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storiesofsvu · 1 year

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Aaron Hotchner x reader warnings: language, smut, daddy kink, squirting, slight exhibitionism, derogatory dirty talk and lots of it, fingering, oral, minor cum kink/play, a little bit of ass play, and lets be real there's no plot. I added some people who interacted with the last one to the tag list. just lmk if you want to be taken off.

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When Aaron got home he found you in the kitchen, putting away dishes, half dancing around to the playlist echoing from your phone. The window was open wide, letting the fresh spring air into the house and at first he smiled, happy to be coming home to this. Then his head tilted as he took in your ensemble, tight light grey leggings that he could practically see your pussy through and when you spun to put away a couple of spatulas he became very aware you didn’t have a bra on underneath the white crop top, your nipples peaking through the fabric at him. The utensils found the way to their proper spot and you shot him a grin,

“Hey.” You caught your lower lip between your teeth as you took him in, always loving when he was dressed down, this time a dark tee and jeans.

“Hey yourself.” His hand wound around your waist and he greeted you with a kiss, his tongue instantly surging into your mouth. You let out a little giggle, turning back to the counter to finish what you were doing, “I thought you had errands to run today?”

“I did.” You replied with a shrug, putting down a stack of plates and closing the cabinet. Aaron wrapped an arm around you from behind, his hand warm on your bare midriff and his lips hit the side of your neck, “you didn’t wear this out, did you?”

“Just to the post office.” You gasped when his teeth sank into your shoulder and his free hand spanked the globe of your ass.

“So you were being a dirty little slut then?” He growled into the shell of your ear, “letting everyone out there see what’s mine?” A hand snuck under your shirt, pinching at your nipples and you couldn’t help but whine, arching into his touch, “and no panties? You just want everyone to see the shape of your pussy?” His free hand grabbed between your legs before spanking your cunt and you mewled, “get them fantasizing about how pretty it is?” He continued to palm at you through the impossibly thin fabric while his lips graced across your skin, “when you know who it belongs to, right?”

“You daddy.” You moaned, grinding down onto his hand and you could feel yourself tingling already.

“Good.” He spanked your pussy again, pulling another whimper from your lips, “then get yourself off like the useless slut you want to be today.”

His hand settled between your legs, cupping at your pussy with the heel of his hand pressing against your clit. His other hand continued to roam under your shirt, groping at your tits and rolling your nipples between his forefinger and thumb.

“Well, get going.” He urged, “I wanna see how wet you can get these pants.”

He squeezed at you, his fingers practically slipping between your pussy lips through the fabric. You let out a low moan, your head rolling back onto his shoulder as you began to grind down onto his hand. You sucked your lower lip into your mouth, biting back a moan as Aaron’s other hand continued to massage your chest, playing with your nipples. His lips traced across your skin, starting out soft, ghosting over your neck, nipping at your earlobe,

“Such a greedy little whore you are.” He husked into your ear, “I can feel you getting wet already. You’ve been thinking about this all day haven’t you?”

“Mmmhmm…” You whined, rolling your hips harder against his hand, “need you daddy.”

“Yeah?” He jeered, grinding his hand hard against you, cupping you as you let out a groan, “you’ve been so patient this week, I bet you’re absolutely aching for my cock, aren’t you? Little cock slut you are, you love it when I use you.”

“Oh fuck Aaron…”

Your eyes fluttered shut as the heat began to fire through your body, your cunt pulsing around nothing as you felt your wetness building, your breath caught in your throat when Aaron bit into your neck. He knew exactly where to make a home with his lips, the spot that made your entire body shiver when he so much as touched it. He drove you absolutely wild and he knew it.

“God look at you,” he chuckled darkly at the whines escaping your lips, how you picked up the speed of your hips, pushing back onto his hand as hard as you could, chasing your peak, “rutting like a bitch in heat.” Pleasure coursed through you, your cheeks heating as the coil got tighter and tighter within you and you rocked down faster onto his hand, your moans getting louder with each roll of your hips. “You gonna come for daddy?”

“S-so close!” You groaned and he pinched your nipple, hard, while biting into the crook of your neck again and your body shuddered before your hips stilled. Aaron laughed, lifting his hand from between your legs, turning you in his arms to get a look at the small damp spot on the fabric of your pants.

“Oh come on,” he scolded, “I know you can do better than that. Such a desperate little whore today, you should be soaking.”

Pinning you to the counter, he hoisted you up onto it, spreading your legs wide for him, bracing your feet on the edge of the counter and his hand found your clit through the damp fabric. He didn’t hold back, knowing you were still coming down from your first orgasm, rubbing furiously at it, the friction of the fabric just enough to have your legs trembling almost immediately.

“Fuck! Fuu-uck.” You moaned, your head falling back as you felt yourself pulsing, your clit throbbing under his fingers. He pushed against your harder and you were crying out as you hit your high, thighs shaking as you squirted, juices drenching the fabric.

“That’s my good little slut.” Aaron praised, pinching your clit for extra effect and you gasped, the fabric was dark with your cum, and when he moved his fingers they were slick with wetness. “Look at you, making such a fucking mess already. Open.” He brought his fingers up to your lips and you obeyed, letting him thrust them into your mouth and all you could do was moan over the taste of your juices, tongue swirling around them as you sucked them clean.

Aaron slid his fingers out of your mouth and before you could even catch your breath enough to beg for him he leant over, his mouth wrapping around your pussy through your pants. His tongue lapped at you, groaning over your taste, the vibrations causing you to rock your body forward, eager for more.

“Oh god…” You muttered, your chest beginning to heave once again.

“Think you can get off again like this?” He asked with a grin, a brow raised in a tease in your direction and you whined, hand gripping at his hair.

“Please… need you.”

He mouthed at you again, nuzzling his face between your legs, pushing harder when your hand grasped at his scalp. As much as he wanted to torture you, drag it out as long as he possibly could, he also couldn’t wait to get his mouth actually on you, to really taste you, get your juices properly smeared all over his lips. His hands reached up to the weak seam of your pants, digging into the fabric before he easily ripped them apart, tugging at the fabric until your cunt was fully exposed.

“Aaron!” You gasped out, eyes wide and he simply scoffed.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He grunted, tugging the fabric away from your body, “ones that don’t show off this pretty pussy as much.”

Without a second thought he dove in between your legs, hands tight on your thighs to keep you spread open for him. His tongue lapped through your folds, flicking against your clit and you gasped, pleasure shooting through you at the feeling of him finally on your body without a barrier. His mouth wrapped around your pussy, sucking at one of your lower lips before moving to the other one, then pulling them both into his mouth. His tongue delved as far as it could into you, licking up as much of your arousal as he desired.

Your nails dug into his scalp, practically every breath you exhaled was accompanied by a moan, your skin prickling with desire. With every stroke of his tongue his nose bumped against your clit and you couldn’t help but rock your hips toward his face, panting harder with each thrust. While he was incredibly talented with his mouth and every ministration was pulling more pleasure to your core, it simply was not enough right now.

“Please… please daddy…” you panted, “need you to make me come.” He growled into your pussy and you gasped at the sensation the vibrations sent rocking through you, “more.” You whined, “please, please…fuck! Please.”

Knowing exactly what you wanted, Aaron shifted his mouth upwards, lips wrapping around your throbbing clit and two fingers easily slid into your dripping cunt. The tip of his tongue traced around the swollen nub, flicking at it slowly at first, picking up the speed and pressure as your whines increased. He matched the pace with his fingers, fucking them skillfully into you, twisting them around, twirling them so they hit every inch of your inner walls. He sucked particularly hard on your clit, fingers curling just right and you moaned even louder.

“Oh god! Fuck!” Your hand shot from his head to sneak under your shirt, groping at your chest, pinching at your nipples, “just like that! Fuck…” your eyes scrunched shut as the pleasure got hotter and hotter, your skin covered in a sheen of sweat, “gonna make me come!”

