes after it enden because we couldn't stand the thought of being mad at one another. But not this time. This fight was the biggest one we've had and I knew that it wouldn't just be solved by saying sorry.

Thinking about the fight, I realized what I said to her. Did I actually confess my feelings to her in an argument? Oh god. I let myself fall onto my bed and just wanted to turn back time. How could I be so stupid and let my emotions get the best of me?

.................................

About half an hour later I heard Leah's door open. I could hear her stop in front of my door and I imagined her standing there, only a few meters away from me, contemplating what to do or say next. Then she knocked. "y/n?" I couldn't get myself to answer and just continued to stare at my ceiling. At least I had stopped crying now. "I- fuck. I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. That argument escalated way too fast and I- I don't even know what I wanna say. I'm sorry. I'm going now, Alex is waiting outside. Call me tomorrow, please."Her voice broke and I could hear that she was as close to crying as I was. And yet, I didn't answer. She was allowed to do whatever she wanted and I was not going to stop her. I listened to her steps as she walked downstairs, struggled to put on her shoes and finally left the house. She didn't slam the door like I did, she closed it carefully, like everything was normal. Except it wasn't. I had this weird feeling like something heavy was laying on my chest and I couldn't breathe properly. Maybe it was good that she left, maybe that was what we needed. A watery smile appeared on my lips when I thought about it. Who was I even kidding? I already missed her even though she only left 10 minutes ago. How pathetic was that? I slowly made my way out of my bed and carefully opened the door as if someone was still here that I could possibly bother. I took the same steps down stairs that Leah took only a few moments ago. The tv was still on pause so I just sat down and continued to watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S aimlessly. Just when I thought about calling Keira to tell her about everything that had happened, I heard someone opening the door. Who was that? The only person who had a spare key was Keira and the last time I checked she was in Barcelona. My eyes were fixed on the door. The remote In my right hand, I was ready to throw it at- "Leah?" I lowered my hand and looked at her confused. "What the fuck are you doing here? You're supposed to go out with Alex." My confusion was replaced by slight anger as I recalled the events from earlier. "Oh y/n, I- I didn't expect you to be downstairs. I thought-"

"What are you doing here Leah?"

She closed the door behind here and took her shoes off before she came to sit on the couch next to me. I turned so I could face her and watched her carefully as she placed a bag on the small table next to us. "Please let me talk y/n. I need to apologize to you."

I nodded, signaling her to continue and that I was listening.

"Okay so, I need to tell you that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of the things that I said earlier because you don't deserve it. You did everything you could for me and I took it for granted which it's absolutely not. You didn't have to do that and yet you still did because you care for me. You stayed by my side during the time before the surgery, encouraged me right before it and were the first to visit me afterwards. You helped me come home and made me feel more at home than I ever felt before. I want to thank you for that. It might take more than just this apology but I'm willing to do everything for you that you did for me."

"Leah-"

"No, I'm not finished." She took my hands in hers and gently stroke her thumb over the back of my hand.

"During those couple months, I could always count on you, you were always there for me. You made me feel things I never felt before. I'm not the best at expressing my emotions and I think you're aware of that." I chuckled and a small smile made its way onto her face. "But this is different. Every time you drove me somewhere, rehab, the store, literally anywhere and put your hand on my thigh to comfort me, it felt like small fireworks exploded in my whole body. I had no idea why that was the case but I just always wanted to be close to you. Every single touch, every single look, every single hug wasn't enough because I wanted to feel you close the entire time. What I'm trying to say is, I think I fell for you. No, scratch that. I'm madly in love with you y/n and when you told me that you felt the same in my room, my brain just couldn't process the fact that you actually said that." She let out a slight chuckle and looked directly into my eyes. "I like you too y/n."

"I- wow. I did not expect that. Are you serious?"

"One hundred twenty percent." I smiled and leaned forward to hug her. "Thank you Lee, I really appreciate it." I felt her place a kiss on my temple and my heart swell at that small gesture. "So what's in that bag?" I asked as I let go of her. "Take out from the Japanese restaurant that you love so much. I thought you might don't wanna cook after this whole thing."

I just looked at her, sitting in front of me, eyes full of love. "Thank you Lee. It's perfect honestly." I grabbed one of the take out boxes and Leah got us two forks from the kitchen. We settled on the couch and continued to watch the episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S that I had started.

.................................

I finished before her and 'obliviously' put my hand on her thigh, tracing random patterns on it. I could feel her tense and just grinned. She placed her empty box on the table and I shifted in my seat until I faced her. She sensed my gaze on her and turned her head. "Do I have something on my face?"

"Nope, nothing." I moved my hand up a bit more and Leah's cheeks turned a dark shade of red. "So, I set off small fireworks in you?" I smirked at her teasingly and she just looked down, trying to hide her now crimson red cheeks. I lifted her head with one finger and leaned forward. "Was is too much?"

"Not at all Lee. I'm just glad to know that I'm not alone with that feeling." I whispered against her lips before I closed the gap and enjoyed her soft lips on mine. We parted after a few seconds and I rested my head on her chest. "It might take more than one kiss like that to convince me that you're not lying about this." I grinned and Leah let out a small laugh. "I think that's possible to arrange."

i'm baaack! this maybe took a bit more than a few day but eyyy, at least i finished it. i hope you liked it :)

and this whole text is not proofread so i apologize in advance for any possible mistakes

[whiskersz]

Hi again, saw your requests are open again, so can I request Vox x female reader? As for the plot: The Reader and Vox got together during the 7 years that Alastor was absent, so reader never encountered the more manic and obsessed side of her boyfriend when it comes to his enemy. And so, now that Alastor is back Vox started acting a bit differently and reader is worried about him and his mental health. So she confronts him about it. (Just to clarify, I want this to be fluff or sort of hurt-comfort and you can either do one-shots or ficlet, I'm up for whatever) ~Ghost/👻 (you're never getting rid of me now >:3)

First of all, hi Ghost! My PC won't let me visualize your rq so I had to do this...anyways, this I admit was hard to write which is a shame because I loved this idea? So much? I feel like Vox isn't Voxing and the hurt-comfort is there only if you squint...I'll do better next time ;'3

Vox x Fem! Reader

Warning for : mentions of stalking

The digital clock indicated that it was already late at night, three in the morning precisely.

You hadn’t been awakened by something, no, in fact you had never fallen asleep in the first place. Troubled by thoughts of your own boyfriend, you laid in the king size bed of your shared bedroom, anxiously scrolling on your phone in desperate search of yet another distraction from the fact that this had been yet another day consisting of getting ignored by him.

And yet there you were, waiting for him to join you in bed, worried because he had always been a near perfect example of a partner, at least in your viewpoint, but now all he was able to concentrate on was that... Alastor, the Radio Demon.

Just thinking about that name brought back anxiety into your chest.

Knowing very well that the feeling of tightness and shortness of breath wouldn’t have subsided anytime soon if you decided to stay in bed for who knows how many more hours, you stood up, the sudden change in temperature making you wrap your arms around your own figure.

The red moon shone a path to the elevator with its light, almost as if it was telling you to go for it and confront him.

And so you did; taking the elevator to the room you had guessed he was in, you impatiently waited for the doors to open in front of you.

When they did, you were almost blinded by the light emitting from the disproportionate number of screens present in Vox’s office.

He was sitting there, mumbling to himself, checking cameras placed on the various streets leading to the Hazbin Hotel. You shuddered; he was most likely too caught up in what could’ve been considered the stalking of his enemy that he didn’t hear you enter the room.

“Vox...”

You called his name, but he didn’t respond.

“Vox.”

You tried again, this time more resolute, and he turned around, startled; all the screens turned off in unison except for the one that served as his head, which became the only source of light in the entire office.

Vox hadn’t even bothered to change into his nightwear, you noticed; he was still wearing his suit, he had just removed the blazer and placed it on the backrest of his office chair.

“Ah, darling. Whatever are you doing up this late...?” he asked, recomposing himself.

You simply stared at him with concern written all over your face, an expression of pure worry. Careful not to trip on anything, you slowly made your way towards him, your arms still crossed as if to comfort yourself.

“I should be the one asking that question, it’s three and you’re still here checking for traces of Alastor on every camera of the city. Come to bed.” You ranted quietly, seeing what time it was, even though you were almost sure the other Vee’s couldn’t here you from where you were.

Vox sighed, placing a hand on his forehead. Being reminded of the time and of what he was doing most likely made him realize how exhausted he was.

“Yes, yes...I’ll come to bed, just...” he trailed off, not sure what to say himself.

You caught the opportunity to continue your rant, but not before grabbing his blazer and carefully folding it to then place it on his desk. His eyes followed your figure the entire time.

“I’m worried about you, you do nothing but obsess over him these days, and you end up not taking care of yourself and others around you enough, you know?” you said, obviously referring to yourself in your last statement.

You hadn’t gone on a date with Vox in a while, hadn’t taken the time to relish in each other’s presence in what felt like months – and it had probably been that long.

“If only you could understand.” he whispered, visibly irritated by your words, which was something you had barely witnessed during these years of relationship.

“I’ll let you explain, so I’ll be able to. Just, for now, let’s go to bed? I’m worried about your health.”

Another sigh from Vox; you extended your hand, which he grabbed. The closer he got to you the brighter his screen seemed; you couldn’t wait for it to be turned off, you could feel a headache coming on.

The only thing you knew about Vox and Alastor’s history was that they never agreed on matters concerning technology, and that Alastor had disappeared for seven years. This didn’t really explain why your boyfriend was so obsessed with the Radio Demon though, it made no sense to you; there had to be another reason why he was so consumed by their rivalry.

A reason he clearly wasn’t going to share in that moment, as once you arrived in your bedroom he practically threw himself on the bed. You followed suit, covering both your figures with the blanket you had discarded previously.

“Promise you’ll explain soon.” You said, staring up at him.

Vox didn’t want to lose you at all, he realized when he looked into your eyes right then and there. You were putting up with the ugliest side of his personality, for which he had to feel honoured. He cupped your cheek and you leaned into his touch.

“I’ll do my best. For you.”

His hand moved from your cheek to your waist, pulling you closer. This was more like the Vox that you knew. With a promise that you’d get an explanation the following day, you finally let yourself fall asleep against his chest.

[crimeronan]

I feel like Luz “Separation Anxiety” Noceda would be a bit dismayed upon learning that Vee and her friends are going to graduate and go to college at the end of the school year (presuming that Freshman Sophomore Junior Senior are Human Realm Exclusive Terms)

Like “oh my entire social life actually revolves around you and your friends because I’m too awkward and different to know how to approach people and am too nice and accommodating to any and everyone because of The Horrors to tell anybody to back off if they get too nosy so truly I cannot fathom how I’m going to function in a school setting without you but it’s Fine :) I’m really happy for you and not at all going to cry about this :)))”

Maybe she’ll join the school band to try and become socially independent and then just get really sad cause she misses Raine :(((

baby girl :(

i think she'd have a kind of tough time in a school environment to begin with, honestly. i made a post to that effect earlier but decided it was too depressing and deleted it.... but! since i ended up thinking a LOT about how her school experience would be handled. the gist was:

she'd have a really good 504 plan in place -- 504 plans are written plans that help students with disabilities stay in a normal classroom. it would have accommodations like her getting pre-written notes about what they'd discuss in class, a slightly separate desk to avoid being unexpectedly touched by other students, blanket permission to step out into the hallway if she gets nervous, extra time on tests, etc.

she'd purposefully be matched with the friendliest teachers and the easiest graders, people who are Very willing to talk with her about her needs. and also to say "i'm not upset with you." probably the really relaxed english teacher from TTT is one of them. this occasionally does remind her of raine and make her feel incredibly guilty/sad :(

and i think she'd have a one-on-one aide assigned to sit with her and show her what she's supposed to do in a classroom and help her navigate between classes. most likely this person is with her all day except for during lunch periods, when she takes her break....

this definitely marks luz Other by the student body (as having a paraprofessional does for every kid in a mainstream classroom) but she actually does not mind it! it feels like being guarded & she's grateful to have someone telling her what to do.

(in my head the aide's name is miss delilah and she's an OC who exists purely to be really kind and understanding. because please god give luz this.)

even with all of this, though....

classrooms are not Easy for luz. in the canon, she has CRIPPLINGLY hyperactive ADHD and can't focus on anything going on. she's weird and offputting and exuberant and causes ten million problems.

here, she has a LOT of baggage from belos. not just the physical trauma, but also everything she's internalized about How To Behave. she's learned a lot about how not to annoy him. and school is a public-facing event, which means she's in full Gracious Princess Mode. trying to make herself as small and unobtrusive as possible

so all of her concentration goes into Sitting Still and Being Quiet. she can't anxiously stim without disrupting the classroom, she can't chatter without annoying people, she can't chew through pencils or rip up paper without attracting Concern.

this is. incredibly stressful!! for her!!

stressful enough that she can't really retain anything the teacher says in classes. her homework is always done and her notes are always neat, but her quiz and test scores are Abysmal. because she either can't process the questions or can't remember the answers. because being in the classroom is Hard

which just adds another layer of stress. luz is like. PLEASE don't tell my mom. please please please please please don't tell my mom :(

vee doesn't really understand this -- she Loves the classroom. loves to sit at a desk and participate in discussion. loves to do worksheets. loves to get good grades and be a pleasure to have in class. Behaving Normally is a lot less stressful for vee than it is for luz.

which makes luz even clingier, when she can have lunch with vee or see her between classes. she's microdosing on being in the company of someone who feels Normal And Fine. and who has friends who clearly feel Normal And Fine. and who don't mind if luz is weird around them

luz being like oh!! you're going away. i see :) um. congratulations!! i'll be right back. i need to lock myself in the shower and cry so hard i throw up.

