#the circumferences each their own

[artcalledcinema]

Gladiator II

Vs

Wicked

The two separates of movies!

(Does RumpT love both)

[mrs-weasley-reid]

DOCTORS ACROSS THE HALL

Spencer Reid x psychiatrist!reader

Synopsis: Sleep-deprived and traumatized, Spencer Reid attempts to pin the blame on his innocent new neighbor (he can't). Word Count: 2k+ Warning: meet cute-ish(?) fluff(?) i'm not sure anymore, lol. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. not proofread !!!! A/N: inspired by S2 x E14 & 15, we all know what i mean hehe

Spencer Reid's eyes are dry.

Each blink is a terrifying journey. Afraid that he'll go back in the past—in that hut—in between the millisecond of closing his eyes.

He's seeing nothing but blurry darkness, and yet he can still feel Tobias Hankel's shaky palms across the skin of his arm.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

The same four words ring in Spencer's ears, encouraging pain—paranoia.

"It helps."

"Trust me."

With every breath Spencer takes, they hitch in the middle of his throat. Forever stuck and dies there with no trace of hope for the next generation of traveling air.

Hope that he'll be able to breathe without tugging aches all over his chest is long gone.

No man would ever be the same had they been in the situation he went through. He can't help but feel weak. And it's eating Spencer alive to the point of deliberate insomnia.

He doesn't remember the last time he'd ever slept like a normal person.

"It helps."

Knock, knock.

"Trust me."

Knock, knock, knock.

Spencer opens his eyes. He's not sure when slumber took over his mind or if he even participated in sleep at all. Chances are he was too dissociated from reality that he's left his body frozen for a while. Nonetheless, in the little time he spent in serene blankness, only one emotion brews in him.

Anger.

Who in their right minds would go out knocking at—Spencer glances at the clock on his nightstand—2 AM?

Knock, knock, KNOCK—

It stops.

A creak echoes in the hall as muffled voices scratch Spencer's ears. He can't make out the words, only the wave of the softest and gentlest whispers he's ever heard.

On a different day, he may have let it go. Hell, a different him would have let it go.

The Spencer from one week ago would have let it go.

The Spencer who never felt so nauseous at the sight of his own blood along the canvas of his temple. The Spencer with an awkward grin without the baggage of Tobias Hankel's torture over his shoulders.

The Spencer he used to be.

But despite everyone's loving support. Despite the bragging rights he gained for surviving a serial killer. No one can loosen the throttling chokehold of trauma around his neck. Not even him.

Spencer catches himself clenching his fists too tight. Crescent indentations sting on his palm—nostalgic and unsettling. He only grits his jaw at the thought. And comes in the invigorating vibrations all over his chest.

There it is again.

The useless anger.

A loaded gun with no target.

The man is dead. Tobias Hankel is dead.

Spencer wonders about the use of his boiling anger when the person he loathes is already rotting in his grave.

Without any other outlet to unleash the colossal mass of suppressed rage brewing inside of him, Spencer makes good use of one of the most common defense mechanisms: displacement.

Maybe screaming at someone will deflate the tightness across his chest and clear his mind a bit in the form of self-loathing after he realizes the grave immaturity of his plan.

He lifts his body off his mattress, swinging his legs on the side of his bed as he methodically rubs his eyes against the lamp's brightness. Strands of his hair go array around the vertical circumference of his head like an electric halo.

A huff pulses off his lips. He swallows a lump of thick air as he weighs his next moves.

Part of Spencer died in that cemetery. What difference does it make if he screams at the world? If he screams at—

His brows furrow, eyes narrow, and ears perk.

It's different this time.

Irritating knocks. Opening door. Muffled whispering. Closing door. Then quiet for an hour.

That has been a constant for the past five days. A constant routine that he felt indifferent about but somehow grew annoyed by.

But it's different this time.

The door across the hall didn't close.

And it's been five minutes.

Before Spencer knows it, his hand turns the knob and swings the door open.

Two women across from him. They are in the middle of what seems to be a tight hug before one bids her goodbye and lightly runs down the stairs.

Spencer watches as the other disappears down the lower level. Anger morphs into confusion.

"Did we bother you?"

He jolts back, snapping his gaze to the woman across. "What?"

You smile apologetically, "I'm sorry about the noise—"

"Dr. Spencer Reid," He spits. Spencer's forehead creases. He wonders what prompted his mouth to openly provide his full name to a stranger, specifically when the information was not asked for.

"Oh," You blink, lightly jumping on your toes. An unseen glint sparks in your eyes. You introduce yourself as a response, a lot less threatening than he did but equally awkward. You smile again. Sweetly, this time. Like you're looking at a puppy.

Spencer's brows bounce over his forehead as the hand over his doorknob loosens. "You're a doctor?" He inquires.

You nod, "Mhm, what are the odds, right?" You chuckle. The sound echoes around the quiet hall.

"11.76%."

"What?"

"The odds—" Spencer scratches the back of his neck, "—it's 11.76%. There are fourteen tenants in this building, including you. We both found out we're doctors, and I know none of our neighbors are. Most of the neighbors are living alone besides the old couple on the first floor, but I know none of them are doctors. That's two in fifteen people. So 11.76%. But now I realize you weren't being literal about it..." Heat rushes against the skin of his face.

Silence hovers between the two of you. He feels more awake than he was minutes ago for an entirely different reason—embarrassment. Spencer wishes that some sort of earthquake would open up the floor and swallow him.

"Interesting," You finally speak, changing the leg where you placed your weight. "I tried calculating it myself and got the same result. You were right."

His mouth falls agape. A surge of warmth strikes his chest. "You were calculating?" Spencer squints, rubbing an eye out of habit due to his current predicament and baffled by your antic all the same.

You nod again, "Just cause you're my neighbor doesn't mean I'll just take your word for it, you know. But I have to admit, it was cool that you figured that out in a second. You have my respect." You flash a playful smile, hugging your chest at the sudden draft.

"Ahh," Spencer steps back into his apartment. The tinge of giddiness is quickly replaced by sleep deprivation and anxiety. A hand throws itself into the cavity of his eye socket, pushing it close to remove the pain that's settling in.

Flashes of bright light blind him in the dark shade of his eyelids. Frustration swiftly creeps over his shoulders. Like he's drowning above water, tied down, and has no air to gasp for. Panic begins to paralyze him. All seems lost, and darkness slowly—

"Would you like some tea?"

Spencer blinks, lifting his gaze back at you as your soft smile slowly adjusts his sight.

"I have a new brand of tea I've been dying to open. Would you like some?" You repeat, tilting your head a bit as you await a response. When you don't get one, you add, "I promise I don't bite." And your heart flutters at the little twitch at the ends of his lips.

He concludes you're roughly two weeks fresh from moving in. Here you are, inviting a stranger in the middle of the night to enjoy tea inside your home.

Seems reckless.

Idiotic.

But Spencer doesn't say no.

He walks towards you like he's leaving a world to explore another. Anxiety slowly dissipates with each step he takes. A contrast of what he feels each second that passes while he lies awake.

You step aside to give him way. "Grab a seat—" you gesture towards the kitchen -island-slash-dining-table, "—The girl you saw usually stays longer, so I already heat some water. Is chamomile okay?" You talk as you maneuver around your small kitchen.

Spencer finds a seat closest to the door. For all he knows, you're the serial killer on your end of the skeptical assumptions in his head.

"Nice apartment," He says out of the obligatory guest etiquette. Spencer takes in every bit of your reflection in your home.

It's inviting. Warm and cozy. The hint of oat and lavender whiffs past his nose. Your place is adorned with small, warm lights, brightening each corner with sunset tones.

Your chuckle brings his attention back to you. "Don't be shy, Dr. Reid," You glance at him over your shoulder. "It's messy. You can say it."

"If a couple of books on your table is messy to you, you should see my side of the building."

Spencer straightens up as confusion spreads over his face.

How do you do that?

Make him feel comfortable with words and a gentle voice. Everyone on his team has been doing the same exact thing, but somehow, you get something out of him without further prompting.

The image of your coffee table pops in his head. Cultural Psychology. Learning Psychotherapy. Trauma and Dreams. And a few more books that clocks his interest in you further down the rabbit hole.

"You're a psychologist," He announces into the air.

"Psychiatrist, actually," You place a mug in front of Spencer, finding a seat across from him. "But what gave it away? The tea or the messy apartment?" You ask into your mug that says 'you're purrfect' in pink lowercase and has a cat’s paw under the lettering. A playful smile is curving your lips.

Spencer accepts the blue mug, brows rising at the police box outlined image over the blue stain. He wouldn’t have expected you as a fan of Doctor Who, but who’s he to judge? A part of him wants to discuss common interests, but he doesn’t feel comfortable enough to change the subject.

"T-the books." He says hesitantly, uncertain whether the art of observation has marked him a creep right at that moment.

You hum, "Thought I would've been more mysterious than that." You chuckle, pulling a leg against your chest. "And you?" You inquire back.

"I have three PhDs," Spencer shares shyly, breaking eye contact masked as drinking your quite tasteful tea. He notes to ask the brand you're so enthusiastic about later on.

"Three?" Your eyes glisten under the warm light.

He nods.

"Let me guess, 190."

"190?"

"Your IQ," You lean back against the table, "My guess is you graduated young. Went to high school, college, and graduate school as a puppy." You add, amping with adoration over the new information.

"A puppy is a strong word, but yes," Spencer blushes now, hoping the small lighting leans in his favor to hide the red tint over every bit of his skin. “And just 187, not that big of a deal.”

"Just 187? You're just being humble, right?" You giggle, "I bet some prestigious agency hired you at a young age, and you're called the genius kid." You jest, genuinely interested in him more than ever.

More like the boy genius. But can’t possibly expose himself more than you already did out of sheer lucky guesses. Spencer avoids meeting your eyes like it's the plague. "You awfully guess a lot..."

You gasp, placing your mug on the table, "Shut up! I was close, was I? Oh my gosh!" You're laughing now, utterly comfortable to show quirks that people you just met shouldn't see yet. "I'm good at this. I think I'll be okay later, then." You say to yourself, nodding in satisfaction.

"For what?" Spencer chimes, troubles slipping away to the back of his mind and the sound of your hush laughter lulling him. It might be the tea or the possibility that you'd drugged him, but his body felt light for the first time in weeks. He doesn't have any complaints.

"I moved here for a job," You start attentively, making sure that you don't share too much. "But I have people. They'll search for me in case you turn out to be a serial killer."

His brows jump, "How do I know you're not the serial killer? Women can be one, too. And statistically, women who are serial killers are attractive."

"Are you saying I'm attractive, Dr. Reid?"

"I—" Spencer freezes, heat flowing to his ears. "I-I was making a point—" He cuts himself off. He wonders when the earthquake he's wished for earlier is coming to save him from embarrassment.

You stay silent, reveling in his stuttering voice.

"Is that coffee? I thought you made tea." He changes the subject—poorly.

You don't mind it one bit, indulging at the sight of his pinkish ears covered by his unruly hair. "I invited you for tea. I didn't say I'll drink one with you." You take a sip of the caffeine, rubbing the idea on his face.

Spencer responds with a subtle roll of his eyes that makes you chuckle more than intended. "Why coffee at three in the morning?" He asks gently, not wanting to step over any boundaries.

"I'm supposed to start my job later. I heard my patients need a lot of assistance, so I need to study and make sure I give them the right help."

"That sounds noble," He yawns, the first of many.

Spencer never thought your smile could get any sweeter, "I haven't officially met them yet. So, I really wish it goes well."

It might be the chamomile tea with a hint of honey finally working in his veins, but Spencer thinks you're beaming like an angel descending from the skies.

He yawns, and you giggle once more, "I think you should go to sleep, Dr. Reid."

“Yeah, yeah, I should,” Spencer’s eyebrows collide at the sadness in his chest. His body feels comfortable in his seat. Getting out of it feels like torture. 

You both stand from your seats, walking him towards the door. 

Spencer turns around before he closes his, a sleepy smile on his face. "Thanks for the tea," He yawns, a hand covering his mouth.

“You’re— hold on, give me one second,” You turn around and back inside your apartment. He can’t see you but can hear your light footsteps on the floorboards as you run to your coffee table and back inside the frame of your front door. 

Spencer patiently waits as you walk to his end of the hall, take his hand out, and hand him a heart lollipop. 

“Take this. They help with the bad craving,” You advertise as you walk backward. Before he completely shuts the door, you call for him, "Oh, and Dr. Reid."

Spencer swings the door open back wider, "Yes?"

"I think you're attractive too."

reid masterlist | masterlist

[todays-xkcd]

They left the belt drive in place but switched which wheel was powered, so people could choose between a regular ride, a long ride, and a REALLY long ride.

Ferris Wheels [Explained]

Transcript

[Three Ferris wheels are shown side by side, with some people stood on the ground for scale. Each of the first two wheels has a belt connecting its circumference to the axle of the wheel to its right. "Agitrons" indicate that the middle wheel is turning notably faster than the left wheel, with the gondolas seen to be rocking significantly at all points round the wheel. The spokes of the right wheel are completely replaced by "motion lines", indicating that the the right wheel is turning the fastest of all. All its gondolas are hanging outwards against centripetal force, interspersed with their own motion lines.]