Aaron increased the pressure of his mouth, tongue flicking at your clit even faster and his fingers curled up again, rather than just thrusting he kept them rather still so he could rub back and fourth over the sensitive spot inside your throbbing pussy. You clenched down around him, your juices coating his hand and he knew you were close, your thighs shaking around him. He groaned against you and you shuddered, pussy pulsing around his fingers, squeezing him so tight you almost forced him out as you moaned loudly, your hips rocking up to push against his mouth while your orgasm washed over you. You felt the gush of wetness, gasping as your body shuddered once more and Aaron chuckled, your juices leaking down his arm, droplets already dripping onto the floor between you. He always took pride in being able to make you squirt and with the track record he had going today he certainly wasn’t going to stop there. As he pulled his fingers from your drenched cunt his tongue lapped up as much of your cum as he could, teeth sinking into the skin of your thigh.

“Such a messy little thing you are.” He growled as he stood from between your legs, “you like that? Making a mess of everything?” He cocked a brow in your direction and all you could do was attempt to catch your breath. “Answer me.” He demanded, his hand suddenly spanking your pussy, your clit throbbing when he did so.

“Fuck!” You yelped, nearly whimpering at the dark look in his eyes, “yes daddy. Love when you make me squirt.”

“That’s what I thought.” He spanked you again before his hands gripped the waistband of your ruined leggings, tugging them down your legs and tossing them in the direction of the garbage. “Keep those legs spread.” His hands roughly shoved your thighs back open, pushing you back on the counter, “little sluts don’t get to decide when they’re done and I’m definitely not finished.”

You let out a little whimper, your lip nearly quivering as you looked at him and he chuckled darkly, a smirk on his lips while he tugged your crop top over your head, leaving you bare before him. Somehow that turned you on even more, being completely naked while he was still fully clothed, in the middle of the kitchen as he had his way with you. It was almost like he could sense it, catching the way your cheeks flushed, the way you practically pouted up at him and his lips split into a grin as he grabbed your chin.

“Quite the exhibitionist aren’t you? I should just fuck you on the front step next time, let everyone on the block know how much of a fucking slut you are. But you’d probably like that too much, wouldn’t you? You’d just fucking love to show off, let everyone see your tight little cunt dripping with cum.”

He dropped your chin, taking a small step back as he surveyed you before his hand wound back and then came down hard on your pussy. You let out a quiet yelp, your body shivering at the painful pleasure surging through you.

“Whose pussy is this?” He growled.

“Yours!” You whined back, your clit already throbbing when Aaron spanked it again.

“And who makes you feel this good?”

“You do daddy.” You whimpered.

“Are you a dirty little whore?” Spank. “A needy little thing?” Spank. “A pathetic little slut?” Spank. “Answer me.” Spank. “What are you?” Spank. “Say it!” Spank. Each hit a little harder than the last, his fingers coming away a little more wet and sticky each time as your arousal built back up.

“I’m a dirty whore.” You whined out, your breath caught in your throat as he spanked your pussy again.

“That’s right.” He cooed.

“I need you daddy. Can’t come without you.”

“So what are you?” He asked, spanking you once again and you whimpered.

“I’m a pathetic little slut.”

“That’s right.” Spank. “You are. Going out dressed like that. Only I’m allowed to see you like this.” Spank. “Only I’m allowed to touch you. Understood?” Spank.

“Yes daddy.” You cried out, your pussy was absolutely throbbing. Pulsing around nothing as you ached for him to do something more, juices leaking down your legs you were so turned on you could barely focus.

“Good girl.” He praised with one last spank, this one directly on your clit and you shuddered, letting out a low moan.

Aaron stepped toward you and you braced yourself for another spank but instead he shoved thee fingers into your pussy and you let out a satisfied groan. He filled you so perfectly, fingers fucking into you, curling right where you needed them, stretching you out so wonderfully your eyes fluttered shut. He thrusted them into you, flicking them out every so often, pulling your wetness out with him as he did so, watching the droplets hit the floor. “God you’re such a pathetic slut, just a hole for me to use.”

“I am daddy!” You begged, “just for you. Only for you. Need your cock. Please!” Your whining became more insistent as the pleasure built up inside you again, feeling stuffed with his fingers moving faster and harder with each breath you let out. His free hand reached up, wrapping around your throat and after only two squeezes of his hand you were coming again, pussy juices drenching his hand as you shook in his arms.

“Yeah?” He raised a brow, releasing your throat, “you want me to fill you up? Stretch out that tight pussy with my thick cock?”

“Mmmhmm.” You nodded, panting, body still twitching as your nerves fired off pleasure through your limbs.

Aaron grabbed your hips, yanking you off the counter and flipping you over, bending you over it. He grabbed one of your legs, bending it and raising it up onto the counter, spreading your pussy open for him. He let out a low groan at how you glistened in the sunlight, just absolutely drenched and fluttering for him already. He was straining against his pants, hard and throbbing when he undid his belt, pulling his cock out. He pumped it a few times, smearing the bead of pre-cum across his length.

“You’re gonna take it like a good slut, right?” He asked, rubbing his cock against your folds and you nodded, a gasp leaving your lips when he rubbed the tip through you, teasing you, coating him in your juices. “That’s what I thought.”

With one swift thrust of his hips he buried his cock into you, letting out a grunt at how tight you were, how good you felt around him. His hand pressed against your lower back, keeping you pinned to the counter as he set a brutal pace, cock plunging into you fully with each thrust of his hips. It didn’t take long before you were a whimpering mess, barely able to make out words as he fucked you into oblivion. His hand tangled into your hair, yanking your chest up and his cock managed to hit even deeper within you.

“Oh god…” you moaned, pussy clamping down around him, “feels… s- soo good.”

His free hand cracked down on the globe of your ass and you whimpered, “louder! I want the whole street to know who you belong to.”

“Fuck! Daddy!” This one was louder, “oh god, don’t stop!”

“Who owns this tight little cunt?” His breathing was starting to get laboured, feeling you squeeze around him, the squelching sounds coming from you enough to make him twitch and throb already.

“You do daddy!” You cried out, “this pussy’s all yours.” You could barely keep your eyes open, the feeling of his body on yours, his cock stretching you out perfectly, you could feel every ridge and vein. Your entire body was on fucking fire already.

“Who makes you feel this fucking good? Hmm?”

“Oh fuck! Aaron!” There was no holding it back anymore and you honestly didn’t care who heard, the man was making you see stars. “make me feel so good. Love your cock.”

“Gonna fuck you stupid.” He grunted, thrusting harder into you, watching the way you were starting to shake. He spit onto your ass, letting the saliva drip down to your tight hole before his thumb began to circle it and you let out a moan. He eased his thumb into it and your moans got louder, pussy clenching down around his cock.

“Oh fuuckk..” It was guttural, deep in the back of your throat and he just knew the effect he was having on you right now, hips snapping into yours sharper and faster with each thrust.

“You like that?” He teased, his thumb fully seated, “want me to fuck your ass too? Let my cum leak out of all your holes?”

“Yes!” You cried out, “oh god yes daddy! Fill me up, please!”

“Little cum slut.” His word were accented with a particularly harsh thrust and you yelped, your body falling back down onto the counter. You whimpered out, each thrust of his cock pulled a louder whine from you, your hands clawing at the counter, your pussy pulsing again and again, squeezing around Aaron tighter and tighter.

“I’m gonn—gon come.” You choked out, fire shooting through your body and Aaron spanked your ass with his free hand before it wrapped around your hip, finding your clit and starting to rub.

“Want you to squirt for me again, come on my cock like the whore you are.” His fingers were already covered in your slick, ��let everyone hear how pretty you sound when you come.”

“Harder.” You choked out and the next thrust sent your hips pushing into the counter sharply, his fingers pressed heavier against your pulsing nub, your cunt clenching around him as he throbbed inside you. “Oh god daddy. Fuck! FUCK!”

With one final cry you were shaking between his body and the counter, thighs trembling as your pussy squeezed so tightly around him he let out a loud swear. His thumb slipped out of your ass so he could grab your hips, bracing himself to chase his own peak, pulling you back onto his cock harder with each thrust. The point where your bodies met was soaked, juices and sweat coating both of you, it was only a matter of minutes, listening to you whimper, feeling you flutter around his length in aftershocks before he let out a loud grunt and his hips stilled. You moaned in satisfaction at the feeling of his cum painting your walls, the way his cock pulsed inside you. He squeezed at his cock, making sure you’d gotten every last drop before he pulled out.