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 12

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. In the aftermath of Tom's simple but complicated favor, Parker is forced to finally face reality, and decide once and for all what she wants.

Read the story here: prev / ...

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Melissa's voice echoed across the empty store, each syllable raspy and drawn out, tinged with the same sort of disbelief that has been simmering in Parker's chest all day. "But holy fuck."

The disbelief spirals and explodes, and Parker can't the help the laugh that is startled out of her from the unexpected curse.

"Excuse me," she drawled, aiming for levity, but falling somewhere in the realm of pure shock. "But since when do you curse?"

"Since about eleven am this morning," Melissa chirped back. She's slouched in the reading chair, hair piled on the top of her head in a janky bun, mascara smeared all along her cheeks, and if Parker hadn't been so thrown off by her sudden use of French, she might have taken a moment to reflect on the fact that this is the most out of sorts she has ever seen the girl look. "It just seemed like a good time to start. And, honestly? I kind of get it now. There really is no other way to express yourself properly, is there? Because—I mean seriously, Park—what the fuck?"

Parker knew that she should be scolding the young girl for her language. The last thing she needed was to garner the wrath of a disgruntled mom on top of everything else that she's dealing with. More importantly, she really didn't want teaching the youth curse words to be on her yearly karma bingo card. But... honestly, Parker couldn't help but agree.

There really was no better way to put it.

"Touché."

"Did you know that he was going to post that?"

Parker arched her brow at Melissa. "Do you think I would have left you to cover the shift alone if I knew that this was going to happen? I don't even follow his Instagram. Although, guess I have to after this, don't I?"

Melissa rolled her eyes, head lolling to the side as she stretched out her arms, back, and neck. "Only you would get an exclusive shout-out from the Tom Ryder and you aren't even following his Insta. Totally unfair, by the way."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is my sudden luck raining on your plans somehow?"

"It's not luck."

Parker slumped on her elbows, a pen stuck sideways in her mouth as she tried to work through her to-do list for closing down the shop. It was hard to concentrate with Melissa's jabbering, though, and it was even harder to find the energy to sweep the shop when she'd much rather just collapse onto her bed. "What else would it be?"

Melissa blinked at her with a tart expression. "Um, hello? You're dating Tom Ryder. That might have something to do with it."

So surprised by the comment, Parker scratched a line across her notepad, and subsequently decided that her to-do list could wait till later. "We're not—I'm not dating Tom."

"Sure," the girl snorted. "He just hangs around your shop all the time, invites you over for parties, gets dinner with you, and—oh yeah—posts you on his Instagram."

"He didn't post me—"

"But, whatever," she continued, already moving on to the next topic. Parker watched as she bent forward and, with a grimace, tried to rub some feeling into her ankles. "I lost feeling in my toes, like, three hours ago. Is that bad? I mean, I'm not gonna have to get an amputation or anything, will I? Because I'm not missing out on Stacy Jordan's sweet sixteen because of you. Her parents rented out this huge dance hall, and they even hired a DJ."

Parker sighed.

Melissa's train of thought was something that she would never be able to keep up with, and today in particular she did not have the stamina to even try. Sourly, she said, "I told you that those shoes weren't very supportive—"

A book is lobbed in her direction, and Parker ducked behind the register before it can make contact.

The loud fwap of it hitting the ground echoes between the two.

"That better not have been a new edition."

"Oh, fuck off," Melissa said.

Parker returned from her hiding spot—back aching when she sits up, neck hurting when she props herself atop an elbow, eyes burning as she squints at the largest stack of receipts she's ever had before—and clucked her tongue. "You know I think I like this new you. You should curse more often."

"Pf. You just want to get rid of the swear jar."

"Well," she hedged, eyes darting to said jar, "it would save me some money. Unless you feel like paying up anytime soon. That's, what, three f-words? I'm not going to turn my nose up at fifteen bucks anytime soon."

Melissa gave an unbothered snort. "You wish."

"So, it's just a punishment for me, then?"

"You won't even need that thing after this week," she pressed on, sinking deeper into the worn out plush of the reading chair as her gaze slowly drifted across the bookstore. The shelves are the emptiest they've ever been, and the decorations they worked meticulously hard to find are in disarray from the constant throng of customers today. It's not a problem they've had before, having to reset the store after closing, but Parker supposes that's a good problem to have. "My feet hurt because of how busy we were, not because of my shoes—which, by the way, I had to wait in line for two hours to get—they will be supportive if I want them to be. Does this mean you'll finally hire Emily?"

"Emily?"

"My best friend. I've introduced you, like, ten times."

Parker conjured up a blurry image of a blonde girl, identical to Melissa in every way except for their different colored hair and eyes, with matching braces to boot. She thought she was nice, but, honestly, she can't really recall. Whatever. "Why would I hire Emily?"

Melissa scowled. "Well, that's rude. Just because she's my best friend doesn't mean that we're going to goof off or anything. She's just as hard of a worker as I am. You'd practically be getting two employees for the price of one if you hired her. Plus, it would drive Maddy H crazy if Emily got to work at Tom Ryder's bookstore and she didn't."

"It's not—" Parker started, before shaking the thought away. Bigger things to focus on, she reminded herself. "I thought we talked about this. I can give you a raise, but I can't afford to hire someone else."

"Uh, correction, you couldn't afford to hire someone else."

Parker puts the stack of receipts away, mind slowly but surely drifting to the next task as she attempts to lock the register down. She would definitely have to stop at the bank tomorrow to deposit their cash from the day—not a problem she had ever had before—and she mentally adds that to the list of musts. "Did I win the lottery without knowing it or something?"

Her question hangs flat in the air, and in response, Melissa curls a disbelieving look in her direction. "You're kidding, right? Did you see how busy we were today?"

"Right, listen," Parker started, but by how intense Melissa's eyeroll was, it was obvious that the teenager would not, in fact, be listening. "One good day of sales doesn't override an entire quarter of awful sales. This was just—just a fluke. I can't just hire Emily on a whim because we had one nice day. Ever heard of a rainy day fund?"

Melissa, hand in the air as she inspects the damage to her manicure, scoffed. "Yeah, but it's not just one good day."

"Are you secretly working at a different bookstore in your free time or something?"

"Oh my god," Melissa moaned, before dropping her boots to the ground with a heavy thud. "Right, you listen."

"Oh, here we go—"

"Park, I know you're big on self decrepitation and whatever—something I'm guessing you learned from your total has been of a brother—"

"Wow. You know, you two have got to figure out whatever this beef is about," Parker interrupted, only to be promptly ignored as Melissa stood.

"But this isn't just going to die down," she said, the stack of bangles on her wrists jangling as she made air quotes to emphasize her point. "Tom Ryder gave you a personal shout-out on his Instagram. That, like, never happens. The only things he posts are selfies, and paid promotions. In February, he posted a three second video about his Erewhon smoothie, and they're still selling out on the daily."

Parker frowned. "Smoothie?"

"So not the point," Melissa grumbled with another jingle of her bracelets. "The point is that this—" she gestured around them, to the bookshelves and the roof and the chair beneath her with one long sweeping motion, "just hit the jackpot. Kay? This is going to go viral, and when it does, you're going to have crowds like today every day."

That doesn't sound right. Parker knows that Tom is famous, that he has millions of followers on all of his social media, and that there are fangirls out there of his even more obsessed with what he does than the one scowling across the room from her. But just because he posted her store doesn't mean that she's going to have throngs of fans outside, day after day.

That sort of thing just... didn't happen.

Not to people like her.

Right?

"Okay, well, I mean," she started, struggling to put her thoughts into words after all of her braincells effectively went on vacation for the weekend. The cash register snapped shut with a metallic clang, and she dangled the key between her hands mindlessly. "Even if we go viral, we'll be popular for a bit, but not for, like, ever. A month, maybe."

Melissa blinked at her in that sort of way that means she's judging her, and when she hefts herself to a stand, Parker can feel the lecture about to come. "Look, I know you're a millennial and you aren't really active online, so I'll break it down for you."

"How gracious," she snarked, rolling her eyes.

"It's going to be like this—like it was today—for weeks. Until something new or something better comes along, but even then you're going to have Influencers coming in for pictures, wanting to stake a claim on this place just like Tom did. Okay? Which means more pictures, more shout-outs, and more people seeing this place on their FYPs."

"FY—?"

"So, yeah, maybe this place isn't going to stay viral forever, but that just means it's all the more important to capitalize on the attention while you can. If people are flocking here just to get stuck in long lines because there's only one employee during the day, then they're going to lose interest faster."

"I know how business work," Parker interjected, offended on her own behalf, but Melissa didn't seem to care one way or the other about her feelings.

"So you know that you need to dress to impress."

Parker narrowed her eyes at the girl shrewdly. She was staring to get that familiar feeling in her gut that Melissa was winding up for some big scheme, and previous experience had proven that when Melissa really wanted something, Parker was helpless but to give in. "Is this just some big production so I'll hire a bunch of your little cheerleading friends?"

The face she made was lethal. "First off, Emily doesn't cheer, she does dance, and that sort of tone is both condescending and so not cool. Secondly, it's an excuse to hire someone else so I don't get stuck like I did today when my boss decides to go gallivanting around town without her phone!"

"I wasn't gallivanting," she defended. "It was, just, an unfortunate—"

"Parker," Melissa said, leaning on her elbows until they were inches apart. "Hire some more people, or you're going to have to work every shift of this store forever because I don't ever want to experience that rush alone again."

Ugh.

The girl had a serious point—about everything, it seemed—but Parker was in no mood to think about any of that. "I already said I'd give you a raise."

"Well, that is a given," she chirped, gathering her purse and jacket from behind the counter. Parker might have been more put off by her attitude if she didn't think the girl deserved a hearty raise. Afterall, she was a little mastermind in her own right, as terrifying as that could be. "But I'd also like to have extra help, and it's no one's business if that extra help is a couple of my friends from school. I take this job seriously, you know. I wouldn't recommend her if she wouldn't be a good employee."

"You're a menace, you know that, right?"

Melissa smiled, and for the first time all day, it seemed more conniving than tired. "I'll send you her resume."

"No, no, no, that's not what I just—"

"And, anyways, she's just as big of a fan of you and Tom as I am. I mean, obviously, she's never met him, but I tell her everything. She totally ships you two. Probably not as much as I do, obviously," she trailed on, finally getting around to swipe the mascara off her cheeks as she bent even closer into Parker's space, "but she's invested. I think it's totally time you post him on your story."

"My what?"

"I mean, he already posted you. Or, you know, your store," she corrected herself, waving a hand around flippantly as if those were the same thing. And, maybe, in the mind of a teenage fangirl, they were. "Relationships are never official until it's on the page."

"We're not—"

"Have you thought about a ship name, yet?" she barreled on, completely ignoring the fact that every extra word she said was only compounded the migraine growing between Parker's temples. "Because I think Ryvers is so, totally cute, but Emily likes Parom better. Although, that sounds a little—"

"Okay, alright, that's it," Parker stood from her stool, and in the matter of seconds had shooed the teenager outside with as much decorum as she could muster. It was ruined, of course, by the bright red blush sprawling across her face like wild fire. "Goodnight, Melissa. Thank you for your help today, I will see you next week."

"But—"

"Goodbye!"

She shut the door with the jingle of the overhead bell and promptly slumped against it. A few beats passed before Melissa's boots clomped off in the direction of the bus stop, and when it fell silent outside, she glanced around. The store at night, with the main lights switched off and the crackled radio drifting from the corner, felt eerily empty after the busy day they had. And while the trash absolutely needed to be taken out, and the shelves needed to be catalogued for what she would have to put in her upcoming order, for the first time ever, Parker decided that there were some things that could wait until tomorrow.

After all, she had a boy to talk to.

---

"Are we dating?"

Tom, dressed down in some Nike sweats and a simple black tee with sleep marks red on the side of his face, blinked at Parker like she was on drugs. And, honestly, she supposed that was a fair assumption to make. After all, it was nearing midnight by the time she pulled into his driveway, unannounced, her hair mussed like a bird's nest from driving the entire way into the Hills with the windows down, and the anxious energy from the day's chaos had yet to make itself useful other than by adding a shakiness to her hands.

And while she had spent the entire drive over contemplating all the things that she wanted to ask him, the first thing that had come out of her mouth when he opened the door was that.