[Caption below the panel:] The county fair fired me for adding a belt drive to the Ferris wheels.

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

Chocolate Princess ♡

Willy Wonka x reader

Pt 2

Part One

Description - Y/n Ficklegruber can't help but become enamoured with the spectacularly peculiar man stood in the middle of the galleria.

Word count - 1.3k

Warnings - fluff, fluff and more fluff ♡

a/n - little NYE present for you all!

Masterlist

--♡--

At exactly 9:51, I excitedly leapt out of my bed already dressed and ready to go. It was a crisp night so I elected for one of my thicker dresses which reached my knees, wooly tights, my coat and matching small cape. Both fur lined with pom poms ending the ties of the cape. All of it a familiar shade of green, a shade which lined nearly every inch of my wardrobe. It seemed even the choosing of my fashions were up to my fathers input.

I crept out of my room and down the stairs, only feeling safe once my gloved hands had managed to lock the mansion’s ornate door.

I skipped through town, skidding to a stop at the fountain as the large clock struck the hour of 10. I peered all around, my smile beginning to droop at the emptiness all around. However, a crunching of ice beneath boots pricked up my ears. So I began to walk the circumference of the fountain. Unbeknownst to me, another on the opposing side of the water feature had begun to do the same. My pace picked up as it seemed the footsteps would retreat at the same speed I would follow. Until finally I managed a jog and practically lunged at the burgundy coat and took it in my grasp. Willy jumped around. But when our eyes met, everything became still once again.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

We spoke together in whispered breaths.

“Are you ready to begin?” I went to sit down on the fountains edge but was stopped by Willy. Who proceeded to produce a blanket from his briefcase which he then layed down upon the icy stone. He took my hand in his and allowed me to sit once again.

“You are a true gentleman.” I teased in my poshest voice.

“Nothing but the best for the finest lady in all the land.” He jumped up onto the fountain and announced to the unknowing night air.

“Sh.” I reprimanded through my own giggles as I tugged him back down, my smile betraying any semblance of sterness.

“You don’t want anyone to know you’re out here?” His eyes drooped as his smile faltered. “You don’t want to be seen with me.” I tightly clasped both his hands in mine so he would be forced to look at me.

“Even if the whole world was watching us right now, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Okay?” He softly nodded.

“Now lets begin.” I produced a piece of paper from my pocket. “I thought we should start with the alphabet.”

I handed it to him and would direct his finger to the letter in question each time I taught him a new one.

--♡--

It took a long time for Willy to even get the grasp of the alphabet and when the clock struck midnight, I wasn’t even sure he was there.

“How about we just try it out.” I turned the paper over and wrote down the word ‘CAT’. “Can you tell me how this word sounds?”

He took the paper and began to turn it upside down as if trying to determine in which way he could make it work. “Not a bit of it.”

I giggled but stopped when his face showed he thought I was laughing at him. I took the paper from him and used my pen to circle the A. “You see this one is a vowel.” And then I circled the C and the T. “And these are consonants.”

“All I’m hearing is owls and nonsenants.” I chuckled sweetly at his ability to turn anything round and make it sweeter for the world to swallow. Seeing his tired face I decided to set my teaching supplies down. I stroked my hand over his weathered skin feeling the weight of the days struggles plastered over his face. Although this was fun and exciting for me, the poor boy had been through enough and he didnt need some girl trying to live her fruitless dreams of adventure through him.

There was a silence between us until he broke it. “I’m never going to get it?”

“Don’t say that! Reading takes time, it isn’t something you learn overnight.”

“You mean, you were going to give me more lessons?” He looked at me in awe that oozed naivety. I couldn’t help how I continued to stroke his face.

“Of course.” I suddenly became aware of my hands and their minds of their own. I righted myself back to propriety. “Anyways, reading is more about exposure. The more you read the better you become. And the better you become, the more you can read. It’s quite beautiful really.”

He gently tapped the side of my head. “With the amount of smarts you’ve got crammed up in this little head, well I wouldn’t be surprised if you were able to read every book in the world!”

I giggled embarrassed. “I wouldn’t know.”

“What do you mean you wouldn’t know?”

“Father stopped my studies when I was only 18. And he won’t allow me to go further. He won’t even allow me to spend my days at the library. I’m forced to be in his chocolate shop every hour of every day.”

He thought to himself. “Doesn’t sound so bad–” I shot him a quick glare. “-If you’re me! But that’s because making chocolate is my dream.”

“All I ever dream about now is being able to go off and learn. I want to read every book ever written, see every study ever done. Cram my mind full till it hurts with every single thing in the world there is to know.” I had risen excitedly and began to flap my hands about animatedly. I realised how much I had let myself express and became embarrassed under invisible eyes.

Yet the pair transfixed on my figure, held nothing but love.

“I guess it’s quite a silly dream to have.”

He rose and joined me, attaching our hands once more.

“All great ideas started with a dream, that’s what mama used to say.”

“What a beautiful thought. She must be a spectacular woman.”

“She was.” My lips parted to offer something more to the moment we were having but I was rudely interrupted by the ominous stroke of one.

“I’m sorry, I must go. Daddy sleepwalks when he eats too much chocolate and I must be there to help him out.” I hurriedly collected my things and returned to where Willy stood, still locked in our previous stance. Looking up once more into his eyes, I decided my fate and pulled him into a soul crushing kiss that had the touch of a butterfly. We parted only slightly, each wanting to return.

“I’m sorry I truly must leave.”

“Wait.” He stopped my retreating form. “Please accept this.” He returned to his suitcase and began to rummage.

“Willy, don’t be ridiculous do not pay me!”

“I wouldn’t thank you with something as common as money. No, I must show my gratitude with the only thing I own with any worth. My recipes. Open.” He gestured to my mouth and I willingly obliged. He placed a dainty rose shaped chocolate onto my awaiting tongue and I eagerly consumed it.

“They just get better each time.” I spoke, rather unladylike, through a mouthful of melting chocolate. I gave him a final kiss on his cheek and began to lightly skip back home.

--♡--

A quiet melody joined my journey home.

For a moment, life has never tasted so sweet. For a moment, I’m enriched with possibility. He is exciting and new, But be careful and think it all through.

Home is where you’re secure, It’s safe and you’re pure. But how long can you ignore it. That your heart is melting like chocolate.

--♡--

[alexanderwales]

Recommendations for societies with mixed halfling/human races follow. The average halfling is assumed, from demographic estimates, to weigh 30 pounds (14 kg) and stand approximately 3 feet (1 meter) tall.

All public places where people are expected to be seated need a mix of regular/small seating. Ideally, all chairs and tables will be adjustable, but this comes with cost considerations.

All doors must be accessible for people of all sizes. This presents a challenge for doorknobs and door handles, and the recommendation is a long vertical bar accessible for both, along with low "minimum force" levels for opening and closing. Problems with locking mechanisms remain, and while floor bolts are height-neutral, they're more suited to secondary locking mechanisms.

All restaurants, cafeterias, and vending machines should stock two differently sized portions. The average halfling consumes roughly a third the amount of food as a human. Because of various frictions (packaging, labor), prices are expected to be more than one third for a halfling portion. Because of this, it's best to have systems in place that allow splitting human-sized dishes, or bringing home leftovers, or making packages resealable.

Housing presents a serious problem. A single-family dwelling for a halfling family requires roughly one fifth the volume as for a single-family human dwelling, though costs do not scale down at the same rate. However, if built to halfling scale, the interior of the dwelling will only be accessible to halflings, which presents serious problems for e.g. police, firefighters, social workers, repairmen, or anyone else who might have cause to go into the interior of the home, to say nothing of friends and coworkers. Building for halfling scale is attractive for a variety of reasons, with cost being one of the biggest, but this might result in de facto segregation, and puts considerable strain on civic infrastructure and city markets due to duplication. Another social concern is that all interactions might, by default, take place inside human homes which have worse accommodations for halflings. Special note should also be made of mixed-species couples, who suffer extra burdens within the household. These problems are intractable, as some trade-off must always be made.

Tools, household goods, and clothing are naturally split into two markets. For clothing, near-complete segregation is expected. For everything else, partial segregation is expected: a halfling cannot effectively use many human tools due to differences in grip strength and grip circumference, to say nothing of brute strength. However, many consumables can suit both species, and it's expected that cost reduction efforts will inevitably result in a single offering for both in cases where that makes remotely makes sense. Purchases using refillable containers from bulk are encouraged, as each person can determine what's best to fulfill their own needs.

Due to lower costs (housing, food, clothing), halflings can in theory work for lower wages. For certain jobs, particularly those requiring physical strength, humans are more capable on average, and for others, particularly those requiring manual dexterity, halflings are more capable on average. For jobs which do not have significant differences, wage discrimination is recommended by contentious, and is an ongoing conversation.

There are a number of "segregationist forces" in society, driven by convenience, culture, and market forces. Once segregation has become, there is every expectation that it will snowball: a neighborhood which is inaccessible to humans will have businesses that cater only to halflings, and once halfling business is concentrated, any "mixed" business has less incentive to cater to halflings. Legislation can counterbalance these forces by requiring that all businesses be able to service both humans and halflings, and accommodate both human and halfling services, but this admittedly comes at enormous cost.

Overall, there are certain recommendations that are nearly costless and can be implemented as best practices immediately, and more complicated, costly reforms that will take significant political will and budgetary consideration. Beyond that, there are questions of social engineering and the level to which it is important or preferable that these things be done.

[shhhsecretsideblog]

7 for the prompts, maybe a car birth?

I love a car birth, it’s such a good trope! Thanks for the request. Apparently my brain isn’t capable of simply writing a regular car birth, had to add a little twist- it’s not technically a car. Enjoy :) [3k words, fpreg, clothing birth] Prompt: “I don’t think the baby is gonna wait that long…”

We All Scream For Ice Cream

My contractions had started this morning and after three kids perhaps I should have known better. Yes they were consistent but they weren’t strong and were completely manageable. I’d called my parents to tell them my labour had started and they came to collect the kids so I didn’t have to worry about watching over them as I laboured. I spent the morning pottering around the house doing laundry and some cleaning, working through the steady waves whenever they washed over me. But after a while I started getting frustrated being inside the same four walls; I needed some air and space. It was the height of the summer holidays and you were up and out early for work to maximise our income during your busiest time of year. I knew you’d only taken the ice cream truck to the local park, you stopped going too far afield as I got closer to the end of this pregnancy - you wanted to be close in case I needed you to come home. I decided a nice walk through the park would do me good and would help with the contractions. Plus it gave me a chance to see you and let you know baby number four was on the way.

The breeze felt wonderful on my hot and clammy skin as I waddled my way down the residential streets cupping the underside of my heavy baby bump. If I pressed into the stretched skin just above my pubic bone I could feel the head of the baby sitting extremely low, perfectly in position and ready to be born. I was excited to tell you I was in labour again, maybe you could finish work early today and come help me through it this afternoon when it would inevitably ramp up.

I suffered a couple of contractions on my way to the park but they didn’t phase me - after three births I was all too familiar with the tightening and contracting of my muscles. I simply stopped, bracing my hands against a neighbours fence or a nearby street lamp, and swayed and hummed my way through them, letting the waves wash over me.

By the time I reached the park I was getting pretty hot and sweaty, but it was a warm day in the middle of summer and I was 9 months pregnant. Overheating was just par for the course. I saw your truck parked on the opposite side of the field next to the kids play area. I never thought this park was very big but right now, with my labouring belly, the journey across the green seemed a mile long. I sat on a bench to catch my breath before making the journey, watching you hand ice creams to all the kids and families that filled the park. You had such a sparkle in your eye as you handed the ice cream to its recipient, seeing the glee and excitement in each and every child’s face when they got their summery treat.

A contraction tore me away from watching you, its sharp and insistent pain coursing through my hips and legs. “Hoooooo… take it easy there…” I softly said, rubbing the large circumference of my belly as the baby kicked and shifted even lower.

A stranger walking by asked if I was okay, but with the look of panic in their face I told them it was just a kick. I didn’t get the feeling they’d handle it well if they knew a labouring mother was out here on her own in the park. After the contraction was over I awkwardly pushed myself up, cupping my low belly, and started walking over the luscious green grass. A long queue had formed for ice cream, you were busy rushing around the truck getting lolly’s out of freezers or adding sprinkles to soft whips. You didn’t have the time to notice my approach.

I thankfully didn't have a contraction as I waddled across the park but I could feel one coming as I approached the truck. I hurried past the line and nipped behind the vehicle, only just managing to make it away from the crowd before the intensity peaked. I quickly planted both palms against the truck and leaned into the contraction, taking deep long breaths, in and out, bracing through the pain and breathing the baby down. My hips were circling instinctively and I was glad no one was on this side of the ice cream truck as it would be very obvious I was in labour.

I waited for the line of customers to go down, riding out a few contractions during that time, before I rounded the corner and stood in front of the window.

“What can I get- Honey! What are you doing here?” Your eyes lit up and you broke into a wide smile, surprised but happy to see me.

“I thought I’d come and say hi.” I said, one hand rubbing my tight stomach.

“Where are the kids?” You asked, seeing that I was alone.