“Such a good little slut.” He purred, his fingers moving between your legs, scooping up the mixture of cum and shoving it back into you.

You gasped, your back arching up, sensitive from the multiple orgasms he’d pulled from you already. You couldn’t help but shudder as he fucked his cum back deep inside you. It was only once he was satisfied and had caught his own breath that his fingers left you, his clean hand soothing up and down your back and he gently nudged your stiff leg off the counter, pulling you up into his arms, your back flush to his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you.

“Holy fuck Aaron.” You groaned; your throat nearly hoarse and he chuckled, kissing the side of your head.

“You alright there sweetheart?”

“Fucking perfect.”

“Good.” He turned you in his arms, smiling down at you before he leant down to kiss you softly, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking at your skin. “Quite the mess….” He teased, glancing down and you laughed.

“Remind me to mop the floor tomorrow.”

“I mean, I did cause it, I’ll do it.” He offered with a grin and you laughed again, popping up on your toes to kiss him again.

“You’re too good to me.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He shot you a sheepish grin and you cocked a brow at him, your head tilting in confusion, “when I came home Mrs. Henderson was out gardening.” His eyes flicked toward the very open window that faced the neighbours yard and you gasped, swatting at his chest.

“Aaron!” You scolded, “well now we are definitely skipping the next block party.”

“If fucking you stupid is all I have to do to get out of those, then you can guarantee it happening every time.” He smirked and you laughed, shaking your head at him.

“I’m not gonna argue that.” You murmured, lips curving up into a grin as he kissed you again.

“Now how about we get you into a nice bath? Hmm?”

“I’d love that.”

________________________

@unsubologyy @alexusonfire @svushots @heidss @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @emobabeyy @daddy-heather-dunbar @mrs-ssa-hotch @hotchandspencearedilfs @mina2000alex @telepathay @darlingsfandom @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat @hopedoesntknow @thehauntingofbasingse @plaidbooks

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfic #hotch x you #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner smut

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acciojaeyun · 1 year

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all about you ; jay park smut

pairing: park jongseong / jay x fem!reader genre: smut

this year, the high-end fashion magazine run by park jongseong is taking a new leap in terms of couture writing as it explores the ebbs of fashion in different avenues. but jay – the company’s editor-in-chief – needed a new turn in couture; one that is exciting and alluring, how were you able to present that when you were distracted 101% of the time because of the eic himself?

warnings: inexperienced!reader, virgin!reader, dom!jay, ceo!jay, innocence kink, slight voyeurism, a bit of perv!reader if you squint, spanking, oral (f receiving), dry humping. heeseung is mentioned here in this fic for the plot and of course, jongseong’s jealousy lol. minor mentions of insecure!reader but it’s in jay’s perspective. let me know if i forget something! words: 3,331

The moment you zoned out of the meeting, you should’ve known.

You should’ve known you were fucked when, instead of the usual formal wear, your boss, Jay, opted to discard his long, brown Prada trench coat just to walk around the building in his black turtleneck, black chinos, and black shoes – with the only silver necklace breaking the overall dark ensemble.

Everyone in the building was always in awe of Jay, maybe that came with him being the editor-in-chief of the leading fashion magazine across the globe, maybe he had to live what he was expected of. But Park Jongseong is Park Jongseong. No matter what he is doing, nor where he is at, he will always exude high-end fashion.

You were kind of glad that you somehow shared the eye of fashion with your boss, hence, you were included in the Art department. But being in the Art department meant you had to work overtime, having to have endless amounts of caffeine streaming through your body while racking your brain with different ideas and concepts for upcoming shoots for the magazine and editorials for the journalists.

And as you are in the Art department, that meant you were working under Lee Heeseung, your manager. Heeseung always brought you to their meetings because he did see you as a fiery soul who has an eye for beauty and fashion. Whenever Jay wanted something from Heeseung, he always ran to you, asking you for opinion and recommendations since for the man, you are almost well-versed when it comes to Jay’s taste. But if there’s one thing, Heeseung would tag you along, but he would do the talking in meetings.

But somehow life was testing your confidence of some sorts, as Heeseung had taken a week-long leave prior to the scheduled meeting the Art department had with the EIC. Yes, you were nervous, but it wasn’t because you were unprepared – no, you were nervous because Park bloody Jongseong had to have worn that ensemble, of all days when he had to.

You couldn’t help but swallow when Jay drank from the glass water goblet, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip – plump and a bit chapped at the centre – making you squirm slightly in your seat. Your eyes travelled down to his wrist, with the sleeves of his turtleneck jumper rolled up slightly as he wrung his wrists in a stretch. His hands were very pretty, you must admit, and sometimes, when the time deemed you desperate, you can’t help but imagine how it would feel when it were the same hands that would wrap around your neck as he pounds into you.

Ah, here is one con about being artistic: you tend to be imaginative. And it doesn’t stop from glimpse of images flashed in your head; you get lost in your own headspace; you get sucked in your zone. There were countless of times when Jay would hit his palm on your desk whenever he would pass by you (his office was at the same floor as your unit), reminding you that “daydreaming would bring you nowhere.”

Today is no exception, it seems; because you’ve failed to notice that the same Park Jongseong had been calling for your attention for the third time, until you realised everyone already had their eyes on you.

“Miss Y/L/N, while I do appreciate your artistry and acknowledge that your art came from wild imaginations,” he said as he glanced a look at his laptop before turning the projector off, “I would do appreciate if you rather not do it when everyone’s expecting your undivided attention.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as you felt yourself shrink down in your seat. Widened eyes and disappointed tuts were witnessed in the room as Jay dismissed the team. You bit your lip as you scrambled to open the document of the prospect designs and mood-board you had prepared for the latest issue – you were determined, because this is issue that has been assigned to you. Heeseung had entirely given one hundred percent responsibility to you, since he said it was about time for you to be the Creative Director of the project.

“Mr Park, sir,” you said as soon as the last person of the Marketing department had shut the door, hoping to not have fully blown the chance to present your ideas to Jay.

Jay rolled his eyes and shut his laptop, “Miss Y/L/N, this has been what, the nth time I’ve caught you zoning out during office hours? I wasn’t lying when I said that creativity stems from focus and imagination, but when I need you, please do respond accordingly.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have –“

“But you still went with it.”

“Sir, just give me five minutes to explain this, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Five minutes and it’s not guaranteed that I’ll be considering your proposal.”

“I’m willing to take my chances, sir,” you pleaded, unwillingly biting your lip at your desperation. Jay’s eyes have faltered down quickly to your lips, and he inevitably gulped at the sight.

“All right, then,” he shrugged, pulling his chair before taking a seat on it, pushing himself far away for you to take the floor. You smiled and thanked him before placing down your laptop. And as you tried to make things quick as time was ticking, you were failing to connect your laptop to the projector, making you mutter out profanities at how things were seemingly not going your way.

Jay sighed as he stood up from his seat, walking over towards you and crouching down on your laptop to connect it to the Bluetooth projector. From the proximity, you had a faint waft of his DIPTYQUE Paris, making you swoon over his scent.

This was not what you needed right now.

After successfully connecting your laptop to the projector and Jay returning to his chair, you had immediately started with your presentation. Indeed, you had taken a very wild risk, for the concept that you had for the next month’s issue was as sensual as it could get. Dark, magenta hues and lingerie of La Perla danced across the screen, and it was nerve-wracking how Jay never exuded interest nor dislike to your presentation. As someone who found easiness in determining the emotions of your panellists during your thesis presentation back in University, Jay was an undeterminable man.

“You are fully aware that this,” he motioned at the screen, “is a huge risk to the company’s usual branding, don’t you think?”

“I’m well aware,” you timidly responded.

“Then what makes us different from Playboy?”

“Our magazine provides fashion even at the expense of the most intimate items, sir. We promote fashion that is inclusive while at the same time, high-end. As you can see –“

“What else can you show me that is not in the presentation?”

“I – what?”

“You heard me. As the Creative director of the November issue,” he says as he swivels in his chair, “you surely know what else is there to show.”