"What?"

Parker winced, anxiously wringing her hands together, before she pressed inside. She supposed having a mansion in the Hills meant that even the closest neighbors were too far away to hear anything, but the idea that there might be someone witnessing what likely could be considered a mental breakdown was not a comforting thought.

"I didn't mean..." she started, shaking her head, before she stooped to untie her shoes. That proved to be an impossible task with how shaky her hands, were, however, and in the end she just kicked them off with a grunt. "That wasn't what I—well, Melissa seems convinced that we are."

Parker could feel his eyes burrowing into her back, and Parker pointedly avoided eye contact as her cheeks flamed a hot red.

"Melissa," he echoed dully.

Cool, she thought to herself. Just be cool.

But the Seavers siblings were not known for their ability to play it cool, and while he drifted after her, Parker miserably tried to think of a way to explain her squirrel-brained thoughts without sounding like a lunatic.

"Well, you know, you posted me on Instagram."

"I didn't post you on my Instagram," he corrected.

And—shit. Wasn't that exactly what she had argued?

Parker was happy that her back was to him as her face flushed an even more indelicate red. It didn't help that there were lamps on all throughout the living room, orange and yellow hues of lighting casting shadows across her already warm face.

"I know, I know, and I told her exactly that, but she has it in her head that posting, well, my shop is the same thing as posting me and then she wouldn't shut up about it today. And now she wants me to hire her friend who is also convinced that we're, you know, dating, and I told her that she's—that that's not—you know..."

The knit of his brows made it painstakingly obvious that Tom didn't know, and honestly how would he? She didn't even know what she was trying to say.

"I... think I need a drink," she muttered, scurrying to the fridge where she withdrew two ice cold bottles of beer. IPAs were not her favorite by a long shot, but there were far more important things to handle, and without hesitating, Parker popped one open. A long swallow followed before she awkwardly slid the second bottle towards Tom. "Maybe I should start again."

His brows disappeared into his hairline, but the moment she met his eye Parker just knew that he was relishing in this particular conversation.

She planted her elbows on the counter, and caught her head in her hands with a whine. "I really wish that you had given me a heads-up about the post."

Whatever was smug withered and died. "A heads-up?"

"Just so I could have been more prepared, you know," she hedged, fingers nervously plucking at the wet label on her beer bottle. "Between the crowds today and my system freezing and Melissa pestering at me about our—you know—whatever, I feel like I've been running around like a headless chicken. It's been a lot to handle."

He was silent for a long moment, and by the time that she dared to glance at him he had managed to shake off any remaining sleepiness. Now, he scowled at her long and hard. "Right, well, next time I'll make sure to get your approval ahead of time. Should I have changed the picture too? Written a longer post about how much I fucking adore your shitty little store?"

Parker reared back. "Hey, it's not shitty."

"Right," he scoffed, shaking his head at her. "You know, most people would at least hold off on their complaints until after they've said thank you. Common deceny, and all that."

Parker deflated against the counter as Tom looped around the other side of the couch to sit down. There were pillows sprawled across it, a blanket pooling on the ground, and a Tom shaped indent in one of the cushions from where he had been sleeping before she showed up. When he flicked the tv off mute, Parker became increasingly aware of how poorly this conversation was going.

She took a deep breath and a long dreg of her beer before carefully seating herself on the table smack dab in his line of view. When he refused to give in, however, she took the remote out of his hand and flicked the tv off with a huff.

"Tom—"

But he wasn't having any of it, and he rolled his eyes at her so intensely that it must have hurt. "Oh, fuck. Look, if you're going to make this into some big lecture or whatever you can save us both the time and effort. I already spent the day dealing with this bullshit from Gail. I don't need it from you too."

As almost every mention of his producer did, that caught her off guard. "Gail?"

"Yeah, imagine that," he scoffed. "I try to do something nice, for once, and the first thing she does is yell at me because of it. And now you're here doing the same thing, and I don't even know what I expected, but it sure as shit isn't—"

"Why would she yell at you?" she interrupted.

He finished half of his beer in a swallow. "Why do you think?"

She wasn't sure. That was half the reason she asked the question, but when he tensed—as if preparing for that exact sort of answer—Parker's mouth snapped shut just as quickly as it had opened.

Why would Gail be upset?

Sure, she was his producer, and likely was miffed about missing out on her fee, but it wasn't like a percentage of twenty grand would have had any real impact on her salary. After all, Tom hadn't minced his words earlier when talking about how much of his yearly income went to the movie mogul. And Parker had seen her house; the woman wasn't going to be pinching pennies any time soon unless she was robbed at gunpoint. And even then she would probably benefit from her high profile connections.

Which meant if it wasn't the money that she cared about, it must have been...

Realization was a painful thing, and Parker rounded towards Tom with wide eyes. "She's upset because you did this without asking her?"

Another swallow of his beer. "I told you that I don't do stuff without asking her."

"But you did this time."

"Because she would have fucking said no," he ground out, distaste over even having to admit it obvious from his tone. "Which is fucking—I mean, it's my fucking life. I can do what I want. Should be able to, anyway. I'm the one making her money, but I do this one thing and she's all pissed off about it. You know how small that makes me feel? That she would even expect me to get permission from her?"

"Tom," she said, only to have him steamroll on.

"It's bullshit. Total bullshit."

"Tom," she tried again when he didn't seem to hear her.

But whatever floodgate he had opened wasn't closing anytime soon, and Parker felt her chest constrict. "Everything I do is because she tells me to do it. I don't even chose who I sponsor. But I do one post without her permission and get shit for it. And apparently, not just from her. Because you're here too, pissed that I didn't tell you ahead of time, and it's like no matter what I do it's—"

Not knowing what else to do, but knowing that she had to do something, Parker lurched forward to sling her arms around his neck. He went stiff beneath her touch, freezing as she attempted to pull him to her, before his hands slowly bracketed around her waist.

"What are you—?"

"I'm sorry," she muttered. Then, when that wasn't enough—because how could that ever be enough—she tightened her hold on him hoping that it might convey what she didn't know how to say. Parker shook her head into the crook of his neck, swallowing. "Fuck, Tom, I'm sorry. I didn't come over here to yell at you. I swear I didn't. I'm not even mad, I don't know why I said that thing about the heads-up, I just... I just was so overwhelmed today that I didn't know what to say or how to bring it up or thank you that I just—I just word vomited. Okay? I'm sorry. I am. I'm sorry."

"Hey," he said, arms tightening around her. "It's okay."

But it wasn't okay, and he had to know that. "But it's not, Tom. You just—you just changed my life, you know? What you did... I've never had that many people in my store before, and they were lined up, and the line didn't dissipate all day! I think I sold, like, half my inventory because of you, and if that continues even for a month then I'll be able to actually finance my store and I won't have to close and... I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."

She leaned back to find Tom frowning at her. "It was just a post."

"To you, and to Gail," she said, finally being able to express what she had been stewing on all day. "But to me... it's everything. I don't know how I'll ever be able to pay you back."

"Pay me back?"

"I mean, I could give you some of the profit, but it probably won't be much. Especially since I still have loans to pay off, and I need to get insurance, and fix the AC, and maybe even hire some new staff, but I'm sure I could give you percentage. Like, a little over time, and it definitely won't be much, but—"

She didn't realize she was rambling until Tom shook her. "I don't want you to pay me back, Park."

"But—"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head at her. One of his hands twisted into the cotton of her sweater, and for the first time that night, as he ducked his head to avoid her gaze Parker realized that maybe he was just as anxious about this entire thing as she was. "I owe you, okay. Not the other way around."

Parker couldn't think of anything more ridiculous than that, and her brows furrowed a divot into her forehead. "What are you talking about?"

He released a chuckle of disbelief, the sound low and raspy in his throat. "I know I'm an asshole. What you said when we first met, that day on the set, it pissed me off so much because... you were right, and no one else had ever bothered to tell me. I'm an asshole to staff and to the crew and to your fucking brother, but do you seriously think I'm blind to all the things that you've done for me?"

Floundering for words—and thoughts—all she could do was blink at him.

Tom glanced away, fingers wrapping themselves into her shirt, skating a burning line over her skin. "You—you're..." he started, before drifting off. Clearly, she wasn't the only person struggling to put their thoughts into words tonight, but Parker was too dumbfounded by the fact that Tom Ryder was admitting to be an asshole above all else, that she couldn't find the energy to interrupt him. "No one has ever... held me accountable before."

Even more bewildered then before, she stared at him. "And that's... a good thing? Because I thought that drove you crazy? I mean—"

"God, of course it drives me crazy," he cut her off with another chuckle. "But you do it because—because you see something in me that no one else does, you know? You see... me. Not the rich, famous me that everyone else sees and takes advantage of, but the asshole on the inside that no one else likes. Do you know how many people have found me in the bathroom like you did? Do you know how none of them have ever cared before?"

Parker's hands skated around his neck, desperate for something to hold onto, to feel, as she gently flattened them out on his chest. "You don't owe me anything for that," she said, shaking her head. "You didn't have to do this just to make up for that. I like being in your life, being your friend, your... I think more people care about you than you think, Tom."

He swallowed, and her eyes tracked the movement of his throat. "And you're the only person in my life that would say shit like that and mean it."

"Of course I mean it. I wouldn't lie to you."

"I know," he said, hands drifting further up her back, a connection that she didn't dare break as they settled into the groove of her spine. "And that's why I did it. So I don't want anything from you, alright? I just... want to give you this. Fuck Gail, fuck my social media manager, fuck all of them. Just this once I want to do something for someone else. Well, no, even that's a lie. Not for someone else, but for you."

Parker bit her lip, feeling her heart thump against her chest, and she was certain that he must have felt it too as she leaned against him. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said. "You're—just... you're not like other girls, you know that?"

Despite the tension growing between them, the softness of the moment and the tender way he was holding her, Parker couldn't keep back a startled laugh. And when she did laugh, Tom's hands paused in their movements, brows knitting a second time as he watched her with something wary struck across his features.

"Sorry, sorry," she said almost immediately, biting her lip, only for another giggle to escape. He looked truly put off then, and she carefully skated her hands back around his neck. "I just... sorry, I'm not laughing at you. That just so sounded like a line."

The wariness vanished, replaced by irritable fondness, and his hands pressed her closer. "Yeah, well," he said, that oh-so familiar smugness of his curling his mouth upwards. "What if it was?"

"Oh?"

He shrugged, pressing on. "Lots of girls would kill to hear that kind of line from Tom Ryder, you know? You should consider yourself lucky."

"I thought I wasn't like other girls."

"You're not. No other girl has ever driven me fucking crazy like you do."

"Flattering," she snarked. But the skate of his hands was starting to ignite a nervous fluttering in her stomach, and as her nails dug into his shirt, Parker could barely maintain a sense of decorum as she smirked at him. "Well? Go on then."

"With?"

"You've given me a line. I'm interested in seeing what other sorts of moves the famous Tom Ryder has to woo the ladies. You want to show me your wine cellar? Art collection? Is there a disco ball that comes down from your ceiling if I clap?"

His entire torso shook as he laughed. "See what I mean? You're drive me fucking crazy."

"Ah, maybe, but that wasn't a no—"

Parker swore that a single kiss from Tom Ryder had the ability to set her entire body alight. Sometimes, she wondered if he felt it too; the way the pads of his thumbs would trail a burning line along her skin or how her hands got shaky as she trailed them up into his hair. His hands certainly didn't shake; not when they pulled her sweater over her head or drifted along the length of her legs, fingers dipping into the ticklish spot behind her knees, tugging her impossibly closer before moving up, up, up...

This time, there was no party to return to, no busybodies to avoid or assistants needing Tom's attention in between fittings on set, and most importantly no phone to chirp at them or brother to distract.

There was just her and him, Parker and Tom.

And when the tension between them—once ugly and mean and festering and awful, now golden and beautiful and, maybe even destined—finally broke, she realized that it wasn't so bad to have someone to drive crazy; perhaps, even, it was the spark that she had been missing.

[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 10

gingerbread competition (part 2)

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: SOMEONE GETS BITCH-SLAPPED, swearing, references to body image issues, references to eating disorders (very vague but still), uhh idk if there's anything else tbh

series masterlist

(the second photo will make sense when you get to the end I promise)

“There’s forty-five minutes left on the timer!” Ben called, making sure that everyone in both the kitchen and the adjoining dining room could hear him. 

Shrieks of joy and muttered curses split the air, covering up the music they had playing softly in the background, but Y/n and her Gramps remained mostly silent. Both were working hard to decorate and join together the many pieces of gingerbread they had laid out before them (which they had managed to put in the fridge for a little while to cool them down so that the icing didn’t melt), and currently Y/n was holding the walls of their building together as her Gramps glued them with icing. “There,” he said as he pulled the piping bag away, sitting back slightly after being hunched in his chair in concentration. “Right. Let’s put the roof on next, and then you can start doing all that fancy decorating you normally do.”