“With my parents.” I answered with a knowing smile, waiting to see if you’d put the pieces together.

“With your…. Wait, are you-?” Your eyebrows raised and eyes widened as you looked directly to my very pregnant belly.

“Yup, I’m in labour. Contractions started this… this m-morning…. Hoooooo” Another wave creeps up on me and I’m forced to grab on to the little shelf at the bottom of the window, hands gripping tight as the pain lances through my body.

You jumped out the back door of the van and were standing behind me in an instant. You held my hips and squeezed hard, pressing into the pressure points that would ease the pain, knowing exactly what I needed from our previous births. I let out a soft and grateful moan as I relaxed back into you.

“Oh honey, you could have just called, you know.” You laughed and kissed the back of my neck.

“I like seeing your reaction… hoooo…. when I tell you I’m in labour.” I manage to say, though the pains were starting to make it difficult to speak.

“What, so you can see me panic?! You’re evil, you know that.” You joked affectionately.

When the contraction faded you released your grip and I turned around, your arms quickly wrapping around me.

“Baby number four eh. So what was your plan after coming to tell me?” You said in my ear, giving me a squeeze.

“I figured I’d go back home, and then call you when things get more serious.”

“How long do you reckon for this one then?”

“I dunno. It’s definitely progressing faster than the others.”

“How fast?” You arched an eyebrow and looked down at me with concern.

Before I could answer, another contraction struck. My hands laced around your neck and I buried my face in your chest, unable to contain the groan from my throat.

“Jeeze, hun, that was quick. It's okay I’ve got you.” You added, feeling my knees dip slightly. “Just ride the wave, deep breaths.”

I couldn’t speak, consumed by the heavy weight that was sinking lower and lower and lower…. My hips circled and bounced, my fingers tightly gripping each wrist as I practically hung off your sturdy frame. Your hands were on my ribs holding me steady. Groaning rumbled my throat, getting deeper as the pressure in my pelvis skyrocketed, and the noise ended with a grunt.

“Fuck, babe - was that a push?” You asked with panic, surprised at just how deep into labour I was.

“No…. I don’t think so but- hoooooo- there’s so much pressure. Baby feels really low-oooohhhhh!” I whimpered.

“Have your waters broken?” You asked and I shook my head against you in response.

“I don’t think this labour is going to last as long as you think, judging by those sounds.” You warned, your thumbs affectionately rubbing my ribs while you held me steady.

“Hooooo…. I swear it wasn’t this b-bad when I left the house…. Feels like it’s come out of nowhere.” I say, feeling the pain dull enough for me to stand on my own and release my arms from your neck.

“Well they do say it gets quicker with each birth. Right, I think we need to get you back home. Then we can pick up the hospital bag, jump in the car and drive over there.”

“I… I’m not sure I’m going to be able to walk back home…” I admit, holding my bump with both hands, the weight and pressure felt constant even without a contraction.

“Okay… erm… I’ll take us back in the truck?” You suggest hesitantly.

“What? No way. There’s only a driver's seat - what am I supposed to do - get in the back with the soft serve?” I gripe with a roll of my eyes.

“It’s only a few minutes back to our house. You got any better ideas?”

Another contraction steals any response I could make and I’m suddenly hunched over, hand bracing my thighs, and groaning behind closed lips. You offer your arms as support but I wave them away, the combination of heat & pressure overwhelming, I didn’t want to be touched. Instead you jumped in the truck and I could hear you banging around, closing freezer drawers and locking cabinets, but it was all background noise to me. My heartbeat thumped in my ears, the pressure between my thighs was worsening making me grunt. My fingers gripped my legs and I pushed my hips backwards, my body acting solely on instinct. Before the wave of this contraction was over I felt something give, my legs squatting, and a puddle started to form at my feet.

“Ooooohhhhh honey- my waters have broken…” I grunt out. Gosh, I could feel the baby’s head on my cervix and I really started to worry about how long we actually had before our fourth child made their appearance.

“We need to get going, babe.” You said jumping out the van and coming over to support me. We waited for the contraction to fade and you then helped me crawl into the truck. I was glad to be wearing my maternity leggings and a thin top; it made manoeuvring into the vehicle much easier than if I was in one of my summer dresses.

“Right, I’ve locked everything away so it all should stay put on the drive, you won’t get covered in ice cream don’t worry.” You try to joke as I huff and puff my way into the cramped truck. “Why don’t we get you sitting down on the floor..?” You suggest, climbing in after me to try to help me get comfortable.

“Ooohhhh no… can’t sit down. Baby too low… fuck.” Crawling on my hands and knees I settle near the large rectangular freezer that was directly under the window booth. Staying on my knees I sit back on my heels and rest my arms on my legs, my bump sitting between my widened thighs. “I’ll just… stay like this. Drive carefully though…”

“Of course I will, precious cargo.” You said with a smile before giving me a kiss.

You shut the back doors of the ice cream truck behind you when you left, ran around to the driver’s seat and quickly started the engine. “Hold on sweetie, we’ll be home soon.” You said, putting it into gear and setting off.

We barely made it out of the park and onto the tarmac road before the next contraction struck, and without my waters it soon became apparent just how close this baby was to being born. Leaning forward and grasping the top ridge of the freezer in front of me, I tried to breath through the building pressure that was pulling and squeezing my insides. My moaning was instinctual at this point, my body’s way of riding the crashing waves of pain. Whether it was the motion of the truck or my kneeling position, but something triggered a need to push. At the end of each groan I could feel my body bearing down.

“H-how long to get to the h-hospital once we get h-home?” I stutter.

“Hospital is about 35 minutes from our house. Why?”

“I don’t think the baby is going to wait that long…. Hooooo…” I breathe, hips lifting and rocking in circles just above my feet. “Go straight to hospital, don’t go via home….”

“But we don’t have any of the stuff, for you or the baby?” You question, but still follow the instruction immediately altering our journey.

“Doesn’t-matter-nnngghhhhhh!” I gruff out before lowing deeply, bearing down again, my knuckles turning white with my grip on the freezer.

“Are you pushing??!!!” You shout.

“Can’t-help-it-”

“Shall I pull over?” You panic at hearing the familiar sounds of me pushing a baby down.

“No! Just- hospital- now!” My head dips as the wave ends and I try to catch my breath in between contractions.

We were still navigating the residential streets so thankfully weren’t going fast, but that meant we were still a way off from the hospital outside of town. My knees wide on the floor and arms stretching up gripping the fridge were the only thing keeping my body and my mind grounded. I closed my eyes, taking long deep breaths and disappeared into myself. Stay calm, you've done this before, I told myself.

“How we doing?” You asked nervously after a few minutes of silence.

“Just… drive…” I exhaled heavily, preparing myself for the next wave to hit.

And hit it did; suddenly every part of my being squeezed and screamed at me to push and I had no choice but to comply. My legs widened as far as they’d go, I pulled my body closer towards the fridge, lifting myself up and hanging off the ridge with my forearms. The head was starting to peek through, I could feel it, and there was no way I could hold off from bearing down. My hips tilted backward and I pushed with everything I had. A long and guttural moan sang from my lungs as I pushed, the head slowly crowning into my underwear. We weren’t going to make it!

“Stop!!!!” I screamed. “Pull over!”

“But-”

“The head-is-coming out…. Pull over now!”

The truck rocked and shuddered as you brought it to a halt. You sprang from the driver’s seat and on your way accidentally switched on the jingle sounds of the ice cream truck, the tune ringing from the speakers on the roof.

I barely noticed the doors to the truck being opened and closed, or you climbing inside - all my energy was focused solely on getting this baby out of me.

“What can I do?” You frantically asked, but only got more guttural noises in reply as I continued to bear down.

Releasing the push with a huff, I panted quickly saying “I think it’s crowning… hoooo…”

“We need to get those leggings off babe. Are you able to move? If you can get on all fours I should be able to roll them down.” You were as white as a sheet but you squashed your fears, knowing I’d need assurance and confidence right now.

Following your instructions I moved to all fours, and I soon felt your hands around my waist pulling at the tight fabric trying to roll it over the large bump and down my thighs. We had to stop part way for another contraction and another round of pushing. The baby’s head was stretching me so wide and I could tell it must be showing through the fabric when I heard you gasp.

“Oh my god, the head is coming out!” You exclaimed.

“I know that! I can feel it.” I snipped sarcastically.

“Sorry honey. You’re doing amazing. But I still need to get these leggings off you…”

I grunt, bearing down once more with the contraction, and I can feel the resistance of the baby hitting the wall of my stretched leggings. When the push was over I cried out “Go! Do it now!” and you scrambled at the waistband of my clothing and rolled the elasticated fabric down my damp thighs.

“Do you want me to take them completely off?” You asked but I could barely think, the next wave was already here and all I could do was push.

I wanted to widen my knees, to open up my burning hips to make the required space for the baby to pass through, but the tight fabric of the leggings pulled around my knees was preventing any further movement. I whimpered in my struggle; I needed to open my body wider and push but I simply couldn���t. In my desperation I went from my hands down to my elbows, my forehead touching the floor, my backside raised to the sky and I pushed with everything I had. I needed to get the head out and I had to get it out now.

“Easy babe,” you said softly, and I could feel your hand over the baby’s emerging head. “Take it steady, it’s crowning. Try and pant if you can, let it come on its own.”

“Hooohooo- oh fuck- I need to get it out…. Can’t hold off- oh I need to push!” I screamed.

Before you could tell me otherwise my body jerked as the head popped out and I groaned at the relief. Lifting my head slightly I bring a trembling hand down my body and between my thighs to feel - your hands were there too, cupping the newly born head of our child. You moved, letting me feel - the ears the nose, the hair - our baby. Your fingers then gently stroked the back of my hand, no words were said as our hands entwined, squeezing each other. The love, encouragement and support all conveyed within that squeeze.

We were suddenly startled by a gentle knocking on the window booth.

“Hey mister, can I have an ice cream please?” The excited voice of a child said from outside the truck.

With the delirium and exhaustion of childbirth I couldn’t help but laugh. You heard my hitched breathing, worried I was crying, and asked “Babe, what is it? Are you okay?”

My laughs got a bit more distinguished as I raised back up onto my hands and twisted to look at you. “This is one hell of a birth story…” I giggled.

“Ha. Maybe this one will take over the family business.” You joke, relieved to see me smiling during this eventful and inconvenient birth. “Sorry kid, no ice cream today.” You shouted through the walls of the truck.

“Oooo- hoooo- babe… mnggghhhh… it’s coming….” I shift and grunt, bracing both hands on the floor and surrendering to the contraction once more. “Fuck… why didn’t we take my leggings off!?”

“Keep going babe, the shoulders are coming. You can do it. Yes!… one shoulder…”

“Grrrrhhhhhhhh!!!!” I groaned loud and long, pushing through the excruciating stretch of the shoulders.

“…two shoulders… and again push honey push!!!!”

“Mnnnghhhh- catch it!!!” I screamed, and a second later the baby fell into your waiting hands and instantly cried.

Tears sprang from my eyes at the sound and I immediately twisted my body and legs around so you could hand me the babe.

“It’s a girl.” You said proudly, putting the slippery newborn against my chest.

“Hi baby… hi.” I cooed, lifting my thin t-shirt and placing her against my chest. “You were in a hurry weren’t you.”

[iamthemain-character]

Dirty Mind

astarion x fem!reader

CW: Depictions of mental illness, body dysmorphia, self loathing, descriptions of anatomy, nudity without sex, hints at a past of self harm. Please read with caution.

A/N: This fic is dedicated to the most incredible woman I know. Here's to you--and all of you--finding your healing. <3

bg3 masterlist

You knew you were being stupid. 

You had seen villages that suffered under oppressive rule, slain monsters that had shed the blood of countless innocents, fought off gods and demons alike to remain true to yourself. You had seen so much evil, felt it’s burden on your heart, and yet, your greatest battle was waged within yourself. 

It was no dark possession, no cruel and unjust leader that opposed you so vehemently; rather, it was your very own skin you existed within. Or perhaps it was rather your mind, turning within itself to destroy you from the inside. You detested the very body that gave you life, that had carried you through every day of your life. And yet you hated it with a darkness that could put the very nine hells to shame. 

The silvery reflection you gazed upon only furthered your displeasure, the light seeming to glint off the various imperfections that built up the frame you no longer recognized. Your chest, uneven to your scrutinizing eyes, was so lacking that it was a mockery to call them breasts. Where your largeness did come in was from your stomach, as soft and pliable as a baker’s dough, and yet it was considerably less useful. It was duplicated on your thighs, the circumference making you frown the longer you stared. You felt all together uneven, as if some potter had started shaping his clay and had left you out to dry, half finished and altogether defective as a human being. 

It didn’t help that you were covered in marks; your skin looking more like a mis pieced quilt to your eyes than the body of a woman. Scars from various battles stitched the fabric of your flesh, showing off your failures in battle. Worse, however, were the scars from the battle within yourself, where you failed to protect your own skin from your gleaming blade. The shame that each of those marks carried made your body burn coldly, unremorseful yet full of regret. 