You gulped, “I –“

Jay smirked at your lack of response. Somehow, Jay already had the hots for you. The moment you have walked with Heeseung in the conference room at the last July issue, he found you very attractive – and not just that, smart too. If only you could show a bit more confidence in your magnetic field, but then again, you were already attractive on your own, and being confident in yourself would mean more people getting attracted to you.

And Jay couldn’t have that, of course. Not when you’re his.

“Sir, I haven’t – um –“

He stood up again, walking towards you in such slow speed that had you stuck in a trance. Jay’s fingers ran through the hair that was past your shoulders, pushing it back with one finger before ghosting your neck with his fingertips that made goosebumps appear on your skin, “Haven’t what, Miss Y/L/N?”

“I d-don’t know,”

“Then how are you supposed to present this idea to the Marketing team if you don’t know?”

You could feel your legs losing its ability to make you stand up straight, the tension was apparent, and it was too much. You could feel his gaze scanning over your whole body, and it did not help that you could feel his touch on your hair, playing with it by tucking and straightening out your hair every chance he could get.

“I’m willing to learn,” you whispered as you gazed up at him at your side.

Jay’s eyebrows raised and hummed, fazed by your response by showing it through a smirk, “Oh, you are?”

You nodded and bit your lip at the expression that Jay had exuded. It was different. Stern, strict, yet sultry. A look that you haven’t seen on Jay, but you should’ve whenever you helped direct photoshoots and you try to help the models do what Heeseung was trying to visualise that time.

“What, Lee Heeseung’s not teaching you well?” he scoffed before holding your jaw, making you face him as his thumb traced your bottom lip. You shook your head, which make Jay tut in faux disappointment.

He playfully pouted and leaned in slowly, “You’re going to let me teach you?”

A faint yes was heard between the both of you, making Jay groan as he pulled your face towards him for a kiss. His knees almost buckled because – finally – he finally had a taste of your lips. The lips he had often so thought of late at night as he jerked off in his master bedroom, thinking how it would’ve been better if it were your hands squeezing his thick cock with your mouth sucking on his reddish-pink tip.

Jay pulled your face closer to his as he leaned on the wooden table of the conference room. He spread his legs wide open and pulled you between them, encasing you with his long legs as you made out. His hands immediately went down to your arse, and he squeezed them, making you squeal into the kiss.

“So fucking sexy,” he breathed out with a string of saliva connecting both of your lips. He held your hand and placed it on his lap, slowly rising before reaching his erection strained against his black trousers, he smirked and bit his lip at the gasp that has elicited from your lips.

He pulled you in again for a kiss, this time, with his tongue swiping over your bottom lip, but with the way that your mouth had sealed shut, he almost came at the thought that you were more inexperienced than he thought.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he said, and you obliged, tongue immediately wringing around as you were pulled closer as if it were possible by his hands pushing you closer to him. He groaned into the kiss before breaking it and immediately going for your neck, licking before sucking on the sensitive area below your earlobe.

“Make some noise for me,” he whispered as he noticed you were trying to contain your moans. You nodded and pulled him closer by wrapping your arms around his back, “Sir –“

“It’s Jay,”

You nodded and whispered his name when he spanked your bum after kneading it. His mouth was simultaneously licking, kissing, and blowing air on the skin below your earlobe, making you squirm as you tried to palm him in his position against the table.

“Ah, that’s right, baby, feeling what you’ve caused, yeah?” he said as he unbuttoned your white blouse, pushing it away, and not long after, his eyes widened as he took in the bra that you were wearing. “La Perla,” he smiled and winked at you, “you’re a fucking menace.”

His hands quickly unfastened your bra and threw it somewhere in the room, he stood up straight and switched your positions, hoisting you seated on the wooden table before diving his head to your breast. His teeth grazed on your sensitive nipple, making you whine at the contact. He smiled and played with your perky nipple by pulling it and wriggling it with his index before placing his mouth around your areola, his eyes never leaving you as you watched intensely.

Eyelid droopy and gaze infused with lust, you could’ve sworn you could come right then and there as Jay took his time sucking your breast as if he were a man starved. You whined and moaned as he took alternating turns between your breasts.

“Jay,” you moaned as you had your hands on his hair, biting your lip at the stimulation you were receiving. If you were already this sensitive by the feeling of his mouth on your chest, you weren’t ready to feel him down there.

The man was having the time of his life, and before you knew it, he was blowing air against your sore nipples, making you squirm in your seat as he stood up to his height again. Jay smiled proudly before caging you in between his arms as he leaned against the table. Your hands immediately pushing his hair away from the frame of his face, the gel almost gone at how sweat has broken through it.

“You haven’t been touched before?” he asks as he meets your gaze, and you nodded. “I’m not sure if you’re ready for the real thing,” he chuckles as he motions at his throbbing cock. You laugh and Jay swears it was the most beautiful sound he has heard ever.

“Perhaps the next time, yeah?” he winks at you before pulling your trousers down, “Today’s all about you.”

Immediately after your trousers, your matching knicker followed suit, making Jay smirk because you’ve worn the most beautiful pair from the latest collection. “It’d be a shame if I rip this off of you,” he says as he plays with the black lace trim of your red lingerie.

Jay’s hands immediately went to your clothed clit, rubbing you over the silk material that covered your cloth. “Seems like the pay check’s worth it if it means you get to wear this type of sexy shit, baby.”

You moaned in response, back arching as you tried to balance yourself on the table. You closed your eyes, but Jay was quick enough to call you out for it, “Eyes on me,” he directs, immediately making you lock eyes with him at the sternness of his voice, “’atta girl.” He praises before immediately inserting his middle finger on your dripping hole, his stance immediately adjusting to the side of your body to make you lean against his free arm.

“Ah, shit,” you moaned, looking at how his finger thrusted in and out of your hole as you held your knicker to the side to make it easier for Jay. “Your hand feels good, Jay,” you whined, hiding your face at the crook of his neck, your body spasming against him as he increased his speed, now adding another finger inside, the thenar of his hand rubbing against your clit, doubling the stimulation. Sooner enough, Jay’s fingers were scissoring inside of you, switching back and forth between thrusting his fingers, curling it upwards, and scissoring you.

“Fuck this,” Jay says as he pulls his fingers out from you. He rolls the sleeve of his turtleneck jumper up to his elbows as he crouched down, his lips kissing the expanse of your inner thighs sensually. You could feel your clit pulsating at the intensity as he drew near your throbbing pussy. It was a sight that you didn’t expect to happen: your attractive boss in between your thighs in the building’s conference room. You swear it was all imagination until you feel your lingerie being pulled to the side for Jay to peck on your clit, your body jolting at the sudden feeling on your most sensitive area.

“Too jumpy,” he chuckles before pulling down your knickers down to your ankles, he then pulls you closer before pushing your body to lay flat on the table. He hooks his arms around your thighs as he manhandles you closer to him, his warm breath tickling your core, making you yearn for him more.

Jay kisses your clit once more, before starting to lick on it and eat it out, his finger prodding your entrance as it plays with your labia. He hums at your taste, pleased. Consequently, Jay spreads your labia, giving him more access to your clit and stimulating your pleasure to a tenfold.

“Fuck, Jay – oh!”

Two of his fingers immediately pushed inside your vagina, a “come here” motion being done inside you as he brushes against your g-spot every time. You couldn’t control the way your body reacted, you wanted to close your legs, but Jay was too strong, his arm strength was truly undeniable that the only thing that was left for you to do was to succumb to his ministrations.

That was until you feel the coil in your stomach forming, a sudden rush of butterflies and whatnot as Jay seemed to never falter in his intensity, “Jay, Jay, Jay,” you pleaded as you wanted him to stop, “Jay, what is –“

“Are you close?” he asks as he meets your gaze, your juices making his lips and chin glossy as it dripped down from his mouth. You nodded and squealed, trying to contain. “Gonna come soon, pretty girl? Then come.”

And the moment Jay says that, the intense feeling that you felt at the pit of your stomach broke loose, and Jay never stopped even though he was welcomed by the cum that was spilling out from you. Instead, it made him hornier if that was even humanly possible.

“God, shit,” he says, his eyes almost rolling back to his head as he takes in your cum, licking you clean before pulling you to stand up. “Baby, I’m asking you to do one thing for me, alright?” he asks you as you nod, “If it’s not enjoyable for you, tell me.”