She could feel Steph watching her while she worked, a smug smile visible on her cousin’s face even out of the corner of Y/n’s eye, but she paid her no mind. Whatever happened, she wouldn’t get the better of Y/n and Anthony, and she had to hope that her family sided with the two of them and not Steph. Besides, she and her Gramps had to win this competition, just so that she could hold it over Anthony’s head for the rest of their lives, and that required total concentration. 

Unfortunately, if she so much as glanced directly in front of her, she was met with the sight of his hands. 

He was holding a piping bag like her Gramps was, tracing the lines of the gingerbread that he and Nana Jean had baked and were now bringing together, and she had a sneaking suspicion that he had sat opposite her deliberately because he now knew how much she looked at his hands. She flushed at the memory of him leaning down to whisper in her ear not too long ago, and cleared her throat as she returned her attention to her own gingerbread. 

“OI!” Sam shouted from the kitchen, making her startle and nearly drop the pieces of gingerbread she was holding. Y/n whipped her head up to see Will cackling at the icing that now covered their brother’s face. “IT���S MEANT TO GO ON THE GINGERBREAD, YOU IDIOT!” Y/n’s mother intervened before Sam could chuck the dry icing sugar at Will in retaliation, and Y/n shook her head with a chuckle. She heard Anthony huff a laugh from his position across the table, and she looked up in time to meet his gaze. His smile was blinding, to the point she wanted to ask if she could borrow his sunglasses, and she realised that she could watch him smile all day and not get bored. Before she would have scoffed and told him to stop being so painfully fake, but there was nothing but true happiness in this smile. Normally his real smiles were small; the opposite of the ones he gave clients, because he was attempting to be somebody they could trust. 

“What?” he asked, voice quiet but filled with amusement. 

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “You just look happy, is all.” His resulting blush made her stomach flip. 

“Oh.”

“You are so red right now, I hope you know that,” she mused, turning back to her gingerbread. Her Gramps had put the roof on, and it was safe enough to let go. 

“Funnily enough I can feel how warm my face is, but thank you for pointing it out, Schmoopie.”

“Anthony.” Her tone held a warning.

“Sorry.”

“What did I say about calling me Schmoopie?”

“Sorry.”

She was smiling regardless. 

~~~

“Ten minutes!”

Anthony wasn’t sure who had called the time, but Nana Jean didn’t seem to even notice. She was clearly on a mission, decorating the gingerbread house with pure concentration and very steady hands, and although he couldn’t actually see Y/n’s design (she’d put up some sort of makeshift wall a little while ago, claiming she didn’t want any cheating. Anthony thought it was more because she couldn’t stop looking at his hands) he had a good feeling that she wouldn’t be winning. He hadn’t been lying when he’d talked about his skills in the kitchen (even if it had come out sounding more like he was talking about his skills in the bedroom), and Jean had complemented his icing multiple times, making him feel warm inside. 

Steph passed behind him and he tensed, waiting for her to attack in some way, but she kept on walking and he let out a shaky breath. He wasn’t scared exactly, but knowing that in a very short amount of time everybody in the house would know that he and Y/n had been lying to their faces was making his heart beat a little faster. When Nana Jean smiled at him again after he finished decorating another section of the house he realised that he wasn’t scared that they would find out, but more that he would lose the family he had made here. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle them reacting negatively and wanting him out of their house and lives, and while he would have Y/n and his friends back in London he would always feel something missing when he thought about this place. 

“Alright, nearly done now. Those losers won’t know what’s hit them!” Nana Jean whispered gleefully, triumph already shining in her eyes. Anthony chuckled, readjusting the piping bag in his grip and holding back a snort when he caught Y/n staring again. “She really cares about you, you know.” He looked back at Jean, surprise clear on his face at the change in her tone. “I’ve not seen her this happy since she was a little girl, back before she went to London and saw the world for what it was.” He blushed again for the millionth time that day at Jean’s words, and she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. For bringing my granddaughter back to me.” He went to answer, but emotion made speaking difficult. God, he really hoped that Jean took Steph’s news well. 

“I’d do anything to see her happy,” he choked out in the end, doing his best to not sound too strained. Knowing how differently she acted around her family compared to how she acted back at Portland Row, he realised that Jean could see it too. Steph and Linda had royally fucked with Y/n’s head, and here was her grandmother telling Anthony that he was undoing their cruelty and being her saving grace. 

If either of them tried anything when Steph broke the news, he knew that he would not hesitate to drag them through the dirt for what they’d done to the girl he loved. 

~~~

“Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Time is up! Everybody step away from your gingerbread!” Ben shouted, looking up from his watch. He and Olivia would judge the creations, and crown the winners for the year. So far Y/n and Will had the winning streak of five years in a row, but now they were on separate teams the title was free for anyone to take. 

Well, not anyone. Steph and Linda had barely bothered with theirs, and most of it was still dough since they’d mixed the wrong proportions of ingredients and had refused to get their hands dirty. Looking around at her competition, Y/n felt confident that her and her Gramps’ house would win, even if she couldn’t actually see Nana Jean and Anthony’s because of the partition she had put up. 

Her sister and father went around the room, tasting different gingerbread pieces and writing notes in their little notebooks, doing their best to remain neutral. They struggled when they got to Steph and Linda’s house though, and Olivia outright refused to even touch their uncooked gingerbread. 

“Anthony and Nana Jean, this looks incredible!” Y/n’s father said as he approached their end of the table. Nana Jean snuck a smug look towards Y/n’s Gramps, and he just smiled in response, taking the barrier away so that the two of them could see what their respective partners had made. 

She had to hand it to them, they’d done an excellent job. 

It was a classic cottage-style house, complete with tiled roof icing patterns and carefully placed sweets acting as decoration, and given that Anthony had done most of the icing (and she’d seen his drawings on the thinking cloth) it was surprisingly neat. Now it was his turn to send a smirk in her direction, and Y/n was entirely professional and mature in her response and stuck her middle finger up at him.

Her father and Olivia tested the gingerbread, then scribbled down some notes in their books (Y/n was sure she could make out multiple exclamation points in her dad’s notes), and suddenly she could feel her heart beating much faster in her chest. Nana Jean was known for her gingerbread recipe and how good it was, and Y/n and her Gramps would have to beat them on presentation if they wanted to win. She wasn’t sure they would pull it off given how neat and generally amazing Anthony and Nana Jean’s house looked, and she swallowed thickly. 

Ben and Olivia rounded the end of the table to stand on Y/n’s left, and she wiped her sweaty hands on her trousers. Her Gramps didn’t look worried in the slightest, and when Nana Jean peered over the table to get a look at what her opponents had done he let out a chuckle. 

“Is that… is that our house?” Olivia asked as she stared at the creation. It had taken a lot of careful measuring from her Gramps, and then more measuring after the gingerbread had been baked, and then a lot of careful glueing and decorating, but the two of them had made a near exact replica of the house they were currently all stood in. 

“Uh… yeah. We thought it would be nice to do, you know?” Y/n replied, glancing back at her Gramps. He was too busy wriggling his eyebrows at Nana Jean in triumph to notice. 

“Well it looks perfect, love,” her dad said, and he quickly wrote something down in his book. Olivia nodded in agreement and clicked her pen to scribble down her thoughts, and then they were taking up the pieces of gingerbread that were separate from the main house to try it. Y/n held her breath, and beside her she felt her Gramps tense for the first time since the judging started. “Tastes perfect, too,” her father grinned, finishing the piece off and writing up the rest of his notes. 

“Holy shi-” 

“Language, Olivia,” her mother warned. 

“Sorry, it’s just really good gingerbread.”

“So,” Linda piped up, “when do we find out who won? I’d like to go and sit down somewhere… clean, if you don’t mind.”

“Liv and I will have a chat while you guys clear up in here, and we’ll see you in the living room when you’re done?”

“Sounds good!” Steph exclaimed, and everybody looked at her in confusion at her chipper tone. She was already moving to tidy up, and Emma frowned at her niece’s actions. “Come on, we need to know the results!”

“Okay… but you know that you definitely haven’t won, right?” John said, staring at Steph while she moved over to the sink to start washing up. 

“Oh, I know! It’s just that I’ve remembered something I wanted to tell everyone, but I thought it would be better to do it after the winner is announced!” Y/n felt her heart skip a beat or two in her chest, and she locked eyes with Anthony. 