You weren’t even sure what your lover saw in you on the rare nights you let him have you wholly. In the occasions where you did not shun the light or keep yourself partially dressed, you let your mind be overpowered by the sensations of his own body,  perfect and glorious as it made love to you in the way only he could. You would forget yourself for a while, until the darkness creeped back in and dragged you from the safety of his arms. Somehow you always came to the conclusion that he must have hated you more than he loved you, and that physicality was a poor excuse for the burden you were upon his life. 

You wanted to punch the mirror where it stood proudly in front of you, mocking your very existence, your futile attempt at being somebody. You envied your lover, cursed to never see the art of his features ever again. It was an undeserving curse, one you wished would be placed upon yourself rather than the beautiful elf. Yet you would not be free from your aesthetic burden until your traitorous eyes were plucked from their sockets. 

“My love, you would not believe what Gale-” The voice of Astarion at the entrance of your tent sent you scrambling, snatching up your cloak to wrap around your body. The pale elf stopped, his crimson eyes reflecting his smile as he looked you up and down. “Forgive me, my darling. I did not realize that this was an art exhibit.” 

His words sunk in your stomach like lead in mud, slowly, yet inevitably gathering at the bottom, unable to ever be useful again. You glanced back at the mirror as he approached from behind you, wishing for once you could see his reflection with you instead of just yours. 

His pale, veiny arms snaked around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You felt the light sting of his pointed teeth as he dragged them over your neck, inhaling the scent of your freshly washed hair. “Or perhaps you are offering dessert, my love?”  

Perhaps another night, you would have offered yourself, gone through the same ritual of letting him baptize you in pleasure and adoration, praying to his heart that it cleansed you of your offensive form. But tonight the hatred in your heart weighed too heavily; you feared spilling it onto Astarion and staining his affection for you. 

“Have I fallen from your good graces, my dear?” 

Astarion’s voice broke you from your ruminating thoughts, and you realized you had been silent a little too long. Astarion looked at you, face pinched in a little bit of defensive concern. Your own face had betrayed your thoughts, your own features contorted into a look of disgust when he had spoken his teasing proposition. 

“No, no. you are perfect.” You quickly tried to remedy, hoping your tone sounds lighter than your thoughts feel. 

“Then why do you look like you walked past Halsin a little too closely?” Astarion says lightly, resuming his sassy attitude after your reassurance.

You give  a half-hearted laugh, amused at his dig towards your fellow companion, but still too deep within the darkness of your own mind to enjoy the lightness. 

Astarion’s smile softens, and he holds you a little tighter in his arm, his left hand coming up to cup your jaw. You instinctively lean into his touch, your chest becoming feeling more like a cage for your lungs as tears threaten to reveal your weakness. “What is it that troubles you so, my love?” Astarion murmurs, his voice making your body tingle and ache like being close to a fire after a long night in the cold. 

“It is nothing.” You mumble, casting your eyes down, not trusting your emotions to remain in check if you looked into his eyes. 

Astarion’s cool finger presses against the hollow of your jaw, trailing forward to force your chin up. His smile holds a hint of his playful demeanor, but holds so much more love and affection. You briefly wonder if he would still smile that way if he knew just how abominable you were on the inside. 

“It is clearly not nothing if it has stolen the light from your eyes, my dear.” Astarion says gently, his eyes searching yours for your untold burdens. “I am usually so skilled at bringing it back; yet I see that this is an affliction my jovial words cannot ease.” He leans down, pressing his lips to your furrowed forehead. “If my words cannot be of comfort, allow my ears to be.” 

You studied the face of your lover, noting the delicate features and marks that you had come to know and love. “You’re so beautiful.” You whisper, reaching up to lightly trace his cheek. 

Asatrion’s eyes lit up, delighted by your complimentary words. He grasped your wrist, bringing those fingers to his lips, pressing intimate kisses to each one. “As are you, my love.” 

The sour feeling bubbled again in your stomach, and you wondered if you were going to throw up. “Don’t say that.” 

Immediately, Astarion’s features darken, his silvery eyebrows drawing together in a mix of irritation and concern. “Why not? Am I not allowed to return the sentiment?”

You shook your head, feeling very small, and yet taking up too much space. This was it, you were sure, this was going to be the night he walked away from you forever more. He was finally going to see you exactly as you were. “Not when it’s not true.” 

Astarion’s eyebrows rose up from their tightened position, now expressing the astonishment and incredulousness within his chest. “I do not lie to you, my dear.” He says, trying to resist the irritation he feels at being doubted. 

You huff, unconvinced as you pull away from him. “Then you have been blinded. I am not beautiful.” 

Astarion’s fingers curl around your wrist, not allowing you to stray further than his arm’s reach. “No, you are not beautiful. You are gorgeous, a treasure among men, more rare and bewitching than any goddess.” His words are spoken so earnestly, so confident in the truth of them. “You forget, my heart, that I have lived far too long, and seen too many pretty faces. And yet you are more exquisite than any of them.”

“You don’t have to flatter me anymore.” You say bitterly, keeping your face turned away. “You know you have my trust.”

“I’m not–” Astarion starts to snap, but he stops himself, taking a deep breath. He looks at your avoidant face, his heart stinging with doubt. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear about my sentiments.” He says quietly, forcing his voice to remain calm. “I do not continually pursue you because of survival. I do so because I love you. My undead heart is entirely yours, and any affection I express to you is entirely truthful.” 

Guilt gnawed at your already heavy heart, making you feel like an even filthier person than you were before. You knew Astarion was being genuine, you had no reason to blame him. Yet you felt like a caged dog, scared, and biting to find its freedom. “You shouldn’t love me.” You say lowly, unable to keep the disgust at your own behavior out of your voice. “I’m no good for you.” 

 Astarion bristles a little at this, giving a unbelieving scoff. “You are the best thing that has happened to me in my cursed existence. You cannot stop me from loving you any more than you can stop the sun from rising in the morning.” He steps closer to you, his grip on your wrist sliding down to intertwine your fingers with his. “Why are you running from my love?”

His words spoken so gently, without any accusation or judgment, break your fragile heart. Your lips pull into a frown, but you cannot stop as tears rush to ease the burning in your eyes, watering your cheeks in streams. Your breathing becomes choked, every inhale a struggle to get enough air as you stifle sobs. 

Immediately, Astarion comes forward, cocooning you within his embrace, as if the sheer strength of his arms could keep you from breaking. You bury your face into the linen on his chest, your crying violent as it drags up all the self loathing, all the dark thoughts and ideas that had settled into the walls of your body and mind. Your hands cling pathetically to Astarion, trying to ground yourself amongst the sea of your pain. 

He doesn’t let you go, instead holding you to himself, trying to support your trembling body as the tears streamed from your eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn't try to give any meaningless platitudes to smooth over your emotions; all he did was let you cry, pressing his lips lovingly to the top of your head, almost as if he could push out your harrowing thoughts with each kiss. 

Time seemed meaningless and yet all too present as your soul rained down upon Astarion’s shirt. Every time you attempted to calm yourself, to try to regain some grasp of the traitorous emotions, the tears would simply wash over anew, sending you right back into your linen hiding place. 

By the time your body finally wrung itself of its tears, you were left feeling thoroughly spent, tired and melancholy, the embodiment of gray itself. Astarion’s hands left your body, coming up to cup your face, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, down your nose, and across your cheeks before he pressed his head against yours. 

“I don’t like myself.” You whispered, your voice raspy from the strain of your sobs. “I hate the way I look. I hate my body, and I don’t...I don’t know why you can't see it, or when you’re going to realize you could do better, and I…” 

Astarion didn’t let you continue, pressing his lips against yours to silence you. His ruby eyes were shining with unshed tears, pain and worry twisting your empty chest. “You, my love...my treasure, my heart..” He shook his head, overcome with emotion for a moment. “You are utterly perfect to me. There is not a part of you I would change, or that I do not think is the most incredible sight to behold.” 

The twisted feeling in your chest had risen up to your throat as he spoke, threatening to choke you entirely. “There is so much wrong with me.” You insist, unsure of whether you’re speaking of your physicality or your mind, but even further unconvinced of if it really mattered. 

“There is nothing wrong with you.” Astarion’s voice was still loving, but each word was enforced with a firm tone, denying any argument. “Flawed, perhaps, but nothing wrong. And even if you are entirely flawed, that does not make you any less perfect in my eyes.” He paused, bringing his lips to your knuckles as he spoke again. “Or in my heart.” 

Everything inside of you wanted to protest, wanted to fight back; perhaps if you hurt him he would finally understand what you were. But in your heart, there was a tiny flame of hope that craved his words, feasting upon the adoring look in his eyes. It was that hope that shone through your dark mind, a tiny thought blooming that perhaps he was telling the truth. Perhaps you did deserve love. 

“How can you be so sure?”

Astarion’s smile returned, as assured and adoring as ever. “I wish I could show you the way I see you. To open up my heart and give you all my deepest thoughts and sentiments for you.” He gazed at you thoughtfully for a beat of silence, then kissing your hand once again. “Perhaps I cannot give you my mind, but I can still show you how I feel. If you would allow me.”

The instinct to run, to deny either one of you the chance to be open and genuine with one another, burned in your chest. But you loved Astarion, and so badly you craved to just let yourself be convinced that that could be enough. “Okay.” 

Astarion’s eyes were full of love as he closed the distance between you; slowly, he let go of your hand, bringing it to your shoulder. He catches the edge of your robe against his nails, and he brushes it downward, letting the loose fabric slip off. Your body tenses, your heart squeezing, as if trying to tamp down the swell of emotions you feel towards the vampire. 

“Breathe, my love.” Astarion softly whispers, his hand caressing the soft skin of your neck, worshiping the same patches of skin that you despised for their red roughness. “You need only speak your discomfort, and I will stop. But I only wish to show you my affection.” 

The only discomfort you felt was from the fact that you existed as you were, but it was intoxicating to have Astarion so reverently touch you, crimson eyes so intent in their admiration. You could not find it within yourself to pull away. “I want your affection.” You admit softly, wanting only the elf’s long ears to catch your confession. Astarion smiles warmly, looking pleased with the opportunity your words presented him. 

Tenderly, he removed your robe from your body, his actions not unlike how an artist reveals their work. His eyes, usually so hungry when he saw you naked, instead were marveling at your body, taking in every part as if you were a painting that needed to be understood as well as appreciated. “You are so beautiful, my love.” 

Heat rises up your neck, feeling vulnerable and unsure of yourself under his admiring gaze. Yet you still did not want him to stop, your insides fluttering as he placed his cool hands on your waist. His smile unwavering, paralleled by his enraptured eyes, he guided you further into the tent, until he had you lay down on the bed roll. Astarion fussed over you for a moment, making sure your pillow was right, that the blankets were comfortable enough, that you were alright. It was an endearing turn of sweetness amongst the emotionally heavy atmosphere, bringing a hint of a smile to your lips. 

Astarion knelt over you, his hands beside your head; his ruby pools swirling with devotion. “You are truly the light and love of my life. A thousand years attached to your side could never be enough to satiate the desire I feel to have you, body and soul. No matter how you view yourself, you must know that no flower that blooms, no gem set in gold, no god sent divination could ever give my eyes a sight that is more magnificent than you are.” You had only ever heard his voice this raw, this unaffected and meaningful in his words, the first time he told you he loved you. “I adore you. There is nothing that you could ever do to change that, certainly not by being yourself and not even by trying. My heart is entirely bewitched by you and I will not let you go.”  

Your eyes felt misty, your body dried of its tears from your previous bout of crying. Your heart ached, but it almost felt good, to be seen in all your pain and hatred and still be told that you were loved. “Astarion...I love you.” Your voice is trembling, but earnest in its words. 

“And I love you.” Atsarion murmurs back, leaning in to press his cool lips to yours. “More than anything. And I will tell you every moment until there is not a doubt left in your mind that you are my only religion, my goddess.” 

Astarion moves his lips from your own down to your jaw, slowly pressing kisses of amorous devotion over your skin. Like a priest at the altar, he allowed his praises to be felt rather than song, pious in his utter worship to your body. Down your neck, through the valleys of your collarbones, making the pilgrimage to the heights of your breasts. Faithful and unwavering in his piety, he continued down your sternum, making no exception to any mark or hair or scar that came in path. 

You internally cringed as he got to your soft belly, preparing for his disgust; instead, however, you heard his voice murmur against your skin. “Gods, I love you.” His hands splayed over your hips, grasping a little as he pressed his face into your yielding body, sending heat up your core. Your surprise was only furthered as you felt the light scratch of his vampiric teeth catching on your stretch marks, following the rivulets with intent. 

As he moved further, he pressed a light kiss to your pelvis, giving it the affection he certainly knew it was worthy of, but he continued on, wanting his actions to be sensual, but not sexual; you were worth so much more than that. He certainly adored making love to you, but in this moment he wanted to simply convey his love for you through his touches. 

His hands moved to your plush thighs, and he made another sound of contentment as he kissed the skin there, giving equal adoration to the scars you felt so much shame for. You braced yourself for questions, but he asked none, silently accepting that that would be a battle to face another day. For now, he simply kissed over the pocked skin over your cellulite, nibbling any part that seemed particularly alluring to him. Though that proved to only have his fangs bared constantly, every new ripple of your thighs only looking more appetizing as he continued. 