He turns your body around and makes you crouch over the table, and soon enough, you felt the crotch of his trousers rubbing against your pussy from the backside. “Fucking shit, can’t wait to fuck you so much,” he says before humping on you. At this point, Jay doesn’t mind if he destroys his trousers, he could always buy another one – but this? He doesn’t know whether you’ll be having one of these intimate moments again; hence, even though you were not entirely ready for the real thing, he will milk it as much as he can.

Both of your moans enveloped the room, with his hand pulling your hair from the back for a better angle of feeling your drenched pussy against his cock. “Baby, gonna come, gonna come – shit,” he says through humping, and not long after, Jay comes inside his Calvin Klein boxers, seeping through his trousers without any remorse.

“Shit, fuck, goddamn,” he mutters as he feels his legs wobble in weakness, keeping you in place. He brings his hand over his eyes as he tries to regain his strength from what has happened, both of your pants were now the only audible noise throughout the conference room.

Jay stands up straight, ignoring the sticky feeling in his boxers as he scrambles for your knickers and trousers, helping you out in putting on your clothes and smoothening out any wrinkles from it. He brushes your hair and pats it back down, and when he meets your eyes, his heart warmed throughout as he was met by your genuine smile. Pretty, so he thinks.

“Thank you, sir,” you blushed.

Oh, how he wishes you’d drop the honorific in a place other than sex. But Jay knows, it will take more than just one intimate occurrence in the most unromantic place and situation for you to do that. Right now, he was contented by the genuine smile that he knew he was the reason for.

He brings your hand to his lips, where he kisses the back of your hand, no words uttered.

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ilovemarkhamill · 6 months

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So Mark Hamill was a presenter at the Golden Globes last night & someone asked him if he met his Star Wars mom on Twitter and he said he did. I’m crying 😭! Luke and Padme got to meet confirmed! 🥹 Also, this man wore a velvet purple looking ensemble! He slayed the fashion game! ✨This man is a king! 👑 The movie “The Boy and the Heron” from his latest animated voice acting role, also won a Golden Globe! Cheers for Luke Skywalker!

#revenge of the sith #luke skywalker #mark hamill #golden globes #golden globes 2024 #padme amidala #Padme #Star Wars #natalie portman #attack of the clones #star wars prequels #he’s so cute & we don’t deserve him #the boy and the heron #studio ghibli

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denimbex1986 · 6 months

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'When Cillian Murphy took to the podium during Sunday night’s Golden Globes, his nose smudged in his wife’s lipstick, it was as if a door had opened on this Hollywood Neverland and an ambassador for the real world had stepped through.

Accepting the Best Actor in a Drama award for Oppenheimer, Murphy wasn’t so much un-starry as stonkingly everyday. Here was a normal person who had somehow beamed into peak Tinseltown and, if pleased, was also clearly a bit perplexed by it all.

The Oppenheimer win has made Murphy a frontrunner for the Oscars. In all likelihood, he will be up against a creepy Barry Keoghan in Saltburn, an overblown Bradley Cooper in Maestro, and a fervent Leonard DiCaprio in Killers of the Flower Moon. With the arguable exception of the grandstanding Cooper, all would be worthy winners. And yet, underdogs everywhere will be cheering for Murphy. He’s spent the past 20 years negotiating Hollywood on his own terms and has rejected Tinseltown’s showiness in favour of staying grounded and playing the long game.

Murphy always wanted to be an actor rather than a star. Such a choice could easily have condemned him to a lifetime of supporting roles. Or a hiatus in TV, to which he seemed exiled when he settled in for a long run as Tommy Shelby in Birmingham noir Peaky Blinders.

But his decision to turn away from flashy parts has proved inspired. He is that rarest of things: an experienced A-list actor who comes to the Oscars without baggage. Unlike DiCaprio, he hasn’t had to overcome a past life as a teen pin-up. Nor does he have to justify a lucrative stint in comic book films, as Cooper has with his time as Rocket Racoon in Guardians of the Galaxy.

Above all, Murphy goes into Oscar season as an antidote to the “look at me!” culture of the social media era. In an age when fame is regarded as the ultimate commodity – more important than awards or critical acclaim – Murphy would rather let his work speak for itself. He lives humbly in suburban Dublin with his wife and two children – and his great passion outside of acting is music, as demonstrated by his semi-regular presenting slot on BBC 6 Music.

That’s lifetimes removed from Hollywood, with its self-mythologising and turbo-charged fakeness. It is also of a piece with his career since he broke through playing a survivor of the zombie apocalypse in Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later. Ever since, he has chosen his jobs thoughtfully. In so doing, he has assembled a body of work of which he can be proud.

He hasn’t been above popcorn. He was a memorable villain in Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins, where he played the Scarecrow as a trippy nightmare. But even when shooting for the box office, Murphy has been studiedly un-starry. Careful to keep his ego in check, he’s often happy in an ensemble – hugging the background in A Quiet Place II and settling for an extended cameo in Nolan’s Dunkirk, where he was content to let Harry Styles and Tom Hardy hog the spotlight.

Hog it they did – yet it was Murphy who proved to be in it for the long road. Because he could go into Oppenheimer without a Hollywood aura, he disappeared into the role. If hardly obscure, he nonetheless assimilated fully into the part. Throughout that film, you were aware of its stars. Florence Pugh and Emily Blunt doing their best with under-written female characters. Robert Downey Jr trying to pretend he hadn’t spent a decade as Iron Man.

Murphy, by contrast, split the acting atom. He vanished into Oppenheimer with a performance that exuded humility and sincerity. Bookies have now installed him as a favourite for the Best Actor Oscar. If he wins, it would be a victory for knowing who you are and what you stand for and believing good work has value beyond short-term acclaim. Above all, his success shows that it is possible to stay grounded while scaling Hollywood’s giddiest heights.'

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cevansbrat0007 · 7 months

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hi! do you think ari prefers lingerie or those cute moomoos from walmart? what does he like to see his lady in? love your writing btw 💕

Ari prefers for his woman to wear whatever makes her feel most comfortable. When she's happy, he's happy. That being said...

He does live the days when Bird feels comfortable enough with her body and confident enough in herself to wear something like this for him. Our favorite Bounty Hunter can hardly wait to sink his teeth into all of her sweet curves when she comes into the room rocking one of these.

Seriously - the last time she surprised him with her newest sheer and lacy ensemble Ari was at a loss for words. But when she hit him with a little spin, showing off the tiny, silky scrap of a thong caught between the globes of her ass...

He nearly came in his fucking pants.

Because his woman is a goddess. A fact he would do well to remember.

Thanks for the ask!

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stylestream · 6 months

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Kate Beckinsale | Atelier Zuhra ensemble | Golden Globe Awards | 2024

#pc: glamour #kate beckinsale #atelier zuhra #golden globe awards #2024 golden globe awards #2024

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thehamletdiaries · 8 months

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Oh oh oh I just had a thought so let's talk bowing order.

NOW for those those don't know, at the end of a play people bow and they generally (The Globe productions being an exceptions and I'm sure there are others) come out in an order which is ensemble through to main cast through to leads through to lead - there is no reason it HAS to be done this way but that is the standard and personally I enjoy it.

There can be a lot of backstage politics involved in this stuff, for example in Wicked Glinda and Elphaba bow together even though Elphaba is the lead and should bow last but the original production for various reason set the precedent and here we are.

Anyway, I would never say there a standardised or correct version of a bowing order for Hamlet cause it ENTIRELY depends on the production and each is so different but this is just a version of it in my head that makes a lot of dramatic sense to me -

First bow: the players. We love them, them being first is actually a point to their importance because they represent the importance of theatre; so we start with them. The Gravediggers and the priest can also be here, but they probably are doubling with players anyway.

Second bow; all the court; so Osric, Reynaldo, Voltemand and Cornelius, the various courtroom messengers who deliver info and such - I would also put the ambassadors from England in here; you get the collective I'm going for.

Third bow; Marcellus, Bernardo and Francisco - ultimately they go here because they only open the plot but also the OPEN THE PLOT; they deserve there own space that is just the three of them to be appreciated.