“Right… well, okay,” Emma said, and she started putting things in the dishwasher. “You two go and discuss then; we’ll tidy up.”

~~~

It took them seventeen minutes and thirty-two seconds to clear up, and Y/n knew that because she was checking her watch every ten seconds or so to find out how long they had until Steph fucked everything up. 

Anthony came and walked next to her as they headed into the living room, and his hand brushed over her back gently in reassurance. “We’ll be alright, darling. The snow’s melting anyway, so it shouldn’t be too long until we can go home if it all goes wrong. Not that it will, I don’t think. Nobody likes Steph and everybody loves us, so we’ll be alright, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Ugh, I hate this. I just wish she’d do it now and get it over with.”

“I need to be crowned winner first, darling,” he teased, sitting down on their loveseat. Y/n made sure to not bother with being careful about crushing him when she sat down on top of him, and snorted at the groan he let out when she did so. 

“Aw, Schmoopie, it’s adorable that you think you’ve beaten me.” She reached back and pinched his cheek, laughing when he glared at her. 

“Right!” Ben declared, moving into the centre of the room. Olivia held the plastic crowns that they had bought from a cheap fancy dress shop years ago, back when the competition had first started. They had to be put back in the fancy dress box when the day was over, but the winners got bragging rights for a year. “In third place!” They didn’t bother with placing everyone since nobody really cared much about that, and Y/n saw her family all sit up a little bit more in their seats while they waited to hear who had placed where. “Drum roll please… Will and Sam! Although they did end up with considerably more gingerbread mix on them than everyone else, their design of St. Paul’s Cathedral was ambitious and mostly executed!” Y/n thought that was a generous description of the gingerbread building that her brothers had made, given it had fallen over after about three minutes. 

“It was a very close call between first and second place, with our two teams being Anthony and Nana Jean, and Y/n and Richard!” Olivia chimed in, and Y/n felt Anthony tense behind her. She shared a look with her Gramps, and he gave her a nod that said ‘we’ve won, I know it’. 

“In first place, and taking the crown for this year’s gingerbread competition,” Ben said, his voice a little quieter so that everybody had to lean in to hear him. “Can I get another drum roll, please?” Everyone obliged, even Steph and Linda (although the latter did roll her eyes and pretended to gag), and Y/n could have sworn that nobody was breathing. “Y/n and Richard! Congratulations, you two!” 

She took a moment to process her father’s words, and then another moment to process her sister handing over the plastic crown, and then a third moment to process Anthony groaning in frustration behind her. 

Then she promptly turned around to face her boyfriend, pointed in his face, and said “HAHA!”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, darling. You win.” He didn’t look too cut up about it, a soft smile gracing his features, and Y/n planted a quick kiss on his lips. “I think your Gramps is more smug than you are, to be honest.” She looked behind her at her grandparents just in time to see her Gramps get up and start doing some sort of victory dance. Nana Jean had her head in her hands, but Y/n knew she was smiling beneath it. 

“Oh yeah, Steph?” Sam spoke up once the crowns were situated on the winners’ heads and people had calmed down a little. “What did you wanna tell everyone?”

“Yes! Well, I think I should first of all give Anthony and Y/n a chance to explain first, unless they would rather I did it?” Steph’s smile was sharp, and there was an icy fire dancing in her eyes. Y/n froze under the weight of it, and suddenly breathing was hard. Anthony slipped his arms further around her waist, and before she could even begin to think of what to say, he was talking for her. 

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Steph,” he said, perfectly falling into the role he needed to play. He tilted his head slightly in mock confusion, and Steph’s smile only grew. 

“What’s going on?” Will asked, chewing on a piece of gingerbread he’d nabbed from the kitchen. “What’s it got to do with them?” He cast a glance towards them, and Y/n knew that if nothing else she’d have him on her side. He already knew about what Steph was going to say anyway, and he’d given his full support. 

“They faked the whole relationship!” Steph exclaimed, spreading her arms out as she laughed. She was met with silence while people took in her words, and then Emma laughed herself. “I can prove it!”

“Oh, Steph, you don’t need to!” Emma chuckled. “We know.”

“Wait what?” Y/n said, sitting up straight in shock.

“It was very painfully obvious that you two can’t stand each other,” her mother continued. “Although something must have happened at some point, because the weird tension is gone.” Y/n’s mouth was hanging open, and she looked around at her gathered family. Steph’s eyes were practically bulging out of her head. 

“Did… did all of you know?!” Scattered nods and murmured agreements were given in reply. “Why did nobody say anything?!”

“Because it was funny to watch you try to fool everyone and fail!” Steph cried, still trying to have the advantage. 

“No,” Nana Jean said, her tone harsh. “It’s because we didn’t want to make it awkward. I mean, you brought your boss to your family’s christmas gathering to play the role of the boyfriend, and if we’d told you we had that figured out after the first day, then what would we have done?!”

“Hang on, the first day?!”

“It was rather obvious, love,” her Gramps added on with a shrug. “You looked downright murderous when you looked at him. Emma’s right though, something did change.”

“Yeah, they made out,” Will said, not looking up from where he sat in the corner eating. Somehow he’d found more food, and when everybody stared at him he finally glanced up. “What? Y/n/n came and told me all about it!”

“Not all about it, Will! I told you the vague outline of what had happened! And if you knew since the first day then why the hell did you act so confused?!”

“Oh, I genuinely didn’t know.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” Anthony hadn’t said a word the whole time, and for a moment Y/n was worried he’d passed away from embarrassment or something. 

“Why is nobody laughing about this?!” Steph shouted, growing crazed. “Y/n couldn’t get a boyfriend so she had to force someone to pretend?! I mean,” she scoffed, “it’s ridiculous, and it’s sad! She’s too fucking fat and ugly to get a real one, and-”

“That is enough, Stephanie.” Anthony’s hands started moving Y/n off of his lap, and then he was standing up and glaring at her cousin with more hatred than Y/n had ever seen in his eyes before. “I have repeatedly told you that Y/n is better than you, and that you are a horrible person, and if I am never allowed back here because of this then so be it, but you do not get to continue your behaviour. I don’t know how many more times I can tell you to stop bullying Y/n before it finally gets through your thick skull, but you need to stop. She’s a completely different person around you because you make her feel awful and like she’s not good enough, and I am sick of it, because she doesn’t deserve it! You are the one who is being ridiculous and sad, because you can’t get over yourself and see that nobody cares!” His chest was heaving by the time he finished, and he’d been gesturing wildly as he spoke. Y/n couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride at how quickly he’d jumped to defend her. 

“It’s not my fault!” Steph tried, but she was cut off before she could continue. 

“What’s not your fault?” Y/n said, standing up and moving next to Anthony. “What’s not your fault, Steph? Because Ant’s right. I am a different person around you, because you make me feel like I’m not enough. Like I’m not pretty enough, or skinny enough, or just enough in general, and I end up starving myself to stop you talking crap about me whenever I come here!” She tried to ignore the weight of her family’s gazes as she carried on, knowing she had never outright mentioned any of this before. She doubted any of them had noticed what had been happening right under their noses. “I hate seeing you, Steph, because I know that I’m just going to end up crying myself to sleep or locking myself in the bathroom because of what you say, or how you look at me when I put just a little too much food on my plate, which, actually, isn’t that much food! It’s a normal amount for a person to eat to be healthy! And Ant’s right when he says that you’re the one being ridiculous and sad, because you are. I am done acting differently because you think I’m not good enough, and I am done crying over you, because you are not worth a single tear I have.” Despite her words, she could feel her throat closing up with emotion and tears threatening to fall, but that wasn’t because of Steph. It was more to do with the fact that she had finally stood up for herself and pushed back the way she should have done years ago. Anthony put his arm around her waist, bringing her into his side, and Steph was eerily quiet. 

“You bitch.”

Y/n scoffed. “For telling you the truth? Sure. I’m the bitch in this situation.” Steph launched herself at Y/n then, and if she hadn’t trained as an agent to have lightning-fast reflexes she would have been punched in the jaw. 

As it was, she and Anthony split, stepping to the side so that Steph fell face first into the carpet. 

“I hate you!” she screamed, pushing herself up. Before she could even try another attack, a resounding crack echoed around the room, and then Steph was holding her cheek in shock as she stared at Y/n. “You hit me,” she said incredulously. Y/n’s hand stung slightly, but it was worth it. 

“Yes, I did. Well done for noticing.” Anthony huffed a laugh beside her, and he had to cover his mouth with his hand to stop the rest of his amusement escaping. Emma stepped forward, her face the picture of rage and fury. 

“Linda, I think this is the perfect time to tell you that I don’t particularly enjoy having you around, and your daughter is an awful person. If I ever find either of you talking crap about either Y/n or me, as you so love to do, Linda, then I will personally kick you into the next century. I’d like you to go and pack your things, and you can find a place to stay in town.”

“You… you hit my daughter,” Linda said, staring at Y/n. 

“She’s twenty, Linda. I think she can take it.” Anthony really couldn’t hold in his laugh at Y/n’s words, and he squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head, pressing his lips tightly together behind the hand that he’d had to put back over his mouth. 

“We’ll be glad to go,” Linda started, casting a disdainful look at her sister. “At least in a hotel we’ll be appreciated!” Y/n highly doubted that anywhere would appreciate having Steph and Linda, but if it meant that the two of them weren’t near her then she wouldn’t complain. 

“Good. Off you go, and pack your bags. I want you gone by mid-morning tomorrow.” 

Linda and Steph fled the living room, the latter still clutching at her cheek, and their footsteps could be heard as they stomped upstairs. A door slammed, and then a second, and then there was silence. 

“Now. I don’t know��� I don’t know what the correct response is to all of this is,” Emma said, her voice softening as she turned back to Anthony and Y/n. “But Anthony, I hope you know we’re not mad at you. Either of you, actually. Steph was awful, she has been for years, and I’m sorry that I never did anything before now.”

“It’s okay, Mum-” 

“No, it’s not. I’m your mother and I wasn’t doing my job properly. Mostly I’m just glad that you and Anthony have each other,” she smiled. Y/n looked up at her boyfriend and smiled too, feeling her face heat up when he brought his arm around her torso again and pressed a small kiss to her temple. 

“You’re really not upset that I faked a relationship with my boss and lied to all of you?”

“Nope,” Will piped up from the corner, somehow still finding food to eat even though he hadn’t moved. “It’s been a great source of entertainment, actually. Especially since I know now that you didn’t like each other all the times we made you kiss.”

“Will, I don’t think that’s really something to be proud of,” Ben said, glancing at his son. 

“It’s funny though,” he shrugged, wiping up the remains of whatever had been in the bowl he was eating out of. “Anyway, now that you’re actually together, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“I guess not,” Y/n said, and Anthony’s grip on her waist tightened for a moment. She could feel him smiling into her hair. 

“Well, that’s all sorted then!” Nana Jean exclaimed, clapping her hands together once and standing up. “Who wants tea?”

part 11

Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @magicandrosewaters, @bobbys-not-that-small

desperately hoping this is everyone, but as always just let me know if you want to be added/removed (or if I forgot you) and I'll do that as soon as I can! <3

[shewhowas39]

Title: "Hard to Concentrate" Rating: Explicit Pairing: Spawn Astarion x female Durge/OC (my girl June) Words: 4.3k Summary: Astarion is bored and ants attention. June is trying to concentrate on a spell. Whatever is a man to do? (this is pure smut, a little fluffy, not even a hint of angst, late act 3)

A/N: this is set in the same universe as my longfic, Juniper & Starlight. it's going to be ages before that fic hits act 3, but that doesn't mean we can't have some fun. you don't need to read J&S to follow along with this. but if you do read J&S, this may contain some spoilery previews of things to come.

***

PREVIEW

“Remind me again what you’re doing,” he says, picking at his fingernails. 

June flexes her fingers and the Steel Watcher turns one direction and then the other.  “Gale showed me some illusion spells. If we’re going into the Foundry tomorrow, I figure it’d be real useful to be able to create believable distractions. Just trying to get this perfect.”

“Right.” He watches for another moment before walking up to stand behind her chair. “June?”

"Yeah?”

“I’m bored.”

She huffs out a little laugh.  “You don’t gotta stay here with me, you know. You’re free to go out and have some fun if you want.”

“But I want to have fun with you.”

“I’d like that, too, but getting an illusion just right takes time. Especially when it ain’t my strong suit. I don’t want us getting caught because my Steel Watcher looks off.”

“It looks good! Perfect! I’d never know it wasn’t the real thing! You’re a master illusionist, my love. Gale wishes he could do illusions as well as you.”

“You’re just saying that because you want attention.”

“Yes.”

June laughs, but then she writes something down in her spellbook and goes back to manipulating the illusion, adjusting the placement of a few of the construct’s bolts. 

Astarion’s hands begin to play with her dark blond curls, carefully moving his fingers through them, pausing to massage her scalp in a way that makes her sigh with pleasure. Slowly, he slides his hands down her neck. He kneads at her shoulders, working at the stress-induced knots he can always find there. He can feel June relaxing beneath his touch. Then his hands slip lower, down her chest and into the cups of her bodice.

The press of his fingers on her nipples causes June to jump and her illusion to flicker briefly.

“Astarion!” she protests with a giggle.

“Hm?” He tries to sound innocent even as he lowers his mouth to suck on the pointed tip of her ear. 

“Oh…” The Steel Watcher flickers again as June’s pale cheeks turn a very fetching shade of pink. She swallows, then gently tilts away, swatting at him and his wandering hands. “You’re insatiable lately.”

She’s not wrong. Since defeating Cazador and reigniting the physical part of their relationship, Astarion is hardly able to keep his hands off of June. For the first time in two hundred years, he is able to enjoy sex without the heavy feelings of shame that once accompanied it, with a partner who takes his wants and desires and boundaries seriously. It isn’t as if his complicated relationship with physical intimacy has been magically repaired, but each day with her brings a little bit of progress. 

And, by the gods, it feels so good to be able to make love to her and then smile and laugh and bask in the afterglow. It’s what he wanted for so long, and now that he has it, he cannot get enough.

It doesn’t help that he finds June so bloody sexy. He always has, but lately, it seems like anything and everything about her can set him off: those big, blue eyes blinking at him, the way she gets so excited to talk about historical events anyone else would find dull, the ink stains on her hands after she has transcribed a new spell…

Hells, two days ago he found his trousers growing tight because of the way she yawned. It’s ridiculous and intoxicating, this constant desire for her. 