Throughout Astarion’s entire ritualistic worshiping, you had slowly relaxed, melting into the bedroll as you experienced his sheer devotion. Your mind was pulled away from its dark thoughts, not in the way it usually was during passion, but rather feeling like the dark inner person within your mind had been calmed, wrapped in a blanket of warmth. 

Astarion sensed that his efforts had done at least a portion of what he desired, and so he rested his cheek against your thigh, gazing up at you with lazy admiration.  “Shall I continue? Will you be convinced if I should perhaps lick your toes?” He teased, a smirk curling on his lips.

“Ew!” You squealed, instinctively curling the appendages inward. “Astarion!” 

Despite your disgust, Astarion felt content with his words as he heard you finally laugh, light hearted and easy once more. “There she is, my beautiful love.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss behind your ear as he comes up and lays next to you. His arms remain around your own frame, wanting to keep you as close as he could. 

“Thank you.” You whisper, looking into his eyes, your heart warm and full from his adoration. 

“No need for thanks.” Astarion insists, a leg coming over yours to pull you against him. “I love you. And for that, there is nothing I wouldn’t do to prove it to you, for as long as you need me to. You are mine, forevermore, and I will take every part of you and love you for it until the heavens do not rise upon our flesh again.” 

[hydrangeapartridge]

Overindulging (EmmRook short fic)

Summary: Emmrich gets upset because he put on a little weight. Rook is here to reassure him.

The first part is mostly sfw, I signaled the moment we switch to a more heated (E-rated) exchange, please mind it.

Part of my EmmRook post game (so may contain spoilers) short-fics found here on AO3 (or on my blog with the Emmrich x Rook tag).

Rook was absentmindedly getting dressed when a very highpitched, scandalized noise startled her. It wasn’t coming from veyr far away, and she only needed to turn around to find Emmrich staring intently at his midsection, his fingers frozen over the buttons of the waistcoat he was fastening. It was his favourite one, the green one with the golden buttons.

« Darling » He called out to her, distress clear in his voice. He looked up to meet her eyes, sadness mixed with frustration in his warm brown gaze. « It doesn’t fit anymore » He stated, and indeed, Rook could see the first two buttons were fastened but the effort of it was dangerously straining the fabric. As for the last one, it would be impossible to fasten without tearing the lovely piece of clothing and ruining it.

« Well I suppose you’ll have to wear another one » Rook offered with an apologetic smile. She was ever the optimistic one of the two.

Emmrich sighed in defeat, undoing the hardly fastened buttons in a smooth gesture. However right it was, his lover’s proposition, and the implications behind his failure at getting dressed didn’t sit well with the watcher.

« I knew I had gained a little weight, there are always ups and downs in a year. But I’ve owned this waistcoat for decades and it always fit » He complained, pained and irritated. « Now I’ll have to get my entire wardrobe mended and ajusted... »

Rook stepped closer to her lover and placed a tender hand on his elbow to try and pull him out of the spiral of negativity he was losing himself into.

His slight increase in waist circumference wasn’t a surprise, for they had probably overindulged in the last months when it came to food. Emmrich took a sabbatical so they could undertake a journey around Thedas to reconnect with their former companions of the Veilguard, and check on the reconstruction of the cities destroyed by the Blight.

Those long weeks turned months had been a wonderful succession of heartwarming reunions, all of which of course around generous amounts of food and drinks. Rook and Emmrich had been delighted to discuss with their friends while sharing large meals made of the most delicious dishes, whether grilled, or fried, or covered in rich sauces, as well as around tea-times assorted with the softest buttery and flaky pastry. And not to forget the syrupy wines and bittersweet cocktail. Emmrich wasn’t known for his gluttony, but he still really enjoyed a good meal, as well as the cultural enlightment of discovering local dishes. On the way home, he kept reminiscing the taste of the famous llomerryn red sauce from Rivain or the Gnocchi from Antiva.

Pair that with a hectic schedule preventing them from exercising as they usually did, and you got a few more pounds.

It was nothing too serious. Rook herself had gained a little chub around the thighs and waist, but she understood Emmrich’s concerns. He liked to look clean and sharp, and had a strong taste for elegant fashion. All his clothes were also tailor-made and cost a pretty penny, which was an investment he made for the long run. He took very good care of his belongings and she could see why it would upset him to be forced to have them remade.

Rook gently squeezed Emmrich’s elbow. “I’m sure there is no need to come to that yet. A little more exercise and lighter meals should do the trick. You’ll be back in shape in no time”

She tried to reassure him, but Emmrich wasn’t having any of it. He placed a hand over his stomach and squeezed the fat there though the fabric of his expensive white shirt, then clicked his tongue. “I fear it won’t be that simple. Each year staying fit becomes more and more challenging. I’m getting limp and my skin will only keep sagging until I all wrinkled and flaccid. I’ll gradually wilt before your very eyes darling, this is only the start”

Oh.

So that’s what this was about.

Emmrich had partially made peace with his mortality when he brought back Manfred, and he had accepted that Rook loved him and wanted to be with him on the long run despite their difference in age. However his fears and insecurities resurfaced from time to time.

Rook’s heart sank in her chest and she pressed herself against her lover, circling her amrs around his waist, hoping her presence would comfort him better than words would. From experience, she kew that when he was in this state, there was no reasoning with him; no appealing to his usual logic. The last thing she wanted was to get into a fight because of such a trivial problem. Well, trivial to her. They already did fight several times because she brushed off his heartfelt concerns too casually and now she knew better than to lose her temper over this.

Emmrich grew silent, and soon, he hugged Rook back, the palms of his hands pressing against her back.

They stayed in this embrace for a while, Rook listening to his heart while he breathed in the familiar smell of her hair.

“You know I’ll always love you” Rook promised against his chest, and she heard his resulting deep, shaky exhale close to her ear.

“I know darling” He sighed. “It is not my intention to question that… but sometimes it feels surreal” he kissed her temple before he continued. “And sometimes I cannot help but regret that we didn’t meet sooner, or that I wasn’t born later”

Rook looked up to meet his misty gaze, a bittersweet smile on her face. “I understand that sentiment. But I believe things were meant to be this way. I am glad we even got to meet each other. And survived to enjoy the rest”

“Of course, you are absolutely right dearest. I wouldn’t have it any other way” Emmrich caressed her cheek, craddling it in his warm palm. “But the human heart can be weak, and mine is particularly prone to that kind of longing”

Rook nuzzled into his touch “That’s part of why I love you” She stood on her tiptoes, and whispered against his lips “I never hoped to meet such a romantic soul”

She kissed him then, soft and gentle, and he reverently kissed back, both of his hands holding her face like a precious treasure he feared would escape him.

When they pulled back, Rook let the hand that was pressed to his chest travel to his navel. She eyed his reaction carefully, assessing his consent, checking that her touch on the part of him he criticized was still welcomed.

Emmrich didn’t protest, but the attention made him shy, still a bit self conscious, and he distracted himself by replacing a stray lock of hair behind Rook’s ear.

“You are still the most dashing necromancer around you know” Rook said, her usual bright tone returning to her. “And you won’t be alone in your effort. I’ll help. I have a few pounds to lose too”

Emmrich let out an incredulous huff. “Darling there is no need for you to do that. You are simply perfect. Marvelously beautiful as always”

Rook raised an accusing eyebrow and gave him a chastising look which silenced him immediately. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

Rook splayed her fingers moree firmly over Emmrich’s lower stomach. “You know, I’m thinking of a pleasant way of exercising…” She whispered wickedly as her hand traveled lower. “I’m sure it burns a lot of fat”

She pressed her palm against Emmrich’s crotch and he let out a small breathy moan.

“Darling, we were just getting dressed” He protested, but only for the principle of it, his voice lacking any resolve.

Rook hummed “But since you were dissatisfied with your clothes, I think it’s better if you don’t wear them at all”

And so Emmrich was quickly convinced to indulge in a different kind of pleasure.

E-RATING STARTING HERE

After a few heated kisses, and unbutonning his shirt, Rook swiftly fell to her knees in front of Emmrich. Without hesitation, she untucked his crisp shirt from his flannel pants first. Her hand deliberatelly brushed his clothed growing erection before she set on undoing the buttons of his trousers.

“Darling” Emmrich tried to grab her attention and she hummed in response but didn’t stop. “As much as I enjoy the view and the promise of your attention, I fail to see how this counts as exercising on my part”

Rook gave his still clothed erection a gentle kiss through the fabric of his underwear. “Consider it a warm up” She hummed “And a way to show you how much I adore every part of you”

Emmrich let out a languid sigh. His fingers moved to brush against her cheek, and played with the hair there while she pulled his pants and underwear enough to find the most sensitive part of him. “Whatever pleases you my dear” He breathed in that lower voice that was reserved just for her; just for these moments shared between them in intimacy. He always ended up indulging her.

Rook took him in one hand, and splayed the fingers of the other over Emmrich’s stomach. She started stroking him to full hardness, while reverantly exploring the dip of his waist, and the more recent softeness of his belly, where a trail of dark hair led to his growing desire. She loved to touch him. Emmrich was a generous lover and was always the one to insist on how gorgeous she was and to focus on making sure of her pleasure. She desperately wanted to reciprocate the favour. Besides, she knew from experience that for all his composure and restreint, a teasing from the mouth should rile him up enough that he would then be most enclined to bend her over any avalaible surface and take her most ardently.

Emmrich’s self consciousness over his stomach became the last of his concerns when she stopped stroking him and started leaving opened mouth kisses on the length of him. He gasped and moaned when she proceeded to take him between her sinful lips, caressing the part that she couldn’t fit in yet between a few fingers.

Rook moaned around him when she felt his hand carefully grab the back of her head, holding ontop her hair without pressure to ground himself and help guide her. She increased the pace of her ministrations as Emmrich’s voice joined the lewd wet noises she was making. True to himself, he kept praising her, complimenting her skills, singing praises of her beauty as she worshipped him with her mouth.

This was incredibly pleasant, but not quite what she had in mind. She pulled away to catch her breath, lazily stroking him instead, the glide made easy from her saliva and his excitement. Her other hand cupped his balls, her heel pressing into his perineum until he was left breathless and flustered. She then moved to squeeze his naked bottom, a part of him that she enjoyed very much indeed. The number of times she was distracted by that ass back in the lighthouse she couldn’t count on the fingers of two hands.

Now that she had rendered Emmrich silent but for ragged whimpers, it was her turn to talk.

“My heart, you focus on the front of your body because that is the first thing you see. But know that the sight of your backside would make anyone both jealous and enticed” She murmured before giving his tip a quick suck, earning a strangled “Darling” from him.

She squeezed his bottom again for good mesure, giving it a small swat as if to make her point “I have seen the way people look at it. Makes me want to burn their eyes in their sockets”

“Darling,I’m sure that’s no-” Emmrich tried to say between heavy pants but interrupted himself, completely losing his train of thoughts when Rook took him into her mouth again, as deep as possible.

Rook smiled around him, prood that she rendered him silent. She used her now both free hands to grab at his backside firmly, using her hold as leverage to try and take him even deeper with each bob of her head.

Emmrich’s hand tightened in her hair, and she moaned delightfully in tune to her lover’s half hearted and whimpered pleas for her to slow down. She could tell that Emmrich was using the last threads of his self control not to thrust into her throat at his own rythm. His thighs were clenching, his knees buckling, she could tell he was losing it.

He was close. But this was far from over yet.

After a wicked swirl of her tongue around him, Rook pulled back, earning a distraught whine from her lover.

She barely wipped her mouth before she got up and proceeded to quickly take off her clothes. Emmrich’s gaze followed the reveal of her bare skin with a distinct hunger. For a second she had rendered him lost as what to do with himself. He stood before her, painfully hard and half dressed, panting and flushed. He looked ravishing; and she wouldn’t give him the leisure of regaining the composure she worked so hard to break.

Rook quickly stepped back into his arms, pressing her naked form flush against his body.

“I think you’ve warmed up enough” She said against his lips, her hand caressing his chest where his shirt was opened. He tried to follow after her lips but she pulled away, instead hiking one leg up his hip. Emmrich’s scattered brain had mere seconds to gather what was expected of him before Rook jumped into his arms, wrapping her beautiful legs around his narrow waist. Emmrich caught her of course, his hands coming to support her backside while she anchored her arms behind his neck.

“Now it is your turn to do all the work” Rook teased, but Emmrich complied.

“Gladly” He breathed before he crashed his lips into Rook’s, his usual finesse lost in the turmoil of his desire.

Rook’s shorter and lighter figure was easy to carry for Emmrich, who possessed more muscles than would be expected of a scholar. In his endevour to age as well as possible, he had adopted a healthy lifestyle consisting of a balanced diet and a lot of exercise. The watcher valued physical form as much as a keen intellect. To fight the rebellious undead of the Necropolis, one needed to stay in shape. Also, Rook learned when they met that necromancers from Nevarra enjoyed friendly tornaments of battle magic and took pride in winning them if possible. Emmrich had his pride, and trained so he would easily prevail if a student or colleague dared challenge him.

Rook remembered feeling both surprised and weirdly aroused the first time Emmrich twisted the limbs of a Venatori cultist with a florish of his wrist, and then proceeded to send him flying with a powerful strike of his heavy staff. To think she first considered him a delicate scholar when they met, and even hesitated bringing him to the field. How wrong she had been, and how she then had put that strength to good use.