Fourth bow; Fortinbras, and his military leaders (ie the Captain but I'd add some others even if they were doubled - I'd put them here - alongside him).

Fifth bow: Polonius and the Ghost (if the ghost actor is not doubling - if he is I think Polonius alone totally works).

Six bow: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern

Seventh bow: Claudius and Gertrude

Eighth bow: Laertes and Ophelia because my siblings have to bow together but then Laertes steps back for Ophelia to give her own solo bow

Ninth bow: Horatio

Tenth bow: Hamlet

But then Hamlet and Horatio take hands and bow together and then they lead the full cast bow.

#hamlet #shakespeare #hamlet x horatio #hamlet/horatio #tragic danish boyfriends #ophelia #horatio #laertes #hamlet x ophelia #rosencrantz and guildenstern #theatre stuff

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shakespearenews · 2 months

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I encountered this tension when myself and my friend and writing partner Philip Arditti were cast in a racially blind production of Henry V at Shakespeare’s Globe. Henry V is perhaps the most straightforward of Shakespeare’s histories – plays that deal with the ups and downs of the British crown. Set during the hundred years war with France, it follows King Henry, a former party boy who writes himself into history on the battlefield at Agincourt and returns home victorious despite his relatively small army. Phil and I, both outsiders to Britishness in different ways, found ourselves on stage every night portraying soldiers fighting for an England we couldn’t define. Was this progress? This question gnawed at us throughout the run, highlighting our broader experiences of living and working in England today. We talked about rehearsal room microaggressions, undergoing the citizenship process, and whether to stick with our native accents or convert to received pronunciation.

The result of these conversations was a history play of our own: English Kings Killing Foreigners. It is a dark comedy about casting controversy and English cultural identity. We hope that, by sharing our experiences, we can contribute to the discourse surrounding Shakespeare and England in a way that takes the focus off the actors on the stage and places it back where it belongs: the wounds that still fester on the battlefield that is Shakespeare.

---

https://cptheatre.co.uk/whatson/English-Kings

The death of a national sweetheart. A friendship tested by a bloody act. An infamous production of Shakespeare's Henry V.

A tell-all dark comedy that peels back the skin of English cultural identity to reveal the steaming battlefields that lies beneath. Would you die for your country?

From rehearsal room microaggressions, to the battlefields of France, into the bureaucracy of applying for citizenship, Shakespeare's Globe Ensemble veterans Nina Bowers and Philip Arditti explore their histories alongside England's own as unwilling actors in a national story.

#shakespeare #william shakespeare #English Kings Killing Foreigners #henry v #casting #shakerace #nina bowers #Philip Arditti #globe #globe theatre

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starsailorjannystan · 2 months

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in honor of @bg3-apprecimaytion's event! for @again-please's iconic elusory wizard girlboss tav: neve nomani 🔮🪄 from Dancing With My Demons (please read the whole Mercurial World series btw)

@again-please if your character is misrepresented in any way just let me know and i'll delete it no questions asked ✨️this is all extrapolation

if i'm late no i'm not you didn't see anything

12. memories snippets of neve's last day in baldur's gate. look at the clock, it's sad girl hour. word count: 4419

storm's eye

"Do not take oaths when you graduate from Blackstaff Academy."

--Ka'a Orto'o, Gnomic Utterances, CC IV xvi

Norry's shop is little more than a hole-in-the-wall, humble stone and wood and washed-out sign ensemble of a storefront, nothing like the famed portal of children's stories you’d wander in hoping to stumble upon opportunity and adventure.

Fortune favours the ones who bet on losing dogs, so you could take a chance.

You’d push the door open and strings of bronze bells would chime the merry little tune of serendipity.

Worn out drapes over small tables and shelves lined with books, bronze and gammanium arcane tools, miniature astrolabes, the stray fire elemental trapped in a crystal globe, dancing dust particles visible in the dim sunlight filtering through the windows, strings of colourful cantrip-infused trinkets that do nothing to help the shop's reputation as a curiosity store that provides unreliable magical objects (it's an unfortunate side effect of being associated to the Enchanter's Guild's name, uncancellable subscription, no refunds).

Magic safely contained in vials, jars, airtight bottles, neatly labelled and organized the way you'd store food or legal documents or body parts in a mortuary. Not a single living thing, no skin-prickling excitement that awakens at the mere mention of 'magic'.

The place is a light inconsequential spring breeze to the pulsing cold storms of the Weave.

Behind the counter, a young woman with pleated locks of strawberry-blond hair, a pale freckle-dotted face, and magic spilling out the eyes. The scroll she'd hold in her hands would go up in flames, and you’d very wisely choose a less hazardous place of commerce.

Well, a few days ago, that's the sight you would have been greeted with.

You've only taken refuge in this empty shop to avoid the tentacled monstrosity abducting people outside, after all.

Neve should be sleeping, which signals to her brain that now is the perfect time to wake up fully and work on the eldritch cannons problem.

Mornings always come to her sharp and early, crisp like dried tea leaves--so many things to do, so many tasks to get started on, so many readings to pick back up. But the light bravely soldiering on through her round window is not even pink yet, bathing her room in blue-gray hues that do nothing to lure her away from the covers.

No matter. She's awake, now.

The silver cylinders are waiting for her on her desk, exactly where she left them last night.

Neve slips out of bed and goes through the motions of her routine--splashing frigid water on her face, putting on her brown robes laid out at the foot of her bed, braiding her hair--and her train of thought starts following the path she'd agreed on with herself a few days ago. The eldritch cannons belong to a patron, a monster hunter in need of a magic touch on top of their skills, and Norry dropped the order in Neve's lap on top of everything else.

She can't resist taking a look at them before starting her day. Cold and smooth metal under her hands. She can feel the magic embedded in the mechanism--human-made. That's not the interesting part, though. Loaded in the cannons are silver capsules, which can split open to reveal empty insides. Scattered across her desk, half-finished explosive scrolls that she keeps worryingly close to her few belongings. What's the worst that could happen, anyway? The attic going up in flames?

Yes. That's why she traced a ward of containment along the wooden rim of the desk.

The only scroll she's finished is sitting in a bowl filled with blackened remains of charred silver--a neat line of ink disables the spell, running like a seam in the middle of the scroll. This hunter's quarry requires full-silver weapons, which lowers the melting point of the material, but it cannot coexist with the scrolls that are supposed to fill the capsules. The very nature of the spell endangers the metal, reaching the too-low melting point too fast.

It's an impossible endeavour, which makes it excitingly infuriating.

How do you slow down an explosion? Or rather, force everything around it to hold together?

She's still trying to figure that part out.

The key is probably in the acceleration upon release of the mechanism's trigger, but the trick is to force the spell into holding together long enough—at least until it's out of the barrel, and out of the hunter's hand. Perhaps magical cooling would help? Books on frost magic are harder to find, but Neve is pretty sure she can get around that.

It's in cases like this that she bumps against the frustrating limits of her education. What ten-year-olds learn in academies, she has to knuckle her way through it, scraping together unrelated pieces of knowledge, reading between the lines written by long-dead archmages.

Well, no time like the present, right? First things first: harvesting the ingredients needed for the morning batches of potions.

On the roof, Neve's day dress sways on the clothesline, rippling in the wind. The chilled air carries the promise of rain, and even if she'll probably need to take her clothes to dry inside, it's a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere of the attic.

Her garden is a well-kept square made of orderly rows of magical herbs, culinary vegetables and berries. Along the neat edges of soil that turns downright frosty and hard in winter, complicated glyph patterns glow an eerie purple, keeping hungry insects away. They also form the base of an invisible energy dome protecting the plants from rain and hail--she cannot stomach seeing her little garden in ruins again, ever since a summer storm so sudden she didn't even have the time to pull the tarp up destroyed it a few years ago.

Away from the patch of earth sits a clay pot full of birdseed that she refills every tenday, when a couple of turtledoves stop on her windowsill, stretching their necks to peer inside her room. Sometimes, she'll put her work aside for a minute to get closer to them, and even if they're about to fly off, they'll change their minds and stay, letting her pet them. When she talks to them, they cock their little heads, beady black eyes watching her intently. They always stay when she talks, waiting until she's finished to leave.