Which is why it is especially cruel that she is here, being so obscenely delectable, and not paying attention to him. He needs to change that. Immediately

[lilyevanstan1325]

❤️ Built For This World ❤️

Chapter 1

I drag myself with difficulty to the edge of the long road that stands in front of me.

My senses are on alert as I move slowly but decisively towards the trees on my right.

I feel too exposed here, the trees will give me a little more shelter from prying eyes and teeth ready to bite me.

I blink violently as the sunlight blinds me, burning my clear eyes.

Mum always told me "Clear eyes are delicate, always protect them"

And I, who was only five years old, snorted impatiently while, with a very sweet smile, she placed a pair of sunglasses on my nose and then kissed the tip making me giggle.

I have always loved my green eyes just because they are the same as my mother's, they are the only thing that reminds me that she existed.

I have nothing left of her except an old photo, creased and worn by the tears I shed over it.

Every time I see my reflection, if I concentrate hard enough, I can see her in my features, I can pretend for a few moments that she is there in front of me.

Our resemblance is the only thing that constantly reminds me that she was a real part of a life that today no longer belongs to me.

Emerald eyes.

That's how dad called her.

I can still hear his voice as he whispers those sweet words to my mother.

I sigh thinking about how much they loved each other.

They have always been my example of true, pure and strong love.

They are what I aspire to or rather what I dreamed for myself before.

Now there is nothing left, only death and despair.

I look around looking for a slightly shadier spot but without great results.

The heat is increasingly unbearable, especially at this time of the afternoon.

Not that I have a watch with me but from the position of the sun in the sky I'm pretty sure it was a few hours after noon.

I breathe deeply and the hot air burns my nose, my lungs.

The heat burns my throat, corroding every clear thought.

Damn…

I didn't know Georgia was so damn hot.

I mean, even though I am walking in the depths of the forest, the sun gives me no respite, it infiltrates the branches and leaves with unprecedented violence.

It's like it wants to constantly remind me “Hey bitch I'm here, I know where you are.You can't escape me"

The jeans I'm wearing fit like a second skin, making me sweat even more profusely while the white t-shirt I'm wearing has noticeable, and if I had been in the company of other human beings, embarrassing patches of sweat near the armpits and along the entire back.

Let's say the smell I give off isn't the best.

For a fraction of a second my vision blurs, slowing down my already limping and clumsy pace.

The sounds around me become muffled.

I no longer hear the cicadas singing in the heat of this desolate and cursed land.

Without realizing it, I stop and rest my hand against the rough trunk of a tree, the bark scratches my palm but I barely feel the pain.

Nowadays I feel numb to everything.

I no longer feel anything except the inexorable passage of time.

Forty-two days, I think as my vision comes and goes, repeatedly showing me white points of light on my black boots.

That's how long I've been wandering.

Forty-two damn days.

On my long journey to Atlanta I encountered few living people but many, too many, dead.

Fucking biters.

I tried to keep a low profile, only killing them when I really couldn't help myself.

My only weapons are my trusty knife and a machete found in an old abandoned car near Charlotte.

As for the living, well...in that case I avoided them as anyone would avoid STI.

Or the biters.

It depends on your point of view.

But the thing that amazes me is that I have never met his men.

Or him.

Maybe they didn't think I would run away south.

Or maybe they never looked for me.

Why should he commit his men, in his opinion his most precious resources, to look for me?

Maybe there was a time when he would have turned the world upside down to find me but in the last few weeks he had grown colder.

It wasn't him anymore.

Without feelings.

No hugs, no sweet words.

Only barked orders, half-hearted phrases.

As if I were another one of his stupid men and not the most important woman in his life, as he used to call me.

It is as if he had convinced himself that his love for me made him weak in the eyes of others, as if love me made him vulnerable and therefore less credible or reliable as a leader.

I feel my legs give out, my knees tremble, forcing me to kneel on the hard ground.

I bring the hand that isn't busy gripping the tree to my head, as if this gesture could ease my pain.

The same excruciating pain in my head that hasn't left me for days now seems to explode with ferocity, as if I suddenly found myself hanging upside down and all the blood was draining towards my brain, giving me the not so pleasant sensation of my eyes being forced out of my eye sockets.

In the midst of this ocean of pain I can hear the cawing of a crow that echoes throughout the forest, making me jump violently, making my heartbeat skyrocket.

I feel it beating so hard that I have the almost mathematical certainty that at any moment it could break through my ribs and come out of my chest.

The crow flies away with a rustle of wings, continuing on its way unaware of having almost caused me a cardiac arrest.

Another dizziness takes me by surprise, making me lose my grip on the tree and finding myself on all fours, my stomach shaking with violent spasms while empty retching fills my dry and sore throat.

I know what's happening.

I'm aware of it.

The problem is that I'm fucking scared of it.

I can't accept it.

After all, who could do it?

Who would be able to accept their death as if nothing had happened?

I feel my eyes burning but no tears appear.

My crooked mouth in a grip of perpetual pain burns, the dozens of small wounds that cover it bleed with every small movement.

I've learned to live with hunger, it's not as difficult as it seems.

The last time I think I ate was about two or three days ago.

I had found a small cabin in the woods, I think it was an old hunter's lodge.

With only a few hours of light ahead of me, I had decided to stop and set a small trap near my refuge for that night.

Maybe I would catch a disgusting possum or if I was really lucky a rabbit.

But instead, the next morning, the only thing I found was a little mouse.

Small, defenseless, gasping desperately with his little paw stuck in the trap.

He squealed forcefully, fighting for his life.

I still remember the tears of disgust at what I was about to do but it was for my own life.

For my survival.

I felt pathetic feeling sorry for a small and insignificant ball of fur but I think I saw myself in him.

Too small and defenseless for this world that is now too cruel and cowardly, destined to succumb but not therefore willing to give up.

I believe my sleep deprivation played a major role in my little mental breakdown.

An hour later I was sitting in front of a small fire, my hair glued to my neck from sweat and the remains of that little warrior on the ground in front of me.

“Mors tua vita mea” I found myself whispering while looking at those little bones.

Both of us, the little mouse and I, had only one mission, survive and there would be only one winner.

The failure of the little rodent guaranteed the achievement of my goal...surviving a few more days.

A rustle in the distance brings me back to the present.

I try to use every ounce of strength to concentrate all my energy on lifting my head, to at least try to understand where the noise is coming from, but by now dehydration is taking over, making me weak and exposed.

Vulnerable.

And in this world if you are vulnerable you are dead.

I lower my head in defeat, my forehead almost touching the dry leaves on the ground.

The smell of mold and musk tickling my nostrils.

My fingers dig into the ground with anger and frustration.

The sun continues to burn the back of my neck undisturbed, dulling my pale skin.

Some dirty strands escape from my bun and stick to my sweat-beaded forehead.

I am thirsty.

I'm literally dying of thirst.

And honestly it's a horrible death.

I finished my last water about five days ago.

For the next two days, after the end of that precious liquid, I drank my own urine twice.

I still remember the feeling of disgust, the tears rolling down my cheeks.

My head screaming at me not to do it while my body begged me otherwise.

I had to do it, I had no choice...

But then between the sweat and the lack of any other liquid even the urine disappeared and now I haven't drunk for almost 48 hours and my body can't take it anymore.

It's shutting down.

I am slowly and surely losing all functions.

Like I'm falling but I'm doing it in slow motion, I know I'll crash eventually and it'll be horrible but I can't do anything to help it.

I'm there, sitting in the front row watching my end.

Cool.

That rustling again.

I would like to get up, my instinct tells me to check what it is, to fight, but my body no longer responds to me.

It's like my brain has dissociated itself from everything else and told me “Hell no baby, I don't give a fuck, I'm done.Now it's your business"

Another round of retching knocks me out, forcing me to lie down on the ground, melting against it, with the dry leaves as a pillow.

I hear footsteps and I can't understand if they belong to a human being or to a biter.

The sounds are confusing, like everything else after all.

Thoughts become incoherent, and reality mixes with memories of the past.

“Come on my little girl, don't give up”

Is my daddy's voice?

The almost musical cadence of his voice makes my heart skip a beat.

Or is it just the palpitations due to dehydration?

Then another voice…

“Summer?Where are you my dear?"

Mom?

It's you?

Where are you?

Rolling onto my side and using the last of my strength I lie down onto my back.

Behind my closed eyelids I can perceive the intensity of the sun.

The sounds in my ears don't make sense, they come and go garbled and distorted.

Words, angry growls, whispers.

I believe my time has finally come.

The only regret?

Knowing that I came close, so close.

Atalanta is only a few tens of miles away and dying like this, devoured by some horde or simply devoured by my own thirst, sucks.

Dying sucks.

It's not how I imagined it.

It's certainly not like in the movies, that's for sure.

There is no last soft sigh, nothing romantic.

No cathartic moments.

No understanding of the meaning of life.

There is no flashback, no images of your life flashing before you.

Indeed...every breath is a stab, a slow torture that consumes your soul.

First, it fucks your brain and then he takes everything else.

An agony without grace.

Dying is not easy.

But despite everything I will die happy knowing that I tried in every way.

I tried to survive tooth and nail but in the end this world got the better of me.

A lone tear drips from my left eye.

Then the darkness.

Here, today, my journey towards a better life ends.

My run towards the freedom ends.

Please comment, share and rate ❤️

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@deansapplepie

[waywardsou2]

Summer of Bad Batch Week 9

Hold Still

Summary: Omega gets a gift from Phee and she want's to try it out on her brothers

Word Count: 600+

“Tech can you hold still please” This was the fifth time Tech had absently pulled his hand away from Omegas as she was trying to apply a second coat of polish to her nails. He had been fidgeting the entire time and when he forgets what he was in the middle of doing to start some other activity Omega had to catch his wrist and sit him back down on the other side of the table. She nearly knocked the bottle over this time. Spilling the orange all over their stainless steel pull out table of the marauder.

Phee had given her a set when they had seen her last and she had been obsessed she had painted her fingers and even her toes all at once she was that exited. But she only had so many fingers and toes and she needed a victim volunteer, and Tech was the first to be cornered and coerced. It wasn’t hard to get him to agree, once she told him that he would constantly be wearing gloves and boots so no one would see it he saw no reason not to.

She was using an orange colour that match the one on his newly decorated suit, but she was getting it all over his fingers instead of his nails because he just would not. hold. Still.

“Tech-“ Omega said “If you don’t stop moving I’m going to use that horrible pink colour”

Tech sighed and sat back down, his data pad sat on the table as the already dried hand tapped away on the screen. Tech was usually bustling about the ship, fixing things or upgrading machinery (he didn’t know the definition of ‘if it ain’t broke don’t fix it) or reading the galaxy wide intercoms to see where their next mission might lead them.

But he wanted to do this for Omega, but sitting and concentrating on one thing was simply not stimulating enough.

“What exactly is the purpose of colouring your nails?”

“It’s fun” Omega said as she stuck her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated

“But what purpose does it serve?”

“Makes you look pretty, Phee said people do it to make themselves feel pretty”

When Tech had seen Phee last her nails were a deep shade of purple that contrasted the gold of her accessories, and he had to admit she did look rather nice.

“So, it is a purely cosmetic procedure”

“Yeah, if you want to say it like that”

Omega continued to swipe over Tech’s fingers with the colour, being as delicate as possible trying not to make more of a mess than she already had.

After she was done Tech took his hands and studied them. The vibrant colour on his neutral toned fingers look strange, but he had to admit he did like the colour.

“Thank you, Omega, you have done an excellent job. I thoroughly enjoyed this experience” He thought to himself a moment before taking one Omega’s hands in his own and taking the brush from her hand. He delicately made a line down her index finger and then took the purple to do the inverse on his own.

“There. Now we match”

Omega smiled looking at hers and Tech’s nails “Thank you Tech”

He smiled softly back at her “You are very welcome Omega”

She stood up and looked a Wrecker laying on his bunk getting some shut eye. Nap time was over, its time for her next victim

“Wreckers turn” she snickered at him and walked over to his sleeping form

Tech chuckled and turned back to the cockpit. If only Crosshair could see them now

[yasperapologist]

yasper is contemplating whether he'd look good with a nose ring. it's purely a hypothetical; he has far too low a pain tolerance to seriously consider it. but from a purely aesthetic perspective... what a ridiculous question, he quickly decides. i look good in everything.

yasper is running late to a disco dance party at oasis. chelsea's gonna kill him if he makes them miss another uber because he's applying eyeliner in his bathroom mirror for the third time. he's concentrating so hard, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, but it's still a mess. maybe zoe can show him how she gets her lines so straight sometime. for now he'll just say it's intentional; the smudgy look is kinda hot anyway. yasper winks at himself in the mirror.

yasper is content being a guy like.... 95% of the time. but there is a small part of his brain that desperately longs to be a spice girl.

yasper is ordering an olive a-line skirt from h&m. just to test the waters. (it's not very spice girl. but it's green and a comfortable baby step, or perhaps a gateway drug.) the first time he wears it, just at home for a movie date night, aniq smiles at him lovingly and says, 'you look really nice.' 'i do, don't i?" says yasper, very pleased.

[kleenexwoman]

I'm finally getting out of my fog and writing again!

Naturally, I'm writing about brain chemicals more. This time it's Steve and Eddie, and there might be a surprise mentally ill guest star I will make you feel unexpectedly bad for. (@thorniest-rose you are literally the mortal inspiration for me writing this all tbh)

Sneak preview:

Billy oozes by Eddie’s locker after lunch, and Eddie expects him to say something about Steve, but he doesn’t.

“Need some white heat,” is Billy’s opening line.

“Dude, your dealer in Los Angeles might know what the fuck you mean, but you gotta be a little more specific with us hicks,” Eddie says. “That could be, like, anything.”

“Nose candy, moron.” Billy rolls his eyes.

“Are you fuckin–” Eddie stuffs his books into his locker and lowers his voice. “What are you, a narc? You can’t just buy cocaine off me in the hallway, idiot!”

“I’m so bored, man,” Billy whines. “What, do I gotta come to your special little goblin rock in the woods or whatever for anything halfway decent?”

“Look,” Eddie says. “It’s pizza day. I have oregano, ‘cause the pizza here is basically grilled cheese, and then I have antacids so you can concentrate in class. And I have some aspirin for girls on their periods. If you want anything more interesting than that, you gotta come to my place.”