Rook wasn’t too heavy, but to perform the activities they had fallen into, they needed more stability. While he kept kissing his lover, Emmrich walked to the nearest wall and proceeded to carefully press Rook’s back against it. The support the wall offered allowed him to free one of his hands. He held Rook around the waist with one arm, and while his lips went down to explore the delicious column of her neck, his free hand traced a path from her clavicle to her breast, where he focused his attention. He squeezed and pressed just the way she liked, without forgetting to give attention to her already erected nipple. Rook’s head fell back into the wall as an abandonned moan escaped her lips when his mouth replaced his fingers on her chest. In an impressive exercise of multi-tasking and balance, Emmrich’s hand travelled lower, testing the state of arousal of his lover. She could see the bicep of the arm holding her tensing under the strain of her weight, pulling the fabric of his shirt tight. That sight only could have made her ready for him.

To only Emmrich’s surprise, Rook was soaking wet already. He collected some moisture on his index finger still, and proceeded to pet her clit for good mesure. Rook closed her eyes under his expert ministrations, but she shook her head when he started teasing her folds and her entrance.

“Please my heart, I need you now”

To think she planned on being the patient one today. Emmrich’s lips traveled back to her neck, then cheek, and stopped to kiss and nip at her sensitive ear.

“Who am to deny you when you find yourself in such distress dearest” He purred, low and assertive before he blew on her wet and tender ear, making her gasp and shamelessly grind against his erection.

Rook admired the display of Emmrich’s strength as he repositionned her to align her center with his aching need. She was vulnerable and opened, her legs brought up against the inside of his elbow, her ankles thrown over his shoulders and her weight supported by both the wall and Emmrich’s long fingers grabbing her hip dips, her lower back mostly fitting into his large palms.

He entered her slowly, making sure she was comfortable. The sight was delightfully exciting: Emmrich still half dressed taking her naked form, the muscles of his broad shoulders and of his arms flexing to hold her in place as he penetrated her.

A first tentative thrust and then Emmrich pressed flush against Rook, bending her in half and trapping her against the wall while his cock caressed her insides. She felt impossibly full and deliciously stretched, forced to take him without moving; losing the ability to form a coherent sentence from the raw pleasure of it all.

Rook’s moans were loud and unrestrained as Emmrich took her against the wall, deep and slow. Even when pent up, he still was one to make groundbreaking love and not copulate like animals. He did slip a few times however, thrusting harder as he lost a bit of control the more Rook tightened and gushed around him.

Tears wet her eyelashes from how good it all felt, the sensations heightened by the praises Emmrich’s velvet tongue kept drowning her in. He breathily told her about the marvelous display she offered, akin to a nymph straight from an Orlesian painting; a perfect portrayal of a godess of pleasure and lushness. He fed her poetry as sweet as honey while ravishing her with impossibly accurate assaults of her most sensitive places, reaching impossibly deep in this position.

Rook left herself get lost in the pleasure he offered, and soon, as he told her he would hold her like this forever, make love to her endlessly, she choked on trying to tell him how much she loved him, whimpering instead while clenching down on him like a vice, coming around him in a raw display of bliss, tears of ecstasy rolling down her cheeks.

Gradually, Emmrich slowed down until his hips came to a stop. He reclined a little and pressed a few amourous kisses on Rook’s wet cheeks.

Rook’s chest was still rising and falling rapidly when she regained the ability the think properly. Her previously hazy eyes found Emmrich’s warm brown ones.

“I love you” She whispered in a laboured breath as if it was the most important and fitting conclusion to this exchange.

Emmrich chuckled, amused and proud of himself for rendering Rook almost speechless “I love you too dearest”

He released her trembling legs so she could get them around his waist again. She hugged him tight while he held her by two hands under her backside, gently rocking her until she regained her footing.

After a while, Rook perked up, blinking away the haze in her mind only to realize something. She looked between them, where he was still hard against her. “You didn’t-” She started, looking to Emmrich. “What about you?” She asked, dejected. She wanted this to be about him and it ended up being about her again.

Emmrich’s chuckle was low and pleasing to her ears. “I believe I ought to prolonge the effort for the exercise to truly be efficient on burning calories.” He said, a mysterious smile on his thin lips. “A ratio of three to one should suffice for today don’t you think?”

Rook blinked owlishly. She had no clue what he was talking about.

Emmrich let her think about it, amused by her airheaded state. He took a step back, then turned and walked to their bed where he carefully dropped Rook on her backside on the silken covers.

“What ratio are we talking about?” Rook asked as Emmrich caught her leg by the ankle and brought it to his lips for a tender kiss to her malleolus.

“Orgasms of course darling. One for me after three for you” Emmrich replied like it was the most obvious of things. His assertive brown gaze pinned Rook down, making her feel like a meal on display. “If you’d be kind enough to help me keep on exercising of course” He added lowly, in that tone that made her wet without being touched.

Rook inhaled sharply, feeling herself ready to go again. She couldn’t possibly refuse such an offer.

“Well, I did say I’d help…”

[woonhakist]

WHO!

INSPIRATION — the storyline of boynextdoor’s music videos/songs from their debut single, WHO!

GENRE — social media au, summer break + school au, rom-com, reverse harem, choose your own adventure (for part 3)

PAIRING — non-idol!boynextdoor x fem!reader

CHARACTERS — boynextdoor, jisung + chenle (nct), jake (enhypen), eunseok (riize), winter (aespa), natty (kiss of life), possibly more

WARNINGS — cursing, death jokes, suggestive/sexual jokes (no smut), mainly boynextdoor-focused, no y/n + friends tweets til part 2 (but y/n is mentioned ALL throughout part 1), mainly y/n-focused during part 3, ignore time stamps and all that, characters are works of fiction NOT an accurate representation of the people used (more to be added in upcoming chapters)

TAGLIST — (OPEN) send an ask, dm, comment, etc!

STATUS — ongoing!

NOTES — it’ll probably be a little while before this is officially out, but i wanted to release the masterlist because i am SO excited about this omfg i’ve been so absorbed in boynextdoor lately and i figured that’d be the perfect fuel for my second smau🤞another thing, my default for the parts is 10 chapters, but i may give or take from the length depending on how i see fit

first knock!

inspiration!

SYNOPSIS — sungho, riwoo, jaehyun, taesan, leehan, and woonhak all find a summer crush to call their own, but it turns out that you’re the one they all call their own.

PROFILES (1) | PROFILES (2)

1. i know where my baddie lives

2. overglorified wattpad fanfiction

3. bagging the bitches (literally)

4. the circumference of a goldfish

5. to rep or to love, that is the question

6. can picasso ride these wheels?

7. pregaming a housewarming party???

8. stop being happy it’s making me uncomfortable :/

9. IHOP UHOP WEHOP

10. smells like teen spirit…and axe body spray

second knock!

inspiration!

SYNOPSIS — each boy—self-deemed as “the most desperate”—scramble to gain the courage to ask you out before the others can. amidst the rivalry, they decide to call it off to make the playing field even. in other words, they decide to confess to you together with an utmost chaotic serenade.

PROFILES (3)

1. coming soon!

2. coming soon!

3. coming soon!

4. coming soon!

5. coming soon!

6. coming soon!

7. coming soon!

8. coming soon!

9. coming soon!

10. coming soon!

third knock!

inspiration!

SYNOPSIS — the boys’ midnight fiasco tips over your internal dominoes, sparking a conflict between your head and your heart. despite your brain’s chants to reject all of the boys, your heart rebels, beating faster and faster for…

❥ SUNGHO — coming soon!

❥ RIWOO — coming soon!

❥ JAEHYUN — coming soon!

❥ TAESAN — coming soon!

❥ LEEHAN — coming soon!

❥ WOONHAK — coming soon!

EXTRAS!

the pop princess posse

start — 7/18/23

end — n/a

© woonhakist 2023

[otomestatus]

know it's for the better; manjiro s. / reader

an: wanted to write an original work on this blog and this has been consuming my little thoughts!

Your eyes flutter open, welcoming the light from the afternoon sun. Your cheek was rested upon the flat surface of your desk as your arms encircled the circumference of your head. Blinking once, twice, your vision was met with a mop of soft blonde hair also laying on your desk. The owner of said hair had his face hidden in his arms, his body rising and falling gently with each shallow breath. The classroom around you was painted in a reddish glow as the sun began its descent in the horizon. Birds chirped, leaves rustled out the window, and you felt at peace. Slowly you rose in your seat, your finger gently reaching out to poke the top of his head.

“Hey, Mikey…” You speak barely above a whisper, your tone light and feathery. He shifted and hesitated to poke his head up to meet your gaze. He stares at you with this groggily look in his eyes.

“Whaaat…?” Mikey groans, his hands coming up to rub the sleep from his eyes. There is a dull ache in the hollow of your chest as a full view of his face enters your sight. He’s tired and no doubt going to complain about being hungry, but you’re losing yourself in your own thoughts. It’s the way his blonde hair frames his face and how his dark lashes flutter each time he blinks. You had always known the truth. Ever since you were kids you had always known and will always continue to know. It was an irrefutable fact that you were unequivocally, undeniably in love with Manjiro Sano. So as you sit here and admire the way the afternoon sunset blankets his face in its warm glow, you can feel your heart stutter. You hesitate with your next words, but you know the day must come to its end.

“We should head home…” It’s a murmur, but it’s loud enough for Mikey to hear. You don’t know when you’d become so shy.

Mikey hums, propping his elbows up on your desk and cradling his head in the palm of his hands. He looks unconvinced and a small part of you had been hoping it meant he wanted to spend a little longer with you. To sit in the comfort of each other’s presence and talk idly about anything and everything in between. You are holding your breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I don’t have anything to do until later so I’m fine.” He grins, wide and warm, and your cheeks dust a gentle pink color. There’s something in his smile, something so bright. Yet, something so distant like a far off memory from a moment lost to time. You want to cup your hands around his cheeks and hold him there. No rhyme or reason, you just want to bask in that smile for as long as possible. You adore it more than could be described with mere words. The ache prodding in your sternum is a testament to all the ways you have loved him so. All the way you will continue to love him. And, perhaps, that is the problem.

“You okay? You’re just staring.” There’s a slight tilt to his head as he stares at you, curiosity brimming in his dark eyes. You flinch.

“Oh… Yeah, just…” You hesitate before continuing, “You’re pretty.”

You don’t know what compelled you to say it. And maybe you’ll never know either. However, Mikey’s surprise quickly dissipates and invites a wide, toothy grin in its wake. You expected him to laugh or make fun of you for such a compliment, but his expression is anything but displeased. He chuckles, “Haven’t heard that one before.”

There’s something familiar in the way he says that. Your mouth opens slightly then shuts again. Your head turns slightly to look out the window. The sky is void of clouds and there’s a distant sound of children playing. It’s all so familiar, all so tender. His voice brings you back to him.

“You get it, don’t you?” He asks, his smile never wavering. You don’t understand or you do, but you don’t want to. It’s easier to pretend. However, he’s staring at you, eyes knowing yet their emotion is completely unreadable. A child screams and laughs in the neighborhood across the street. A breeze dances through the open classroom window. You understand.

“I saw it on Takemichi’s face.” You shift, sitting straight up, your own expression blank. Across from you he leans back in his own chair. His eyes appear gentle as if they’ve fully reached acceptance. You hadn’t, though.

Mikey laughs, “Yeah, that’s Takemitchy! Always showing exactly how he feels.”

He isn’t fazed when you don’t laugh, or frown, or even chastise him for finding humor in it. No, he knows you like the flowers know spring and the animals know winter. He knows you like how the stars know the moon. There is not an inch of your personhood Mikey does not know. You want to feel vindicated, but you don’t. That surprises you. The sun hasn’t moved an inch. The sky is still vibrant hues of orange and red and the cicadas play their tune.

“Manjiro…” You begin.

Mikey grins, “I always liked when you called me that.”

“Huh?”

“Manjiro. I always liked when you called me Manjiro.” He’s looking at you longingly and you’re looking at him with such a sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.

You exhale softly, “I’ve always liked you.”

“Liked?” He hums. You don’t tense. There’s no reason to.

“Loved.” You admit, “I do. Still.”

He seems to ponder this. Silence fills the air and this classroom feels almost suffocating. His head lulls back, his dark eyes staring up at the ceiling tiles. You rest your left hand on your desk and pinch your index and thumb together-- the nail of your index scratching lightly at the side of your thumb to nervously pick the skin. That ache in your chest is amplified by the wave of nostalgia crashing into you.

“I really wanted to hear that before I go.” Mikey’s tone is laced with despondency. There’s a lump in your throat and you can’t swallow it, you can’t get rid of it. Just like how you couldn’t get rid of the love you held for him all these years. Maybe even for the rest of your life. Your bottom lip quivers, but you force a sharp inhale to maintain your composure. The cicadas are quiet, the children are gone, and the leaves of the trees aren’t rustling in the wind. There is just an eerie quiet and your own grief blossoming along your ribcage.

“So you’re leaving?” It’s a question that you don’t want to know the answer to, but you ask it anyway. Mikey lifts his head up to meet your eyes. They are your favorite sight.