It's the same couple, every time. She recognizes their matching white-spots.

(This grave is no home, they chirp. A heart-shaped hole in an axe's blade does not make it less of an axe.)

It's only her on the roof today, though.

She kneels in the madder soil of her much smaller plot of herbs--this one is surrounded by a much more potent combination of blue glyphs to keep the plants inside. That's where she grows the less appealing spell components, like daggerroot, oleander, henbane, aberrations of mugwort and rogue's morsel unfit for consumption and healing potions. Insects end up here, crushed by creeping vines, mixing with oxblood provided by the butcher's shop.

She pulls the roots and the soil stains her fingers, gets under her nails, the blood-fed stems rough to the touch.

Sharp pain lances through her wrist when she puts the roots in her woven basket, and she braces for the uncomfortable nerve-tingle that follows in her fingers. She'll try to write more with her other hand today, then.

She gets up and dusts herself off, her trousers spotted with earth and unfortunate ants.

No weavemoss here, she thinks wryly.

Neve blinks sweat out of her eyes and huffs. One more batch and she'll be done with today's first set of chores.

The fumes rising from the cauldron's surface press against her cheeks in hot swirls, and she cannot wait to wash it all off. Her eyes sting and her back is smarting with pain again and her stomach makes her acutely aware that it's almost noon.

Once she's satisfied with the colour and consistency of the mixture, she starts filling the pear-shaped glass vials that she'll have to label and put on the shelves later--but first she'll probably have to postpone lunch, she has to be in the shop to receive a shipment of wolfsbane and leave it in the decontamination salt circle for at least five days before using it, it has a bad habit of sucking the nutrients out of the soil and being a menace to the other plants, oh and there's still autumn crocus in the stocks, is there not? If not she'll have to make a quick trip to the botanical gardens, get more seeds, because the way they grow crocus (next to the strawberry stolons) is absolutely horrendous.

The cauldron is emptied until only dregs are left.

Neve settles at her workbench and starts grinding the mugwort roots she dried using her homebrewn rid-of-moisture spell. Once thoroughly crushed into a fine brown powder, she sifts it before mixing it with the pressed daggerroots in a clay bowl. She could keep going and turn this mixture into a proper oil, but that's not her end goal. Well, she is going to use it to coat the capsules and enhance their accuracy to the point that they'll never miss their target--better keep these explosions very, very localized.

However, this doesn't solve the melting off problem. The heat is dangerous for the cannons but also for the handler, who must take their mission seriously if they're willing to waste that much pure silver into a weapon, and as a result of its use, into, well, corpses (Neve tries not to think about that part too much. Yes, she's daydreamed about fire-bolting the careless cart-drivers who rush past her in the street while almost flattening playing children, but it stays what it is. A thought. She has more than an inkling that the client chose Norry's shop for its unobstrusiveness rather than for its quality of service.)

She needs something else. Something that, used in a different way, could solve her problem. Deerskin pouches rest on the shelves, but she knows none of them contains what she's looking for.

"What do you think?" She asks the cow doll slumped against her window--a gift from a little girl after she'd given her a healing potion for free three years after the start of her apprenticeship.

Black mica eyes stare back at her.

Oh gods. Two more years like this and she'd start animating the doll to get an answer.

Supply lines from the southern Sword Coast have been cut for weeks, narrowing the range of ingredients at her disposal. The Merchant's League is supposedly working on it, but most of the shops she frequents have been relying on stocks and seaborne trade. With certain components missing, one has to get creative and be willing to crack some eggs at random for... mixed results, to say the least.

Neve doesn't need to go through a lot of trial and error. She just knows. She sees the experiment failing before even setting up the materials.

She has to. She's running on limited reserves of time and energy.

Experiments play out to the end in her head, or stop when something goes awry--a misshapen ward, an ingredient shortage, too much heat under the cauldron, unsought results. When she encounters a problem that needs many steps for solving, she lays them out neatly, holds them each in her mind's eye, spins them in six or seven different directions to establish the most efficient and cost-effective way of accomplishing her task. Sometimes, an unexpected development prompts her to drop lines of thought, or add new ones.

Ingredients don't behave in unexpected ways unless you make them.

When she sees the solution too soon, it leaves her with mixed feelings. Yes, it's gained time, but she likes the challenge, and the feeling of being right that follows.

Small victories. She'll take them.

Maybe a temporary seal on the capsules to isolate them?

Norry is (or, rather, was a long, long time ago) a sealing specialist, and the back of the shop houses stacks upon stacks upon stacks of books on ward technique left to gather dust and cobwebs. Neve's made her way through a solid third of the collection, but quickly realized this was more a hoarder's trove of mostly dead languages than useful accounts of sealing spells. Still, she keeps a new tome on her bedside table, writing down any new information she can make out of it, referring to her translation notes and inferring purpose and spell components from context and common sense.

Her old master doesn't care much for frivolity or obvious displays of sentimentality, but he treasures most of his books like they're his own children.

He sure cares about them more than he does about Neve, not that his indifference comes from a place of genuine malice.

At least she's not on the streets selling her backside to the highest bidder, but there are some nights when even this thought offers only meagre comfort, nor does the knowledge that this alternative wouldn't have bothered anyone, least of all her parents.

Nights become the theatre of uncomfortable dreams--a cottage in faraway farmlands, where she'll be blessedly alone and only worry about her raspberry bushes and honeysuckle flowerbeds that she'll grow only for tea, no more soulless potion brewing in a dark room, coffee in the morning and getting dressed up to go nowhere, free to do whatever she wants with her days.

A place that's hers, no conditions attached, and in her wildest dreams, it's built for two.

She dreams of a slow, peaceful, rose-tinted life and doesn't think about the implications of retirement, because to retire she'd first have to live through something, anything, and it hurts and it doesn't stop there, because even though it's been ten years memories and dreams still blur together.

The in and out of a sewing needle, the embroidered bodice of a recently-mended pinafore dress that will be outgrown in a year and never mended again, lilac-scented hair she buried her face in, the forgotten feeling of laying her head on someone's shoulder, of a hug--

--a feral smile dripping with blood, the cut of a diamond, magic coursing through her marrow, splitting the skies, shattering the earth--

--waking up, the dream already evaporating, leaving her with the ghost of it, sitting on the edge of her bed, her guts twisting with aching loneliness, lack and emptiness all around her.

Others she spends in the throes of nightmares that never end nor clarify. Undefined. Black chasms and the slow agony of breath forced out of her lungs, burdened down, down, and this single thought like a death sentence, like cold truth: forever. this life all alone forever and ever and ever.

Those nights end with her eyes snapping open like a mechanical toy's from the artificer's shop, her brain leaning back in its chair, satisfied like a cat who got the cream of despair, I'm done! Please go on with your day! and she does, of course she does, because what other choice does she have?

Adjusting the shoulder strap of her satchel across her chest, Neve smooths the rumples of her day dress and locks up the shop, checking the defensive wards one more time--Norry left for an astronomy conclave with old colleagues in the countryside, entrusting her with the completion of the ongoing commissions and the never-ending list of magical items of service that need enchanting.

She's got some way to go before reaching Rivington, where she is to post a letter to Candlekeep.

Despite her earlier predictions, it hasn't rained yet.

She walks past busted open crates, wine spilling on the cobblestone path, broiling low clouds casting shadows across the buildings, wind carrying the smell of salt and fish and rotting fruit from the docks, the mix cloying in the back of her throat. It could have made for an unappealing brew if Neve didn't relish every second spent outside. Everything beats feeling like an old maid sealed off away from civilisation. Conversations no longer muted by walls reach her ears, the hum of the city, the hustle and bustle of shopkeepers.

Being lonely in a crowd rivals being alone in the attic.

Her path leads her closer to the docks, zig-zagging between sailors unloading ships, coming and going and dragging crates that clink with the tell-tale sound of wine and whiskey and rum bottles, the rumble of their steps on the gangplanks like the familiar ticking of clockwork.