“I thought you delivered,” Billy says.

“You can walk to my place,” Eddie points out. “I don’t deliver when I can hear you blasting Speedwagon across the park.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Speedwagon,” Billy says.

“Didn’t say there was,” Eddie says. “I’m just saying, you can walk. Or drive, or whatever.”

“Fine,” Billy says, and points at him. “Five-thirty, sharp.”

“Yeah, whatever, man,” Eddie says as Billy walks off.

Whatever. He’ll be at home or he won’t. It’s not like Billy has that much money, not unless Hagan is sending him to get the drugs, which seems like a reversal of dynamic on their part. But the world has changed, who knows what bright new social order blah blah.

It’s a little more of a surprise when Eddie closes his locker ten seconds later and Nancy Wheeler, of all people, is standing there.

“I don’t sell study pills to bitches,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, I’m fine on the… study pills,” Nancy says, wrinkling up her nose like she’s not going to be slamming Mother’s Little Helpers come her frosh year of U of C or wherever the fuck she thinks she’s headed. “It’s about Steve.”

Eddie points at himself, then at Nancy, then raises his eyebrows.

“Please, please don’t sell him anything,” Nancy says.

Eddie angles his whole body towards the retreating Billy, looks back to Nancy, back to Billy, shakes his head, and then turns back to Nancy.

“That’s Billy over there,” Eddie says, “unless I’m very much mistaken.”

“I saw you sitting with him at lunch,” Nancy says.

“Yeah, well, nobody else was,” Eddie says. “Can I go to class now, hall monitor, or do we need to take this to the interrogation chamber?”

“I’m just saying that he’s been through a really hard time,” Nancy says, and raises her hands defensively, “and yes, I know I was part of that–”

“So you understand the unfeasibility, nay, the pure absurdity of your negotiating position here,” Eddie says.

“–but just because we’re broken up doesn’t mean I don’t care about him,” Nancy says. “I mean, six kids? Who has that many children in one lifetime?”

“Mormons?” Eddie blinks slowly. “I’m sorry. Are you coming to me to ask me not to engage in the commerce that is my trade, or are we discussing birth control now?”

“I’m saying that it’s probably unethical for you to target Steve for, like, drug-selling reasons when he’s just been through a really bad weekend,” Nancy says. “So please? Like, please? I don’t want to have to call his parents and explain why their son is in a straitjacket at Central State Hospital.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have called the guy ‘bullshit’ in front of all his friends then,” Eddie chirps. He opens his locker door, shoves his math book inside, and rattles it around for a few seconds just to make a point. “Seems like anything I’m gonna do after that is just gravy.”

“Look,” Nancy says from behind the locker door. “It wasn’t my best moment.”

“It wasn’t,” Eddie agrees. “Neither is this. But I’m willing to do you a favor and forget it.”

“But I’m really serious,” Nancy says. “You have no idea how much harm it could do–”

“Rule One of the Munson Doctrine.” Eddie slams his locker. “Do not give opinions or advice unless you are asked.”

“What?” Nancy tilts her head forward in that way smart girls do when they’re not sure if they’re hearing you wrong or they just think you’re stupid.

“Ethics,” Eddie says. “You mentioned ethics. I have ethics, and I’m sorry they don’t line up with yours, but that’s a big one. Rule Eight: Do not complain about that which you need not subject yourself.”

“Those are the Satanic Rules of the Earth,” Nancy says slowly. “I saw Anton LaVey on Geraldo too, y’know.”

“Okay, you got me.” Eddie throws up his hands. “Twenty bucks and I won’t sell anything to Steve this week. Are you happy?”

“Fine.” Nancy visibly sets her jaw, like she wasn’t the one just accusing Eddie of preying on the weak-minded for sport and profit, and digs a crumpled twenty out of her purse. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

“And I appreciate making a sale without even having to move any product,” Eddie says, stuffing the money into his pocket. “Break up with a few more guys, and I might be able to get into Warhammer.”

[britcision]

So I’m thinking about this again and I think a lot of the dislike for Vivienne comes from missing the metatextual layers of her character

Obviously she’s always a bitch and I love that for her, 10/10 step on me energy and if she was lighter she’d have been Lady Dimitrescu a few years early

But there are two different layers of subtext that I can see in her character that at the very least have made it really hard for people to explain why they don’t like her

Long and involved discussion below the cut, pack a lunch

Let’s start with the most common complaints:

1) she’s mean. Y’all love that in plenty of other characters though, so there’s something different about Vivienne that makes her being mean so much more offensive

(I wonder what it could be.)

She’s even mean in an overly polite, very delicate way with lots of honeyed compliments and stark disagreements

2) she’s a cop apologist who thinks the circle system works

Ignoring for the moment that people seem to have far less animosity for Cullen, who Literally Is A Cop and believes all the same things

(I wonder why.)

This is where the metatextual layers come in though, so bear with me:

Vivienne’s view point, that the circles are essentially good and while Kirkwall clearly wasn’t and needed to be destroyed, that was the exception instead of the rule, is the dominant viewpoint in the game

Even hanging out with the mage rebellion at Redcliffe, the greatest concentration of mages who should be pissed about the circle, every single minor mage NPC is against the rebellion

They’d rather be in the circles, but left because otherwise they’d be alone and murdered

There MUST be a number of mages who’ve experienced the worst of the circles; enough of them voted to rebel to carry these outliers like a tide

You never fucking talk to them

Not one

Fiona, the leader who started the vote to rebel, has nice things to say about templars if you speak to her, and still wants to reform the circles. She’s just realised it won’t work from within, and accidentally almost sold the mages into indentured servitude (if you picked the mage route)

This isn’t a subtle thread, it’s glaringly obvious if you pay even a little attention. Even mages who started as apostates tell you the templars are not all bad, and “it’s complicated”

Now, I haven’t played DA2 or seen a full play through, so this part is pure speculation, but.

The biggest complaint I see about DA2 is that you can’t help Anders blow up the chantry.

You have to be shocked by it, despite giving him the dynamite, and everything about how DAI refers to it tries to push that he was an extremist and hurt the mages more than helping them

(Also mysteriously every circle Cullen is at tends to fail soon after, despite him being extremely pro templars. Very interesting, completely unrelated)

And I think that’s why you’re surrounded on all sides by “not all templars” in DAI

I think someone at the top level was fundamentally confused by the reaction to DA2, because I think someone at that level thinks the moral quandary of the game is “who’s right, the mages or the templars”, and they think it’s a 50-50

That’s why you can pick either side with equal weighting

They think there is not a right or wrong answer to this question

We shall be calling this the Supervisor level, since I’ve no idea who or where they are, but they’re definitely near the top rung because holy fuck DAI is beating us to death with “well free mages are bad actually and some templars are lovely people”

I think that the Supervisor level think Vivienne is right

This is a game that has gone to great lengths to portray racial equality (and emphasise species inequality as a metaphor that it clearly understands is bad), that worked hard to make incredible, gorgeously under-toned and perfectly lit dark skin options

All of the default heads for all of the playable races come with two gorgeous POC options that are hot out of the box

Vivienne herself is a character they’ve given the world to; she’s beautiful, powerful, independent, strong willed, beginning in by far the best position of any of the companions

Her first scene is her stepping in to effortlessly undercut an encounter with a pissy noble that you as the PC were not given a win condition for

She is the most influential mage in the game, Fiona is undercut by Alexis before even appearing, the Tevinter magisters are all suspect because who knows who is Venatori, Dorian is a pariah and a rogue, Solas is an isolated apostate

Vivienne is in the running to be the next fucking Divine if she joins the party

The people who approved each level of plot for this game gave this beautiful Black woman the world at her feet, persuasive dialog options, and the most widely supported opinion in the world of the game

(She’s not wrong that right after Kirkwall’s explosion is a bad time for a rebellion and makes it look like mages support murder; she just fundamentally does not understand that there would NEVER be a right time or how badly the other mages were being mistreated

She’s isolated on a glowing cloud of privilege, yet never mentions her childhood or early days at the circles )

Dorian will happily tell you that the Tevinter circles pretty much are what Vivienne thinks the Orlais circles should be; well established schools of learning and study where mages are protected and given room to grow

(He also admits disappointment that their templars are toothless and don’t actually investigate who’s doing the human sacrifices unless they’re poor or not well connected)

So our first meta textual layer shows that to the Supervisors, Vivienne is right. It should not be almost impossible to get high approval with her, because players should not all be on the side of mages

They specifically use mages to push “free mages are dangerous” because it’s harder to argue against

They’re prepared for people to go that route anyway, that route exists, but they expected it to be a pretty much even split, and for grey areas like “the circles are bad, but mages still need to be watched because demons will possess them” to be a strong part of the mage route

Even if you ally with the mages freely, you can tell every single ally in every single conversation that you lied, they aren’t free, you’re going to keep them in line

And this brings us to meta textual layer 2:

Someone (or a group) in the writing staff understands the actual dilemma of the game perfectly:

The templars are wrong, the circles are an oppressive system that cannot be fixed from within, and you are only barely able to advocate for them to be treated as people, against constant and heavy resistance

This shines through in ways that could almost be seen as coincidence, which is why I think the power balance is set up this way

Sera says it best when asked where she stands on the mage and templar war:

In the middle, because you only hear about mages when one gets possessed and blows people up, and you only hear about templars when they decide to steal a bunch of maybe-mages

On the surface, this sounds like a pretty flat 50-50, both sides are bad so why take a side

But when you actually look at the words…

You hear about mages when their bodies are taken without control and they are forced to do terrible things

You hear about templars when they decide of their own free will that they want to kidnap random people and make sure no one ever looks for them

Only the templars have agency in these examples

There’s also the simple fact that the main baddies in the first part of the game are rebel mages and rogue templars

Rebel mages are fighting for their freedom, notably split off from the main body of the rebellion, who have run for their lives and are hiding

Rogue templars just decided to stay behind when their powerful and influential leaders decided to pull out and stop protecting people, and none of the “good” templars tried to stop them

You are deadass not permitted to bring this up when you first go to Val Royeaux and the templars fully withdraw to their keep

It wouldn’t fucking go anywhere because ✨plot reasons✨ but the fact that there isn’t even an option to say “by the way come pick up your trash” feels telling

Nothing is stopping all these good templars, that we are constantly being told exist and have mage partners and all that, from trying to do something about the rogues who are murdering just anyone they come across

There is no system to stop the bad templars, or abuses in the circles, because the system is not set up to protect mages

It is set up to contain them, and keep them from causing trouble. Whether you do that by keeping them happy and compliant or beaten and locked in solitary isolation does not matter to the system

But guess which one is easier, cheaper, and inevitable without any kinds of checks to make sure that the good templars are the ones in charge?

In this layer, Vivienne is laughably uninformed about… well, everything that goes on not under her nose

She’s so sure she’s the last First Enchanter left because she lives outside her circle, has the perspective of what common people believe, understands the political timing in the way the other mages

(Who are surely all just as comfortable and well off in their towers as Vivienne herself, who lives in a palace and visits the circle when she wants to)

can’t possibly grasp. Her whole first recruited dialogue is a list of increasingly passionate “why couldn’t they just sit tight and bear it until a better time came”

If you push all the way down she becomes more and more emotional each time, from her cool façade of “I know best, they’re being foolish” all the way to “they made it look like mages support murder”

It’s beautiful animation, incredibly complex and nuanced, and easy to miss if you write her off as a cop apologist and don’t drill down

I seriously doubt she even knows what restrictions were imposed by any of the circles, possibly including her own, cuz they sure as shit did not apply to her

Her party dialogue with Cole is actually another really good example of her just… not knowing what to do when the information she was given is wrong

She starts full of certainty, confident she knows more about demons than Cole or Solas (he asks why she’s scared of him but Solas isn’t, it’s adorable)

She accuses Cole of wanting to be more than friends with Solas, asking if he wants to possess Solas and keep him forever and stay out of the Fade with utter conviction

Cole understandably gets upset and tells her that he fully can’t go back to the Fade, and sometimes wishes he could

The motivation she’s ascribed to him deadass does not work, has been easily disproven in two sentences, and the conversation ends

Vivienne never replies, because this information doesn’t fit her worldview and she therefore doesn’t know what to do with it but write it off as a lie

Because on this level, which we will call the Writer level because it is most visible in the script, Vivienne is so much more than a cop apologist

Vivienne is the perfect demonstration of how an oppressive system cannot be changed from within, and what happens to those who try

Vivienne does not approve of abusive circles; she’ll tell you right off Kirkwall needed to be shut down

She just assumes that her circle experience is the more common one. That most of the circles are as lenient as hers, letting people live off campus if they have the right friends

Hearing her talk about the circles is actually a lot like hearing Dorian talk about the Tevinter circles (and yet he also doesn’t receive half as much hate.

How mysterious.)

Vivienne really thinks that the circles are all nice, comfortable institutions of learning and protection, and the mages who rebelled are brats who want to put their comfort over lives

She thinks circles like Kirkwall are outliers that need fixing, though preferably not by explosion

If Vivienne becomes Divine, Orlais circles go back to what they were, because she does not see the problems, does not listen to common people, and is comfortable under the status quo

It’s a fascinating combination of arrogance and misplaced modesty; Vivienne is special, incredible, the best for a reason. But she also thinks anyone else could have done as well, if they only applied themselves

That any other mage, in any other circle, could and would have her sphere of comfort and protection if they only tried

The system needs mages like Vivienne, powerful, cunning, persuasive mages, because they are its greatest weapon

She’s given a position of relative power and influence specifically to stop her from changing the system to what she believes it should be, by making her believe it has already been done

She defends the system from outside change because if it works for her, it must work for everyone, and they’re just being petulant, and she is isolated from anyone who could show her she’s wrong