“Yeah, I’m leaving.” And it sounds so final, so permanent because it is. You gasp and your eyes prickle with tears you were desperate to hold at bay. That was a fool’s goal after all.

“Do you love me?” Again, a question, but this time it’s important you know. You need to know.

Mikey’s eyes fell to the desk in front of him, “How could I not?”

You’re stifling a sob and he’s staring at you with a tenderness you want to slap off his face. Deep down you knew it. The moment Takemichi came by your apartment after arriving back from the Philippines, the moment he locked eyes with you and sputtered out a desperate apology. Twelve years and you were bleeding out from all the love and grief you tried to keep inside. Twelve years of wondering where he was, what he was doing, and why he was destroying every piece of a past you longed to go back to.

“I don’t want this to be a dream…” You choked out between sobs, hiding your face in your hands so he cannot see the tears you shed for him, “Manjiro, I don’t understand…!”

There’s the sound of fabric shifting and the chair scraping against the floor before his hand connects with your head, fingers combing slightly in your hair. It makes you cry harder. It would be easier for him to rip your heart out, but he’s kind and he’s gentle. He’s your Manjiro.

“Know it’s for the better.” He leans down and whispers these words into your ear. Before you can even respond, your body jolts awake and alone in a twin sized bed you had grown to hate. The rain outside your window beats down against the glass. Your alarm clock reads 2:31 AM. In this tiny apartment you begrudgingly call you, you are inconsolable. You are a weak heart. So you turn and shove your face into your pillow, screaming into the soft plushness of it with all the pain you’ve bottled up in these twelve years. For the first time in all those years, however, you finally feel as if you can breathe.

[haveyouplayedthisttrpg]

Have you played The Extraordinary Adventures of Baron Munchausen ?

By James Wallis

"Ha! welcome, dear reader, to yet another place where I, the Baron Munchausen, have managed to secret away a few more paragraphs about My game where My dastardly editor cannot find them. I must be brief, but the pen of the Munchausen's is as Swift as the arrows fired upon Me by the dragon-hunters of Northern Greenland. (They mistook Me upon My flying carpet for some new breed of Dragon. Truly, they are a useless people.) My game, then, in brief. The extraordinary adventures of Baron Munchausen is a storytelling game of My own devisement, that invites you and your stout companions to share the tales of your adventures and exploits from around, across, and (in some cases) through the circumference of the world. As each one tells his story, the others shall interject with most villainous objections and interruptions, yet the true storytellers among you will persevere. Upon the completion of each one's tale and a copious amount of drinks, the best story will be judged by all players and the next round is ready to begin."

As befits the source material, a competitive boasting game where each player attempts to spin an adventure yarn more bombastic than the last. Other players bet coins to introduce complications to the story ("But surely, Baron, is it not known that the cannibalistic cyclopes are allergic to garlic?"); the challenged can accept the coin and weave the complication in or counter with their own coin and negate the challenge. At the end of the game, each player chooses another player as their favourite story and gifts their coins to them; winner is the player with the most coins after that. A perfect game for playing at a pub or similar place where refreshments are sold

[cydanite]

"You remember that you are a distinct being with a finite form and a mortal body."

!!SPOILERS for the ending of StP!!

Concept sketch for my interpretation of Slay the Princess’s protagonist. I like the canon vagueness of his design, but I came up with a concept I wanted to explore c:

He has 2 pairs of wings, one on his head and one on his back. The "Narrator", in trapping him, clipped his wings and disguised them as hair and a cloak. Best to not to give any reminder that flying out of the woods is even an option.

The smaller pair wrap around his head like hair, the few remaining primaries folding over each other as bangs. On the “thumb” of the wings are birds feel, decoratively chained together. Don’t be fooled into thinking that chain isn’t meant to hold, though.

The larger pair drapes limply off his shoulders like a cloak. It’s fastened by an X shape. You know the one, when people are lazy with drawing medieval clothing (myself included) we use it as a closure, a formless cross drawstring. You don’t question it when you see it. You wouldn’t suspect it’s two massive metal staples puncturing his flesh.

He can’t see his wings for what they are, so he doesn't feel through them. Not until he can manage to remember...

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(also i wrote a snippet hehe)

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The Narrator: The pain is threefold.

First comes stiffness, an ancient ache creeping in from the edge of your perception.

Awareness of this newfound sensation latches on to your mind and pulls, quickly fracturing into a sprawling map of new body parts.

It’s your hair. It hurts, in ways hair shouldn't be able to hurt. Every fiber protests against you despite being just hair mere moments ago.

The fabric of your cloak betrays you as well. You're inescapably aware of the space you now take up. New, itching, uncomfortable, ugly sensations form all down your back.

Voice of the Hero: It's like we just regained blood circulation there. We're being stabbed a thousand times over.

The Narrator: It doesn't end there. Injuries that previously gone unnoticed now make themselves known. You recall running sharp fingers through your hair. Only now can you feel the dried blood. You would've taken better care of that cloak if you'd known it was made up of you.

Voice of the Hero: But what's happening to us?

The Narrator: The web of pain maps out its shape. Two pairs of feathered wings become part of your body once again.

Voice of the Hero: 'Once again'... having wings makes sense, I suppose. But how could we have forgotten this? It seems so inescapable now.

The Narrator: But as you go to reign motor over your limbs once again, the third pain rears it’s ugly head… cold, harsh metal digs into your flesh.

It pins your limbs in their poses. A tiny set of cuffs pull small wings taught around the circumference of your head.

The closure of your "cape" is two enormous staples, staked through your flesh and clamped down hard. There's no blood here, the wound long since healed.

...Who or whatever did this to you, it was never intended to be removed.

Voice of the Hero: Maybe we should keep more vigilant in the future. If we can't trust our own body... I don't want to think about it more than we have to.

[aeferkssr]

♫ a night to remember - beabadoobee, laufey

soulmate au, slight royale au, kinda rushed, i got a stroke of inpriration and knew i had to get this out of me today or else it would of rotted in my drafts

the soft hum of conversation surrounds you and your friend, mualani, as you step into the cozy café. the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wraps around you like a comforting hug. she has been telling you about this cafe for months now and now that finals are over, you finally have the time.

you order from the cashier — an iced matcha latte with cold foam and extra sweetner, you can't stand bitter things, and a croissant -- and settle into a small table by the window. as you wait for mualani to order hers, your vision gazes around the cozy atmosphere.

the menu written in chalk and accompanied by small seasonal drawings, the wooden chairs you were seated on and the soft jazz playing lowly on the speakers. the windchimes hung on the door outside that swayed and played a soft melody. you close your eyes to fully soak in the ambiance. opening your eyes when you felt the table shift under you, expecting it to be mualani.

and then, you notice him.

long hair tied up in a neat braid flows down his back, shaggy yet kept tufts of hair at the crown of his head. you can't make out the details of his outfit but he seems to be wearing a black band tee with loose fitting jeans. he looks down to his coffee that was just handed to him and he turns around.

you feel... awestruck. immediatly, your head rung with a plethora of questions: "who is that?" "what's he doing here?" and most confusingly, "why does he seem so.. familiar?"

said "familiar stranger" now stands in front of you, gesturing to the chair beside you.

"is this seat taken?" he asks. the round table had 4 chairs surrounding its circumference -- originally planned for you, mualani, and your bags -- so you nod and take your bag up. he places down his coffee and sits on the plush chair.

its a little awkward with a complete stranger sitting next to you, so you look to your phone, swiping between home screens to at least seem busy.

your bag falls from your lap as you shift in your seat. the both of you look down at the soft thud and reach down to pick it up, your hands slightly grazing each other. the both of your eyes meet, then the world starts to blur.

suddenly you've been taken into a grand ballroom, the moonlight illuminating the candle lit. ornate shades of gold and silver start to surround you as your enveloped fully. other couples sway and waltz around you to the live orchestra playing to the corner of the room.

you gaze down in front of you to the same person you had just locked eyes with prior, the stranger dons a suit of ivory and gold, a blazer perfectly draped over his shoulders, and an ebony tie to match with his shoes. his rich, golden hair styled out of his face.

he leans down to press a sincere kiss onto your gloved hand, never once breaking eye contact,

"what's a fine lady as yourself doing at this place?" he queries, his gentle hold on your hand never ceasing.

you hum "clearly you know not who you are talking to. this is the ball father has arranged for my hand."

his gave widens then softens within seconds, a small smile develops on his lips. his hand entangles with your own and he brings his other arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

"the, may i have the honour of dancing with you this evening?"

"certainly," you mumble under your breath. too lost in his enchanting titian eyes to notice your shift in location.

"great! so i'll see you tonight at 6?" he squeezes your palm, both his hands encompassing yours as he waits for a response.

you agree half-mindedly as he flashes you one last smile and exits the cafe, the windchimes ringing as he opens the door. you watch him as he walks further and further from you, feeling as if something is missing.

you look down to your palm, still warm (and a little clammy) from the previous interaction. you didn't have the time to process what the hell just happened before mualani hops to your side, yapping about gods knows what.

"helloooo?~ earth to besiteee?~" she says with a sing-song tone, that finally snaps you out of the clouded gaze at your hand.

"oh you're whipped, huh?" mualani teases as she lightly jabs your side, her eyebrows wiggling at the interaction you had with the handsome stranger.

"no way, 'lani. i literally just met the guy." you respond, walking back to the cafe counter to pick up your food.

your mind wonders again when your by yourself. that interaction you had with this stranger was so enchanting, like you could of sworn you've seen him before.

maybe in another lifetime, maybe.

© aeferkssr. don't copy, crosspost, translate my work without persmission.

[garaksapprentice]

Sewing Zero Waste Culottes from The Craft of Clothes

Zero Waste Culottes From The Craft of Clothes

Behold! Fancy pants!

The pattern for these pants was one of my Christmas gifts. It comes from Liz at The Craft of Clothes, a zero-waste designer. I've really gravitated towards self-drafting and zero-waste sewing in the last couple of years, and this pattern has been on my list for a good six months, so I was excited to get into it.

Drafting

The first step (after reading the pattern through twice) is drafting the pattern pieces.

My biggest starting hurdle was deciphering "the culottes are designed to sit on your waist" when choosing the correct pattern size. Most designers consider "the waist" to be the teapot - that is, the true waist. (It's easiest to find if you bend to the side and stick your hand in the crease - like you're singing "I'm a little teapot".) But some consider belly button height to be "the waist". I generally wear my pants at the latter height, and there's a good 2" circumference difference between those two for me.

I eventually decided to call my belly button my waist, on the grounds that that's where I prefer to wear my pants. It's also easier to take seams in than out, if I guessed wrong.

Decisions over, it was smooth sailing from there. Pattern drafting is not a technically difficult process, as long as you have good instructions, and Liz's patterns definitely fit that bill. But there's a lot of attention to detail required to make sure the end result is good. That sort of thing always makes me nervous. Fortunately there was only two pattern pieces to draft, and they're 98% straight lines and based off rectangles.

Interestingly, this is the first zero-waste pattern I've tried that has you draft pattern pieces to use. The others I've seen (most by the creator of this pattern - our library had a copy of her book, Zero Waste Sewing) have had you draw directly on your piece of fabric to create the layout. (In fairness, I didn't have to draft my own pieces. The pattern came with the option of self-drafting, printing on A4, or printing on A0.)

I much prefer the direct-draw method to faffing about with pattern pieces. But given that this pattern is designed to have the pieces tesselate, having a set of physical pattern pieces does make more sense. It's also got me wondering if I could successfully make a pair out of old jeans legs, using one leg per pattern piece. But then, I'm always looking for ways to use up my denim pile...

Sewing

I prefer structure rather than flow in my butt coverings, so I was somewhat limited in my fabric choices for this first pair. (I know the fabric I really want to use, but I am being a sensible apprentice and trying things out on a nice-but-less-hideously-expensive fabric first.) Most of my stash acquisition has focused on stuff for shirts, since I wear those out faster than pants. I eventually settled on this nice brick red, 100% cotton, table cloth.

The picture is suffering from sun exposure. It's nowhere near this bright in person.

I laid out the pieces and huzzah! The fabric was just big enough! ... But only if I unpicked the hems (they're monsters, a full 3 cm/1.2" each side) and ironed them flat first. Thus, it was time for a marathon unpicking and ironing session.

After that was done, I checked the pattern fit again. Huzzah! I had enough space for all the pattern pieces, and not very much scrap left over once I'd cut them all out. (Of course, it was late and I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been, so I didn't add an extra inch when I was forced to cut the waistband in two pieces. There was enough extra fabric that this was only an annoyance and not a complete disaster.)

The fabric at the top is scrap. All but a few inches of the stuff on the right became waist bands and plackets.

Sewing was a fairly straightforward exercise, though it required enough brainpower that I completely forgot to take any progress shots as I went. Almost every step of the pattern comes with a diagram to show you what to do, which helped me immensely. So did having the seam allowances specified at each point, as there's three different ones used in different places.

That's not to say I didn't screw up, of course. While sewing the crotch seam, I somehow managed to close up the front of the pants entirely and leave a gap for the placket open at the back. (That will teach me not to double check the direction the pockets are facing before I pin and sew that seam. Maybe.) 