Ivory tiles of Bite and Sting blink at her from a draughts stand, hand-painted bees and foxes and wolves laid up or down, sailors swearing and mutually accusing each other of cheating. Its companion card deck lies ignored in the muddy puddle at the sailors' feet. A few paces away, a lanceboard is perched on a barrel where two lanky laundresses are leaning on their elbows. Neve slows down, just enough to check out the board, and she can tell they're playing by Moonsea rules, if the broken Mystras laying on their side are anything to go by.

Near a warehouse, elderly seafarers skewer and skillet fish gasping for water. A rivulet of blood serpents around the lumps of wood and drips to the ground, carrying ripped scales.

High noon sunrays glint off Steel-Watchers patrolling on the piers. Neve can't say she likes seeing them around, but she can't deny she's curious to know what kind of spell animates them. She put aside incredibly rare books on armor magic from Khorvaire that Norry keeps in boxes in the attic like they're worthless junk but it seems she never has enough time to settle down and catch up on all her reading.

Watching the ebb and flow of low waves against the wooden pier pillars reminds her of all her compiled notes on elemental magic. She has no one to share them with, no one to comment on the capillaries-bursting focus she's attained to channel lightning, crackling wisps of blue light between her fingers, she'd been so ecstatic over finally managing to do it that she'd immediately broken her concentration the first time. No one to remark on her control of water, which she primarily uses to conduct electricity. No one to talk to, at all.

It's fine, though. She's spent ten years virtually on her own in Baldur's Gate. She can handle herself.

And if she hugs herself at night pretending to be held by someone else, and if she sometimes goes to Umberlee’s temple and skims her fingers over the flowers floating in the fountains and holds them in her hands long enough to convince herself she has someone to give them to, and if she dreams of curling up and laying her head against someone’s chest to fall asleep to the sound of their heartbeat, well.

No one has to know.

The carrier pigeons of Sword Coast Couriers lounge under the sun, coats of feathers puffed up around them, looking like satisfied, plump, red and brown balls.

They look so peaceful to Neve, unburdened by debt and earthly matters and free to go wherever they wish.

They tweet at her as she enters the post office.

Danzo Arkwright, dwarven head honcho of the postal service, stands behind the counter, arguing with a customer--a darkling, hood lowered.

"No, no, no! Your hells-spawned bird already murdered seven of my carrier pigeons!"

An outraged gasp. "Hells-spawned? How dare you? He's as pure and innocent as the day he hatched from his egg! These were all unfortunate--"

"Well, I'm afraid I cannot let it join the ranks of the carriers."

The darkling clicks his tongue, pulls his hood up, draws himself up to his full height--Neve's, give or take the thickness of a hair--and turns on his heels.

On his way out, Neve catches a small flash of grey feathers and yellow-ringed eyes of the cuckoo he cradles in the crook of his elbow.

(He's saying Kill your whole family with an oyster knife. Do it and you'll be free. He's really fun at parties though, and this whole cannibalism affair in 1487 was a complete misunderstanding.)

Danzo glares daggers at his back until he recognizes Neve and smiles.

"Miss Nomani," he greets, crow's feet deepening around his eyes. He used to see a lot of her when she still sent letters to her father, and winked at her conspiratorially whenever she slipped a new letter to The Baldurian Post's editor across the wooden counter.

Still, his gaze quickly leaves hers when he spots another regular behind her.

She hands him the letter and thanks him before leaving.

The darkling is nowhere in sight, and she decides to allow herself one wishful trip to Sorcerous Sundries before going back to the shop.

A month ago, the Castle of Tomes issued a challenge: every scholar of magic was invited to send a new classification of the complete works of Ka'a Orto'o. If the classification was deemed an improvement compared to the previous one, the scholar would win the privilege of hearing their name added to the prayers of the Avowed.

And nine thousand gold coins.

Mostly nine thousand gold coins.

Of course, a wizard always pursues knowledge for knowledge's sake.

But nine thousand gold coins can't hurt someone's pride, which is a crucial aspect to consider when one has to deal with wizards, and it's a good carrot to convince scholars to dive back in Orto'o's works.

The true order of composition of Gnomic Utterances is a hotly debated topic in a pinpoint niche of the wizarding community. Voluntarily published out of order and purposefully mislabelled, it comes only second to the complete works of Volothamp Geddarm in terms of inanity and usefulness.

These works have nothing to envy to each other--rife with historical inaccuracies, bad puns, and piecemeal points of interest. It's a colossal waste of ink and paper and breath in arguments--in the year 1432, two wizards destroyed an entire reconstructed spelljammer fleet outside of Melvaunt in an explosion of magic after their discussion got too heated.

Unlike most wizards, Norry seems to have lost the need for posturing and constant ego-stroking, and thus didn't even spare a glance for the letter informing him of this challenge, resuming his tasks with the characteristic unhurried pace of an immortal being.

Which was tacit permission for Neve to sign up.

(To be quite honest, it's the hotly debated part that attracted Neve in the first place.)

It's the kind of work that relies on the reader to understand. But understand what?

Neve is a self-taught wizard through and through. She's used to figuring things out on her own. She's studied books until her eyes started weeping blood.

This proved not to be much different.

Of course, these books are an assortment of the most moronic, even if somewhat amusing in an absurd way, thoughts to have ever crossed anyone's mind since Ao created the Realms.

That's not what's important about them.

People have spent so much time unable to see the forest for the trees and dismissing Ka'a Orto'o as a bumbling old fool of a gnome that they've missed what was always sitting in front of them.

Because Gnomic Utterances paints a bigger picture: a complete map of Baldur's Gate ley lines--the most basic of basics of a wizard's education. There's a reason why the city is more often than not simply called "the Gate". It's not enough to read the words--a cryptographic approach suited this endeavour a lot better. In the right order, sentences bounce off of each other to create a brand new text.

The city is a gate for what Orto'o calls "the Swarm", some sort of collective-consciousness entity sealed off somewhere hundreds of years ago.

Even if Neve wasn't positive her proposition is the right one, she knows it's at least an interesting interpretation backed up by textual and magical evidence.

She's put in all the work she could. Now she can only wait for a response.

She signed the letter with her own alliterative initials, N.N.

Usually, everything that leaves Norry's shop bears Norry's seal. It's a frustrating erasure of Neve's work, and at the same time a safety net that fuels Neve's fear of being found out. That one day she'll be looked at and looked through and she'll have to make up for the fact that it's only her. That hypothetical people will assess and dismiss her in the same look.

As long as no one knows, as long as it's only her with herself, she's safe.

The solution hits Neve as she cracks an egg against the counter.

Yellow yolk spills in the pan and instantly starts sizzling, and she looks for her inkwell to write it down before she forgets. She's too tired to work on anything more tonight, but she'll get it started first thing tomorrow morning.

It's well into the night already, and she's barely pep-talked herself into eating a little before finally passing out on her bed.

Her brown robes are neatly folded and laid out on her small coffer, ready to be put on tomorrow, and there's nothing but the grating sound of her feather against parchment in the bare room.

A clutter of meaningless knick-knacks that see her leave in the morning and come back in the evening. Ropes of thyme and mint to drown out the burnt stench of cauldron dregs. Half-hearted attempts to decorate the place over the past ten years, but it'll take more than her good will and the smell of humid wood on rainy days to turn this attic into a home she'll be happy to go back to.

The space is lived in because she lives here, not because it's hers.

Surely, there are better ways to fall asleep that don't involve the gnawing feeling of being part of the book and arcane tools collection, left to be coated in dust and dashed hopes.

Surely.

Her scarce belongings are exactly where she left them.

Her abandoned and creased day dress, the bundle of unsent letters she keeps under her pillow, the little cow plush slowly losing its fluff. Dusty books on a bedside table, notes sticking out from various pages. Outside, the garden left to wither under a protection dome that's slowly killing it now that no one's here to renew it properly. Turtledoves pecking at an empty clay pot.

The little attic doesn't miss her, or wait for her return.

Don't think it cold-hearted.

It's just glad she got away.

#bg3apprecimaytion2024 #did i write this whole thing just to make a “animals talk but you don't have speak with animals on” joke?#yes #also she should be at the club imo #if neve had drawn cards on the wharf she would have gotten #one of squids #two of bats #three of hydras #which is not a nice suite but!#it would have been topped by six of crows #i love her your honor #btw know that management apologizes if the quote wasn't irrelevant enough pls forgive us

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