She’s surrounded by the upper echelon of templars, who either have the appearance of being good, kind, noble protectors, or may actually be in her own position;

Being cosseted to keep them from making changes

It doesn’t actually matter if every single circle has fallen to the depths of depravity, abusing every mage inside it in obvious physical ways

What matters is that every single one of them can, and would the second one of the bad templars that everyone agrees are there, bad, and should be dealt with, got into power

There is nothing to stop any circle from becoming Kirkwall or worse, and that is why the system needs to be burned down from the ground up

They are jails, and the templars see themselves as jailers over people who never did anything wrong

If you wonder how that goes IRL, check out the Stanford Prison Experiment, then remind yourself that in the eyes of the templars being born a mage is a crime

And if you go wandering around and talk to everyone you can… there’s a Tranquil woman in Skyhold, your new creature researcher, Helisma Derington

(and HOLY SHIT the Tranquil will be a story for another fucking time, for now let’s leave it at “mages are uncomfortable around them and encouraged to see them as less than people for a reason”)

And Helisma will tell you she was made Tranquil not because of her magic, but because she was willful. That the time before she was made Tranquil was emotionally trying, but she doesn’t remember why

And ooooooh do I ever want her to have a talk with Vivienne, because holy fucking hell there but for the grace of God and all that, this lady cannot be a coincidence

And the Tranquil can’t lie

On this level, it’s actually much more important that Vivienne is a Black woman, and an intelligent, independent, powerful, canny Black woman at that

Because it shows that the system can and does work on anyone

There’s no identity that magically makes you aware of the inner workings of oppression, and you can’t opt out by being clever

Vivienne being so intelligent, so independent, so strong willed, is what makes her so very desirable to the system; she will be so much better at defending it once she is on the inside

Because oppressive systems that can be changed from within don’t last a decade. No matter how much you think so, you’re never the first to decide to change it

That’s why the system is built specifically to channel clever, capable, strong willed people into one of two paths: Vivienne’s, or Helisma’s

First the certainty that just kicking the system down and starting over would be so much worse. It’s dangerous, scary, and unfamiliar

Then the lure. Surely a Good Person at the top could fix all the problems. You can be the Good Person, make all of the changes, the system worked for you so it must have the potential to work for anyone if you can just fix those little problems

The isolation, being kept away or not seeing the people for whom it doesn’t work, never has, never will

Turning you against those who want to tear the system down, because clearly it’s personal. They don’t believe in you, they don’t think you can do it. You just have to show them, prove you’re right, if they’d just sit down and behave you could fix it all.

But do you need to? It’s already worked for you. It works under your nose, where you can see it

It’s nice, comfortable to be a mage in your circle, and you can’t be everywhere. The templars can keep their own people in line, they have the seekers for that

It’s too much money, too much work to look into every circle every day, week, year to make sure that no one is abusing the system, because the system itself is good

And frankly, that is a good chunk of why I enjoy Vivienne so much

She’s so utterly convinced she knows best, and the other mages just don’t understand, but she’s the one who really has no idea what’s going on

She’s so smart, classy and sassy, funny, and we will never hit a single point of agreement because she’s deadass just wrong

And there is just the smallest chance that if you keep her out of the system long enough, if you could introduce her to the right people and experiences in the Inquisition, she’d see how the system was using her

(And oh BOY would that ever be something)

And if she doesn’t? She has the same beliefs as more than half your companions. Wants the same things and speaks the same way as 90% of the minor NPCs in the game

(Seriously they are SO heavy handed with the “both sides” rhetoric that has to be intentional too)

Most of your allies disapprove of allying with the mages, though only your companions get the immediate little flash on screen

(You don’t get Viv’s Greatly Disapproves until the next time you talk to her, so you could probably technically avoid it and never speak to her again)

Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana are all quick to tell you you shouldn’t have done it, and should have talked to them before making a decision (I think there’ll be some disapproval if you freely ally with the templars too, but Cullen sure as hell approves of that one)

Tl;dr: the Supervisors think Vivienne is right about mages.

The Writers are using her to show how oppressive systems are designed to prevent people from changing them from the inside.

You don’t have to like her, but she doesn’t have to be right all the time about everything to be an interesting character

[thelewdpokemanik]

Sort of a tier list asks? But word on the street is, your 4 favorite femboys made a tier list of the hottest girls. Mind sharing it, with possibly some of their notes?~

Makoto:

Oh- well, uh. Here's mine? Didn't think this would ever actually be made public...

Ok, so first, I'm not trying to be mean to Toko, alright? I'm really not. But based purely on how hot she is, it's very hard to look at her and not wish you were looking at Jill instead, you know?

And, uh, why is Komaru so high? B-Because, uhm... I- I have to go, actually!

Kokichi:

Nishishi~ Here's my list~ Feel free to feast your eyes on it!

Hm? I have some weird folks in my bottom tier? Feh! Those girls are bo~ring! No fun to play with! Crazy and stupid and dumb and crazy. If I'm going to deal with stupid and crazy, they'd better be supremely hot to compensate! And those girls just don't cut it.

And I have a lot of bois high up? Nishishi~ What can I say, they just look so good speared on my cock, I can't be impartial~

Chihiro:

Oh, hello. You want me to explain some of my choices? Sure, I can do that.

In the bottom row- Well, I'm sorry to Komaru, but she just reminds me too much of Makoto. And, well... I'd rather have Makoto than Komaru, sorry. As for Tenko, she's, uh... special.

Because she scares me.

Like, if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can imagine someone with her body, and honestly think 'Wow! What a hottie!', but when it comes to Tenko... I know she would do terrible things to me...

Shuichi:

Here's mine. This was actually pretty hard to do, to be honest. Actually posing myself and trying to come to a complete picture of my classmates' bodies, taking everything into account- Huh?

What do you mean 'This looks almost identical to Manik's Biggest Tits Tier List'?

...

Th-This interview's over!

[sillysistersusi]

Be Yourself

Nerdanel × fem!Fëanor

Fandom: the simarillion

Summery: Fëanáro realizes that she likes Nerdanel. But that is wrong, isn't it? Luckily, Mahtan is there to help and make Fëanáro see that there is nothing wrong with her for liking another woman.

Author's note: Let me just say I have a lot of feelings about Nerdanel/fem!fëanor. I really love it! I kept the name Fëanáro, since it only means "spirit of fire" and so it is not really gendered. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading!🥰

Fëanáro had always felt strange when she was in Nerdanel's presence. Because Nerdanel was so beautiful, she was so strong that she could lift Fëanáro and she was even taller than her, which always facinated Fëanáro a lot.

The way Nerdanel's beautiful red hair flowed over her shoulders and the way the corners of her mouth twitched upwards every time she looked at her made sparks fly in Fëanáro's stomach.

She caught herself looking at Nerdanel a little too long or wondering what her lips tasted like. Fëanáro was sure they were either sweet, like the berries Nerdanel always secretly picked from the bushes when Mahtan wasn't looking (although he always noticed and then smiled gently) or they would taste salty, like the sweat that always ran down Nerdanel's face when she was very concentrated on her sculpting.

Fëanáro had sometimes secretly observed Nerdanel biting her lip in concentration while she was thinking or changing something on her sculpture.

Sometimes Fëanáro wondered how many freckles Nerdanel had. Surely she not only had some on her cheeks, but... also on the rest of her body.

Imagining Nerdanel's naked body always made Fëanáro feel an unfamiliar heat that she had never known before.

And then, one day in Mahtan's forge, as she rolled up her parchment scrolls with designs at the end of a long, hard day of work, Nerdanel walked past the forge and winked at her. Fëanáro had felt her blush. A roll of parchment had slipped out of her fibres and her heart had been doing somersaults.

And then it had dawned upon Fëanáro. She was in love with Nerdanel.

But could that be true? Should that be true? Nerdanel was a woman like her, so should she even fall in love with her? That wasn't right, was it? Finwë always told her to marry an ellon because that was the right thing to do. He had never mentioned that such a thing was possible.

Was there something wrong with Fëanáro after all, like everyone said? Had something gone wrong with her? Was she ill? She shouldn't fall in love with an elleth. That was not what she was supposed to do.

Fëanáro sank to the ground as her knees trembled so much that she could no longer stand.

Suddenly she felt a pressure behind her eyes and her vision blurred.

Finwë would be so disappointed in her. Maybe he would even disown her if he knew about Fëanáro's false feelings.

But Fëanáro had no one but him.

She tried in vain to hold on to that wonderful feeling she had always felt when she had looked at Nerdanel, but it was now surpassed by pure sadness, disappointment and anger.

Even if Finwë didn't mind that his eldest daughter was such a freak, Fëanáro didn't even dream that Nerdanel would return her feelings. She would be so disgusted and repulsed. But what would Fëanáro be worth if nobody wanted her anymore? After all, the birth of Findis had shown that even her Atar could replace her if he wanted to.

"Náro, sweetie, what is wrong?"

Fëanáro jumped and looked in complete shock at the face of Mahtan, who had approached unnoticed and crouched down next to her.

She stared at him impassively while her thoughts raced. She didn't know what to say now, because Mahtan knew that this wasn't a problem of her not getting something right with the designs, because he had helped her with them and knew that they were good. Nor could her tears be from injury, as the fire had been cold for a long time. They had only forged in the morning and then moved on to theory lessons only.

Fëanáro realised that Mahtan had never seen her cry before, which probably explained the very worried look on his face. Because no matter how bad a burn was, Fëanáro had never cried. Not because it didn't hurt, but because she usually didn't even notice it as she was too engrossed in her work.

"Not so important." she whispered shakily and cried loudly. She loved Mahtan, he was like family to her and she didn't want to lose him, and surely he would throw her out if he found out that she was in love with his daughter. And then Fëanáro would have to explain it to her Atar and he would throw her out and then-

Mahtan put a hand on her shoulder and whispered: "Náro, you have to breathe."

Only now did she realise that she had started to hyperventilate. She tried to relax her breathing a little, but with her fear it was almost impossible. She didn't know what to do.

"Náro?" Mahtan's voice sounded so worried and it gave Fëanáro a twinge. Not even her father ever spoke to her so gently. Especially not since he had a new family.

That was also the reason why Fëanáro whispered: "Mahtan, I think something is wrong with me." More tears rolled down her already very wet cheeks.

"What could be wrong with you, Náro?" Mahtan asked in a gentle voice. The thumb of the hand on her shoulder massaged light circles into her shoulder. "You seem perfectly normal to me, in your own special and beautiful way."

When Fëanáro didn't reply, Mahtan asked softly, "Is someone harassing you? Has someone told you that you are abnormal? Because then I will have a word with that person. Or even better, I could send Nerdanel to- "

At the name 'Nerdanel', Fëanáro let out a soft whimper.

"Does it have something to do with her?" Mahtan asked patiently. "Should I bring her in?"

But Fëanáro didn't want Nerdanel to know of it. And knowing Mahtan, he wouldn't let her leave until she had told him what was bothering her.

"I am in love." she whispered softly. Her cheeks turned red and her gaze travelled down to the ground.

"But that is great," Mahtan said. "Why do you say it like you are ashamed of it?"

Fëanáro buried her face in her hands so that she didn't have to look Mahtan in the face as she uttered the next words: "I am in love with Nerdanel."

Mahtan's hand travelled from Fëanáro's shoulder to her back and rubbed it gently. "Nerdanel is really great, I cannot deny that- Náro, why are you crying even harder now?" Fëanáro felt him gently place a hand on her hands, which were still covering her face, and gently stroke them. "What is the matter?"

"Well, she is an elleth, I should not be falling in love with her. I should fall in love with an ellon and marry him and have children," sobbed Fëanáro, who couldn't understand why Mahtan was still so calm.

"But you can do the last two things with an elleth too. I have heard a few stories about two ellons or two elleths who got married and the Valar gifted them children. It is a bit different than usual, but that does not mean it is bad or does not work out," Mahtan explained calmly. "Your purpose in life is not just to be a wife or a mother, Náro, it is to be yourself."

"But it is unnatural!" cried Fëanáro desperately, pressing her palms firmly against her eyes as if she could suppress her tears that way. Like a plaster on a wound. "Atar never said there was such a possibility!"

"Well, but there is." Mahtan said softly.

Fëanáro slowly looked up from her hands. Mahtan smiled gently at her and Fëanáro couldn't help but smile back.

"So you do not think I am disgusting?" she asked cautiously.

He shook his head. "Not in the least, Náro. Not in the least."

"Come on." Mahtan said after a while, during which Fëanáro had just stared at him in disbelief. "It is getting dark and I should really start cooking dinner. You can just stay with us this night and if you have any questions, you can always ask me or my beloved wife if you want. We are going to try to answer everything we can."

He pulled himself up and helped Fëanáro to her feet, who was still trembling a little. He gently wrapped his arms around her. "It is all right," he whispered softly. "I think you should talk to your Atar. If he is really against it, there is always a place for you here, do not worry."

~•~

That evening, Fëanáro lay in a small guest room, where she had already often spent the night when she had worked too long on some project, and stared at the ceiling.

Nerdanel had lent her one of her nightgowns and Fëanáro loved the feel of the fabric against her skin. It wasn't made of much different material than her own nightgowns, but the fact that it belonged to Nerdanel made it special. It was almost as if Nerdanel was touching her skin and not the nightgown.

She wasn't quite sure what to think about everything that had happened that day, but she was relieved that Mahtan was still by her side. It was nice to know that someone believed that she was normal and not unnatural.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" Fëanáro was a little confused, after all, it was the middle of the night.

Nerdanel stuck her head through the door and Fëanáro's heart skipped a beat.

She slipped quietly into the room and closed the door softly behind her.

"I know that something has happened and I just could not sleep without knowing if you were all right," she said.

This little sentence sparked such a flood of emotions in Fëanáro that she could only shrug her shoulders.

Nerdanel approached Fëanáro and lay down next to her in bed. She had often done this before, but that had been before Fëanáro had known that she was in love with Nerdanel.

"I will stay if you want," she said gently and began stroking Fëanáro's hair. The feeling her fingers left on her scalp was almost magical.

She knew that she wouldn't have been able to sleep that night anyway, so at least she had a good and endearing distraction now. "It would be nice if you stayed, Nerdanel."

Fëanáro really liked saying her name. Nerdanel.

And Nerdanel smiled.