I also made a highly decorative and completely awful to sew with choice for topstitching thread, which I quickly became too stubborn to stop using. So the topstitching is, uh, not great. But it is purple and sparkly, and if I'd had any sense at all I would have left it til last (or even done some sort of hand embroidery with it).

I was tricked by the first line of stitching being so easy. LIES. It was all lies.

Why should I have left it til last? Because it turns out that the culottes are, in fact, designed to sit on one's true waist. Which meant I had a two inch difference between what I needed to fit me, and what the waist measurement was. If I hadn't top stitched the panels, I could have simply ran another line of stitching down the seams that didn't have pockets in the way, and taken the waist in without much fuss or bother. Unfortunately, I didn't do that, so I was left with two choices.

Take out the topstitching and take in all the panels, bitching and moaning about the effort I went to and the number of times the topstitch thread broke while I was sewing the stupid sparkly goodness onto things.

Work out how to take the waist in by the necessary two inches, using only the crotch seam and maybe some darts or pleats or something.

Choice #1 would have been the logical, rational decision, so of course I went with option #2.

An hour and change of basting, pinning and unpinning the waistband, and completely forgetting how seam allowances work later, I managed to get a fit I was happy enough with. I ended up grading in a dart-like object at the centre back. (If I decide later that I'm not happy with the fit after all, I'll try out the modification for adding elastic to the back waistband that the pattern also includes. Probably while questioning my life choices and lamenting the amount of time I spend with a seam ripper in hand.)

The original stitching line is in blue, the new one is in black.

After all that fitting woe, I wasn't in the mood to try buttonholes (my good machine, the one with the automatic buttonholer, is currently out of action). Instead I dove into my snap stash to close the placket.

I love using bright, vivid colours for inner details. It's the sewing equivalent of wearing leopard print underwear.

A nice bonus of using the snaps is that I could put them through just the placket, leaving the fly front clean. This did make the placket pull slightly when I'm wearing the pants, exposing a trace of bright red. I fixed that by invisibly whip-stitching through the placket and outer fabric to hold everything in place. Next time I'll also double check the understitching, and topstitch the edge if needed, before installing the snaps.

Field Test and Adjustments

Trying stuff on as you go is all well and good, but nothing tells you what you really need to fix like being out in the field. I quickly discovered several things:

The waistband needs serious help to stay where it's supposed to be. Which, y'know, I did make a size larger than I should have. This was not surprising.

The crotch needs to either drop a wee bit or (preferably) rise a couple of inches. The latter will likely spoil the skirt-effect somewhat, but it will be far more comfortable for my legs.

I need a loop on the waistband to hold my keys.

For the waist woes, I had a few choices - 1) belt loops, 2) suspenders, or 3) add elastic to the back waistband. Belt loops are fiddly to make and sew on, but would solve the key-hanging issue. Suspenders technically wouldn't need any sewing changes, but the clip-on style are notorious for pulling off when you're doing things. And while the pattern includes instructions for adding elastic to the waistband, I wasn't confident it would do the job I wanted (I stick a fair amount of junk in my pockets and elastic can't always cope with the weight).

After some dithering, I went with the suspender option for this pair. I like the look of them, and the "floating" effect they give when they pull the waistband a bit above where gravity wants it to sit is extremely comfortable. But I didn't want to deal with clips always popping off. So I indulged in a quick side-quest of improving my suspenders, then sewed buttons into the waistband of the culottes.

This used to hold the clips, but the wire was easy to bend flat with needle-nose pliers.

Gee, I wonder which buttonhole I did first?

Fashion Show

Overall, I'm quite happy with how it all came together. I'll definitely be making at least two more pairs - the "men's" version (less flare in the hems), likely out of recycled denim, and a pair in heavyweight stash linen.

The back panel adjustment is basically unnoticeable.

They have great range of movement - maybe I need to make a workout pair?

And I even have somewhere to hang my keys.

This post was originally published on my blog, Garak's Apprentice . I currently syndicate my content at Micro.blog, Tumblr, and Ko-Fi.

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[brewed-pangolin]

MDNI 18+

Insanely paranoid and protective Gym Rat Soap, who installs a security system in and around your home to ensure your safety when he's deployed for months at a time.

Multiple ring cameras outlying the circumference around your home. Along with a system set up in the corner of nearly every room. Sans the bathroom, of course.

It's mostly for your own self-preservation and well-being in his absence, but the overly possessive sonofabitch can't help himself when he's half a world away and misses seeing you in the simplicity of domestic life.

Once he pulls himself away to a quiet corner after a successful mission, his thumbs are working overtime on his phone to pull up the app and get a glimpse of the peaceful tranquility of your home in real time.

He's expecting you to be rummaging around the house for the next day's lunch or perhaps wallowing in the basic necessities of laundry or groceries. Things he wilfully takes upon himself when on leave to rid you of such a burden and to needy responsibilities.

However, after flipping through each room and finding you splayed out on the couch, the scene playing out before him is anything but innocent or simplistic.

The random flashing of the television putting your disheveled figure on full display. Not a care in the world as you spread your legs, buck your hips up and delve your fingers into the moistened depths of your needy cunt.

Soap's eyes widen. A throaty growl rumbling in his throat as he shifts in his seat. His trousers becoming impossibly tight against the raging hard on growing underneath. Allowing himself a few seconds of silence while taking in the sight of you pleasuring yourself, unwilling to interrupt the provocative scene in fear of sabotaging the need for your release.

His composure disappears the moment he sees your lips part with a prominent arch of your back of the couch. The memory of your moans and mewls flooding his psyche, fueling the need to hear you again as he thumbs the app to activate the two way audio through the system.

He bites his tongue as the sound of your pleasure echoes through the speakers of his phone. Disregarding the notion that anyone could hear. Too focused on the painful bulge in his pants, only fueled further as the distant murmur of his name rolls over the trembling flesh of your lips.

"Steamin hell," he growls out. Carefully eyeing your reaction as the sound of his voice fills the emptiness of your living room.

"Johnny..."

"Add 'nother finger, lass. Stretch yerself out f'me."

You oblige him without hesitation. His throaty brogue raptures around him as he grips feverishly at his throbbing cock. His gaze hyper focused on your figure as he fists his length, stroking himself in tandem with the pleasured symphony cascading from your parted lips.

"So fuckin' needy fer me. Aren't ya, hen?"

"Uh huh.."

You pant. Rolling your eyes back to let the steady build of your orgasm crescendo. Bucking your hips into your hand. Your mewls of his name accompanied by his ever confident and heady instruction to further your growing pleasure.

"Imagine it's me, bonnie. Think of me cock stretchin' tha' pretty cunt a'yers. Hittin' tha' spot jus' right. Makin' ya come fer me. Only, fer me."

And it's in his covetous command that you ultimately find your undoing. Reaching the peak of a climax on the tips of your fingers. Fueled by the image of his cock buried inside you, all while the guttural roars of his own release roll out of the speakers from the heavens above.

Gym Rat Soap Masterlist

[harrys-titties]

Hi my loves! This is an update to this fic here, or “Harry’s a dick and Y/N hates him for it.” Let me know how you like it and thank you for the lovely anon who requested it!

-masterlist-

———-

Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. It didn’t matter how long they had been dating or how many times he’d kissed Y/N or been inside her; it never got old. The feeling of Y/N’s desperate cunt squeezing him so tightly he sometimes worried the blood supply to his throbbing prick would stop or her whines and sobs that shook her whole body as Harry slammed into her. It was just something that brought Harry so much joy.

And really, today was no different. He could still feel Y/N as tight as ever around him, could still see her legs shake with each precise thrust into her squelching cunt, and he could still revel in the breathy moans she let out each time he pushed and ground that little bit deeper than usual.

The main difference, really, was that he could see her expression in the reflection of the elevator doors, the familiar clinch between her brows apparent and her cute mouth parted around moan after moan. He could see her as she tried desperately not to hit any of the buttons as Harry expertly pressed against her clit, settling for slamming her hand against the wall of the elevator next to her, her handprint leaving a little ring of condensation when she brought it down to hold Harry’s other hand currently on her waist.

Was it risky? Sure. But they could only spend so long trapped inside a small confined space together before something similar happened. It wasn’t Harry’s fault the elevator had broken down, leaving them suspended somewhere between the associates and the analyst’s floor. And it wasn’t Harry’s fault that Y/N had given him those fucking eyes she always seemed to have around him. Really, he was a victim in this scenario, and his vixen-like girlfriend was the perpetrator.

“Fuckin’ hell Harry, you’re gonna make me cum.” And well, maybe Harry wasn’t entirely blameless in this scenario. He leans over to kiss Y/N’s neck, instantly wishing they were somewhere more private so he could get her completely naked, feel the dip of her back pressed against his chest as he thrust into her. He’d just have to make do. Each push into her sent a gust of Y/N’s shampoo mixed with sweat towards him, the smell quelling his urge to feel Y/N’s skin against his own. He just loved her so much.

“C’mon baby. Let me feel it,” he mutters between ground teeth, the feeling of her squeezing around him just a little too good. She shakes her head, “more, I need more. Please Haz!” So he leans down, grabs her thigh and pulls, resting her foot against the bannister running the circumference of the lift. She whines as he pushes at her lower back, forcing her to arch it. The new angle is intense for both of them, Y/N’s groans increasing in pitch, and Harry feels the telltale tingles of an impending orgasm beginning in his groin. He pushes in at a slightly different angle, aiming to find her g-spot again now that their position has shifted. It’s obvious that he finds it when Y/N cries out, leaning down and resting her head against the panel of buttons, her hand grappling to find anything to hold on to and the buttons glowing golden as she pushes against them. He pushes in again and again, bringing his hand back down to her clit, rubbing in sloppy circles, giving her the most pleasure he can with the slightly awkward angle.

It doesn’t take long, Harry feeling the telltale shake of Y/N’s thighs, her hands reaching down to grab at his wrist neatly tucked between her thighs and squeezing as hard as she can. Harry’s not sure he’s ever heard her make this much noise, a sharp gasp followed by mindless babble, like every thought that came into her head was being pushed out with each movement of his hips. Her head falls back against her shoulders, and Harry watches in the reflection of the walls as her mouth falls open and her eyes roll backwards. “Fuck, fu- fuck! Harry, fucking hell. You feel so fucking good.”

It’s music to Harry’s ears, and it makes his orgasm approach even quicker. He feels the buildup starting in his groin, euphoria spreading outwards until all of his limbs feel weightless, and he waits for the fall, where he knows his orgasm will be ripped out of him.

“Wait, Harry wai- come in my mouth please.” Harry feels his whole body shudder. It takes everything in him to pull away from the warmth of Y/N’s pussy, a second longer, and he knows it would’ve been too late. He has his eyes closed but feels movement in front of him, and it’s only when he feels a small hand on his hip, right next to where his leaking cock is no doubt dripping, does he open them again. The sight in front of him is enough to make him come completely untouched, only having time to grab the head of his dick and press it against Y/N’s open mouth, the head bumping against her plump, spit-slicked lips. Y/N’s hair is completely messed up, half out of the ponytail it was tied in, flyaways in her face from turning around so quickly, her eyes rimmed with tears and rolling as she finally tastes Harry’s cum.

Once Harry’s orgasm starts to slow, he lets out a deep breath, small tremors making his legs shake as he rests his hand against the wall of the elevator behind Y/N. He almost faints when she flicks her tongue forward and around his head, humming as she tastes the tartness of her own cum smeared against it, mixing with the heady taste of the remaining drops of his seed. Harry whimpers, pulling her head away with a tight grip on what was left of her ponytail, letting out a groan at the way she fights against him to keep licking at him.

“Enough, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me prematurely if ya keep it up.” She flashes him a sly grin, giving one more hearty lick before taking the hand he’s offering her, straightening her shirt and fixing her skirt that had become skewed in the process. “Who would I let fuck me in elevators if you were to cark it this early, hm?”

Harry lets out a breathy chuckle, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping up his fly before reaching out to her. He swipes a thumb against the corner of her mouth where a stray drop of cum had been left, bringing it back up to his own mouth and sucking the salty liquid off the pad, watching as Y/N’s hungry eyes follow the movement.

“Dunno, I’ll haunt whoever you choose anyway.” Y/N’s eyes dart back up to his, humour and love filling them as she laughs. They both startle as a resounding ding sounds through the elevator, the lift jumping and groaning as it begins to move again. They don’t have much time to recover before the doors open, and Y/N steps closer to him and grabs his hand instinctively.

Luckily, it’s Sarah and Mitch standing in front of them. Harry feels a rush of cool fresh air he hadn’t known he was missing until he felt it and watches as Sarah’s eyes dart back and forth, up and down, probably taking in their disheveled hair and clothes.

“Really, guys?” Sarah says as she rolls her eyes. Mitch steps into the elevator, his nose immediately scrunching as he quickly steps backwards. “It fuckin’ reeks of sex in there! Jesus Christ Harry!” Harry laughs while a mortified Y/N hides her face in Harry’s shoulder.

“We’ve been waiting for like fourty minutes!” Sarah whines.

Dramatic as ever, Mitch throws his hands up and turns on his heel.

“Nah fuck this, I’m takin’ the stairs.”